The Works of Thomas Middleton [Vol 2 of 5]

A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE. — ACT I. SCENE I. — SCENE II. — SCENE III. — SCENE IV. — ACT II. SCENE I. — SCENE II. — ACT III. SCENE I. — SCENE II. — SCENE III. — SCENE IV. — ACT IV. SCENE I. — SCENE II. — SCENE III. — SCENE IV. — SCENE V. — ACT V. SCENE I. — SCENE II.

3A Tricke to Catch the Old-one. As it hath beene often in Action, both at Paules, and the Black-Fryers. Presented before his Maiestie on New-yeares night last. Composde by T. M. At London Printed by G: E. and are to be sold by Henry Rockytt, at the long shop in the Poultrie vnder the Dyall. 1608. 4to. Second ed., 1616. 4to.

This drama (which Langbaine not undeservedly calls “excellent”) is reprinted in the 5th vol. of A Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays, 1816.

A Trick to catch the Old One was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 7th Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s Suppl. Apol. p. 201.

• Witgood.
• Lucre, his uncle.
• Hoard.
• Onesiphorus Hoard, his brother.
• Limber,
  Kix,^[1]
  Lamprey,
  Spichcock,friends of Hoard.
• Dampit.
• Gulf.
• Freedom, son to Mistress Lucre.
• Moneylove.
• Host.
• Sir Launcelot.
• Creditors.
• Gentlemen.
• George.
• Drawer.
• Boy.
• Scrivener.
• Servants, &c.

• Courtesan.
• Mistress Lucre.
• Joyce, niece to Hoard.
• Lady Foxstone.
• Audrey, servant to Dampit.

Wit. All’s gone! still thou’rt a gentleman, that’s all; but a poor one, that’s nothing. What milk bring^[2] thy meadows forth now? where are thy goodly uplands, and thy down lands? all sunk into that little pit, lechery. Why should a gallant pay but two shillings for his ordinary^[3] that nourishes him, and twenty times two for his brothel^[4] that consumes him? But where’s Long-acre?^[5] in my uncle’s conscience, which is three years’ voyage about: he that sets out upon his conscience ne’er finds the way home again; he is either swallowed in the quicksands of law-quillets, or splits upon the piles of a præmunire; yet these old fox-brained 6and ox-browed uncles have still defences for their avarice, and apologies for their practices, and will thus greet our follies:

and that’s his uncle; ’tis a principle in usury. I dare not visit the city: there I should be too soon visited by that horrible plague, my debts; and by that means I lose a virgin’s love, her portion, and her virtues. Well, how should a man live now that has no living? hum,—why, are there not a million of men in the world that only sojourn upon their brain, and make their wits their mercers; and am I but one amongst that million, and cannot thrive upon’t? Any trick out of the compass of law^[6] now would come happily to me.

Cour. My love!

Wit. My loathing! hast thou been the secret consumption of my purse, and now comest to undo my last means, my wits? wilt leave no virtue in me, and yet thou ne’er the better?

Cour. I know I am your loathing now; farewell.

Wit. Stay, best invention, stay.

Cour. I that have been the secret consumption of your purse, shall I stay now to undo your last means, your wits? hence, courtesan, away!

Wit. I prithee, make me not mad at my own weapon: stay (a thing few women can do, I know that, and therefore they had need wear stays), be not contrary: dost love me? Fate^[9] has so cast it that all my means I must derive from thee.

Wit. So, so, so: thou shalt presently take the name and form upon thee of a rich country widow, four hundred a-year valiant,^[11] in woods, in bullocks, in barns, and in rye-stacks; we’ll to London, and to my covetous uncle.

Cour. I begin to applaud thee; our states being both desperate, they are soon resolute: but how for horses?

Wit. Mass, that’s true; the jest will be of some continuance. Let me see; horses now, a bots on ’em! Stay, I have acquaintance with a mad host, never yet bawd to thee; I have rinsed the whoreson’s gums in mull-sack many a time and often: put but a good tale into his ear now, so it come off cleanly, and there’s horse and man for us, I dare warrant thee.

Wit. Why, then, all’s furnished.^[12] I shall go nigh to catch that old fox mine uncle: though he make but some amends for my undoing, yet there’s some comfort in’t, he cannot otherwise choose (though it be but in hope to cozen me again) but supply any hasty want that I bring to town with me. The 9device well and cunningly carried, the name of a rich widow, and four hundred a-year in good earth, will so conjure up a kind of usurer’s love in him to me, that he will not only desire my presence,—which at first shall scarce be granted him, I’ll keep off a’ purpose,—but I shall find him so officious to deserve, so ready to supply! I know the state of an old man’s affection so well: if his nephew be poor indeed, why, he lets God alone with him; but if he be once rich, then he’ll be the first man that helps him.

Cour. ’Tis right the world; for, in these days, an old man’s love to his kindred is like his kindness to his wife, ’tis always done before he comes at it.

Wit. I owe thee for that jest. Begone: here’s all my wealth; prepare thyself, away. I’ll to mine host with all possible haste; and with the best art, and most profitable form, pour the sweet circumstance into his ear, which shall have the gift to turn all the wax to honey. [Exit Courtesan.]—How no[w]? O, the right worshipful seniors of our country!

Ones. H. Who’s that?

10Lim. O, the common rioter; take no note of him.

Lim. What was the quarrel, sir?

Ones. H. Faith, about a purchase, fetching over a young heir. Master Hoard, my brother, having wasted much time in beating the bargain, what did me old Lucre, but as his conscience moved him, knowing the poor gentleman, stept in between ’em, and cozened him himself.

Lim. And was this all, sir?

Ones. H. This was e’en it, sir; yet, for all this, I know no reason but the match might go forward betwixt his wife’s son and my niece: what though there be a dissension between the two old men, I see no reason it should put a difference between the two younger; ’tis as natural for old folks to fall out, as for young to fall in. A scholar comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s wise, but he’s poor: her son comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s a fool, but he’s rich.

Lim. Ay, marry, sir.

11Ones. H. Pray, now, is not a rich fool better than a poor philosopher?

Lim. One would think so, i’faith.

Ones. H. She now remains at London with my brother, her second uncle, to learn fashions, practise music; the voice between her lips, and the viol^[15] between her legs, she’ll be fit for a consort very speedily: a thousand good pound is her portion; if she marry, we’ll ride up and be merry.

Kix. A match, if it be a match. [Exeunt.

Wit. Mine host!

Host. Young master Witgood!

Wit. I have been laying^[16] all the town for thee.

Host. Why, what’s the news, bully Had-land?

Wit. What geldings are in the house, of thine own? answer me to that first.

Host. Why, man, why?

Wit. Mark me what I say: I’ll tell thee such a tale in thine ear, that thou shalt trust me spite of thy teeth, furnish me with some money wille nille, and ride up with me thyself contra voluntatem et professionem.

Host. How? let me see this trick, and I’ll say thou hast more art than a conjurer.

Wit. Dost thou joy in my advancement?

12Host. Do I love sack and ginger?

Wit. Comes my prosperity desiredly to thee?

Host. Come forfeitures to a usurer, fees to an officer, punks to an host, and pigs to a parson desiredly? why, then, la.

Wit. Will the report of a widow of four hundred a-year, boy, make thee leap, and sing, and dance, and come to thy place again?

Host. Wilt thou command me now? I am thy spirit; conjure me into any shape.

Wit. I ha’ brought her from her friends, turned back the horses by a slight;^[17] not so much as one among her six men, goodly large yeomanly fellows, will she trust with this her purpose: by this light, all unmanned, regardless of her state, neglectful of vain-glorious ceremony, all for my love. O, ’tis a fine little voluble tongue, mine host, that wins a widow!

Host. No, ’tis a tongue with a great T, my boy, that wins a widow.

Wit. Now, sir, the case stands thus: good mine host, if thou lovest my happiness, assist me.

Host. Command all my beasts i’ th’ house.

Wit. Nay, that’s not all neither: prithee, take truce with thy joy, and listen to me. Thou knowest I have a wealthy uncle i’ th’ city, somewhat the wealthier by my follies: the report of this fortune, well and cunningly carried, might be a means to draw some goodness from the usuring rascal; for I have put her in hope already of some estate that I have either in land or money: now, if I be found true in neither, what may I expect but a sudden breach of our love, utter dissolution of the match, and confusion of my fortunes for ever?

13Host. Wilt thou but trust the managing of thy business with me?

Wit. With thee? why, will I desire to thrive in my purpose? will I hug four hundred a-year, I that know the misery of nothing? Will that man wish a rich widow, that has ne’er a hole to put his head in? With thee, mine host? why, believe it, sooner with thee than with a covey of counsellors.

Host. Thank you for your good report, i’faith, sir; and if I stand you not in stead, why then let an host come off hic et hæc hostis, a deadly enemy to dice, drink, and venery. Come, where’s this widow?

Wit. Hard at Park-end.

Host. I’ll be her serving-man for once.

Wit. Why, there we let off together: keep full time; my thoughts were striking then just the same number.

Host. I knew’t: shall we then see our merry days again?

Enter^[19] Lucre and Hoard quarrelling; Lamprey, Spichcock, Freedom, and Moneylove, coming between to pacify them.

Lam. Nay, good master Lucre, and you, master Hoard, anger is the wind which you’re both too much troubled withal.

14Hoa. Shall my adversary thus daily affront^[20] me, ripping up the old wound of our malice, which three summers could not close up? into which wound the very sight of him drops scalding lead instead of balsamum.

Luc. Why, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard! may I not pass in the state of quietness to mine own house? answer me to that, before witness, and why? I’ll refer the cause to honest, even-minded gentlemen, or require the mere indifferences of the law to decide this matter. I got the purchase, true: was’t not any man’s case? yes: will a wise man stand as a bawd, whilst another wipes his nose^[21] of the bargain? no; I answer no in that case.

Lam. Nay, sweet master Lucre.

Hoa. Was it the part of a friend—no, rather of a Jew;—mark what I say—when I had beaten the bush to the last bird, or, as I may term it, the price to a pound, then, like a cunning usurer, to come in the evening of the bargain, and glean all my hopes in a minute? to enter, as it were, at the back door of the purchase? for thou ne’er camest the right way by it.

Luc. Hast thou the conscience to tell me so without any impeachment to thyself?

Hoa. Thou that canst defeat thy own nephew, Lucre, lap his lands into bonds, and take the extremity of thy kindred’s forfeitures, because he’s a rioter, a wastethrift, a brothel-master,^[22] and so 15forth; what may a stranger expect from thee but vulnera dilacerata, as the poet says, dilacerate dealing?

Luc. Upbraidest thou me with nephew? is all imputation laid upon me? what acquaintance have I with his follies? if he riot, ’tis he must want it; if he surfeit, ’tis he must feel it; if he drab it, ’tis he must lie by’t: what’s this to me?

