Enter Abigal, and drops her Glove.
Abigal. If he but follow me, as all my hopes tell me, he's man enough, up goes my rest, and I know I shall draw him.
Enter Welford.
Wel. This is the strangest pampered piece of flesh towards fifty, that ever frailty copt withal, what a trim lennoy here she has put upon me; these women are a proud kind of Cattel, and love this whorson doing so directly, that they will not stick to make their very skins Bawdes to their flesh. Here's Dogskin and Storax sufficient to kill a Hawk: what to do with it, besides nailing it up amongst Irish heads of Teere, to shew the mightiness of her Palm, I know not: there she is. I must enter into Dialogue. Lady you have lost your Glove.
Abig. Not Sir, if you have found it.
Wel. It was my meaning Lady to restore it.
Abig. 'Twill be uncivil in me to take back a favour, Fortune hath so well bestowed Sir, pray wear it for me.
Wel. I had rather wear a Bell. But hark you Mistres, what hidden vertue is there in this Glove, that you would have me wear it? Is't good against sore eyes, or will it charm the Toothach? Or these red tops; being steept in white wine soluble, wil't kill the Itch? Or has it so conceal'd a providence to keep my hand from Bonds? If it have none of these and prove no more but a bare Glove of half a Crown a pair, 'twill be but half a courtesie, I wear two alwayes, faith let's draw cuts, one will do me no pleasure.
Abig. The tenderness of his years keeps him as yet in ignorance, he's a well moulded fellow, and I wonder his bloud should stir no higher; but 'tis his want of company: I must grow nearer to him.
Enter Elder Loveless disguised.
Elder Lo. God save you both.
Abig. And pardon you Sir; this is somewhat rude, how came you hither?
Elder Lo. Why through the doors, they are open.
Wel. What are you? And what business have you here?
Elder Lo. More I believe than you have.
Abig. Who would this fellow speak with? Art thou sober?
Elder Lo. Yes, I come not here to sleep.
Wel. Prethee what art thou?
Elder Lo. As much (gay man) as thou art, I am a Gentleman.
Wel. Art thou no more?
Elder Lo. Yes more than thou dar'st be; a Souldier.
Abig. Thou dost not come to quarrel?
Elder Lo. No, not with women; I come to speak here with a Gentlewoman.
Abig. Why, I am one.
Elder Lo. But not with one so gentle.
Wel. This is a fine fellow.
Elder Lo. Sir, I am not fine yet. I am but new come over, direct me with your ticket to your Taylor, and then I shall be fine Sir. Lady if there be a better of your Sex within this house, say I would see her.
Abig. Why am not I good enough for you Sir?
Elder Lo. Your way you'l be too good, pray end my business. This is another Sutor, O frail Woman!
Wel. This fellow with his bluntness hopes to do more than the long sutes of a thousand could; though he be sowre he's quick, I must not trust him. Sir, this Lady is not to speak with you, she is more serious: you smell as if you were new calkt; go and be hansome, and then you may sit with her Servingmen.
El. Lo. What are you Sir?
Wel. Guess by my outside.
Elder Lo. Then I take you Sir, for some new silken thing wean'd from the Country, that shall (when you come to keep good company) be beaten into better manners. Pray good proud Gentlewoman, help me to your Mistress.
Abig. How many lives hast thou, that thou talk'st thus rudely?
Elder Lo. But one, one, I am neither Cat nor Woman.
Wel. And will that one life, Sir, maintain you ever in such bold sawciness?
Elder Lo. Yes, amongst a Nation of such men as you are, and be no worse for wearing, shall I speak with this Lady?
Abig. No by my troth shall you not.
Elder Lo. I must stay here then?
Wel. That you shall not neither.
Elder Lo. Good fine thing tell me why?
Wel. Good angry thing I'le tell you:
This is no place for such companions,
Such lousie Gentlemen shall find their business
Better i'th' Suburbs, there your strong pitch perfume,
Mingled with lees of Ale, shall reek in fashion:
This is no Thames-street, Sir.
Abig. This Gentleman informs you truly:
Prethee be satisfied, and seek the Suburbs,
Good Captain, or what ever title else,
The Warlike Eele-boats have bestowed upon thee,
Go and reform thy self, prethee be sweeter,
And know my Lady speaks with no Swabbers.
