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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LADY OF PLEASURE, by JAMES SHIRLEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Be patient, madam; you may have your pleasure
Last Line: Full mirth, our souls shall leap into a dance. [exeunt.
First Line: Be patient, madam; you may have your pleasure
Last Line: Full mirth, our souls shall leap into a dance. [exeunt.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SIR THOMAS BORNWELL.
LORD A.
SIR WILLIAM SCENTLOVE, Gallants.
MASTER ALEXANDER KICKSHAW,
MASTER JOHN LITTLEWORTH,
HAIRCUT, a Barber.
MASTER FREDERICK, nephew to LADY BORNWELL.
Steward to SIR THOMAS BORNWELL.
Steward to CELESTINA.
Secretary to LORD A.
Servants, &c.
LADY BORNWELL, Wife of SIR THOMAS.
CELESTINA, a young Widow.
ISABELLA, Friends of CELESTINA.
MARIANA,
DECOY, a Procuress.
Gentlewoman.
SCENE—The STRAND.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Room in SIR THOMAS BORNWELL'S House.
Enter Lady BORNWELL, and Steward.
STEW. Be patient, madam; you may have your pleasure.
Lady B. 'Tis that I came to town for. I would not
Endure again the country conversation,
To be the lady of six shires! The men,
So near the primitive making, they retain
A sense of nothing but the earth; their brains,
And barren heads standing as much in want
Of ploughing as their ground. To hear a fellow
Make himself merry and his horse, with whistling
Sellinger's Round! To observe with what solemnity
They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candlesticks!
How they become the morris, with whose bells
They ring all in to Whitsun-ales; and sweat,
Through twenty scarfs and napkins, till the hobby-horse
Tire, and the Maid Marian, dissolved to a jelly,
Be kept for spoon meat!
Stew. These, with your pardon, are no argument
To make the country life appear so hateful;
At least to your particular, who enjoyed
A blessing in that calm, would you be pleased
To think so, and the pleasure of a kingdom;
While your own will commanded what should move
Delights, your husband's love and power joined
To give your life more harmony. You lived there
Secure, and innocent, beloved of all;
Praised for your hospitality, and prayed for:
You might be envièd; but malice knew
Not where you dwelt. I would not prophesy,
But leave to your own apprehension,
What may succeed your change.
Lady B. You do imagine,
No doubt, you have talked wisely, and confuted
London past all defence. Your master should
Do well to send you back into the country,
With title of superintendent-bailiff.
Stew. How, madam!
Lady B. Even so, sir.
Stew. I am a gentleman,
Though now your servant.
Lady B. A country gentleman,
By your affection to converse with stubble.
His tenants will advance your wit, and plump it so
With beef and bag-pudding!
Stew. You may say your pleasure,
It becomes not me dispute.
Lady B. Complain to
The lord of the soil, your master.
Stew. You're a woman
Of an ungoverned passion, and I pity you.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.
Born. How now? What's the matter?
Stew. Nothing, sir. [Exit.
Born. Angry, sweetheart?
Lady B. I am angry with myself,
To be so miserably restrained in things,
Wherein it doth concern your love and honour
To see me satisfied.
Born. In what, Aretina,
Dost thou accuse me? Have I not obeyed
All thy desires? against mine own opinion
Quitted the country, and removed the hope
Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship
We lived in? changed a calm and retired life
For this wild town, composed of noise and charge?
Lady B. What charge, more than is necessary for
A lady of my birth and education?
Born. I am not ignorant how much nobility
Flows in your blood; your kinsmen great and powerful
I' the state; but with this, lose not you memory
Of being my wife. I shall be studious,
Madam, to give the dignity of your birth
All the best ornaments which become my fortune;
But would not flatter it, to ruin both,
And be the fable of the town, to teach
Other men loss of wit by mine, employed
To serve your vast expenses.
Lady B. Am I then
Brought in the balance? So, sir!
Born. Though you weigh
Me in a partial scale, my heart is honest,
And must take liberty to think you have
Obeyed no modest counsel, to affect,
Nay, study ways of pride and costly ceremony:
Your change of gaudy furniture, and pictures
Of this Italian master, and that Dutchman;
Your mighty looking-glasses, like artillery,
Brought home on engines; the superfluous plate,
Antique and novel; vanities of tires;
Fourscore-pound suppers for my lord, your kinsman,
Banquets for t' other lady aunt, and cousins,
And perfumes that exceed all: train of servants,
To stifle us at home, and show abroad
More motley than the French or the Venetian,
About your coach, whose rude postillion
Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers
And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls;
And common cries pursue your ladyship,
For hindering of their market.
Lady B. Have you done, sir?
Born. I could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe,
And prodigal embroideries, under which
Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare
Not show their own complexions; your jewels,
Able to burn out the spectators' eyes,
And show like bonfires on you by the tapers:
Something might here be spared, with safety of
Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth
Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers.—
I could urge something more.
Lady B. Pray do, I like
Your homily of thrift.
Born. I could wish, madam,
You would not game so much.
Lady B. A gamester too!
Born. But are not come to that acquaintance yet,
Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit.
You look not through the subtilty of cards,
And mysteries of dice; nor can you save
Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls,
And keep your family by the precious income;
Nor do I wish you should: my poorest servant
Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire,
Purchased beneath my honour. You make play
Not a pastime but a tyranny, and vex
Yourself and my estate by it.
Lady B. Good! proceed.
Born. Another game you have, which consumes more
Your fame than purse; your revels in the night,
Your meetings called the Ball, to which repair,
As to the court of pleasure, all your gallants,
And ladies, thither bound by a subpœna
Of Venus, and small Cupid's high displeasure;
'Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a play on't,
And had the poet not been bribed to a modest
Expression of your antic gambols in't,
Some darks had been discovered, and the deeds too
In time he may repent, and make some blush,
To see the second part danced on the stage.
My thoughts acquit you for dishonouring me
By any foul act; but the virtuous know,
'Tis not enough to clear ourselves, but the
Suspicions of our shame.
Lady B. Have you concluded
Your lecture?
Born. I have done; and howsoever
My language may appear to you, it carries
No other than my fair and just intent
To your delights, without curb to their modest,
And noble freedom.
Lady B. I'll not be so tedious
In my reply; but, without art or elegance,
Assure you, I keep still my first opinion:
And though you veil your avaricious meaning
With handsome names of modesty and thrift,
I find you would intrench and wound the liberty
I was born with. Were my desires unprivileged
By example, while my judgment thought 'em fit,
You ought not to oppose; but when the practice
And track of every honourable lady
Authorise me, I take it great injustice
To have my pleasures circumscribed, and taught me.
A narrow-minded husband is a thief
To his own fame, and his preferment too;
He shuts his parts and fortunes from the world,
While, from the popular vote and knowledge, men
Rise to employment in the state.
Born. I have
No great ambition to buy preferment at
So dear a rate.
Lady B. Nor I to sell my honour,
By living poor and sparingly; I was not
Bred in that ebb of fortune, and my fate
Shall not compel me to it.
Born. I know not,
Madam; but you pursue these ways—
Lady B. What ways?
Born. In the strict sense of honesty, I dare
Make oath they are innocent.
Lady B. Do not divert,
By busy troubling of your brain, those thoughts
That should preserve 'em.
Born. How was that?
Lady B. 'Tis English.
Born. But carries some unkind sense.
Enter DECOY.
Dec. Good morrow, my sweet madam.
Lady B. Decoy! welcome;
This visit is a favour.
Dec. Alas, sweet madam,
I cannot stay; I came but to present
My service to your ladyship; I could not
Pass by your door, but I must take the boldness
To tender my respects.
Lady B. You oblige me, madam;
But I must not dispense so with your absence.
Dec. Alas, the coach, madam, stays for me at the door.
Lady B. Thou shalt command mine; prithee, sweet Decoy—
Dec. I would wait on you, madam, but I have many
Visits to make this morning; I beseech—
Lady B. So you will promise to dine with me.
Dec. I shall
Present a guest.
Lady B. Why, then good morrow, madam.
Dec. A happy day shine on your ladyship! [Exit.
Re-enter Steward.
Lady B. What's your news, sir?
Stew. Madam, two gentlemen.
Lady B. What gentlemen? Have they no names?
Stew. They are,
The gentleman with his own head of hair,
Whom you commended for his horsemanship
In Hyde Park, and becoming so the saddle,
The t'other day.
Lady B. What circumstance is this
To know him by?
Stew. His name's at my tongue's end:—
He liked the fashion of your pearl chain, madam;
And borrowed it for his jeweller to take
A copy by it.
Born. What cheating gallant's this? [Aside.
Stew. That never walks without a lady's busk,
And plays with fans—Master Alexander Kickshaw,—
I thought I should remember him.
Lady B. What's the other?
Stew. What an unlucky memory I have!
The gallant that still danceth in the street,
And wears a gross of ribbon in his hat;
That carries oringado in his pocket,
And sugar-plums, to sweeten his discourse;
That studies compliment, defies all wit
In black, and censures plays that are not bawdy—
Master John Littleworth.
Lady B. They are welcome; but
Pray entertain them a small time, lest I
Be unprovided.
Born. Did they ask for me?
Stew. No, sir.
Born. It matters not, they must be welcome.
Lady B. Fie! how's this hair disordered? Here's a curl
Straddles most impiously. I must to my closet. [Exit.
Born. Wait on 'em; my lady will return again.
[Exit Steward.
I have to such a height fulfilled her humour,
All application's dangerous: these gallants
Must be received, or she will fall into
A tempest, and the house be shook with names
Of all her kindred. 'Tis a servitude
I may in time shake off.
Enter KICKSHAW and LITTLEWORTH.
Kick and Little. Save you, Sir Thomas!
Born. Save you, gentlemen!
Kick. I kiss your hand.
Born. What day is it abroad?
Little. The morning rises from your lady's eye:
If she look clear, we take the happy omen
Of a fair day.
Born. She'll instantly appear,
To the discredit of your compliment;
But you express your wit thus.
Kick. And you modesty,
Not to affect the praises of your own.
Born. Leaving this subject, what game's now on foot?
What exercise carries the general vote
O' the town, now? nothing moves without your knowledge.
Kick. The cocking now has all the noise; I'll have
A hundred pieces on one battle.—Oh,
These birds of Mars!
Little. Venus is Mars' bird too.
Kick. Why, and the pretty doves are Venus's,
To show that kisses draw the chariot.
Little. I am for that skirmish.
Born. When shall we have
More booths and bagpipes upon Banstead downs?
No mighty race is expected?—But my lady
Returns!
Re-enter Lady BORNWELL.
Lady B. Fair morning to you, gentlemen!
You went not late to bed by your early visit.
You do me honour.
Kick. It becomes our service.
Lady B. What news abroad? you hold precious intelligence.
Little. All tongues are so much busy with your praise,
They have not time to frame other discourse.
Will't please you, madam, taste a sugar-plum?
Born. What does the goldsmith think the pearl is worth
You borrowed of my lady?
Kick. 'Tis a rich one.
Born. She has many other toys, whose fashion you
Will like extremely: you have no intention
To buy any of her jewels?
Kick. Understand me—
Born. You had rather sell, perhaps. But leaving this.
I hope you'll dine with us.
Kick. I came o' purpose.
Lady B. And where were you last night
Kick. I, madam? where
I slept not; it had been sin, where so much
Delight and beauty was to keep me waking.
There is a lady, madam, will be worth
Your free society; my conversation
Ne'er knew so elegant and brave a soul,
With most incomparable flesh and blood;
So spirited! so courtly! speaks the languages,
Sings, dances, plays o' the lute to admiration!
Is fair, and paints not; games too, keeps a table,
And talks most witty satire; has a wit
Of a clean Mercury—
Little. Is she married?
Kick. No.
Lady B. A virgin?
Kick. Neither.
Little. What! a widow! something
Of this wide commendation might have been
Excused. This such a prodigy!
Kick. Repent,
Before I name her: she did never see
Yet full sixteen, an age, in the opinion
Of wise men, not contemptible. She has
Mourned out her year too for the honest knight
That had compassion of her youth, and died
So timely. Such a widow is not common;
And now she shines more fresh and tempting
Than any natural virgin.
Lady B. What's her name?
Kick. She was christened Celestina; by her husband,
The Lady Bellamour: this ring was hers.
Born. You borrowed it to copy out the posy.
Kick. Are they not pretty rubies? 'twas a grace
She was pleased to show me, that I might have one
Made of the self-same fashion; for I love
All pretty forms.
Lady B. And is she glorious?
Kick. She is full of jewels, madam; but I am
Most taken with the bravery of her mind,
Although her garments have all grace and ornament.
Lady B. You have been high in praises.
Kick. I come short;
No flattery can reach her.
Born. Now my lady
Is troubled, as she feared to be eclipsed:
This news will cost me somewhat. [Aside.
Lady B. You deserve
Her favour, for this noble character.
Kick. And I possess it, by my stars benevolence.
Lady B. You must bring us acquainted.
Born. I pray do, sir;
I long to see her too.—Madam, I have
Thought upon't, and corrected my opinion.
Pursue what ways of pleasure your desires
Incline you to, not only with my state,
But with my person; I will follow you:
I see the folly of my thrift, and will
Repent in sack and prodigality,
To your own heart's content.
Lady B. But do not mock.
Born. Take me to your embraces, gentlemen,
And tutor me.
Little. And will you kiss the ladies?
Born. And sing and dance. I long to see this beauty;
I would fain lose a hundred pounds at dice now.—
Thou shalt have another gown and petticoat
To-morrow;—will you sell me running-horses?
We have no Greek wine in the house, I think;
Pray send one of our footmen to the merchant,
And throw the hogsheads of March-beer into
The kennel, to make room for sack and claret.
What think you to be drunk yet before dinner?
We will have constant music, and maintain
Them and their fiddles in fantastic liveries:
I'll tune my voice to catches.—I must have
My dining-room enlarged, to invite ambassadors
We'll feast the parish in the fields, and teach
The military men new discipline,
Who shall charge all their great artillery
With oranges and lemons, boy, to play
All dinner upon our capons.
Kick. He's exalted!
Born. I will do anything to please my lady,
Let that suffice; and kiss o' the same condition.
I am converted; do not you dispute,
But patiently allow the miracle.
Lady B. I am glad to hear you, sir, in so good tune.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Madam, the painter.
Lady B. I am to sit this morning.
Born. Do.
While I give new directions to my steward.
Kick. With your favour, we'll wait on you.
Sitting's but a melancholy exercise without
Some company to discourse.