Hoa. What’s all to thee? nothing, nothing; such is the gulf of thy desire and the wolf of thy conscience: but be assured, old Pecunius^[23] Lucre, if ever fortune so bless me, that I may be at leisure to vex thee, or any means so favour me, that I may have opportunity to mad thee, I will pursue it with that flame of hate, that spirit of malice, unrepressed wrath, that I will blast thy comforts.

Luc. Ha, ha, ha!

Lam. Nay, master Hoard, you’re a wise gentleman——

Hoa. I will so cross thee——

Luc. And I thee.

Hoa. So without mercy fret thee——

Luc. So monstrously oppose thee——

Hoa. Dost scoff at my just anger? O, that I had as much power as usury has over thee!

Luc. Then thou wouldst have as much power as the devil has over thee.

Hoa. Toad!

Luc. Aspic!

Hoa. Serpent!

Luc. Viper!

16Spi. Nay, gentlemen, then we must divide you perforce.

Lam. When the fire grows too unreasonable hot, there’s no better way than to take off the wood.

[Exeunt Lamprey and Spichcock, drawing off Lucre and Hoard different ways: manent^[24] Freedom and Moneylove.

Free. A word, good signior.

Mon. How now, what’s the news?

Free. ’Tis given me to understand that you are a rival of mine in the love of mistress Joyce, master Hoard’s niece: say me ay, say me no?

Mon. Yes, ’tis so.

Free. Then look to yourself, you cannot live long: I’m practising every morning; a month hence I’ll challenge you.

Mon. Give me your hand upon’t; there’s my pledge I’ll meet you. [Strikes him, and exit.

Free. O, O! what reason had you for that, sir, to strike before the month? you knew I was not ready for you, and that made you so crank:^[25] I am not such a coward to strike again, I warrant you. My ear has the law of her side, for it burns horribly. I will teach him to strike a naked face, the longest day of his life: ’slid, it shall cost me some money but I’ll bring this box into the chancery. [Exit.

Host. Fear you nothing, sir; I have lodged her in a house of credit, I warrant you.

Wit. Hast thou the writings?

Host. Firm, sir.

Wit. Prithee, stay, and behold two the most prodigious rascals that ever slipt into the shape of men; Dampit, sirrah, and young Gulf his fellow-caterpillar.

Host. Dampit? sure I have heard of that Dampit?

Wit. Heard of him? why, man, he that has lost both his ears may hear of him; a famous infamous trampler of time; his own phrase. Note him well: that Dampit, sirrah, he in the uneven beard and the serge cloak, is the most notorious, usuring, blasphemous, atheistical, brothel-vomiting rascal, that we have in these latter times now extant; whose first beginning was the stealing of a masty^[26] dog from a farmer’s house.

Host. He looked as if he would obey the commandment[s] well, when he began first with stealing.

Wit. True: the next town he came at, he set the dogs together by th’ ears.

Host. A sign he should follow the law, by my faith.

Wit. So it followed, indeed; and being destitute of all fortunes, staked his masty against a noble,^[27] and by great fortune his dog had the day: how he made it up ten shillings, I know not; but 18his own boast is, that he came to town but with ten shillings in his purse, and now is credibly worth ten thousand pound.

Host. How the devil came he by it?

Wit. How the devil came he not by it? If you put in the devil once, riches come with a vengeance: has been a trampler of the law,^[28] sir; and the devil has a care of his footmen. The rogue has spied me now; he nibbled me finely once, too:—a pox search you! [Aside.]—O, master Dampit!—the very loins of thee! [Aside.]—Cry you mercy, master Gulf; you walk so low, I promise you I saw you not, sir.

Wit. ’Twas a merry world when thou camest to town with ten shillings in thy purse.

19Dam. And now worth ten thousand pound, my boy. Report it; Harry Dampit, a trampler of time, say, he would be up in a morning, and be here with his serge gown, dashed up to the hams in a cause; have his feet stink about Westminster Hall, and come home again; see the galleons, the galleasses,^[29] the great armadas of the law; then there be hoys and petty vessels, oars and scullers of the time; there be picklocks of the time too; then would I be here; I would trample up and down like a mule: now to the judges, May it please your reverend honourable fatherhoods; then to my counsellor, May it please your worshipful patience; then to the examiner’s office, May it please your mastership’s gentleness; then to one of the clerks, May it please your worshipful lousiness,—for I find him scrubbing in his cod-piece; then to the hall again, then to the chamber again——

Wit. And when to the cellar again?

Dam. E’en when thou wilt again: tramplers of time, motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn;^[30] here I have fees of one, there I have fees of another; my clients come about me, the fooliaminy and coxcombry of the country: I still trashed^[31] 20and trotted for other men’s causes; thus was poor Harry Dampit made rich by others’ laziness, who, though they would not follow their own suits, I made ’em follow me with their purses.

Wit. Didst thou so, old Harry?

Dam. Ay, and I soused ’em with bills of charges, i’faith; twenty pound a-year have I brought in for boat-hire, and I ne’er stept into boat in my life.

Wit. Tramplers of time!

Dam. Ay, tramplers of time, rascals of time, bull-beggars!^[32]

Wit. Ah, thou’rt a mad old Harry!—Kind master Gulf, I am bold to renew my acquaintance.

Gulf. I embrace it, sir. [Exeunt.

Luc. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew, forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a beggar, must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we have no part in their follies, why should we have part in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s pen’worth; let me see, half in half, true: I saw neither hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and was it not then better bestowed upon 21his uncle than upon one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one knows what aunt stands for in the last translation.

Now, sir?

Ser. There’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to speak with your worship.

Luc. I’m at best leisure now; send him in to me.

Host. Bless your venerable worship.

Luc. Welcome, good fellow.

Host. He calls me thief^[33] at first sight, yet he little thinks I am an host. [Aside.

Luc. What’s thy business with me?

Host. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a doubtful point: ’tis indifferent, sir, to whom I come, for I know none, nor did my mistress direct me to any particular man, for she’s as mere a stranger here as myself; only I found your worship within, and ’tis a thing I ever loved, sir, to be despatched as soon as I can.

Luc. A good, blunt honesty; I like him well. [Aside.]—What is thy mistress?

Host. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir. Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she intends to stay till a little term business be ended.

Luc. Her name, I prithee?

Host. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her lands; widow Medler.

22Luc. Medler? mass, have I ne’er heard of that widow?

Host. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir: not the rich widow in Staffordshire?

Luc. Cuds me, there ’tis indeed; thou hast put me into memory: there’s a widow indeed! ah, that I were a bachelor again!

Host. No doubt your worship might do much then; but she’s fairly promised to a bachelor already.

Luc. Ah, what is he, I prithee?

Host. A country gentleman too; one whom your worship knows not, I’m sure; has spent some few follies in his youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him home: my mistress loves him, sir, and love covers faults, you know: one master Witgood, if ever you have heard of the gentleman.

Luc. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?

Host. That’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like to bring him to a goodly seat yonder; four hundred a-year, by my faith.

Luc. But, I pray, take me with you.^[34]

Host. Ay, sir.

Luc. What countryman might this young Witgood be?

Host. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.

Luc. My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I’ll fetch out more of this, i’faith: a simple country fellow, I’ll work’t out of him. [Aside.]—And is that gentleman, sayst thou, presently to marry her?

Host. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; has the best card in all the bunch for’t, her heart; and I know my mistress will be married ere she 23go down; nay, I’ll swear that, for she’s none of those widows that will go down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can tell you, sir.

Luc. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper gentleman, and a comely; I’ll give her that gift.

Host. Why, does your worship know him, sir?

Luc. I know him? does not all the world know him? can a man of such exquisite qualities be hid under a bushel?

Host. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had charge given me to inquire after him.

Luc. Inquire of him? If I might counsel thee, thou shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him of no more but of me; I’ll fit thee. I grant he has been youthful; but is he not now reclaimed? mark you that, sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton in her youth? if men be wags, are there not women wagtails?

Host. No doubt, sir.

Luc. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt with his own follies?

Host. Why, very true, sir.

Luc. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal, and a worthy: who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble Witgood!

Host. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him, can you resolve^[35] me, sir, what his living might be? my duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’ estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though I say it: many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his sake; 24yet though her love be so fixed, a man cannot tell whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir: he makes us believe he has lands and living.

Luc. Who, young master Witgood? why, believe it, he has as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the place?

Host. Nay, I know not, i’faith.

Luc. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have not forgot the name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and fair meadows: pax^[36] on’t, I can ne’er hit of that place neither: he? why, he’s Witgood of Witgood Hall; he, an unknown thing!

Host. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! trust me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay mortgaged to an uncle he has in town here.

Luc. Push,^[37] ’tis a tale, ’tis a tale.

Host. I can assure you, sir, ’twas credibly reported to my mistress.

Luc. Why, do you think, i’faith, he was ever so simple to mortgage his lands to his uncle? or his uncle so unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?

Host. That was my saying still, sir.

Luc. Pooh, ne’er think it.

Host. Yet that report goes current.

Luc. Nay, then you urge me: Cannot I tell that best that am his uncle?

Host. How, sir? what have I done!

25Luc. Why, how now! in a swoon, man?

Host. Is your worship his uncle, sir?

Luc. Can that be any harm to you, sir?

Host. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal it: what a beast was I to utter so much! pray, sir, do me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat pulled o’er my ears, an’t should be known; for the truth is, an’t please your worship, to prevent much rumour and many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly and privately.

Luc. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to do them injury? must I needs say the knowledge of this marriage comes from thee? am I a fool at fifty-four? do I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it? There’s a leash of angels^[38] for thee: come, let me woo thee speak where lie they?

Host. So I might have no anger, sir——

Luc. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.

Host. I would not have it known, sir,^[39] it came by my means.

Luc. Why, am I a man of wisdom?

Host. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I’m a stranger to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire your worship’s ear.

Luc. This fellow’s worth a matter of trust. [Aside.]—Come, sir. [Host whispers to him.] Why, now thou’rt an honest lad.—Ah, sirrah, nephew!

Host. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that doubtful point? I must come warily now.

26Luc. Tut, fear thou nothing; To-morrow’s evening shall resolve the doubt.

Host. The time shall cause my attendance.

Luc. Fare thee well. [Exit Host.]—There’s more true honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred of our cloak companions:^[40] I may well call ’em companions, for since blue coats have been turned into cloaks,^[41] we can scarce know the man from the master.—George!

Geo. Anon, sir.

Luc. List hither: [whispers] keep the place secret: commend me to my nephew; I know no cause, tell him, but he might see his uncle.

Geo. I will, sir.

