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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WISE-WOMAN OF HOGSDON, by THOMAS HEYWOOD Poet's Biography
First Line: Price of my life! Now, if the devil have bones
Last Line: [exeunt.
First Line: Price of my life! Now, if the devil have bones
Last Line: [exeunt.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Young CHARTLEY, a wild-headed Gentleman.
BOYSTER, a blunt Fellow.
SENCER, a conceited Gentleman.
HARINGFIELD, a civil Gentleman.
LUCE'S Father, a Goldsmith
JOSEPH, his Apprentice.
Old Master CHARTLEY.
Sir HARRY, a Knight, who is no Scholar.
Sir BONIFACE, an ignorant Schoolmaster.
Young CHARTLEY'S Man.
Old CHARTLEY'S Men.
TABER, Sir HARRY'S Man.
A Countryman, Client to the Wise-Woman.
A Serving-man.
LUCE, a Goldsmith's Daughter.
The second LUCE.
GRATIANA, Sir HARRY'S Daughter.
The Wise-Woman of Hogsdon.
A Kitchen-maid.
Two Citizens' Wives.
SCENE—LONDON and HOGSDON.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Room in a Tavern.
Enter, as newly come from play, Young CHARTLEY, SENCER, BOYSTER, and
HARINGFIELD.
CHART. Price of my life! now, if the devil have bones,
These dice are made of his. Was ever such
A cast seen in this age? Could any gull
In Europe, saving myself, fling such a cast?
Boys. Ay.
Y. Chart. No.
Boys. Yes.
Y. Chart. But I say no: I have lost an hundred pound,
And I will have my saying.
Boys. I have lost another hundred, I'll have mine.
Ay, yes, I flung a worse,—a worse by odds.
Y. Chart. I cry you mercy, sir; losers may speak;
I'll not except 'gainst you: but let me see
Which of these two that pocket up our cash
Dares contradict me?
Sen. Sir, not I:
I say you have had bad casting.
Har. So say I.
Y. Chart. I say this hat's not made of wool:
Which of you all dares say the contrary?
Sen. It may be 'tis a beaver.
Har. Very likely so: 'tis not wool, but a plain beaver.
Y. Chart. 'Tis wool, but which of you dares say so?—
[Aside.]
I would fain pick a quarrel with them, to get some of my money again; but the
slaves now they have got it, are too wise to part with it. I say it is not
black.
Har. So say we too.
Boys. 'Tis false: his cap's of wool; 'tis black and wool, and wool
and
black.
Y. Chart. I have nought to say to losers. Have I nothing left to
set at
a cast? Ay, finger, must you be set in gold, and not a jot of silver in my
purse? A bale of fresh dice! Ho, come at this ring!
Sen. Fie, Master Chartley! 'tis time to give over.
Y. Chart. That's the winner's phrase. Hold me play, or he that hath
uncrowned me, I'll take a speedy order with him.
Boys. Fresh dice! This jewel I will venture more:
Take this and all. I'll play in spite of luck.
Har. Since you will needs, trip for the dice. I see it is hard
to go a
winner from this company.
Y. Chart. The dice are mine. This diamond I value at twenty
marks: I'll
venture it at a throw.
Har. 'Tis set you.
Y. Chart. Then at all. All's mine. Nay, Master Boyster, I
bar you: let
us work upon the winners. Gramercy, cinques! Nay, though I owe you no quarrel,
yet you must give me leave to draw.
Har. I had rather you should draw your sword
Than draw my money thus.
Y. Chart. Again, sweet dice. Nay, I bar swearing: gentlemen, let's
play
patiently. Well, this at the candlestick, so— [He throws out.
Boys. Now, dice, at all. Todo, quoth the Spaniard.
Sen. Here's precious luck.
Boys. Why, via! I think 'tis quicksilver; it goes and comes so
fast: there's life in this.
Har. He passes all with treys.
Y. Chart. With treys, how say by that? Oh, he's old dog at bowls and
treys!
Sen. Lend me some money: be my half one cast.
I'll once out-brave this gamester with a throw.
So, now the dice are mine, wilt be my half?
Har. I will.
Sen. Then once I'll play the frank gamester.
Let me but see how much you both can make,
And I'll cast at all, all, every cross.
Y. Chart. Now, bless us all, what will you every cross?
Sen. I will not leave myself one cross to bless me.
Boys. I set.
Y. Chart. And so do I.
Sen. Why, then, at all. How! [He flings out.
Y. Chart. Nay, swear not; let's play patiently.
Sen. Damned dice! did ever gamester see the like?
Boys. Never, never.
Sen. Was ever known such casting?
Y. Chart. Drunk nor sober, I ne'er saw a man cast worse.
Sen. I'll prove this hat of mine an helmet. Which of you here dares
say
the contrary?
Y. Chart. As fair an helmet as any man in Europe needs to wear.
Sen. Chartley, thy hat is black.
Y. Chart. Upon better recollection, 'tis so indeed.
Sen. I say 'tis made of wool.
Y. Chart. True, my losing had took away my senses,
Both of seeing and feeling; but better luck
Hath brought them to their right temper.
But come—a pox of dice! 'tis time to give over.
Sen. All times are times for winners to give over,
But not for them that lose. I'll play till midnight,
But I will change my luck.
Har. Come, come, you shall not.
Give over; tush, give over; do, I pray,
And choose the fortune of some other hour:
Let's not, like debauched fellows, play our clothes,
Belts, rapiers, nor our needful ornaments:
'Tis childish, not becoming gentlemen.
Play was at first ordained to pass the time;
And, sir, you but abuse the use of play
To employ it otherwise.
Sen. You may persuade me.
For once I'll leave a loser.
Y. Chart. Then come, put on your helmet; let's leave this abominable
game, and find out some better exercise. I cannot endure this chafing when men
lose.
Sen. And there's not a more testy waspish companion than thyself when
thou art a loser, and yet thou must be vexing others with "Play patiently,
gentlemen, and let's have no swearing."
Y. Chart. A sign that I can give good counsel better than take it:
but
say, where be the prettiest wenches, my hearts?
Sen. Well remembered; this puts me in mind of an appointment I had wit
h
a gentlewoman of some respect.
Y. Chart. I have you, sir, I have you; but I think you will never
have
her: 'tis Gratiana, the knight's daughter in Gracious Street. Have I touched
you?
Sen. You have come somewhat near me, but touched me not. Master
Haringfield, will you bear me company thither? Have you seen the gentlewoman,
Master Chartley?
Y. Chart. Never, sir.
Sen. How have you heard of her?
Y. Chart. That she hath as other women have; that she goes for a
maid,
as others do, &c.
Sen. I can assure you she is a proper gentlewoman.
Y. Chart. Then, if she have you, she is like to have a proper
gentleman.
Sen. You should tell them so that know it not.
Adieu, gentlemen. [Exeunt SENCER and HARINGFIELD.
Boys. I am glad yet they go so lightly away.
Y. Chart. What will you do, Master Boyster?
Boys. Somewhat.
Y. Chart. You will not acquaint me with your business?
Boys. No. I am in love; my head is full of proclamations. There is a
thing called a virgin. Nature hath showed her art in making her. Court her I
cannot, but I'll do as I may.
Y. Chart. Do you go or stay, sir?
Boys. Go. [Exit.
Y. Chart. You before, I'll follow.—He thinks, with his blunt
humour,
to enter as far as I with my sharp. No, my true Trojan, no: there is a fair,
sweet, modest rogue, her name is Luce; with this dandiprat, this pretty
little
ape's face, is yon blunt fellow in love; and no marvel, for she hath a brow
bewitching, eyes ravishing, and a tongue enchanting; and, indeed, she hath no
fault in the world but one, and that is, she is honest; and were it not for
that, she were the only sweet rogue in Christendom. As I live, I love her
extremely, and to enjoy her would give anything; but the fool stands in her
own
light, and will do nothing without marriage. But what should I do marrying? I
can better endure gyves than bands of matrimony. But in this meditation, I am
glad I have won my money again. Nay, and she may be glad of it too; for the
girl
is but poor, and in my pocket I have laid up a stock for her,—'tis put to
use already. And if I meet not with a dice-house or an ordinary by the way, no
question but I may increase it to a sum. Well, I'll unto the Exchange to buy
her
some pretty novelty: that done, I'll visit my little rascal, and solicit
instantly. [Exit.
SCENE II.—Before the Goldsmith's Shop.
Enter LUCE at work upon a laced handkerchief, and JOSEPH.
Luce. Where is my father, Joseph?
Jos. Mistress, above,
And prays you to attend below a little.
Luce. I do not love to sit thus publicly;
And yet upon the traffic of our wares
Our provident eyes and presence must still wait.
Do you attend the shop, I'll ply my work.
I see my father is not jealous of me,
That trusts me to the open view of all.
The reason is, he knows my thoughts are chaste,
And my care such, as that it needs the awe
Of no strict overseer.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Yonder's Luce.—Save thee!
Luce. And you too, sir; you're welcome; want you aught,
I pray, in which our trade may furnish you?
Boys. Yes.
Luce. Joseph, show the gentleman—
Boys. 'Tis here that I would buy.
Luce. What do you mean, sir? speak, what is't you lack?
I pray you wherefore do you fix your eyes
So firmly in my face? What would you have?
Boys. Thee.
Luce. Me!
Boys. Yes, thee.
Luce. Your pleasure is to jest, and so I take it.
Pray give me leave, sir, to intend my work.
Boys. You are fair.
Luce. You flout me.
Boys. You are, go to, you are;
I'd vex him that should say the contrary.
Luce. Well, you may say your pleasure.
Boys. I love thee.
Luce. Oh, sir!
Boys. As I live, I do.
Luce. Now, as I am a true maid,
The most religious oath that I dare swear,
I hold myself indebted to your love;
And I am sorry there remains in me
No power how to requite it.
Boys. Love me; prithee now, do, if thou canst.
Luce. I cannot.
Boys. Prithee, if thou canst.
Luce. Indeed I cannot.
Boys. Yet ask thine heart, and see what may be done.
Luce. In troth, I am sorry you should spend a sigh
For my sake unrequited, or a tear,—
Ay, or a word.
Boys. 'Tis no matter for my words, they are not many and those not
very
wise ones neither.
Luce. Yet I beseech you spend no more in vain.
I scorn you not; disdain's as far from me
As are the two poles distant: therefore, sir,
Because I would not hold you in suspense,
But tell you what at first to trust unto,
Thus in a word, I must not fancy you.
Boys. Must not!
Luce. I cannot, nor I may not.
Boys. I am gone:
Thou hast given me, Luce, a bone to gnaw upon. [Exit.
Luce. Alas, that beauty should be sought of more
Than can enjoy it! Might I have my wish,
I would seem fair but only in his eye
That should possess me in a nuptial tie.
Enter Young CHARTLEY, with gloves, ring, purse, & c.
Y. Chart. Morrow, Luce; in exchange of this kiss, see what I have
brought
thee from the Exchange.
Luce. What mean you, sir, by this?
Y. Chart. Guess that by the circumstance. here's a ring, wear't for my
sake; twenty angels, pocket them, you fool. Come, come, I know thou art a
maid:
say nay, and take them.
Luce. Sweet Master Chartley, do not fasten on me
More than with ease I can shake off: your gift
I reverence, yet refuse; and I pray tell me,
Why do you make so many errands hither,
Send me so many letters, fasten on me
So many favours? What's your meaning in't?
Y. Chart. Hark in thine ear, I'll tell thee;—nay, hear me out.
Is't possible so soft a body should have so hard a soul? Nay, now I know my
penance; you will be angry, and school me for tempting your modesty: a
fig for
this modesty! it hinders many a good man from many a good turn, and
that's all
the good it doth. If thou but knew'st, Luce, how I love thee, thou wouldst be
far more tractable. Nay, I bar chiding when you speak; I'll stop thy lips if
thou dost but offer an angry word—by this hand, I'll do't, and with this
hand too. Go to now, what say you?
Luce. Sir, if you love me, as you say you do,
Show me the fruits thereof.
Y. Chart. The stock I can; thou mayst see the fruits hereafter.
Luce. Can I believe you love me, when you seek
The shipwreck of mine honour?
Y. Chart. Honour! there's another word to flap in a man's mouth!
Honour! what shouldst thou and I stand upon our honour, that were neither of
us
yet Right Worshipful?
Luce. I am sorry, sir, I have lent so large an ear
To such a bad discourse; and I protest
After this hour never to do the like.
I must confess, of all the gentlemen
That ever courted me, you have possessed
The best part in my thoughts: but this coarse language
Exiles you quite from thence. Sir, had you come,
Instead of changing this mine honest name
Into a strumpet's, to have honoured me
With the chaste title of a modest wife,
I had reserved an ear for all your suits;
But since I see your rudeness finds no limit,
I leave you to your lust.
Y. Chart. You shall not, Luce.
Luce. Then keep your tongue within more moderate bounds.
Y. Chart. I will,—as I am virtuous, I will.—[Aside.]
I told you the second word would be marriage. It makes a man forfeit his
freedom, and makes him walk ever after with a chain at his heels, or a
jackanapes hanging at his elbow. Marriage is like Dædalus's labyrinth,
and,
being once in, there's no finding the way out. Well, I love this little
property
most intolerably, and I must set her on the last, though it cost me all the
shoes in my shop.— Well, Luce, thou seest my stomach is come down: thou
hast my heart already; there's my hand.
