A Mad World My Masters

Captain, Regent, Principal,

What shall I call thee? the Noble spark of bounty; the
life-blood of Society.

Call me your forecast, you whoresons, when you come drunk
out of a tavern, ’tis I must cast your plots into form still;
’tis I must manage the prank, or I’ll not give a louse
for the proceeding: I must let fly my civil fortunes, turn
wild-brain, lay my wits upo’ th Tenters, you rascals, to
maintain a company of villains, whom I love in my very soul and
conscience.

A ha, our little forecast,

Hang you, you have bewitched me among you, I was as well
given till I fell to be wicked, my grandsire had hope of me, I went
all in black, swore but a’ Sundays, never came home drunk, but
upon fasting nights to cleanse my stomach; And now I’m quite
altered, blown into light colours, let out oaths by th’ minute,
sit up late till it be early, drink drunk till I am sober, sink down
dead in a tavern, and rise in a tobacco shop: here’s a
transformation: I was wont yet to pity the simple, and leave ’em
some money: ’slid, now I gull ’em without confidence; I
go without order, swear without number, gull without mercy, and drink
without measure.

I deny the last, for if you drink ne’er so much,
you drink within measure.

How prove you that sir?

Because the drawers never fill their pots

Mass that was well found out! all drunkards may lawfully
say, they drink within measure by that trick; and now I’m put
i’th mind of a trick, you can keep your countenance villains?
yet I am a fool to ask that, for how can they keep their countenance
that have lost their credits?

I warrant you for blushing Captain.

I easily believe that ancient,
for thou hast lost thy colours once. Nay faith as for blushing, I
think there’s grace little enough among you all; ’tis Lent in
your cheeks, the flag’s down. Well, your blushing face I
suspect not, nor indeed greatly your laughing face, unless you had
more money in your purses. Then thus compendiously now you all know
the possibilities of my hereafter fortunes and the humour of my
frolic grandsire Sir Bounteous Progress; whose death makes all
possible to me: I shall have all, when he has nothing; but now he has
all, I shall have nothing: I think one mind runs through a million of
’em; they love to keep us sober all the while they’re
alive, that when they’re dead we may drink to their healths;
they cannot abide to see us merry all the while they’re above
ground; and that makes so many laugh at their fathers’
funerals; I know my Grandsire has his will in a box, and has
bequeathed all to me, when he can carry nothing away; but stood I in
needs of poor ten pounds now, by his will I should hang myself e’er
I should get it, there’s no such word in his will I warrant
you, nor no such thought in his mind.

You may build upon that Captain.

Then since he has no goodwill to do me good as long as he
lives; by mine own will, I’ll do myself good before he dies,
and now I arrive at the purpose. You are not ignorant I’m sure,
you true and necessary implements of mischief; first, that my
Grandsire Sir Bounteous Progress is a Knight of thousands and
therefore no Knight since one thousand six hundred:
next, that he keeps a house like his name Bounteous, open
for all comers: thirdly and lastly, that he stands much upon the
glory of his complement, variety of entertainment, together with the
largeness of his kitchen, longitude of his buttery, and fecundity of
his larder, and thinks himself never happier than when some stiff
lord or great countess alights, to make light his dishes. These being
well mixed together, may give my project better encouragement, and
make my purpose spring forth more fortunate: to be short, and cut off
a great deal of dirty way I’ll down to my grandsire like a lord.

How Captain?

A French ruff, a thin beard, and a strong perfume will
do’t: I can hire blue coats for you all by Westminster Clock,
and that colour will be soonest believed.

But prithee captain –

Push, I reach past your fathoms; you desire crowns?

From the Crown of our Head, to the sole of our foot bully.

Why carry your selves but probably, and carry away enough
with your selves.

Why there spoke a Roman Captain! – Master Penitent Brothell!.

Sweet Master Follywit

Here’s a mad-brain a’th first, whose pranks
scorn to have precedents, to be second to any, or walk beneath any:
madcap’s inventions; h’as played more tricks than the
cards can allow a man, and of the last stamp too, hating imitation, a
fellow whose only glory is to be prime of the company; to be sure of
which, he maintains all the rest: he’s the carrion, and they
the kites that gore upon him.

But why in others do I check wild passions.
And retain deadly follies in myself?
I tax his youth of common receiv’d riot.
Time’s comic flashes, and the fruits of blood;
And in my self sooth up adulterous motions.
And such an appetite that I know damns me;
Yet willingly embrace it, love to Harebrain’s wife.
Over whose hours and pleasures her sick husband
With a fantastic but deserv’d suspect,
Bestows his serious time in watch and ward;
And therefore I’m constrain’d to use the means
Of one that knows no mean, a courtesan,
One poison for another, whom her husband
Without suspicion innocently admits
Into her company, who with tried art
Corrupts and loosens her most constant powers,.
Making his jealousy more than half a Wittall,
Before his face plotting his own abuse.
To which himself gives aim.
Whilst the broad arrow with the forked head
Misses his brow but narrowly; see here she comes,
The close Courtesan, whose mother is her bawd.

Master Penitent Brothel! –

My little pretty Lady Gullman, the news, the comfort?

You’re the fortunate man sir, Knight a’ the
holland shirt: there wants but opportunity and she’s wax o’
your own fashioning. She had wrought herself into the form of your
love before my art set finger to her.

Did our affections meet? our thoughts keep time?

So it should seem by the music: the only jar is in the
grumbling bass viol her husband.

O, his waking suspicion!

Sigh not, master Penitent; trust the managing of the
business with me, ’tis for my credit now to see’t well finished: if I
do you no good, sir, you shall give me no money, sir.

[Aside] I am arrived at the court of conscience; a courtesan!
O admirable times! honesty is removed to the commonplace.
[To Courtesan] Farewell, lady.

How now, daughter?

What news, mother?

A token from thy keeper.

O, from Sir Bounteous Progress: he’s my keeper indeed;
but there’s many a piece of venison stolen that my keeper wots not
on. There’s no park kept so warily but loses flesh one time or other;
and no woman kept so privately but may watch advantage to make the
best of her pleasure; and in common reason one keeper cannot be
enough for so proud a park as a woman.

Hold thee there, girl.

Fear not me, mother.

Every part of the world shoots up daily into more
subtlety; the very spider weaves her cauls with more art and cunning
to entrap the fly.