Luc. And, do you hear, sir? Take heed you use him with respect and duty.

Geo. Here’s a strange alteration; one day he must be turned out like a beggar, and now he must be called in like a knight. [Aside, and exit.

Luc. Ah, sirrah, that rich widow!—four hundred a-year! beside, I hear she lays claim to a title of a hundred more. This falls unhappily that he should bear a grudge to me now, being likely to prove so rich: what is’t, trow,^[42] that he makes me a stranger for? Hum,—I hope he has not so much wit to apprehend that I cozened him: he 27deceives me then. Good heaven, who would have thought it would ever have come to this pass! yet he’s a proper gentleman, i’faith, give him his due, marry, that’s his mortgage; but that I ne’er mean to give him: I’ll make him rich enough in words, if that be good; and if it come to a piece of money, I will not greatly stick for’t; there may be hope some of the widow’s lands, too, may one day fall upon me, if things be carried wisely.

Now, sir, where is he?

Geo. He desires your worship to hold him excused; he has such weighty business, it commands him wholly from all men.

Luc. Were those my nephew’s words?

Geo. Yes, indeed, sir.

Luc. When men grow rich, they grow proud too, I perceive that; he would not have sent me such an answer once within this twelvemonth: see what ’tis when a man’s come to his lands! [Aside.]—Return to him again, sir; tell him his uncle desires his company for an hour; I’ll trouble him but an hour, say; ’tis for his own good, tell him: and, do you hear, sir? put worship upon him: go to, do as I bid you; he’s like to be a gentleman of worship very shortly.

Geo. This is good sport, i’faith. [Aside, and exit.

Luc. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now: can he tell what I may do for him? goodness may come from me in a minute, that comes not in seven year again: he knows my humour; I am not so usually good; ’tis no small thing that draws kindness from me, he may know that and^[43] 28he will. The chief cause that invites me to do him most good, is the sudden astonishing of old Hoard, my adversary: how pale his malice will look at my nephew’s advancement! with what a dejected spirit he will behold his fortunes, whom but last day he proclaimed rioter, penurious makeshift, despised brothel-master!^[44] Ha, ha! ’twill do me more secret joy than my last purchase, more precious comfort than all these widow’s revenues.

Now, sir?

Geo. With much entreaty he’s at length come, sir.

Luc. O, nephew, let me salute you, sir! you’re welcome, nephew.

Wit. Uncle, I thank you.

29Wit. Will you but hear what I can say in my just excuse, sir?

Luc. Yes, faith, will I, and welcome.

Wit. You that know my danger i’ th’ city, sir, so well, how great my debts are, and how extreme my creditors, could not out of your pure judgment, sir, have wished us hither.

Luc. Mass, a firm reason indeed.

Wit. Else, my uncle’s house! why, ’t had been the only make-match.

Luc. Nay, and thy credit.

Wit. My credit? nay, my countenance: push,^[47] nay, I know, uncle, you would have wrought it so by your wit, you would have made her believe in time the whole house had been mine.

Luc. Ay, and most of the goods too.

Wit. La, you there! well, let ’em all prate what they will, there’s nothing like the bringing of a widow to one’s uncle’s house.

Luc. Nay, let nephews be ruled as they list, they shall find their uncle’s house the most natural place when all’s done.

Wit. There they may be bold.

Luc. Life, they may do any thing there, man, and fear neither beadle nor somner:^[48] an uncle’s house! a very Cole-Harbour.^[49] Sirrah, I’ll touch thee near now: hast thou so much interest in thy widow, that by a token thou couldst presently send for her?

Wit. Troth, I think I can, uncle.

Luc. Go to, let me see that.

Wit. Pray, command one of your men hither, uncle.

30Luc. George!

Geo. Here, sir.

Luc. Attend my nephew. [Witgood whispers to George, who then goes out.]—I love a’ life^[50] to prattle with a rich widow; ’tis pretty, methinks, when our tongues go together: and then to promise much and perform little; I love that sport a’ life, i’faith: yet I am in the mood now to do my nephew some good, if he take me handsomely. [Aside.]—What, have you despatched?

Wit. I ha’ sent, sir.

Luc. Yet I must condemn you of unkindness, nephew.

Wit. Heaven forbid, uncle!

Luc. Yes, faith, must I. Say your debts be many, your creditors importunate, yet the kindness of a thing is all, nephew: you might have sent me close word on’t, without the least danger or prejudice to your fortunes.

Wit. Troth, I confess it, uncle; I was to blame there; but, indeed, my intent was to have clapped it up suddenly, and so have broke forth like a joy to my friends, and a wonder to the world: beside, there’s a trifle of a forty pound matter toward the setting of me forth; my friends should ne’er have known on’t; I meant to make shift for that myself.

Luc. How, nephew? let me not hear such a word again, I beseech you: shall I be beholding^[51] to you?

Wit. To me? Alas, what do you mean, uncle?

31Luc. I charge you, upon my love, you trouble nobody but myself.

Wit. You’ve no reason for that, uncle.

Luc. Troth, I’ll ne’er be friends with you while you live, and^[52] you do.

Wit. Nay, and you say so, uncle, here’s my hand; I will not do’t.

Luc. Why, well said! there’s some hope in thee when thou wilt be ruled; I’ll make it up fifty, faith, because I see thee so reclaimed. Peace; here comes my wife with Sam, her t’other husband’s son.

Wit. Good aunt.

Free. Cousin Witgood, I rejoice in my salute; you’re most welcome to this noble city, governed with the sword in the scabbard.

Wit. And the wit in the pommel. [Aside.]—Good master Sam Freedom, I return the salute.

Luc. By the mass, she’s coming, wife; let me see now how thou wilt entertain her.

Mis. L. I hope I am not to learn, sir, to entertain a widow; ’tis not so long ago since I was one myself.

Wit. Uncle——

Luc. She’s come indeed.

Wit. My uncle was desirous to see you, widow, and I presumed to invite you.

Court. The presumption was nothing, master Witgood: is this your uncle, sir?

Luc. Marry am I, sweet widow; and his good uncle he shall find me; ay, by this smack that I 32give thee [kisses her], thou’rt welcome.—Wife, bid the widow welcome the same way again,

Free. I am a gentleman now too by my father’s occupation, and I see no reason but I may kiss a widow by my father’s copy: truly, I think the charter is not against it; surely these are the words, The son once a gentleman may revel it, though his father were a dauber; ’tis about the fifteenth page: I’ll to her.

Luc. You’re not very busy now; a word with thee, sweet widow.

Free. Coads-nigs! I was never so disgraced since the hour my mother whipt me.

Luc. Beside, I have no child of mine own to care for; she’s my second wife, old, past bearing: clap sure to him, widow; he’s like to be my heir, I can tell you.

Court. Is he so, sir?

Luc. He knows it already, and the knave’s proud on’t: jolly rich widows have been offered him here i’ th’ city, great merchants’ wives; and do you think he would once look upon ’em? forsooth, he’ll none: you are beholding^[53] to him i’ th’ country, then, ere we could be: nay, I’ll hold a wager, widow, if he were once known to be in town, he would be presently sought after; nay, and happy were they that could catch him first.

Court. I think so.

Luc. O, there would be such running to and fro, widow! he should not pass the streets for ’em: he’d be took up in one great house or other presently: faugh! they know he has it, and must 33have it. You see this house here, widow; this house and all comes to him; goodly rooms, ready furnished, ceiled with plaster of Paris, and all hung about^[54] with cloth of arras.—Nephew.

Wit. Sir.

Luc. Shew the widow your house; carry her into all the rooms, and bid her welcome.—You shall see, widow.—Nephew, strike all sure above and^[55] thou beest a good boy,—ah! [Aside to Witgood.

Wit. Alas, sir, I know not how she would take it!

Luc. The right way, I warrant t’ye: a pox, art an ass? would I were in thy stead! get you up, I am ashamed of you. [Exeunt Witgood and Courtesan]. So: let ’em agree as they will now: many a match has been struck up in my house a’ this fashion: let ’em try all manner of ways, still there’s nothing like an uncle’s house to strike the stroke in. I’ll hold my wife in talk a little.—Now, Jenny, your son there goes a-wooing to a poor gentlewoman but of a thousand [pound] portion: see my nephew, a lad of less hope, strikes at four hundred a-year in good rubbish.

Mis. L. Well, we must do as we may, sir.

Luc. I’ll have his money ready told for him again^[56] he come down: let me see, too;—by th’ mass, I must present the widow with some jewel, a good piece of^[57] plate, or such a device; ’twill hearten her on well: I have a very fair standing cup; and a good high standing cup will please a widow above all other pieces. [Exit.

Mis. L. Do you mock us with your nephew?—I have a plot in my head, son;—i’faith, husband, to cross you.

34Free. Is it a tragedy plot, or a comedy plot, good mother?

Mis. L. ’Tis a plot shall vex him. I charge you, of my blessing, son Sam, that you presently withdraw the action of your love from master Hoard’s niece.

Free. How, mother?

Mis. L. Nay, I have a plot in my head, i’faith. Here, take this chain of gold, and this fair diamond: dog me the widow home to her lodging, and at thy best opportunity fasten ’em both upon her. Nay, I have a reach: I can tell you thou art known what thou art, son, among the right worshipful, all the twelve companies.

Free. Truly, I thank ’em for it.

Mis. L. He? he’s a scab to thee: and so certify her thou hast two hundred a-year of thyself, beside thy good parts—a proper person and a lovely. If I were a widow, I could find in my heart to have thee myself, son; ay, from ’em all.

Free. Thank you for your good will, mother; but, indeed, I had rather have a stranger: and if I woo her not in that violent fashion, that I will make her be glad to take these gifts ere I leave her, let me never be called the heir of your body.

Mis. L. Nay, I know there’s enough in you, son, if you once come to put it forth.

Free. I’ll quickly make a bolt or a shaft on’t.^[58]

Mon. Faith, master Hoard, I have bestowed many months in the suit of your niece, such was the dear love I ever bore to her virtues: but since she hath so extremely denied me, I am to lay out for my fortunes elsewhere.

Hoa. Heaven forbid but you should, sir! I ever told you my niece stood otherwise affected.

Mon. I must confess you did, sir; yet, in regard of my great loss of time, and the zeal with which I sought your niece, shall I desire one favour of your worship?

Hoa. In regard of those two, ’tis hard but you shall, sir.

Mon. I shall rest grateful: ’tis not full three hours, sir, since the happy rumour of a rich country widow came to my hearing.

Hoa. How? a rich country widow?

Mon. Four hundred a-year landed.

Hoa. Yea?

