Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER, by THOMAS HEYWOOD



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A strange play you are like to have, for know
Last Line: [exeunt.


PROLOGUE.

A STRANGE play you are like to have, for know,
We use no drum, nor trumpet, nor dumb show;
No combat, marriage, not so much to-day
As song, dance, masque, to bombast out a play;
Yet these all good, and still in frequent use
With our best poets; nor is this excuse
Made by our author, as if want of skill
Caused this defect; it's rather his self will.
Will you the reason know? There have so many
Been in that kind, that he desires not any
At this time in his scene, no help, no strain,
Or flash that's borrowed from another's brain;
Nor speaks he this that he would have you fear it,
He only tries if once bare lines will bear it:
Yet may't afford, so please you silent sit,
Some mirth, some matter, and perhaps some wit.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

GERALDINE, young Gentleman.
DELAVIL, young Gentleman.
Old WINCOTT.
Young LIONEL, a riotous Citizen.
Old GERALDINE, Father of Young GERALDINE.
Old LIONEL, a Merchant, Father of Young LIONEL.
REIGNALD, a parasitical Serving-man.
ROBIN, an old country Serving-man.
ROGER the Clown, Servant to Old WINCOTT.
RIOTER, a Spendthrift.
Two Gallants, his Companions.
Master RICOTT, a Merchant.
A Gentleman, Companion to DELAVIL.
A Usurer and his Man.
The Owner of the House, supposed to be possessed.
A Tavern Drawer.
Servants.

WINCOTT'S Wife, a young Gentlewoman.
PRUDENTILLA, her Sister.
BLANDA, a Whore.
SCAPHA, a Bawd.
Two Wenches, Companions to BLANDA.
BESS, Chambermaid to Mistress WINCOTT.

SCENE—LONDON and BARNET.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.—A Room in Old WINCOTT'S House.

Enter Young GERALDINE and DELAVIL.

DEL. Oh, friend, that I to mine own notion
Had joined but your experience! I have
The theoric, but you the practic.
Y. Ger. I
Perhaps have seen what you have only read of.
Del. There's your happiness.
A scholar in his study knows the stars,
Their motion and their influence, which are fixed
And which are wandering, can decipher seas,
And give each several land his proper bounds;
But set him to the compass, he's to seek,
When a plain pilot can direct his course
From hence unto both the Indies; can bring back
His ship and charge, with profits quintuple.
I have read Jerusalem, and studied Rome,
Can tell in what degree each city stands,
Describe the distance of this place from that—
All this the scale in every map can teach;
Nay, for a need could punctually recite
The monuments in either; but what I
Have by relation only, knowledge by travel,
Which still makes up a complete gentleman,
Proves eminent in you.
Y. Ger. I must confess
I have seen Jerusalem and Rome, have brought
Mark from the one, from the other testimony,
Known Spain, and France, and from their airs have sucked
A breath of every language: but no more
Of this discourse, since we draw near the place
Of them we go to visit.

Enter Clown.

Clown. Noble Master Geraldine, worshipful Master
Delavil!
Del. I see thou still rememberest us.
Clown. Remember you! I have had so many memorandums from the
multiplicities of your bounties, that not to remember you were to forgot
myself;
you are both most ingeniously and nobly welcome.
Y. Ger. And why ingeniously and nobly?
Clown. Because had I given your welcomes other attributes than
I have
done, the one being a soldier, and the other seeming a scholar, I should have
lied in the first, and showed myself a kind of blockhead in the last.
Y. Ger. I see your wit is nimble as your tongue;
But how doth all at home?
Clown. Small doings at home, sir, in regard that the age of my master

corresponds not with the youth of my mistress, and you know cold January and
lusty May seldom meet in conjunction.
Del. I do not think but this fellow in time may for his wit and
understanding make almanacks.
Clown. Not so, sir, you being more judicious than I, I'll give you
the
pre-eminence in that, because I see by proof you have such judgment in
times and
seasons.
Del. And why in times and seasons?
Clown. Because you have so seasonably made choice to come so just at
dinner-time. You are welcome, gentlemen; I'll go tell my master of your
coming.
[Exit Clown.
Del. A pleasant knave.
Y. Ger. This fellow I perceive
Is well acquainted with his master's mind.
Oh 'tis a good old man.
Del. And she a lady
For beauty and for virtue unparalleled,
Nor can you name that thing to grace a woman
She has not in a full perfection.
Though in their years might seem disparity,
And therefore at the first a match unfit,
Imagine but his age and government,
Withal her modesty and chaste respect,
Betwixt them there's so sweet a sympathy
As crowns a noble marriage.
Y. Ger. 'Tis acknowledged;
But to the worthy gentleman himself
I am so bound in many courtesies,
That not the least, by all the expression
My labour or my industry can show,
I will know how to cancel.
Del. Oh, you are modest.
Y. Ger. He studies to engross me to himself,
And is so wedded to my company,
He makes me stranger to my father's house,
Although so near a neighbour.
Del. This approves you
To be most nobly propertied, that from one
So exquisite in judgment, can attract
So affectionate an eye.
Y. Ger. Your character
I must bestow on his unmerited love,
As one that know I have it, and yet ignorant
Which way I should deserve it: here both come.

Enter Old WINCOTT, his Wife, and PRUDENTILLA.

Win. Gentlemen, welcome; but what need I use
A word so common, unto such to whom
My house was never private? I expect
You should not look for such a needless phrase,
Especially you, Master Geraldine;
Your father is my neighbour, and I know you
Even from the cradle; then I loved your infancy,
And since your riper growth bettered by travel:
My wife and you in youth were play-fellows,
And must not now be strangers; as I take it,
Not above two years different in your age.
Wife. So much he hath outstripped me.
Win. I would have you
Think this your home, free as your father's house,
And to command it, as the master on't;
Call boldly here, and entertain your friends,
As in your own possessions: when I see't,
I'll say you love me truly, not till then;
Oh, what a happiness your father hath,
Far above me!—one to inherit after him,
Where I (Heaven knows) am childless.
Y. Ger. That defect
Heaven hath supplied in this your virtuous wife,
Both fair, and full of all accomplishments;
My father is a widower, and herein
Your happiness transcends him.
Wife. Oh, Master Geraldine,
Flattery in men's an adjunct of their sex,
This country breeds it, and for that, so far,
You needed not to have travelled.
Y. Ger. Truth's a word
That should in every language relish well,
Nor have I that exceeded.
Wife. Sir, my husband
Hath took much pleasure in your strange discourse
About Jerusalem and the Holy Land:
How the new city differs from the old,
What ruins of the Temple yet remain,
And whether Sion, and those hills about,
With the adjacent towns and villages,
Keep that proportioned distance as we read;
And then in Rome, of that great pyramis
Reared in the front, on four lions mounted;
How many of those idol temples stand,
First dedicated to their heathen gods,
Which ruined, which to better use repaired;
Of their Pantheon, and their Capitol,—
What structures are demolished, what remain.
Win. And what more pleasure to an old man's ear
That never drew save his own country's air,
Than hear such things related? I do exceed him
In years, I must confess, yet he much older
Than I in his experience.
Pru. Master Geraldine,
May I be bold to ask you but one question,
The which I'd be resolved in?
Y. Ger. Anything
That lies within my knowledge.
Win. Put him to't.
Do, sister, you shall find him, make no doubt,
Most pregnant in his answer.
Pru. In your travels
Through France, through Savoy, and through Italy,
Spain, and the Empire, Greece and Palestine,
Which breeds the choicest beauties?
Y. Ger. In troth, lady,
I never cast on any in those parts
A curious eye of censure, since my travel
Was only aimed at language, and to know;
These passed me but as common objects did—
Seen, but not much regarded.
Pru. Oh, you strive
To express a most unheard-of modesty,
And seldom found in any traveller,
Especially of our country, thereby seeking
To make yourself peculiar.
Y. Ger. I should be loth
Profess in outward show to be one man,
And prove myself another.
Pru. One thing more:
Were you to marry, you that know these climes,
Their states and their conditions, out of which
Of all these countries would you choose your wife?
Y. Ger. I'll answer you in brief: as I observe,
Each several clime, for object, fare, or use,
Affords within itself for all of these
What is most pleasing to the man there born:
Spain, that yields scant of food, affords the nation
A parsimonious stomach, where our appetites
Are not content but with the large excess
Of a full table; where the pleasing'st fruits
Are found most frequent, there they best content;
Where plenty flows, it asks abundant feasts;
For so hath provident Nature dealt with all.
So in the choice of women: the Greek wantons,
Compelled beneath the Turkish slavery,
Vassal themselves to all men, and such best
Please the voluptuous that delight in change;
The French is of one humour, Spain another,
The hot Italian has a strain from both,
All pleased with their own nations—even the Moor,
He thinks the blackest the most beautiful;
And, lady, since you so far tax my choice,
I'll thus resolve you: being an Englishman,
'Mongst all these nations I have seen or tried,
To please me best, here would I choose my bride.
Pru. And happy were that lady, in my thoughts,
Whom you would deign that grace to.
Wife. How now, sister!
This is a fashion that's but late come up.
For maids to court their husbands.
Win. I would, wife,
It were no worse, upon condition
They had my helping hand and purse to boot,
With both in ample measure. Oh, this gentleman
I love, nay almost dote on.
Wife. You've my leave
To give it full expression.
Win. In these arms, then.
Oh, had my youth been blest with such a son,
To have made my estate to my name hereditary,
I should have gone contented to my grave,
As to my bed; to death, as to my sleep;
But Heaven hath will in all things. Once more welcome;
And you, sir, for your friend's sake.
Del. Would I had in me
That which he hath, to have claimed it for mine own;
However, I much thank you.

Enter Clown.

Win. Now, sir, the news with you?
Clown. Dancing news, sir; for the meat stands piping hot upon the
dresser, the kitchen's in a heat, and the cook hath so bestirred himself that
he's in a sweat. The jack plays music, and the spits turn round to't.
Win. This fellow's my best clock,
He still strikes true to dinner.
Clown. And to supper too, sir: I know not how the day goes with you,
but my stomach hath struck twelve, I can assure you that.
Win. You take us unprovided, gentlemen;
Yet something you shall find, and we would rather
Give you the entertain of household guests
Than compliment of strangers. I pray enter.
[Exeunt all but Clown.
Clown. I'll stand to't, that in good hospitality there can be nothing

found that's ill: he that's a good housekeeper keeps a good table, a good
table
is never without good stools, good stools seldom without good guests, good
guests never without good cheer, good cheer cannot be without good stomachs,
good stomachs without good digestion, good digestion keeps men in good
health;
and therefore, all good people that bear good minds, as you love goodness, be
sure to keep good meat and drink in your houses, and so you shall be called
good
men, and nothing can come on't but good, I warrant you. [Exit.

SCENE II.—A Room in Old LIONEL'S House.

Enter REIGNALD and ROBIN, two Serving-men.

Reig. Away, you Corydon!
Rob. Shall I be beat out of my master's house thus?
Reig. Thy master! we are lords amongst ourselves,
And here we live and reign. Two years already
Are past of our great empire, and we now
Write anno tertio.
Rob. But the old man lives
That shortly will depose you.
Reig. I' the meantime,
I, as the mighty lord and seneschal
Of this great house and castle, banish thee
The very smell o' the kitchen; be it death
To appear before the dresser.
Rob. And why so?
Reig. Because thou stink'st of garlick. Is that breath
Agreeing with our palace, where each room
Smells with musk, civet, and rich ambergris,
Aloes, cassia, aromatic gums,
Perfumes, and powders? One whose very garments
Scent of the fowls and stables! Oh, fie, fie!
What a base nasty rogue 'tis!
Rob. Yet your fellow.
Reig. Then let us put a cart-horse in rich trappings,
And bring him to the tilt-yard.
Rob. Prank it, do;
Waste, riot, and consume, misspend your hours
In drunken surfeits, lose your days in sleep,
And burn the nights in revels, drink and drap,
Keep Christmas all year long, and blot lean Lent
Out of the calendar; all that mass of wealth
Got by my master's sweat and thrifty care,
Havoc in prodigal uses; make all fly,
Pour't down your oily throats, or send it smoking
Out at the tops of chimneys. At his departure,
Was it the old man's charge to have his windows
Glister all night with stars? his modest house
Turned to a common stews? his beds to pallets
Of lusts and prostitutions? his buttery hatch
Now made more common than a tavern's bar?
His stools, that welcomed none but civil guests,
Now only free for pandars, whores and bawds,
Strumpets, and such?
Reig. I suffer thee too long.
What is to me thy country; or to thee
The pleasure of our city? thou hast cows,
Cattle, and beeves to feed, oves and boves;
These that I keep, and in this pasture graze,
Are dainty damosellas, bonny girls.
If thou be'st born to hedge, ditch, thresh, and plough,
And I to revel, banquet and carouse;
Thou, peasant, to the spade and pickaxe, I
The battoon and stiletto, think it only
Thy ill, my good; our several lots are cast,
And both must be contented.
Rob. But when both
Our services are questioned—
Reig. Look thou to one,
My answer is provided.

Enter Young LIONEL.