Lady B. It does conclude
A lady's morning work. We rise, make fine,
Sit for our picture, and 'tis time to dine.
Little. Praying's forgot.
Kick. 'Tis out of fashion. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in CELESTINA'S House.
Enter CELESTINA and her Steward.
Cel. Fie! what an air this room has!
Stew. 'Tis perfumed.
Cel. With some cheap stuff. Is it your wisdom's thrift
To infect my nostrils thus? or is't to favour
The gout in your worship's hand, you are afraid
To exercise your pen in your account book?
Or do you doubt my credit to discharge
Your bills?
Stew. Madam, I hope you have not found
My duty, with the guilt of sloth or jealousy,
Unapt to your command.
Cel. You can extenuate
Your faults with language, sir; but I expect
To be obeyed. What hangings have we here!
Stew. They are arras, madam.
Cel. Impudence! I know't.
I will have fresher, and more rich; not wrought
With faces that may scandalize a Christian,
With Jewish stories stuffed with corn and camels.
You had best wrap all my chambers in wild Irish,
And make a nursery of monsters here,
To fright the ladies come to visit me.
Stew. Madam, I hope—
Cel. I say I will have other,
Good Master Steward, of a finer loom;
Some silk and silver, if your worship please
To let me be at so much cost. I'll have
Stories to fit the seasons of the year,
And change as often as I please.
Stew. You shall, madam.
Cel. I am bound to your consent, forsooth! And is
My coach brought home?
Stew. This morning I expect it.
Cel. The inside, as I gave directions,
Of crimson plush?
Stew. Of crimson camel plush.
Cel. Ten thousand moths consume't! Shall I ride through
The streets in penance, wrapt up round in hair cloth?
Sell't to an alderman, 'twill serve his wife
To go a feasting to their country-house;
Or fetch a merchant's nurse-child, and come home
Laden with fruit and cheese-cakes. I despise it!
Stew. The nails adorn it, madam, set in method,
And pretty forms.
Cel. But single gilt, I warrant.
Stew. No, madam.
Cel. Another solecism! Oh fie!
This fellow will bring me to a consumption
With fretting at his ignorance. Some lady
Had rather never pray, than go to church in't.
The nails not double gilt! To market with't;
'Twill hackney out to Mile-end, or convey
Your city tumblers, to be drunk with cream
And prunes at Islington.
Stew. Good madam, hear me.
Cel. I'll rather be beholding to my aunt
The countess, for her mourning coach, than be
Disparaged so. Shall any juggling tradesman
Be at charge to shoe his running-horse with gold,
And shall my coach nails be but single gilt!
How dare these knaves abuse me so?
Stew. Vouchsafe
To hear me speak.
Cel. Is my sedan yet finished,
And liveries for my men-mules, according
As I gave charge?
Stew. Yes, madam, it is finished,
But without tilting-plumes at the four corners;
The scarlet's pure, but not embroidered.
Cel. What mischief were it to your conscience
Were my coach lined with tissue, and my harness
Covered with needle-work? if my sedan
Had all the story of the prodigal
Embroidered with pearl?
Stew. Alas, good madam,
I know 'tis your own cost; I am but your steward,
And would discharge my duty the best way.
You have been pleased to hear me; 'tis not for
My profit that I manage your estate,
And save expense, but for your honour, madam.
Cel. How, sir! my honour?
Stew. Though you hear it not,
Men's tongues are liberal in your character,
Since you began to live thus high. I know
Your fame is precious to you.
Cel. I were best
Make you my governor: audacious varlet!
How dare you interpose your doating counsel!
Mind your affairs with more obedience,
Or I shall ease you of an offence, sir.
Must I be limited to please your honour,
Or, for the vulgar breath, confine my pleasures?
I will pursue 'em in what shapes I fancy,
Here, and abroad; my entertainments shall
Be oftener, and more rich. Who shall control me?
I live i' the Strand, whither few ladies come
To live, and purchase, more than fame. I will
Be hospitable then, and spare no cost
That may engage all generous report
To trumpet forth my bounty and my bravery,
Till the court envy, and remove. I'll have
My house the academy of wits, who shall
Exalt their genius with rich sack and sturgeon,
Write panegyrics of my feasts, and praise
The method of my witty superfluities.
The horses shall be taught, with frequent waiting
Upon my gates, to stop in their career
Toward Charing-cross, spite of the coachman's fury;
And not a tilter but shall strike his plume,
When he sails by my widow: my balcony
Shall be the courtier's idol, and more gazed at
Than all the pageantry at Temple Bar,
By country clients.
Stew. Sure my lady's mad.
Cel. Take that for your ill manners. [Strikes him.
Stew. Thank you, madam.—
I would there were less quicksilver in your fingers.
[Exit.
Cel. There's more than simple honesty in a servant
Required to his full duty; none should dare
But with a look, much less a saucy language,
Check at their mistress' pleasure. I'm resolved
To pay for some delight, my estate will bear it;
I'll rein it shorter when I please.
Re-enter Steward.
Stew. A gentleman
Desires to speak with your ladyship.
Cel. His name?
Stew. He says you know him not; he seems to be
Of quality.
Cel. Admit him. [Exit Steward.
Enter HAIRCUT.
Sir, with me?
Hair. Madam, I know not how you may receive
This boldness from me; but my fair intents
Known, will incline you to be charitable.
Cel. No doubt, sir.
Hair. He must live obscurely, madam,
That hath not heard what virtues you possess;
And I, a poor admirer of your fame,
Am come to kiss your hand.
Cel. That all your business?
Hair. Though it were worth much travel, I have more
In my ambition.
Cel. Speak it freely, sir.
Hair. You are a widow.
Cel. So!
Hair. And I a bachelor.
Cel. You come a wooing, sir, and would perhaps
Show me a way to reconcile the two?
Hair. And bless my stars for such a happiness.
Cel. I like you, sir, the better, that you do not
Wander about, but shoot home to the meaning;
It is a confidence will make a man
Know sooner what to trust to: but I never
Saw you before, and I believe you come not
With hope to find me desperate upon marriage.
If maids, out of their ignorance of what
Men are, refuse these offers, widows may,
Out of their knowledge, be allowed some coyness:
And yet I know not how much happiness
A peremptory answer may deprive me of;—
You may be some young lord, and though I see not
Your footmen and your groom, they may not be
Far off, in conference with your horse. Please you
To instruct me with your title, against which
I would not willingly offend.
Hair. I am
A gentleman; my name is Haircut, madam.
Cel. Sweet Master Haircut! are you a courtier?
Hair. Yes.
Cel. I did think so, by your confidence.
Not to detain you, sir, with circumstance,
I was not so unhappy in my husband,
But that 'tis possible I may be a wife
Again; but I must tell you, he that wins
My affection, shall deserve me.
Hair. I will hope,
If you can love, I shall not present, madam,
An object to displease you in my person:
And when time, and your patience, shall possess you
With further knowledge of me, and the truth
Of my devotion, you will not repent
The offer of my service.
Cel. You say well.
How long do you imagine you can love, sir?
Is it a quotidian, or will it hold
But every other day?
Hair. You are pleasant, madam.
Cel. Does it take you with a burning at the first,
Or with a cold fit? for you gentlemen
Have both your summer and your winter service.
Hair. I am ignorant what you mean; but I shall never
Be cold in my affection to such beauty.
Cel. And 'twill be somewhat long ere I be warm in't.
Hair. If you vouchsafe me so much honour, madam,
That I may wait on you sometimes, I shall not
Despair to see a change.
Cel. But, now I know
Your mind, you shall not need to tell it when
You come again; I shall remember it.
Hair. You make me fortunate.
Re-enter Steward.
Stew. Madam, your kinswomen,
The lady Novice, and her sister, are
New lighted from their coach.
Cel. I did expect 'em,
They partly are my pupils. I'll attend them.
[Exit Steward.
Hair. Madam, I have been too great a trespasser
Upon your patience; I will take my leave:
You have affairs, and I have some employment
Calls me to court; I shall present again
A servant to you. [Exit.
Cel. Sir, you may present,
But not give fire, I hope.—Now to the ladies.
This recreation's past, the next must be
To read to them some court philosophy. [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—A Room in Sir THOMAS BORNWELL'S House.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.
BORN. 'Tis a strange humour I have undertaken,
To dance, and play, and spend as fast as she does;
But I am resolved: it may do good upon her,
And fright her into thrift. Nay, I'll endeavour
To make her jealous too; if this do not
Allay her gamboling, she's past a woman,
And only a miracle must tame her.
Enter Steward.
Stew. 'Tis master Frederick, my lady's nephew.
Born. What of him?
Stew. Is come from the university.
Born. By whose directions?
Stew. It seems, my lady's.
Born. Let me speak with him
Before he sees his aunt. [Exit Stew.]—I do not like it.—
Re-enter Steward, with FREDERICK, in his college dress.
Master Frederick, welcome! I expected not
So soon your presence; what's the hasty cause?
Fred. These letters, from my tutor, will acquaint you.
[Gives BORNWELL letters.
Stew. Welcome home, sweet Master Frederick!
Fred. Where's my aunt?
Stew. She's busy about her painting, in her closet;
The outlandish man of art is copying out
Her countenance.
Fred. She is sitting for her picture?
Stew. Yes, sir; and when 'tis drawn she will be hanged
Next the French cardinal, in the dining-room.
But when she hears you are come, she will dismiss
The Belgic gentleman, to entertain
Your worship.
Fred. Change of air has made you witty.
Born. Your tutor gives you a handsome character,
Frederick, and is sorry your aunt's pleasure
Commands you from your studies; but I hope
You have no quarrel to the liberal arts:
Learning is an addition beyond
Nobility of birth. Honour of blood,
Without the ornament of knowledge, is
A glorious ignorance.
Fred. I never knew
More sweet and happy hours than I employed
Upon my books. I heard
A part of my philosophy, and was so
Delighted with the harmony of nature,
I could have wasted my whole life upon it.
Born. 'Tis pity a rash indulgence should corrupt
So fair a genius! She's here; I'll observe. [Aside.
Enter Lady BORNWELL, KICKSHAW, and LITTLEWORTH.
Fred. My most loved aunt!
Lady B. Support me, I shall faint.
Little. What ails your ladyship?
Lady B. Is that Frederick,
In black?
Kick. Yes, madam; but the doublet's satin.
Lady B. The boy's undone!
Fred. Madam, you appear troubled.
Lady B. Have I not cause? Was not I trusted with
Thy education, boy, and have they sent thee
Home like a very scholar!
Kick. 'Twas ill done,
Howe'er they used him in the university,
To send him to his, friends thus.
Fred. Why, sir? black,
(For 'tis the colour that offends your eye-sight,)
Is not, within my reading, any blemish;
Sables are no disgrace in heraldry.
Kick. 'Tis coming from the college thus, that makes it
Dishonourable. While you wore it for
Your father, it was commendable; or were
Your aunt dead, you might mourn, and justify.
Lady B. What luck I did not send him into France!
They would have given him generous education,
Taught him another garb, to wear his lock,
And shape, as gaudy as the summer; how
To dance, and wag his feather à-la-mode,
To compliment, and cringe; to talk not modestly,
Like, "ay forsooth," and "no forsooth;" to blush,
And look so like a chaplain!—There he might
Have learned a brazen confidence, and observed
So well the custom of the country, that
He might, by this time, have invented fashions
For us, and been a benefit to the kingdom;
Preserved our tailors in their wits, and saved
The charge of sending into foreign courts
For pride and antic fashions.—Observe
In what a posture he does hold his hat now!
Fred. Madam, with your pardon you have practised
Another dialect than was taught me when
I was commended to your care and breeding.
I understand not this; Latin or Greek
Are more familiar to my apprehension:
Logic was not so hard in my first lectures
As your strange language.
Lady B. Some strong waters; oh!
Little. Comfits will be as comfortable to your stomach, madam.
[Offers his box.
Lady B. I fear he's spoiled for ever! he did name
Logic, and may, for aught I know, be gone
So far to understand it. I did always
Suspect they would corrupt him in the college.—
Will your Greek saws and sentences discharge
The mercer? or is Latin a fit language
To court a mistress in?—Master Alexander,
If you have any charity, let me
Commend him to your breeding.—I suspect
I must employ my doctor first, to purge
The university that lies in's head;
It alters his complexion.
Kick. If you dare
Trust me to serve him—
Lady B. Master Littleworth,
Be you joined in commission.
Little. I will teach him
Postures and rudiments.
Lady B. I have no patience
To see him in this shape; it turns my stomach.
When he has cast his academic skin
He shall be your's. I am bound in conscience
To see him bred; his own state shall maintain
The charge, while he's my ward.—Come hither, sir.
Fred. What does my aunt mean to do with me?
Stew. To make you a fine gentleman, and translate you
Out of your learned language, sir, into
The present Goth and Vandal, which is French.
Born. Into what mischief will this humour ebb?
She will undo the boy; I see him ruined.
My patience is not manly: but I must
Use stratagem to reduce her: open ways
Give me no hope. [Aside.
Stew. You shall be obeyed, madam.
[Exeunt all but FREDERICK and Steward.
Fred. Master Steward, are you sure we do not dream?
Was't not my aunt you talked to?
Stew. One that loves you
Dear as her life. These clothes do not become you,
You must have better, sir—
Fred. These are not old.
Stew. More suitable to the town and time; we keep
No Lent here, nor is't my lady's pleasure you
Should fast from anything you have a mind to;
Unless it be your learning, which she would have you
Forget with all convenient speed that may be,
For the credit of your noble family.
The case is altered since we lived i' the country;
We do not now invite the poor o' the parish
To dinner, keep a table for the tenants;
Our kitchen does not smell of beef; the cellar
Defies the price of malt and hops; the footmen
And coach-drivers may be drunk like gentlemen,
With wine; nor will three fiddlers upon holidays,
With aid of bag-pipes, that called in the country
To dance, and plough the hall up with their hob-nails,
Now make my lady merry. We do feed
Like princes, and feast nothing else but princes;
And are these robes fit to be seen amongst 'em?
Fred. My lady keeps a court then! Is Sir Thomas
Affected with this state and cost?
Stew. He was not;
But is converted: and I hope you will not
Persist in heresy, but take a course
Of riot, to content your friends; you shall
Want nothing, if you can be proud, and spend it
For my lady's honour. Here are a hundred
Pieces, will serve you till you have new clothes;
I will present you with a nag of mine,
Poor tender of my service, please you accept;
My lady's smile more than rewards me for it.