Mon. Most firm, sir; and I have learnt her lodging: here my suit begins, sir; if I might but entreat your worship to be a countenance for me, and speak a good word (for your words will pass), I nothing doubt but I might set fair for the widow; nor shall your labour, sir, end altogether in thanks; two hundred angels^[59]——

Hoa. So, so: what suitors has she?

Mon. There lies the comfort, sir; the report of her is yet but a whisper; and only solicited by 36young riotous Witgood, nephew to your mortal adversary.

Hoa. Ha! art certain he’s her suitor?

Mon. Most certain, sir; and his uncle very industrious to beguile the widow, and make up the match.

Hoa. So: very good.

Mon. Now, sir, you know this young Witgood is a spendthrift, dissolute fellow.

Hoa. A very rascal.

Mon. A midnight surfeiter.

Hoa. The spume of a brothel-house.

Mon. True, sir: which being well told in your worship’s phrase, may both heave him out of her mind, and drive a fair way for me to the widow’s affections.

Hoa. Attend me about five.

Mon. With my best care, sir. [Exit.

Happy revenge, I hug thee! I have not only the means laid before me, extremely to cross my adversary, and confound the last hopes of his nephew, but thereby to enrich my state, augment my revenues, and build mine own fortunes greater: ha, ha!

First C. I am glad of this news.

37Sec. C. So are we, by my faith.

Third C. Young Witgood will be a gallant again now.

Hoa. Peace. [Listening.

First C. I promise you, master Cockpit, she’s a mighty rich widow.

Sec. C. Why, have you ever heard of her?

First C. Who? widow Medler? she lies open to much rumour.

Third C. Four hundred a-year, they say, in very good land.

First C. Nay, take’t of my word, if you believe that, you believe the least.

Sec. C. And to see how close he keeps it!

First C. O, sir, there’s policy in that, to prevent better suitors.

Third C. He owes me a hundred pound, and I protest I ne’er looked for a penny.

First C. He little dreams of our coming; he’ll wonder to see his creditors upon him. [Exeunt Creditors.

Wit. Why, alas, my creditors, could you find no other time to undo me but now? rather your malice appears in this than the justness of the debt.

First C. Master Witgood, I have forborne my money long.

Wit. I pray, speak low, sir: what do you mean?

Sec. C. We hear you are to be married suddenly to a rich country widow.

Wit. What can be kept so close but you creditors hear on’t! well, ’tis a lamentable state, that our chiefest afflictors should first hear of our fortunes. Why, this is no good course, i’faith, sirs: if ever you have hope to be satisfied, why do you seek to confound the means that should work it? there’s neither piety, no, nor policy in that. Shine favourably now: why, I may rise and spread again, to your great comforts.

Sec. C. Faith, we heard you brought up a rich widow, sir, and were suddenly to marry her.

Wit. Ay, why there it was: I knew ’twas so: but since you are so well resolved^[62] of my faith toward you, let me be so much favoured of you, I beseech you all——

All. O, it shall not need, i’faith, sir!——

40Wit. As to lie still awhile, and bury my debts in silence, till I be fully possessed of the widow; for the truth is—I may tell you as my friends—

All. O, O, O!——

Wit. I am to raise a little money in the city, toward the setting forth of myself, for mine own credit and your comfort; now, if my former debts should be divulged, all hope of my proceedings were quite extinguished.

First C. Do you hear, sir? I may deserve your custom hereafter; pray, let my money be accepted before a stranger’s: here’s forty pound I received as I came to you; if that may stand you in any stead, make use on’t. [Offers him money, which he at first declines.] Nay, pray, sir; ’tis at your service. [Aside to Witgood.

Wit. You do so ravish me with kindness, that I am^[63] constrain’d to play the maid, and take it.

Sec. C. I go.—Take no care, sir, for money to furnish you; within this hour I’ll send you sufficient. [Aside to Witgood.]—Come, master Cockpit, we both stay for you.

Third C. I ha’ lost a ring, i’faith; I’ll follow you presently: [exeunt First and Second Creditors]—but you shall find it, sir; I know your youth and expenses have disfurnished you of all jewels: 41there’s a ruby of twenty pound price, sir; bestow it upon your widow. [Offers him the ring, which he at first declines.]—What, man! ’twill call up her blood to you; beside, if I might so much work with you, I would not have you beholding^[64] to those bloodsuckers for any money.

Wit. Not I, believe it.

Third C. They’re a brace of cut-throats.

Wit. I know ’em.

Third C. Send a note of all your wants to my shop, and I’ll supply you instantly.

Wit. Say you so? why, here’s my hand then, no man living shall do’t but thyself.

Third C. Shall I carry it away from ’em both, then?

Wit. I’faith, shalt thou.

Third C. Troth, then, I thank you, sir.

Wit. Welcome, good master Cockpit. [Exit Third Creditor.]—Ha, ha, ha! why, is not this better now than lying a-bed? I perceive there’s nothing conjures up wit sooner than poverty, and nothing lays it down sooner than wealth and lechery: this has some savour yet. O that I had the mortgage from mine uncle as sure in possession as these trifles! I would forswear brothel at noonday, and muscadine and eggs at midnight.

Court. [within] Master Witgood, where are you?

Wit. Holla!

Court. Rich news!

Wit. Would ’twere all in plate!

Court. There’s some in chains and jewels: I am so haunted with suitors, master Witgood, I know not which to despatch first.

Wit. Wench, make up thy own fortunes now; do thyself a good turn once in thy days: he’s rich in money, movables, and lands; marry him: he’s an old doating fool, and that’s worth all; marry him: ’twould be a great comfort to me to see thee do well, i’faith; marry him: ’twould ease my conscience well to see thee well bestowed; I have a care of thee, i’faith.

Court. Thanks, sweet master Witgood.

Wit. I reach at farther happiness: first, I am sure it can be no harm to thee, and there may happen goodness to me by it: prosecute it well; let’s send up for our wits, now we require their best and most pregnant assistance.

Court. Step in, I think I hear ’em. [Exeunt.

Hoa. Art thou the widow’s man? by my faith, sh’as a company of proper men then.

Host. I am the worst of six, sir; good enough for blue coats.^[66]

Hoa. Hark hither: I hear say thou art in most credit with her.

Host. Not so, sir.

Hoa. Come, come, thou’rt modest: there’s a brace of royals;^[67] prithee, help me to th’ speech of her.

Host. I’ll do what I may, sir, always saving myself harmless.

Hoa. Go to, do’t, I say; thou shalt hear better from me.

Host. Is not this a better place than five mark a-year standing wages? Say a man had but three such clients in a day, methinks he might make a poor living on’t; beside, I was never brought up with so little honesty to refuse any man’s money; never: what gulls there are a’ this side the world! now know I the widow’s mind; none but my young master comes in her clutches: ha, ha, ha!

First G. We do, sir.

Sec. G. But, master Hoard, are you sure he is not i’ th’ house now?

First G. Come, you widows are ever most backward when you should do yourselves most good; but were it to marry a chin not worth a hair now, then you would be forward enough. Come, clap hands, a match.

Court. But, master Hoard, one thing I must 47remember you of, before these gentlemen, your friends: how shall I suddenly avoid the loathed soliciting of that perjured Witgood, and his tedious, dissembling uncle? who this very day hath appointed a meeting for the same purpose too; where, had not truth come forth, I had been undone, utterly undone!

Hoa. What think you of that, gentlemen?

First G. ’Twas well devised.

Hoa. Hark thee, widow: train out young Witgood single; hasten him thither with thee, somewhat before the hour; where, at the place appointed, these gentlemen and myself will wait the opportunity, when, by some slight^[73] removing him from thee, we’ll suddenly enter and surprise thee, carry thee away by boat to Cole-Harbour,^[74] have a priest ready, and there clap it up instantly. How likest it, widow?

Court. In that it pleaseth you, it likes^[75] me well.

Wit. O for more scope! I could laugh eternally! Give you joy, mistress Hoard, I promise your fortune was good, forsooth; you’ve fell upon wealth enough, and there’s young gentlemen enow can help you to the rest. Now it requires our wits: carry thyself but heedfully now, and we are both——

Host. Master Witgood, your uncle.

Wit. Cuds me! remove thyself awhile; I’ll serve for him.

Wit. The sooner the better, uncle. O, she’s mightily followed!

Luc. And yet so little rumoured!

Wit. Mightily: here comes one old gentleman, and he’ll make her a jointure of three hundred a-year, forsooth; another wealthy suitor will estate his son in his lifetime, and make him weigh down the widow; here a merchant’s son will possess her with no less than three goodly lordships at once, which were all pawns to his father.

Luc. Peace, nephew, let me hear no more of 49’em; it mads me. Thou shalt prevent^[78] ’em all. No words to the widow of my coming hither. Let me see—’tis now upon nine: before twelve, nephew, we will have the bargain struck, we will, faith, boy.

Wit. O, my precious uncle! [Exeunt.

Hoa. Niece, sweet niece, prithee, have a care to my house; I leave all to thy discretion. Be content to dream awhile; I’ll have a husband for thee shortly: put that care upon me, wench, for in choosing wives and husbands I am only fortunate; I have that gift given me.

[Reads] Dearer than sight, what the world reports of me, yet believe not; rumour will alter shortly: be 50thou constant; I am still the same that I was in love, and I hope to be the same in fortunes.

Dra. You’re very welcome, gentlemen.—Dick, shew those gentlemen the Pomegranate there.

Hoa. Hist!

Dra. Up those stairs, gentlemen.

Hoa. Hist, drawer!

Dra. Anon, sir.

Hoa. Prithee, ask at the bar if a gentlewoman came not in lately.

Dra. William, at the bar, did you see any gentlewoman come in lately? Speak you ay, speak you no.

[Within.] No, none came in yet but mistress Florence.

Dra. He says none came in yet, sir, but one mistress Florence.

Hoa. What is that Florence? a widow?

Dra. Yes, a Dutch widow.^[81] 51Hoa. How?

Dra. That’s an English drab, sir: give your worship good morrow. [Exit.

Hoa. A merry knave, i’faith! I shall remember a Dutch widow the longest day of my life.

Sec. G. You shall pardon me for that, sir; master Hoard knows I took her at best ’vantage.

Hoa. What’s that, sweet gentlemen, what’s that?

Sec. G. He will needs bear me down, that his art only wrought with the widow most.

Hoa. O, you did both well, gentlemen, you did both well, I thank you.

First G. I was the first that moved her.

Hoa. You were, i’faith.

Sec. G. But it was I that took her at the bound.

Dra. You’re very welcome: please you to walk up stairs; cloth’s laid, sir.

Court. Up stairs? troth, I am very^[82] weary, master Witgood.

Wit. Rest yourself here awhile, widow; we’ll have a cup of muscadine in this little room.

52Dra. A cup of muscadine? You shall have the best, sir.

Wit. But, do you hear, sirrah?