Luce. But in what way?
Y. Chart. Nay, I know not the way yet, but I hope to find it
hereafter,
by your good direction.
Luce. I mean, in what manner? in what way?
Y. Chart. In the way of marriage, in the way of honesty, in the way
that was never gone yet. I hope thou art a maid, Luce?
Luce. Yes, sir; and I accept it: in exchange
Of this your hand, you shall receive my heart.
Y. Chart. A bargain, and there's earnest on thy lips.
Luce. I'll call my father, sir, to witness it.
See, here he comes.
Enter LUCE'S Father, a plain Citizen.
Y. Chart. Father, save you! You have happened of an untoward son-in-
law; here I am, how do you like me?
Luce's Fa. Sir, I was nearer than you were aware,
And overheard both sum and circumstance.
Y. Chart. [Aside.] Then I perceive you are an old
eavesdropper.—But what do you think of it, father?
Luce's Fa. I entertain the motion with all love,
And I rejoice my daughter is preferred
And raised to such a match; I heard the contract,
And will confirm it gladly: but pray, sir,
When shall the merry day be?
Y. Chart. Marry, even to-morrow by that we can see: nay,
we'll lose no
more time; I'll take order for that.
Luce. Stay but a month.
Y. Chart. A month! thou canst not hire me to't. Why, Luce, if thou
beest hungry, canst thou stay a month from meat? Nay, if I see my diet before
me, I love to fall to when I have a stomach. Here, buy thee a new smock; let's
have a new bed too, and look it be strong; there's a box of rings and jewels,
lay them up. Ha, sirrah! methinks the very name of wedlock hath brought me to
a
night-cap already, and I am grown civil on the sudden. There's more money for
dishes, platters, ladles, candlesticks, &c., as I shall find them set down in
the inventory.
Luce's Fa. But whom shall we invite unto the wedding?
Enter 2nd LUCE in the habit of a Page; she retires.
Y. Chart. Ay, thereby hangs a tale. We will have no more at our
marriage
but myself, to say, "I take thee, Luce;" thou to say, "I, Luce, take thee,
Robin;" the vicar to put us together; and you, father, to play the clerk, and
cry "Amen."
Luce's Fa. Your reason for that?
Y. Chart. I would not for a world it should be known to my friends,
or
come to my father's ear. It may be ten thousand pounds out of my way. For the
present, therefore, this is my conceit: let us be married privately, and Luce
shall live like a maid still, and bear the name. 'Tis nothing, Luce: it is a
common thing in this age to go for a maid, and be none. I'll frequent the
house
secretly. Fear not, girl; though I revel abroad o' days, I'll be with thee to
bring o'nights, my little whiting-mop.
Luce. But so I may incur a public scandal,
By your so oft frequenting to my chamber.
Y. Chart. Scandal! what scandal? Why, to stop the mouth of all
scandal,
after some few days do I appear in my likeness, married man and honest
housekeeper, and then what becomes of your scandal? Come, send for
Master Vicar;
and what we do, let's do suddenly.
2nd Luce. Cold comfort for me. [Aside.
Luce. If you purpose to be so privately married, I know one excellent at
such an exploit. Are you not acquainted with the Wise-woman of Hogsdon?
Y. Chart. Oh, the witch, the beldam, the hag of Hogsdon?
Luce. The same, but I hold her to be of no such condition. I will
anon
make a step thither, and punctually acquaint her with all our proceedings: she
is never without a Sir John at her elbow, ready for such a stratagem.
Y. Chart. Well, be't so, then.
[Exeunt all except 2nd LUCE.
2nd Luce. Heigh-ho! have I disguised myself, and stolen out of the
country thus far, and can light of no better news to entertain me? Oh, this
wild-headed, wicked Chartley, whom nothing will tame! To this gallant was I,
poor gentlewoman, betrothed, and the marriage day appointed; but he, out of a
fantastic and giddy humour, before the time prefixed, posts up to London.
After
him come I thus habited, and you see my welcome—to be an ear-witness of hi
s
second contracting. Modesty would not suffer me to discover myself, otherwise
I
should have gone near to have marred the match. I heard them talk of Hogsdon,
and a wise-woman, where these aims shall be brought to action. I'll see if I
can
insinuate myself into her service; that's my next project: and now good luck of
my side! [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—Before the Wise-woman's House.
Enter the Wise-woman, a Countryman with a urinal, two Citizens'
Wives, TABER, and a Kitchen-maid.
WISE-WO. Fie, fie! what a toil and a moil it is
For a woman to be wiser than all her neighbours!
I pray, good people, press not too fast upon me;
Though I have two ears, I can hear but one at once.
You with the urine.
Enter 2nd LUCE in Boy's clothes; she stands aside.
Coun. Here, forsooth, mistress.
Wise-wo. And who distilled this water?
Coun. My wife's limbeck, if it please you.
Wise-wo. And where doth the pain hold her most?
Coun. Marry, at her heart, forsooth.
Wise-wo. Ay, at her heart, she hath a griping at her heart?
Coun. You have hit it right.
Wise-wo. Nay, I can see so much in the urine.
2nd Luce. Just so much as is told her. [Aside.
Wise-wo. She hath no pain in her head, hath she?
Coun. No, indeed, I never heard her complain of her head.
Wise-wo. I told you so, her pain lies all at her heart;
Alas, good heart! but how feels she her stomach?
Coun. Oh, queasy and sick at stomach.
Wise-wo. Ay, I warrant you, I think I can see as far into a
mill-stone
as another. You have heard of Mother Nottingham, who for her time
was prettily
well skilled in casting of waters; and after her, Mother Bomby;
and then there
is one Hatfield in Pepper Alley, he doth pretty well for a thing that's lost.
There's another in Coleharbour, that's skilled in the planets. Mother Sturton,
in Golden Lane, is for fore-speaking; Mother Phillips, of the Bankside, for
the
weakness of the back; and then there's a very reverend matron on Clerkenwell
Green, good at many things. Mistress Mary on the Bankside is for 'recting a
figure; and one (what do you call her?) in Westminster, that practiseth the boo
k
and the key, and the sieve and the shears: and all do well, according to their
talent. For myself, let the world speak. Hark you, my friend, you shall
take—[She whispers.
2nd Luce. 'Tis strange the ignorant should be thus fooled!
What can this witch, this wizard, or old trot,
Do by enchantment, or by magic spell?
Such as profess that art should be deep scholars.
What reading can this simple woman have?
'Tis palpable gross foolery. [Exit Countryman.
Wise-wo. Now, friend, your business?
Taber. I have stolen out of my master's house, forsooth, with the
kitchen-maid, and I am come to know of you whether it be my fortune to have
her
or no.
Wise-wo. And what's your suit, lady?
Kitchen-m. Forsooth, I come to know whether I be a maid or no.
Wise-wo. Why, art thou in doubt of that?
Kitchen-m. It may be I have more reason than all the world knows.
Taber. Nay, if thou comest to know whether thou be'st a maid or no, I
had best ask to know whether I be with child or no.
Wise-wo. Withdraw into the parlour there; I'll but talk with this
other
gentlewoman, and I'll resolve you presently.
Taber. Come, Cicely, if she cannot resolve thee, I can; and in
the case
of a maidenhead do more than she, I warrant thee. [Exeunt TABER and
Kitchen-maid.
1st Cit. Wife. Forsooth, I am bold, as they say_____
Wise-wo. You are welcome, gentlewoman.
1st Cit. Wife. I would not have it known to my neighbours that I come
to a wise-woman for any thing, by my truly.
Wise-wo. For should your husband come and find you here—
1st Cit. Wife. My husband, woman! I am a widow.
Wise-wo. Where are my brains? 'Tis true, you are a widow; and you
dwell—let me see, I can never remember that place.
1st Cit. Wife. In Kent-street.
Wise-wo. Kent-street, Kent-street! and I can tell you wherefore you
come.
1st Cit. Wife. Why, and say true?
Wise-wo. You are a wag, you are a wag: why, what do you think now I
would say?
1st Cit. Wife. Perhaps to know how many husbands I should have.
Wise-wo. And if I should say so, should I say amiss?
1st Cit. Wife. I think you are a witch.
Wise-wo. In, in: I'll but read a little of Ptolemy and Erra Pater;
and
when I have cast a figure, I'll come to you presently. [Exeunt Citizens'
Wives.] Now, wag, what wouldst thou have?
2nd Luce. [Aside.] If this were a wise-woman, she could tell
that
without asking. Now methinks I should come to know whether I were a boy or a
girl.—Forsooth, I lack a service.
Wise-wo. By my fidelity, and I want a good trusty lad.
2nd Luce. [Aside.] Now could I sigh, and say "Alas! this is some
bawd trade-fallen, and out of her wicked experience is come to be reputed
wise."
I'll serve her, be't but to pry into the mystery of her science.
Wise-wo. A proper stripling, and a wise, I warrant
him.—Here's a
penny for thee, I'll hire thee for a year by the Statute of Winchester; prove
true and honest, and thou shalt want nothing that a good boy—
2nd Luce. Here, wise-woman, you are out again: I shall want what a
good
boy should have, whilst I live.—Well, here I shall live both unknown,
and
my sex unsuspected. But whom have we here?
Enter HARINGFIELD, and Young CHARTLEY half drunk.
Y. Chart. Come, Haringfield, now we have been drinking of Mother Red-
cap's ale, let us now go make some sport with the wise-woman.
Har. We shall be thought very wise men of all such as shall see
us go
in to the wise-woman's.
Y. Chart. See, here she is. How now, witch! How now, hag! How now,
beldam! You are the wise-woman, are you? and have wit to keep yourself warm
enough, I warrant you.
Wise-wo. Out, thou knave!
2nd Luce. And will these wild oats never be sown?
[Aside.
Y. Chart. You enchantress, sorceress, she-devil! you Madam Hecate, Lady
Proserpine! you are too old, you hag, now, for conjuring up spirits yourself;
but you keep pretty young witches under your roof, that can do that.
Wise-wo. I or my family conjure up any spirits! I defy thee, thou
young
hare-brained—
Har. Forbear him till he have his senses about him, and I shall then
hold thee for a wise-woman indeed: otherwise, I shall doubt thou hast thy name
for nothing. Come, friend, away, if thou lovest me.
Y. Chart. Away, you old dromedary! I'll come one of these nights, and
make a racket amongst your she-caterwaulers.
Har. I prithee let's be civil.
Y. Chart. Out of my sight, thou she-mastiff!
[Exeunt Young CHARTLEY and HARINGFIELD.
2nd Luce. Patience, sweet mistress.
Wise-wo. Now, bless me, he hath put me into such a fear, as makes all
my bones to dance and rattle in my skin: I'll be revenged on that swaggering
companion.
2nd Luce. Mistress, I wish you would; he's a mere mad-cap, and all
his
delight is in misusing such reverend matrons as yourself.
Wise-wo. Well, what's thy name, boy?
2nd Luce. I am even little better than a turnbroach, for my name is
Jack.
Wise-wo. Honest Jack, if thou couldst but devise how I might cry
quittance with this cutting Dick I will go near to adopt thee my son and heir.
2nd Luce. Mistress, there is a way, and this it is:
To-morrow morning doth this gentleman
Intend to marry with one Mistress Luce,
A goldsmith's daughter; do you know the maid?
Wise-wo. My daughter, and a pretty smug-faced girl. I had a note but
late from her, and she means to be with me in the evening: for I have bespoke
Sir Boniface to marry her in the morning.
2nd Luce. Do but prevent this gallant of his wife,
And then your wrongs shall be revenged at full.
Wise-wo. I'll do't, as I am matron; ay, and show him a new trick for
his learning.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Morrow.
Wise-wo. You're welcome, sir.
Boys. Art wise?
2nd Luce. He should be wise, because he speaks few words.
Wise-wo. I am as I am, and there's an end.
Boys. Canst conjure?
Wise-wo. Oh, that's a foul word! but I can tell you your fortune, as
they say; I have some little skill in palmistry, but never had to do with the
devil.
Boys. And had the devil never anything to do with thee? thou look'st
somewhat like his dam. Look on me: canst tell what I ail?
Wise-wo. Can you tell yourself? I should guess you be mad, or not
well
in your wits.
Boys. Thou'rt wise, I am so: men being in love are mad, and I
being in
love am so.
Wise-wo. Nay, if I see your complexion once, I think I can guess as
near as another.
Boys. One Mistress Luce I love; know'st thou her, grannam?
Wise-wo. As well as the beggar knows his dish. Why, she is one of my
daughters.
Boys. Make her my wife, I'll give thee forty pieces.
2nd Luce. Take them, mistress, to be revenged on Chartley.
Wise-wo. A bargain; strike me luck. Cease all your sorrow;
Fair Luce shall be your bride betimes to-morrow.
Boys. Thou'rt a good grannam; and, but that thy teeth stand like
hedge-
stakes in thy head, I'd kiss thee. [Exit.
Wise-wo. Pray will you in? Come hither, Jack; I have a new trick come
into my head: wilt thou assist me in't?