Elder Lo. You cannot talk me out with your tradition
Of wit you pick from Plays, go to, I have found ye:
And for you, Sir, whose tender gentle blood
Runs in your Nose, and makes you snuff at all,
But three pil'd people, I do let you know,
He that begot your worships Sattin-sute,
Can make no men Sir: I will see this Lady,
And with the reverence of your silkenship,
In these old Ornaments.
Wel. You will not sure?
Elder Lo. Sure Sir I shall.
Abig. You would be beaten out?
Elder Lo. Indeed I would not, or if I would be beaten,
Pray who shall beat me? this good Gentleman
Looks as if he were o'th' peace.
Wel. Sir you shall see that: will you get you out?
Elder Lo. Yes, that, that shall correct your boys tongue.
Dare you fight, I will stay here still. [They draw.
Abig. O their things are out, help, help for Gods sake,
Madam; Jesus they foin at one another.
Enter Lady.
Madam, why, who is within there?
Lady. Who breeds this rudeness?
Wel. This uncivil fellow;
He saies he comes from Sea, where I believe,
H'as purg'd away his manners.
Lady. Why what of him?
Wel. Why he will rudely without once God bless you,
Press to your privacies, and no denial
Must stand betwixt your person and his business;
I let go his ill Language.
Lady. Sir, have you business with me?
Elder Lo. Madam some I have,
But not so serious to pawn my life for't:
If you keep this quarter, and maintain about you
Such Knights o'th' Sun as this is, to defie
Men of imployment to ye, you may live,
But in what fame?
Lady. Pray stay Sir, who has wrong'd you?
Elder Lo. Wrong me he cannot, though uncivilly
He flung his wild words at me: but to you
I think he did no honour, to deny
The hast I come withal, a passage to you,
Though I seem course.
Lady. Excuse me gentle Sir, 'twas from my knowledge,
And shall have no protection. And to you Sir,
You have shew'd more heat than wit, and from your self
Have borrowed power, I never gave you here,
To do these vile unmanly things: my house
Is no blind street to swagger in; and my favours
Not doting yet on your unknown deserts
So far, that I should make you Master of my business;
My credit yet stands fairer with the people
Than to be tried with swords; and they that come
To do me service, must not think to win me
With hazard of a murther; if your love
Consist in fury, carry it to the Camp:
And there in honour of some common Mistress,
Shorten your youth, I pray be better temper'd:
And give me leave a while Sir.
Wel. You must have it. [Exit Welford.
Lady. Now Sir, your business?
El. Lo. First, I thank you for schooling this young fellow,
Whom his own follies, which he's prone enough
Daily to fall into, if you but frown,
Shall level him a way to his repentance:
Next, I should rail at you, but you are a Woman,
And anger's lost upon you.
Lady. Why at me Sir?
I never did you wrong, for to my knowledge
This is the first sight of you.
Elder Lo. You have done that,
I must confess I have the least curse in
Because the least acquaintance: But there be
(If there be honour in the minds of men)
Thousands when they shall know what I deliver,
(As all good men must share in't) will to shame
Blast your black memory.
Lady. How is this good Sir?
Elder Lo. 'Tis that, that if you have a soul will choak it:
Y'ave kill'd a Gentleman.
Lady. I kill'd a Gentleman!
Elder Lo. You and your cruelty have kill'd him Woman,
And such a man (let me be angry in't)
Whose least worth weighed above all womens vertues
That are; I spare you all to come too: guess him now?
Lady. I am so innocent I cannot Sir.
Elder Lo. Repent you mean, you are a perfect Woman,
And as the first was, made for mans undoing.
Lady. Sir, you have mist your way, I am not she.
Elder Lo. Would he had mist his way too, though he had
Wandered farther than Women are ill spoken of,
So he had mist this misery, you Lady.
Lady. How do you do, Sir?
Elder Lo. Well enough I hope.
While I can keep my self out from temptations.
Lady. Leap into this matter, whither would ye?
Elder Lo. You had a Servant that your peevishness
Injoined to Travel.
Lady. Such a one I have
Still, and shall be griev'd 'twere otherwise.