Dra. Do you call? anon, sir.

Wit. What is there provided for dinner?

Dra. I cannot readily tell you, sir: if you please you may go into the kitchen and see yourself, sir; many gentlemen of worship do use to do it, I assure you, sir.

Host. A pretty familiar, prigging^[83] rascal; he has his part without book.

Wit. Against you are ready to drink to me, widow, I’ll be present to pledge you.

Court. Nay, I commend your care, ’tis done well of you. [Exit Witgood.]—’Las,^[84] what have I forgot!

Host. What, mistress?

Court. I slipt my wedding-ring off when I washed, and left it at my lodging: prithee, run; I shall be sad without it. [Exit Host.]—So, he’s gone. Boy.

Boy. Anon, forsooth.

Court. Come hither, sirrah; learn secretly if one master Hoard, an ancient gentleman, be about house.

Boy. I heard such a one named.

Court. Commend me to him.

Vin. If she be a Staffordshire gentlewoman, ’tis much if I know her not.

Wit. How now? boy! drawer!

Vin. Hie!

Boy. Do you call, sir?

Wit. Went the gentlewoman up that was here?

Boy. Up, sir? she went out, sir.

Wit. Out, sir?

Boy. Out, sir: one master Hoard, with a guard of gentlemen, carried her out at back door, a pretty while since, sir.

Wit. Hoard? death and darkness! Hoard?

Wit. Follow! inquire old Hoard, my uncle’s adversary.

Dam. When did I say my prayers? In anno 88, when the great armada was coming; and in anno 89,^[90] when the great thundering and lightning 56was, I prayed heartily then, i’faith, to overthrow Poovies’ new buildings; I kneeled by my great iron chest, I remember.

Aud. Master Dampit, one may hear you before they see you: you keep sweet hours, master Dampit; we were all a-bed three hours ago.

Dam. Audrey?

Aud. O, you’re a fine gentleman!

Dam. So I am, i’faith, and a fine scholar: do you use to go to bed so early, Audrey?

Aud. Call you this early, master Dampit?

Dam. Why, is’t not one of clock i’ th’ morning? is not that early enough? fetch me a glass of fresh beer.

Aud. Here, I have warmed your nightcap for you, master Dampit.

Dam. Draw it on then. I am very weak truly: I have not eaten so much as the bulk of an egg these three days.

Aud. You have drunk the more, master Dampit.

Dam. What’s that?

Aud. You mought, and^[91] you would, master Dampit.

Dam. I answer you, I cannot: hold your prating; you prate too much, and understand too little: are you answered? Give me a glass of beer.

57Aud. May I ask you how you do, master Dampit?

Dam. How do I? i’faith, naught.

Aud. I ne’er knew you do otherwise.

Dam. I eat not one pen’north of bread these two years.^[92] Give me a glass of fresh beer. I am not sick, nor I am not well.

Aud. Take this warm napkin about your neck, sir, whilst I help to make you unready.^[93]

Dam. How now, Audrey-prater, with your scurvy devices, what say you now?

Aud. What say I, master Dampit? I say nothing, but that you are very weak.

Dam. Faith, thou hast more cony-catching^[94] devices than all London.

Aud. Why, master Dampit, I never deceived you in all my life.

Dam. Why was that? because I never did trust thee.

Aud. I care not what you say, master Dampit.

Dam. Hold thy prating: I answer thee, thou art a beggar, a quean, and a bawd: are you answered?

Aud. Fie, master Dampit! a gentleman, and have such words?

Dam. Why, thou base drudge of infortunity, thou kitchen-stuff-drab of beggary, roguery, and cockscombry, thou cavernesed quean of foolery, knavery, and bawdreaminy, I’ll tell thee what, I will not give a louse for thy fortunes.

Aud. No, master Dampit? and there’s a gentleman comes a-wooing to me, and he doubts^[95] nothing but that you will get me from him.

58Dam. I? If I would either have thee or lie with thee for two thousand pound, would I might be damned! why, thou base, impudent quean of foolery, flattery, and coxcombry, are you answered?

Aud. Come, will you rise and go to bed, sir?

Damp. Rise, and go to bed too, Audrey? How does mistress Proserpine?

Aud. Fooh!

Dam. She’s as fine a philosopher of a stinkard’s wife, as any within the liberties. Faugh, faugh, Audrey!

Aud. How now, master Dampit?

Dam. Fie upon’t, what a choice of stinks here is! what hast thou done, Audrey? fie upon’t, here’s a choice of stinks indeed! Give me a glass of fresh beer, and then I will to bed.

Aud. It waits for you above, sir.

Dam. Foh! I think they burn horns in Barnard’s Inn. If ever I smelt such an abominable stink, usury forsake me. [Exit.

Aud. They be the stinking nails of his trampling feet, and he talks of burning of horns. [Exit.

Luc. My son-in-law, Sam Freedom, where’s my nephew?

Free. O man in lamentation,^[105] father.

Luc. How!

Free. He thumps his breast like a gallant dicer that has lost his doublet, and stands in’s shirt to do penance.

Luc. Alas, poor gentleman!

Free. I warrant you may hear him sigh in a still evening to your house at Highgate.

Luc. I prithee, send him in.

Free. Were it to do a greater matter, I will not stick with you, sir, in regard you married my mother. [Exit.

Luc. Sweet gentlemen, cheer him up; I will but fetch the mortgage and return to you instantly.

Sec. G. Why, how now,^[106] master Witgood? Fie! you a firm scholar, and an understanding gentleman, and give your best parts to passion?^[107]

Luc. Ay, that’s it mads me, spites me! I’ll spend my wealth ere he shall carry her so, because I know ’tis only to spite me. Ay, this is it. Here, nephew [giving a paper], before these kind gentlemen, I deliver in your mortgage, my promise to the widow; see, ’tis done: be wise, you’re once more master of your own. The widow shall perceive now you are not altogether such a beggar as the world reputes you; you can make shift to bring her to three hundred a-year, sir.

67Luc. You can all witness, gentlemen; and you, sir yeoman?

Host. My life for yours, sir, now, I know my mistress’s mind so^[112] well toward your nephew, let things be in preparation, and I’ll train her hither in most excellent fashion. Exit.

Luc. A good old boy!—Wife! Jenny!

Mis. L. What’s the news, sir?

Luc. The wedding-day’s at hand: prithee, sweet wife, express thy housewifery; thou’rt a fine cook, I know’t; thy first husband married thee out of an alderman’s kitchen; go to, he raised thee for raising of paste. What! here’s none but friends; most of our beginnings must be winked at.—Gentlemen, I invite you all to my nephew’s wedding against Thursday morning.

First C. A’ my troth, she’s the wiser; she has made the happier choice: and I wonder of what stuff those widows’ hearts are made of, that will marry unfledged boys before comely thrum-chinned^[115] gentlemen.

Wit. My last joy was so great, it took away the 69sense of all future afflictions. What a day is here o’ercast! how soon a black tempest rises!

First C. O, we may speak with you now, sir! what’s become of your rich widow? I think you may cast your cap at the widow, may you not, sir?

Sec. C. He a rich widow? who, a prodigal, a daily rioter, and a nightly vomiter? he a widow of account? he a hole i’ th’ counter.^[117]

Wit. You do well, my masters, to tyrannise over misery, to afflict the afflicted: ’tis a custom you have here amongst you; I would wish you never leave it, and I hope you’ll do as I bid you.

First C. Come, come, sir, what say you extempore now to your bill of a hundred pound? a sweet debt for froating^[118] your doublets.

Sec. C. Here’s mine of forty.

Third C. Here’s mine of fifty.

Wit. Pray, sirs,—you’ll give me breath?

First C. No, sir, we’ll keep you out of breath still; then we shall be sure you will not run away from us.

Wit. Will you but hear me speak?

Sec. C. You shall pardon us for that, sir; we know you have too fair a tongue of your own; you overcame us too lately, a shame take you! we are like to lose all that for want of witnesses: we dealt in policy then; always when we strive to be most politic we prove most coxcombs: non plus ultra 70I perceive by us, we’re not ordained to thrive by wisdom, and therefore we must be content to be tradesmen.

Wit. Give me but reasonable time, and I protest I’ll make you ample satisfaction.

First C. Do you talk of reasonable time to us?

Wit. ’Tis true, beasts know no reasonable time.

Sec. C. We must have either money or carcass.

Wit. Alas, what good will my carcass do you?

Third C. O, ’tis a secret delight we have amongst us! we that are used to keep birds in cages, have the heart to keep men in prison, I warrant you.

Wit. I perceive I must crave a little more aid from my wits: do but make shift for me this once, and I’ll forswear ever to trouble you in the like fashion hereafter; I’ll have better employment for you, and^[119] I live. [Aside.]—You’ll give me leave, my masters, to make trial of my friends, and raise all means I can?

First C. That’s our desire,^[120] sir.

Host. Master Witgood.

Wit. O, art thou come?

Host. May I speak one word with you in private, sir?

Wit. No, by my faith, canst thou; I am in hell here, and the devils will not let me come to thee.

First C.^[121] Do you call us devils? you shall find us puritans.—Bear him away; let ’em talk as they go; we’ll not stand to hear ’em.—Ah, sir, am I a devil? I shall think the better of myself as long as I live: a devil, i’faith!

Hoa. What a sweet blessing hast thou, master Hoard, above a multitude! wilt thou never be thankful? how dost thou think to be blest another time? or dost thou count this the full measure of thy happiness? by my troth, I think thou dost: not only a wife large in possessions, but spacious in content; she’s rich, she’s young, she’s fair, she’s wise: when I wake, I think of her lands—that revives me; when I go to bed, I dream of her beauty—and that’s enough for me: she’s worth four hundred a-year in her very smock, if a man knew how to use it. But the journey will be all, in troth, into the country; to ride to her lands in state and order following; my brother, and other worshipful gentlemen, whose companies I ha’ sent down for already, to ride along with us in their goodly decorum beards, their broad velvet cassocks, and chains of gold twice or thrice double; against which time I’ll entertain some ten men of mine own into liveries, all of occupations or qualities; I will not keep an idle man about me: the sight of which will so vex my adversary Lucre—for we’ll pass by his door of purpose, make a little stand for [the] nonce,^[122] and have our horses curvet before the window—certainly he will never endure it, but run up and hang himself presently.

How now, sirrah, what news? any that offer their service to me yet?

72Ser. Yes, sir, there are some i’ th’ hall that wait for your worship’s liking, and desire to be entertained.

Hoa. Are they of occupation?

Ser. They are men fit for your worship, sir.

Hoa. Sayest so? send ’em all in. [Exit Servant.]—To see ten men ride after me in watchet^[123] liveries, with orange-tawny capes,^[124]—’twill cut his comb, i’faith.