I must provide fit servants to attend you,
Monsieurs, for horse and foot.
Fred. I shall submit,
If this be my aunt's pleasure, and be ruled;
My eyes are opened with this purse already,
And sack will help to inspire me. I must spend it?
Stew. What else, sir?
Fred. I'll begin with you: to encourage
You to have still a special care of me,
There is five pieces,—not for your nag.
Stew. No, sir; I hope it is not.
Fred. Buy a beaver
For thy own block; I shall be ruled. Who does
Command the wine cellar?
Stew. Who commands but you, sir?
Fred. I'll try to drink a health or two, my aunt's,
Or anybody's; and if that foundation
Stagger me not too much, I will commence
In all the arts of London.
Stew. If you find, sir,
The operation of the wine exalt
Your blood to the desire of any female
Delight, I know your aunt will not deny
Any of her chambermaids to practise on;
She loves you but too well.
Fred. I know not how
I may be for that exercise—Farewell, Aristotle
Prithee commend me to the library
At Westminster; my bones I bequeath thither,
And to the learned worms that mean to visit 'em.
I will compose myself; I begin to think
I have lost time indeed.—Come to the wine cellar.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in CELESTINA'S House.
Enter CELESTINA, MARIANA, and ISABELLA.
Mar. But shall we not, madam, expose ourselves
To censure for this freedom?
Cel. Let them answer,
That dare mistake us. Shall we be so much
Cowards, to be frighted from our pleasure,
Because men have malicious tongues, and show
What miserable souls they have? No, cousin,
We hold our life and fortunes upon no
Man's charity; if they dare show so little
Discretion to traduce our fames, we will
Be guilty of so much wit to laugh at them.
Isab. 'Tis a becoming fortitude.
Cel. My stars
Are yet kind to me; for, in a happy minute
Be it spoke, I'm not in love, and men shall never
Make my heart lean with sighing, nor with tears
Draw on my eyes the infamy of spectacles.
'Tis the chief principle to keep your heart
Under your own obedience; jest, but love not.
I say my prayers, yet can wear good clothes,
And only satisfy my tailor for them.
I will not lose my privilege.
Mar. And yet they say your entertainments are,
Give me your pardon, madam, to proclaim
Yourself a widow, and to get a husband.
Cel. As if a lady of my years, some beauty,
Left by her husband rich, that had mourned for him
A twelvemonth too, could live so obscure i' the town,
That gallants would not know her, and invite
Themselves, without her chargeable proclamations!
Then we are worse than citizens: no widow
Left wealthy can be thoroughly warm in mourning,
But some one noble blood, or lusty kindred,
Claps in, with his gilt coach, and Flandrian trotters,
And hurries her away to be a countess.
Courtiers have spies, and great ones with large titles,
Cold in their own estates, would warm themselves
At a rich city bonfire.
Isab. Most true, madam.
Cel. No matter for corruption of the blood:
Some undone courtier made her husband rich,
And this new lord receives it back again.
Admit it were my policy, and that
My entertainments pointed to acquaint me
With many suitors, that I might be safe,
And make the best election, could you blame me?
Mar. Madam, 'tis wisdom.
Cel. But I should be
In my thoughts miserable, to be fond
Of leaving the sweet freedom I possess,
And court myself into new marriage fetters.
I now observe men's several wits, and windings,
And can laugh at their follies.
Mar. You have given
A most ingenious satisfaction.
Cel. One thing I'll tell you more, and this I give you
Worthy your imitation, from my practice:
You see me merry, full of song and dancing,
Pleasant in language, apt to all delights
That crown a public meeting; but you cannot
Accuse me of being prodigal of my favours
To any of my guests. I do not summon,
By any wink, a gentleman to follow me,
To my withdrawing chamber; I hear all
Their pleas in court, nor can they boast abroad,
And do me justice, after a salute,
They have much conversation with my lip.
I hold the kissing of my hand a courtesy,
And he that loves me, must, upon the strength
Of that, expect till I renew his favour.
Some ladies are so expensive in their graces,
To those that honour them, and so prodigal,
That in a little time they have nothing but
The naked sin left to reward their servants;
Whereas, a thrift in our rewards will keep
Men long in their devotion, and preserve
Ourselves in stock, to encourage those that honour us.
Isab. This is an art worthy a lady's practice.
Cel. It takes not from the freedom of our mirth,
But seems to advance it, when we can possess
Our pleasures with security of our honour;
And, that preserved, I welcome all the joys
My fancy can let in. In this I have given
The copy of my mind, nor do I blush
You understand it.
Isab. You have honoured us.
Enter CELESTINA'S Gentlewoman.
Gentlew. Madam, Sir William Scentlove's come, to wait on you.
Cel. There's one would be a client.—Make excuse
For a few minutes. [Exit Gentlewoman.
Mar. One that comes a wooing?
Cel. Such a thing he would seem, but in his guiltiness
Of little land, his expectation is not
So valiant as it might be. He wears rich clothes,
And feeds with noblemen; to some, I hear,
No better than a wanton emissary,
Or scout for Venus' wild fowl; which made tame,
He thinks no shame to stand court sentinel,
In hope of the reversion.
Mar. I have heard
That some of them are often my lord's tasters,
The first fruits they condition for, and will
Exact as fees, for the promotion.
Cel. Let them agree, there's no account shall lie
For me among their traffic.
Re-enter Gentlewoman.
Gentlew. Master Haircut, madam,
Is new come in, to tender you his service.
Cel. Let him discourse a little with Sir William.
Mar. What is this gentleman, Master Haircut, madam?
I note him very gallant, and much courted
By gentlemen of quality.
Cel. I know not,
More than a trim gay man; he has some great office,
Sure, by his confident behaviour:
He would be entertained under the title
Of servant to me, and I must confess,
He is the sweetest of all men that visit me.
Isab. How mean you, madam?
Cel. He is full of powder;
He will save much in perfume for my chamber,
Were he but constant here. Give them access.
[Exit Gentlewoman.
Enter Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE and HAIRCUT.
Scent. Madam, the humblest of your servants is
Exalted to a happiness, if you smile
Upon my visit.
Hair. I must beg your charity
Upon my rudeness, madam; I shall give
That day up lost to any happiness,
When I forgot to tender you my service.
Cel. You practise courtship, gentlemen.
Scent. But cannot
Find wherewith more desert to exercise it.
What lady's this, I pray?
Cel. A kinswoman
Of mine, Sir William.
Scent. I am more her servant.
Cel. You came from court, now, I presume?
Hair. 'Tis, madam,
The sphere I move in, and my destiny
Was kind to place me there, where I enjoy
All blessings that a mortal can possess,
That lives not in your presence; and I should
Fix my ambition, when you would vouchsafe
Me so much honour, to accept from me
An humble entertainment there.
Cel. But by
What name shall I be known? in what degree
Shall I be of kindred to you?
Hair. How mean you, madam?
Cel. Perhaps you'll call me sister, I shall take it
A special preferment; or it may be
I may pass under title of your mistress,
If I seem rich, and fair enough, to engage
Your confidence to own me.
Hair. I would hope—
Cel. But 'tis not come to that yet: you will, sir,
Excuse my mirth.
Hair. Sweet madam!
Cel. Shall I take
Boldness to ask what place you hold in court?
'Tis an uncivil curiosity;
But you'll have mercy to a woman's question.
Hair. My present condition, madam, carries
Honour and profit, though not to be named
With that employment I expect i' the state,
Which shall discharge the first maturity
Upon your knowledge; until then, I beg
You allow a modest silence.
Cel. I am charmed, sir;
And if you 'scape ambassador, you cannot
Reach a preferment wherein I'm against you.
But where is Sir William Scentlove?
Hair Give him leave
To follow his nose, madam, while he hunts
In view,—he'll soon be at a fault.
Cel. You know him?
Hair. Know Scentlove? not a page but can decipher him;
The waiting-women know him to a scruple;
He's called the blister-maker of the town.
Cel. What's that?
Hair. The laundry ladies can resolve you,
And you may guess: an arrant epicure,
As this day lives, born to a pretty wit,
A knight, too; but no gentleman. I must
Be plain to you;—your ladyship may have
Use of this knowledge, but conceal the author.
Scent. I kiss your fairest hand.
Mar. You make a difference;
Pray reconcile them to an equal whiteness.
Scent. You wound my meaning, lady.
Cel. Nay, Sir William
Has the art of compliment.
Scent. Madam, you honour me
'Bove my desert of language.
Cel. Will you please
To enrich me with your knowledge of that gentleman?
Scent. Do you not know him, madam?
Cel. What is he?
Scent. A camphire ball; you shall know more hereafter;
He shall tell you himself, and save my character;
Till then,—you see he's proud.
Cel. One thing, gentlemen,
I observe in your behaviour, which is rare
In two that court one mistress: you preserve
A noble friendship; there's no gum within
Your hearts; you cannot fret, or show an envy
Of one another's hope; some would not govern
Their passions with that temper!
Scent. The whole world
Shall nor divorce our friendship.—Master Haircut!
Would I had lives to serve him! he is lost
To goodness does not honour him.
Hair. My knight!
Cel. This is right playing at court shuttlecock. [Aside.
Re-enter Gentlewoman.
Gentlew. Madam, there is a gentleman desires
To speak with you, one Sir Thomas Bornwell.
Cel. Bornwell?
Gentlew. He says he is a stranger to your ladyship.
Scent. I know him.
Hair. Your neighbour, madam.
Scent. Husband to
The lady that so revels in the Strand.
Hair. He has good parts, they say, but cannot help
His lady's bias.
Cel. They have both much fame
I' the town, for several merits. Pray admit him.
[Exit Gentlewoman.
Hair. What comes he for? [Aside.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.
Born. Your pardon, noble lady, that I have
Presumed, a stranger to your knowledge,—
[Salutes CELESTINA.
Cel. Sir,
Your worth was here before you, and your person
Cannot be here ungrateful.
Born. 'Tis the bounty
Of your sweet disposition, madam.—Make me
Your servant, lady, by her fair example,
To favour me. [Offers to salute ISABELLA, who turns from him.]—I
never knew one turn
Her cheek to a gentleman that come to kiss her,
But she'd a stinking breath [Aside.]—Your servant, gentlemen.
Will Scentlove, how is't?
Cel. I am sorry, coz,
To accuse you; we in nothing more betray
Ourselves to censure of ridiculous pride,
Than answering a fair salute too rudely.
Oh, it shows ill upon a gentlewoman
Not to return the modest lip, if she
Would have the world believe her breath is not
Offensive.
Born. Madam, I have business
With you.
Scent. His looks are pleasant.
Cel. With me, sir?
Born. I hear you have an excellent wit, madam;
I see you are fair.
Cel. The first is but report;
And do not trust your eye-sight for the last,
'Cause I presume you're mortal, and may err.
Hair. He is very gamesome.
Born. You have an excellent voice,
(They say you catched it from a dying swan,)
With which, joined to the harmony of your lute,
You ravish all mankind.
Cel. Ravish mankind?
Born. With their consent.
Cel. It were the stranger rape;
But there's the less indictment lies against it:
And there is hope your little honesties
Cannot be much the worse, for men do rather
Believe they had a maidenhead, than put
Themselves to the rack of memory how long
'Tis since they left the burden of their innocence.
Born. Why, you are bitter, madam!
Cel. So is physic;
I do not know your constitution.
Born. You shall, if't please you, madam.
Cel. You're too hasty,
I must examine what certificate
You have first, to prefer you.
Born. Fine! certificate?
Cel. Under your lady's hand and seal.
Born. Go to;
I see you are a wag.
Cel. But take heed how
You trust to't.
Born. I can love you in my wedlock,
As well as that young gallant o' the first hair,
Or the knight-bachelor; and can return
As amorous delight to your soft bosom.
Cel. Your person and your language are both strangers.
Born. But may be more familiar; I have those
That dare make affidavit for my body.
Cel. Do you mean your surgeon?
Born. My surgeon, madam?
I know not how you value my abilities,
But I dare undertake as much, to express
My service to your ladyship, and with
As fierce ambition fly to your commands,
As the most valiant of these lay siege to you.
Cel. You dare not, sir.
Born. How, madam?
Cel. I will justify it.
You dare not marry me; and I imagine
Some here, should I consent, would fetch a priest
Out of the fire.
Born. I have a wife indeed.
Cel. And there's a statue not repealed, I take it.
Born. You're in the right; I must confess you've hit
And bled me in a master vein.
Cel. You think
I took you on the advantage; use your best
Skill at defence, I'll come up to your valour,
And show another work you dare not do:
You dare not, sir, be virtuous.
Born. I dare,
By this fair hand I dare; and ask a pardon,
If my rude words offend your innocence,
Which, in a form so beautiful, would shine
To force a blush in them suspected it,
And from the rest draw wonder.
Hair. I like not
Their secret parley; shall I interrupt them?
Isab. By no means, sir.
Scent. Sir Thomas was not wont
To show so much a courtier.
Mar. He cannot
Be prejudicial to you; suspect not
Your own deserts so much; he's married.
Born. I have other business, madam: you keep music:
I came to try how you can dance.
Cel. You did?—I'll try his humour out of breath.
[Aside.
Although I boast no cunning, sir, in revels,
If you desire to show your art that way,
I can wait on you.
Born. You much honour me;
Nay, all must join to make a harmony. [They dance.
Born. I have nothing now, madam, but to beseech,
After a pardon for my boldness, you
Would give occasion to pay my gratitude:
I have a house will be much honoured,
If you vouchsafe your presence; and a wife
Desires to present herself your servant.
I came with the ambition to invite you,
Deny me not; your person you shall trust
On fair security.
Cel. Sir, although I use not
This freedom with a stranger, you shall have
No cause to hold me obstinate.
Born. You grace me.
Sir William Scentlove—
Hair. I must take my leave.
You will excuse me, madam; court attendances—
Cel. By any means.
Born. Ladies, you will vouchsafe
Your company?
Isab. We wait upon you, sir. [Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—Lord A. 's House.—A dressing Room, with table and
looking-glass; HAIRCUT preparing a peruke.
LORD. [Within.]—What hour is't?
Hair. 'Bout three o'clock, my lord.
Lord. 'Tis time to rise.
Enter Lord A., in his dressing-gown.
Hair. Your lordship went but late
To bed last night.
Lord. 'Twas early in the morning.
Sec. [Within.]—Expect awhile, my lord is busy.
Enter Secretary.
Lord. What's the matter?