2nd Luce. If it concern the crossing of the marriage with Mistress
Luce, I'll do't, whate'er it be.
Wise-wo. Thou shalt be tired like a woman. Can you make a
curtsey, take
small strides, simper, and seem modest? methinks thou hast a woman's voice
already.
2nd Luce. Doubt not of me, I'll act them naturally.
Wise-wo. I have conceited to have Luce married to this
blunt gentleman,
she mistaking him for Chartley; and Chartley shall marry thee,
being a boy, and
take thee for Luce. Will't not be excellent?
2nd Luce. Oh, super, super-excellent!
Wise-wo. Play but thy part as I'll act mine. I'll fit him with a wife,
I warrant him.
2nd Luce. And a wife I'll warrant him. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in Sir HARRY'S House.
Enter Sir HARRY and TABER.
Sir Harry. Ha, then thou sawest them whispering with my daughter?
Taber. I saw them, if it shall please you, not whisper, but—
Sir Harry. How then, thou knave!
Taber. Marry, sir knight, I saw them in sad talk; but to say they
were
directly whispering, I am not able.
Sir Harry. Why, Taber, that sad talk was whispering.
Taber. Nay, they did not greatly whisper, for I heard what was said,
and what was said I have the wit to keep to myself.
Sir Harry. What said the unthrift, Taber? tell me, knave;
Tell me, good knave, what did the unthrift say?
Taber. I am loth to be called in question about men and women's
matters, but as soon as ever he saw your daughter I heard what was spoke.
Sir Harry. Here, sirrah, take thy quarter's wages afore-hand,
And tell me all their words, and what their greeting
Was at their first encounter; hold thine hand.
Taber. Thanks, noble sir; and now I'll tell you.
Your daughter being walking to take the air of the fields, and I before her,
whom should we meet just in the nick—
Sir Harry. Just in the nick, man!
Taber. In the highway I meant, sir.
Sir Harry. Ha, and what conference passed betwixt them, Taber?
Taber. As well as my pipe can utter, you shall know, sir. This
gentleman meeting with my young mistress full butt—imagine you were she,
and I young Master Sencer; now there you come, and here I meet you; he comes
in
this manner, and puts off his hat in this fashion.
Sir Harry. Ay, but what said he?
Taber. "Be with you, fair gentlewoman;" and so goes quite away, and
scarce so much as once looked back: and if this were language to offer to a
young lady, judge you.
Sir Harry. But spake he nothing else?
Taber. Nothing, as I am true.
Sir Harry. Why, man, all this was nothing.
Taber. Yes, sir, it was as much as my quarter's wages afore-hand.
Enter SENCER, HARINGFIELD, and GRATIANA.
Grat. Here are two gentlemen, with great desire,
Crave conference with my father. Here he is:
Now, gallants, you may freely speak your minds.
Sen. Save you, sir! my name is Sencer; I am a Northamptonshire
gentleman, born to a thousand pound land by the year: I love your daughter,
and
I am come to crave your good-will.
Sir Harry. Have you my daughter's that you covet mine?
Sen. No, sir, but I hope in time I shall have.
Sir Harry. So hope not I, sir. Sir, my daughter's young,
And you a gentleman unknown. Sencer! ha, Sencer?
Oh, sir, your name I now remember well;
'Tis ranked 'mongst unthrifts, dicers, swaggerers, and drunkards:
Were not you brought before me, some month since,
For beating of the watch? by the same token,
I sent you to the Counter.
Sen. I confess myself to have been in that action, but note the
cause,
sir: you could not have pleasured me so much, in giving me a piece of
gold, as
at the same time to help me to that Counter.
Sir Harry. Why, sir, what cause had you to beat the watch,
And raise a midnight tumult in the streets?
Sen. Nay, but hear me, sweet Sir Harry. Being somewhat late
at supper
at the Mitre, the doors were shut at my lodging; I knocked at three or four
places more; all were a-bed, and fast; inns, taverns, none would give me
entertainment. Now, would you have had me despaired, and lain in the streets?
No, I bethought me of a trick worth two of that, and presently devised, having
at that time a charge of money about me, to be lodged, and safely too.
Sir Harry. As how, I pray you?
Sen. Marry, thus: I had knocked my heels against the ground a good
while, knew not where to have a bed for love or money. Now, what did I, but,
spying the watch, went and hit the constable a good souse on the ear, who
provided me of a lodging presently? and the next day, being brought before
your
worship, I was then sent thither back again, where I lay three or four days
without control.
Sir Harry. Oh, you're a gallant! Is that gentleman
A suitor too?
Har. I am a suitor in my friend's behalf,
No otherwise. I can assure you, sir,
He is a gentleman descended well,
Derived from a good house, well qualified,
And well possessed; but that which most should move you,
He loves your daughter.
Grat. [Aside.] But were I to choose
Which of these two should please my fancy best,
I sooner should affect this gentleman,
For his mild carriage and his fair discourse,
Than my hot suitor. Ruffians I detest;
A smooth and square behaviour likes me most.
Sen. What say you to me, lady?
Grat. You had best ask my father what I should say.
Sen. Are you angry, sweet lady, that I asked your father's consent?
Grat. No; if you can get his consent to marry him, shall it displease
me?
Har. Indeed you therein much forget yourself,
To sound her father ere you tasted her.
You should have first sought means for her goodwill,
And after compassed his.
Sir Harry. He can prevail with neither.—Gentlemen,
If you will come to revel, you are welcome;
If to my table, welcome; if to use me
In any grateful office, welcome too;
But, if you come as suitors, there's the door.
Sen. The door!
Sir Harry. I say the door.
Sen. Why, sir, tell not me of your door, nor going out of it. Your
company is fair and good, and so is your daughter's; I'll stay here this
twelvemonth, ere I'll offer to trouble your door.
Sir Harry. Sir, but you shall not.—Taber! where's that knave?
Sen. Why, sir, I hope you do not mean to make us dance, that you call
for a tabor.
Har. Nay, Master Sencer, do not urge the knight;
He is incensed now; choose a fitter hour,
And tempt his love in that. Old men are testy;
Their rage, if stood against, grows violent,
But, suffered and forborne, confounds itself.
Sir Harry. Where's Taber?
Taber. [Coming forward.] At hand, noble master.
Sir Harry. Show them the door.
Taber. That I will,—and take money too, if it please them.
Sen. Is thy name Taber?
Taber. I am so yclept, sir.
Sen. And, Taber, are you appointed to give us Jack Drum's
entertainment?
Taber. Why, sir, you do not play upon me.
Sen. Though I cannot, yet I have known an hare that could. But,
knight,
thou dost not forbid us thine house?
Sir Harry. Yes, and forewarn it too.
Sen. But, by thy favour, we may choose whether we will take any warnin
g
or no. Well, farewell, old knight! though thou forbid'st me thine house, I'll
honour thee, and extol thee; and, though thou keep'st me from thy daughter,
thou
shalt not hinder me to love her and admire her, and, by thy favour,
sometimes to
see her. A cat may look at a king, and so may I at her. Give me thine hand,
knight; the next time I come into thy company, thou shalt not only bid me
welcome, but hire me to stay with thee, and thy daughter.
Sir Harry. When I do that enjoy my full consent
To marry Gratiana.
Sen. 'Tis a match; strike me luck. Wife that may be,
farewell; father-
in-law that must be, adieu. Taber, play before my friend and
I will dance after.
[Exeunt SENCER, HARINGFIELD and TABER.
Sir Harry. When I receive thee gladly to mine house,
And wage thy stay, thou shalt have Gratiana,
Doubt not thou shalt. Here's a strange humourist
To come a-wooing.
Re-enter TABER.
Taber, are they gone?
Taber. I have played them away, if it please your
worship; and yonder
at the door attends a schoolmaster; you sent for him, if
you remember, to teach
my little young master and mistress.
Sir Harry. A proper scholar; pray him to come near.
Enter Sir BONIFACE.
Sir Bon. Eques honoratus, ave salutatus! non
video quid est in tergo, sed
salve, bona virgo.
Sir Harry. Sir, you may call me nicknames: if you love me,
Speak in your mother-tongue; or, at the least,
If learning be so much allied unto you,
That Latin unawares flows from your lips,
To make your mind familiar with my knowledge,
Pray utter it in English: what's your name?
Sir Bon. Sit faustum tibi omen.
I'll tell you my nomen.
Sir Harry. Will you tell it to no men?
I'll entertain none ere I know their names.
Nay, if you be so dainty of your name,
You are not for my service.
Sir Bon. Intende, vir nobilis.
Sir Harry. Not for twenty nobles:
Trust me, I will not buy your name so dear.
Sir Bon. O ignorantia! what it is to deal with stupidity? Sir Henry,
Sir Henry, hear me one word: I see, Preceptor legit, vos vero negligitis.
Taber. I think he saith we are a company of fools and nidgets; but I hope
you shall not find us such, Master Schoolmaster.
Sir Harry. Friend, friend, to cut off all vain circumstance,
Tell me your name, and answer me directly,
Plainly, and to my understanding too,
Or I shall leave you. Here's a deal of gibberish!
Sir Bon. Vir bone_____
Sir Harry. Nay, nay, make me no bones, but do't.
Sir Bon. Then, in plain vulgar English, I am called
Sir Boniface Absee.
Sir Harry. Why, this is somewhat like, Sir Boniface!
Give me thine hand; thou art a proper man,
And in my judgment, a great scholar too.
What shall I give thee by the year?
Sir Bon. I'll trust, sir, to your generosity;
I will not bargain, but account myself,
Mille et mille modis, bound to you.
Sir Harry. I cannot leave my mills; they're farmed already:
The stipend that I give shall be in money.
Taber. Sure, sir, this is some miller that comes to undermine you, in
the shape of a schoolmaster.
Grat. You both mistake the scholar.
Sir Harry. I understand my English, that I know;
What's more than modern doth surpass my reach.
Sir Boniface, come to me two days hence,
You shall receive an answer; I have now
Matters of some import that trouble me,
Thou shouldst be else despatched.
Taber. Sir Boniface, if you come to live in our house, and be a
familist amongst us, I shall desire your better acquaintance; your name and my
physiognomy should have some consanguinity, good Sir Boniface.
Sir Bon. Quomodo vales, quomodo vales.
Taber. Go with you to the ale-house? I like the motion well; I'll make
an
excuse out of doors and follow you. I am glad yet, we shall have a
good-fellow
come into the house amongst us.
Sir Bon. Vale, vir magne.
Sir Harry. You shall not have me at Saint Magnes, my house is here in
Gracious-street.
Sir Bon. I know it, sweet knight, I know it. Then,
virgo formosa et
Domine gratiose valete.
Sir Harry. Ay, in Gracious-street you shall hear of me, Sir Boniface.
[Exit Sir BONIFACE.
He shall instruct my children; and to thee,
Fair Gratiana, read the Latin tongue.
Taber. Who shall? Sir Bawdy-face?
Sir Harry. Sir Boniface, you fool.
Taber. His name is so hard to hit on.
Sir Harry. Come, daughter, if things fall out as I intend,
My thoughts shall peace have, and these troubles end.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—A Room in the Wise-woman's House.
Enter 2nd LUCE, in woman's apparel, and the Wise-woman.
WISE-WO. Jack, thou art my boy.
2nd Luce. Mistress!
Wise-wo. I'll be a mother to thee, no mistress. Come, lad, I must
have
thee sworn to the orders of my house, and the secrets thereof.
2nd Luce. As I am an honest lad, I am yours to command. But,
mistress,
what mean all these women's pictures, hanged here in your withdrawing-room?
Wise-wo. I'll tell thee, boy—marry, thou must be secret. When any
citizens or young gentlemen come hither, under a colour to know their
fortunes,
they look upon these pictures, and which of them they best like, she is ready
with a wet finger. Here they have all the furniture belonging to a private-
chamber,—bed, bed-fellow, and all. But mum! thou knowest my meaning,
Jack.
2nd Luce. But I see, coming and going, maids, or such as go for
maids,
some of them as if they were ready to lie down, sometimes two or three
delivered
in one night; then suddenly leave their brats behind them, and convey
themselves
into the city again:—what becomes of their children?
Wise-wo. Those be kitchen-maids, and chamber-maids, and
sometimes good
men's daughters, who, having catched a clap, and growing near their time, get
leave to see their friends in the country, for a week or so: then hither they
come, and for a matter of money here they are delivered. I have a midwife or
two
belonging to the house, and one Sir Boniface, a deacon, that makes a shift to
christen the infants; we have poor, honest, and secret neighbours, that stand
for common gossips. But dost not thou know this?
2nd Luce. Yes, now I do; but what after becomes of the poor infants?
Wise-wo. Why, in the night we send them abroad, and lay one at this
man's door, and another at that, such as are able to keep them; and what after
becomes of them, we inquire not. And this is another string to my bow.
2nd Luce. [Aside.] Most strange, that woman's brain should
apprehend
Such lawless, indirect, and horrid means
For covetous gain! How many unknown trades
Women and men are free of, which they never
Had charter for!
But, mistress, are you so cunning as you make yourself? you can neither write
nor read: what do you with those books you so often turn over?
Wise-wo. Why, tell the leaves; for to be ignorant, and seem ignorant,
what greater folly!