Rob. Farewell, musk-cat! [Exit.
Reig. Adieu, good cheese and onions; stuff thy guts
With speck and barley-pudding for digestion;
Drink whig and sour milk, whilst I rinse my throat
With Bordeaux and canary.
Y. Lio. What was he?
Reig. A spy, sir;
One of their hinds o' the country, that came prying
To see what dainty fare our kitchen yields,
What guests we harbour, and what rule we keep,
And threats to tell the old man when he comes;
I think I sent him packing.
Y. Lio. It was well done.
Reig. A whoreson-jackanapes, a base baboon,
To insinuate in our secrets.
Y. Lio. Let such keep
The country, where their charge is.
Reig. So I said, sir.
Y. Lio. And visit us when we command them thence,
Not search into our counsels.
Reig. 'Twere not fit.
Y. Lio. Who in my father's absence should command,
Save I his only son?
Reig. It is but justice.
Y. Lio. For am not I now lord?
Reig. Dominus-fac-totum.
And am not I your steward?
Y. Lio. Well remembered.
This night I have a purpose to be merry,
Jovial and frolic. How doth our cash hold out?
Reig. The bag's still heavy.
Y. Lio. Then my heart's still light.
Reig. I can assure you, yet 'tis pretty deep
Though scarce a mile to the bottom.
Y. Lio. Let me have
To supper, let me see, a duck—
Reig. Sweet rogue!
Y. Lio. A capon—
Reig. Geld the rascal!
Y. Lio. Then a turkey—
Reig. Now spit him, for an infidel!
Y. Lio. Green plover, snipe,
Partridge, lark, cock, and pheasant.
Reig. Ne'er a widgeon?
Y. Lio. Yes; wait thyself at table.
Reig. Where I hope
Yourself will not be absent.
Y. Lio. Nor my friends.
Reig. We'll have them then in plenty.
Y. Lio. Caviare, sturgeon, anchoves, pickle-oysters; yes
And a potato pie; besides all these,
What thou think'st rare and costly.
Reig. Sir, I know
What's to be done; the stock that must be spent
Is in my hands, and what I have to do
I will do suddenly.
Y. Lio. No butcher's meat;
Of that beware in any case.
Reig. I still remember
Your father was no grazier; if he were,
This were a way to eat up all his fields
Hedges and all.
Y. Lio. You will begone, sir?
Reig. Yes, and you are i' the way going. [Exit.
Y. Lio. To what may young men best compare themselves?
Better to what, than to a house new built,
The fabric strong, the chambers well contrived,
Polished within, without well beautified;
When all that gaze upon the edifice
Do not alone commend the workman's craft,
But either make it their fair precedent
By which to build another, or at least
Wish there to inhabit? Being set to sale,
In comes a slothful tenant, with a family
As lazy and debauched; rough tempests rise,
Untile the roof, which by their idleness
Left unrepaired, the stormy showers beat in,
Rot the main posts and rafters, spoil the rooms,
Deface the ceilings, and in little space
Bring it to utter ruin, yet the fault
Not in the architector that first reared it,
But him that should repair it. So it fares
With us young men; we are those houses made;
Our parents raise these structures, the foundation
Laid in our infancy; and as we grow
In years, they strive to build us by degrees,
Story on story higher; up at height,
They cover us with counsel, to defend us
From storms without; they polish us within
With learnings, knowledge, arts and disciplines;
All that is naught and vicious they sweep from us,
Like dust and cobwebs, and our rooms concealed,
Hang with the costliest hangings, 'bout the walls
Emblems and beauteous symbols pictured round:
But when that lazy tenant, Love, steps in,
And in his train brings sloth and negligence,
Lust, disobedience, and profuse excess,
The thrift with which our fathers tiled our roofs
Submits to every storm and winter's blast,
And, yielding place to every riotous sin,
Gives way without to ruin what's within:
Such is the state I stand in.

Enter BLANDA and SCAPHA; Young LIONEL retires.

Blan. And how doth this tire become me?
Sca. Rather ask, how your sweet carriage and court behaviour doth
best
grace you, for lovers regard not so much the outward habit as that which the
garment covers.
Y. Lio. Oh, here's that hail, shower, tempest, storm, and gust
That shattered hath this building; let in lust,
Intemperance, appetite to vice; withal,
Neglect of every goodness: thus I see
How I am sinking in mine own disease,
Yet can I not abide it. [Aside.
Blan. And how this gown? I prithee view me well,
And speak with thy best judgment.
Sca. What do you talk of gowns and ornaments,
That have a beauty precious in itself,
And becomes anything?
Y. Lio. Let me not live, but she speaks nought but truth,
And I'll for that reward her. [Aside.
Blan. All's one to me, become they me or not,
Or be I fair or foul in others' eyes,
So I appear so to my Lionel;
He is the glass in whom I judge my face,
By whom in order I will dress these curls,
And place these jewels, only to please him.
Why dost smile?
Sca. To hear a woman that thinks herself so wise speak so foolishly;
that knows well, and does ill.
Blan. Teach me wherein I err.
Sca. I'll tell thee, daughter: in that thou knowest thyself to be
beloved of so many, and settlest thy affection only upon one. Doth the mill
grind only when the wind sits in one corner, or ships only sail when it's in
this or that quarter? Is he a cunning fencer that lies but at one guard, or he
a
skilful musician that plays but on one string? Is there but one way to the
wood,
and but one bucket that belongs to the well? To affect one, and despise all
other, becomes the precise matron, not the prostitute; the loyal wife, not the

loose wanton. Such have I been as you are now, and should learn to sail with
all
winds, defend all blows, make music with all strings, know all the ways to
the
wood, and, like a good travelling hackney, learn to drink of all waters.
Y. Lio. May I miscarry in my Blanda's love,
If I that old damnation do not send
To hell before her time! [Aside.
Blan. I would not have you, mother, teach me aught
That tends to injure him.
Sca. Well, look to't when 'tis too late, and then repent at
leisure, as
I have done. Thou seest, here's nothing but prodigality and pride,
wantoning and
wasting, rioting and revelling, spoiling and spending, gluttony and
gormandising—all goes to havoc. And can this hold out? When
he hath nothing
left to help himself, how can he harbour thee? Look at length to drink from a
dry bottle, and feed from an empty knapsack; look to't, 'twill come to that.
Y. Lio. My parsimony shall begin in thee,
And instantly; for from this hour, I vow
That thou no more shalt drink upon my cost,
Nor taste the smallest fragment from my board;
I'll see thee starve i' the street first. [Aside.
Sca. Live to one man! a jest; thou mayst as well tie thyself to one
gown;
and what fool but will change with the fashion? Yes, do, confine thyself
to one
garment, and use no variety, and see how soon it will rot, and turn to rags.
Y. Lio. [Coming forward]. Those rags be thy reward!
—Oh, my sweet Blanda,
Only for thee I wish my father dead,
And ne'er to rouse us from our sweet delight;
But for this hag, this beldam, she whose back
Hath made her items in my mercer's books;
Whose ravenous guts I have stuffed with delicates,
Nay even to surfeit; and whose frozen blood
I have warmed with aquavitæ—be this day
My last of bounty to a wretch ingrate;
But unto thee a new indenture sealed
Of an affection fixed and permanent.
I'll love thee still, be't but to give the lie
To this old cankered worm.
Blan. Nay, be not angry.
Y. Lio. With thee my soul shall ever be at peace;
But with this love-seducer, still at war.
Sca. Hear me but speak.
Y. Lio. Ope but thy lips again, it makes a way
To have thy tongue plucked out.

Enter RIOTER and two Gallants.

Rio. What, all in tempest!
Y. Lio. Yes, and the storm raised by that witch's spells;
Oh, 'tis a damned enchantress!
Rio. What's the business?
Blan. Only some few words, slipped her unawares:
For my sake make her peace.
Rio. You charge me deeply.
Come, friend, will you be moved at women's words,
A man of your known judgment?
Y. Lio. Had you but heard
The damned erroneous doctrine that she taught,
You would have judged her to the stake.
Blan. But, sweetheart,
She now recants those errors; once more number her
Amongst your household servants.
Rio. Shall she beg,
And be denied aught from you?
Blan. Come, this kiss
Shall end all former quarrels.
Rio. 'Tis not possible
Those lips should move in vain, that two ways plead,—
Both in their speech and silence.
Y. Lio. You have prevailed,
But upon this condition, no way else:
I'll censure her, as she hath sentenced thee,
But with some small inversion.
Rio. Speak, how's that?
Blan. Not too severe, I prithee; see, poor wretch,
She at the bar stands quaking.
Y. Lio. Now, hold up—
Rio. How, man, how?
Y. Lio. Her hand, I mean.—And now I'll sentence thee;
According to thy counsel given to her:
Sail by one wind; thou shalt to one tune sing,
Lie at one guard, and play but on one string;
Henceforth I will confine thee to one garment,
And that shall be a cast one, like thyself,
Just past all wearing, as thou past all use,
And not to be renewed, till't be as ragged
As thou art rotten.
Blan. Nay, sweet—
Y. Lio. That for her habit.
Sca. A cold suit I have on't.
Y. Lio. To prevent surfeit,
Thy diet shall be to one dish confined,
And that too rifled, with as unclean hands
As e'er were laid on thee.
Sca. What he scants me in victuals, would he but allow me in drink!
Y. Lio. That shall be the refuse of the flagons, jacks,
And snuffs, such as the nastiest breaths shall leave;
Of wine, and of strong-water, never hope
Henceforth to smell.
Sca. Oh me! I faint already.
Y. Lio. If I sink in my state, of all the rest
Be thou excused; what thou proposed to her,
Beldam, is now against thyself decreed:
Drink from dry springs, from empty knapsacks feed.
Sca. No burnt wine, nor hot-waters! [She swoons.
Y. Lio. Take her hence.
Blan. Indeed you are too cruel.
Y. Lio. Yes, to her,
Only of purpose to be kind to thee;
Are any of my guests come?
Rio. Fear not, sir,
You will have a full table.
Y. Lio. What, and music?
Rio. Best consort in the city, for six parts.
Y. Lio. We shall have songs then?
Rio. By the ear. [Whispers.
Y. Lio. And wenches?
Rio. Yes, by the eye.
Blan. Ha! what was that you said?
Rio. We shall have such to bear you company
As will no doubt content you.
Y. Lio. Ever thine:
In youth there is a fate that sways us still,
To know what's good, and yet pursue what's ill.
[Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.—A Room in Old WINCOTT'S House.

Enter Old WINCOTT and his Wife.

WIN. And what's this Delavil?
Wife. My apprehension
Can give him no more true expression,
Than that he first appears a gentleman,
And well conditioned.
Win. That for outward show;
But what in him have you observèd else,
To make him better known?
Wife. I have not eyes
To search into the inward thoughts of men,
Nor ever was I studied in that art
To judge of men's affection by the face;
But that which makes me best opinioned of him
Is that he's the companion and the friend
Beloved of him whom you so much commend—
The noble Master Geraldine.
Win. Thou hast spoke
That which not only crowns his true desert,
But now instates him in my better thoughts,
Making his worth unquestioned.
Wife. He pretends
Love to my sister Pru. I have observed him
Single her out to private conference.
Win. But I could rather, for her own sake, wish,
Young Geraldine would fix his thoughts that way,
And she towards him; in such affinity,
Trust me, I would not use a sparing hand.
Wife. But Love in these kinds should not be compelled,
Forced, nor persuaded; when it freely springs,
And of itself takes voluntary root,
It grows, it spreads, it ripens, and brings forth
Such an usurious crop of timely fruit
As crowns a plenteous autumn.
Win. Such a harvest
I should not be the ungladdest man to see,

Enter Clown.

Of all thy sister's friends.—Now, whence come you?
Clown. Who, I, sir? from a lodging of largess, a house of
hospitality,
and a palace of plenty; where there's feeding like horses and drinking like
fishes; where for pints, we're served in pottles; and instead of
pottle-pots, in
pails; instead of silver tankards, we drink out of
water-tankards; claret runs
as freely as the cocks, and canary like the
conduits of a coronation day; where
there's nothing but feeding and frolicking, carving in kissing, drinking and
dancing, music and madding, fiddling and feasting.
Win. And where, I pray thee, are all these revels kept?
Clown. They may be rather called
reaks than revels; as I came along by
the door I was called up amongst them—he-gallants and she-gallants. I no
sooner looked out, but saw them out with their knives, slashing of shoulders,
mangling of legs, and lanching of loins, till there was scarce a whole limb
left
amongst them.
Win. A fearful massacre!
Clown. One was hacking to cut off a neck; this was mangling a
breast;
his knife slipped from the shoulder, and only cut off a wing; one was picking
the brains out of a head, another was knuckle-deep in a belly; one was groping

for a liver, another searching for the kidneys. I saw one pluck the soul from
the body—goose that she was to suffer't!; another pricked into the breast

with his own bill—woodcock to endure it!
Wife. How fell they out at first?
Clown. I know not that, but it seems one had a stomach, and another
had
a stomach; but there was such biting and tearing with their teeths, that I am
sure I saw some of their poor carcasses pay for't.
Win. Did they not send for surgeons?
Clown. Alas, no! surgeons' help was too late; there was no stitching
up
of those wounds, where limb was plucked from limb; nor any salve for those
scars, which all the plaster of Paris cannot cure.
Win. Where grew the quarrel first?
Clown. It seems it was first broached in the kitchen, certain
creatures
being brought in thither by some of the house. The cook, being a choleric
fellow, did so towse them and toss them, so pluck them and pull them, till he
left them as naked as my nail; pinioned some of them like felons; cut the
spurs
from others off their heels; then down went his spits, some of them he
ran in at
the throat, and out at the backside: about went his basting-ladle,
where he did
so besauce them that many a shrewd turn they had amongst them.
Wife. But, in all this, how did the women scape?
Clown. They fared best, and did the least hurt that I saw, but for
quietness-sake were forced to swallow what is not yet digested; yet every one
had their share, and she that had least, I am sure, by this time hath her
bellyful.
Win. And where was all this havoc kept?
Clown. Marry, sir, at your next neighbour's, Young Master Lionel,
where
there is nothing but drinking out of dry-vats, and healthing in half-tubs; his

guests are fed by the belly, and beggars served at his gate in baskets. He's
the
adamant of this age, the daffodil of these days, the prince of prodigality,
and
the very Cæsar of all young citizens.
Win. Belike, then, 'twas a massacre of meat,
Not as I apprehended?
Clown. Your gravity hath guessed aright: the chiefest that fell in thi
s
battle were wild fowl and tame fowl; pheasants were wounded instead of
alfarez,
and capons for captains; anchoves stood for ancients, and caviare for
corporals;
dishes were assaulted instead of ditches, and rabbits were cut to pieces upon
the rebellings; some lost their legs, whilst other of their wings were forced
to
fly; the pioner undermined nothing but pie-crust, and—
Win. Enough, enough! your wit hath played too long
Upon our patience.—Wife, it grieves me much
Both for the young and old man: the one graces
His head with care, endures the parching heat
And biting cold, the terrors of the lands,
And fears at sea, in travel, only to gain
Some competent estate to leave his son;
Whiles all that merchandise, through gulfs, cross-tides,
Pirates, and storms, he brings so far, the other
Here shipwrecks in the harbour.
Wife. 'Tis the care
Of fathers; and the weakness incident
To youth, that wants experience.

Enter Young GERALDINE, DELAVIL, and PRUDENTILLA, laughing.