Sec. Here is a lady
Desires access to you upon some affairs,
She says, may specially concern your lordship.
Lord. A lady? what's her name?
Sec. Madam Decoy.
Lord. Decoy? Prithee admit her.—[Exit Secretary.
Re-enter Secretary, with DECOY.
Have you business, madam,
With me?
Dec. And such, I hope, as will not be
Offensive to your lordship.
Lord. I pray speak it.
Dec. I would desire your lordship's ear more private.
Lord. Wait i' the next chamber till I call. [Exeunt
HAIRCUT and Secretary.]—Now, madam.
Dec. Although I am a stranger to your lordship,
I would not lose a fair occasion offered,
To show how much I honour, and would serve you.
Lord. Please you to give me the particular,
That I may know the extent of my engagement.
I am ignorant by what desert you should
Be encouraged to have care of me.
Dec. My lord,
I will take boldness to be plain; beside
Your other excellent parts, you have much fame
For your sweet inclination to our sex.
Lord. How do you mean, madam?
Dec. I' that way your lordship
Hath honourably practised upon some
Not to be named. Your noble constancy
To a mistress, hath deserved our general vote;
And I, a part of womankind, have thought
How to express my duty.
Lord. In what, madam?
Dec. Be not so strange, my lord; I knew the beauty
And pleasures of your eyes; that handsome creature
With whose fair life all your delight took leave,
And to whose memory you have paid too much
Sad tribute.
Lord. What's all this?
Dec. This: if your lordship
Accept my service, in pure zeal to cure
Your melancholy, I could point where you might
Repair your loss.
Lord. Your ladyship, I conceive,
Doth traffic in flesh merchandize.
Dec. To men
Of honour, like yourself. I am well known
To some in court, and come not with ambition
Now to supplant your officer.
Lord. What is
The Lady of Pleasure you prefer?
Dec. A lady
Of birth and fortune, one upon whose virtue
I may presume, the Lady Aretina.
Lord. Wife to Sir Thomas Bornwell?
Dec. The same, sir.
Lord. Have you prepared her?
Dec. Not for your lordship, till I have found your pulse.
I am acquainted with her disposition,
She has a very appliable nature.
Lord. And, madam, when expect you to be whipped
For doing these fine favours?
Dec. How, my lord?
Your lordship does but jest, I hope; you make
A difference between a lady that
Does honourable offices, and one
They call a bawd. Your lordship was not wont
To have such coarse opinion of our practice.
Lord. The Lady Aretina is my kinswoman.
Dec. What if she be, my lord? the nearer blood,
The dearer sympathy.
Lord. I'll have thee carted.
Dec. Your lordship will not so much stain your honour
And education, to use a woman
Of my quality—
Lord. 'Tis possible you may
Be sent off with an honourable convoy
Of halberdiers.
Dec. Oh, my good lord!
Lord. Your ladyship shall be no protection,
If you but stay three minutes.
Dec. I am gone.—
When next you find rebellion in your blood,
May all within ten mile o' the court turn honest! [Exit.
Lord. I do not find that proneness, since the fair
Bella Maria died; my blood is cold,
Nor is there beauty enough surviving
To heighten me to wantonness.—Who waits?
Re-enter HAIRCUT and Secretary.
And what said my lady?
Hair. The silent language of her face, my lord,
Was not so pleasant, as it showed upon
Her entrance.
Lord. Would any man that meets
This lady take her for a bawd?
Hair. She does
The trade an honour, credit to the profession.
We may, in time, see baldness, quarter noses,
And rotten legs to take the wall of footcloths.
Lord. I have thought better; call the lady back.—
I will not lose this opportunity.—
Bid her not fear. [Exit Secretary.]—The favour is not common,
And I'll reward it. I do wonder much
Will Scentlove was not here to-day.
Hair. I heard him say this morning he would wait
Upon your lordship.—
She is returned, sir.
Re-enter Secretary and DECOY.
Sec. Madam, be confident, my lord's not angry.
Lord. You return welcome, madam; you are better
Read in your art, I hope, than to be frighted
With any shape of anger, when you bring
Such news to gentlemen. Madam, you shall
Soon understand how I accept the office.
Dec. You are the first lord, since I studied carriage,
That showed such infidelity and fury
Upon so kind a message. Every gentleman
Will show some breeding; but if one right honourable
Should not have noble blood—
Lord. You shall return
My compliment, in a letter, to my lady
Aretina. Favour me with a little patience.—
Show her that chamber.
Dec. I'll attend your lordship.
[Exeunt DECOY and HAIRCUT.—Secretary seats
himself at a table.
Lord. Write,—"Madam, where your honour is in danger,
my love must not be silent."
Enter Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE and KICKSHAW.
Scentlove and Kickshaw!
Kick. Your lordship's busy,
Lord. Writing a letter;—nay, it shall not bar
Any discourse.
[Walks alternately to the Secretary and to SCENTLOVE
and KICKSHAW.
Sec. "Silent."
Lord. "Though I be no physician, I may prevent a
fever in your blood."—
And where have you spent the morning's conversation?
Scent. Where you would have given the best barbary
In your stable, to have met on honourable terms.
Lord. What new beauty? You acquaint yourselves
With none but wonders.
Scent. 'Tis too low,—a miracle.
Lord. It will require a strong faith.
Sec. "Your blood."
Lord. "If you be innocent, preserve your fame,
lest this Decoy-madam betray it, to your repentance."—
By what name is she known?
Scent. Ask Alexander.
He knows her.
Kick. Whom?
Scent. The lady Celestina.
Lord. He has a vast knowledge of ladies. 'Las, poor Alexander!
When dost thou mean thy body shall lie fallow?
Kick. When there is mercy in a petticoat:
I must turn pilgrim for some breath.
Lord. I think
'Twere cooler travel, if you examine it,
Upon the hoof through Spain.
Scent. Through Ethiopia.
Lord. Nay, less laborious to serve a prenticeship
In Peru, and dig gold out of the mine,
Though all the year were dog-days.
Sec. "To repentance."
Lord. "In brief, this lady, could you fall
from virtue, within my knowledge, will not blush to be a bawd."
Scent. But hang 't, 'tis honourable journey-work;
Thou art famous by it, and thy name's up.
Kick. So, sir!
Let me ask you a question, my dear knight:
Which is less servile, to bring up the pheasant,
And wait, or sit at table uncontrolled,
And carve to my own appetite?
Scent. No more;
Thou'rt witty, as I am.
Sec. "A bawd."
Scent. How's that?
Kick. Oh,
You are famous by't, and your name's up, sir.
Lord. "Be wise, and reward my caution with timely care of yourself, so
I shall not repent to be known your loving kinsman and servant"—
Gentlemen, the lady Celestina,
Is she so rare a thing?
Kick. If you'll have my
Opinion, my lord, I never saw
So sweet, so fair, so rich a piece of nature.
Lord. I'll show thee a fairer presently, to shame
Thy eyes and judgment; look on that. [Gives him a miniature.]—So;
I'll subscribe. [Signs his name to the letter.
Seal it; I'll excuse your pen for the direction.
Kick. Bella Maria's picture! she was handsome.
Scent. But not to be compared—
Lord. Your patience, gentlemen; I'll return instantly.
[Exit.
Kick. Whither is my lord gone?
Sec. To a lady i' the next chamber.
Scent. What is she?
Sec. You shall pardon me, I am his secretary.
Scent. I was wont to be of his counsel. A new officer,
And I not know't? I am resolved to batter
All other with the praise of Celestina:
I must retain him.
Re-enter Lord A.
Lord. Has not that object
Convinced your erring judgments?
Kick. What! this picture?
Lord. Were but your thoughts as capable as mine
Of her idea, you would wish no thought
That were not active in her praise, above
All worth and memory of her sex.
Scent. She was fair,
I must confess; but had your lordship looked
With eyes more narrow, and some less affection,
Upon her face,—
Kick. I do not love the copies
Of any dead, they make me dream of goblins;
Give me a living mistress, with but half
The beauty of Celestina. [Returns the miniature.—
Come, my lord,
'Tis pity that a lord of so much flesh
Should waste upon a ghost, when they are living
Can give you a more honourable consumption.
Scent. Why, do you mean, my lord, to live an infidel?
Do, and see what will come on't; observe still,
And dote upon your vigils; build a chamber
Within a rock, a tomb among the worms,
Not far off, where you may, in proof apocryphal,
Court 'em not to devour the pretty pile
Of flesh your mistress carried to the grave.
There are no women in the world; all eyes,
And tongues, and lips, are buried in her coffin!
Lord. Why, do you think yourselves competent judges
Of beauty, gentlemen?
Both. What should hinder us?
Kick. I have seen and tried as many as another,
With a mortal back.
Lord. Your eyes are bribed,
And your hearts chained to some desires; you cannot
Enjoy the freedom of a sense.
kick. Your lordship
Has a clear eyesight, and can judge and penetrate.
Lord. I can, and give a perfect censure of
Each line and point; distinguish beauty from
A thousand forms, which your corrupted optics
Would pass for natural.
Scent. I desire no other
Judge should determine us, and if your lordship
Dare venture but your eyes upon this lady,
I'll stand their justice, and be confident
You shall give Celestina victory,
And triumph, o'er all beauties past and living.
Kick. I dare, my lord, venture a suit of clothes,
You'll be o'ercome.
Lord. You do not know my fortitude.
Scent. Nor frailty; you dare not trust yourself to see her.
Lord. Think you so, gentlemen? I dare see this creatrue
To make you know your errors, and the difference
Of her, whose memory is my saint. Not trust
My senses! I dare see, and speak with her.
Which holds the best acquaintance to prepare
My visit to her?
Scent. I will do't, my lord.
Kick. She is a lady free in entertainments.
Lord. I would give this advantage to your cause,
Bid her appear in all the ornaments
Did ever wait on beauty, all the riches
Pride can put on, and teach her face more charms
Than ever poet drest up Venus in;
Bid her be all the Graces, and the queen
Of love in one, I'll see her, Scentlove, and
Bring off my heart, armed but with a single thought
Of one that's dead, without a wound; and when
I have made your folly prisoner, I'll laugh at you.
Scent. She shall expect you; trust to me for knowledge.
Lord. I'm for the present somewhere else engaged;
Let me hear from you. [Exit.
Scent. So! I am glad he's yet
So near conversion.
Kick. I am for Aretina.
Scent. No mention of my lord.
Kick. Prepare his lady,
'Tis time he were reduced to the old sport;
One lord like him more would undo the court. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in Sir THOMAS BORNWELL'S House.
Enter Lady BORNWELL with a letter, and DECOY.
Dec. He is the ornament of your blood, madam;
I am much bound to his lordship.
Lady B. He gives you
A noble character,
Dec. 'Tis his goodness, madam.
Lady B. I wanted such an engine. My lord has
Done me a courtesy, to disclose her nature;
I now know one to trust, and will employ her.— [Aside.
Touching my lord, for reasons which I shall
Offer to your ladyship hereafter, I
Desire you would be silent; but, to show
How much I dare be confident in your secrecy,
I pour my bosom forth: I love a gentleman,
One whom there would not need much conjuration
To meet.—Your ear. [Whispers her.
Dec. I apprehend you, and I shall
Be happy to be serviceable. I am sorry
Your ladyship did not know me before now:
I have done offices: and not a few
Of the nobility but have done feats
Within my house, which is convenient
For situation, and artful chambers,
And pretty pictures to provoke the fancy.
Enter LITTLEWORTH.
Little. Madam, all pleasures languish in your absence.
Lady B. Your pardon a few minutes, sir.—You must
Contrive it thus. [Walks aside with DECOY.
Little. I attend, and shall account it
Honour to wait on your return.
Lady B. He must not
Have the least knowledge of my name or person.
Dec. I have practised that already for some great ones,
And dare again, to satisfy you, madam;
I have a thousand ways to do sweet offices.
Little. If this Lady Aretina should be honest,
I have lost time: she's free as air; I must
Have closer conference, and if I have art,
Make her affect me in revenge.
Dec. This evening?
Leave me to manage things.
Lady B. You will oblige me.
Dec. You shall command my art, and thank me after.
[Exit.
Lady B. I hope the revels are maintained within?
Little. By Sir Thomas and his mistress.
Lady B. How? his mistress?
Little. The lady Celestina; I never saw
Eyes shoot more amorous interchange.
Lady B. Is't so?
Little. He wears her favour with more pride—
Lady B. Her favour?
Little. A feather that he ravished from her fan;
And is so full of courtship! which she smiles on.
Lady B. 'Tis well.
Little. And praises her beyond all poetry.
Lady B. I am glad he has so much wit.
Little. Not jealous! [Aside.
Lady B. This secures me. What would make other ladies pale
With jealousy, gives but license to my wanderings.
Let him now tax me, if he dare; and yet
Her beauty's worth my envy, and I wish
Revenge upon it, not because he loves,
But that it shines above my own. [Aside.
Enter KICKSHAW.
Kick. Dear madam!
Lady B. I have it.—You two gentlemen profess
Much service to me; if I have a way
To employ your wit and secrecy?—
Both. You'll honour us.
Lady B. You gave a high and worthy character
Of Celestina.
Kick. I remember, madam.
Lady B. Do either of you love her?
Kick. Not I, madam.
Little. I would not, if I might.
Lady B. She's now my guest,
And, by a trick, invited by my husband,
To disgrace me.—You, gentlemen, are held
Wits of the town, the consuls that do govern
The senate here, whose jeers are all authentic.
The taverns and the ordinaries are
Made academies, where you come, and all
Your sins and surfeits made the time's example.
Your very nods can quell a theatre,
No speech or poem good without your seal;
You can protect scurrility, and publish,
By your authority believed, no rapture
Ought to have honest meaning.
Kick. Leave our characters.
Little. And name the employment.
Lady B. You must exercise
The strength of both your wits upon this lady,
And talk her into humbleness or anger,
Both which are equal, to my thought. If you
Dare undertake this slight thing for my sake,
My favour shall reward it; but be faithful,
And seem to let all spring from your own freedom.
Kick. This all! We can defame her; if you please,
My friend shall call her whore, or any thing,
And never be endangered to a duel.
Lady B. How's that?
Kick. He can endure a cudgelling, and no man
Will fight after so fair a satisfaction:
But leave us to our art, and do not limit us.
Lady B. They are here; begin not till I whisper you.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL, CELESTINA, MARIANA, and ISABELLA.