2nd Luce. [Aside.] Believe me, this is a cunning woman; neither
hath she her name for nothing, who out of her ignorance can fool so many that
think themselves wise.—But wherefore have you built this little closet
close to the door, where sitting, you may hear every word spoken by all such
as
ask for you?
Wise-wo. True, and therefore I built it. If any knock, you must to
the
door and question them, to find what they come about,—if to this
purpose,
or to that. Now, they ignorantly telling thee their errand, which I,
sitting in
my closet, overhear, presently come forth, and tell them the cause of their
coming, with every word that hath passed betwixt you in private; which they
admiring, and thinking it to be miraculous, by their report I become thus
famous.
2nd Luce. This is no trade, but a mystery; and, were I a
wise-woman, as
indeed I am but a foolish boy, I need not live by your service.
But, mistress,
we lose ourselves in this discourse: is not this the morning in which I should
be married?
Wise-wo. Now, how had I forgot myself! Mistress Luce promised to be
with me half and hour ago, but masked and disguised, and so shalt thou be too:
here's a black veil to hide thy face against the rest come.
[2nd LUCE puts on the veil.
Enter Sir BONIFACE.
Sir Bon. Sit tibi bona dies, salus et quies.
Wise-wo. Into the withdrawing-room, Sir Boniface.
Sir Bon. Without any compunction, I will make the conjunction.
[Exit.
Wise-wo. Now keep thy countenance, boy.
2nd Luce. Fear not me; I have as good a face in a mask as any
lady in
the land could wish to have. But to my heart,—he comes, or he comes
not—now am I in a pitiful perplexity, until I see the event of all.
Wise-wo. No more Jack now, but Mistress Luce.
2nd Luce. I warrant you, mistress.—That it happens so luckily,
that my name should be Luce too, to make the marriage more firm!
Enter Young CHARTLEY disguised, and in a visard.
Y. Chart. My honey-sweet hag, where's Luce?
Wise-wo. Here, sweetheart, but disguised and veiled, as you are
visarded.
Y. Chart. But what's the reason we are thus hood-winked?
Wise-wo. No discovery of yourselves for a million! There's
Sir Boniface
within—shall he blab who you are? besides, there's a young
heir that hath
stolen a lord's daughter from the Court, and would not have
their faces seen for
a world. Cannot you be content to fare well, and keep your
own counsel? And see,
yonder they come.
Enter, severally, BOYSTER visarded and LUCE masked.
Y. Chart. Gramercy, my sugar-candy sweet Trot!
Wise-wo. Mum, no more words.
Y. Chart. If the great heir and the young lady be so dainty of their
complexions, they shall see, my sweet Luce, we can visard it with the best of
them.
Luce. [Looking at BOYSTER.] That gentleman, by the wise-woman's
description, should be Master Chartley.
Boys. That gallant wench, if my grannam fable not, should be Luce;
but
what be those other?
Wise-wo. You wrong me but to ask. Who but a young heir, and a lady of
the Court? That's Luce; take her, and keep your promise.
Boys. Pocas palabras.
Wise-wo. That's Chartley; take him, Luce.
Luce. But who be they?
Wise-wo. A lord and lady. Shall Sir Boniface stay? Rather than so,
strive who should lead the way.
[Exeunt CHARTLEY with 2nd LUCE, BOYSTER with LUCE.
Wise-wo. Now, Jack my boy, keep thine own counsel and countenance,
and
I shall cry quittance with my young gallant. Well, by this time Sir
Boniface is
at his book. But because there is a mistake, known only to my boy and myself,
the marriage shall be no sooner ended but I'll disturb them by some sudden
outcry, and that too before they have leisure to unmask, and make known
themselves one to another; for, if the deceit were known, I should fall into
the
danger of that young mad rascal. And now this double apprehension of the lord
and the lady shall fetch me off from all. I know it is Sir Boniface's custom
to
make short work, and h'ath dispatched by this. And now, wise-woman, try if
thou
canst bestir thyself like to a mad-woman.—Shift for yourselves! Warrants
and pursuivants! Away! warrants and pursuivants! shift for yourselves!
Re-enter, as affrighted and amazed, Young CHARTLEY, BOYSTER, Sir BONIFACE,
LUCE, and 2nd LUCE.
Y. Chart. I'll take this way.
Boys. I this. [Exeunt Young CHARTLEY and BOYSTER.
Sir Bon. Curro, curris, cucurri: my cheeks are all murrey, and I am
gone in an hurry. [Exit.
Luce. O Heaven! what shall become of me?
2nd Luce. I know what shall become of me already.
Wise-wo. O sweet daughter, shift clothes with this lady. Nay, as thou
lovest thy credit and mine, change habits—[They change their outer
garments.]—So, if thou be'st taken in her garments, finding the mistake
will let thee pass; and should they meet her in thine, not knowing her, would
no
way question her; and this prove to both your securities and my safety.
Luce. As fast as I can, good mother. So, madam, farewell. [Exit.
2nd Luce. All happy joys betide you! [Exit.
Wise-wo. Ha, ha! let me hold my sides, and laugh. Here were even a plot
to make a play on, but that Chartley is so fooled by my boy Jack: well, he'll
make a notable wag, I'll warrant him. All the jest will be, if Boyster should
meet with him in Luce's habit, which he hath now on, he would think himself
merely gulled and cheated; and should Chartley meet with Luce as she is now
robed, he would be confident he had married her. Let me see how many trades
have
I to live by: first, I am a wise-woman, and a fortune-teller, and under
that I
deal in physic and fore-speaking, in palmistry, and recovering of
things lost;
next, I undertake to cure mad folks; then I keep gentlewomen
lodgers, to furnish
such chambers as I let out by the night; then I am provided
for bringing young
wenches to bed; and, for a need, you see I can play the match-maker.
She that is but one, and professeth so many,
May well be termed a wise-woman, if there be any.
[Exit.
SCENE II.—Before the Wise-woman's House.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Why run away, and leave my wench behind? I'll back. What have
warrants and pursuivants to do with me? with me! why should I budge? why
should
I wear mask or visard? If lords or ladies offend, let lords and ladies
answer.
Let me better bethink me. Why should I play at hoodman-blind? Hum: why marry
in tenebris? ha! is there no trick in it? If my grannam should make me a
younger brother now, and, instead of Luce, pop me off with some broken
commodity, I were finely served: most sure I am to be in for better
and worse;
but with whom, Heaven and my grannam knows.
Enter 2nd LUCE, half-dressed and masked.
2nd Luce. I am stolen out of doors, to see if I can meet my husband,
with whom I purpose to make some sport, ere I suddenly disclose myself. What's
he?
Boys. Heyday, what have we here? an hobberdehoy! Come hither, you.
2nd Luce. 'Tis Mistress Luce's husband, I'll not leave him thus.
Boys. What art thou?
2nd Luce. Do you not know me?
Boys. That mask and robe I know.
2nd Luce. I hope so, or else I were in a woe case.
Boys. That mask, that gown I married.
2nd Luce. Then you have no reason, but to enjoy both them and me too,
and so you are like; I should be loth to divorce man and wife.
Boys. I am fooled. But what cracked ware are you, forsooth?
2nd Luce. I belong to the old gentlewoman of the house.
Boys. I'll set her house on fire. I am finely bobbed.
2nd Luce. But I hope you will not bob me.
Boys. No, I'se warrant thee. What art thou? girl or boy?
2nd Luce. Both, and neither; I was a lad last night, but in the
morning
I was conjured into a lass; and, being a girl now, I shall be translated to a
boy anon. Here's all I can at this time say for myself. Farewell. [Exit.
Boys. Yes, and be hanged withal! O for some gunpowder to blow up this
witch, this she-cat, this damned sorceress! Oh, I could tear her to fitters
with
my teeth! Yet I must be patient, and put up all, lest I be made a jeer to
such
as know me. Fooled by a boy! Go to! of all the rest, the girl Luce must
not know
it. [Exit.
Enter Young CHARTLEY and his Man, and LUCE, meeting.
Y. Chart. So, now am I the same man I was yesterday. Who can say I was
disguised? or who can distinguish my condition now, or read in my face,
whether
I be a married man or a bachelor?
Luce. Who's that?
Y. Chart. Luce?
Luce. Sweet husband, is it you?
Y. Chart. The news?
Luce. Never so frighted in my days.
Y. Chart. What's become of the lord and the lady?
Luce. The lord fled after you; the lady stayed,
Who, masked and half-unready, ran fast after
Her poor affrighted husband. Now all's quiet.
Y. Chart. This storm is then well past, and now convey
yourself home as
privately as you can; and see you make this known to none but your father.
Luce. I am your wife and servant. [Exit.
Y. Chart. The name of Luce hath been ominous to me: one Luce I should
have married in the country, and, just the night before, a toy took me in the
head, and mounting my horse, I left capons, ducks, geese, poultry, wildfowl,
father, and bride, and all, and posted up to London, where I have ever since
continued bachelor, till now. And now—
Enter GRATIANA in haste, a Serving-man before her, and TABER
after
her.
Grat. Nay, on, I prithee, fellow, on! my father will wonder where I have
been visiting. Now, what had I forgot! Taber, there's money; go to the
goldsmith's, bid him send me my fan, and make a quick return. On, fellow, on.
[Exeunt GRATIANA and Serving-man.
Taber. Her fan at the goldsmith's! now had I forgot to ask her his
name, or his sign; but I will after to know. [Exit.
Y. Chart. Sirrah, go call me back that serving-man, And ask him what's
the gentlewoman's name.
Serv. I shall. Ho, you, friend, you!
Re-enter TABER.
Taber. Who's that calls?
Serv. 'Twas I.
Taber. Your business? You should be one, though not of my cognisance,
yet of my condition,—a serving-creature, as I take it: pray what's your
will with me?
Serv. Pray, sir, what might I call that gentlewoman, on whom you were
attendant?
Taber. You may call her what you please; but if you call her
otherwise
than in the way of honesty, you may perchance hear on't.
Serv. Nay, be not offended: I say, what do you call her?
Taber. Why, sir, I call her as it shall best please me;
sometimes young
lady, sometimes young mistress; and what hath any man to do with that?
Y. Chart. Are you so captious, sirrah? What's her name?
Speak, and be brief.
Taber. Ay, marry, sir, you speak to purpose, and I can
resolve you: her
name is Gratiana. But all this while I have forgot my mistress' fan. [Exit.
Y. Chart. Gratiana! oft have I heard of her, but saw her not till now:
'tis a pretty wench, a very pretty wench,—nay, a very, very, very pretty
wench. But what a rogue am I, of a married man—nay, that have not been
married this six hours, and to have my shittle-wits run a wool-gathering
already! What would poor Luce say if she should hear of this? I may very well
call her poor Luce, for I cannot presume of five pounds to her portion. What a
coxcomb was I, being a gentleman, and well derived, to match into so beggarly
a
kindred! What needed I to have grafted in the stock of such a choke-pear, and
such a goodly popering as this to escape me! Escape me, said I? if she do, she
shall do it narrowly. But I am married already, and therefore it is not
possible, unless I should make away my wife, to compass her. Married! why, who
knows it? I'll outface the priest, and then there is none but she and her
father, and their evidence is not good in law; and if they put me in suit, the
best is, they are poor, and cannot follow it. Ay, marry, sir, a man may have
some credit by such a wife as this. I could like this marriage well, if a man
might change away his wife, still as he is a-weary of her, and cope her away
like a bad commodity; if every new moon a man might have a new wife, that's
every year a dozen. But this "Till death us do part" is tedious. I will go a-
wooing to her, I will; but how shall I do for jewels and tokens? Luce hath
mine
in her custody, money and all. Tush, I'll juggle them from her well
enough. See,
here she comes.
Enter LUCE and her Father.
Luce. Here is my husband; I pray move him in it.
Luce's Fa. It toucheth both our reputations nearly;
For by his oft repair, now whilst the marriage
Is kept from public knowledge, your good name
May be by neighbours hardly censured of.
Y. Chart. Thou'rt sad, thou'rt sad, Luce: what, melancholy already, er
e
thou hast had good cause to be merry, and knew'st what sport was!
Luce. I have great reason, when my name is tossed
In every gossip's mouth, and made a bye-word
Unto such people as it least concerns.
Nay, in my hearing, as they pass along,
Some have not spared to brand my modesty,
Saying, "There sits she whom young Chartley keeps:
There hath he entered late, betimes gone forth."
Where I with pride was wont to sit before,
I'm now with shame sent blushing from the door.
Y. Chart. Alas, poor fool! I am sorry for thee, but yet cannot help
thee, as I am a gentleman. Why, say, Luce, thou losest now forty shillings
worth
of credit, stay but a time, and it shall bring thee in a thousand pounds
worth
of commodity.
Luce's Fa. Son, son, had I esteemed my profit more
Than I have done my credit, I had now
Been many thousands richer; but you see,
Truth and good dealing bear an humble sail.
That little I enjoy, it is with quiet,
Got with good conscience, kept with good report;
And that I still shall labour to preserve.
Y. Chart. But do you hear me?
Luce's Fa. Nothing I'll hear that tends unto the ruin
Of mine or of my daughter's honesty.
Shall I be held a broker to lewd lust,
Now in my wane of years?