Clown. I was at the beginning of the battle; but here comes some, that i
t
seems were at the rifling of the dead carcases; for by their mirth they have
had
part of the spoil.
Win. You are pleasant, gentlemen; what, I entreat,
Might be the subject of your pleasant sport?
It promiseth some pleasure.
Pru. If their recreation
Be, as I make no question, on truth grounded,
'Twill beget sudden laughter.
Wife. What's the project?
Del. Who shall relate it?
Win. Master Geraldine,
If there be anything can please my ear
With pleasant sounds, your tongue must be the instrument
On which the string must strike.
Del. Be it his, then.
Pru. Nay, hear it, 'tis a good one.
Wife. Wee ntreat you,
Possess us o' the novel.
Win. Speak, good sir.
Y. Ger. I shall, then, with a kind of barbarism,
Shadow a jest that asks a smoother tongue,
For in my poor discourse, I do protest,
It will but lose its lustre.
Wife. You are modest.
Win. However, speak, I pray; for my sake do't.
Clown. This is like a hasty pudding, longer in eating than it was in
making.
Y. Ger. Then thus it was: this gentleman and I
Passed but just now by your next neighbour's house,
Where, as they say, dwells one young Lionel.
Clown. Where I was to-night at supper.
Win. An unthrift youth, his father now at sea.
Y. Ger. Why, that's the very subject upon which
It seems this jest is grounded; there this night
Was a great feast.
Clown. Why, so I told you, sir.
Win. Be thou still dumb; 'tis he that I would hear.
Y. Ger. In the height of their carousing, all their brains
Warmed with the heat of wine, discourse was offered
Of ships, and storms at sea; when suddenly,
Out of his giddy wildness, one conceives
The room wherein they quaffed to be a pinnace,
Moving and floating; and the confused noise
To be the murmuring winds, gusts, mariners;
That their unsteadfast footing did proceed
From rocking of the vessel: this conceived,
Each one begins to apprehend the danger,
And to look out for safety. "Fly," saith one,
"Up to the main-top, and discover;" he
Climbs by the bed-post to the tester, there
Reports a turbulent sea and tempest towards,
And wills them, if they'll save their ship and lives,
To cast their lading overboard; at this
All fall to work, and hoist into the street,
As to the sea, what next come to their hand—
Stools, tables, trestles, trenchers, bedsteads, cups,
Pots, plate, and glasses; here a fellow whistles,
They take him for the boatswain; one lies struggling
Upon the floor, as if he swum for life;
A third takes the bass-viol for the cockboat,
Sits in the belly on't, labours and rows,
His oar the stick with which the fiddler played;
A fourth bestrides his fellows, thinking to scape
As did Arion on the dolphin's back,
Still fumbling on a gittern.
Clown. Excellent sport!
Win. But what was the conclusion?
Y. Ger. The rude multitude,
Watching without, and gaping for the spoil
Cast from the windows, went by the ears about it;
The constable is called to atone the broil,
Which done, and hearing such a noise within
Of imminent shipwreck, enters the house, and finds them
In this confusion. They adore his staff,
And think it Neptune's trident, and that he
Comes with his Tritons (so they called his watch)
To calm the tempest, and appease the waves;
And at this point we left them.
Clown. Come what will, I'll steal out of doors, and see the end of
it,
that's certain. [Exit.
Win. Thanks, Master Geraldine, for this discourse;
In troth it hath much pleased me; but the night
Begins to grow fast on us: for your parts
You are all young, and you may sit up late;
My eyes begin to summon me to sleep,
And nothing's more offensive unto age
Than to watch long and late. [Exit.
Y. Ger. Now good rest with you!
Del. What says fair Prudentilla? Maids and widows,
And we young bachelors, such as indeed
Are forced to lie in solitary beds,
And sleep without disturbance—we, methinks,
Should desire later hours than married wives,
That in their amorous arms hug their delights!
To often wakings subject, their more haste
May better be excused.
Pru. How can you,
That are, as you confess, a single man,
Enter so far into these mystical secrets
Of marriage, which as yet you never proved?
Del. There's, lady, an instinct innate in man,
Which prompts us to the apprehensions
Of the uses we were born to; such we are
Aptest to learn, ambitious most to know,
Of which our chief is marriage.
Pru. What you men
Most meditate, we women seldom dream of.
Del. When dream maids most?
Pru. When, think you?
Del. When you lie upon your backs.
Come, come; your ear. [Exeunt DELAVIL and PRUDEN-TILLA,
Y. Ger. We now are left alone.
Wife. Why, say we be, who should be jealous of us?
This is not first of many hundred nights
That we two have been private: from the first
Of our acquaintance, when our tongues but clipped
Our mother's-tongue, and could not speak it plain,
We knew each other; as in stature, so
Increased our sweet society; since your travel,
And my late marriage, through my husband's love,
Midnight hath been as mid-day, and my bed-chamber
As free to you as your own father's house,
And you as welcome to't.
Y. Ger. I must confess
It is in you your noble courtesy,
In him a more than common confidence,
And in this age can scarce find precedent.
Wife. Most true; it is withal an argument
That both our virtues are so deep impressed
In his good thoughts, he knows we cannot err.
Y. Ger. A villain were he to deceive such trust,
Or, were there one, a much worse character.
Wife. And she no less, whom either beauty, youth,
Time, place, or opportunity could tempt
To injure such a husband.
Y. Ger. You deserve,
Even for his sake, to be for ever young;
And he, for yours, to have his youth renewed,
So mutual is your true conjugal love;
Yet, had the Fates so pleased—
Wife. I know your meaning.
It was once voiced that we two should have matched;
The world so thought, and many tongues so spake;
But Heaven hath now disposed us otherways;
And being as it is, (a thing in me
Which, I protest, was never wished nor sought),
Now done, I not repent it.
Y. Ger. In those times,
Of all the treasures of my hopes and love,
You were the exchequer, they were stored in you;
And, had not my unfortunate travel crossed them,
They had been here reserved still.
Wife. Troth, they had;
I should have been your trusty treasurer.
Y. Ger. However, let us love still, I entreat:
That, neighbourhood and breeding will allow;
So much the laws divine and human both
'Twixt brother and a sister will approve;
Heaven then forbid that they should limit us
Wish well to one another!
Wife. If they should not,
We might proclaim they were not charitable,
Which were a deadly sin but to conceive.
Y. Ger. Will you resolve me one thing?
Wife. As to one
That in my bosom hath a second place,
Next my dear husband.
Y. Ger. That's the thing I crave,
And only that—to have a place next him.
Wife. Presume on that already; but perhaps
You mean to stretch it further.
Y. Ger. Only thus far:
Your husband's old, to whom my soul doth wish
A Nestor's age, so much he merits from me;
Yet if (as proof and Nature daily teach
Men cannot always live, especially
Such as are old and crazed) he be called hence,
Fairly, in full maturity of time,
And we two be reserved to after-life,
Will you confer your widowhood on me?
Wife. You ask the thing I was about to beg;
Your tongue hath spake mine own thoughts.
Y. Ger. Vow to that.
Wife. As I hope mercy.
Y. Ger. 'Tis enough; that word
Alone instates me happy. Now, so please you,
We will divide, you to your private chamber,
I to find out my friend.
Wife. Nay, Master Geraldine,
One ceremony rests yet unperformed:
My vow is past, your oath must next proceed;
And as you covet to be sure of me,
Of you I would be certain.
Y. Ger. Make ye doubt?
Wife. No doubt; but Love's still jealous, and in that
To be excused; you then shall swear by Heaven,
And as in all your future acts you hope
To thrive and prosper; as the day may yield
Comfort, or the night rest; as you would keep
Entire the honour of your father's house,
And free your name from scandal and reproach;
By all the goodness that you hope to enjoy,
Or ill to shun—
Y. Ger. You charge me deeply, lady.
Wife. Till that day come, you shall reserve yourself
A single man; converse nor company
With any woman, contract nor combine
With maid or widow; which expected hour,
As I do wish not haste, so when it happens
It shall not come unwelcome. You hear all;
Vow this.
Y. Ger. By all that you have said, I swear,
And by this kiss confirm.
Wife. You're now my brother;
But then, my second husband. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Before Old LIONEL'S House.

Enter, from the House, Young LIONEL, RIOTER, BLANDA, SCAPHA, two
Gallants,
and two Wenches, as newly waked from sleep.

Y. Lio. We had a stormy night on't.
Blan. The wine still works,
And, with the little rest they have took to-night,
They are scarce come to themselves.
Y. Lio. Now 'tis a calm,
Thanks to those gentle sea-gods, that have brought us
To this safe harbour: can you tell their names?
Sca. He with the painted staff I heard you call Neptune.
Y. Lio. The dreadful god of seas,
Upon whose back ne'er stuck March fleas.
1st Gal. One with the bill keeps Neptune's porpoises,
So Ovid says in's Metamorphoses.
2nd Gal. A third the learned poets write on,
And, as they say, his name is Triton.
Y. Lio. These are the marine gods, to whom my father
In his long voyage prays to; cannot they,
That brought us to our haven, bury him
In their abyss? For if he safe arrive,
I, with these sailors, sirens, and what not,
Am sure here to be shipwrecked.
1st Wench [to RIOTER]. Stand up stiff.
Rio. But that the ship so totters—I shall fall.
1st Wench. If thou fall, I'll fall with thee.
Rio. Now I sink,
And, as I dive and drown, thus by degrees
I'll pluck thee to the bottom. [They fall.

Enter REIGNALD.

Y. Lio. Amain for England! See, see,
The Spaniard now strikes sail.
Reig. So must you all.
1st Gal. Whence is your ship—from the Bermoothes?
Reig. Worse, I think from Hell:
We are all lost, split, shipwrecked, and undone.
This place is a mere quicksands.
2nd Gal. So we feared.
Reig. Where's my young master?
Y. Lio. Here, man; speak, the news?
Reig. The news is, I, and you—
Y. Lio. What?
Reig. She, and all these—
Blan. I!
Reig. We, and all ours, are in one turbulent sea
Of fear, despair, disaster, and mischance
Swallowed. Your father, sir—
Y. Lio. Why, what of him?
Reig. He is—
Oh I want breath.
Y. Lio. Where?
Reig. Landed, and at hand.
Y. Lio. Upon what coast? Who saw him?
Reig. I—these eyes.
Y. Lio. O Heaven! what shall I do then?
Reig. Ask ye me
What shall become of you, that have not yet
Had time of study to dispose myself?
I say again, I was upon the quay,
I saw him land, and this way bend his course.
What drunkard's this, that can outsleep a storm
Which threatens all our ruins? Wake him.
Blan. Ho, Rioter, awake
Rio. Yes, I am 'wake;
How dry hath this salt-water made me! Boy,
Give me the other glass.
Y. Lio. Arise, I say:
My father's come from sea.
Rio. If he be come,
Bid him be gone again.
Reig. Can you trifle
At such a time, when your inventions, brains,
Wits, plots, devices, stratagems, and all
Should be at one in action? Each of you
That love your safeties, lend your helping hands,
Women and all, to take this drunkard hence,
And to bestow him elsewhere.
Blan. Lift, for Heaven's sake.
[They carry RIOTER in.
Reig. But what am I the nearer, were all these
Conveyed to sundry places and unseen?
The stain of our disorders still remains,
Of which the house will witness, and the old man
Must find it when he enters; and for these

Re-enter Young LIONEL and others.

I am here left to answer.—What, is he gone?
Y. Lio. But whither? But into the selfsame house
That harbours him; my father's, where we all
Attend from him surprisal.
Reig. I will make
That prison of your fears your sanctuary;
Go, get you in together.
Y. Lio. To this house?
Reig. Your father's, with your sweetheart, these and all;
Nay, no more words, but do it.
Blan. That were to
Betray us to his fury.
Reig. I have't here
To bail you hence at pleasure; and in the interim
I'll make this supposed gaol, to you as safe
From the injured old man's just-incensèd spleen,
As were you now together i' the Low-Countries,
Virginia, or i' the Indies.
Blan. Present fear
Bids us to yield unto the faint belief
Of the least hopèd safety.
Reig. Will you in?
All. By thee we will be counselled.
Reig. Shut them fast.
Y. Lio. And thou and I to leave them?
Reig. No such thing;
For you shall bear your sweetheart company,
And help to cheer the rest.
Y. Lio. And so thou meanest to escape alone?
Reig. Rather without,
I'll stand a champion for you all within.
Will you be swayed? One thing in any case
I must advise: the gates bolted and locked,
See that 'mongst you no living voice be heard;
No, not so much as but a dog to howl,
Or cat to mew—all silence, that I charge;
As if this were a mere forsaken house,
And none did there inhabit.
Y. Lio. Nothing else?
Reig. And, though the old man thunder at the gates
As if he meant to ruin what he had reared,
None on their lives to answer.
Y. Lio. 'Tis my charge:
Remains there nothing else?
Reig. Only the key;
For I must play the gaoler for your durance,
To be the Mercury in your release.
Y. Lio. Me, and my hope, I in this key deliver
To thy safe trust.
Reig. When you are fast you are safe,
And with this turn 'tis done.
[Exeunt all except REIGNALD who locks the door.
What fools are these,
To trust their ruined fortunes to his hands
That hath betrayed his own, and make themselves
Prisoner to one deserves to lie for all,
As being cause of all! And yet something prompts me—
I'll stand it at all dangers; and, to recompense
The many wrongs unto the young man done,
Now, if I can doubly delude the old—
My brain, about it, then. All's hushed within;
The noise that shall be, I must make without,
And he that, part for gain and part for wit,
So far hath travelled, strive to fool at home:
Which to effect, art must with knavery join,
And smooth dissembling meet with impudence.
I'll do my best, and howsoe'er it prove,
My praise or shame, 'tis but a servant's love. [Retires.

Enter Old LIONEL, with Watermen, and two Servants
with burdens
and caskets.