El. Lo. Then have your asking, and be griev'd he's dead;
How you will answer for his worth, I know not,
But this I am sure, either he, or you, or both
Were stark mad, else he might have liv'd
To have given a stronger testimony to th' world
Of what he might have been. He was a man
I knew but in his evening, ten Suns after,
Forc'd by a Tyrant storm our beaten Bark
Bulg'd under us; in which sad parting blow,
He call'd upon his Saint, but not for life,
On you unhappy Woman, and whilest all
Sought to preserve their Souls, he desperately
Imbrac'd a Wave, crying to all that saw it,
If any live, go to my Fate that forc'd me
To this untimely end, and make her happy:
His name was Loveless: And I scap't the storm,
And now you have my business.
Lady. 'Tis too much.
Would I had been that storm, he had not perisht.
If you'l rail now I will forgive you Sir.
Or if you'l call in more, if any more
Come from this ruine, I shall justly suffer
What they can say, I do confess my self
A guiltie cause in this. I would say more,
But grief is grown too great to be delivered.
Elder Lo. I like this well: these women are strange things.
'Tis somewhat of the latest now to weep,
You should have wept when he was going from you,
And chain'd him with those tears at home.
La. Would you had told me then so, these two arms had been his Sea.
Elder Lo. Trust me you move me much: but say he lived, these were forgotten things again.
Lady. I, say you so? Sure I should know that voice: this is knavery. I'le fit you for it. Were he living Sir, I would perswade you to be charitable, I, and confess we are not all so ill as your opinion holds us. O my friend, what penance shall I pull upon my fault, upon my most unworthy self for this?
Elder Lo. Leave to love others, 'twas some jealousie
That turn'd him desperate.
Lady. I'le be with you straight: are you wrung there?
Elder Lo. This works amain upon her.
Lady. I do confess there is a Gentleman
Has born me long good will.
Elder Lo. I do not like that.
Lady. And vow'd a thousand services to me; to me, regardless of him: But since Fate, that no power can withstand, has taken from me my first, and best love, and to weep away my youth is a mere folly, I will shew you what I determine sir: you shall know all: Call M. Welford there: That Gentleman I mean to make the model of my Fortunes, and in his chast imbraces keep alive the memory of my lost lovely Loveless: he is somewhat like him too.
Elder Lo. Then you can love.
Lady. Yes certainly Sir?
Though it please you to think me hard and cruel,
I hope I shall perswade you otherwise.
Elder Lo. I have made my self a fine fool.
Enter Welford.
Wel. Would you have spoke with me Madam?
Lady. Yes M. Welford, and I ask your pardon before this Gentleman for being froward: this kiss, and henceforth more affection.
Elder Lo. So, 'tis better I were drown'd indeed.
Wel. This is a sudden passion, God hold it.
This fellow out of his fear sure has
Perswaded her. I'le give him a new suit on't.
La. A parting kiss, and good Sir, let me pray you
To wait me in the Gallerie.
Wel. I am in another world, Madam where you please. [Exit Welford.
Elder Lo. I will to Sea, and 't shall goe hard but I'le be drown'd indeed.
La. Now Sir you see I am no such hard creature,
But time may win me.
Elder Lo. You have forgot your lost Love.
La. Alas Sir, what would you have me do? I cannot call him back again with sorrow; I'le love this man as dearly, and beshrow me I'le keep him far enough from Sea, and 'twas told me, now I remember me, by an old wise woman, that my first Love should be drown'd, and see 'tis come about.
Elder Lo. I would she had told you your second should be hang'd too, and let that come about: but this is very strange.
La. Faith Sir, consider all, and then I know you'le be of my mind: if weeping would redeem him, I would weep still.
Elder Lo. But say that I were Loveless,
And scap'd the storm, how would you answer this?
Lady. Why for that Gentleman I would leave all the world.
Elder Lo. This young thing too?
Lady. That young thing too, Or any young thing else: why, I would lose my state.
Elder Lo. Why then he lives still, I am he, your Loveless.
Lady. Alas I knew it Sir, and for that purpose prepared this Pageant: get you to your task. And leave these Players tricks, or I shall leave you, indeed I shall. Travel, or know me not.