Lady B. Je vous prie, madame, d'excuser l'importunité de mes
affaires, qui m'ont fait offenser, par mon absence, une dame de laquelle j'ai r
eçu tant d'obligations.
Cel. Pardonnez moi, madame; vous me faites trop d'honneur.
Lady B. C'est bien de la douceur de votre naturel, que rous tenez cette
langage; mais j'espère que mon mari n'a pas manqué de vous
entretenir en mon absence.
Cel. En vérité, monsieur nous a fort obligé.
Lady B. Il cut trop failli, s'il n'eut taché de tout son pouvoir &#
224; vous rendre toutes sortes de services.
Cel. C'est de sa bonté qu'il nous a tant favorisé.
Lady B. De la vôtre plutôt, madame, que vous fait donner
d'interprétation si bénigne à ses efforts.
Cel. Je vois bien que la victoire sera toujours à madame, et
de langage et de la courtesie.
Lady B. Vraiment, madame, que jamais personne a plus
désiré l'honneur de votre compagnie que moi.
Cel. Laissons-en, je vous supplie, des complimens,
et permettez à votre servante de vous baiser les mains.
Lady B. Vous m'obligez trop.
Born. I have no more patience; let's be merry again
In our own language: madam, our mirth cools.
Our nephew!
Enter FREDERICK intoxicated, and Steward.
Lady B. Passion of my brain!
Fred. Save you, gentlemen! save you, ladies!
Lady B. I am undone.
Fred. I must salute; no matter at which end I begin.
[Salutes CELESTINA.
Lady B. There's a compliment!
Cel. Is this your nephew, madam?
Lady B. Je vous prie, madame, d'excuser les habits et le rude
comportement de mon cousin. Il est tout fraîchement venu de
l'université, où on l'a tout gâté.
Cel. Excusez moi, madame, il est bien accompli.
Fred. This language should be French by the motions of
your heads, and the mirth of your faces.
Lady B. I am dishonoured.
Fred. 'Tis one of the finest tongues for ladies to
show their teeth in: if you'll Latin it, I am for you, or
Greek it; my tailor has not put me into French yet.
Mille basia, basia mille.
Cel. Je ne vous entends pas, monsieur;
I understand you not, sir.
Fred. Why, so!
You and I then shall be in charity;
For though we should be abusive, we have the benefit
Not to understand one another. Where's my aunt?
I did hear music somewhere; and my brains,
Tuned with a bottle of your capering claret,
Made haste to show their dancing.
Little. Please you, madam.
[Offering his box of sweetmeats to CELESTINA.
They are very comfortable.
Stew. Alas, madam,
How would you have me help it? I did use
All means I could, after he heard the music,
To make him drunk, in hope so to contain him;
But the wine made him lighter, and his head
Flew hither, ere I missed his heels.
Kick. Nay, he
Spoke Latin to the lady.
Lady B. Oh, most unpardonable!
Get him off quickly, and discreetly too.
Or, if I live—
Stew. It is not in my power; he swears I am
An absurd sober fellow; and if you keep
A servant in his house to cross his humour,
When the rich sword and belt come home, he'll kill him.
Lady B. What shall I do? Try your skill, Master Littleworth.
Little. He has ne'er a sword.—Sweet master Frederick—
Born. 'Tis pity, madam, such a scion should
Be lost; but you are clouded.
Cel. Not I, sir,
I never found myself more clear at heart.
Born. I could play with a feather; your fan, lady.—
Gentlemen, Aretina, ta, ra, ra, ra! Come, madam.
Fred. Why, my good tutor in election,
You might have been a scholar.
Little. But I thank
My friends, they brought me up a little better.
Give me the town wits, that deliver jests
Clean from the bow, that whistle in the air,
And cleave the pin at twelvescore! Ladies do
But laugh at a gentleman that has any learning;
'Tis sin enough to have your clothes suspected.
Leave us, and I will find a time to instruct you.
Come, here are sugar plums; 'tis a good Frederick.
Fred. Why, is not this my aunt's house in the Strand?
The noble rendezvous? Who laughs at me?
Go, I will root here if I list, and talk
Of rhetoric, logic, Latin, Greek, or any thing,
And understand 'em too; who says the contrary?
Yet, in a fair way, I contemn all learning,
And will be as ignorant as he, or he,
Or any taffata, satin, scarlet, plush,
Tissue, or cloth o' bodkin gentleman,
Whose manners are most gloriously infected.—
Did you laugh at me, lady?
Cel. Not I, sir;
But if I did show mirth upon your question,
I hope you would not beat me, little gentleman?
Fred. How! "little gentleman?" you dare not say
These words to my new clothes, and fighting sword.
Lady B. Nephew Frederick!
Fred. "Little gentleman!"
'Tis an affront both to my blood and person.
I am a gentleman of as tall a birth
As any boast nobility; though my clothes
Smell o' the lamp, my coat is honourable,
Right honourable, full of or and argent.—
A "little gentleman!"
Born. Coz, you must be patient;
My lady meant you no dishonour, and
You must remember she's a woman.
Fred. Is she a woman? that's another matter.—
Do you hear? my uncle tells me what you are.
Cel. So, sir.
Fred. You called me "little gentleman."
Cel. I did, sir.
Fred. A little pink has made a lusty ship
Strike her top-sail; the crow may beard the elephant,
A whelp may tame the tiger, spite of all
False decks and murderers; and a "little gentleman"
Be hard enough to grapple with your ladyship,
Top and top-gallant.—Will you go drink, uncle,
T' other enchanted bottle? you and I
Will tipple, and talk philosophy.
Born. Come, nephew.—
You will excuse a minute's absence, madam.—
Wait you on us.
Stew. My duty, sir.
[Exeunt Sir THOMAS BORNWELL, FREDERICK, and Steward.
Lady B. Now, gentlemen.
Kick. Madam, I had rather you excuse my language
For speaking truth, than virtue suffer in
My further silence; and it is my wonder
That you, whose noble carriage hath deserved
All honour and opinion, should now
Be guilty of ill manners.
Cel. What was that
You told me, sir?
Little. Do you not blush, madam,
To ask that question?
Cel. You amaze rather
My cheek to paleness. What mean you by this?
I am not troubled with the hickup, gentlemen,
You should bestow this fright upon me.
Little. Then
Pride and ill memory go together.
Cel. How, sir?
Kick. The gentleman on whom you exercised
Your thin wit, was a nephew to the lady
Whose guest you are; and though her modesty
Look calm on the abuse of one so near
Her blood, the affront was impious.
Little. I am ashamed on't.
You an ingenious lady, and well mannered!
I'll teach a bear as much civility.
Cel. You may be master of the college, sir,
For aught I know.
Little. What college?
Cel. Of the bears.
Have you a plot upon me? Do you possess
Your wits, or know me, gentlemen?
Re-enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL: behind.
Born. How's this?
Kick. Know you? yes; we do know you to an atom.
Little. Madam, we know what stuff your soul is made on.
Cel. But do not bark so like a mastiff, pray.—
Sure they are mad.—Let your brains stand awhile,
And settle, gentlemen; you know not me;
What am I?
Little. Thou'rt a puppet, a thing made
Of clothes and painting, and not half so handsome
As that which played Susanna in the fair.
Cel. I heard you visited those canvas tragedies,
One of their constant audience, and so taken
With Susan, that you wished yourself a rival
With the two wicked elders.
Kick. You think this
Is wit now. Come, you are—
Cel. What, I beseech you?
Your character will be full of salt and satire,
No doubt. What am I?
Kick. Why, you are a woman—
Cel. And that's at least a bow wide of your knowledge.
Kick. Would be thought handsome, and might pass i' the country
Upon a market day; but so miserably
Forfeit to pride and fashions, that if Heaven
Were a new gown, you'd not stay in't a fortnight.
Cel. It must be miserably out of fashion then.
Have I no sin but pride?
Kick. Hast any virtue,
Or but a good face, to excuse that want?
Cel. You praised it yesterday.
Kick. That made you proud.
Cel. More pride!
Kick. You need not:—to close up the praise,
I have seen a better countenance in a sybil.
Cel. When you wore spectacles of sack, mistook
The painted cloth, and kissed it for your mistress.
Kick. Let me ask you a question: how much
Have you consumed in expectation
That I would love you?
Cel. Why I think as much
As you have paid away in honest debts
This seven year. 'Tis a pretty impudence,
But cannot make me angry.
Little. Is there any
Man that will cast away his limbs upon her?
Kick. You do not sing so well as I imagined,
Nor dance; you reel in your coranto, and pinch
Your petticoat too hard: you've no good ear
To the music, and incline too much one shoulder,
As you were dancing on the rope, and falling.
You speak abominable French, and make
A curtsey like a dairy-maid.—Not mad! [Aside.
Little. Do we not sting her handsomely?
Born. A conspiracy!
Kick. Your state is not so much as 'tis reported,
When you confer notes, all your husband's debts,
And your own reconciled; but that's not it
Will so much spoil your marriage.
Cel. As what, sir?
Let me know all my faults.
Kick. Some men do whisper
You are not over honest.
Cel. All this shall not
Move me to more than laughter, and some pity,
Because you have the shapes of gentlemen;
And though you have been insolent upon me,
I will engage no friend to kick or cudgel you,
To spoil your living and your limbs together:
I leave that to diseases that attend you,
And spare my curse, poor silken vermin! and
Hereafter shall distinguish men from monkeys.
Born. Brave soul!—You brace of horse-leeches!
[Coming forward.]—I have heard
Their barbarous language, madam; you are too merciful:
They shall be silent to your tongue; pray punish them.
Cel. They are things not worth my character, nor mention
Of any clean breath; so lost in honesty,
They cannot satisfy for wrongs enough,
Though they should steal out of the world at Tyburn.
Little. We are hanged already.
Cel. Yet I will talk a little to the pilchards.—
You two, that have not 'twixt you both the hundred
Part of a soul, coarse woollen-witted fellows,
Without a nap, with bodies made for burdens!
You, that are only stuffings for apparel,
As you were made but engines for your tailors
To frame their clothes upon, and get them custom,
Until men see you move; yet, then you dare not,
Out of your guilt of being the ignobler beast,
But give a horse the wall, whom you excel
Only in dancing of the brawls, because
The horse was not taught the French way. Your two faces,
One fat, like Christmas, t' other lean, like Candlemas,
And prologue to a Lent, both bound together,
Would figure Janus, and do many cures
On agues, and the green disease, by frighting
But neither can, with all the characters
And conjuring circles, charm a woman, though
She'd fourscore years upon her, and but one
Tooth in her head, to love, or think well of you:
And I were miserable, to be at cost
To court such a complexion, as your malice
Did impudently insinuate. But I waste time,
And stain my breath in talking to such tadpoles.
Go home, and wash your tongues in barley-water,
Drink clean tobacco, be not hot i' the mouth,
And you may 'scape the beadle; so I leave you
To shame, and your own garters!—Sir, I must
Entreat you, for my honour, do not penance them,
They are not worth your anger. How shall I
Acquit your lady's silence?
Born. Madam, I
Am sorry to suspect, and dare revenge.
Cel. No cause of mine.
Born. It must become me to attend you home.
Cel. You are noble.—Farewell, mushrooms.
[Exit with Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.
Lady B. Is she gone?
Little. I think we peppered her.
Kick. I'm glad 'tis over;
But I repent no service for you, madam.—
Enter Servant, with a letter and a jewel, which he delivers to
KICKSHAW.
To me? from whence?—a jewel! a good preface.
Be happy the conclusion! [Reads and smiles.
Lady B. Some love letter.
Little. He has a hundred mistresses: you may
Be charitable, madam, I have none;
He surfeits, and I fall away i' the kidneys.
Kick. I'll meet.— [Exit Servant.
'Tis some great lady, questionless, that has
Taken notice, and would satisfy her appetite. [Aside.
Lady B. Now, Master Alexander, you look bright o' the sudden;
Another spirit's in your eye.
Kick. Not mine, madam;
Only a summons to meet a friend.
Lady B. What friend?
Little. By this jewel, I know her not.
Lady B. 'Tis a she-friend. I'll follow, gentlemen;
We may have a game at cent before you go.
Kick. I shall attend you, madam.
Little. 'Tis our duty.
[Exeunt KICKSHAW and LITTLEWORTH.
Lady B. I blush while I converse with my own thoughts.
Some strange fate governs me, but I must on;
The ways are cast already, and we thrive
When our sin fears no eye nor perspective. [Exit.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in DECOY'S House.
Enter two men leading KICKSHAW blinded, and go off suddenly.
KICK. I am not hurt; my patience to obey them,
Not without fear to have my throat cut else,
Did me a courtesy. Whither have they brought me? [Pulls off a bandage.
'Tis devilish dark; the bottom of a well
At midnight, with but two stars on the top,
Were broad day to this darkness. I but think
How like a whirlwind the rogues caught me up,
And smothered my eyesight. Let me see,
These may be spirits, and, for aught I know,
Have brought me hither over twenty steeples.
Pray Heaven they were not bailiffs! that's more worth
My fear, and this a prison. All my debts
Reek in my nostril, and my bones begin
To ache with fear to be made dice; and yet
This is too calm and quiet for a prison.—
What if the riddle prove I am robbed? and yet
I did not feel 'em search me. How now! music!
[Music within.
Enter DECOY, disguised like an old Woman, with a light.
And a light! What beldam's this? I cannot pray.—
What art?
Dec. A friend. Fear not, young man, I am
No spirit.
Kick. Off!
Dec. Despise me not for age,
Or this coarse outside, which I wear not out
Of poverty: thy eyes be witness; 'tis
No cave, or beggar's cell, thou'rt brought to; let
That gold speak here's no want, which thou mayst spend,
And find a spring to tire even prodigality,
If thou be'st wise. [Gives him a purse.
Kick. The devil was a coiner
From the beginning; yet the gold looks current.
Dec. Thou'rt still in wonder: know, I am mistress of
This house, and of a fortune that shall serve
And feed thee with delights; 'twas I sent for thee;
The jewel and the letter came from me.
It was my art thus to contrive our meeting,
Because I would not trust thee with my fame,
Until I found thee worth a woman's honour.
Kick. Honour and fame! the devil means to have
A care on's credit. Though she sent for me,
I hope she has another customer
To do the trick withal; I would not turn
Familiar to a witch. [Aside.
Dec. What say'st? Canst thou
Dwell in my arms to-night? shall we change kisses,
And entertain the silent hours with pleasure,
Such as old Time shall be delighted with,
And blame the too swift motion of his wings,
While we embrace?