O. Lio. Discharge these honest sailors that have brought
Our chests ashore, and pray them have a care
Those merchandise be safe we left aboard.
As Heaven hath blessed us with a fortunate voyage,
In which we bring home riches with our healths,
So let not us prove niggards in our store;
See them paid well, and to their full content.
1st Ser. I shall, sir.
O. Lio. Then return: these special things,
And of most value, we'll not trust aboard;
Methinks they are not safe till they see home,
And there repose, where we will rest ourselves,
And bid farewell to travel; for I vow
After this hour no more to trust the seas,
Nor throw me to such danger.
Reig. I could wish
You had took your leave o' the land too. [Aside.
O. Lio. And now it much rejoiceth me to think
What a most sudden welcome I shall bring
Both to my friends and private family.
Reig. Oh, but how much more welcome had he been
That had brought certain tidings of thy death! [Aside.
O. Lio. But soft, what's this? my own gates shut upon me,
And bar their master entrance! Who's within there?
How, no man speak! are all asleep or dead,
That no soul stirs to open? [Knocks loudly.
Reig. What madman's that who, weary of his life,
Dares once lay hand on these accursèd gates?
O. Lio. Who's that? my servant Reignald!
Reig. My old master!
Most glad I am to see you; are you well, sir?
O. Lio. Thou seest I am.
Reig. But are you sure you are?
Feel you no change about you? Pray you stand off.
O. Lio. What strange and unexpected greeting's this,
That thus a man may knock at his own gates,
Beat with his hands and feet, and call thus loud,
And no man give him entrance?
Reig. Said you, sir—
Did your hand touch that hammer?
O. Lio. Why, whose else?
Reig. But are you sure you touched it?
O. Lio. How else, I prithee,
Could I have made this noise?
Reig. You touched it then?
O. Lio. I tell thee yet I did.
Reig. Oh, for the love I bear you—
O me most miserable! you, for your own sake,
Of all alive most wretched!—did you touch it?
O. Lio. Why, say I did?
Reig. You have then a sin committed,
No sacrifice can expiate, to the dead;
But yet I hope you did not,
O. Lio. 'Tis past hope;
The deed is done, and I repent it not.
Reig. You and all yours will do't. In this one rashness,
You have undone us all: pray be not desperate,
But first thank Heaven that you have escaped thus well.
Come from the gate—yet further, further yet—
And tempt your fate no more; command your servants
Give off and come no nearer; they are ignorant,
And do not know the danger, therefore pity
That they should perish in't. 'Tis full seven months
Since any of your house durst once set foot
Over that threshold.
O. Lio. Prithee speak the cause?
Reig. First look about; beware that no man hear;
Command these to remove.
O. Lio. Begone.—[Exeunt Servants and
Watermen].—Now
speak.
Reig. Oh, sir, this house is grown prodigious,
Fatal, disastrous unto you and yours.
O. Lio. What fatal? what disastrous?
Reig. Some host, that hath been owner of this house,
In it his guest hath slain; and we suspect
'Twas he of whom you bought it.
O. Lio. How came this
Discovered to you first?
Reig. I'll tell you, sir;
But further from the gate. Your son one night
Supped late abroad, I within—oh, that night
I never shall forget! Being safe got home,
I saw him in his chamber laid to rest;
And after went to mine, and, being drowsy,
Forgot by chance to put the candle out:
Being dead asleep, your son, affrighted, calls
So loud that I soon wakened, brought in light,
And found him almost drowned in fearful sweat;
Amazed to see't, I did demand the cause,
Who told me that this murdered ghost appeared,
His body gashed, and all o'er-stuck with wounds,
And spake to him as follows.
O. Lio. Oh, proceed;
'Tis that I long to hear.
Reig. "I am," quoth he,
"A transmarine by birth, who came well stored
With gold and jewels to this fatal house,
Where, seeking safety, I encountered death:
The covetous merchant, landlord of this rent,
To whom I gave my life and wealth in charge,
Freely to enjoy the one, robbed me of both:
Here was my body buried, here my ghost
Must ever walk, till that have Christian right;
Till when, my habitation must be here.
Then fly, young man; remove thy family,
And seek some safer dwelling; for my death
This mansion is accursed; 'tis my possession,
Bought at the dear rate of my life and blood:
None enter here, that aims at his own good."
And with this charge he vanished.
O. Lio. O my fear!
Whither wilt thou transport me?
Reig. I entreat
Keep further from the gate, and fly.
O. Lio. Fly whither?
Why dos't not thou fly too?
Reig. What need I fear?
The ghost and I am friends.
O. Lio. But Reignald_____
Reig. [Turning round.] Tush!
I nothing have deserved, nor aught transgressed:
I came not near the gate.
O. Lio. To whom was that thou spakest?
Reig. Was't you, sir, named me?
Now as I live, I thought the dead man called,
To inquire for him that thundered at the gate
Which he so dearly paid for. Are you mad,
To stand a foreseen danger?
O. Lio. What shall I do?
Reig. Cover your head and fly, lest, looking back,
You spy your own confusion.
O. Lio. Why dost thou not fly too?
eig. I tell you, sir,
The ghost and I am friends.
O. Lio. Why didst thou quake then?
Reig. In fear lest some mischance may fall on you,
That have the dead offended; for my part,
The ghost and I am friends. Why fly you not,
Since here you are not safe?
O. Lio. Some blest powers guard me!
Reig. Nay, sir,
I'll not forsake you.—[Exit Old LIONEL.]—I have got the start;
But ere the goal, 'twill ask both brain and art. [Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.—The Dining Hall in Old GERALDINE'S House.

Enter Old GERALDINE, Young GERALDINE, WINCOTT and his Wife, DELAVIL,
and PRUDENTILLA.

WIN. We are bound to you, kind Master Geraldine,
For this great entertainment; troth, your cost
Hath much exceeded common neighbourhood;
You have feasted us like princes.
O. Ger. This, and more
Many degrees, can never countervail
The oft and frequent welcomes given my son:
You have took him from me quite, and have, I think,
Adopted him into your family,
He stays with me so seldom.
Win. And in this,
By trusting him to me, of whom yourself
May have both use and pleasure, you're as kind
As moneyed men, that might make benefit
Of what they are possessed, yet to their friends
In need will lend it gratis.
Wife. And, like such
As are indebted more than they can pay,
We more and more confess ourselves engaged
To you for your forbearance.
Pru. Yet you see,
Like debtors, such as would not break their day,
The treasure late received we tender back,
The which, the longer you can spare, you still
The more shall bind us to you.
O. Ger. Most kind ladies,
Worthy you are to borrow, that return
The principal with such large use of thanks.
Del. [Aside.] What strange felicity these rich men take
To talk of borrowing, lending, and of use!
The usurer's language right.
Win. You've, Master Geraldine,
Fair walks and gardens; I have praisèd them
Both to my wife and sister.
O. Ger. You would see them?
There is no pleasure that the house can yield
That can be debarred from you.—Prithee, son,
Be thou the usher to those mounts and prospects
May one day call thee master.
Y. Ger. Sir, I shall.—
Please you to walk?
Pru. What, Master Delavil,
Will you not bear us company?
Del. 'Tis not fit
That we should leave our noble host alone.
Be you my friend's charge, and this old man mine.
Pru. Well, be't then at your pleasure.
[Exeunt all but DELAVIL and Old GERALDINE
Del. You to your prospects, but there's project here
That's of another nature.—Worthy sir,
I cannot but approve your happiness
To be the father of so brave a son,
So every way accomplished and made up,
In which my voice is least; for I, alas!
Bear but a mean part in the common choir,
When with much louder accents of his praise
So all the world reports him.
O. Ger. Thank my stars,
They have lent me one who, as he always was
And is my present joy, if their aspéct
Be no ways to our goods malevolent,
May be my future comfort.
Del. Yet must I hold him happy above others,
As one that solely to himself enjoys
What many others aim at, but in vain.
O. Ger. How mean you that?
Del. So beautiful a mistress.
O. Ger. A mistress, said you?
Del. Yes, sir, or a friend,
Whether you please to style her.
O. Ger. Mistress! friend!
Pity be more open-languaged.
Del. And indeed
Who can blame him to absent himself from home,
And make his father's house but as a grange
For a beauty so attractive? or blame her,
Hugging so weak an old man in her arms,
To make a new choice of an equal youth,
Being in him so perfect? Yet, in troth,
I think they both are honest.
O. Ger. You have, sir,
Possessed me with such strange fancies—
Del. For my part,
How can I love the person of your son,
And not his reputation? His repair
So often to the house is voiced by all,
And frequent in the mouths of the whole country:
Some, equally addicted, praise his happiness,
But others, more censorious and austere,
Blame and reprove a course so dissolute;
Each one in general pity the good man,
As one unfriendly dealt with, yet in my conscience
I think them truly honest.
O. Ger. 'Tis suspicious.
Del. True, sir, at best; but what when scandalous tongues
Will make the worst, and what's good in itself,
Sully and stain by fabulous misreport?
For let men live as chary as they can,
Their lives are often questioned; then no wonder
If such as give occasion of suspicion
Be subject to this scandal. What I speak
Is as a noble friend unto your son;
And therefore, as I glory in his fame,
I suffer in his wrong; for, as I live,
I think they both are honest.
O. Ger. Howsoever,
I wish them so.
Del. Some course might be devised
To stop this clamour ere it grow too rank,
Lest that which yet but inconvenience seems
May turn to greater mischief: this I speak
In zeal to both,—in sovereign care of him
As of a friend, and tender of her honour
As one to whom I hope to be allied
By marriage with her sister.
O. Ger. I much thank you,
For you have clearly given me light of that
Till now I never dreamt on.
Del. 'Tis my love,
And therefore I entreat you make not me
To be the first reporter.
O. Ger. You have done
The office of a noble gentleman,
And shall not be so injured.

Re-enter WINCOTT and his WIFE, Young GERALDINE, and PRUDENTILLA;
the ladies wearing flowers.

Win. See, Master Geraldine,
How bold we are; especially these ladies
Play little better than the thieves with you,
For they have robbed you garden.
Wife. You might, sir,
Better have termed it sauciness than theft;
You see we blush not what we took in private
To wear in public view.
Prud. Besides, these cannot
Be missed out of so many; in full fields
The gleanings are allowed.
O. Ger. These and the rest
Are, ladies, at your service.
Win. Now to horse:
But one thing, ere we part, I must entreat,
In which my wife will be joint suitor with me,
My sister too.
O. Ger. In what, I pray?
Win. That he
Which brought us hither may but bring us home;
Your much-respected son.
O. Ger. How men are born
To woo their own disasters! [Aside.
Wife. But to see us
From whence he brought us, sir, that's all.
O. Ger. This second motion makes it palpable.
To note a woman's cunning! Make her husband
Bawd to her own lascivious appetite,
And to solicit his own shame! [Aside.
Prud. Nay, sir;
When all of us join in so small a suit,
It were some injury to be denied.
O. Ger. And work her sister too! What will not woman
To accomplish her own ends? But this disease
I'll seek to physic ere it grow too far.— [Aside.
I am most sorry to be urged, sweet friends,
In what at this time I can no ways grant;
Most, that these ladies should be aught denied,
To whom I owe all service; but occasions
Of weighty and important consequence,
Such as concern the best of my estate,
Call him aside. Excuse us both this once
Presume this business is no sooner over,
But he's at his own freedom.
Win. 'Twere no manners
In us to urge it further.—We will leave you,
With promise, sir, that he shall in my will
Not be the last remembered.
O. Ger. We are bound to you.—
See them to horse, and instantly return;
We have employments for you.
Y. Ger. Sir, I shall.
Del. Remember you last promise.
[Exeunt DELAVIL, WINCOTT and his Wife, PRUDENTILLA,
and Young GERALDINE.
O. Ger. Not to do't
I should forget myself.—If I find him false
To such a friend, be sure he forfeits, me;
In which to be more punctually resolved,
I have a project how to sift his soul,
How 'tis inclined,—whether to yonder place,

Re-enter Young GERALDINE.

The clear bright palace, or black dungeon. See,
They are onward on the way, and he returned.
Y. Ger. I now attend your pleasure.
O. Ger. You are grown perfect man, and now you float,
Like to a well-built vessel, 'tween two currents,
Virtue and vice: take this, you steer to harbour;
Take that, to imminent shipwreck.
Y. Ger. Pray, your meaning?
O. Ger. What fathers' cares are, you shall never know
Till you yourself have children. Now my study
Is how to make you such, that you in them
May have a feeling of my love to you.
Y. Ger. Pray, sir, expound yourself; for I protest,
Of all the languages I yet have learned,
This is to me most foreign
O. Ger. Then I shall;
I have lived to see you in your prime of youth
And height of fortune, so you will but take
Occasion by the forehead; to be brief,
And cut off all superfluous circumstance,
All the ambition that I aim at now
Is but to see you married.
Y. Ger. Married, sir!
O. Ger. And, to that purpose, I have found out one
Whose youth and beauty may not only please
A curious eye, but her immediate means
Able to strengthen a state competent,
Or raise a ruined fortune.
Y. Ger. Of all which
I have, believe me, neither need nor use
My competence best pleasing as it is,
And this my singularity of life
Most to my mind contenting.
O. Ger. I suspect,
But yet must prove him further.— [Aside.
Say to my care I add a father's charge,
And couple with my counsel my command—
To that how can your answer?
Y. Ger. That I hope
My duty and obedience, still unblamed,
Did never merit such austerity,
And from a father never yet displeased.
O. Ger. Nay, then, to come more near unto the point:
Either you must resolve for present marriage,
Or forfeit all your interest in my love.
Y. Ger. Unsay that language, I entreat you, sir,
And do not so oppress me; or, if needs
Your heavy imposition stand in force,
Resolve me by your counsel. With more safety
May I infringe a sacred vow to Heaven,
Or to oppose me to your strict command?—
Since one of these I must.
O. Ger. Now, Delavil,
I find thy words too true. [Aside.
Y. Ger. For marry, sir,
I neither may nor can.
O. Ger. Yet whore you may,
And that's no breach of any vow to Heaven;
Pollute the nuptial bed with mechal sin;
Asperse the honour of a noble friend;
Forfeit thy reputation here below,
And the interest that thy soul might claim above
In yon blest city! These you may, and can,
With untouched conscience. Oh that I should live
To see the hopes that I have stored so long
Thus in a moment ruined, and the staff
On which my old decrepit age should lean
Before my face thus broken; on which trusting,
I thus abortively, before my time,
Fall headlong to my grave. [Falls on the ground.
Y. Ger. It yet stands strong,
Both to support you unto future life
And fairer comfort.
O. Ger. Never, never, son;
For till thou canst acquit thyself of scandal,
And me of my suspicion, here, even here,
Where I have measured out my length of earth,
I shall expire my last.
Y. Ger. Both these I can:
Then rise, sir, I entreat you; and that innocency,
Which poisoned by the breath of calumny
Cast you thus low, shall, these few stains wiped off,
With better thoughts erect you.
O. Ger. Well, say on. [Rises.
Y. Ger. There's but one fire from which this smoke may grow,
Namely, the unmatched yoke of youth and age,
In which, if ever I occasion was
Of the smallest breach, the greatest implacable mischief
Adultery can threaten fall on me!
Of you may I be disavowed a son,
And unto Heaven a servant! For that lady,
As she is beauty's mirror, so I hold her
For chastity's example: from her tongue
Never came language that arrived my ear
That even censorious Cato, lived he now,
Could misinterpret; never from her lips
Came unchaste kiss, or from her constant eye
Look savouring of the least immodesty:
Further—
O. Ger. Enough! One only thing remains,
Which, on thy part performed, assures firm credit
To these thy protestations.
Y. Ger. Name it then.
O. Ger. Take hence the occasion of this common fame,
Which hath already spread itself so far
To her dishonour and thy prejudice:
From this day forward to forbear the house;
This do upon my blessing.
Y. Ger. As I hope it,
I will not fail your charge.
O. Ger. I am satisfied. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Before Old LIONEL'S House.

Enter at one side Usurer and his Man; at the
other, Old LIONEL and
his Servant; behind, REIGNALD.