How now? of what occupation are you, sir?

Tai. A tailor, an’t please your worship.

Hoa. A tailor? O, very good: you shall serve to make all the liveries.—What are you, sir?

Bar. A barber, sir.

Hoa. A barber? very needful: you shall shave all the house, and, if need require, stand for a reaper i’ th’ summer time.—You, sir?

Per. A perfumer.

Hoa. I smelt you before: perfumers, of all men, had need carry themselves uprightly; for if they were once knaves, they would be smelt out quickly.—To you, sir?

Fal. A falconer, an’t please your worship.

Hoa. Sa ho, sa ho, sa ho!—And you, sir?

Hunt. A huntsman, sir.

Hoa. There, boy, there, boy, there, boy! I am not so old but I have pleasant days to come. I promise you, my masters, I take such a good liking to you, that I entertain you all; I put you already into my countenance, and you shall be shortly in 73my livery; but especially you two, my jolly falconer and my bonny huntsman; we shall have most need of you at my wife’s manor-houses i’ th’ country; there’s goodly parks and champion^[125] grounds for you; we shall have all our sports within ourselves; all the gentlemen a’ th’ country shall be beholding^[126] to us and our pastimes.

Fal. And we’ll make your worship admire, sir.

Hoa. Sayest thou so? do but make me admire, and thou shalt want for nothing.—My tailor.

Tai. Anon, sir.

Hoa. Go presently in hand with the liveries.

Tai. I will, sir.

Hoa. My barber.

Bar. Here, sir.

Hoa. Make ’em all trim fellows, louse ’em well,—especially my huntsman,—and cut all their beards of the Polonian fashion.—My perfumer.

Per. Under your nose, sir.

Hoa. Cast a better savour upon the knaves, to take away the scent of my tailor’s feet, and my barber’s lotium-water.

Per. It shall be carefully performed, sir.

Hoa. But you, my falconer and huntsman, the welcomest men alive, i’faith!

Hunt. And we’ll shew you that, sir, shall deserve your worship’s favour.

Hoa. I prithee, shew me that.—Go, you knaves all, and wash your lungs i’ th’ buttery, go. [Exeunt Tailor, Barber, &c.]—By th’ mass, and well remembered! 74I’ll ask my wife that question.—Wife, mistress Jane Hoard!

Court. Sir, would you with me?

Hoa. I would but know, sweet wife, which might stand best to thy liking, to have the wedding dinner kept here or i’ th’ country?

Court. Hum:—faith, sir, ’twould like^[127] me better here; here you were married, here let all rites be ended.

Hoa. Could a marquesse^[128] give a better answer? Hoard, bear thy head aloft, thou’st a wife will advance it.

What haste comes here now? yea, a letter? some dreg of my adversary’s malice. Come hither; what’s the news?

Host. A thing that concerns my mistress, sir.

Hoa. Why then it concerns me, knave.

Host. Ay, and you, knave, too (cry your worship mercy): you are both like to come into trouble, I promise you, sir; a pre-contract.

Hoa. How? a pre-contract, sayest thou?

Host. I fear they have too much proof on’t, sir: old Lucre, he runs mad up and down, and will to law as fast as he can; young Witgood laid hold on by his creditors, he exclaims upon you a’ t’other side, says you have wrought his undoing by the injurious detaining of his contract.

Hoa. Body a’ me!

Court. Alas, his creditors so merciless! my state being yet uncertain, I deem it not unconscionable to further him. [Aside.

Host. True, sir.

Hoa. Wife, what says that letter? let me construe it.

Court. Curs’d be my rash and unadvised words!

Hoa. Wife——

Host. A pretty shift, i’faith! I commend a woman when she can make away a letter from her husband handsomely, and this was cleanly done, by my troth. [Aside.

Hoa. Where? how, dear wife?

Court. He is now caught by his creditors; the slave’s needy; his debts petty; he’ll rather bind himself to all inconveniences than rot in prison: by this only means you may get a release from him: ’tis not yet come to his uncle’s hearing; send speedily for the creditors; by this time he’s 76desperate; he’ll set his hand to any thing: take order for his debts, or discharge ’em quite: a pax^[129] on him, let’s be rid of a rascal!

Hoa. In the mean space I’ll have a release drawn.—Within there!

Ser. Sir?

Hoa. Sirrah, come take directions; go to my scrivener.

Hoa. Away, despatch, on my displeasure quickly.

Happy occasion! pray heaven he be in the right vein now to set his hand to’t, that nothing alter him; grant that all his follies may meet in him at once, to besot him enough! I pray for him, i’faith, and here he comes.

Wit. What would you with me now, my uncle’s spiteful adversary?

Hoa. Nay, I am friends.

Wit. Ay, when your mischief’s spent.

77Hoa. I heard, you were arrested.

Wit. Well, what then? you will pay none of my debts, I am sure.

Wit. You’re impudent; I’ll call up witnesses.

Hoa. Wife, you’re too bitter.— Master Witgood, and you, my masters, you shall hear a mild speech come from me now, and this it is: ’t has been my fortune, gentlemen, to have an extraordinary blessing poured upon me a’ late, and here she stands; I have wedded her, and bedded her, and yet she is little the worse: some foolish words she hath passed to you in the country, and some peevish^[132] debts you owe here in the city; set the hare’s head to the goose-giblet,^[133] release you her of her words, and I’ll release you of your debts, sir.

Wit. Would you so? I thank you for that, sir; I cannot blame you, i’faith.

Hoa. Why, are not debts better than words, sir?

Wit. Are not words promises, and are not promises debts, sir?

Hoa. He plays at back-racket with me. [Aside.

First C. Come hither, master Witgood, come hither; be ruled by fools once.

Sec. C. We are citizens, and know what belong[s] to’t.

First C. Take hold of his offer: pax^[134] on her, let her go; if your debts were once discharged, I would help you to a widow myself worth ten of her.

79Third C. Mass, partner, and now you remember me on’t, there’s master Mulligrub’s sister newly fallen a widow.

First C. Cuds me, as pat as can be! there’s a widow left for you; ten thousand in money, beside plate, jewels, et cetera : I warrant it a match; we can do all in all with her; prithee, despatch; we’ll carry thee to her presently.

Wit. My uncle will ne’er endure me when he shall hear I set my hand to a release.

Sec. C. Hark, I’ll tell thee a trick for that: I have spent five hundred pound in suits in my time, I should be wise; thou’rt now a prisoner; make a release; take’t of my word, whatsoever a man makes as long as he is in durance, ’tis nothing in law, not thus much.

Wit. Say you so, sir?

Third C. I have paid for’t, I know’t.

Wit. Proceed then; I consent.

Third C. Why, well said.

Hoa. How now, my masters, what have you done with him?

First C. With much ado, sir, we have got him to consent.

Hoa. Ah—a—a! and what come^[135] his debts to now?

First C. Some eight score odd pounds, sir.

Hoa. Naw, naw, naw, naw, naw! tell me the second time; give me a lighter sum; they are but desperate debts, you know; ne’er called in but upon such an accident; a poor, needy knave, he would starve and rot in prison: come, come, you shall have ten shillings in the pound, and the sum down roundly.

First C. You must make it a mark,^[136] sir.

80Hoa. Go to then, tell your money in the meantime; you shall find little less there. [Giving them money.]—Come, master Witgood, you are so unwilling to do yourself good now!

Welcome, honest scrivener.—Now you shall hear the release read.

Scri. [reads] Be it known to all men, by these presents, that I, Theodorus Witgood, gentleman, sole nephew to Pecunius Lucre, having unjustly made title and claim to one Jane Medler, late widow of Anthony Medler, and now wife to Walkadine Hoard, in consideration of a competent sum of money to discharge my debts, do for ever hereafter disclaim any title, right, estate, or interest in or to the said widow, late in the occupation of the said Anthony Medler, and now in the occupation of Walkadine Hoard; as also neither to lay claim by virtue of any former contract, grant, promise, or demise, to any of her manor[s], manor-houses, parks, groves, meadow-grounds, arable lands, barns, stacks, stables, dove-holes, and coney-burrows; together with all her cattle, money, plate, jewels, borders, chains, bracelets, furnitures, hangings, moveables or immoveables.^[137] In witness whereof, I the said Theodorus Witgood have interchangeably set to my hand and seal before these presents, the day and date above written.

Wit. What a precious fortune hast thou slipt here, like a beast as thou art!

81Hoa. O, as vain a thing as can be! you cannot commit a greater absurdity, sir. So, so; give me that hand now; before all these presents, I am friends for ever with thee.

Wit. Troth, and it were pity of my heart now, if I should bear you any grudge, i’faith.

Hoa. Content: I’ll send for thy uncle against the wedding dinner; we will be friends once again.

Wit. I hope to bring it to pass myself, sir.

Hoa. How now? is’t right, my masters?

First C. ’Tis something wanting, sir; yet it shall be sufficient.

Hoa. Why, well said; a good conscience makes a fine shew now-a-days. Come, my masters, you shall all taste of my wine ere you depart.

All the Cred. We follow you, sir.

Wit. I’ll try these fellows now. [Aside.]—A word, sir: what, will you carry me to that widow now?

First C. Why, do you think we were in earnest, i’faith? carry you to a rich widow? we should get much credit by that: a noted rioter! a contemptible prodigal! ’twas a trick we have amongst us to get in our money: fare you well, sir. [Exeunt Creditors.

Wit. Farewell, and be hanged, you short pig-haired, ram-headed rascals! he that believes in you shall ne’er be saved, I warrant him. By this new league I shall have some access^[138] unto my love.

Joyce. Master Witgood!

Wit. My life!

Joyce. Meet me presently; that note directs you [throws him a letter]: I would not be suspected: our happiness attends us: farewell.

Wit. A word’s enough. [Exeunt severally.

Damp. Trahe , trahito , draw the curtain; give me a sip of sack more.

Lam. Look you; did not I tell you he lay like the devil in chains, when he was bound for a thousand year?^[139]

Spi. But I think^[140] the devil had no steel bed-staffs; he goes beyond him for that.

83Lam. Nay, do but mark the conceit of his drinking; one must wipe his mouth for him with a muckinder,^[141] do you see, sir?

Spi. Is this the sick trampler?^[142] why, he is only bed-rid with drinking.

Lam. True, sir. He spies us.

Dam. What, Sir Tristram? you come and see a weak man here, a very weak man.

Lam. If you be weak in body, you should be strong in prayer, sir.

Dam. O, I have prayed too much, poor man!

Lam. There’s a taste of his soul for you!

Spi. Faugh, loathsome!

Lam. I come to borrow a hundred pound of you, sir.

Dam. Alas, you come at an ill time! I cannot spare it, i’faith; I ha’ but two thousand i’ th’ house.