The shallow ploughman can distinguish now
’Twixt simple truth and a dissembling brow;
Your base mechanic fellow can spy out
A weakness in a lord, and learns to flout.
How does’t behove us then that live by slight,
To have our wits wound up to their stretch’d height!
Fifteen times
Thou knowest I have sold thy maidenhead
To make up a dowry for thy marriage, and yet
There’s maidenhead enough for old Sir Bounteous still:
He’ll be all his lifetime about it yet,
And be as far to seek when he has done.
The sums that I have told upon thy pillow!
I shall once see those golden days again:
Though fifteen, all thy maidenheads are not gone.
Th’ Italian is not serv’d yet, nor the French:
The British men come for a dozen at once.
They engross all the market: tut, my girl,
’Tis nothing but a politic conveyance,
A sincere carriage, a religious eyebrow,
That throws their charms over the worldling’s senses;
And when thou spiest a fool that truly pities
The false springs of thine eyes,
And honourably doats upon thy love,
If he be rich, set him by for a husband.
Be wisely temper’d, and learn this, my wench,
Who gets th’ opinion for a virtuous name
May sin at pleasure, and ne’er think of shame.

Mother, I am too deep a scholar grown
To learn my first rules now.

’Twill be thy own;
I say no more: peace, hark! remove thyself

O, the two elder brothers!

A fair hour, sweet lady!

Good morrow, gentlemen, master Inesse and master Possibility.

Where’s the little sweet lady your daughter?

Even at her book, sir.

So religious?

’Tis no new motion, sir; sh’as took it from an infant.

May we deserve a sight of her, lady?

Upon that condition you will promise me, gentlemen, to
avoid all profane talk, wanton compliments, undecent phrases, and
lascivious courtings (which I know my daughter will sooner die than
endure), I am contented your suits shall be granted.

Not a bawdy syllable, I protest.

Syllable was well placed there; for indeed your one
syllables are your bawdiest words: prick that down.

She may make night work on’t; ’twas well recover’d;
He-cats and courtesans stroll most ’i th’ night:
Her friend may be receiv’d and convey’d forth nightly;
I’ll be at charge
For watch and ward, for watch and ward, i’faith;
And here they come.

Give your worship good even.

Welcome, my friends; I must deserve your diligence
In an employment serious. The troth is,
There’s a cunning plot laid, but happily discover’d.
To rob my house; the night uncertain when,
But fix’d within the circle of this month;
Nor does this villany consist in numbers.
Or many partners; only some one
Shall, in the form of my familiar friend.
Be receiv’d privately into my house
By some perfidious servant of mine own,
Address’d fit for the practice.

O abominable!

If you be faithful watchmen, show your goodness,
[Giving money] And with these angels shore up your eyelids:
Let me not be purloin’d – purloin’d indeed!
The merry Greeks conceive me – there’s a gem
I would not lose.
Kept by th’ Italian under lock and key:
We Englishmen are careless creatures:
Well, I have said enough.

And we will do enough, sir.

Why, well said; watch me a good turn now; so, so, so.

Rise villany with the lark, why, ’tis prevented;
Or steal’t by with the leather-winged bat,
The evening cannot save it – peace. –

O, lady Gullman, my wife’s only company, welcome! and how does the
virtuous matron, that good old gentlewoman, thy mother? I persuade
myself, if modesty be in the world, she has part on’t; a woman of an
excellent carriage all her lifetime, in court, city, and country.

Sh’as always carried it well in those places, sir;
[Aside] Witness three bastards a-piece.
[To Harebrain] How does your sweet bed-fellow, sir? you see I’m her boldest visitant.

And welcome, sweet virgin; the only companion my soul wishes for her.
I left her within at her lute; prithee, give her good counsel.

Alas, she needs none, sir!

Yet, yet, yet, a little of thy instructions will not come amiss to her.

I’ll bestow my labour, sir.

Do, labour her, prithee. I have conveyed away all her wanton
pamphlets; as Hero and Leander, Venus and Adonis; O,
two luscious marrow bone pies for a young married wife!
[Giving book] Here, here, prithee, take the Resolution, and read to her a little.

Sh’as set up her resolution already, sir.

True, true, and this will confirm it the more: there’s a
chapter of hell; ’tis good to read this cold weather: terrify her,
terrify her. Go, read to her the horrible punishments for itching
wantonness, the pains allotted for adultery; tell her her thoughts,
her very dreams are answerable, say so; rip up the life of a
courtesan, and show how loathsome ’tis.

[Aside] The gentleman would persuade me in time to disgrace
myself, and speak ill of mine own function.

This is the course I take; I’ll teach the married man
A new-selected strain. I admit none
But this pure virgin to her company:
Pooh, that’s enough; I’ll keep her to her stint,
I’ll put her to her pension;
She gets but her allowance, that’s a bare one:
Few women but have that beside their own:
Ha, ha, ha! nay, I will put her hard to’t.

Fain would I meet the gentleman.

Push, fain would you meet him! why, you do not take the course.

[Aside] How earnestly she labours her,
Like a good wholesome sister of the Family!
She will prevail, I hope.

Is that the means?

What is the means?
I would as gladly, to enjoy his sight,
Embrace it as the –

Shall I have hearing? listen.

[Aside] She’s round with her, i’faith.

When husbands in their rank’st suspicions dwell,
Then ’tis our best art to dissemble well:
Put but these notes in use that I’ll direct you,
He’ll curse himself that e’er he did suspect you.
Perhaps he will solicit you, as in trial.
To visit such and such; still give denial:
Let no persuasions sway you; they’re but fetches
Set to betray you, jealousies, slights, and reaches.
Seem in his sight t’ endure the sight of no man;
Put by all kisses, till you kiss in common:
Neglect all entertain; if he bring in
Strangers, keep you your chamber, be not seen.
If he chance steal upon you, let him find
Some book lie open ’gainst an unchaste mind,
And coted Scriptures; though for your own pleasure
You read some stirring pamphlet, and convey it
Under your skirt, the fittest place to lay it.
This is the course, my wench, t’ enjoy thy wishes;
Here you perform best when you most neglect:
The way to daunt is to outvie suspect
Manage these principles but with art and life,
Welcome all nations, thou’rt an honest wife.

[Aside] She puts it home, i’faith, even to the quick:
From her elaborate action I reach that.
I must requite this maid; faith, I’m forgetful.

Here, lady. Convey my heart unto him in this jewel.
Against you see me next, you shall perceive
I’ve profited; in the mean season tell him
I am a prisoner yet a’ th’ Master’s side,
My husband’s jealousy,
That masters him, as he doth master me;
And as a keeper that locks prisoners up
Is himself prison’d under his own key,
Even so my husband, in restraining me,
With the same ward bars his own liberty.