Reig. [Aside.] To which hand shall I turn me? Here's my master
Hath been to inquire of him that sold the house,
Touching the murder; here's an usuring rascal,
Of whom we have borrowed money to supply
Our prodigal expenses, broke our day,
And owe him still the principal and use.
Were I to meet them single, I have brain
To oppose both, and to come off unscarred;
But if they do assault me, and at once,
Not Hercules himself could stand that odds:
Therefore I must encounter them by turns,
And to my master first.—Oh, sir, well met.
O. Lio. What, Reignald! I but now met with the man
Of whom I bought you house.
Reig. What, did you, sir?
But did you speak of aught concerning that
Which I last told you?
O. Lio. Yes, I told him all.
Reig. Then am I cast! [Aside.]—But I pray tell me, sir,
Did he confess the murder?
O. Lio. No such thing;
Most stiffly he denies it.
Reig. Impudent wretch!
Then serve him with a warrant; let the officer
Bring him before a justice, you shall hear
What I can say against him! 'Sfoot! deny't!
But I pray, sir, excuse me; yonder's one
With whom I have some business; stay you here,
And but determine what's best course to take,
And note how I will follow't.
O. Lio. Be brief, then.
Reig. Now, if I can as well put off my use-man,
This day I shall be master of the field. [Aside.
Usu. That should be Lionel's man.
Man. The same, I know him.
Usu. After so many frivolous delays,
There's now some hope. He that was wont to shun us,
And to absent himself, accosts us freely,
And with a pleasant countenance.—Well met, Reignald,
What, is this money ready?
Reig. Never could you
Have come in better time.
Usu. Where is your master,
Young Lionel? it something troubles me
That he should break his day.
Reig. A word in private.
Usu. Tush, private me no privates; in a word,
Speak, are my moneys ready?
Reig. Not so loud.
Usu. I will be louder yet. Give me my moneys;
Come, tender me my moneys.
Reig. We know you have a throat wide as your conscience;
You need not use it now. Come, get you home.
Usu. Home!
Reig. Yes, home, I say; return by three o'clock,
And I will see all cancelled.
Usu. 'Tis now past two, and I can stay till three;
I'll make that now may business; otherways,
With these loud clamours I will haunt thee still:
Give me my use, give me my principal.
Reig. This burr will still cleave to me; what, no means
To shake him off! I ne'er was caught till now.—[Aside.
Come, come, you're troublesome.
Usu. Prevent that trouble,
And, without trifling, pay me down my cash;
I will be fooled no longer.
Reig. So, so, so.
Usu. I have been still put off, from time to time,
And day to day; these are but cheating tricks,
And this is the last minute I'll forbear
Thee, or thy master: once again, I say,
Give me my use, give me my principal.
Reig. Pox o' this use, that hath undone so many,
And now will confound me! [Aside.
O. Lio. Hast thou heard this?
Ser. Yes, sir, and to my grief.
O. Lio. Come hither, Reignald.
Reig. Here, sir. [Aside.] Nay, now I am gone.
O. Lio. What use is this,
What principal he talks of, in which language
He names my son, and thus upbraideth thee?
What is't you owe this man?
Reig. A trifle, sir:
Pray stop his mouth, and pay't him.
O. Lio. I pay!—what?
Reig. If I say pay't him, pay't him.
O. Lio. What's the sum?
Reig. A toy, the main about five hundred pounds;
And the use fifty.
O. Lio. Call you that a toy?
To what use was it borrowed? At my departure
I left my son sufficient in his charge,
With surplus, to defray a large expense,
Without this need of borrowing.
Reig. 'Tis confessed;
Yet stop his clamorous mouth, and only say
That you will pay't to-morrow.
O. Lio. I pass my word!
Reig. Sir, if I bid you, do't; nay, no more words,
But say you'll pay't to-morrow.
O. Lio. Jest indeed!
But tell me how these moneys were bestowed?
Reig. Safe, sir, I warrant you.
O. Lio. The sum still safe?
Why do you not then tender it yourselves?
Reig. Your ear, sir. With this sum, joined to the rest,
Your son hath purchased land and houses.
O. Lio. Land, dost thou say?
Reig. A goodly house, and gardens.
O. Lio. Now joy on him,
That whilst his father merchandised abroad,
Had care to add to his estate at home!
But, Reignald, wherefore houses?
Reig. Now, Lord, sir,
How dull you are! This house possessed with spirits,
And there no longer stay, would you have had
Him, us, and all your other family,
To live and lie i' the streets? It had not, sir,
Been for your reputation.
O. Lio. Blessing on him,
That he is grown so thrifty!
Usu. 'Tis struck three;
My money's not yet tendered.
Reig. Pox upon him!
See him discharged, I pray, sir.
O. Lio. Call upon me
To-morrow, friend, as early as thou wilt;
I'll see thy debt defrayed.
Usu. It is enough, I have a true man's word.
[Exeunt Usurer and Man.
O. Lio. Now tell me, Reignald,
For thou hast made me proud of my son's thrift,
Where, in what country, doth this fair house stand?
Reig. [aside] Never in all my time so much to seek;
I know not what to answer.
O. Lio. Wherefore studiest thou?
Use men to purchase lands at a dear rate,
And know not where they lie?
Reig. 'Tis not for that;
I only had forgot his name that sold them.
'Twas, let me see—see—
O. Lio. Call thyself to mind.
Reig. Non-plussed or never now; where are thou, brain?—
O sir, where was my memory? 'Tis this house
That next adjoins to yours.
O. Lio. My neighbour Ricott's?
Reig. The same, the same, sir; we had pennyworths in't;
And I can tell you, have been offered well
Since, to forsake our bargain.
O. Lio. As I live,
I much commend your choice.
Reig. Nay, 'tis well seated,
Rough-cast without, but bravely lined within;
You have met with few such bargains.
O. Lio. Prithee knock,
And call the master or the servant on't,
To let me take free view on't.
Reig. [aside] Puzzle again on puzzle!—One word, sir:
The house is full of women; no man knows
How on the instant they may be employed;
The rooms may lie unhandsome, and maids stand
Much on their cleanliness and huswifery;
To take them unprovided were disgrace;
'Twere fit they had some warning. Now, do you
Fetch but a warrant from the justice, sir;—
You understand me?
O. Lio. Yes, I do.
Reig. To attach
Him of suspected murder; I'll see't served,
Did he deny't; and in the interim, I
Will give them notice you are now arrived,
And long to see your purchase.
O. Lio. Counselled well;
And meet some half-hour hence.
Reig. This plunge well passed,
All things fall even, to crown my brain at last. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Barnet. A Street.

Enter DELAVIL and a Gentleman.

Gent. Where shall we dine to-day?
Del. At the ordinary.
I see, sir, you are but a stranger here.
This Barnet is a place of great resort,
And commonly, upon the market days,
Here all the country gentlemen appoint
A friendly meeting; some about affairs
Of consequence and profit—bargain, sale,
And to confer with chapmen; some for pleasure,
To match their horses, wager on their dogs,
Or try their hawks; some to no other end
But only meet good company, discourse,
Dine, drink, and spend their money.
Gent. That's the market
We have to make this day.
Del. 'Tis a commodity
That will be easily vented.—What, my worthy friend

Enter Old GERALDINE and Young GERALDINE.

You are happily encountered. Oh, you're grown strange
To one that much respects you. Troth, the house
Hath all this time seemed naked without you;
The good old man doth never sit to meat,
But next his giving thanks he speaks of you;
There's scarce a bit that he at table tastes,
That can digest without a Geraldine,
You are in his mouth so frequent. He and she
Both wondering what distaste from one, or either,
So suddenly should alienate a guest
To them so dearly welcome.
O. Ger. Master Delavil,
Thus much let me for him apologise:
Divers designs have thronged upon us late
My weakness was not able to support
Without his help; he hath been much abroad,
At London, or elsewhere; besides, 'tis term,
And lawyers must be followed; seldom at home,
And scarcely then at leisure.
Del. I am satisfied,
And I would they were so too; but I hope, sir,
In this restraint you have not used my name.
O. Ger. Not as I live.
Del. You're noble.—Who had thought
To have met with such good company? You are, it seems,
But new alighted. Father and son, ere part,
I vow we'll drink a cup of sack together;
Physicians say it doth prepare the appetite
And stomach against dinner.
O. Ger. We old men
Are apt to take these courtesies.
Del. What say you, friend?
Y. Ger. I'll but inquire for one at the next inn,
And instantly return.
Del. It is enough. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—Inside a Tavern.

Enter BESS and Young GERALDINE, meeting.

Y. Ger. Bess! How dost thou, girl?
Bess. Faith, we may do how we list for you, you are grown
So great a stranger: we are more beholding
To Master Delavil; he's a constant guest:
And howsoe'er to some, that shall be nameless,
His presence may be graceful, yet to others—
I could say somewhat.
Y. Ger. He's a noble fellow,
And my choice friend.
Bess. Come, come, he is what he is;
And that the end will prove.
Y. Ger. And how's all at home?
Nay, we'll not part without a glass of wine,
And meet so seldom.—Boy!

Enter Drawer.

Draw. Anon, anon, sir.
Y. Ger. A pint of claret, quickly. [Exit Drawer.] Nay, sit down:
The news, the news, I pray thee; I am sure,
I have been much inquired of thy old master,
And thy young mistress too.
Bess. Ever your name
Is in my master's mouth, and sometimes too
In hers, when she hath nothing else to think of.
Well, well, I could say somewhat.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. Here's your wine, sir.
Y. Ger. Fill, boy. Here, Bess, this glass to both their healths.
[Exit Drawer.
Why dost thou weep, my wench?
Bess. Nay, nothing, sir.
Y. Ger. Come, I must know.
Bess. In troth, I love you, sir,
And ever wished you well; you are a gentleman
Whom always I respected; know the passages
And private whisperings of the secret love
Betwixt you and my mistress—I dare swear,
On your part well intended, but—
Y. Ger. But what?
Bess. You bear the name of landlord, but another
Enjoys the rent; you dote upon the shadow,
But another he bears away the substance.
Y. Ger. Be more plain.
Bess. You hope to enjoy a virtuous widowhood;
But Delavil, whom you esteem your friend,
He keeps the wife in common.
Y. Ger. You're to blame,
And, Bess, you make me angry: he's my friend,
And she my second self; in all their meetings
I never saw so much as cast of eye
Once entertained betwixt them.
Bess. That's their cunning.
Y. Ger. For her, I have been with her at all hours,
Both late and early; in her bed-chamber,
And often singly ushered here abroad:
Now, would she have been any man's alive,
She had been mine. You wrong a worthy friend
And a chaste mistress; you're not a good girl.
Drink that, speak better of her; I could chide you,
But I'll forbear. What you have rashly spoke,
Shall ever here be buried.
Bess. I am sorry
My freeness should offend you, but yet know
I am her chamber-maid.
Y. Ger. Play now the market-maid,
And prithee 'bout thy business.
Bess. Well, I shall.—
That man should be so foolèd! [Exit.
Y. Ger. She a prostitute!
Nay, and to him, my troth—plight, and my friend
As possible it is that Heaven and earth
Should be in love together, meet and kiss,
And so cut off all distance. What strange frenzy
Came in this wench's brain, so to surmise?
Were she so base, his nobleness is such
He would not entertain it for my sake;
Or he so bent, his hot and lust-burnt appetite
Would be so quenched at the mere contemplation
Of her most pious and religious life.
The girl was much to blame; perhaps her mistress
Hath stirred her anger by some word or blow,
Which she would thus revenge—not apprehending
At what a high price honour's to be rated;
Or else some one that envies her rare virtue
Might hire her thus to brand it; or, who knows
But the young wench may fix a thought on me,
And to divert me from her mistress' love,
May raise this false aspersion? Howsoever,
My thoughts on these two columns fixèd are,
She's good as fresh, and purely chaste as fair.

Enter Clown with a letter.

Clown. Oh, sir, you are the needle, and if the whole county of
Middlesex
had been turned to a mere bottle of hay, I had been enjoined to have
found you
out, or never more returned back to my old master: there's a letter, sir.
Y. Ger. I know the hand that superscribed it well;
Stay but till I peruse it, and from me
Thou shalt return an answer. [Reads letter.
Clown. I shall, sir. This is market-day, and here acquaintance commonly

meet; and whom have I encountered? my gossip Pint-pot, and brim-full; nay, I
mean to drink with you before I part. And how doth all your worshipful
kindred?
your sister Quart, your pater Pottle (who was ever a gentleman's fellow), and
your old grandsire Gallon; they cannot choose but be all in health, since so
many healths have been drunk out of them: I could wish them all here, and in
no
worse state than I see you are in at this present. Howsoever, gossip, since I
have met you hand to hand, I'll make bold to drink to you—nay, either you

must pledge me, or get one to do't for you, Do you open your mouth towards me?

well, I know that you would say: "Here, Roger, to your master and mistress,
and
all our good friends at home. Gramercy, gossip, if I should not pledge
thee, I
were worthy to be turned out to grass, and stand no more at livery."
And now, in
requital of this courtesy, I'll begin one health to you and all your society in

the cellar—to Peter Pipe, Harry Hogshead, Bartholomew Butt, and little
Master Randal Rundlet, to Timothy Taster, and all your other great and small
friends.
Y. Ger. He writes me here
That at my discontinuance he's much grieved;
Desiring me, as I have ever tendered
Or him or his, to give him satisfaction
Touching my discontent; and that in person,
By any private meeting.
Clown. Ay, sir, 'tis very true; the letter speaks no more than he
wished me to tell you by word of mouth.
Y. Ger. Thou art then of his counsel?
Clown. His Privy, an't please you.
Y. Ger. Though ne'er so strict hath been my father's charge,
A little I'll dispense with't, for his love.
Commend me to thy master, tell him from me,
On Monday night (then will my leisure serve)
I will by Heaven's assistance visit him.
Clown. On Monday, sir? that's, as I remember, just the day before
Tuesday.
Y. Ger. But 'twill be midnight first, at which late hour
Please him to let the garden door stand ope;
At that I'll enter, but conditionally
That neither wife, friend, servant, no third soul
Save him, and thee to whom he trusts this message,
Know of my coming in, or passing out;
When, tell him, I will fully satisfy him
Concerning my forced absence.
Clown. I am something oblivious; your message would be the trulier
delivered if it were set down in black and white.
Y. Ger. I'll call for pen and ink,
And instantly despatch it. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.—Outside RICOTT'S House.

Enter REIGNALD.

REIG. Now, impudence, but steel my face this once,
Although I ne'er blush after! Here's the house.
Ho! who's within? What, no man to defend
These innocent gates from knocking?

Enter Master RICOTT.