Elder Lo. Will you then marry?
Lady. I will not promise, take your choice. Farewell.
Elder Lo. There is no other Purgatorie but a Woman.
I must doe something. [Exit Loveless.
Enter Welford.
Wel. Mistress I am bold.
Lady. You are indeed.
Wel. You so overjoyed me Lady.
Lady. Take heed you surfeit not, pray fast and welcom.
Wel. By this light you love me extreamly.
Lady. By this, and to morrows light, I care not for you.
Wel. Come, come, you cannot hide it.
Lady. Indeed I can, where you shall never find it.
Wel. I like this mirth well Lady.
Lady. You shall have more on't.
Wel. I must kiss you.
Lady. No Sir.
Wel. Indeed I must.
Lady. What must be, must be; I'le take my leave, you have your parting blow: I pray commend me to those few friends you have, that sent you hither, and tell them when you travel next, 'twere fit you brought less bravery with you, and more wit, you'le never get a wife else.
Wel. Are you in earnest?
Lady. Yes faith. Will you eat Sir, your horses will be readie straight, you shall have a napkin laid in the butterie for ye.
Wel. Do not you love me then?
Lady. Yes, for that face.
Wel. It is a good one Ladie.
Lady. Yes, if it were not warpt, the fire in time may mend it.
Wel. Me thinks yours is none of the best Ladie.
Lady. No by my troth Sir; yet o' my conscience, You would make shift with it.
Wel. Come pray no more of this.
Lady. I will not: Fare you well. Ho, who's within there? bring out the Gentlemans horses, he's in haste; and set some cold meat on the Table.
Wel. I have too much of that I thank you Ladie: take your Chamber when you please, there goes a black one with you Ladie.
Lady. Farewell young man. [Exit Ladie.
Wel. You have made me one, Farewell: and may the curse of a great house fall upon thee, I mean the Butler. The devil and all his works are in these women, would all of my sex were of my mind, I would make 'em a new Lent, and a long one, that flesh might be in more reverence with them.
Enter Abigal to him.
Abig. I am sorry M. Welford.
Wel. So am I, that you are here.
Abig. How does my Ladie use you?
Wel. As I would use you, scurvilie.
Abig. I should have been more kind Sir.
Wel. I should have been undone then. Pray leave me, and look to your sweet-meats; hark, your Ladie calls.
Abig. Sir, I shall borrow so much time without offence.
Wel. Y'are nothing but offence, for Gods love leave me.
Abig. 'Tis strange my Ladie should be such a tyrant?
Wel. To send you to me, 'Pray goe stitch, good doe, y'are more trouble to me than a Term.
Abig. I do not know how my good will, if I said love I lied not, should any way deserve this?
Wel. A thousand waies, a thousand waies; sweet creature let me depart in peace.
Abig. What Creature Sir? I hope I am a woman.
Wel. A hundred I think by your noise.
Abig. Since you are angrie Sir, I am bold to tell you that I am a woman, and a rib.
Wel. Of a roasted horse.
Abig. Conster me that?
Wel. A Dog can doe it better; Farwell Countess, and commend me to your Ladie, tell her she's proud, and scurvie, and so I commit you both to your tempter.
Abig. Sweet Mr. Welford.
Wel. Avoid old Satanus: Go daub your ruines, your face looks fouler than a storm: the Foot-man stayes for you in the Lobby Lady.
Abig. If you were a Gentleman, I should know it by your gentle conditions: are these fit words to give a Gentlewoman?
Wel. As fit as they were made for ye: Sirrah, my horses. Farwell old Adage, keep your nose warm, the Rheum will make it horn else-- [Exit Welford.
Abig. The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions Welford, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they cannot bite? A skittish Filly will be your fortune Welford, and fair enough for such a packsaddle. And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her made to amble to your hand. [Exit Abigal.
Enter Young Loveless, and Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, and the rest.
Captain. Save thy brave shoulder, my young puissant Knight, and may thy back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant man, go on. The circumcis'd shall fall by thee. Let Land and labour fill the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and Jove it speed. Mecha shall sweat, and Mahomet shall fall, and thy dear name fill up his monument.