Kick. Embrace! she has had no teeth
This twenty years, and the next violent cough
Brings up her tongue; it cannot possibly
Be sound at root. I do not think but one
Strong sneeze upon her, and well meant, would make
Her quarters fall away; one kick would blow
Her up like gunpowder, and loose all her limbs.
She is so cold, an incubus would not heat her;
Her phlegm would quench a furnace, and her breath
Would damp a musket bullet. [Aside.
Dec. Have you, sir,
Considered?
Kick. What?
Dec. My proposition.
Canst love?
Kick. I could have done; whom do you mean?
I know you are pleased but to make sport.
Dec. Thou art not
So dull of soul as thou appear'st.
Kick. This is
But some device; my grannam has some trick in't.—
Yes, I can love.
Dec. But canst thou affect me?
Kick. Although to reverence so grave a matron
Were an ambitious word in me, yet since
You give me boldness, I do love you.
Dec. Then
Thou art my own.
Kick. Has she no cloven foot?
Dec. And I am thine, and all that I command,
Thy servants; from this minute thou art happy,
And fate in thee will crown all my desires.
I grieved a proper man should be compelled
To bring his body to the common market.
My wealth shall make thee glorious; and, the more
To encourage thee, howe'er this form may fright
Thy youthful eyes, yet thou wilt find, by light
Of thy own sense, for other light is banished
My chamber, when our arms tie lovers' knots,
And kisses seal the welcome of our lips,
I shall not there affright thee, nor seem old,
With rivelled veins; my skin is smooth and soft
As ermines, with a spirit to meet thine,
Active, and equal to the queen of love's,
When she did court Adonis.
Kick. This doth more
Confirm she is a devil, and I am
Within his own dominions. I must on,
Or else be torn o' pieces. I have heard
These succubæ must not be crossed. [Aside.
Dec. We trifle
Too precious time away; I'll show you a prospect
Of the next chamber, and then out the candle.
Kick. Have you no sack i' the house? I would go armed
Upon this breach.
Dec. It shall not need.
Kick. One word,
Mother; have not you been a cat in your days?
Dec. I am glad you are so merry, sir. You observe
That bed? [Opens a door.
Kick. A very brave one.
Dec. When you are
Disrobed, you can come thither in the dark.
You shall not stay for me? Come, as you wish
For happiness. [Exit.
Kick. I am preferred, if I
Be modest and obey: she cannot have
The heart to do me harm, an she were Hecate,
Herself. I will have a strong faith, and think
I march upon a mistress, the less evil.
If I 'scape fire now, I defy the devil. [Exit.
SCENE II.—A Room in Sir THOMAS BORNWELL'S House.
Enter FREDERICK gaily dressed, LITTLEWORTH, and Steward.
Fred. And how do you like me now?
Stew. Most excellent.
Fred. Your opinion, Master Littleworth.
Little. Your French tailor
Has made you a perfect gentleman; I may
Converse now with you, and preserve my credit.
Do you find no alteration in your body
With these new clothes?
Fred. My body altered? No.
Little. You are not yet in fashion then? that must
Have a new motion, garb, and posture too,
Or all your pride is cast away; it is not
The cut of your apparel makes a gallant,
But the geometrical wearing of your clothes.
Stew. Master Littleworth tells you right; you wear your hat
Too like a citizen.
Little. 'Tis like a midwife;
Place it with best advantage of your hair.
Is half your feather moulted? This does make
No show; it should spread over, like a canopy;
Your hot-reined monsieur wears it for a shade,
And cooler to his back. Your doublet must
Be more unbuttoned hereabouts; you'll not
Be a sloven else, a foul shirt is no blemish;
You must be confident, and outface clean linen.
Your doublet and your breeches must be allowed
No private meeting here; your cloak's too long,
It reaches to your buttock, and doth smell
Too much of Spanish gravity; the fashion
Is to wear nothing but a cape; a coat
May be allowed a covering for one elbow,
And some, to avoid the trouble choose to walk
In querpo, thus.
Stew. Your coat and cloak's a brushing
In Long-lane, Lombard. [Aside.
Fred. But what if it rain?
Little. Your belt about your shoulder is sufficient
To keep off any storm; beside, a reed
But waved discreetly, has so many pores,
It sucks up all the rain that falls about one.
With this defence, when other men have been
Wet to the skin through all their cloaks, I have
Defied a tempest, and walked by the taverns
Dry as a bone.
Stew. Because he had no money
To call for wine. [Aside.
Fred. Why, do you walk enchanted?
Have you such pretty charms in town? But stay;
Who must I have to attend me?
Little. Is not that
Yet thought upon?
Stew. I have laid out for servants.
Little. They are everywhere.
Stew. I cannot yet be furnished
With such as I would put into his hands.
Fred. Of what condition must they be, and how
Many in number, sir?
Little. Beside your fencing,
Your singing, dancing, riding, and French master,
Two may serve domestic, to be constant waiters
Upon a gentleman; a fool, a pimp.
Stew. For these two officers I have enquired,
And I am promised a convenient whiskin:
I could save charges, and employ the pie-wench,
That carries her intelligence in whitepots;
Or 'tis but taking order with the woman
That trolls the ballads, she could fit him with
A concubine to any tune; but I
Have a design to place a fellow with him
That has read all Sir Pandarus' works; a Trojan
That lies concealed, and is acquainted with
Both city and suburban fripperies,
Can fetch 'em with a spell at midnight to him,
And warrant which are for his turn; can, for
A need, supply the surgeon too.
Fred. I like thy providence; such a one deserves
A livery twice a year.
Stew. It shall not need; a cast suit of your worship's
Will serve; he'll find a cloak to cover it,
Out of his share with those he brings to bed to you,
Fred. But must I call this fellow pimp?
Little. It is
Not necessary; Tom, or Jack, or Harry.
Or what he's known abroad by, will sound better,
That men may think he is a Christian.
Fred. But hear you, Master Littleworth: is there not
A method, and degrees of title in
Men of this art?
Little. According to the honour
Of men that do employ 'em. An emperor
May give this office to a duke; a king
May have his viceroy to negociate for him;
A duke may use a lord; the lord a knight,
A knight may trust a gentleman; and when
They are abroad, and merry, gentlemen
May pimp to one another.
Fred. Good, good fellowship!
But for the fool now, that should wait on me,
And break me jests?
Little. A fool is necessary.
Stew. By any means.
Fred. But which of these two servants
Must now take place?
Little. That question, Master Frederick,
The school of heraldry should conclude upon:
But if my judgment may be heard, the fool
Is your first man; and it is known a point
Of state to have a fool.
Stew. But, sir, the other
Is held the finer servant; his employments
Are full of trust, his person clean and nimble,
And none so soon can leap into preferment,
Where fools are poor.
Little. Not all; there's story for't;
Princes have been no wiser than they should be.
Would any nobleman, that were no fool,
Spend all in hope of the philosopher's stone,
To buy new lordships in another country?
Would knights build colleges, or gentlemen
Of good estates challenge the field, and fight,
Because a whore will not be honest? Come,
Fools are a family over all the world;
We do affect one naturally; indeed
The fool is leiger with us.
Stew. Then the pimp
Is extraordinary.
Fred. Do not you fall out
About their places.—Here's my noble aunt!
Enter Lady BORNWELL.
Little. How do you like your nephew, madam, now?
Lady B. Well! turn about, Frederick. Very well!
Fred. Am I not now a proper gentleman?
The virtue of rich clothes! Now could I take
The wall of Julius Cæsar, or affront
Great Pompey's upper lip, and defy the senate.
Nay, I can be as proud as your own heart, madam,
You may take that for your comfort; I put on
That virtue with my clothes, and I doubt not
But in a little time I shall be impudent
As any page, or player's boy. I am
Beholding to this gentleman's good discipline;
But I shall do him credit in my practice.
Your steward has some pretty notions too,
In moral mischief.
Lady B. Your desert in this
Exceeds all other service, and shall bind me
Both to acknowledge and reward.
Little. Sweet madam,
Think me but worth your favour; I would creep
Upon my knees to honour you, and for every
Minute you lend to my reward, I'll pay
A year of serviceable tribute.
Lady B. You
Can compliment.
Little. Thus still she puts me off; unless I speak
The downright word, she'll never understand me.
A man would think that creeping on one's knees
Were English to a lady. [Aside.
Enter KICKSHAW.
Kick. How is't, Jack?—Pleasures attend you, madam!
How does my plant of honour?
Lady B. Who is this?
Kick. 'Tis Alexander.
Lady B. Rich and glorious!
Little. 'Tis Alexander the Great.
Kick. And my Bucephalus
Waits at the door.
Lady B. Your case is altered, sir.
Kick. I cannot help these things, the Fates will have it;
'Tis not my land does this.
Little. But thou hast a plough
That brings it in.
Lady B. Now he looks brave and lovely.
Fred. Welcome, my gallant Macedonian.
Kick. Madam, you gave your nephew for my pupil.
I read but in a tavern; if you'll honour us,
The Bear at the Bridge foot shall entertain you.
A drawer is my Ganymede, he shall skink
Brisk nectar to us; we will only have
A dozen partridge in a dish; as many pheasants,
Quails, cocks, and godwits shall come marching up
Like the trained-band; a fort of sturgeon
Shall give most bold defiance to an army,
And triumph o'er the table.—
Lady B. Sir, it will
But dull the appetite to hear more, and mine
Must be excused. Another time I may be
Your guest.
Kick. 'Tis grown in fashion now with ladies;
When you please, I'll attend you. Littleworth.—
Come, Frederick.
Fred. We'll have music; I love noise.
We will out-roar the Thames, and shake the bridge, boy.
[Exit with KICKSHAW.
Little. Madam, I kiss your hand; would you would think
Of your poor servant; flesh and blood is frail,
And troublesome to carry, without help.
Lady B. A coach will easily convey it, or
You may take water at Strand-bridge.
Little. But I
Have taken fire.
Lady B. The Thames will cool it, sir.
Little. But never quench my heart; your charity
Can only do that.
Lady B. I will keep it cold
Of purpose.
Little. Now you bless me, and I dare
Be drunk in expectation. [Exit.
Lady B. I am confident
He knows me not, and I were worse than mad
To be my own betrayer.—Here's my husband.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.
Born. Why, how now, Aretina? What! alone?
The mystery of this solitude? My house
Turn desert o' the sudden! all the gamesters
Blown up! Why is the music put to silence?
Or have their instruments caught a cold, since we
Gave them the last heat? I must know thy ground
Of melancholy.
Lady B. You are merry, as
You came from kissing Celestina.
Born. I
Feel her yet warm upon my lip; she is
Most excellent company: I did not think
There was that sweetness in her sex. I must
Acknowledge, 'twas thy care to disenchant me
From a dull husband to an active lover.
With such a lady I could spend more years
Than since my birth my glass hath run soft minutes,
And yet be young; her presence has a spell
To keep off age; she has an eye would strike
Fire through an adamant.
Lady B. I have heard as much
Bestowed upon a dull-faced chambermaid,
Whom love and wit would thus commend. True beauty
Is mocked when we compare thus, itself being
Above what can be fetched to make it lovely;
Or, could our thoughts reach something to declare
The glories of a face, or body's elegance,
That touches but our sense; when beauty spreads
Over the soul, and calls up understanding
To look what thence is offered, and admire.
In both I must acknowledge Celestina
Most excellently fair, fair above all
The beauties I have seen, and one most worthy
Man's love and wonder.
Born. Do you speak, Aretina,
This with a pure sense to commend? or is't
The mockery of my praise?
Lady B. Although it shame
Myself, I must be just, and give her all
The excellency of women; and were I
A man—
Born. What then?
Lady B. I know not with what loss
I should attempt her love. She is a piece
So angelically moving, I should think
Frailty excused to dote upon her form,
And almost virtue to be wicked with her. [Exit.
Born. What should this mean? This is no jealousy,
Or she believes I counterfeit. I feel
Something within me, like a heat, to give
Her cause, would Celestina but consent.
What a frail thing is man! It is not worth
Our glory to be chaste, while we deny
Mirth and converse with women. He is good
That dares the tempter, yet corrects his blood [Exit.
SCENE III.—A Room in CELESTINA'S House.
Enter CELESTINA, MARIANA, and ISABELLA.
Cel. I have told you all my knowledge: since he is pleased
To invite himself, he shall be entertained,
And you shall be my witnesses.
Mar. Who comes with him?
Cel. Sir William Scentlove, that prepared me for
The honourable encounter. I expect
His lordship every minute.
Enter Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE.
Scent. My lord is come.
Cel. He has honoured me.
Enter Lord A. and HAIRCUT.
Scent. My lord, your periwig is awry.
Lord. You, sir—
[While HAIRCUT is busy about his hair, Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE
goes to CELESTINA.
Scent. You may guess at the gentleman that's with him.
It is his barber, madam, do you observe?
An your ladyship wants a shaver.
Hair. She is here, sir.
I am betrayed.—Scentlove, your plot. I may
Have opportunity to be revenged. [Exit.
Scent. She is in the midst.
Lord. She's fair, I must confess;
But does she keep this distance out of state?
Cel. Though I am poor in language to express
How much your lordship honours me, my heart
Is rich and proud in such a guest. I shall
Be out of love with every air abroad,
And for this grace done my unworthy house,
Be a fond prisoner, become anchorite,
And spend my hours in prayer, to reward
The blessing and the bounty of this presence.
Lord. Though you could turn each place you move in to
A temple, rather than a wall should hide
So rich a beauty from the world, it were
Less want to lose our piety and your prayer.
A throne were fitter to present you to
Our wonder, whence your eyes, more worth than all
They look on, should chain every heart a prisoner.
Scent. 'Twas pretty well come off.
Lord. By your example
I shall know how to compliment; in this,
You more confirm my welcome.
Cel. I shall love
My lips the better, if their silent language
Persuade your lordship but to think so truly.
Lord. You make me smile, madam.
Cel. I hope you came not
With fear that any sadness here should shake
One blossom from your eye. I should be miserable
To present any object should displease you.—
Lord. You do not, madam.
Cel. As I should account
It no less sorrow, if your lordship should
Lay too severe a censure on my freedom.
I will not court a prince against his justice,
Nor bribe him with a smile to think me honest.
Pardon, my lord, this boldness, and the mirth
That may flow from me. I believe my father
Thought of no winding-sheet when he begot me.
Lord. She has a merry soul.—It will become
Me ask your pardon, madam, for my rude
Approach, so much a stranger to your knowledge.