Ric. Who's without there?
Reig. One, sir, that ever wished your worship's health;
And those few hours I can find time to pray in,
I still remember it.
Ric. Gramercy, Reignald,
I love all those that wish it: you are the men
Lead merry lives, feast, revel, and carouse;
You feel no tedious hours; Time plays with you—
This is your golden age.
Reig. It was; but now, sir,
That gold is turned to worse than alchemy;
It will not stand the test. Those days are past,
And now our nights come on.
Ric. Tell me, Reignald, is he returned from sea?
Reig. Yes, to our grief already, but we fear
Hereafter it may prove to all our costs.
Ric. Suspects thy master anything?
Reig. Not yet, sir.
Now my request is, that your worship being
So near a neighbour, therefore most disturbed,
Would not be first to peach us.
Ric. Take my word;
With other neighbours make what peace you can,
I'll not be your accuser.
Reig. Worshipful sir;
I shall be still your beadsman. Now the business
That I was sent about: the old man my master
Claiming some interest in acquaintance past,
Desires (might it be no way troublesome)
To take free view of all your house within.
Ric. View of my house! Why, 'tis not set to sale,
Nor bill upon the door. Look well upon't;
View of my house!
Reig. Nay, be not angry, sir;
He no way doth disable your estate;
As far to buy, as you are loath to sell.
Some alterations in his own he'd make,
And hearing yours by workmen much commended,
He would make that his precedent.
Ric. What fancies
Should at this age possess him, knowing the cost,
That he should dream of building!
Reig. 'Tis supposed,
He hath late found a wife out for his son;
Now, sir, to have him near him, and that nearness
Too without trouble, though beneath one roof,
Yet parted in two families, he would build,
And make what's picked a perfect quadrangle,
Proportioned just with yours, were you so pleased
To make it his example.
Ric. Willingly.
I will but order some few things within,
And then attend his coming. [Exit.
Reig. Most kind coxcomb!
Great Alexander and Agathocles,
Cæsar, and others, have been famed, they say,
And magnified for high facinorous deeds;
Why claim not I an equal place with them—
Or rather a precedent? These commanded
Their subjects, and their servants; I my master,
And every way his equals, where I please,
Lead by the nose along: they placed their burdens
On horses, mules, and camels; I, old men
Of strength and wit, load with my knavery,
Till both their backs and brains ache; yet, poor animals,

Enter Old LIONEL.

They ne'er complain of weight.—Oh, are you come, sir?
O. Lio. I made what haste I could.
Reig. And brought the warrant?
O. Lio. See here, I have't.
Reig. 'Tis well done; but speak, runs it
Both without bail and mainprize?
O. Lio. Nay, it carries
Both form and power.
Reig. Then I shall warrant him.
I have been yonder, sir.
O. Lio. And what says he?
Reig. Like one that offers you
Free ingress, view, and regress, at your pleasure,
As to his worthy landlord.
O. Lio. Was that all?
Reig. He spake to me, that I would speak to you
To speak unto your son; and then again,
To speak to him, that he would speak to you,
You would release his bargain.
O. Lio. By no means:
Men must advise before they part with land,
Not after to repent it: 'tis most just
That such as hazard and disburse their stocks,
Should take all gains and profits that accrue,
As well in sale of houses as in barter,
And traffic of all other merchandise.

Re-enter RICOTT; he walks before the gate.

Reig. See, in acknowledgment of a tenant's duty,
He attends you at the gate; salute him, sir.
O. Lio. My worthy friend!
Ric. Now, as I live, all my best thoughts and wishes
Impart with yours, in your so safe return;
Your servant tells me you have great desire
To take surview of this my house within.
O. Lio. Be't, sir, no trouble to you.
Ric. None; enter boldly,
With as much freedom as it were your own.
O. Lio. As it were mine! Why, Reignald, is it not?
Reig. Lord, sir, that in extremity of grief
You'll add unto vexation! See you not
How sad he's on the sudden?
O. Lio. I observe it.
Reig. To part with that which he hath kept so long,
Especially his inheritance: now, as you love
Goodness and honesty, torment him not
With the least word of purchase.
O. Lio. Counselled well;
Thou teachest me humanity.
Ric. Will you enter?
Or shall I call a servant, to conduct you
Through every room and chamber?
O. Lio. By no means;
I fear we are too much troublesome of ourselves.
Reig. See what a goodly gate!
O. Lio. It likes me well.
Reig. What brave carved posts! who knows but here,
In time, sir, you may keep your shrievalty;
And I be one o' the serjeants!
O. Lio. They are well carved.
Ric. And cost me a good price, sir: take your pleasure;
I have business in the town. [Exit.
Reig. Poor man, I pity him;
H'ath not the heart to stay and see you come,
As 'twere, to take possession. Look that way, sir,
What goodly fair bay windows.
O. Lio. Wondrous stately.
Reig. And what a gallery, how costly ceiled;
What painting round about.
O. Lio. Every fresh object
To good adds betterness.
Reig. Terraced above,
And how below supported. Do they please you?
O. Lio. All things beyond opinion. Trust me, Reignald,
I'll not forego the bargain, for more gain
Than half the price it cost me.
Reig. If you would,
I should not suffer you; was not the money
Due to the usurer, took upon good ground,
That proved well built upon? We were no fools
That knew not what we did.
O. Lio. It shall be satisfied.
Reig. Please you to trust me with't, I'll see't discharged.
O. Lio. He hath my promise, and I'll do't myself.
Never could son have better pleased a father
Than in this purchase! Hie thee instantly
Unto my house i' the country, give him notice
Of my arrive, and bid him with all speed
Post hither.
Reig. Ere I see the warrant served?
O. Lio. It shall be thy first business; for my soul
Is not at peace, till face to face I approve
His husbandry, and much commend his thrift;
Nay, without pause, begone.
Reig. But a short journey;
For he's not far that I am sent to seek:
I have got the start; the best part of the race
Is run already; what remains is small,
And, tire now, I should but forfeit all.
O. Lio. Make haste, I do entreat thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Garden of Old WINCOTT'S House.

Enter the Clown.

Clown. This is the garden gate; and here am I set to stand sentinel,
and to attend the coming of young master Geraldine. Master Delavil's gone to
his
chamber, my mistress to hers. 'Tis now about midnight; a banquet prepared,
bottles of wine in readiness, all the whole household at their rest, and no
creature by this honestly stirring, saving I and my old master; he in a bye-
chamber, prepared of purpose for their private meeting, and I here to play
the
watchman against my will!

Enter Young GERALDINE.

Chavelah? Stand! Who goes there?
Y. Ger. A friend.
Clown. The word?
Y. Ger. Honest Roger.
Clown. That's the word indeed; you have leave to pass freely without
calling my corporal.
Y. Ger. How go the affairs within?
Clown. According to promise: the business is composed, and the
servants
disposed; my young mistress reposed; my old master, according as you
proposed,
attends you, if you be exposed, to give him meeting; nothing in the way being
interposed, to transpose you to the least danger: and this I dare be deposed,
if
you will not take my word, as I am honest Roger.
Y. Ger. Thy word shall be my warrant, but secured
Most in thy master's promise, on which building,
By this known way I enter.
Clown. Nay, by your leave, I that was late but a plain sentinel will
now be your captain conductor: follow me.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A Room in Old WINCOTT'S House. Table and stools set out,

lights, a banquet, wine.

Enter Old WINCOTT.

Win. I wonder whence this strangeness should proceed,
Or wherein I, or any of my house,
Should be the occasion of the least distaste:
Now, as I wish him well, it troubles me;
But now the time grows on from his own mouth
To be resolved, and I hope satisfied.

Enter Clown and Young GERALDINE.

Sir, as I live, of all my friends, to me
Most wishedly you are welcome: take that chair,
I this: nay, I entreat, no compliment.—
Attend; fill wine.
Clown. Till the mouths of the bottles yawn directly upon the floor,
and
the bottoms turn their tails up to the ceiling; whilst there's any blood in
their bellies I'll not leave them.
Win. I first salute you thus.
Y. Ger. It could not come
From one whom I more honour; sir, I thank you.
Clo. Nay, since my master begun it, I'll see't go round to all three.
Win. Now give us leave.
Clown. Talk you by yourselves, whilst I find something to say to
this:
I have a tale to tell him shall make his stony heart relent. [Exit.
Y. Ger. Now, first, sir, your attention I entreat:
Next, your belief that what I speak is just,
Maugre all contradiction.
Win. Both are granted.
Y. Ger. Then I proceed; with due acknowledgment
Of all your more than many courtesies:
You've been my second father, and your wife
My noble and chaste mistress; all your servants
At my command; and this your bounteous table
As free and common as my father's house:
Neither 'gainst any, or the least of these,
Can I commence just quarrel.
Win. What might then be
The cause of this constraint, in thus absenting
Yourself from such as love you?
Y. Ger. Out of many,
I will propose some few: the care I have
Of your as yet unblemishèd renown,
The untouched honour of your virtuous wife,
And (which I value least, yet dearly too)
My own fair reputation.
Win. How can these
In any way be questioned?
Y. Ger. Oh, dear sir,
Bad tongues have been too busy with us all;
Of which I never yet had time to think,
But with sad thoughts and griefs unspeakable.
It hath been whispered by some wicked ones,
But loudly thundered in my father's ears,
By some that have maligned our happiness,
(Heaven, if it can brook slander, pardon them!)
That this my customary coming hither
Hath been to base and sordid purposes:
To wrong your bed, injure her chastity,
And be mine own undoer, which, how false!
Win. As Heaven is true, I know't.
Y. Ger. Now, this calumny
Arriving first unto my father's ears,
His easy nature was induced to think
That these things might perhaps be possible:
I answered him as I would do to Heaven,
And cleared myself in his suspicious thoughts
As truly as the high all-knowing Judge
Shall of these stains acquit me, which are merely
Aspersions and untruths. The good old man,
Possessed with my sincerity, and yet careful
Of your renown, her honour, and my fame,
To stop the worst that scandal could inflict,
And to prevent false rumours, charges me,
The cause removed, to take away the effect;
Which only could be to forbear your house—
And this upon his blessing. You hear all.
Win. And I of all acquit you: this your absence,
With which my love most cavilled, orators
In your behalf. Had such things passed betwixt you,
Not threats nor chidings could have driven you hence.
It pleads in your behalf, and speaks in hers,
And arms me with a double confidence,
Both of your friendship and her loyalty:
I am happy in you both, and only doubtful
Which of you two doth most impart my love.
You shall not hence to-night.
Y. Ger. Pray, pardon, sir.
Win. You are in your lodging.
Y. Ger. But my father's charge?
Win. My conjuration shall dispense with that.
You may be up as early as you please,
But hence to-night you shall not.
Y. Ger. You are powerful.
Win. This night, of purpose, I have parted beds,
Feigning myself not well, to give you meeting;
Nor can be aught suspected by my wife,
I have kept all so private: now 'tis late,
I'll steal up to my rest. But, howsoever,
Let's not be strange in our writing; that way daily
We may confer without the least suspect,
In spite of all such base calumnious tongues.
So now good-night, sweet friend. [Exit.
Y. Ger. May He that made you
So just and good still guard you!—Not to bed;
So I perhaps might oversleep myself,
And then my tardy waking might betray me
To the more early household; thus as I am,
I'll rest me on this pallet.—But in vain:
I find no sleep can fasten on mine eyes,
There are in this disturbèd brain of mine
So many mutinous fancies. This to me
Will be a tedious night; how shall I spend it?
No book that I can spy? no company?
A little let me recollect myself.
Oh, what more wishèd company can I find,
Suiting the apt occasion, time, and place,
Than the sweet contemplation of her beauty;
And the fruition too, time may produce,
Of what is yet lent out? 'Tis a sweet lady,
And every way accomplished: hath mere accident
Brought me thus near, and I not visit her?
Should it arrive her ear, perhaps might breed
Our lasting separation; for, 'twixt lovers,
No quarrels to unkindness. Sweet opportunity
Offers prevention, and invites me to't:
The house is known to me, the stairs and rooms;
The way into her chamber frequently
Trodden by me at midnight, and all hours:
How joyful to her would a meeting be,
So strange and unexpected—shadowed too
Beneath the veil of night! I am resolved
To give her visitation in that place
Where we have passed deep vows—her bed-chamber:
My fiery love this darkness makes seem bright,
And this the path that leads to my delight,
[Goes in at one door, and comes out at another.
And this the gate unto't.—I'll listen first,
Before too rudely I disturb her rest
And gentle breathing. Ha! she's sure awake,
For in the bed two whisper, and their voices
Appear to me unequal;—one a woman's—
And hers! The other should be no maid's tongue,
It bears too big a tone. And hark, they laugh—
Damnation! But list further; t'other sounds
Like—'tis the same false perjured Delavil, traitor
To friend and goodness. Unchaste, impious woman,
False to all faith and true conjugal love;
There's met a serpent and a crocodile,
A Sinon and a Circe. Oh, to what
May I compare you?_____Out, my sword!
I'll act a noble execution
On two unmatched for sordid villany—
I left it in my chamber, and thank Heaven
That I did so! it hath prevented me
From playing a base hangman. Sin securely,
Whilst I, although for many yet less faults,
Strive hourly to repent me! I once loved her,
And was to him entire. Although I pardon,
Heaven will find time to punish: I'll not stretch
My just revenge so far as once by blabbing
To make your brazen impudence to blush—
Damn on—revenge too great; and, to suppress
Your souls yet lower, without hope to rise,
Heap Ossa upon Pelion. You have made me
To hate my very country, because here bred
Near two such monsters. First I'll leave this house,
And then my father's; next I'll take my leave,
Both of this clime and nation, travel till
Age snow upon this head. My passions now
Are unexpressible; I'll end them thus:
Ill man, bad woman, your unheard-of treachery
This unjust censure on a just man give,—
To seek out place where no two such can live. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—Another Room in the House.

Enter DELAVIL in a nightgown, and Wife in night attire.

Del. A happy morning now betide you, lady,
To equal the content of a sweet night.
Wife. It hath been to my wish, and your desire;
And this your coming by pretended love
Unto my sister Prue cuts off suspicion
Of any such converse 'twixt you and me.
Del. It hath been wisely carried.
Wife. One thing troubles me.
Del. What's that, my dearest?
Wife. Why your friend Geraldine
Should on the sudden thus absent himself:
Has he had, think you, no intelligence
Of these our private meetings?
Del. No, on my soul,
For therein hath my brain exceeded yours:
I, studying to engross you to myself,
Of his continued absence have been cause;
Yet he of your affection no way jealous,
Or of my friendship. How the plot was cast,
You at our better leisure shall partake:
The air grows cold, have care unto your health;
Suspicious cyes are o'er us, that yet sleep,
But with the dawn will open. Sweet, retire you
To your warm sheets; I now to fill my own,
That have this night been empty.
Wife. You advise well:
Oh, might this kiss dwell ever on thy lips
In my remembrance!
Del. Doubt it not, I pray,
Whilst day frights night, and night pursues the day.
Good-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.—A Room in Old LIONEL'S House.

Enter REIGNALD with a key in his hand, Young LIONEL BLANDA, SCAPHA,
RIOTER, and two Gallants.