Yo. L. It shall Captain, I mean to be a Worthy.
Cap. One Worthy is too little, thou shalt be all.
Mor. Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.
Capt. Thou shalt have heart and hand too, noble Morecraft, if them wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pass again, and I will stile thee noble, nay Don Diego. I'le woo thy Infanta for thee, and my Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.
Mor. Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.
Young Lo. No Mr. Morecraft, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare her for ye.
Capt. Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.
Poet. Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.
Young Lo. But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by to ratifie.
Wid. I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say you had it. Take heed?
Young Lo. 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir Savil?
Savil. Yes Sir.
Young Lo. Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.
Sav. I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.
Young Lo. Come come, thou shalt live better.
Sav. I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em, I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are no sheep, and they must keep themselves.
Young Lo. Drink Master Morecraft, pray be merrie all: Nay and you will not drink there's no societie, Captain speak loud, and drink: widow, a word.
Cap. Expou[n]d her throughly Knight. Here God o' gold, here's to thy fair possessions; Be a Baron and a bold one: leave off your tickling of young heirs like Trouts, and let thy Chimnies smoke. Feed men of war, live and be honest, and be saved yet.
Mor. I thank you worthie Captain for your counsel. You keep your Chimnies smoking there, your nostrils, and when you can, you feed a man of War, this makes you not a Baron, but a bare one: and how or when you shall be saved, let the Clark o'th' companie (you have commanded) have a just care of.
Poet. The man is much moved. Be not angrie Sir, but as the Poet sings, let your displeasure be a short furie, and goe out. You have spoke home, and bitterly, to me Sir.
Captain take truce, the Miser is a tart and a wittie whorson--
Cap. Poet, you feign perdie, the wit of this man lies in his fingers ends, he must tell all; his tongue fills his mouth like a neats tongue, and only serves to lick his hungrie chaps after a purchase: his brains and brimstone are the devils diet to a fat usurers head: To her Knight, to her: clap her aboard, and stow her. Where's the brave Steward?
Savil. Here's your poor friend, and Savil Sir.
Capt. Away, th'art rich in ornaments of nature. First in thy face, thou hast a serious face, a betting, bargaining, and saving face, a rich face, pawn it to the Usurer; a face to kindle the compassion of the most ignorant and frozen Justice.
Savil. 'Tis such I dare not shew it shortly sir.
Capt. Be blithe and bonny steward: Master Morecraft, Drink to this man of reckoning?
Mor. Here's e'ne to him.
Savil. The Devil guide it downward: would there were in't an acre of the great broom field he bought, to sweep your durtie Conscience, or to choak ye, 'tis all one to me, Usurer.
Young Lo. Consider what I told you, you are young, unapt for worldly business: Is it fit one of such tenderness, so delicate, so contrarie to things of care, should stir and break her better meditations, in the bare brokage of a brace of Angels? or a new Kirtel, though it be Satten? eat by the hope of surfeits, and lie down only in expectation of a morrow, that may undo some easie hearted fool, or reach a widows curses? Let out mony, whose use returns the principal? and get out of these troubles, a consuming heir: For such a one must follow necessarily, you shall die hated, if not old and miserable; and that possest wealth that you got with pining, live to see tumbled to anothers hands, that is no more a kin to you, than you to his couzenage.
Widow. Sir you speak well, would God that charity had first begun here.
Young Lo. 'Tis yet time. Be merrie, me thinks you want wine there, there's more i'th' house. Captain, where rests the health?
Captain. It shall goe round boy.
Young Lo. Say you can suffer this, because the end points at much profit, can you so far bow below your blood, below your too much beautie, to be a partner of this fellowes bed, and lie with his diseases? if you can, I will no[t] press you further: yet look upon him: there's nothing in that hide-bound Usurer, that man of mat, that all decai'd, but aches, for you to love, unless his perisht lungs, his drie cough, or his scurvie. This is truth, and so far I dare speak yet: he has yet past cure of Physick, spaw, or any diet, a primitive pox in his bones; and o' my Knowledge he has been ten times rowell'd: ye may love him; he had a bastard, his own toward issue, whipt, and then cropt for washing out the roses, in three farthings to make 'em pence.
Widow. I do not like