I’ll tell him how you wish it, and I’ll wear
My wits to the third pile but all shall clear.

I owe you more than thanks, but that I hope
My husband will requite you.

Think you so, lady? he has small reason for’t.

What, done so soon? away, to’t again, to’t again, good
wench, to’t again; leave her not so: where left you? come.

Faith, I am weary, sir.
I cannot draw her from her strict opinion,
With all the arguments that sense can frame.

No? let me come. – Fie, wife, you must consent.
– What opinion is’t? let’s hear.

Fondly and wilfully she retains that thought.
That every sin is damn’d.

O, fie, fie, wife! pea, pea, pea, pea, how have you lost
your time! for shame, be converted. There’s a diabolical opinion
indeed! then you may think that usury were damned; you’re a fine
merchant, i’faith! or bribery; you know the law well! or sloth; would
some of the clergy heard you, i’faith! or pride; you come at court!
or gluttony; you’re not worthy to dine at an alderman’s table!

Your only deadly sin’s adultery,
That villanous ringworm, woman’s worst requittal;
’Tis only lechery that’s damn’d to th’ pit-hole:
Ah, that’s an arch offence, believe it, squall!
All sins are venial but venereal.

I’ve said enough to her.

And she will be rul’d by you.

Faugh!

I’ll pawn my credit on’t. Come hither, lady,
I will not altogether rest ingrateful;
Here, wear this ruby for thy pains and counsel.

It is not so much worth, sir; I am a very ill
counsellor, truly.

Go to, I say.

You’re to blame, i’faith, sir; I shall ne’er deserve it.

Thou hast done’t already: farewell, sweet virgin;
prithee, let’s see thee oftener.

[Aside] Such gifts will soon entreat me.

Wife, as thou lov’st the quiet of my breast.
Embrace her counsel, yield to her advices:
Thou wilt find comfort in ’em in the end;
Thou’lt feel an alteration: prithee, think on’t:
Mine eyes can scarce refrain.

Keep in your dew, sir,
Lest when you would, you want it.

I’ve pawn’d my credit on’t: ah, didst thou know
The sweet fruit once, thou’dst never let it go!

’Tis that I strive to get.

And still do so.

You have been too much like your name, Sir Bounteous.

O, not so, good knights, not so; you know my humour:
most welcome, good Sir Andrew Pollcut; Sir Aquitain Colewort, most welcome.

Thanks, good sir Bounteous.

O, cry your worship heartily mercy, sir!

How now, linen stockings and threescore mile a-day?
whose footman art thou?

Pray, can your worship tell me – ho, ho, ho! –
if my lord be come in yet.

Thy lord! what lord?

My lord Owemuch, sir.

My lord Owemuch? I have heard much speech of that lord;
has great acquaintance i’ th’ city; that lord has been much followed.

And is still, sir; he wants no company when he’s in London: he’s free
of the mercers, and there’s none of ’em all dare cross him.

And they did, he’d turn over a new leaf with ’em; he
would make ’em all weary on’t i’ th’ end. Much fine rumour have I
heard of that lord, yet had I never the fortune to set eye upon him:
art sure he will alight here, footman? I am afraid thou’rt mistook.

[Going] Thinks your worship so, sir? by your leave, sir.

Pooh, passion of me, footman! why, pumps, I say, come back!

Does your worship call?

Come hither, I say. I am but afraid on’t; would it
might happen so well! How dost know? did he name the house with the
great turret a’ th’ top?

[Going] No, faith, did he not, sir.

Come hither, I say. Did he speak of a cloth-a-gold chamber?

[Going] Not one word, by my troth, sir.

Come again, you lousy seven-mile-an-hour!

I beseech your worship, detain me not.

Was there no talk of a fair pair of organs, a great
gilt candlestick, and a pair of silver snuffers?

[Going] ’Twere sin to belie my lord; I heard no such words, sir.

A pox confine thee! come again, pooh!

Your worship will undo me, sir.

Was there no speech of a long dining room, a huge
kitchen, large meat, and a broad dresser-board?

I have a greater maw to that indeed, an’t please your worship.

Whom did he name?

Why, one sir Bounteous Progress.

Ah, a, a! I am that sir Bounteous, you progressive
round-about rascal.

[Laughs] Pooh!

I knew I should have him i’ th’ end: there’s not a lord
will miss me, I thank their good honours; ’tis a fortune laid upon
me; they can scent out their best entertainment. I have a kind of
complimental gift given me above ordinary country knights; and how
soon ’tis smelt out! I warrant ye, there’s not one knight i’ th’
shire able to entertain a lord i’ th’ cue, or a lady i’ th’ nick,
like me; – like me! there’s a kind of grace belongs to’t, a
kind of art which naturally slips from me; I know not on’t, I promise
you, ’tis gone before I’m aware on’t – cuds me, I forget myself
– where –

Does your worship call?

Run, sirrah! Call in my chief gentleman i’ th’ chain of gold; expedite.

And how does my good lord? I never saw him before in my life.
– A cup of bastard for this footman!

My lord has travelled this five year, sir.

Travelled this five year? how many children has he? –
Some bastard, I say!

No bastard, an’t please your worship.

A cup of sack to strengthen his wit!

The footman’s a fool.

O, come hither, master Gumwater, come hither: send presently to
master Pheasant for one of his hens; there’s partridge i’ th’ house?

And wild duck, an’t please your worship.

And woodcock, an’t please thy worship.

And woodcock, an’t please your worship. – I had
thought to have spoke before you.

Remember the pheasant, down with some plover, clap down
six woodcocks; my lord’s coming; now, sir.

An’t please your worship, there’s a lord and his
followers newly alighted.

Despatch, I say, despatch: why, where’s my music? he’s come indeed.

Footman!

My lord?

Run swiftly with my commendations to Sir Jasper Topaz: we’ll ride and
visit him i’ th’ morning, say.

Your lordship’s charge shall be effected.

That courtly, comely form should present to me Sir Bounteous Progress.

You’ve found me out my lord; I cannot hide myself: Your honour is most
spaciously welcome.

In this forgive me, sir,
That being a stranger to your house and you,
I make my way so boldly; and presume
Rather upon your kindness than your knowledge;
Only your bounteous disposition
Fame hath divulg’d, and is to me well known.

Nay, and your lordship know my disposition, you know me better than they
that know my person; your honour is so much the welcomer for that.