Reig. Now is the gaol delivery; through this back gate
Shift for yourselves; I here unprison all.
Y. Lio. But tell me, how shall we dispose ourselves?
We are as far to seek now as at the first;
What is it to reprieve us for few hours,
And now to suffer? better had it been
At first to have stood the trial, so by this
We might have passed our penance.
Blan. Sweet Reignald!
Y. Lio. Honest rogue!
Rio. If now thou fail'st us, then we are lost for ever.
Reig. This same sweet Reignald, and this honest rogue,
Hath been the burgess under whose protection
You all this while have lived, free from arrests:
But now the sessions of my power's broke up,
And you exposed to actions, warrants, writs;
For all the hellish rabble are broke loose,
Of serjeants, sheriffs, and bailiffs.
All. Guard us, Heaven!
Reig. I tell you as it is; nay, I myself
That have been your protector, now as subject
To every varlet's pestle, for you know
How I am engaged with you_____At whose suit, sir?
All. Why didst thou start? [They all start.
Reig. I was afraid some catchpole stood behind me,
To clap me on the shoulder.
Rio. No such thing;
Yet I protest thy fear did fright us all.
Reig. I knew your guilty consciences.
Y. Lio. No brain left?
Blan. No crotchet for my sake?
Reig. One kiss then, sweet;
Thus shall my crotchets and your kisses meet.
Y. Lio. Nay, tell us what to trust to.
Reig. Lodge yourselves
In the next tavern; there's the cash that's left
Go, health it freely for my good success;
Nay, drown it all, let not a tester scape
To be consumed in rot-gut: I have begun,
And I will stand the period.
Y. Lio. Bravely spoke.
Reig. Or perish in the conflict.
Rio. Worthy Reignald—
Reig. Will, if he now come off well, fox you all;
Go, call for wine; for singly of myself
I will oppose all danger; but I charge you,
When I shall faint or find myself distressed,
If I, like brave Orlando, wind my horn,
Make haste unto my rescue.
Y. Lio. And die in't.
Reig. Well hast thou spoke, my noble Charlemain
With these thy peers about thee.
Y. Lio. May good speed
Attend thee still!
Reig. The end still crowns the deed. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.—Outside Old LIONEL'S House.

Enter Old LIONEL, and the former Owner of the House.

Owner. Sir, sir, your threats nor warrants can fright me;
My honesty and innocency's known
Always to have been unblemished; would you could
As well approve your own integrity
As I shall doubtless acquit myself
Of this surmisèd murder.
O. Lio. Rather surrender
The price I paid, and take into thy hands
This haunted mansion, or I'll prosecute
My wrong, even to the utmost of the law,
Which is no less than death.
Owner. I'll answer all,
Old Lionel, both to thy shame and scorn;
This [Snapping his fingers] for thy menaces!

Enter Clown.

Clown. This is the house, but where's the noise that was wont to be
in't? I am sent hither to deliver a note to two young gentlemen that here keep

revel-rout; I remember it, since the last massacre of meat that was made in't;

but it seems that the great storm that was raised then is chased now. I have
other notes to deliver, one to Master Ricott—and—I shall think on
them
all in order. My old master makes a great feast for the parting of young
Master
Geraldine, who is presently upon his departure for travel, and, the better to
grace it, hath invited many of his neighbours and friends, where will be old
Master Geraldine, his son, and I cannot tell how many. But this is strange;
the
gates shut up at this time o' day! belike they are all drunk and laid to
sleep;
if they be, I'll wake them, with a murrain!
[Knocks.
O. Lio. What desperate fellow's this, that, ignorant
Of his own danger, thunders at these gates?
Clown. Ho, Reignald! riotous Reignald, revelling Reignald!
O. Lio. What madness doth possess thee, honest friend,
To touch that hammer's handle?
Clown. What madness doth possess thee, honest friend,
To ask me such a question?
O. Lio. [To Owner.] Nay, stir not you.
Owner. Not I. The game begins.
O. Lio. How dost thou? art thou well?
Clown. Yes, very well, I thank you; how do you, sir?
O. Lio. No alteration: what change about thee?
Clown. Not so much change about me at this time as to change you a
shilling into two testers.
O. Lio. Yet I advise thee, fellow for thy good,
Stand further from the gate.
Clown. And I advise thee, friend, for thine own good, stand not
betwixt
me and the gate, but give me leave to deliver my errand. Ho! Reignald,
you mad
rascal!
O. Lio. In vain thou thunder'st at these silent doors,
Where no man dwells to answer, saving ghosts,
Furies, and sprites.
Clown. Ghosts! indeed there has been much walking in and about the
house after midnight.
O. Lio. Strange noise oft heard?
Clown. Yes, terrible noise, that none of the neighbours could take any

rest for it. I have heard it myself.
O. Lio. You hear this? Here's more witness.
Owner. Very well, sir.
O. Lio. Which you shall dearly answer.—Whooping?
Clown. And hollooing.
O. Lio. And shouting?
Clown. And crying out, till the whole house rung again.
O. Lio. Which thou hast heard?
Clown. Oftener than I have toes and fingers.
O. Lio. Thou wilt be deposed of this?
Clown. I'll be sworn to't, and that's as good.
O. Lio. Very good still;—yet you are innocent.
Shall I entreat thee, friend, to avouch as much
Hereby to the next justice?
Clown. I'll take my soldier's oath on't.
O. Lio. A soldier's oath—what's that?
Clown. My corporal oath; and you know, sir, a corporal is an office
belonging to a soldier.
O. Lio. Yet you are clear? Murder will come to light.
Owner. So will your gullery too.

Enter ROBIN.

Rob. They say my old master's come home; I'll see if he will turn me
out of doors, as the young man has done. I have laid rods in piss for
somebody;
scape Reignald as he can; and with more freedom than I durst late, I
boldly now
dare knock. [Knocks.
O. Lio. More madmen yet! I think since my last voyage Half of the world'
s
turned frantic. What dost mean? Or long'st thou to be blasted?
Rob. Oh, sir, you are welcome home; 'twas time to come,
Ere all was gone to havoc.
O. Lio. My old servant!
Before I shall demand of further business,
Resolve me why thou thunder'st at these doors,
Where thou know'st none inhabits?
Rob. Are they gone, sir?
'Twas well they have left the house behind;
For all the furniture, to a bare bench,
I am sure is spent and wasted.
O. Lio. Where's my son,
That Reignald, posting for him with such speed,
Brings him not from the country?
Rob. Country, sir!
'Tis a thing they know not: here they feast,
Dice, drink, and drab; the company they keep,
Cheaters and roaring-lads, and these attended
By bawds and queans; your son hath got a strumpet
On whom he spends all that your sparing left;
And here they keep court, to whose damned abuses
Reignald gives all encouragement.
O. Lio. But stay, stay:
No living soul hath for these six months' space
Here entered, but the house stood desolate.
Rob. Last week I am sure, so late, and the other day,
Such revels were here kept.
O. Lio. And by my son?
Rob. Yes, and his servant Reignald.
O. Lio. And this house
At all not haunted?
Rob. Save, sir, with such sprites.
Owner. This murder will come out.

Enter RICOTT.

O. Lio. But see, in happy time here comes my neighbour
Of whom he bought this mansion; he, I am sure,
More amply can resolve me.—I pray, sir,
What sums of moneys have you late received
Of my young son?
Ric. Of him? None, I assure you.
O. Lio. What of my servant Reignald?
Ric. But devise
What to call less than nothing, and that sum
I will confess received.
O. Lio. Pray, sir, be serious;
I do confess myself indebted to you
A hundred pound.
Ric. You may do well to pay't then, for here's witness
Sufficient of your words.
O. Lio. I speak no more
Than what I purpose; just so much I owe you,
And ere I sleep will tender.
Ric. I shall be
As ready to receive it, and as willing
As you can be to pay it.
O. Lio. But provided
You will confess seven hundred pounds received
Beforehand of my son.
Ric. But, by your favour,
Why should I yield seven hundred pounds received
Of them I never dealt with? Why? For what?
What reason? What condition? Where or when
Should such a sum be paid me?
O. Lio. Why? for this bargain. And for what? this house.
Reason? because you sold it. The conditions?
Such as were agreed between you. Where and when?
That only hath escaped me
Ric. Madness all.
O. Lio. Was I not brought to take free view thereof,
As of mine own possession?
Ric. I confess
Your servant told me you had found out a wife
Fit for your son, and that you meant to build;
Desired to take a friendly view of mine,
To make it your example: but for selling,
I tell you, sir, my wants be not so great
To change my house to coin.
O. Lio. Spare, sir, your anger,
And turn it into pity. Neighbours and friends,
I am quite lost; was never man so fooled,
And by a wicked servant! Shame and blushing
Will not permit to tell the manner how,
Lest I be made ridiculous to all:
My fears are, to inherit what's yet left,
He hath made my son away.
Rob. That's my fear too.
O. Lio. Friends, as you would commiserate a man
Deprived at once both of his wealth and son.
And in his age, by one I ever tendered
More like a son than servant, by imagining
My case were yours, have feeling of my griefs
And help to apprehend him: furnish me
With cords and fetters; I will lay him safe
In prison within prison.
Ric. We'll assist you.
Rob. And I.
Clown. And all.—But not to do the least hurt to my old friend
Reignald. [Aside.
O. Lio. His legs will be as nimble as his brain,
And 'twill be difficult to seize the slave,
Yet your endeavours, pray. Peace! here he comes.

Enter REIGNALDwith a horn in his pocket; the rest withdraw,
excepting Old LIONEL.

Reig. My heart misgives, for 'tis not possible
But that in all these windings and indents
I shall be found at last: I'll take that course
That men both troubled and affrighted do,—
Heap doubt on doubt, and, as combustions rise,
Try if from many I can make my peace,
And work mine own atonement.
O. Lio. [Aside.] Stand you close,
Be not yet seen, but at your best advantage
Hand him, and bind him fast; whilst I dissemble
As if I yet knew nothing.
Reig. I suspect
And find there's trouble in my master's looks;
Therefore I must not trust myself too far
Within his fingers.
O. Lio. Reignald!
Reig. Worshipful sir.
O. Lio. What says my son i' the country?
Reig. That to-morrow,
Early i' the morning, he'll attend your pleasure,
And do as all such duteous children ought—
Demand your blessing, sir.
O. Lio. Well, 'tis well.
Reig. I do not like his countenance. [Aside.
O. Lio. But, Reignald, I suspect the honesty
And the good meaning of my neighbour here,
Old Master Ricott. Meeting him but now,
And having some discourse about the house,
He makes all strange, and tells me in plain terms
He knows of no such matter.
Reig. Tell me that, sir!
O. Lio. I tell thee as it is: nor that such moneys,
Took up at use, were ever tendered him
On any such conditions.
Reig. I cannot blame
Your worship to be pleasant, knowing at what
An under-rate we bought it; but you ever
Were a most merry gentleman.
O. Lio. Impudent slave! [Aside.
But, Reignald, he not only doth deny it,
But offers to depose himself and servants
No such thing ever was.
Reig. Now, Heaven to see
To what this world is grown to! I will make him—
O. Lio. Nay more, this man will not confess the murder.
Reig. Which both shall dearly answer; you have warrant
For him already; but for the other, sir,
If he deny it, he had better—
O. Lio. Appear, gentlemen; [Softly.
'Tis a fit time to take him.
Reig. [Aside.] I discover
The ambush that's laid for me.
O. Lio. Come nearer, Reignald.
Reig. First, sir,
Resolve me one thing: amongst other merchandize
Bought in your absence by your son and me,
We engrossed a great commodity of combs,
And how many sorts, think you?
O. Lio. You might buy
Some of the bones of fishes, some of beasts
Box-combs, and ivory-combs.
Reig. But, besides these, we have for horses, sir,
Mane-combs and curry-combs; now, sir, for men
We have head-combs, beard-combs, ay, and cox-combs too;
Take view of them at your pleasure, whilst for my part
I thus bestow myself.
[Whilst he climbs to the balcony, they come forward with cords and

shackles.
Clown. Well said, Reignald; nobly put off, Reignald; look to thyself,
Reignald.
O. Lio. Why dost thou climb thus?
Reig. Only to practise the nimbleness of my arms and legs, ere they
prove your cords and fetters.
O. Lio. Why to that place?
Reig. Why! because, sir, 'tis your own house. It hath been
My harbour long, and now it must be my sanctuary;
Dispute now, and I'll answer.
Owner. Villain, what devilish meaning hadst thou in't,
To challenge me of murder?
Reig. Oh, sir, the man you killed is alive at this present to justify

it:
"I am," quoth he, "a trans-marine by birth"—
Ric. Why challenge me
Receipt of moneys, and to give abroad
That I had sold my house?
Reig. Why! because, sir,
Could I have purchased houses at that rate,
I had meant to have bought all London.
Clown. Yes, and Middlesex too; and I would have been thy half,
Reignald.
O. Lio. Yours are great,
My wrongs insufferable. As first, to fright me
From mine own dwelling, till they had consumed
The whole remainder of the little left;
Besides, out of my late stock got at sea,
Discharge the clamorous usurer; make me accuse
This man of murder; be at charge of warrants;
And challenging this my worthy neighbour of
Forswearing sums he never yet received;
Fool me, to think my son, that had spent all,
Had by his thrift bought land; ay, and him too,
To open all the secrets of his house
To me, a stranger! O thou insolent villain,
What to all these canst answer?
Reig. Guilty, guilty.
O. Lio. But to my son's death, what, thou slave?
Reig. Not guilty.
O. Lio. Produce him then; i' the meantime, and—
Honest friends, get ladders.
Reig. Yes, and come down in your own ropes.
Owner. I'll fetch a piece, and shoot him.
Reig. So the warrant in my master's pocket will serve for my murder;
and ever after shall my ghost haunt this house.
Clown. And I will say, like Reignald, "this ghost and I am friends."
O. Lio. Bring faggots; I'll set fire upon the house
Rather than this endure.
Reig. To burn houses is felony, and I'll not out till I be fired out;

but, since I am besieged thus, I'll summon supplies unto my rescue. [He
winds
the horn.

Enter Young LIONEL, RIOTER, two Gallants, BLANDA, SCAPHA, and
others.