Aud. Ha, ha, ha!

Dam. Out, you gernative quean, the mullipood of villany, the spinner of concupiscency!

Sir L. Yea, gentlemen, are you here before us? how is he now?

Lam. Faith, the same man still: the tavern bitch has bit him i’ th’ head.^[143]

Sir L. We shall have the better sport with him: peace.—And how cheers master Dampit now?

Dam. O, my bosom Sir Launcelot, how cheer I! thy presence is restorative.

84Sir L. But I hear a great complaint of you, master Dampit, among gallants.

Dam. I am glad of that, i’faith: prithee, what?

Sir L. They say you are waxed proud a’ late, and if a friend visit you in the afternoon, you’ll scarce know him.

Dam. Fie, fie; proud? I cannot remember any such thing: sure I was drunk then.

Sir L. Think you so, sir?

Dam. There ’twas, i’faith; nothing but the pride of the sack; and so certify ’em.—Fetch sack, sirrah.

Boy. A vengeance sack you once!

Aud. Why, master Dampit, if you hold on as you begin, and lie a little longer, you need not take care how to dispose your wealth; you’ll make the vintner your heir.

Dam. Out, you babliaminy, you unfeathered, cremitoried quean, you cullisance of scabiosity!

Aud. Good words, master Dampit, to speak before a maid and a virgin!

Dam. Hang thy virginity upon the pole of carnality!

Aud. Sweet terms! my mistress shall know ’em.

Lam. Note but the misery of this usuring slave: here he lies, like a noisome dunghill, full of the poison of his drunken blasphemies; and they to whom he bequeaths all, grudge him the very meat that feeds him, the very pillow that eases him. Here may a usurer behold his end: what profits it to be a slave in this world, and a devil i’ th’ next?

Dam. Sir Launcelot, let me buss thee, Sir Launcelot; thou art the only friend that I honour and respect.

Sir L. I thank you for that, master Dampit.

85Dam. Farewell, my bosom Sir Launcelot.

Sir L. Gentlemen, and^[144] you love me, let me step behind you, and one of you fall a-talking of me to him.

Lam. Content.—Master Dampit——

Dam. So, sir.

Lam. Here came Sir Launcelot to see you e’en now.

Dam. Hang him, rascal!

Lam. Who? Sir Launcelot?

Dam. Pythagorical rascal!

Lam. Pythagorical?

Dam. Ay, he changes^[145] his cloak when he meets a sergeant.

Sir L. What a rogue’s this!

Lam. I wonder you can rail at him, sir; he comes in love to see you.

Dam. A louse for his love! his father was a comb-maker; I have no need of his crawling love: he comes to have longer day,^[146] the superlative rascal!

Sir L. ’Sfoot, I can no longer endure the rogue!—Master Dampit, I come to take my leave once again, sir.

Dam. Who? my dear and kind Sir Launcelot, 86the only gentleman of England? let me hug thee: farewell, and a thousand.^[147]

Lam. Compos’d of wrongs and slavish flatteries!

Sir L. Nay, gentlemen, he shall shew you more tricks yet; I’ll give you another taste of him.

Lam. Is’t possible?

Sir L. His memory is upon departing.

Dam. Another cup of sack!

Sir L. Mass, then ’twill be quite gone! Before he drink that, tell him there’s a country client come up, and here attends for his learned advice.

Lam. Enough.

Dam. One cup more, and then let the bell toll: I hope I shall be weak enough by that time.

Lam. Master Dampit——

Dam. Is the sack spouting?

Lam. ’Tis coming forward, sir. Here’s a country man, a client of yours, waits for your deep and profound advice, sir.

Dam. A coxcombry, where is he? let him approach: set me up a peg higher.

Lam. [to Sir Laun.] You must draw near, sir.

Dam. Now, good man fooliaminy, what say you to me now?

Sir L. Please your good worship, I am a poor man, sir——

Dam. What make you in my chamber then?

Sir L. I would entreat your worship’s device^[148] in a just and honest cause, sir.

87Dam. I meddle with no such matters; I refer ’em to master No-man’s office.

Sir L. I had but one house left me in all the world, sir, which was my father’s, my grandfather’s, my great-grandfather’s, and now a villain has unjustly wrung me out, and took possession on’t.

Dam. Has he such feats? Thy best course is to bring thy ejectione firmæ , and in seven year thou mayst shove him out by the law.

Sir L. Alas, an’t please your worship, I have small friends and less money!

Dam. Hoyday! this geer will fadge well:^[149] hast no money? why, then, my advice is, thou must set fire a’ th’ house, and so get him out.

Lam. That will break strife, indeed.

Sir L. I thank your worship for your hot counsel, sir.—Altering but my voice a little, you see he knew me not: you may observe by this, that a drunkard’s memory holds longer in the voice than in the person. But, gentlemen, shall I shew you a sight? Behold the little dive-dapper^[150] of damnation, Gulf the usurer, for his time worse than t’other.

Lam. What’s he comes with him?

Sir L. Why Hoard, that married lately the widow Medler.

Lam. O, I cry you mercy, sir.

Hoa. Now, gentlemen visitants, how does master Dampit?

Sir L. Faith, here he lies, e’en drawing in, sir, good canary as fast as he can, sir; a very weak creature truly, he is almost past memory.

88Hoa. Fie, master Dampit! you lie lazing a-bed here, and I come to invite you to my wedding-dinner: up, up, up!

Dam. Who’s this? master Hoard? who hast thou married, in the name of foolery?

Hoa. A rich widow.

Dam. A Dutch widow?^[151]

Hoa. A rich widow; one widow Medler.

Dam. Medler? she keeps open house.

Hoa. She did, I can tell you, in her t’other husband’s days; open house for all comers; horse and man was welcome, and room enough for ’em all.

Dam. There’s too much for thee then; thou mayst let out some to thy neighbours.

Gulf. What, hung alive in chains? O spectacle! bed-staffs of steel? O monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum! ^[152] O Dampit, Dampit, here’s a just judgment shewn upon usury, extortion, and trampling^[153] villany!

Sir L. This [is] excellent, thief rails upon the thief!

Gulf. Is this the end of cut-throat usury, brothel, and blasphemy? now mayst thou see what race a usurer runs.

Dam. Why, thou rogue of universality, do not I know thee? thy sound is like the cuckoo, the Welch ambassador:^[154] thou cowardly slave, that offers to fight with a sick man when his weapon’s 89down! rail upon me in my naked bed? why, thou great Lucifer’s little vicar! I am not so weak but I know a knave at first sight: thou inconscionable rascal! thou that goest upon Middlesex juries, and wilt make haste to give up thy verdict^[155] because thou wilt not lose thy dinner! Are you answered?

Gulf. An’t were not for shame—— [Draws his dagger.

Dam. Thou wouldst be hanged then.

Lam. Nay, you must exercise patience, master Gulf, always in a sick man’s chamber.

Sir L. He’ll quarrel with none, I warrant you, but those that are bed-rid.

Dam. Let him come, gentlemen, I am armed: reach my close-stool hither.

Sir L. Here will be a sweet fray anon; I’ll leave you, gentlemen.

Lam. Nay, we’ll along with you.—Master Gulf——

Gulf. Hang him, usuring rascal!

Sir L. Push,^[156] set your strength to his, your wit to his!

Aud. Pray, gentlemen, depart; his hour’s come upon him.—Sleep in my bosom, sleep.

90Gulf. A little thing would make me beat him now he’s asleep.

Sir L. Mass, then ’twill be a pitiful day when he wakes! I would be loath to see that day: come.

Gulf. You overrule me, gentlemen, i’faith. [Exeunt.

Luc. I shall have great joy there when he has borne away the widow!

Wit. Why, la, I thought where I should find you presently: uncle, a’ my troth, ’tis nothing so.

Luc. What’s nothing so, sir? is not he married to the widow?

Wit. No, by my troth, is he not, uncle.

Luc. How?

Wit. Will you have the truth on’t? he is married to a whore, i’faith.

Luc. I should laugh at that.

Wit. Uncle, let me perish in your favour if you find it not so; and that ’tis I that have married the honest woman.

Luc. Ha! I’d walk ten mile a’ foot to see that, i’faith.

Wit. And see’t you shall, or I’ll ne’er see you again.

Luc. A quean, i’faith? ha, ha, ha! [Exeunt.

Hoa. Pup, pup, pup, pup, I like not this wine: is there never a better tierce in the house?

Host. Yes, sir, there are as good tierce[s] in the house as any are in England.

Hoa. Desire your mistress, you knave, to taste ’em all over; she has better skill.

Host. Has she so? the better for her, and the worse for you. [Aside, and exit.

Hoa. Arthur!

Is the cupboard of plate set out?^[158]

Arth. All’s in order, sir. [Exit.

Hoa. I am in love with my liveries every time I think on ’em; they make a gallant shew, by my troth. Niece!

Joyce. Do you call, sir?

Hoa. Prithee, shew a little diligence, and overlook the knaves a little; they’ll filch and steal today, and send whole pasties home to their wives: and^[159] thou be’st a good niece, do not see me purloined.

Joyce. Fear it not, sir—I have cause: though the feast be prepared for you, yet it serves fit for my wedding-dinner too.^[160] [Aside, and exit.

Hoa. Master Lamprey and master Spichcock, two the most welcome gentlemen alive! your fathers and mine were all free a’ th’ fishmongers.

Lam. They were indeed, sir. You see bold guests, sir; soon entreated.

Hoa. And that’s best, sir.

How now, sirrah?

Ser. There’s a coach come to th’ door, sir. [Exit.

Hoa. My Lady Foxtone, a’ my life!—Mistress Jane Hoard! wife!—Mass, ’tis her ladyship indeed!

Madam, you are welcome to an unfurnished house, dearth of cheer, scarcity of attendance.

L. Fox. You are pleased to make the worst, sir.

Hoa. Wife!

L. Fox. Is this your bride?

Hoa. Yes, madam.—Salute my Lady Foxtone.

Court. Please you, madam, awhile to taste the air in the garden?

L. Fox. ’Twill please us well.

Lam. So we bachelors think, that are not troubled with them.

Ser. Your worship’s brother, with other ancient gentlemen,^[161] are newly alighted, sir. [Exit.

Hoa. Master Onesiphorus Hoard? why, now our company begins to come in.

My dear and kind brother, welcome, i’faith.

Ones. H. You see we are men at an hour, brother.

Hoa. Ay, I’ll say that for you, brother; you keep as good an hour to come to a feast as any gentleman in the shire.—What, old master Limber and master Kix! do we meet, i’faith, jolly gentlemen?

Lim. We hope you lack guess,^[162] sir?

Hoa. O, welcome, welcome! we lack still such guess as your worships.