Thanks, good sir Bounteous.

Pray, pardon me; it has been often my ambition, my lord, both in respect of
your honourable presence, and the prodigal fame that keeps even
stroke with your unbounded worthiness,

To have wish’d your lordship where your lordship is,
A noble guest in this unworthy seat:
Your lordship ne’er heard my organs?

Heard of ’em, sir Bounteous, but never heard ’em.

They’re but double-gilt, my lord; some hundred and fifty pound will fit your
lordship with such another pair.

Indeed, sir Bounteous!

O my lord, I have a present suit to you!

To me, sir Bounteous? and you could ne’er speak at fitter time, for I’m
here present to grant you.

Your lordship has been a traveller?

Some five year, sir.

So we have been all, sir.

So we have been all indeed, my lord; I thank your lordship’s assistance.
Some comic pranks he has been guilty of; but I’ll pawn my credit for
him, an honest, trusty bosom.

And that’s worth all, sir.

You wrong both his worth and your bounty, and you call that boldness.
Sir, I have heard much good of that young gentleman.

Nay, has a good wit, i’faith my lord.

Has carried himself always generously.

Are you advised of that, my lord? has carried many things cleanly. I’ll
show your lordship my will; I keep it above in an outlandish box; the
whoreson boy must have all; I love him, yet he shall ne’er find it as
long as I live.

Well, sir, for your sake, and his own deserving, I’ll reserve a place for
him nearest to my secrets.

I understand your good lordship; you’ll make him your secretary. –
My music! give my lord a taste of his welcome.

So. – How like you our airs, my lord? are they choice?

They’re seldom matched, believe it.

The consort of mine own household.

Yea, sir!

The musicians are in ordinary, yet no ordinary musicians. Your lordship
shall hear my organs now.

O, I beseech you, sir Bounteous!

My organist!

Come, my lord, how does your honour relish my organs?

A very proud air, i’faith, sir.

O, how can’t choose? a Walloon plays upon ’em, and a Welchman blows wind
in their breech.

You must pardon us, my lord, hasty cates; your honour has had even a
hunting meal on’t; and now I am like to bring your lordship to as
mean a lodging; a hard down bed, i’faith, my lord, poor cambric
sheets, and a cloth a’ tissue canopy; the curtains, indeed, were
wrought in Venice, with the story of the Prodigal Child in silk and
gold; only the swine are left out, my lord, for spoiling the curtains.

’Twas well prevented, sir.

Silken rest, harmonious slumbers, and venereal dreams to your lordship!

The like to kind Sir Bounteous!

Fie, not to me, my lord; I’m old, past dreaming of such vanities.

Old men should dream best.

They’re dreamers indeed, my lord; you’ve gi’nt us. Tomorrow your lordship
shall see my cocks, my fish ponds, my park, my champion grounds: I
keep champers in my house can, show your lordship some pleasure.

Sir Bounteous, you even whelm me with delights.

Once again, a musical night to your honour! I’ll trouble your
lordship no more.

Good rest, sir Bounteous.

So, come, the vizards! where be the masking suits?

In your lordship’s portmantua.

Peace, lieutenant.

I had rather have war, captain.

Pooh, the plot’s ripe! come to your business, lad;
Though guilt condemn, ’tis gilt must make us glad.

Nay, and you be at your distinctions, captain,
I’ll follow behind no longer.

Get you before, then, and whelm your nose with your vizard; go.

Now, grandsire, you that hold me at hard meat,
And keep me out at the dag’s end, I’ll fit you:
Under his lordship’s leave, all must be mine
He and his will confesses; what I take, then.
Is but a borrowing of so much beforehand;
I’ll pay him again when he dies in so many blacks; I’ll have the church
hung round with a noble a yard, or requite him in scutcheons: let him
trap me in gold, and I’ll lap him in lead; quid pro quo.
I must look none of his angels in the face, forsooth, until his face
be not worth looking on. tut, lads.
Let sires and grandsires keep us low, we must
Live when they’re flesh, as well as when they’re dust.

Go, sirrah, run presently to master Penitent Brothel: you know his
lodging; knock him up; I know he cannot sleep for sighing;
Tell him, I’ve happily bethought a mean
To make his purpose prosper in each limb,
Which only rests to be approv’d by him:
Make haste, I know he thirsts for’t.

[Within] Oh!

Hark! they’re at their business.

[Within] Thieves, thieves!

Gag that gaping rascal! though he be my grandsire’s chief gentleman i’
th’ chain of gold, I’ll have no pity of him.

How now, lads?

All’s sure and safe; on with your vizard, sir; the servants are all bound.

There’s one care past then: come, follow me, lads; I’ll lead you now to the
point and top of all your fortunes: yon lodging is my grandsire’s.

So, so; lead on, on!

Here’s a captain worth the following, and a wit worth a
man’s love and admiring!

O gentlemen, and you be kind gentlemen, what countrymen are you?

Lincolnshire men, sir.

I am glad of that, i’faith.

And why should you be glad of that?

O, the honestest thieves of all come out of
Lincolnshire, the kindest-natured gentlemen; they’ll rob a man with
conscience; they have a feeling of what they go about and will steal
with tears in their eyes: ah, pitiful gentlemen!

Push, money, money! we come for money.

Is that all you come for? Ah, what a beast was I to put
out my money t’other day! Alas, good gentlemen, what shift shall I
make for you? pray, come again another time.

Tut, tut, sir, money!

O not so loud, sir! you’re too shrill a gentleman: I
have a lord lies in my house; I would not for the world his honour
should be disquieted.

Who, my lord Owemuch? We
have took order with him beforehand; he lies bound in his bed, and
all his followers.

Who, my lord? Bound my lord? Alas, what did you mean to bind my lord?
He could keep his bed well enough without binding.
You’ve undone me in’t already, you need rob me no farther.

Which is the key? Come!

Ah, I perceive now you’re no true Lincolnshire spirits!
You come rather out of Bedfordshire; we cannot lie quiet in our beds for
you. So, take enough, my masters [they rifle his cabinets]:
spur a free horse, my name’s sir Bounteous; a merry world, i’faith;
what knight but I keep open house at midnight? Well, there should be
a conscience, if one could hit upon’t.

Away now; seize upon him, bind him.