Cel. Not, my lord, so much stranger to my knowledge;
Though I have but seen your person afar off,
I am acquainted with your character,
Which I have heard so often, I can speak it.
Lord. You shall do me an honour.
Cel. If your lordship will
Be patient.
Lord. And glad to hear my faults.
Cel. That as your conscience can agree upon them:
However, if your lordship give me privilege,
I'll tell you what's the opinion of the world.
Lord. You cannot please me better.
Cel. You're a lord,
Born with as much nobility as would,
Divided, serve to make ten noblemen,
Without a herald; but with so much spirit
And height of soul, as well might furnish twenty.
You are learned, a thing not compatible now
With native honour; and are master of
A language that doth chain all ears, and charm
All hearts, where you persuade; a wit so flowing,
And prudence to correct it, that all men
Believe they only meet in you, which, with
A spacious memory, make up the full wonders:
To these you have joined valour, and upon
A noble cause, know how to use a sword
To honour's best advantage, though you wear none.
You are as bountiful as the showers that fall
Into the spring's green bosom; as you were
Created lord of Fortune, not her steward;
So constant to the cause in which you make
Yourself an advocate, you dare all dangers;
And men had rather you should be their friend,
Than justice or the bench bound up together.
Lord. But did you hear all this?
Cel. And more, my lord.
Lord. Pray let me have it, madam.
Cel. To all these virtues there is added one,—
(Your lordship will remember, when I name it,
I speak but what I gather from the voice
Of others)—it is grown to a full fame
That you have loved a woman.
Lord. But one, madam?
Cel. Yes, many; give me leave to smile, my lord,
I shall not need to interpret in what sense;
But you have showed yourself right honourable,
And, for your love to ladies, have deserved,
If their vote might prevail, a marble statue.
I make no comment on the people's text,—
My lord, I should be sorry to offend.
Lord. You cannot, madam; these are things we owe
To nature for.
Cel. And honest men will pay
Their debts.
Lord. If they be able, or compound.
Cel. She had a hard heart would be unmerciful,
And not give day to men so promising;
But you owed women nothing.
Lord. Yes, I am
Still in their debt, and I must owe them love,
It was part of my character.
Cel. With your lordship's
Pardon, I only said you had a fame
For loving women; but of late, men say
You have, against the imperial laws of love,
Restrained the active flowings of your blood,
And with a mistress buried all that is
Hoped for in love's succession, as all beauty
Had died with her, and left the world benighted!
In this you more dishonour all our sex
Than you did grace a part; when everywhere
Love tempts your eye to admire a glorious harvest,
And everywhere as full blown ears submit
Their golden heads, the laden trees bow down
Their willing fruit, and court your amorous tasting.
Lord. I see men would dissect me to a fibre;
But do you believe this?
Cel. It is my wonder,
I must confess, a man of nobler earth
Than goes to vulgar composition,
(Born and bred high, so unconfined, so rich
In fortunes, and so read in all that sum
Up human knowledge, to feed gloriously,
And live at court, the only sphere wherein
True beauty moves; nature's most wealthy garden,
Where every blossom is more worth than all
The Hesperian fruit by jealous dragon watched,
Where all delights do circle appetite,
And pleasures multiply by being tasted,)
Should be so lost with thought of one turned ashes.
There's nothing left, my lord, that can excuse you,
Unless you plead, what I am ashamed to prompt
Your wisdom to?
Lord. What's that?
Cel. That you have played
The surgeon with yourself.
Lord. And am made eunuch?
Cel. It were much pity.
Lord. Trouble not yourself,
I could convince your fears with demonstration
That I am man enough, but knew not where,
Until this meeting, beauty dwelt. The court
You talk of must be where the queen of love is,
Which moves but with your person; in your eye
Her glory shines, and only at that flame
Her wanton boy doth light his quickening torch.
Cel. Nay, now you compliment; I would it did,
My lord, for your own sake.
Lord. You would be kind,
And love me then?
Cel. My lord, I should be loving,
Where I found worth to invite it, and should cherish
A constant man.
Lord. Then you should me, madam.
Cel. But is the ice about your heart fallen off?
Can you return to do what love commands?—
Cupid, thou shalt have instant sacrifice,
And I dare be the priest.
Lord. Your hand, your lip; [Kisses her.
Now I am proof 'gainst all temptation.
Cel. Your meaning, my good lord?
Lord. I, that have strength
Against thy voice and beauty, after this
May dare the charms of womankind.—Thou art,
Bella Maria, unprofanèd yet;
This magic has no power upon my blood.—
Farewell, madam! if you durst be the example
Of chaste as well as fair, you were a brave one,
Cel. I hope your lordship means not this for earnest:
Be pleased to grace a banquet.
Lord. Pardon, madam.—
Will Scentlove, follow; I must laugh at you.
Cel. My lord, I must beseech you stay, for honour,
For her whose memory you love best.
Lord. Your pleasure.
Cel. And by that virtue you have now professed,
I charge you to believe me too; I can
Now glory that you have been worth my trial,
Which, I beseech you, pardon. Had not you
So valiantly recovered in this conflict,
You had been my triumph, without hope of more
Than my just scorn upon your wanton flame;
Nor will I think these noble thoughts grew first
From melancholy, for some female loss,
As the fantastic world believes, but from
Truth, and your love of innocence, which shine
So bright in the two royal luminaries
At court, you cannot lose your way to chastity.
Proceed, and speak of me as honour guides you.
[Exit Lord A.
I am almost tired.—Come, ladies, we'll beguile
Dull time, and take the air another while. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in Sir THOMAS BORNWELL'S House.
Enter Lady BORNWELL, and a Servant with a purse.
LADY B. But hath Sir Thomas lost five hundred pounds
Already?
Serv. And five hundred more he borrowed.
The dice are notable devourers, madam;
They make no more of pieces than of pebbles,
But thrust their heaps together, to engender.
"Two hundred more the caster!" cries this gentleman.
"I am with you.—I have that to nothing, sir."
Again; "'Tis covered!" and the table too,
With sums that frightened me. Here one sneaks out,
And with a martyr's patience smiles upon
His money's executioner, the dice;
Commands a pipe of good tobacco, and
I' the smoke on't vanishes. Another makes
The bones vault o'er his head, swears that ill-throwing
Has put his shoulder out of joint, calls for
A bone-setter. That looks to the box, to bid
His master send him some more hundred pounds,
Which lost, he takes tobacco, and is quiet.
Here a strong arm throws in and in, with which
He brushes all the table, pays the rooks
That went their smelts a piece upon his hand,
Yet swears he has not drawn a stake this seven year.
But I was bid make haste; my master may
Lose this five hundred pounds ere I come hither. [Exit.
Lady B. If we both waste so fast, we shall soon find
Our state is not immortal. Something in
His other ways appear not well already.
Enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL, and Servants, one with a purse.
Born. Ye tortoises, why make ye no more haste?
Go pay to the master of the house that money,
And tell the noble gamesters I have another
Superfluous thousand; at night I'll visit 'em.
Do you hear?
Serv. Yes, an please you.
Born. Do't ye drudges. [Exeunt Servants.
Ta, ra, ra!—Aretina!
Lady B. You have a pleasant humour, sir.
Born. What! should a gentleman be sad?
Lady B. You have lost—
Born. A transitory sum; as good that way As another.
Lady B. Do you not vex within for't?
Born. I had rather lose a thousand more, than one
Sad thought come near my heart for't. Vex for trash!
Although it go from other men like drops
Of their life blood, we lose with the alacrity
We drink a cup of sack, or kiss a mistress.
No money is considerable with a gamester;
They have souls more spacious than kings. Did two
Gamesters divide the empire of the world,
They'd make one throw for't all, and he that lost
Be no more melancholy than to have played for
A morning's draught. Vex a rich soul for dirt!
The quiet of whose every thought is worth
A province.
Lady B. But when dice have consumed all,
Your patience will not pawn for as much more.
Born. Hang pawning! sell outright, and the fear's over.
Lady B. Say you so? I'll have another coach tomorrow
If there be rich above ground.
Born. I forgot
To bid the fellow ask my jeweller
Whether the chain of diamonds be made up;
I will present it to my Lady Bellamour,
Fair Celestina.
Lady B. This gown I have worn
Six days already; it looks dull, I'll give it
My waiting-woman, and have one of cloth
Of gold embroidered; shoes and pantables
Will show well of the same.
Born. I have invited
A covey of ladies, and as many gentlemen
To-morrow, to the Italian ordinary;
I shall have rarities and regalias
To pay for, madam; music, wanton songs,
And tunes of silken petticoats to dance to.
Lady B. And to-morrow have I invited half the court
To dine here. What misfortune 'tis your company
And our's should be divided! After dinner
I entertain them with a play.
Born. By that time
Your play inclines to the epilogue, shall we
Quit our Italian host; and whirl in coaches
To the Dutch magazine of sauce, the Stillyard,
Where deal, and backrag, and what strange wine else
They dare but give a name to in the reckoning,
Shall flow into our room, and drown Westphalias,
Tongues, and anchovies, like some little town
Endangered by a sluice, through whose fierce ebb
We wade, and wash ourselves, into a boat,
And bid our coachmen drive their leather tenements
By land, while we sail home, with a fresh tide,
To some new rendezvous.
Lady B. If you have not
Pointed the place, pray bring your ladies hither;
I mean to have a ball to-morrow night,
And a rich banquet for 'em, where we'll dance
Till morning rise, and blush to interrupt us.
Born. Have you no ladies i' the next room, to advance
A present mirth? What a dull house you govern!
Farewell! a wife's no company.—Aretina,
I've summed up my estate, and find we may have
A month good yet.
Lady B. What mean you?
Born. And I'd rather
Be lord one month of pleasures, to the height
And rapture of our senses, than be years
Consuming what we have in foolish temperance.
Live in the dark, and no fame wait upon us!
I will live so, posterity shall stand
At gaze when I am mentioned.
Lady B. A month good!
And what shall be done then?
Born. I'll over sea,
And trail a pike. With watching, marching, lying
In trenches, with enduring cold and hunger,
And taking here and there a musket-shot,
I can earn every week four shillings, madam;
And if the bullets favour me to snatch
Any superfluous limb, when I return,
With good friends, I despair not to be enrolled
Poor knight of Windsor. For your course, madam,
No doubt you may do well; your friends are great;
Or if your poverty, and their pride, cannot
Agree, you need not trouble much invention,
To find a trade to live by; there are customers.
Farewell, be frolic, madam! If I live,
I will feast all my senses, and not fall
Less than a Phaeton from my throne of pleasure,
Though my estate flame like the world about me. [Exit.
Lady B. 'Tis very pretty!—
Enter DECOY.
Madam Decoy!
Dec. What! melancholy,
After so sweet a night's work? Have not I
Showed myself mistress of my art?
Lady B. A lady.
Dec. That title makes the credit of the act
A story higher. You've not seen him yet?
I wonder what he'll say.
Lady B. He's here.
Enter KICKSHAW and FREDERICK.
Kick. Bear up,
My little myrmidon; does not Jack Littleworth
Follow?
Fred. Follow? he fell into the Thames
At landing.
Kick. The devil shall dive for him,
Ere I endanger my silk stockings for him:
Let the watermen alone, they have drags and engines.
When he has drunk his julep, I shall laugh
To see him come in pickled the next tide.
Fred. He'll never sink, he has such a cork brain.
Kick. Let him be hanged or drowned, all's one to me;
Yet he deserves to die by water, cannot
Bear his wine credibly.
Fred. Is not this my aunt?
Kick. And another handsome lady; I must know her.
[Goes up to DECOY.
Fred. My blood is rampant too, I must court somebody;
As good my aunt as any other body.
Lady B. Where have you been, cousin?
Fred. At the Bear
At the Bridge-foot, where our first health began
To the fair Aretina, whose sweet company
Was wished by all. We could not get a lay,
A tumbler, a device, a bona roba,
For any money; drawers were grown dull:
We wanted our true firks, and our vagaries.—
When were you in drink, aunt?
Lady B. How?
Fred. Do not ladies
Play the good fellows too? There's no true mirth
Without 'em. I have now such tickling fancies!
That doctor of the chair of wit has read
A precious lecture, how I should behave
Myself to ladies; as now, for example.
[Goes up to Lady BORNWELL.
Lady B. Would you practise upon me?
Fred. I first salute you,
You have a soft hand, madam; are you so
All over?
Lady B. Nephew!
Fred. Nay, you should but smile.
And then again I kiss you; and thus draw
Off your white glove, and start, to see your hand
More excellently white: I grace my own
Lip with this touch, and turning gently thus,
Prepare you for my skill in palmistry,
Which, out of curiosity, no lady
But easily applies to: the first line
I look with most ambition to find out,
Is Venus' girdle, a fair semicircle,
Enclosing both the mount of Sol and Saturn;
If that appear, she's for my turn; a lady
Whom nature has prepared for the career;
And, Cupid at my elbow, I put forward:
You have this very line, aunt.
Lady B. The boy's frantic!
Fred. You have a couch or pallet; I can shut
The chamber door. Enrich a stranger, when
Your nephew's coming into play!
Lady B. No more.
Fred. Are you so coy to your own flesh and blood?
Kick. Here, take your playfellow; I talk of sport,
And she would have me marry her.
Fred. Here's Littleworth.
Enter LITTLEWORTH, wet.
Why, how now, tutor?
Little. I have been fishing.
Fred. And what have you caught?
Little. My belly full of water.
Kick. Ha, ha! Where's thy rapier?
Little. My rapier is drowned,
And I am little better; I was held up by the heels,
And out came a ton of water, beside wine.
Kick. It has made thee sober.
Little. Would you have me drunk
With water?
Lady B. I hope your fire is quenched by this time.
Fred. It is not now, as when "your worship walked
By all the taverns, Jack, dry as a bone."
Kick. You had store of fish under water, Jack.
Little. It has made a poor John of me.
Fred. I do not think but if we cast an angle
Into his belly, we might find some pilchards.
Little. And boiled, by this time.—Dear madam, a bed.
Kick. Carry but the water-spaniel to a grass-plot,
Where he may roll himself; let him but shake
His ears twice in the sun, and you may grind him
Into a posset.
Fred. Come, thou shalt to my bed,
Poor pickerel.
Dec. Alas, sweet gentleman!
Little. I have ill luck an I should smell by this time;
I am but new ta'en, I am sure.—Sweet gentlewoman!
Dec. Your servant.