Y. Chart. Will you but hear me?
Luce's Fa. Not in this case. I that have lived thus long,
Reported well, esteemed a welcome guest
At every burthened table, there respected,
Now to be held a pander to my daughter!
That I should live to this!
Y. Chart. But hark you, father!
Luce's Fa. A bawd to mine own child!
Y. Chart. Father!
Luce's Fa. To my sweet Luce!
Y. Chart. Father!
Luce's Fa. Deal with me like a son, then call me father.
I that have had the tongues of every man
Ready to crown my reputation,
The hands of all my neighbours to subscribe
To my good life, and such as could not write
Ready with palsied and unlettered fingers
To set their scribbling marks—
Y. Chart. Why, father-in-law!
Luce's Fa. Thou hadst a mother, Luce—'tis woe with me
To say thou hadst, but hast not a kind wife,
And a good nurse she was: she, had she lived
To hear my name thus canvassed, and thus tossed,
Seven years before she died, I had been a widower
Seven years before I was. Heaven rest her soul!
She is in Heaven, I hope. [He wipes his eyes.
Y. Chart. Why, so now, these be good words: I knew these storms would
have a shower, and then they would cease. Now, if your anger be over, hear me.
Luce's Fa. Well, say on, son.
Y. Chart. Stay but a month, 'tis but four weeks—nay, 'tis
February, the shortest month of the year—and in that time I shall be at
full age; and the land being entailed, my father can disinherit me of nothing.
Is your spleen down now? Have I satisfied you? Well, I see you choleric hasty
men are the kindest when all is done. Here's such wetting of handkerchiefs! he
weeps to think of his wife; she weeps to see her father cry! Peace, fool! we
shall else have thee claim kindred of the woman killed with kindness.
Luce's Fa. Well, son, my anger's past; yet I must tell you,
It grieves me that you should thus slight it off,
Concerning us in such a dear degree.
In private be it spoke, my daughter tells me
She's both a wife and maid.
Y. Chart. That may be helped.—Now, Luce, your father's pacified,
will you be pleased? I would endure a quarter's punishment for thee, and wilt
not thou suffer a poor month's penance for me? 'Tis but eight and twenty days,
wench; thou shalt fare well all the time, drink well, eat well, lie well:
come,
one word of comfort at the latter end of the day.
Luce. Yours is my fame, mine honour, and my heart
Linked to your pleasure, and shall never part.
Y. Chart. Gramercy, wench; thou shalt wear this chain no longer for
that word; I'll multiply the links in such order that it shall have light to
shine about thy neck oftener than it doth: this jewel—a plain Bristowe
stone, a counterfeit. How base was I, that coming to thee in the way of
marriage, courted thee with counterfeit stones! Thou shalt wear right, or none.
Thou hast no money about thee, Luce?
Luce. Yes, sir, I have the hundred pounds that you gave me to lay up
last.
Y. Chart. Fetch it.—[Exit LUCE.]—Let me see, how much
branched satin goes to a petticoat? and how much wrought velvet to a gown?
then
for a beaver for the city, and a black bag for the country: I'll promise her
nothing, but if any such trifles be brought home, let her not thank me for them
.
Re-enter LUCE with the bag.
Gramercy, Luce.—Nay, go in, Gravity and Modesty; ten to one but you shall
hear of me ere you see me again.
Luce's Fa. I know you kind; impute my hasty language Unto my rage,
not
me.
Y. Chart. Why, do not I know you, and do not I know her? I doubt
you'll
wish shortly that I had never known either of you: now, what sayst thou, my
sweet Luce?
Luce. My words are yours, so is my life: I am now Part of
yourself, so
made by nuptial vow.
Y. Chart. What a pagan am I, to practise such villainy against this
honest Christian! If Gratiana did not come into my thoughts, I
should fall into
a vein to pity her. But now that I talk of her, I have a tongue to woo her,
tokens to win her; and that done, if I do not find a trick
both to wear her and
weary her, it may prove a piece of a wonder.—Thou
seest, Luce, I have some
store of crowns about me: there are brave things to be bought in the city;
Cheapside and the Exchange afford variety and rarity. This is all I will say
now, but thou mayst hear more of me hereafter. [Exit.
Luce. Heaven speed you where you go, sir! Shall we in? Though not from
scandal, we live free from sin.
Luce's Fa. I'll in before. [Exit.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. I am still in love with Luce, and I would know
An answer more directly. Fie, fie! this love
Hangs on me like an ague, makes me turn fool,
Coxcomb, and ass. Why should I love her, why?
A rattle-baby, puppet, a slight toy.
And now I could go to buffets with myself,
And cuff this love away. But see, that's Luce.
Luce. I cannot shun him, but I'll shake him oft.
Boys. Morrow.
Luce. As much to you.
Boys. I'll use few words—canst love me?
Luce. 'Deed, sir, no.
Boys. Why, then, farewell; the way I came, I'll go.
[Exit.
Luce. This is no tedious courtship; he's soon answered;
So should all suitors else be, were they wise;
For, being repulsed, they do but waste their days
In thankless suits, and superficial praise.
Re-enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Swear that thou wilt not love me.
Luce. Not, sir, for any hate I ever bare you,
Or any foolish pride or vain conceit,
Or that your feature doth not please mine eye,
Or that you are not a brave gentleman,
But for concealèd reasons I am forced
To give you this cold answer, and to swear
I must not: then with patience pray forbear.
Boys. Even farewell then. [Exit.
Luce. The like to you; and, save your hopes in me,
Heaven grant you your best wishes! All this strife
Will end itself, when I am known a wife. [Exit.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in Sir HARRY'S House.
Enter Sir HARRY, HARINGFIELD, GRATIANA, with other
SIR HARRY. I am satisfied, good Master Haringfield,
Touching your friend; and since I see you have left
His dangerous company, I limit you
To be a welcome guest unto my table.
Har. You have been always noble.
Enter TABER.
Sir Harry. Taber, the news with thee?
Taber. May it please thee, right worshipful, to understand that there
are some at the gate who dance a turn or two without, and desire to be
admitted
to speak with you within.
Sir Harry. The scholar, is it not?
Taber. Nay, sir, there are two scholars, and they are spouting Latin
one against the other; and in my simple judgment the stranger is the better
scholar, and is somewhat too hard for Sir Boniface: for he speaks louder, and
that you know is ever the sign of the most learning, and he also hath a great
desire to serve your workship.
Sir Harry. Two scholars! my house hath not place for two.
Thus it shall be. Taber, admit them both;
We, though unlearned, will hear them two dispute,
And he that of the two seems the best read
Shall be received, the other quite cashiered.
Har. In that you show but justice: in all persons
Merit should be regarded.
Enter TABER, ushering in Sir BONIFACE, and SENCER, disguised
like
a pedant.
Sir Bon. Venerabiles magistri, absint vobis capistri.
Sen, Et tu, domine calve, iterum atque iterum salve.
Amo amas amavi. Sweet lady, Heaven save ye!
Sir Harry. This approves him to be excellent, but I thank my
breeding I
understand not a word.
You tongue-men, you whose wealth lies in your brains
Not in your budgets, hear me. Be it known,
My house affords room for one schoolmaster,
But not for more; and I am thus resolved:
Take you that side, gentle Sir Boniface,
And, sir, possess you that.
He of you two in arguing proves the best,
To him will I subscribe. Are you agreed?
Sir Bon. Nec animo, nec corde, nec utroque.
Sen. No more of that nec corde. Noble knight he wishes you nec
corde; think of that.
Sir Harry. A cord about my neck, Sir Boniface!
Speak, do you use me well?
Sir Bon. Domine, cur rogas?
Sen. Is this to be endured,—to call a knight
Cur, rogue and ass?
Sir Harry. I find myself abused.
Har. Yet patience, good Sir Harry, and hear more.
Pray, Sir Boniface, of what university were you of?
Sir Bon. I was student in Brazenose.
Har. A man might guess so much by your pimples.
And of what place were you?
Sen. Petrus dormit securus; I was, sir, of Peterhouse.
Sir Bon. Natus eram in Woxford, and I proceeded in Oxford.
Sen. Est mihi bene nostrum, thou wouldst say, in Gotham; for my part,
Sir Harry, I can read service and marry, Que genus et flexum, though I go
in
Genes fustian; scalpellum et charta, I was not brought up at plough and
cart; I can teach Qui mihi, and neither laugh nor teehee; sed as in
presenti, if your worship at this present, Iste, ista, istud, will do
me
any good, to give me legem pone in gold or in money, Piper atque
papaver, I'll deserve it with my labour.
Har. But when go you to dispute?
Sir Bon. Nominativo hic prediculus, his words are most ridiculous; but
tu thou, qui the which, deridest those that be rich, construe hanc
sententiam, construe me this sentence: Est modus in rebus, sunt certi
denique fines.
Sen. Est modus in rebus, there is mud in the rivers; sunt certi
denique
fines, and certain little fishes.
Sir Harry. I warrant you he hath his answer ready.
Sir Bon. Dii boni boni.
Har. He'll give you more bones than those to gnaw on, Sir Boniface.
Sen. Kartere Moojotropos poluphiltate phile poetatis Tes Logikes retoon,
ouch elachiste sophoon. That is as much as to say, in our materna
lingua,
I will make you, Sir Boniface, confess yourself an ass in English, speak open
and broad words, for want of Latin, and denique entreat me to resolve such
questions as I shall ask you in our modern tongue.
Sir Harry. Confess himself an ass? speak obscene words?
After entreat thee to resolve thy questions?
Do that; possess the place.
Sen. Di do and dum: no more words but mum:
Sir Bon. Noble Sir Harry, numquam sic possit?
Sir Harry. Sir Boniface is sick already and calls for a posset; no
marvel, being so threatened.
Sen. You, Boniface, decline me I am a no after the first conjugation,
amo amavi, vocito vocitavi, Titubo Titubavi?
Sir Bon. I am not the preceptor to a pupil,
But can decline it; mark, Sir Timothy.
I am a no.
Sen. Bene bene.
Sir Bon. I am an as.
Sen. Most true, most true, vos estis, ut ego sum testis, that
what
he confessed is as true as the pestis.
Sir Harry. This scholar works by magic; he hath made him confess
himself
an ass.
Sir Bon. Per has meas manus, vir, tu es insanus.
Sen. I'll make him fret worse yet. Sir Boniface, quid est grammatica?
Sir Bon. Grammatica est ars.
Sir Harry. Fie, fie! no more of these words, good Sir Boniface.
Sen. Attend again, proceed me with this verse of reverend Cato: Si
deus est animus.
Sir Bon. Nobis ut carmina dicunt.
Taber. Di_____quotha! out on him for a beastly man!
Sir Harry. I would not have him teach my children so for more than I
am
worth.
Sir Bon. O! but reverend Sir Harry, you must subaudi.
Sir Harry. I'll never be so bawdy whilst I live, nor any of mine, I
hope.
Sir Bon. O! Propria quœ maribus.
Sir Harry. Ay, Boniface, it is those marrow-bones
That make you talk so broadly!
Sir Bon. Venerabilis vir, homo ille est ebrius.
Sir Harry. What doth he mean by that?
Sen. He saith I can speak Hebrew.
Sir Harry. I believe't:
But if Sir Boniface still con these lessons,
He'll speak the French tongue perfect.
Sen. Now to the last; I'll task Sir Boniface
But with an easy question. Tell me, sir,
What's Latin for this earth?
Sir Bon. Facile and easy, more fit for the pupil than the preceptor.
What's Latin for this earth? Tellus.
Sen. Tell you? no, sir, it belongs to you to tell me.
Sir Bon. I say tellus is Latin for the earth.
Sen. And I say, I will not tell you what is Latin for the earth,
unless
you yield me victor.
Sir Harry. You have no reason: good Sir Timothy, The place is yours.
Har. He hath deserved it well.
Sen. But I'll deserve it better: why, this fellow
Is frantic; you shall hear me make him speak
Idly and without sense. I'll make him say
His nose was husband to a Queen.
[He whispers Sir HARRY.
Sir Harry. Sir Timothy, not possible.
Taber. He will not speak it for shame.
Sen. That you shall hear. Magister Boniface.
Sir Bon. Quid ais, domine Timothy?
Sen. Who was Pasiphe's husband, Queen of Crete?
Sir Bon. Who knows not that? Why, Minos was her husband.
Sen. That his nose was; did I not tell you so?
Sir Bon. I say that Minos was.
Sen. That his nose was—ha, ha!
Sir Harry. I'll not believe it.—
Sir Boniface, there are a brace of angels;
You are not for my turn. Sir Timothy,
You are the man shall read unto my daughter
The Latin tongue, in which I am ignorant.
Confess yourself an ass; speak bawdy words;
And after to talk idly! Hence, away!
You shall have my good word, but not my pay.
Sir Bon. Opus est usus; Sir Timothy, you abuse us.
I swear by a noun, had I thy hose down,
Qui, quœ, quod, I would so smoke thee with the rod,
Ille, illa, illud, until I fetched blood.
But, nobiles vaiete, remain in quiete.
[Exeunt Sir BONIFACE and TABER.
Sir Harry. Sir Timothy, there is some gold in earnest,
I like you well; take into your tuition
My daughter Gratiana.