Is this your court of equity? Why
should I be bound for mine own money? But
come, come, bind me, I have need on’t; I have been too liberal
tonight, keep in my hands [They bind him]: nay, as hard as
you list; I am too good to bear my lord company. You have watched
your time, my masters; I was knighted at Westminster, but many of
these nights will make me a knight of Windsor. You’ve deserved so
well, my masters, I bid you all to dinner tomorrow: I would I might
have your companies, i’faith; I desire no more.

O, ho, sir!

Pray, meddle not with my organs, to put ’em out of tune.

O no, here’s better music, sir.

Ah, pox feast you!

Despatch with him, away!

So, thank you, good grandsire! This was
bounteously done of him, i’faith: it came somewhat hard from him at
first; for, indeed, nothing comes stiff from an old man but money:
and he may well stand upon that, when he has nothing else to stand
upon. Where’s our portmantua?

Here, bully captain.

In with the purchase, ’twill lie safe enough there under
’s nose, I warrant you. –

What, is all sure?

All’s sure, captain.

O admirable spirit!

You ne’er plot for your safeties, so your wants be satisfied.

But if we bind one another, how shall the last man be bound?

Pox on’t, I’ll have the footman ’scape.

That’s I; I thank you, sir.

The footman, of all other, will be supposed to ’scape,
for he comes in no bed all night, but lies in ’s clothes, to be first
ready i’ the morning; the horse and he lies in litter together,
that’s the right fashion of your bonny footman; and his freedom will
make the better for our purpose, for we must have one i’ the morning
to unbind the knight, that we may have our sport within ourselves. We
now arrive at the most ticklish point, to rob, and take our ease, to
be thieves, and lie by’t: look to’t, lads, it concerns every man’s
gullet; I’ll not have the jest spoiled, that’s certain, though it
hazard a windpipe. I’ll either go like a lord as I came, or be hanged
like a thief as I am; and that’s my resolution.

Troth, a match, captain, of all hands!

O master Penitent Brothel!

What is’t, sweet lady Gullman, that so seizes on thee
with rapture and admiration?

A thought, a trick, to make you, sir, especially happy, and yet I myself a saver by it.

I would embrace that, lady, with such courage, I would
not leave you on the losing hand. Cour. I will give trust to
you, sir. The cause, then, why I raised you from your bed so soon,
wherein I know sighs would not let you sleep, thus understand it:
You love that woman, master Harebrain’s wife.
Which no invented means can crown with freedom
For your desires and her own wish but this,
Which in my slumbers did present itself.

I’m covetous, lady.

You know her husband, lingering in suspect,
Locks her from all society but mine.

Most true.

I only am admitted; yet hitherto that has done you no
real happiness; by my admittance I cannot perform that deed that
should please you, you know: wherefore thus I’ve conveyed it, I’ll
counterfeit a fit of violent sickness.

Good.

Nay, ’tis not so good, by my faith, but to do you good.

And in that sense I called it: but take me with you,
lady; would it be probable enough to have a sickness so suddenly violent?

Pooh, all the world knows women are soon down: we can be
sick when we have a mind to’t, catch an ague with the wind of our
fans, surfeit upon the rump of a lark, and bestow ten pound in physic
upon’t: we’re likest ourselves when we’re down; ’tis the easiest art
and cunning for our sect to counterfeit sick, that are always full
of fits when we are well; for since we were made for a weak,
imperfect creature, we can fit that best that we are made for. I thus
translated, and yourself slipt into the form of a physician

I a physician, lady? talk not on’t, I beseech you; I
shall shame the whole college.

Tut, man, any quacksalving terms will serve for this
purpose; for I am pitifully haunted with a brace of elder brothers,
new perfumed in the first of their fortunes, and I shall see how
forward their purses will be to the pleasing of my palate and
restoring of my health. Lay on load enough upon ’em, and spare ’em
not, for they’re good plump fleshly asses, and may well enough bear
it; let gold, amber, and dissolved pearl, be common ingrediences, and
that you cannot compose a cullice without ’em. Put but this cunningly
in practice, it shall be both a sufficient recompense for all my
pains in your love, and the ready means to make mistress Harebrain
way, by the visiting of me, to your mutual desired company.

I applaud thee, kiss thee, and will constantly embrace it.

[Within] Ho, Gumwater!

Singlestone!

[Within] Jenkin, wa, ha, ho!
[Within] Ewen!
[Within] Simcod!

Footman! whew!

[within] O good your worship, let me help your good old worship!

Ah, poor honest footman! how did’st thou ’scape this massacre?

E’en by miracle, and lying in my clothes, sir.

I think so; I would I had lain in my clothes too,
footman, so I had ’scaped ’em: I could have but risse like a beggar
then, and so I do now, till more money come in; but nothing afflicts
me so much, my poor geometrical footman, as that the barbarous
villains should lay violence upon my lord. Ah, the binding of my lord
cuts my heart in two pieces! So, so, ’tis well; I thank thee: run to
thy fellows; undo ’em, undo ’em, undo ’em!

Alas, if my lord should miscarry, they’re unbound
already, sir; they have no occupation but sleep, feed, and fart.

If I be not ashamed to look my lord i’ th’ face, I’m
a Saracen. – My lord!

Who’s that?

One may see he has been scared: a pox on ’em for their labours!

Singlestone!

Singlestone? I’ll ne’er answer to that, i’faith.

Suchman!

Suchman? nor that neither, i’faith; I am not brought so
low, though I be old.

Who’s that i’ th’ chamber?

Good morrow, my lord; ’tis I.

Sir Bounteous, good morrow; I would give you my hand, sir,
but I cannot come at it. Is this the courtesy a’ th’ country,
Sir Bounteous?

Your lordship grieves me more than all my loss;
’Tis the unnatural’st sight that can be found,
To see a noble gentleman hard bound.

Trust me, I thought you had been better beloved, sir
Bounteous; but I see you have enemies, sir, and your friends fare the
worse for ’em. I like your talk better than your lodging; I ne’er lay
harder in a bed of down; I have had a mad night’s rest on’t. Can you
not guess what they should be, sir Bounteous?

Faith, Lincolnshire men, my lord.

How? fie, fie, believe it not, sir; these lie not far
off, I warrant you.

Think you so, my lord?

I’ll be burnt and they do; some that use to your house,
sir, and are familiar with all the conveyances.

This is the commodity of keeping open house, my lord;
that makes so many shut their doors about dinner time.

They were resolute villains: I made myself known to ’em, told ’em
what I was, gave ’em my honourable word not to disclose ’em –

O saucy, unmannerly villains!

And think you the slaves would trust me upon my word?

They would not?