Little. Pray do not pluck off my skin;
It is so wet, unless you have good eyes,
You'll hardly know it from a shirt.
Dec. Fear nothing.
[Exeunt all but KICKSHAW and Lady BORNWELL.
Lady B. He has sack enough, and I may find his humour. [Aside.
Kick. And how is't with your ladyship? You look
Without a sunshine in your face.
Lady B. You are glorious
In mind and habit.
Kick. Ends of gold and silver!
Lady B. Your other clothes were not so rich. Who was
Your tailor, sir?
Kick. They were made for me long since;
They have known but two bright days upon my back.
I had a humour, madam, to lay things by;
They will serve two days more: I think I have gold enough
To go to the mercer. I'll now allow myself
A suit a week, as this, with necessary
Dependances, beaver, silk stockings, garters,
And roses, in their due conformity;
Boots are forbid a clean leg, but to ride in.
My linen every morning comes in new,
The old goes to great bellies.
Lady B. You are charitable.
Kick. I may dine with you sometime, or at the court,
To meet good company, not for the table.
My clerk o' the kitchen's here, a witty epicure,
A spirit, that, to please me with what's rare,
Can fly a hundred mile a day to market,
And make me lord of fish and fowl. I shall
Forget there is a butcher; and to make
My footman nimble, he shall feed on nothing
But wings of wild fowl.
Lady B. These ways are costly.
Kick. Therefore I'll have it so; I have sprung a mine.
Lady B. You make me wonder, sir, to see this change
Of fortune: your revenue was not late
So plentiful.
Kick. Hang dirty land, and lordships!
I would not change one lodging I have got,
For the Chamber of London.
Lady B. Strange, of such a sudden,
To rise to this estate! No fortunate hand
At dice could lift you up so, for 'tis since
Last night: yesterday, you were no such monarch.
Kick. There be more games than dice.
Lady B. It cannot be
A mistress, though your person is worth love;
None possibly are rich enough to feed
As you have cast the method of your riots.
A princess, after all her jewels, must
Be forced to sell her provinces.
Kick. Now you talk
Of jewels, what do you think of this?
Lady B. A rich one.
Kick. You'll honour me to wear't; this other toy
I had from you; this chain I borrowed of you,
A friend had it in keeping. [Gives her the jewel and chain.]—If your
ladyship.
Want any sum, you know your friend, and Alexander.
Lady B. Dare you trust my security?
Kick. There's gold,
I shall have more to-morrow.
Lady B. You astonish me;
Who can supply these?
Kick. A dear friend I have.
She promised we should meet again i' the morning.
Lady B. Not that I wish to know
More of your happiness than I have already
Heart to congratulate,—be pleased to lay
My wonder.
Kick. 'Tis a secret—
Lady B. Which I'll die
Ere I'll betray.
Kick. You have always wished me well;
But you shall swear not to reveal the party.
Lady B. I'll lose the benefit of my tongue.
Kick. Nor be
Afraid at what I say. What think you first
Of an old witch, a strange ill-favoured hag,
That, for my company last night, has wrought
This cure upon my fortune? I do sweat
To think upon her name.
Lady B. How, sir! a witch?
Kick. I would not fright your ladyship too much
At first, but witches are akin to spirits.
The truth is—Nay, if you look pale already,
I have done.
Lady B. Sir, I beseech you.
Kick. If you have
But courage then to know the truth, I'll tell you
In one word; my chief friend is—the devil!
Lady B. What devil? how I tremble!
Kick. Have a heart;
'Twas a she-devil too, a most insatiate,
Abominable devil, with a tail
Thus long.
Lady B. Goodness defend me! did you see her?
Kick. No, 'twas i' the dark; but she appeared first to me
I' the likeness of a beldam, and was brought,
I know not how, nor whither, by two goblins,
More hooded than a hawk.
Lady B. But would you venture
Upon a devil!
Kick. Ay, for means.
Lady B. How black
An impudence is this! [Aside.]—But are you sure
It was the devil you enjoyed?
Kick. Say nothing;
I did the best to please her; but as sure
As you live, 'twas a hell-cat.
Lady B. Do you not quake?
Kick. I found myself in the very room i' the morning,
Where two of her familiars had left me.
Enter Servant.
Serv. My lord is come to visit you.
Kick. No words,
As you respect my safety. I have told tales
Out of the devil's school; if it be known,
I lose a friend. 'Tis now about the time
I promised her to meet again; at my
Return I'll tell you wonders. Not a word. [Exit.
Lady B. 'Tis a false glass; sure I am more deformed:
[Looks in her pocket mirror.
What have I done?—my soul is miserable.
Enter Lord A.
Lord. I sent you a letter, madam.
Lady B. You expressed
Your noble care of me, my lord.
Re-enter Sir THOMAS BORNWELL with CELESTINA.
Born. Your lordship
Does me an honour.
Lord. Madam, I am glad
To see you here; I meant to have kissed your hand,
Ere my return to court.
Cel. Sir Thomas has
Prevailed to bring me, to his trouble, hither.
Lord. You do him grace.
Born. Why, what's the matter, madam?
Your eyes are tuning Lachrimæ.
Lady B. As you
Do hope for Heaven, withdraw, and give me but
The patience of ten minutes.
Born. Wonderful!
I will not hear you above that proportion.
She talks of Heaven:—Come, where must we to counsel?
Lady B. You shall conclude me when you please.
[Exit.
Born. I follow.
Lord. What alteration is this? I, that so late
Stood the temptation of her eye and voice,
Boasted a heart 'bove all licentious flame,
At second view turn renegade, and think
I was too superstitious, and full
Of phlegm, not to reward her amorous courtship
With manly freedom.
Cel. I obey you, sir.
Born. I'll wait upon your lordship presently. [Exit.
Lord. She could not want a cunning to seem honest
When I neglected her. I am resolved.—
You still look pleasant, madam.
Cel. I have cause,
My lord, the rather for your presence, which
Hath power to charm all trouble in my thoughts.
Lord. I must translate that compliment, and owe
All that is cheerful in myself to these
All-quick'ning smiles: and rather than such bright
Eyes should repent their influence upon me,
I would release the aspects, and quit the bounty
Of all the other stars. Did you not think me
A strange and melancholy gentleman,
To use you so unkindly?
Cel. Me, my lord?
Lord. I hope you made no loud complaint; I would not
Be tried by a jury of ladies.
Cel. For what, my lord?
Lord. I did not meet that noble entertainment
You were late pleased to show me.
Cel. I observed
No such defect in your lordship, but a brave
And noble fortitude.
Lord. A noble folly;
I bring repentance for't. I know you have,
Madam, a gentle faith, and will not ruin
What you have built to honour you.
Cel. What's that?
Lord. If you can love, I'll tell your ladyship.
Cel. I have a stubborn soul else.
Lord. You are all
Composed of harmony.
Cel. What love do you mean?
Lord. That which doth perfect both; madam, you have heard
I can be constant, and if you consent
To grace it so, there is a spacious dwelling
Prepared within my heart for such a mistress.
Cel. Your mistress, my good lord?
Lord. Why, my good lady,
Your sex doth hold it no dishonour
To become mistress to a noble servant
In the now court Platonic way. Consider
Who 'tis that pleads to you; my birth, and present
Value, can be no stain to your embrace;
But these are shadows when my love appears,
Which shall, in his first miracle, return
Me in my bloom of youth, and thee a virgin;
When I, within some new Elysium,
Of purpose made and meant for us, shall be
In every thing Adonis, but in his
Contempt of love; and court thee from a Daphne
Hid in the cold rind of a bashful tree,
With such warm language and delight, till thou
Leap from that bays into the queen of love,
And pay my conquest with composing garlands
Of thy won myrtle for me.
Cel. What's all this?
Lord. Consent to be my mistress, Celestina,
And we will have it spring-time all the year;
Upon whose invitations, when we walk,
The winds shall play soft descant to our feet,
And breathe rich odours to re-pure the air:
Green bowers on every side shall tempt our stay,
And violets stoop to have us tread upon 'em.
The red rose shall grow pale, being near thy cheek,
And the white blush, o'ercome with such a forehead.
Here laid, and measuring with ourselves some bank,
A thousand birds shall from the woods repair,
And place themselves so cunningly behind
The leaves of every tree, that while they pay
Us tribute of their songs, thou shalt imagine
The very trees bear music, and sweet voices
Do grow in every arbour. Here can we
Embrace and kiss, tell tales, and kiss again,
And none but Heaven our rival.
Cel. When we are
Weary of these, what if we shift our paradise,
And through a grove of tall and even pine,
Descend into a valley, that shall shame
All the delights of Tempe; upon whose
Green plush the Graces shall be called to dance,
To please us, and maintain their fairy revels,
To the harmonious murmurs of a stream
That gently falls upon a rock of pearl.
Here doth the nymph, forsaken Echo, dwell,
To whom we'll tell the story of our love,
Till at our surfeit and her want of joy,
We break her heart with envy. Not far off,
A grove shall call us to a wanton river,
To see a dying swan give up the ghost,
The fishes shooting up their tears in bubbles,
That they must lost the genius of their waves—
And such love linsey woolsey, to no purpose.
Lord. You chide me handsomely; pray tell me how
You like this language.
Cel. Good my lord, forbear.
Lord. You need not fly out of this circle, madam;
These widows are so full of circumstance!
I'll undertake, in this time I have courted
Your ladyship for the toy, to have broken ten,
Nay, twenty colts, virgins I mean, and taught 'em
The amble, or what pace I most affected.
Cel. You're not, my lord, again, the lord I thought you;
And I must tell you now, you do forget
Yourself and me.
Lord. You'll not be angry, madam?
Cel. Nor rude, (though gay men have a privilege,)
It shall appear:—there is a man, my lord,
Within my acquaintance, rich in worldly fortunes,
But cannot boast any descent of blood,
Would buy a coat of arms.
Lord. He may, and legs
Booted and spurred, to ride into the country.
Cel. But these will want antiquity, my lord,
The seal of honour. What's a coat cut out
But yesterday, to make a man a gentleman?
Your family, as old as the first virtue
That merited an escutcheon, doth owe
A glorious coat of arms; if you will sell now
All that your name doth challenge, in that ensign,
I'll help you to a chapman, that shall pay,
And pour down wealth enough for't.
Lord. Sell my arms!
I cannot, madam.
Cel. Give but your consent,
You know not how the state may be inclined
To dispensation; we may prevail
Upon the Heralds' office afterward.
Lord. I'll sooner give these arms to the hangman's axe,
My head, my heart, to twenty executions,
Than sell one atom from my name.
Cel. Change that,
And answer him would buy my honour from me;
Honour, that is not worn upon a flag,
Or pennon, that, without the owner's dangers,
An enemy may ravish, and bear from me;
But that which grows and withers with my soul,
Beside the body's stain: think, think, my lord,
To what you would unworthily betray me,
If you would not, for price of gold, or pleasure,
(If that be more your idol,) lose the glory
And painted honour of your house.—I have done.
Lord. Enough to rectify a satyr's blood.
Obscure my blushes here.
Enter Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE and HAIRCUT behind.
Hair. Or this, or fight with me;
It shall be no exception that I wait
Upon my lord; I am a gentleman,
You may be less, and be a knight: the office
I do my lord is honest, sir. How many
Such you have been guilty of Heaven knows.
Scent. 'Tis no fear of your sword, but that I would not
Break the good laws established against duels.
Hair. Off with your periwig, and stand bare.
[Sir WILLIAM SCENTLOVE takes off his periwig.
Lord. From this
Minute I'll be a servant to your goodness;
A mistress in the wanton sense is common,
I'll honour you with chaste thoughts, and call you so.
Cel. I'll study to be worth your fair opinion.
Lord. Scentlove, your head was used to a covering,
Beside a hat; when went the hair away?
Scent. I laid a wager, my lord, with Haircut,
Who thinks I shall catch cold, that I'll stand bare
This half hour.
Hair. Pardon my ambition,
Madam, I told you truth; I am a gentleman,
And cannot fear that name is drowned in my
Relation to my lord.
Cel. I dare not think so.
Hair. From henceforth call my service duty, madam:
That pig's head, that betrayed me to your mirth,
Is doing penance for't.
Scent. Why may not I,
My lord, begin a fashion of no hair?
Cel. Do you sweat, Sir William?
Scent. Not with store of nightcaps.
Re-enter Sir THOMAS and Lady BORNWELL, in conversation.
Lady B. Heaven has dissolved the clouds that hung upon
My eyes, and if you can with mercy meet
A penitent, I throw my own will off,
And now in all things obey yours. My nephew
Send back again to the college, and myself
To what place you'll confine me.
Born. Dearer now
Than ever to my bosom, thou shalt please
Me best to live at thy own choice. I did
But fright thee with a noise of my expenses;
The sums are safe, and we have wealth enough,
If yet we use it nobly. My lord—madam,
Pray honour us to-night,
Lady B. I beg your presence,
And pardon.
Born. I know not how my Aretina
May be disposed to-morrow for the country.
Cel. You must not go before you have done
Me honour to accept an entertainment
Where I have power; on those terms I'm your guest.
Born. You grace us, madam.
Lady B. Already
I feel a cure upon my soul, and promise
My after life to virtue. Pardon, Heaven,
My shame, yet hid from the world's eye. [Aside.
Re-enter DECOY behind.
Dec. Sweet madam!
Lady B. Not for the world be seen here! we are lost.
I'll visit you at home. [Exit DECOY.]—But not to practise
What she expects: my counsel may recover her. [Aside.
Re-enter KICKSHAW.
Kick. Where's madam?—Pray lend me a little money,
My spirit has deceived me; Proserpine
Has broke her word.
Lady B. Do you expect to find
The devil true to you?
Kick. Not too loud.
Lady B. I'll voice it
Louder, to all the world, your horrid sin,
Unless you promise me religiously,
To purge your foul blood by repentance, sir.
Kick. Then I'm undone.
Lady B. Not while I have power
To encourage you to virtue; I'll endeavour
To find you out some nobler way at court,
To thrive in.
Kick. Do't, and I'll forsake the devil,
And bring my flesh to obedience. You shall steer me.—
My lord, your servant.
Lord. You are brave again.
Kick. Madam, your pardon.
Born. Your offence requires
Humility.
Kick. Low as my heart.—Sir Thomas,
I'll sup with you, a part of satisfaction.
Born. Our pleasures cool. Music! and when our ladies
Are tired with active motion, to give
Them rest, in some new rapture to advance
Full mirth, our souls shall leap into a dance. [Exeunt.
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