Cel. Fie, what an aire this roome has. St. Tis perfum'd.
Cel. With some cheape stuffe is it your wisedomes thrift
To infect my nostrils thus? Or i'st to favour
The Gout in your worships hand? You are afraid
To exercise your pen in your account Booke?
Of doe you doubt my credit to discharge
Your bills.
St. Madam, I hope you have not found
My dutie with the guilt of sloath or jealousie,
Vnapt to your command. Cel. You can extenuate
Your faults with language sir, but I expect
To be obeyed; What hangings have we here?
St. They are Arras Madam. Cel. Impudence I know't,
I will have fresher and more rich, not wrought
With faces that may scandalise a Christian
With Iewish stories stufft with Corne and Camells,
You had best wrap all my chambers in wild Irish,
And make a nursery of Monsters here,
To fright the Ladies comes to visite me.
St. Madam I hope. Cel. I say I will have other,
Good Master Steward of a finer loome,
Some silke and silver if your worship please,
To let me be at so much cost Ile have
Stories to fit the seasons of the yeare,
And change as often as I please. St. You shall Madam.
Cel. I am bound to your consent forsooth, and is
My coach brought home?
St. This morning I expect it.
Cel. The inside as I gave direction,
Of crimson plush. St. Of crimson Camell plush.
Cel. Ten thousand mothes consum't, shall I ride through
The streets in penance wrapt up round in haire cloath,
Sel't to an Alderman, twill serve his wife
To goe a feasting to their country house,
Or fetch a Merchants Nurse child, and come home
Laden with fruite and Cheese-cakes; I despise it.
St. The nailes adorne it Madam, set in method
And pretty formes. Cel. But single guilt I warrant.
St. No Madam. Cel. Another Solecisme, oh fie,
This fellow will bring me to a Consumption
With fretting at his ignorance, some Lady
Had rather never pray, than goe to Church in't;
The nailes not double guilt? to market wo't,
Twill hackny out to Mile-end, or convey
Your citie tumblers to be drunke with Creame
And Prunes at Islington. St. Good Madam heare me.
Cel. Ile rather be beholding to my Aunt
The Countesse for her mourning coach, then be
Disparag'd so, shall any juggling tradsman
Be at charge to shooe his running horse with gold,
And shall my coach nailes be but single guilt?
How dare these knaves abuse me so? St. Vouchsafe
To heare me speake. Cel. Is my Sedan yet finish'd?
And liveries for my men—Mules according
As I gave charge. St. Yes Madam it is finish'd,
But without tilting plumes at the foure corners,
The scarlet's pure, but not embroidered.
Cel. What mischiefe were it to your conscience
Were my coach lin'd with tissue, and my harnesse
Cover'd with needleworke? if my Sedan
Had all the story of the Prodigall,
Embrodered with pearle. St. Alas good Madam,
I know tis your owne cost, I am but your Steward,
And wod discharge my duty the best way,
You have beene pleasd to heare me, tis not for
My profit, that I manage your estate,
And save expence, but for your honour Madam.
Cel. How sir, my honour? St. Though you heare it not,
Mens tongues are liberall in your character,
Since you began to live thus high, I know
Your fame is precious to you. Cel. I were best
Make you my governor; audacious Varlet,
How dare you interpose your doting counsell?
Mind your affaires with more obedience,
Or I shall ease you of an office sir,
Must I be limited to please your honour?
Or for the vulgar breath confine my pleasures,
I will pursue 'em in what shapes I fancie,
Here, and abroad, my entertainements shall
Be oftner, and more rich, who shall controule me?
I live i'th strand, whether few Ladies come
To live, and purchase, more than fame, I will
Be hospitable then, and spare no cost
That may engage all generous report
To trumpet forth my bounty and my braverie,
Till the Court envie, and remove, Ile have
My house the Academy of wits, who shall
Exalt with rich Sacke, and Sturgeon,
Write Panegyricks of my feasts, and praise
The method of my wittie superfluities,
The horses shall be taught with frequent waiting
Vpon my gates, to stop in their careere
Toward Charing-crosse, spight of the Coachmans fury.