Forsooth, no; I must pardon ’em: they told me lords’
promises were mortal, and commonly die within half an hour after they
are spoken; they were but gristles, and not one amongst a hundred
come to any full growth or perfection; and therefore, though I were a
lord, I must enter into bond.

Insupportable rascals!

Troth, I’m of that mind. Sir Bounteous, you fared the
worse for my coming hither.

Ah, good my lord, but I’m sure your lordship fared the worse!

Pray, pity not me, sir.

Is not your honour sore about the brawn of the arm? a
murrain meet ’em, I feel it!

About this place, sir Bounteous?

You feel as it were a twinge, my lord?

Ay, e’en a twinge, you say right.

A pox discover ’em, that twinge I feel too!

But that which disturbs me most, sir Bounteous, lies here.

True; about the wrist, a kind of tumid numbness.

You say true, sir.

The reason of that, my lord, is, the pulses had no play.

Mass, so I guessed it.

A mischief swell ’em, for I feel that too!

’Slid, here’s a house haunted indeed!

A word with you, sir.

How now, Singlestone?

I’m sorry, my lord, your worship has lost –

Pup, pup, pup, pup, pup!

What have I lost? speak.

A good night’s sleep, say.
Fol. Speak, what have I lost, I say?

A good night’s sleep, my lord, nothing else,

That’s true; my clothes, come.

My lord’s clothes! his honour’s rising.

Hist, well said: come hither; what has my lord lost?
tell me, speak softly.

His lordship must know that, sir.

Hush! prithee tell me.

’Twill do you no pleasure to know’t, sir.

Yet again? I desire it, I say.

Since your worship will needs know’t, they have stolen away a jewel
in a blue silk ribband of a hundred pound price,
beside some hundred pounds in fair spur-royals.

That’s some two hundred i’ th’ total.

Your worship’s much about it, sir.

Come, follow me; I’ll make that whole again in so much
money; let not my lord know on’t.

O pardon me, sir Bounteous! that were a dishonour to my
lord: should it come to his ear, I should hazard my undoing by it.

How should it come to his ear? if you be my lord’s
chief man about him, I hope you do not use to speak unless you be
paid for’t; and I had rather give you a councillor’s double fee to
hold your peace. Come, go to; follow me, I say.

There will be scarce time to tell it, sir; my lord will
away instantly.

His honour shall stay dinner, by his leave; I’ll
prevail with him so far: and now I remember a jest, I bade the
whoreson thieves to dinner last night; I would I might have their
companies; a pox poison em!

Faith, and you are like to have no other guess, sir
Bounteous, if you have none but us; I’ll give you that gift, i’faith.

You see bold guests, master Harebrain.

You’re kindly welcome to my house, good master Inesse and
master Possibility.

That’s our presumption, sir.

Ralph!

Here, sir.

Call down your mistress to welcome these two gentlemen, my friends.

I shall, sir.

[Aside] I will observe her carriage, and watch
The slippery revolutions of her eye;
I’ll lie in wait for every glance she gives.
And poise her words i’ th’ balance of suspect:
If she but swag, she’s gone; either on this hand
Over familiar, or this too neglectful:
It does behove her carry herself even.

But, master Harebrain –

True, I hear you, sir; was’t you said?

I have not spoke it yet, sir.

Right, so I say.

Is it not strange, that in so short a time my little lady
Gullman should be so violently handled?

O, sickness has no mercy, sir.
It neither pities lady’s lip nor eye;
It crops the rose out of the virgin’s cheek.
And so deflowers her that was ne’er deflower’d.
Fools, then, are maids to lock from men that treasure
Which death will pluck, and never yield ’em pleasure.

Ah, gentlemen, though I shadow it, that sweet virgin’s sickness
grieves me not lightly! she was my wife’s only delight and company.
Did you not hear her, gentlemen, i’ th’ midst of her extremest fit,
still how she called upon my wife, remembered still my wife, sweet
mistress Harebrain? When she sent for me, a’ one side of her bed
stood the physician, the scrivener on the other: two horrible
objects, but mere opposites in the course of their lives, for the
scrivener binds folks, and the physician makes them loose.

But not loose of their bonds, sir.

No, by my faith, sir, I say not so: if the physician
could make ’em loose of their bonds, there’s many a one would take
physic, that dares not now for poisoning. But, as I was telling of
you, her will was fashioning, wherein I found her best and richest
jewel given as a legacy unto my wife: when I read that, I could not
refrain weeping. Well, of all other my wife has most reason to visit
her; if she have any good nature in her, she’ll show it there. –

Now, sir, where’s your mistress?

She desires you, and the gentlemen your friends, to hold her excused;
she’s a fit of an ague now upon her, which begins to shake her.

Where does it shake her most?

All over her body, sir.

[Aside] Shake all her body? ’tis a saucy fit, I’m jealous of that ague.
[To Inesse and Possibility] Pray, walk in gentlemen;
I’ll see you instantly.

Now they are absent, sir, ’tis no such thing.

What?

My mistress has her health, sir,
But ’tis her suit she may confine herself
From sight of all men but your own dear self, sir;
For since the sickness of that modest virgin,
Her only company, she delights in none.

No? visit her again, commend me to her.
Tell her they’re gone, and only I myself
Walk here t’ exchange a word or two with her.

I’ll tell her so, sir.

Fool that I am, and madman, beast! what worse?
Suspicious o’er a creature that deserves
The best opinion and the purest thought;
Watchful o’er her that is her watch herself;
To doubt her ways that looks too narrowly
Into her own defects: I, foolish-fearful,
Have often rudely, out of giddy flames,
Barr’d her those objects which she shuns herself
Thrice I’ve had proof of her most constant temper:
Come I at unawares by stealth upon her,
I find her circled in with divine writs
Of heavenly meditations; here and there
Chapters with leaves tuck’d up, which when I see,
They either tax pride or adultery.
Ah, let me curse myself, that could be jealous
Of her whose mind no sin can make rebellious!
And here the unmatch’d comes.

Now wife, i’faith, they’re gone;
Push, see how fearful ’tis! will you not credit me?
They’re gone, i’faith; why, think you I’ll betray you?
Come, come; thy delight and mine,
Thy only virtuous friend, thy sweet instructress,
Is violently taken grievous sick.
And which is worse, she mends not.

Her friends are sorry for that, sir.

Alas, good soul!

She made we weep thrice:
Sh’as put thee in a jewel in her will.

E’en to th’ last gasp a kind souL

Take my man, go visit her.