Y. Lio. Before you chide, first hear me; next your blessing,
That on my knees I beg. I have but done
Like misspent youth, which, after wit dear-bought,
Turns his eyes inward, sorry and ashamed.
These things in which I have offended most,
Had I not proved, I should have thought them still
Essential things, delights perdurable;
Which now I find mere shadows, toys and dreams,
Now hated more than erst I doted on.
Best natures are soon'st wrought on; such was mine;
As I the offences, so the offenders throw
Here at your feet, to punish as you please;
You have but paid so much as I have wasted,
To purchase to yourself a thrifty son,
Which I from henceforth vow.
O. Lio. See what fathers are,
That can three years' offences, foul ones too,
Thus in a minute pardon; and thy faults
Upon myself chastise, in these my tears.
Ere this submission, I had cast thee off;
Rise in my new adoption. But for these—
Clown. The one you have nothing to do withal; here's his
ticket for his
discharge: another for you, sir, to summon you to my master's feast,—for
you, and you,—where I charge you all to appear, upon his displeasure and
your own apperils.
Y. Lio. This is my friend, the other one I loved;
Only because they have been dear to him
That now will strive to be more dear to you,
Vouchsafe their pardon.
O. Lio. All dear to me indeed,
For I have paid for't soundly, yet for thy sake
I am atoned with all; only that wanton,
Her and her company, abandon quite;
So doing, we are friends.
Y. Lio. A just condition, and willingly subscribed to.
O. Lio. But for that villain; I am now devising
What shame, what punishment remarkable
To inflict on him.
Reig. Why, master! have I laboured,
Plotted, contrived, and all this while for you,
And will you leave me to the whip and stocks;
Not mediate my peace?
O. Lio. Sirrah, come down.
Reig. Not till my pardon's sealed; I'll rather stand here
Like a statue, in the fore-front of your house,
For ever, like the picture of Dame Fortune
Before the Fortune play-house.
Y. Lio. If I have here
But any friend amongst you, join with me
In this petition.
Clown. Good sir, for my sake! I resolved you truly concerning
whooping,
the noise, the walking, and the sprites, and for a need can show you a ticket
for him too.
Owner. I impute my wrongs rather to knavish cunning
Than least pretended malice.
Ric. What he did
Was but for his young master; I allow it
Rather as sports of wit than injuries;
No other, pray, esteem them.
O. Lio. Even as freely
As you forget my quarrels made with you,
Raised from the errors first begot by him,
I here remit all free. I now am calm,
But had I seized upon him in my spleen—
Reig. I knew that, therefore this was my invention,
For policy's the art still of prevention.
Clown. Come down, then, Reignald,—first on your hands and feet,
and then on your knees to your master.—
Now, gentlemen, what do you say to your inviting to my master's feast?
Ric. We will attend him.
O. Lio. Nor do I love to break good company,
For Master Wincott is my worthy friend
And old acquaintance—

REIGNALD descends.

Oh, thou crafty wag-string!
And couldst thou thus delude me? But we are friends.—
Nor, gentlemen, let not what's hereto past,
In your least thoughts disable my estate:
This my last voyage hath made all things good,
With surplus too; be that your comfort, son.
Well, Reignald_____But no more.
Reig. I was the fox,
But I from henceforth will no more the Cox—
Comb put upon your pate.
O. Lio. Let's walk, gentlemen. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.—Outside Old WINCOTT'S House.

Enter Old GERALDINE and Young GERALDINE.

OLD GER. Son, let me tell you, you are ill advised,
And doubly to be blamed, by under-taking
Unnecessary travel, grounding no reason
For such a rash and giddy enterprise.
What profit aim you at, you have not reaped?
What novelty affords the Christian world,
Of which your view hath not participated
In a full measure? Can you either better
Your language or experience? Your self-will
Hath only purpose to deprive a father
Of a loved son, and many noble friends
Of your much-wished acquaintance.
Y. Ger. Oh, dear sir,
Do not, I do entreat you, now repent you
Of your free grant, which with such care and study
I have so long, so often laboured for.
O. Ger. Say that may be dispensed with, show me reason
Why you desire to steal out of your country,
Like some malefactor that had forfeited
His life and freedom. Here's worthy gentleman
Hath for your sake invited many guests,
To his great charge, only to take of you
A parting leave: you send him word you cannot—
After, you may not come. Had not my urgence,
Almost compulsion, driven you to his house,
The unkindness might have forfeited your love,
And razed you from his will; in which he hath given you
A fair and large estate; yet you of all this strangeness
Show no sufficient ground.
Y. Ger. Then understand
The ground thereof took his first birth from you;
'Twas you first charged me to forbear the house,
And that upon your blessing. Let it not then
Offend you, sir, if I so great a charge
Have strived to keep so strictly.
O. Ger. Me perhaps
You may appease, and with small difficulty,
Because a father; but how satisfy
Their dear and, on your part, unmerited love?
But this your last obedience may salve all.
We now grow near the house.
Y. Ger. Whose doors, to me,
Appear as horrid as the gates of Hell.
Where shall I borrow patience, or from whence,
To give a meeting to this viperous brood
Of friend and mistress? [They enter the house.

SCENE II.—A Room in Old WINCOTT'S House.

Enter WINCOTT, his Wife, the two LIONELS, Owner, DELAVIL,
PRUDENTILLA, REIGNALD, and RIOTER.

Win. You've entertained me with a strange discourse
Of your man's knavish wit; but I rejoice
That in your safe return all ends so well.
Most welcome you, and you, and indeed all;
To whom I am bound, that at so short a warning,
Thus friendly, you will deign to visit me.
O. Lio. It seems my absence hath begot some sport;
Thank my kind servant here.
Reig. Not so much worth, sir.
O. Lio. But, though their riots tripped at my estate,
They have not quite o'erthrown it.

Enter Old and Young GERALDINE.

Win. But see, gentlemen,
These whom we most expected come at length.
This I proclaim the master of the feast,
In which, to express the bounty of my love,
I'll show myself no niggard.
Y. Ger. Your choice favours
I still taste in abundance.
Wife. Methinks it would not misbecome me, sir,
To chide your absence, that have made yourself
To us so long a stranger.
[Young GERALDINE turns sadly away.
Y. Ger. Pardon me, sir,
That have not yet, since your return from sea,
Voted the least fit opportunity
To entertain you with a kind salute.
O. Lio. Most kindly, sir, I thank you.
Del. Methinks, friend,
You should expect green rushes to be strowed
After such discontinuance.
Y. Ger. Mistress Prue,
I have not seen you long, but greet you thus:
May you be lady of a better husband
Than I expect a wife!
Win. I like that greeting.
Nay, enter, gentlemen; dinner perhaps
Is not yet ready, but the time we stay,
We'll find some fresh discourse to spend away.
[Exeunt all but DELAVIL.
Del. Not speak to me, nor once vouchsafe an answer,
But slight me with a poor and base neglect!
No, nor so much as cast an eye on her,
Or least regard, though in a seeming show
She courted a reply! 'Twixt him and her,
Nay, him and me, this was not wont to be;
If she have brain to apprehend as much
As I have done, she'll quickly find it out.—

Re-enter Young GERALDINE and Wife.

Now, as I live, as our affections meet,
So our conceits, and she hath singled him
To some such purpose. I'll retire myself,
Not interrupt their conference. [Exit.
Wife. You are sad, sir.
Y. Ger. I know no cause.
Wife. Then can I show you some.
Who could be otherways, to leave a father
So careful, and each way so provident?
To leave so many and such worthy friends?
To abandon your own country? These are some;
Nor do I think you can be much the merrier
For my sake.
Y. Ger. Now your tongue speaks oracles;
For all the rest are nothing: 'tis for you—
Only for you I cannot.
Wife. So I thought;
Why, then, have you been all this while so strange?
Why will you travel, suing a divorce
Betwixt us of a love inseparable;
For here shall I be left as desolate
Unto a frozen, almost widowed bed,
Warmed only in that future stored in you;
For who can in your absence comfort me?
Y. Ger. [Aside.] Shall my oppressèd sufferance yet break
forth
Into impatience, or endure her more?
Wife. But since by no persuasion, no entreats,
Your settled obstinacy can be swayed,
Though you seem desperate of your own dear life,
Have care of mine, for it exists in you.
Oh, sir, should you miscarry I were lost,
Lost and forsaken! Then, by our past vows,
And by this hand once given me, by these tears
Which are but springs begetting greater floods,
I do beseech thee, my dear Geraldine,
Look to thy safety, and preserve thy health;
Have care into what company you fall;
Travel not late, and cross no dangerous seas;
For till Heavens bless me in thy safe return,
How will this poor heart suffer!
Y. Ger. [Aside.] I had thought
Long since the sirens had been all destroyed;
But one of them I find survives in her:
She almost makes me question what I know,
A heretic unto my own belief:—
O thou mankind's seducer!
Wife. What, no answer!
Y. Ger. Yes, thou hast spoke to me in showers; I will
Reply in thunder: thou adulteress,
That hast more poison in thee than the serpent
Who was the first that did corrupt thy sex,
The devil!
Wife. To whom speaks the man?
Y. Ger. To thee,
Falsest of all that ever man termed fair.
Hath impudence so steeled thy smooth soft skin,
It cannot blush? Or sin so obdured thy heart,
It doth not quake and tremble? Search thy conscience;
There thou shalt find a thousand clamorous tongues
To speak as loud as mine doth.
Wife. Save from yours,
I hear no noise at all.
Y. Ger. I'll play the doctor
To open thy deaf ears. Monday the ninth
Of the last month—canst thou remember that,
That night more black in thy abhorrèd sin
Than in the gloomy darkness?—that the time.
Wife. Monday.
Y. Ger. Wouldst thou the place know?—thy polluted chamber,
So often witness of my sinless vows.
Wouldst thou the person?—one not worthy name,
Yet, to torment thy guilty soul the more,
I'll tell him thee—that monster Delavil.
Wouldst thou your bawd know?—midnight, that the hour.
The very words thou spake?—"Now what would Geraldine
Say, if he saw us here?"—to which was answered,
"Tush, he's a coxcomb, fit to be so fooled!"
No blush! What, no faint fever on thee yet!
How hath thy black sins changed thee! Thou Medusa!
Those hairs that late appeared like golden wires
Now crawl with snakes and adders. Thou art ugly.
Wife. And yet my glass, till now, ne'er told me so.
Who gave you this intelligence?
Y. Ger. Only He
That, pitying such an innocency as mine
Should by two such delinquents be betrayed,—
He brought me to that place by miracle,
And made me an ear-witness of all this.
Wife. I am undone!
Y. Ger. But think what thou hast lost
To forfeit me! I, notwithstanding these,
(So fixèd was my love and unalterable,)
I kept this from thy husband, nay, all ears,
With thy transgressions smothering mine own wrongs,
In hope of thy repentance.
Wife. Which begins
Thus low upon my knees—
Y. Ger. Tush! bow to Heaven,
Which thou hast most offended; I, alas!
Save in such scarce unheard-of-treachery,
Most sinful, like thyself. Wherein, oh, wherein
Hath my unspotted and unbounded love
Deserved the least of these? Sworn to be made a stale
For term of life, and all this for my goodness!
Die, and die soon; acquit me of my oath,
But prithee die repentant. Farewell ever:
'Tis thou, and only thou, hast banished me
Both from my friends and country.
Wife. Oh, I am lost! [Sinks down.

Re-enter DELAVIL, meeting Young GERALDINE going out.

Del. Why, how now, what's the business?
Y. Ger. Go, take her up, whom thou hast oft thrown down.
Villain! [Exit
Del. That was no language from a friend,
It had too harsh an accent. But how's this?
My mistress thus low cast upon the earth,
Grovelling and breathless! Mistress, lady, sweet—
Wife. Oh, tell me if thy name be Geraldine:
Thy very looks will kill me!
Del. View me well;
I am no such man; see, I am Delavil.
Wife. Thou'rt then a devil, that presents before me
My horrid sins, persuades me to despair,
When he, like a good angel sent from Heaven,
Besought me of repentance. Swell, sick heart,
Even till thou burst the ribs that bound thee in!
So, there's one string cracked. Flow, and flow high,
Even till thy blood distil out of mine eyes,
To witness my great sorrow.
Del. Faint again!
Some help within there! No attendant near?
Thus to expire! In this I am more wretched
Than all the sweet fruition of her love
Before could make me happy.

Re-enter WINCOTT, Old GERALDINE, Young GERALDINE, the two LIONELS,
RICOTT, Owner, PRUDENTILLA, and REIGNALD; also enter Clown.

Win. What was he
Clamoured so loud, to mingle with our mirth
This terror and affright?
Del. See, sir, your wife
In these my arms expiring.
Win. How!
Prud. My sister.
Win. Support her, and by all means possible
Provide for her dear safety.
O. Ger. See, she recovers.
Win. Woman, look up.
Wife. Oh, sir, your pardon!
Convey me to my chamber; I am sick,
Sick even to death. Away, thou sycophant,
Out of my sight! I have, besides thyself,
Too many sins about me.
Clown. My sweet mistress!
[PRUDENTILLA and Clown lead Wife off.
Del. The storm is coming; I must provide for harbour.
[Exit.
O. Lio. What strange and sudden alteration's this!
How quickly is this clear day overcast!
But such and so uncertain are all things
That dwell beneath the moon.
Y. Lio. A woman's qualm,
Frailties that are inherent to her sex—
Soon sick, and soon recovered.
Win. If she misfare,
I am a man more wretched in her loss
Than had I forfeited life and estate;
She was so good a creature.
O. Ger. I the like
Suffered, when I my wife brought to her grave;
So you, when you were first a widower:
Come, arm yourself with patience.
Ric. These are casualties
That are not new, but common.
Reig. Burying of wives!—
As stale as shifting shirts, or for some servants
To flout and gull their masters.
Owner. Best to send
And see how her fit holds her.

Re-enter PRUDENTILLA and Clown.

Pru. Sir, my sister
In these few lines commends her last to you,
For she is now no more. What's therein writ,
Save Heaven and you, none knows: this she desired
You would take view of, and with these words expired.
Win. Dead!
Y. Ger. She hath made me then a free release
Of all the debts I owed her.
Win [Aside, reading] "My fear is beyond pardon.
Delavil
Hath played the villain; but for Geraldine,
He hath been each way noble; love him still.
My peace already I have made with Heaven;
Oh, be not you at war with me! my honour
Is in your hands to punish, or preserve;
I am now confessed, and only Geraldine
Hath wrought on me this unexpected good.
The ink I write with, I wish had been my blood,
To witness my repentance."—Delavil!
Where's he? go seek him out.
Clown. I shall, I sir. [Exit.
Win. The wills of dead folk should be still obeyed:
However false to me, I'll not reveal't;
Where Heaven forgives, I pardon.—Gentlemen,
I know you all commiserate my loss;
I little thought this feast should have been turned
Into a funeral.—

Re-enter Clown.

What's the news of him?
Clown. He went presently to the stable, put the saddle upon his
horse,
put his foot into the stirrup, clapped his spurs into his sides, and
away he's
galloped, as if he were to ride a race for a wager.
Win. All our ill lucks go with him! Farewell he!
But all my best of wishes wait on you,
[To Young GERALDINE.
As my chief friend! This meeting, that was made
Only to take of you a parting leave,
Shall now be made a marriage of our love,
Which none save only death shall separate.
Y. Ger. It calls me from all travel, and from henceforth
With my country I am friends.
Win. The lands that I have left,
You lend me for the short space of my life;
As soon as Heaven calls me, they call you lord.—
First feast, and after mourn; we'll, like some gallants
That bury thrifty fathers, think't no sin
To wear blacks without, but other thoughts within.
[Exeunt.





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