Re-enter TABER.
The news, Taber?
Taber. Of another gallant, noble sir, that pretends to have business
both with you and my mistress.
Sir Harry. Admit him.
Enter Young CHARTLEY very galiant, with GRATIANA.
Taber. Lusty Juventus, will it please you to draw near?
Y. Chart. Noble knight, whilst you peruse that [Hands
Sir HARRY a letter], sweet lady, tell me how you like this? [Kisses
GRATIANA.
Grat. You press so suddenly upon me, sir,
I know not what to answer.
Sen. [Aside] Mad Chartley! what makes Desperation here?
Y. Chart. To the word wooer let me add the name speeder; my father
hath
written to your father, and the cause of his writing at this present is to
let
you understand that he fears you have lived a maid too long; and
therefore, to
prevent all diseases incident to the same, as the green sickness and others, he
sent me, like a skilful physician, to take order with you against all such
maladies. If you will not credit me, list but how fervently my father writes
in
my behalf.
Sir Harry [Reads] "He is my only son, and she, I take it, your
only
daughter. What should hinder then to make a match between them?" Well, 'tis
well, 'tis good, I like it. "I will make her jointure three hundred pounds a
year."
Y. Chart. How say you by that, sweet lady? three hundred pounds a
year,
and a proper man to boot?
Sir Harry. All's good, I like it; welcome, Master Chartley.
Thou, Gratiana, art no child of mine
Unless thou bidst him welcome. This I presume
To be your father's hand?
Y. Chart. [Aside] But I'll be sworn he never writ it.
Sir Harry. And this his seal at arms?
Y. Chart. Or else I understand it very poorly. But, lady,
In earnest of further acquaintance, receive this chain, These jewels, hand and
heart.
Sir Harry. Refuse no chain nor jewels, heart nor hand,
But in exchange of these bestow thyself,
Thine own dear self, upon him.
Grat. Myself on him, whom I till now ne'er saw
Well, since I must, your will's to me a law.
Sen. Nay, then, 'tis time to speak. Shall I stand here waiting like a
coxcomb, and see her given away before my face? Stay your hand, Sir Harry; and
let me claim my promise.
Sir Harry. My promise I'll perform, Sir Timothy;
You shall have all your wages duly paid
Sen. I claim fair Gratiana by your promise.
No more Sir Timothy, but Sencer now.
You promised me when you received my service,
And with your liberal hand did wage my stay,
To endow me freely with your daughter's love.
That promise now I claim.
Sir Harry. Mere cozenage, knavery:
I tied myself to no conditions
In which such guile is practised. Come, son Chartley:
To cut off all disasters incident
To these proceedings, we will solemnise
These nuptial rites with all speed possible.
Y. Chart. Farewell, good Sir Timothy; farewell, learned Sir Timothy.
[Exeunt all but SENCER.
Sen. Why, and farewell, learned Sir Timothy.
For now Sir Timothy and I am two:
Boast on, brag on, exalt, exalt thyself,
Swim in a sea of pleasure and content
Whilst my bark suffers wreck! I'll be revenged.
Chartley, I'll cry vindicta for this scorn;
Next time thou gorest, it must be with thy horn. [Exit.
SCENE II.—The Street outside the Goldsmith's Shop.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. I am mad, and know not at what;
I could swagger, but know not with whom;
I am at odds with myself, and know not why:
I shall be pacified, and cannot tell when;
I would fain have a wife, but cannot tell where;
I would fasten on Luce, but cannot tell how.
How; where; when; why; whom; what.
Feeding sure makes me lean, and fasting fat.
Enter LUCE and JOSEPH.
Luce. Not all this while once see me!
Jos. His occasions
Perhaps enforce his absence.
Luce. His occasions!
Unless he find occasion of new love,
What could enforce such absence from his spouse?
Am I grown foul and black since my espousals?
It should not seem so; for the shop is daily
Customed with store of chapmen, such as come
To cheapen love. O no, I am myself!
But Chartley he is changed.
Jos. You know that gentleman.
Luce. Escape him if thou canst.
Boys. He cannot. I arrest you.
Luce. At whose suit?
Boys. Not at mine own, that's dashed; I love thee not.
Thou art a Spaniard, gipsy, a mere blackamoor:
Again I say I love thee not.
Luce. A blackamoor, a gipsy!
Sure I am changed indeed, and that's the cause
My husband left me so; this gentleman
Once termed me beautiful. How look I, Joseph?
Jos. As well as e'er you did—fat, fresh, and fair.
Boys. You lie, boy; pocket that, and now be gone.
Jos. And what shall then become of my mistress?
Boys. I'll wait upon your mistress.
Luce. I know you will not wait on such a gipsy.
Boys. Yes, Luce, on such a gipsy. Boy, abi, abi.
Jos. Abide, sir! you need not fear that; I have no purpose to leave
her.
Boys. Now you are going to the wedding-house.
You are bid to be a bridemaid, are you not?
Luce. What wedding, sir, or whose?
Boys. Why, Chartley's. Luce, hath he been thy friend so long,
And would not bid thee to wait on his bride?
Why look'st thou red and pale, and both, and neither?
Luce. To Master Chartley's bridals? Why, to whom
Should he be married?
Boys. To Grace of Gracious-street.
Luce. To Gratiana!
Beshrew you, sir, you do not use me well,
To buzz into mine ears these strange untruths:
I tell you, sir, 'tis as impossible
They two should match, as Earth and Heaven to meet.
Boys. You'll not believe it? Pray then hark within
The nuptial music echoing to their joys.
But you give credit to no certainties:
I told you but a tale, a lie, a fable,
A monstrous, a notorious idle untruth—
That you were black, and that I loved you not—
And you could credit that!
Enter Sir HARRY, HARINGFIELD, Young CHARTLEY leading GRATIANA by the
arm, TABER, and Attendants.
Who's tell-troth now?
Know you that man, or know, you that fine virgin
Whom by the arm he leads?
Luce. I'll not endure't.—Heaven give you joy, sir!
Y. Chart. I thank you. Luce! [She faints.
Sir Harry. Look to the maid; she faints.
[BOYSTER holds her up.
Y. Chart. Grace, come not near her, Grace.
Father, keep off; on, gentlemen, apace.
She's troubled with the falling sickness, for
Oft hath she fallen before me.
Sir Harry. Nay, if it be no otherwise, on, gentlemen,
Let those with her strive to recover her.
Keep off; the disease is infectious.
Y. Chart. If it were in a man, it were nothing, but the falling
sickness in a woman is dangerous.
Enter LUCE'S Father.
My tother father-in-law! Now shall I be utterly shamed.
If he assure to know me, I'll outface him.
Luce's Fa. Son, you're well met.
Y. Chart. How, fellow!
Luce's Fa. I cry you mercy, sir.
Y. Chart. No harm done, friend, no harm done.
[Exeunt Sir HARRY, HARINGFIELD, Young CHARTLEY, and
GRATIANA.
Luce's Fa. If he, he could not but have known me there,
Yet he was wondrous like him.
Boys. How cheer you, Luce? whence grew this passion?
Luce. Pardon me, sir, I do not know myself:
I am apt to swound, and now the fit is passed me.
I thank you for your help. Is Master Chartley
Vanished so soon?
Boys. Yes; and to supply his place, see where thy father comes.
Luce's Fa. He hath not such a suit; besides, this gallant
Led by the arm a bride, a lusty bride!
How much might I have wronged the gentleman
By craving his acquaintance! This it is
To have dim eyes. Why looks my daughter sad?—
I cry you mercy, sir; I saw not you.
Boys. I would I had not seen you at this time neither.
Farewell. [Exit.
Luce. If he be gone, then let me vent my grief.
Father, I am undone!
Luce's Fa. Forbid it, Heaven!
Luce. Disgraced, despised, discarded, and cast off.
Luce's Fa. How, mine own child?
Luce. My husband, O my husband!
Luce's Fa. What of him?
Luce. Shall I the shower of all my grief at once
Pour out before you? Chartley, once my husband,
Hath left me to my shame. Him and his bride
I met within few minutes.
Luce's Fa. Sure 'twas they;
I met them too: 'twas he; base villain, Jew.
I'll to the wedding board, and tell him so
I'll do't as I am a man.
Luce. Be not so rash.
Luce's Fa. I'll live and die upon him;
He's a base fellow, so I'll prove him too.
Joseph, my sword!
Luce. This rashness will undo us.
Luce's Fa. I'll have my sword;
It hath been twice in France, and once in Spain,
With John-a-Gaunt; when I was young like him
I had my wards, and foins, and quarter-blows,
And knew the way into St. George's Fields
Twice in a morning. Tuttle, Finsbury,
I knew them all. I'll to him: where's my sword?
Luce. Or leave this spleen, or you will overthrow
Our fortunes quite; let us consult together
What we were best to do.
Luce's Fa. I'll make him play at leap-frog! Well, I hear thee.
Luce. I cannot prove our marriage; it was secret,
And he may find some cavil in the law.
Luce's Fa. I'll to him with no law, but Stafford law.
I'll ferret the false boy—nay, on, good Luce.
Luce. Part of your spleen if you would change to counsel,
We might revenge us better.
Luce's Fa. Well, I hear thee,
Luce. To claim a public marriage at his hands
We want sufficient proof, and then the world
Will but deride our folly, and so add
Double disgrace unto my former wrong.
To law with him—he hath a greater purse,
And nobler friends. How then to make it known?
Luce's Fa. Is this his damasked kirtle fringed with gold,
His black bag, and his beaver? 'Tis well yet
I have a sword.
Luce. And I have a project in my brain begot.
To make his own mouth witness to the world
My innocence, and his incontinence.
Leave it to me, I'll clear myself from blame,
Though I the wrong, yet he shall reap the shame.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Outside the Wise-woman's House.
Enter SENCER like a Serving-man.
Sen. Now or never, look about thee, Sencer: to-morrow is the marriage
day, which to prevent lies not within the compass of my apprehension;
therefore
I have thus disguised myself, to go to the looming woman's, the fortune-
teller's, the anything, the nothing. This over-against Mother Redcap's is her
house; I'll knock.
Enter 2nd LUCE in Boy's clothes.
2nd Luce. Who's there? What would you have?
Sen. I would speak with the wise gentlewoman of the house.
2nd Luce. Oh, belike you have lost somewhat.
Sen. You are in the wrong, sweet youth.
2nd Luce. I am somewhat thick of hearing; pray speak out.
Sen. I say I have not lost anything, but wit and time, and neither of
those she can help me to.
2nd Luce. Then you belike are crossed in love, and come to know what
success you shall have.
Sen. Thou hast hit it, sweet lad; thou hast hit it.
2nd Luce. What is it you say, sir?
Sen. Thou hast hit it.
2nd Luce. I pray come in; I'll bring you to my mistress. [Exeunt.
Enter LUCE and JOSEPH.
Luce. This is the house; knock, Joseph; my business craves dispatch.
Jos. Now am I as angry as thou art timorous; and now to vent on the
next thing I meet—Oh, 'tis the door.
[Knocks.
Re-enter 2nd LUCE.
2nd Luce. Who's there? What are you?
Luce. A maid and a wife.
2nd Luce. And that would grieve any wench to be so;
I know that by myself, not Luce.
Luce. Boy, where's your mistress?
2nd Luce. In some private talk with a gentleman. I'll fetch her to
you
presently. [Exit.
Luce. If she and you see me not, I am but dead;
I shall be made a by-word to the world,
The scorn of women, and my father's shame.
Enter the Wise-woman and SENCER, followed by 2nd LUCE.
Wise-wo. You tell me your name is Sence; I knew it before: and that
Chartley is to be married, I could have told it you.
2nd Luce. Married to-morrow,—O me!
Sen. Ay, but you tell me that Chartley before to-morrow shall be
disappointed of his wife; make that good, thou shalt have twenty angels.
Wise-wo. I'll do't: stand aside; I'll have but a word or two with
this
gentlewoman, and I am for you presently.
Luce. O mother, mother! [They whisper.
2nd Luce. My husband marry another wife to-morrow! O changeable
destiny! no sooner married to him, but instantly to lose him! Nor doth it
grieve
me so much that I am a wife, but that I am a maid too; to carry one of
them well
is as much as any is bound to do, but to be tied to both is more than
flesh and
blood can endure.
Wise-wo. Well, trust to me, and I will set all things straight.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Where's this witch, this hag, this beldam, this
wizard? And have
I found thee!—thus then will I tear, mumble, and maul thee!
Wise-wo. Help, help!—an if you be a gentleman!
Sen. Forbear this rudeness; he that touches her, Draws against me.
Boys. Against you, sir! apply thou, that shall be tried.
All. Help, help! part them, help!
Sen. With patience hear her speak.
Boys. Now, trot, now, grannam, what canst thou say for
thyself?—What, Luce here! Be patient, and put up thou; she must not see
the
end.
Sen. Then truce of all sides; if we come for counsel, Let us with
patience hear it.
Luce. Then first to me.
Wise-wo. You would prevent young Chartley's marriage? you shall:
hark
in your ear. [Whispers.
Luce. It pleaseth me.
Wise-wo. You forestall Gratiana's wedding? 'tis but thus.
[Whispers.