And not a tilter, but shall strike his plume,
When he sailes by my window, my Balconie
Shall be the Courtiers Idoll, and more gaz'd at,
Than all the Pageantry at Temple barre,
By countrey Clients. St. Sure my Ladie's mad.
Cel. Take that for your ill manners. St. Thanke you Madam,
I would there were lesse quicksilver in your fingers. Exit.
Cel. There's more than simple honesty in a servant
Requir'd to his full dutie, none should dare,
But with a looke, much lesse a sawcie language
Checke at their Mistresse pleasure, I'me resolv'd
To pay for some delight, my estate will beare it,
Ile reine it shorter when I please.
Enter Steward.
St. A gentleman
Desires to speake with your Ladiship. Cel. His name?
St. He saies you know him not, he seemes to be
Of qualitie. Cel. Admit him. Sir with me.
Enter Hairecut.
Ha. Madam I know not, how you may receive
This boldnesse from me, but my faire intents
Knowne, will incline you to be charitable.
Cel. No doubt sir. Ha. He must live obscurely Madam,
That hath not heard what vertues you possesse,
And I a poore admirer of your fame,
Am come to kisse your hand. Cel. That all your businesse?
Ha. Though it were worth much travell, I have more
In my ambition. Cel. Speake it freely sir.
Ha. You are a widow. Cel. So. Ha. And I a Bachelor.
Cel. You come a wooing sir, and would perhaps
Shew me a way to reconcile thee two.
Ha. And blesse my starres for such a happinesse.
Cel. I like you sir the better, that you doe not
Wander about, but shoote home to the meaning,
Tis a confidence will make a man
Know sooner what to trust to, but I never
Saw you before, and I beleeve you come not
With hope to finde me desperate upon marriage,
If maides out of their ignorance of what
Men, are refuse these offers, widowes may
Out of their knowledge be allow'd some coynesse,
And yet I know not how much happinesse
A peremptorie answer may deprive me of,
You may be some young Lord, and though I see not
Your footmen and your groome, they may not be
Farre off in conference with your horse, please you
To instruct me with your title, against which
I would not willingly offend. Ha. I am
A gentleman, my name is Hairecut madam.
Cel. Sweete Mr. Hairecut, are you a Courtier?
Ha. Yes. Cel. J did thinke so by your confidence,
Not to detaine you sir with circumstance,
J was not so unhappy in my husband
But that tis possible I may be a wife
Agen, but I must tell you, he that winnes
My affection shall deserve me. Ha. J will hope
If you can love, J shanot present Madam
An object to displease you in my person,
And when time, and your patience shall possesse you
With further knowledge of me, and the truth
Of my devotion, you will not repent
The offer of my service. Cel. You say well.
How long doe you imagine you can love sir?
Is it a Quotidian, or will it hold
But every other day? Ha. You are pleasant Madam.
Cel. Dost take you with a burning at the first,
Or with a cold fit for you gentlemen
Have both your Summer, and your Winter service.
Ha. J am ignorant what you meane, but J shall never
Be cold in my affection to such beautie.
Cel. And twill be somewhat long ere J be warme in't.
Ha. If you vouchsafe me so much honour Madam,
That J may waite on you sometimes, J shanot
Despaire to see a change. Cel. But now J know
Your minde, you shall not neede to tell it, when
You come agen, J shall remember it.
Ha. You make me fortunate. Enter Steward.
St. Madam your kinswomen
The Lady Novice and her sister are
New lighted from their coach. Cel. I did expect e'm,
They partly are my pupills, ile attend e'm.
Ha. Madam I have beene too great a trespasser
Vpon your patience, ile take my leave,
You have affaires, and I have some imployment
Calls me to Court, I shall present agen
A servant to you. Cel. Sir you may present, Exit Ha.
But not give fire I hope, now to the Ladies
This recreation's past, the next must be
To read to them some Court Philosophie. Exeunt.
[The second Act.]
Enter sir Thomas Bornewell.
Tis a strange humour I have undertaken
To dance, and play, and spend as fast as she does,
But I am resolv'd, it may doe good upon her,
And fright her into thrift, nay ile endeavour
To make her jealous too, if this doe not
Allay her gamboling, shee's past a woman
And onely a miracle must tame her.
Enter Steward.