Pray pardon me, sir;
Alas, my visitation cannot help her!

[Aside] O, yet the kindness of a thing, wife!
Still she holds the same rare temper.
[To Mistress Harebrain] Take my man, I say.

I would not take your man, sir.
Though I did purpose going.

No? thy reason.

The world’s condition is itself so wild, sir,
’Tis apt to judge the worst of those deserve not;
’Tis an ill-thinking age and does apply
All to the form of its own luxury
This censure flies from one, that from another;
That man’s her squire, says he; her pimp the tother;
She’s of the stamp, a third; fourth, I ha’ known her:
I’ve heard this, not without a burning cheek.
Then our attires are tax’d; our very gait
Is called in question; where a husband’s presence
Scatters such thoughts, or makes ’em sink for fear
Into the hearts that breed ’em: nay, surely,
If I went, sir, I would entreat your company.

Mine? prithee, wife; – I have been there already.

That’s all one; although you bring me but to th’ door,
sir, I would entreat no farther.

Thou’rt such a wife! why, I will bring thee thither then,
but not go up, I swear.

I’faith, you shall not; I do not desire it, sir.

Why, then, content.

Give me your hand, you will do so, sir?

Why, there’s my lip I will.

Why, then I go, sir.

[Aside] With me, or no man! incomparable such a woman!

Lady!

Ha, what news?

There’s one sir Bounteous Progress newly alighted from
his foot-cloth, and his mare waits at door, as the fashion is.

’Slid, ’tis the knight that privately maintains me; a
little, short, old, spiny gentleman in a great doublet?

The same; I know ’m.

He’s my sole revenue, meat, drink, and raiment.
My good physician, work upon him; I’m weak.

Enough.

Why, where be these ladies? these plump, soft, delicate
creatures? ha?

Who would you visit, sir?

Visit, who? what are you, with the plague in your mouth?

A physician, sir.

Then you are a looser-liver, sir; I have put you to
your purgation.

But you need none, you’re purged in a worse fashion.

Ah, sir Bounteous!

How now? what art thou?

Sweet, sir Bounteous!

Passion of me, what an alteration’s here! Rosamond
sick, old Harry? here’s a sight able to make an old man shrink! I was
lusty when I came in, but I am down now i’faith: mortality! yea, this
puts me in mind of a hole seven foot deep; my grave, my grave, my
grave. Hist, master doctor, a word, sir; hark, ’tis not the plague, is’t?

The plague, sir? no.

Good.

[Aside] He ne’er asks whether it be the pox or no; and of the
twain that had been more likely.

How now, my wench? how dost?

Huh, – weak, knight, – huh.

[Aside] She says true, he’s a weak knight indeed.

Where does it hold thee most, wench?

All parts alike, sir.

[Aside] She says true still, for it holds her in none.

Hark in thine ear, thou’rt breeding of young bones; I
am afraid I have got thee with child, i’faith.

I fear that much, sir.

O, O, if it should! a young Progress when all’s done!

You have done your good will, sir.

I see by her ’tis nothing but a surfeit of Venus,
i’faith; and though I be old, I have gi’n’t her; – but since I
had the power to make thee sick, I’ll have the purse to make thee
whole, that’s certain. – Master doctor.

Sir?

Let’s hear, I pray, what is’t you minister to her.

Marry, sir, some precious cordial, some costly
refocillation, a composure comfortable and restorative.

Ay, ay, that, that, that.

No poorer ingrediences than the liquor of coral, clear
amber, or succinum; unicorn’s horn, six grains; magisterium
perlarum, one scruple –

Ah, hah!

Ossis de corde cervi, half a scruple;
aurum potabile, or his tincture –

Very precious, sir.

All which being finely contunded, and mixed in a stone
or glass mortar with the spirit of diamber –

Nay, pray, be patient, sir.

That’s impossible; I cannot be patient and a physician too, sir.

O, cry you mercy, that’s true, sir.

All which aforesaid –

Ay, there you left, sir.

When it is almost exsiccate or dry, I add thereto
olei succini, olei masi, et cinnaniomi.

So, sir, olei masi, that same oil of mace is a
great comfort to both the counters.

And has been of a long time, sir.

Well, be of good cheer, wench; there’s gold for thee, huh. –
Let her want for nothing, master doctor; a poor
kinswoman of mine, nature binds me to have a care of her. –
[Aside] There I gulled you, master doctor.

[To Penitent Brothel] Ha, ha, I have fitted her: an old knight and a cock
a’ th’ game still: I have not spurs for nothing, I see.

No, by my faith, they’re hatched; they cost you an angel, sir.

Look to her, good master doctor; let her want nothing:
I’ve given her enough already, ha, ha, ha!

So, is he gone?

He’s like himself, gone.

Here’s somewhat to set up with. How soon he took
occasion to slip into his own flattery, soothing his own defects! He
only fears he has done that deed which I ne’er feared to come from
him in my life. This purchase came unlooked for.

Hist, the pair of sons and heirs.

O, they’re welcome! they bring money.

Master doctor.

I come to you, gentlemen.

How does she now?

Faith, much after one fashion, sir.

There’s hope of life, sir.

I see no signs of death in her.

That’s some comfort; will she take anything yet?

Yes, yes, yes, she’ll take still; sh’as a kind of
facility in taking. How comes your band bloody, sir?

You may see I met with a scab, sir.

Diversa genera scabierum, as Pliny reports, there are divers kind of scabs.

Pray, let’s hear ’em, sir.

An itching scab, that is your harlot; a sore scab,
your usurer; a running scab, your promoter; a broad scab, your
intelligencer; but a white scab, that’s a scald knave and a pander:
but, to speak truth, the only scabs we are now-a-days troubled withal
are new officers and projectors.

Why, now you come to mine, sir; for I’ll be sworn one of
them was very busy about my head this morning, and he should be a
scab by that; for they are ambitious, and covet the head.

Why, you saw I derived him, sir.

You physicians are mad gentlemen.

We physicians see the most sights of any men living.
Your astronomers look upward into th’ air, we look downward into th’
body; and, indeed, we have power upward and downward.

That you have, i’faith, sir.

Lady, how cheer you now;

The same woman still, – huh!

That’s not good.

Little alteration. Fie, fie, you have been too lavish, gentlemen.

Puh, talk not of that, lady; thy health’s worth a million. –
[Giving money] Here, master doctor, spare for no cost.

Look what you find there, sir.