Sen. I'll do't.
Wise-wo. You would enjoy Luce as your wife, and lie with
her to-morrow
night? Hark in your ear. [Whispers.
Boys. Fiat!
Wise-wo. Away! you shall enjoy him, you are married, Luce, away! you
shall see Chartley discarded from Gratiana. Sencer, begone! And
if I fail in any
of these or the rest, I lay myself open to all your displeasures.
Boys. Farewell till soon!
Wise-wo. You know your meeting-place.
All. We do.
Wise-wo. You shall report me wise and cunning too.
[Exeunt all except 2nd LUCE.
2nd Luce. I'll add one night more to the time I have said;
I have not many, I hope, to live a maid. [Exit.
SCENE IV.—A Room in Sir HARRY'S House.
Enter Sir BONIFACE, and TABER carrying a trencher of broken meat and
a
napkin.
Taber. Fie, fie, what a time of trouble is this! To-morrow is my
mistress
to be married, and we serving men are so puzzled.
Sir Bon. The dinner's half done, and before I say grace,
And bid the old knight and his guest proface.
A medicine from your trencher, good Master Taber,
As good a man as e'er was Sir Saber:
Well, think it no shame: men of learning and wit
Say study gets a stomach; friend Taber, a bit.
Taber. Lick clean, good Sir Boniface, and save the scraper a labour.
Enter SENCER like a Serving-man.
Sir Bon. But soft, let me ponder:
Know you him that comes yonder?
Taber. Most heartily welcome; would you speak with any here?
Sen. Pray is the young gentleman of the house at leisure?
Taber. Mean you the bridegroom, Master Chartley?
Sen. I have a letter for him. You seem to be a gentleman yourself;
acquaint him with my attendance, and I shall rest yours in all good offices.
Taber. Sir Boniface, pray keep the gentleman company.
I will first acquaint your lips with the virtue of the cellar.
[Exit.
Sir Bon. Adesdem, come near, and taste of our beer.
Welcome, sine dole, for puntis to vole.
Sen. When I taste of your liquor,
Gramercy, Master Vicar.
Re-enter TABER with a bowl of beer and a napkin.
Taber. Most heartily welcome: your courtesy, I beseech you; ply it off,
I
entreat you. Pray, Sir Boniface, keep the gentleman company, till I acquaint
my
young master with his business. [Exit.
Sir Bon. Taber, I shall beso las manus.
[They dissemble one to another.
Sen. A vostre servitor.
Enter HARINGFIELD.
Har. Hey! what art thou?
Sen. A hanger-on, if it please you.
Har. And I a shaker-off: I'll not bear your gallows;
You shall not hang on me.
Enter. Young CHARTLEY with his napkin as from dinner.
Oh, Master Bridegroom!
Y. Chart. Gentlemen, the ladies call upon you to dance; they will be
out of measure displeased, if, dinner being done, you be not ready to lead
them
a measure.
Har, Indeed, women love not to be scanted of their measure.
Y. Chart. Fie, Sir Boniface! have you forgot yourself? Whilst you are
in the hall, there's never a whetstone for their wits in the parlour.
Sir Bon. I will enter and set an edge upon their ingenies.
[Exeunt
Sir BONIFACE and HARINGFIELD.
Y. Chart. [To SENCER, who hands him a letter.] To
me, sir! from
whom? A letter! To her "most dear, most loving, most kind friend Master
Chartley, these be delivered." Sure from some wench or other. I
long to know the
content.
Sen. [Aside.] Now to cry quittance with you for my "farewell,
learned Sir Timothy."
Y. Chart. Good news, as I live! there's for thy pains, my good Sir
Pandarus. Hadst thou brought me word my father had turned up his heels, thou
couldst scarcely have pleased me better. [Reads.] "Though I disclaim the
name of wife, of which I account myself altogether unworthy, yet let me claim
some small interest in your love. This night I lie at the house where we were
married—the Wise-Woman's I mean—where my maidenhead is to be rifled:
bid fair for it, and enjoy it; see me this night or never. So may you,
marrying
Gratiana, and loving me, have a sweet wife and a true friend. This night or
never. Your quondam wife, hereafter your poor sweetheart, no
other, Luce."
So, when I am tired with Gratiana, that is when I am past grace
with her, I can
make my rendezvous. I'll not slip this occasion, nor sleep till I see her. Thou
art an honest lad, and mayst prove a good pimp in time. Canst thou advise me
what colour I may have to compass this commodity?
Sen. Sir, she this night expects you, and prepares a costly banquet
for
you.
Y. Chart. I'll go, although the devil and mischance look big.
Sen. Feign some news that such a piece of land is fallen to you, and
you must instantly ride to take possession of it ; or, which is more probable,
cannot you persuade them you have received a letter that your father lies
adying?
Y. Chart. You rogue, I would he did; but the name of that news is
called "too good to be true."
Sen. And that if ever you will see him alive, you must ride post into
the country?
Y. Chart. Enough: if ever I prove knight-errant thou shalt be mine
own
proper squire. For this, thou hast fitted me with a plot. Do but wait here; not
e
how I will manage it.—Taber, my horse, for I must ride to-night.
Re-enter TABER.
Taber. To-night, sir
Y. Chart. So tell my bride and father: I have news that quite
confounds
my senses. [Exit TABER.
Enter Sir HARRY, GRATIANA, and HARINGFIELD.
Grat. How, ride to-night! the marriage day to-morrow,
And all things well provided for the feast!
Oh, tell me, sweet, why do you look so pale?
Y. Chart. My father, O my father!
Grat. What of him?
Sir Harry. What of your father, son?
Y. Chart. If ever I will hear his agèd tongue
Preach to me counsel, or his palsy hand
Stroke my wild head and bless me, or his eyes
Drop tear by tear, which they have often done
At my misgoverned rioting youth—
What should I more?—if ever I would see
That good old man alive—Oh, oh!
Sen. [Aside.] Go thy ways, for thou shalt ha't.
Grat. But do you mean to ride?
Y. Chart. Ay, Grace, all this night.
Sen. [Aside.] Not all the night without alighting, sure:
You'll find more in't than to get up and ride.
Har. The gentleman's riding-boots and spurs. Why, Taber!
Y. Chart. Nay, Grace, now's no time to stand on scrupulous parting.
Knewest thou my business—
Sen. [Aside.] As she shall know it.
Y. Chart. And how I mean this night to toil myself—
Sen. [Aside.] Marry hang, you brock!
Y. Chart. Thou wouldst bemoan my travel.
Sen. [Aside.] I know 'twould grieve her.
Y. Chart. You, father, Grace, good Master Haringfield,
You, sir, and all, pray for me, gentlemen,
That in this dark night's journey I may find
Smooth way, sweet speed, and all things to my mind.
Sir Harry. We'll see my son take horse.
Grat. But I will stay:
I want the heart to see him post away.
[Exeunt Young CHARTLEY, Sir HARRY and HARINGFIELD.
Sen. Save you, gentlewoman! I have a message to deliver to one Mistress
Gratiana; this should be the knight's house, her father.
Grat. It is: the message that you have to her
You may acquaint me with, for I am one
That knows the inside of her thoughts.
Sen. Are you the lady?
Grat. Sir, I am the poor gentlewoman.
Sen. There is a cunning woman dwells not far,
At Hogsdon, lady, famous for her skill.
Besides some private talk that much concerns
Your fortunes in your love, she hath to show you,
This night, if it shall please you walk so far
As to her house, an admirable suit
Of costly needlework, which if you please
You may buy under-rate for half the value
It cost the making; about six o'clock
You may have view thereof, but otherwise,
A lady that hath craved the sight thereof
Must have the first refusal.
Grat. I'll not fail her.
My husband being this day rid from home,
My leisure fitly serves me.
Sen. Thank you, mistress. At six o'clock.
Grat. I will not fail the hour. [Exit.
Sen. Now to Sir Harry; his is the next place,
To meet at Hogsdon his fair daughter Grace. [Exit.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Street near Sir HARRY'S House.
Enter Old Master CHARTLEY and three or four Serving-men.
OCHART. Good Heaven! this London is a stranger grown,
And out of my acquaintance; this seven years
I have not seen Paul's steeple, or Cheap Cross.
1st Serv. Sir—
O. Chart. Hast thou not made inquiry for my son?
1st Serv. Yes, sir, I have asked about everywhere for him, but cannot
hear of him.
O. Chart. Disperse yourselves; inquire about the taverns, ordinaries,
bowl-alleys, tennis-courts, gaming-houses; for there, I, fear, he will be
found.
1st Serv. But where shall we hear of your worship again?
O. Chart. At Grace Church by the Conduit, near Sir Harry.
But stay, leave off a while your bootless search.
Had e'er man such a wild brain to his sorrow,
Of such small hope, who, when he should have married
A fair, a modest, and a virtuous maid,
Rich and revenued well, and even the night
Before the marriage day took horse, rode thence,
Whither Heaven knows? Since the distracted virgin
Hath left her father's house, but neither found,
Yet in their search we have measured out much ground.
Enter Sir HARRY and SENCER.
Sen. Your worship will be there?
Sir Harry. Yes, not to fail,
At half an hour past six, or before seven.
Sen. You shall not find us at six and at seven, I'll warrant
you: good
health to your worship.
Sir Harry. Farewell, good fellow;
At the Wise-woman's house (I know it well:
Perhaps she knows some danger touching me).
I'll keep mine hour. [Exit SENCER.
O. Chart. Sir Harry,
A hand, a hand; to baulk you it were sin.
I shall be bold to make your house mine inn.
Sir Harry. Brother Chartley, I am glad to see you.
O. Chart. Methinks, Sir Harry, you look strangely on me.
And do not bid me welcome with an heart.
Sir Harry. And blame me not to look amazedly
To see you here.
O. Chart. Why me?
Sir Harry. Come, come, you're welcome.
And now I'll turn my strangeness to true joy.
I am glad to see you well, and safe recovered
Of your late grievous sickness.
O. Chart. The strange amazèd looks that you cast off
You put on me; and blame me not to wonder
That you should talk of sickness to sound men.
I thank my stars I did not taste the grief
Of inward pain or outward malady
This seven years day.
Sir Harry. But by your favour, brother,
Then let me have my wonder back again.
O. Chart. Before I quite part with it, let me know
Why you the name of brother put upon me
In every clause—a name as strange to me
As my recovered sickness.
Sir Harry. You are pleasant,
And it becomes you well: welcome again,
The rather you are come just to the wedding.
O. Chart. What wedding, sir?
Sir Harry. That you should ask that question
Why, of my daughter Grace.
O. Chart. Is Grace bestowed? Of whom, I pray?
Sir Harry. Of whom but of your son.
I wonder, brother Chartley, and my friend,
You should thus play on me.
O. Chart. But by your favour,
Were you ten knights, Sir Harry—take me with you—
My son match with your daughter! my consent
Not worthy to be craved!
Sir Harry. Nay, then I see
You'll stir my patience; know this forward match
Took its first birth from you.
O. Chart. From me?
Sir Harry. From you.
Peruse this letter: know you your own hand?
'Twas well that I reserved your hand a witness
Against your tongue. You had best deny the jointure
Of the three hundred pounds made to my daughter;
'Tis that I know you aim at; but your seal—
[Shows him letter.
O. Chart. Shall not make me approve it: I deny
This seal for mine, nor do I vouch that hand.
Your daughter and the dower, letter and all,
I quite disclaim. Sir Harry, you much wrong me.
Sir Harry. I can bear more than this; heap wrong on wrong,
And I'll support it all; I for this time
Will cast my spleen behind me. And yet hear me:
This letter your son Chartley, as from you,
Delivered me. I like the motion well.
O. Chart. My spleen is further thrown aside than yours,
And I am full as patient, and yet hear me;
My son's contracted to another maid.
Nay, I am patient still—yet that I writ
This letter, sealed this impress, I deny.
Sir Harry. Why, then, the jack your hand did counterfeit?
O. Chart. Why, then, he did so. Where's that unthrift, speak?
Sir Harry. Some hour ago, he mounted and rid post
To give you visit, whom he said lay sick
Upon your death-bed.
O. Chart. You amaze me, sir.
It is an ill presage; hereon I see
Your former salutation took its ground,
To see me safe recovered of my sickness.
Sir Harry. Indeed it did. Your welcome is a subject
I cannot use too oft; welcome again.
I am sorry you this night must sup alone,
For I am elsewhere called about some business,
Concerning what I know not. Hours run on—
I must to Hogsdon; high time I were gone. [Exit.
O. Chart. Perhaps to the Wise-woman's; she may tell me
The fortunes of my son. This accident
Hath bred in me suspicion and strange fears.
I will not sup alone, but I protest,
'Mongst some this night I'll play the intruding guest.
[Exit with Serving-men.
SCENE II.—The Principal Room in the Wise-woman's House, leading to
several small rooms, all of which look into it.
Enter the Wise-woman, SENCER as a Serving-man, LUCE and her
Father,
and 2nd LUCE in Boy's clothes.
Wise-wo. But will Sir Harry come?
Sen. Presume he will,
And Chartley too.
Luce's. Fa. I'll have the knave by the ears.
Luce. Nay, patience, sir; leave your revenge to me.
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. Grannam, I am come according to promise.