Ones. H. Ah, sirrah brother, have you catched up widow Medler?

Hoa. From ’em all, brother; and I may tell you I had mighty enemies, those that stuck sore; old Lucre is a sore fox, I can tell you, brother.

Ones. H. Where is she? I’ll go seek her out: I long to have a smack at her lips.

Hoa. And most wishfully, brother, see where she comes.

Give her a smack^[163] now we may hear it all the house over. [Courtesan and Ones. H. start and turn away.

94Court. O heaven, I am betray’d! I know that face.

Hoa. Ha, ha, ha! why, how now? are you both ashamed?—Come, gentlemen, we’ll look another way.

Ones. H. Nay, brother, hark you: come, you’re disposed to be merry.

Hoa. Why do we meet else, man?

Ones. H. That’s another matter: I was ne’er so ’fraid in my life but that you had been in earnest.

Hoa. How mean you, brother?

Ones. H. You said she was your wife.

Hoa. Did I so? by my troth, and so she is.

Ones. H. By your troth, brother?

Hoa. What reason have I to dissemble with my friends, brother? if marriage can make her mine, she is mine. Why—— [Onesiphorus Hoard is about to retire. Ones. H. Troth, I am not well of a sudden: I must crave pardon, brother; I came to see you, but I cannot stay dinner, i’faith.

Hoa. I hope you will not serve me so, brother?

Lim. By your leave, master Hoard——

Hoa. What now? what now? pray, gentlemen:—you were wont to shew yourselves wise men.

Wit. Why, la, you are so hard a’ belief, uncle! by my troth, she’s a whore.

Luc. Then thou’rt a knave.

Wit. Negatur argumentum, uncle.

Luc. Probo tibi, nephew: he that knows a woman to be a quean must needs be a knave; thou sayst thou knowest her to be one; ergo , if she be a quean, thou’rt a knave.

Wit. Negatur sequela majoris, uncle; he that knows a woman to be a quean must needs be a knave; I deny that.

Hoa. Lucre and Witgood, you’re both villains; get you out of my house!

Luc. Why, didst not invite me to thy wedding-dinner?

Wit. And are not you and I sworn perpetual friends before witness, sir, and were both drunk upon’t?

She that tastes not sin before [twenty], twenty to one but she’ll taste it after: most of you old men are content to marry young virgins, and take that which follows; where,^[167] marrying one of us, you both save a sinner and are quit from a cuckold for ever:

Wit. Alas, sir, I was pricked in conscience to see her well bestowed, and where could I bestow her better than upon your pitiful worship? Excepting but myself, I dare swear she’s a virgin; and now, by marrying your niece, I have banished myself for ever from her: she’s mine aunt now, by my faith, and there’s no meddling with mine aunt, you know: a sin against my nuncle.^[168]

THE FAMILY OF LOVE. — TO THE READER.

103The Familie of Love. Acted by the Children of his Maiesties Reuells.

At London Printed for John Helmes, and are to be sold in Saint Dunstans Churchyard in Fleetstreet. 1608. 4to.

Though there is undoubtedly but one edition of this drama, yet the copies differ slightly in several places; alterations having been introduced after part of the impression had been worked off: a circumstance which will surprise those persons only who have not been accustomed to collate the 4tos of old English plays.

The Family of Love was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 12th Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s Suppl. Apol. p. 201.

Concerning the sect which gives the title to the play, the following notices will be perhaps more than sufficient.

In Brandt’s Hist. of the Reform. &c. in the Low Countries, we are told, under the year 1555: “That Family was suspected of being more addicted to carnal than to spiritual love. Henry Nicholas, a Westphalian, born at Munster, but who had lived a great while at Amsterdam, and some time likewise at Embden, was father of this Family. He appeared upon the stage about the year 1540, stiled himself the deified man, boasted of great matters, and seemed to exalt himself above the condition of a human creature. He was, as he pretended, greater than Moses and Christ, because Moses had taught mankind to hope, Christ to believe, but he to love; which last being of more worth than both the former, he was consequently greater than both those prophets.” vol. i. p. 105, ed. 1720.

According to some writers, however, the sect was not founded by Henry Nicholas, but by David George, an anabaptist of Delft; and indeed there seems reason to believe that the Family of Love grew out of the heresies of George, with whom Nicholas had been on intimate terms.

“As to his [Nicholas’s] pretensions,” observes Mosheim, “they were indeed visionary and chimerical; for he maintained that he had a commission from heaven to teach men that the essence of religion consisted in the feelings of divine love; that all other theological tenets, whether they related to objects of faith or modes of worship, were of no sort of moment; and consequently that it was a matter of the most 104perfect indifference what opinions Christians entertained concerning the divine nature, provided their hearts burned with the pure and sacred flame of piety and love. To this, his main doctrine, Nicholas may have probably added other odd fancies, as always is the case with those innovators who are endued with a warm and fruitful imagination: to come, however, at a true notion of the opinions of this enthusiast, it will be much easier to consult his own writings than to depend entirely upon the accounts and refutations of his adversaries.” Eccles. Hist. (by Maclaine), vol. iv. p. 484.

“Not content,” says Fuller, “to confine his errours to his own country, over he [Nicholas] comes into England, and in the later end of the reign of Edward the Sixth joyned himself to the Dutch congregation in London, where he seduced a number of artificers and silly women,” &c. Church Hist. b. ix. p. 112, ed. 1655.

“The twelfe of June [1575], stood at Paules Crosse fiue persons Englishmen, of the sect termed the Familie of Loue, who there confessed themselues vtterlie to detest as well the author of that sect H. N. as all his damnable errors and heresies.” Holinshed’s Chron. vol. iv. p. 328, ed. 1808.

Towards the end of 1580, the sect was increasing so rapidly in England, that the government took active measures for its suppression. “The queenes maiestie being informed that in sundrie places of this realme, certeine persons secretlie taught damnable heresies, contrarie to diuers principall articles of our beleefe and christian faith, who to colour their sect named themselues the Familie of Loue, and then as manie as were allowed by them to be of that familie to be elect and saued, and all others, of what church soeuer they be, to be reiected and damned. And for that vpon conuenting of some of them before the bishops and ordinaries, it was found that the ground of their sect is mainteined by certeine lewd, hereticall, and seditious books, first made in the Dutch toong, and lastlie translated into English, and printed beyond the seas, and secretlie brought ouer into the realme, the author whereof they name H. N. &c. And considering also it is found, that those sectaries held opinion, that they may before anie magistrat or ecclesiasticall or temporall, or anie other person, noi being professed to be of their sect, by oth or otherwise denie anie thing for their aduantage: so as though manie of them are well knowne to be teachers and spreaders abroad of these dangerous and damnable sects; yet by their owne confession they cannot be condemned. Therefore hir maiestie being verie sorie to see so great an euill, by malice of the 105diuell to be brought into this hir realme, and by hir bishops and ordinaries she vnderstandeth it verie requisit, not onelie to haue those dangerous heretiks and sectaries to be seueralie punished; but that also other meanes be vsed by hir maiesties roiall authoritie, which is giuen hir of God to defend Christs church, to root them out from further infecting of hir realme: she hath thought meet and conuenient, and so by hir proclamation commandeth, that all hir officers and ministers temporall shall in all their seuerall vocations assist the bishops of hir realme, and all other person, to search out all persons dulie suspected to be either teachers or professors of the foresaid damnable sects, and by all good meanes to proceed seuerelie against them, being found culpable, by order of the lawes ecclesiasticall or temporall: and that all search be made in all places suspected, for the books and writings mainteining the said heresies and sects, and them to destroie and burne, &c: as more at large may appeere by the said proclamation, giuen at Richmond the third of October, and proclamed at London on the nineteenth daie of the same moneth [1580].” Holinshed’s Chron. vol. iv. p. 432, ed. 1808. See also Camdeni Annales, p. 318, ed. 1639.

A list of Nicholas’s numerous writings may be found in Lowndes’s Bibliographer’s Manual. One of them is in verse: An Enterlude of Myndes: witnessing the Mans Fall from God and Christ. Set forth by H. N. and by him newly perused and amended. Translated out of Base-Almayne into English. n. d.: see an account of, and extracts from it, in Sir E. Brydges’s Restituta, vol. iv. p. 140, sqq. Nicholas is mentioned in the last scene of The Alchemist,—B. Jonson’s Works, vol. iv. p. 187, ed. Giff.

“The Family of Love (or Lust rather),” says Fuller, “at this time [1604] presented a tedious Petition to King James, so that it is questionable whether his majesty ever graced it with his perusall, wherein they endeavoured to cleare themselves from some misrepresentations, and by fawning expression to insinuate themselves into his majesty’s good opinion.” Church Hist. b. x. p. 29, ed. 1655. Having given the document in question, which is too long for insertion here, Fuller proceeds: “I finde not what effect this their Petition produced; whether it was slighted, and the Petitioners looked upon as inconsiderable, or beheld as a few frantick folk out of their wits, which consideration alone often melted their adversaries anger into pity unto them. The main design driven on in the Petition is to separate themselves from the Puritans (as persons odious to King James), that they might 106not fare the worse for their vicinity unto them; though these Familists could not be so desirous to leave them as the others were glad to be left by them. For if their opinions were so senselesse, and the lives of these Familists so sensuall as is reported, no purity at all belonged unto them.” p. 32. From the Petition just mentioned, we find that “divers” of the Familists had been lately thrown into prison.

The sect was attacked, at different times, by various writers: among others by John Rogers, in The Displaying of an horrible Secte of grosse & wicked Heretiques, naming themselues the Family of Loue, with the liues of their Authours, & what doctrine they teach in corners. Newly set foorth by J. R. &c. London, 1579. 12mo.

In The Lady of Pleasure, act i. sc. 1, Shirley has the following passage:

I have quoted the lines only for the sake of correcting a mistake of the last editor of Beaumont and Fletcher. In a note on The Widow, Weber remarks, that Middleton “wrote a play entitled The Family of Love, but it seems that he was reprehended for not displaying these sectaries in their true colours. Thus Shirley in The Lady of Pleasure:

What stupidity! not to perceive that the “Play on’t” was the drama called The Ball, written by Shirley and Chapman!

Too soon and too late this work is published: too soon, in that it was in the press before I had notice of it, by which means some faults may escape in the printing; too late, for that it was not published when the general voice of the people had sealed it for good, and the newness of it made it much more desired than at this time; for plays in this city are like wenches new fallen to the trade, only desired of your neatest gallants whiles they’re fresh; when they grow stale they must be vented by termers^[175] and country chapmen. I know not how this labour will please: sure I am it passed the censure of the stage with a general applause. Now, whether vox populi be vox Dei or no, that I leave to be tried by the acute judgment of the famous six wits of the city.—Farewell.