Wise-wo. And welcome to the best hole that I have in Hogsdon.
Boys. Good even.
Luce. Thanks, sir, a good even may it prove,
That each may reap the fruits of their own love!
2nd Luce. That shall be my prayer too.
Boys. Come, what shall's do?
Wise-wo. Withdraw; I'll place you all in several rooms,
Where sit, see, but say nothing.
[They withdraw. Exeunt Wise-woman and 2nd LUCE.
Enter TABER, ushering GRATIANA.
Taber. Here, sweet mistress; I know the place well ever since I was
here to know my fortune.
Grat. Call me some half an hour hence.
[Exit TABER
Re-enter the Wise-woman and 2nd LUCE.
Wise-wo. Your ladyship is most lovingly welcome. A low stool for the
gentlewoman, boy. I made bold to send to you to take view of such a piece of
work as I presume you have seldom seen the like.
Grat. Of whose doing, I pray?
Wise-wo. A friend of yours and mine. Please you withdraw,
I'll bring you to't.
2nd Luce. Mistress!
Wise-wo. One calls, sweet lady; I shall do you wrong,
But pray you think my little stay not long.
[GRATIANA withdraws, exeunt the others.
SCENE III.—An Inner Room in the same.
Enter SENCER, Sir HARRY, and LUCE.
Sen. Here, sir, in this retiring chamber.
Sir Harry. Gramercy, friend. How now? what's here to do?
A pretty wench and a close chamber too!
Luce. That you have so much graced my mother's house
With your desirèd presence, worthy knight,
Receive a poor maid's thanks. Who's there? a chair
And cushion for Sir Harry.
Sir Harry. Thanks, most fair.
Luce. Please you but a few minutes here to stay,
Till my return, I'll not be long away.
Sen. The gentlewoman will wait on you by and by, sir. [Exeunt
LUCE
and SENCER.
Sir Harry. And I'll attend her, friend.
Of all those doubts I long to know the end.
SCENE IV.—The Principal Room in the same.
Enter the Wise-woman, SENCER and LUCE. To them enter
2nd LUCE
and Old CHARTLEY.
2nd Luce. The knight you seek was here, or will be straight,
And, if you be the man you name yourself,
You are most welcome, and you shall not back
Till you have seen Sir Harry.
O. Chart. Gentle youth,
I saw him enter here, and under privilege
Of his acquaintance made I bold to stay.
2nd Luce. And you are welcome, sir; sit down, I pray.
[Takes him into one of the inner rooms.
Wise-wo. Now they are placed in several rooms, that look into this one.
Were Chartley come we had all our company.
Sen. Hark, there's one knocks; 'tis Chartley, on my life.
Luce. One of you let him in, whilst I prepare me
To entertain his coming.
[Exeunt SENCER and Wise-woman.
Enter Young CHARTLEY, ushered in by SENCER, who retires.
Y. Chart. What, old acquaintance Luce! Not a word? yet some lip-labour
if
thou lovest me.
Grat. [In an inner room.] My husband!
Sir Harry. [In another inner room.] What, young Chartley!
O. Chart. [Also in an inner room.] How! my son!
Y. Chart. Come, come away with this wailing in woe; if thou put'st
finger in the eye a little longer, I shall plunge in pain too presently.
Luce. O husband, husband!
Grat. Husband!
Y. Chart. What say'st thou, my sweet wife?
Grat. Wife! O my heart!
2nd Luce. [Aside.] In that name wife I claim a poor child's part.
Luce. O husband, how have you used me!
Y. Chart. Nay, how do I mean to use thee, but as a man should use his
wife?
Grat. I hope he doth not mean to use her so.
2nd Luce. [Aside.] I hope so too.
Boys. [In an inner room.] My grannam is a witch.
Y. Chart. Nay, Luce, sweet wife, leave weeping if thou lovest me.
Luce. Oh, can you blame me, knowing that the fountain
Of all these springs took their first head from you?
You know, you too well know, not three days since
Are past since we were married.
Grat. Married! I can endure no longer.
Sir Harry. It cannot be.
O. Chart. It is not possible.
Boys. I'll be even with thee for this, old grannam.
Luce. And though we wanted witness upon earth,
Yet Heaven bears record of our nuptial tie.
Y. Chart. Tush, when we meet in Heaven let's talk of that.
Nay, come, you ass, you fool, what's past is past;
Though man and wife, yet I must marry now
Another gallant; here's thy letter, Luce,
And this night I intend to lodge with thee.
2nd Luce. [Aside.] I'll scratch her eyes out first, although I
love
her.
Y. Chart. Prithee be merry.
I have made a gull of Grace, and old Sir Harry
Thinks me a great way off. I told the knight
My father lay a-dying, took post-horse,
Rid out of Holborn, turned by Islington,
So hither, wench, to lodge all night with thee.
2nd Luce. [Aside.] Here's one saith nay to that.
O. Chart. Was that your journey?
Y. Chart. Why, I have too much Grace already.
Boys. Thou hast no grace at all.
Y. Chart. Nay, let's to bed; if thou couldst but imagine how I love
thee, Luce!
Luce. How is it possible you can love me, and go about to marry
another?
Y. Chart. Dost thou not know she's rich? Why, you fool, as soon as I
have got her dower, it is but giving her a dram, or a pill to purge
melancholy,
to make her turn up her heels, and then with all that wealth come I to live wit
h
thee, my sweet rascal.
Grat. [Coming from the inner room.] She thanks you, and is much
beholding to you.
Y. Chart. I am betrayed!
Grat. Art thou my suitor? wouldst thou marry me,
And thy first wife alive? then poison me,
To purchase my poor dower?
Y. Chart. What shall I say, or think, or do? I am at a nonplus.
Grat. Hast thou the face, thou brazen impudence,
To look upon me?—past grace!
Y. Chart. Thou canst not properly call me past Grace, for I never
enjoyed thee yet. I cannot tell whether I blush or no, but I have now at this
time more Grace than I can tell what to do with.
Grat. Who drew thee to this folly?
Y. Chart. Who but the old dotard thy father, who when I was honestly
married to a civil maid, he persuaded me to leave her? I was loth at first,
but
after entreating, urging, and offering me large proffers, I must confess I
was
seduced to come a-wooing to thee.
Grat. My father, villain!
Y. Chart. Ay, thy father, Grace. And were he here would justify
it to
the old dotard's face.
Enter Sir HARRY.
Sir Harry. Vile boy, thou dar'st not be so impudent!
When did I meet thee, seek or sue to thee?
When? Name the day, the month, the hour, the year.
Y. Chart. Plots, plots! I can but cry you mercy both. Say that
I have
done you wrong, I can be but sorry for it. But, indeed, to clear you, and lay
the fault where it ought to be, all this comes from mine own father in the
country, who hearing I had married with Luce, sends me word, of his blessing,
to
be divorced from her, and to come a suitor to your daughter. I think you have
his hand and seal to show.
Enter Old CHARTLEY.
O. Chart. My hand and seal! When was that letter writ?
Y. Chart. Heyday, if you get one word more of me to-night but scurvy
looks, I'll give you leave to hang me.
Sir Harry. Vile boy!
O. Chart. Ungracious villain!
Grat. Treacherous youth!
Sir Harry. No grace at all!
Y. Chart. No Grace.
O. Chart. This is bad company who hath seduced thee!
Speak, on my blessing, who hath thus misled thee?
But no more lies, I charge thee.
Y. Chart. Bad company hath been the shame of me. I was as virtuously
given as any youth in Europe, till I fell into one Boyster's company; 'tis he
that hath done all the harm upon me.
Boys. [Aside.] I!
Y. Chart. And if he should deny it?
Enter BOYSTER.
Boys. What then? you'd cry him mercy.
Y. Chart. I had best bite out my tongue, and speak no more. What
shall
I do, or what shall I say? There is no outfacing them all. Gentlemen,
fathers,
wives, or what else, I have wronged you all. I confess it that I
have—what
would you more? Will any of you rail of me? I'll bear it. Will
any of you beat
me? So they strike not too hard, I'll suffer it. Will any of
you challenge me?
I'll answer it. What would you have me say or do? One of
these I have married,
the other I have betrothed, yet both maids for me. Will you have me take one,
and leave the tother? I will. Will you have me keep them both? I will.
Enter LUCE'S Father.
Luce's Fa. Perjured! not mine.
Y. Chart. What, you here too? Nay, then, I see all my good friends
are
met together. Wilt thou have me, Luce? I am thy husband, and had I not loved
thee better than Grace, I had not disappointed the marriage day to morrow.
Luce. Lascivious! no.
Y. Chart. Wilt thou have me, Grace?—for had I not loved thee
better than Luce, I would never after I had married her been contracted to
thee.
Grat. Inconstant! no.
Y. Chart. Then, neither married man, widower, nor bachelor,
what's to
be done? Here's even the proverb verified—between two stools,
the tail goes
to ground.
Sir Harry. Now I bethink me, this our meeting here is
wondrous strange.
Call in the gentlewoman that owns this house.
Enter SENCER no longer disguised, and the Wise-woman.
Boys. Old trot, I'll trounce thee.
Here is the marriage proved 'twixt Luce and Chartley:
Witch, this was not your promise.
Wise-wo. Have patience, and in the end we'll pay you
all. Your worships
are most heartily welcome. I made bold to send for you, and
you may see to what
end, which was to discover unto you the wild vagaries of this wanton wag-
pasty—a wild oats I warrant him—and, Sir Harry, that your daughter
hath scaped this scouring, thank this gentleman, and then make of him as he
deserves.
Sir Harry. Oh, I remember him.
Grat. He never pleased mine eye so well as now.
I know his love, and he in Chartley's place
My favour shall possess.
Sen. Thanks, my sweet Grace.
Sir Harry. Ay, and the more the inconstant youth to spite,
Sencer, I give her thee in Chartley's sight.
Y. Chart. There's one gone already; but this is my wife, and her I'll
keep in spite both of the devil and his dam.
Wise-wo. Not from her lawful husband!
Y. Chart. That am I.
Wise-wo. That is the gentleman [pointing to BOYSTER],—accept
him, Luce; and you the like of her—nay, I'll make it good. This gentleman
married you visarded, you him disguised, mistaking him for Chartley, which
none
but my boy Jack was privy to: after she changed her habit with him, as you with
Jack; and you in Mistress Luce's habit—
Luce. May I believe you, mother?
Wise-wo. This be your token.
Boys. Her that I married, I wrung twice by the finger.
Luce. Of that token, my hand was sensible.
Boys. And ere the clamorous and loud noise begun,
I whispered to her thus— [Whispers.
Luce. You are the man.
Boys. Thanks, grannam; what thou promised thou hast done.
Luce's Fa. And, leaving him, I take you for my son.
Y. Chart. Two gone! then where's the third? This makes me mad.
Where is my wife, then? for a wife I had.
Wise-wo. Not see thy wife? Come hither, Jack, my boy.
Nay, take him to thee, and with him all joy.
O. Chart. Well art thou served to be a general scorn
To all thy blood: and, if not for our sakes,
For thy soul's health and credit of the world,
Have some regard to me—to me thy father.
Y. Chart. Enough, sir: if I should say I would become a new man, you
would not take my word; if I should swear I would amend my life, you would not
take mine oath; if I should bind myself to become an honest man, you would
scarce take my bond.
O. Chart. I should do none of these.
Y. Chart. Then see, sir: when to all your judgments I see me past
grace, do I lay hold of grace, and here begin to retire myself. This woman
hath
lent me a glass, in which I see all my imperfections, at which my conscience
doth more blush inwardly than my face outwardly; and now I dare confidently
undertake for myself I am honest.
2nd Luce. Then I dare confidently undertake to help you to a wife who
desires to have an honest man or none. Look on me well: simple though I stand
here, I am your wife. Blush not at your folly, man. Perhaps I have more in me
than you expect from me.
Y. Chart. Knavery and riot, both which are now to me foreign.
2nd Luce. You and I have been better acquainted, and yet search me
not
too far, lest you shame me; look on me well—nay better, better
yet;—I'll assure you I left off a petticoat when I put on these
breeches.
What say you now? [She scatters her hair.
Y. Chart. First love, and best beloved!
2nd Luce. Let me be both or neither.
Wise-wo. [Aside] My boy turned girl! I hope she'll keep my counsel
.
From henceforth I'll never entertain any servant but I'll have her searched.
O. Chart. Her love hath drawn her hither after him.—
My loving daughter, welcome! thou hast run
A happy course to see my son thus changed.
Y. Chart. Father, call me once again your son, and, Sir Harry, me
your
friend; Sencer, a hand, and Mistress Grace, a heart, in honourable love.
Where I
have wronged you, Luce, forgive; impute my errors to my youth, not me. With
Grace I interchange an embrace; with you, Luce, a parting buss. I wish
you all
joy. Divide my heart amongst you—thou my soul!
Nay, Mother Midnight, there's some love for you;
Out of thy folly, being reputed wise,
We, self conceited, have our follies found:
Bear thou the name of all these comical acts.
Luce, Luce, and Grace—O covetous man! I see
I sought to engross what now sufficeth three,
Yet each one wife enough. One nupital feast
Shall serve three bridals, where be thou chief guest!
[Exeunt.
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