What do you mean, gentlemen? put up, put up.
You see I’m down, and cannot strive with you,
I’d rule you else; you have me at advantage;
But if e’er I live, I will requite it deeply.

Tut, an’t come to that once, we’ll requite ourselves well enough.

Mistress Harebrain, lady, is setting forth to visit you too.

Ha? – huh!

There struck the minute that brings forth the birth
Of all my joys and wishes; but see the jar now!

[Aside] How shall I rid these from her?

Pray, gentlemen,
Stay not above an hour from my sight.

’Sfoot, we are not going, lady!

[Aside] Subtly brought about! yet t’will not do; they’ll stick by’t.
[To Both] A word with you, gentlemen.

What says master doctor?

She wants but settling of her sense with rest;
One hour’s sleep, gentlemen, would set all parts in tune.

He says true, i’faith.

Get her to sleep, master doctor; we’ll both sit here and watch by her.

Hell’s angels watch you! no art can prevail with ’em.
[Aside] What with the thought of joys, and sight of crosses,
My wits are at Hercules’ Pillars; non plus ultra.

Master doctor, master doctor!

Here, lady.

Your physic works; lend me your hand.

Farewell, sweet lady.

Adieu, master doctor.

So.

Let me admire thee?
The wit of man wanes and decreases soon,
But women’s wit is ever at full moon.

There shot a star from heaven!
I dare not yet behold my happiness,
The splendour is so glorious and so piercing.

Mistress Harebrain, give my wit thanks hereafter; your wishes are in sight,
your opportunity spacious.

Will you but hear a word from me?

Whooh!

My husband himself brought me to th’ door, walks below for my return;
jealousy is prick‑eared, and will hear the wagging of a hair.

Pish, you’re a faint liver; trust yourself with your pleasure, and me with
your security; go.

The fulness of my wish!

Of my desire!

Beyond this sphere I never will aspire!

[Aside] I’ll listen: now the flesh draws nigh her end.
At such a time women exchange their secrets
And ransack the close corners of their hearts:
What many years hath whelm’d, this hour imparts.

Pray, sit down, there’s a low stool. Good; mistress Harebrain, this was
kindly done, – huh, – give me your hand, – huh, –
alas, how cold you are! even so is your husband, that worthy, wise
gentleman; as comfortable a man to woman in my case as ever trod –
huh – shoe leather. Love him, honour him, stick by him: he lets
you want nothing that’s fit for a woman; and, to be sure on’t, he
will see himself that you want it not.

[Aside] And so I do, i’faith; ’tis right my humour.

You live a lady’s life with him; go where you will, ride when you will,
and do what you will.

[Aside] Not so, not so, neither; she’s better looked to.

I know you do, you need not tell me that: ’twere e’en pity of your
life, i’faith, if ever you should wrong such an innocent gentleman.
Fie, mistress. Harebrain, what do you mean? come you to discomfort me?
nothing but weeping with you?

[Aside] She’s weeping! t’as made her weep: my wife shows her good nature already.

Still, still weeping? huff, huff, huff; why, how now, woman? hey, hy, hy,
for shame, leave; suh, suh, she cannot answer me for snobbing.

[Aside] All this does her good; beshrew my heart, and I pity her; let her shed
tears till morning, I’ll stay for her. She shall have enough on’t, by
my good will; I’ll not be her hindrance.

O no! lay your hand here, mistress Harebrain; ay, there: O there, there
lies my pain, good gentlewoman! Sore? O ay, I can scarce endure your hand upon’t!

[Aside] Poor soul, how she’s tormented!

Yes, yes; I eat a cullis an hour since.

[Aside] There’s some comfort in that yet, she may ’scape it.

O, it lies about my heart much!

[Aside] I’m sorry for that, i’faith; she’ll hardly ’scape it.

Bound? no, no; I’d a very comfortable stool this morning.

[Aside] I’m glad of that, i’faith; that’s a good sign; I smell she’ll ’scape it now.

Will you be going then?

[Aside] Fall back, she’s coming.

Thanks, good mistress Harebrain; welcome, sweet mistress Harebrain;
pray, commend me to the good gentleman your husband.

[Aside] I could do that myself now.

And to my uncle Winchcomb, and to my aunt Lipsalve, and to my cousin
Falsetop, and to my cousin Lickit, and to my cousin
Horseman, and to all my good cousins in Clerkenwell and St. John’s.

At three days’ end my husband takes a journey.

O thence I derive a second meeting!

May it prosper still!
Till then I rest a captive to his will. –
Once again, health, rest, and strength to thee, sweet
lady: farewell, you witty squall. – Good master doctor, have a
care to her body; if you stand her friend, I know you can do her good.

Take pity of your waiter; go: farewell, sweet mistress Harebrain.

[Coming forward] Welcome, sweet wife, alight upon my lip!
Never was hour spent better.

Why, were you within the hearing, sir?

Ay, that I was, i’faith.
To my great comfort; I deceiv’d you there, wife;
Ha, ha!
I do entreat thee, nay, conjure thee, wife.
Upon my love, or what can more be said,
Oftener to visit this sick virtuous maid.

Be not so fierce, your will shall be obey’d.

Why, then, I see thou lov’st me.

Art of ladies!
When plots are e’en past hope, and hang their head,
Set with a woman’s hand, they thrive and spread.

Was’t not well managed, you necessary mischiefs? did the plot want either life or art?

’Twas so well, captain, I would you could make such another muss at all adventures.

Dost call’t a muss? I am sure my grandsire ne’er got his money worse in
his life than I got it from him. If ever he did cozen the simple,
why, I was born to revenge their quarrel; if ever oppress the widow,
I, a fatherless child, have done as much for him. And so ’tis through
the world, either in jest or earnest. Let the usurer look for’t; for
craft recoils in the end, like an overcharged musket, and maims the
very hand that puts fire to’t. There needs no more but a usurer’s own
blow to strike him from hence to hell; ’twill set him forward with a
vengeance. But here lay the jest, whoresons; my grandsire, thinking
in his conscience that we had not robbed him enough o’ernight, must
needs pity me i’ th’ morning, and give me the rest

Two hundred pounds in fair rose-nobles, I protest.

Push, I knew he could not sleep quietly till he had paid me for robbing of
him too: ’tis his humour, and the humour of most of your rich men in
the course of their lives; for, you know, they always feast those
mouths that are least needy, and give them more that have too much
already; and what call you that but robbing of themselves a courtlier
way? – O! –

Cuds me, how now, captain?

A cold fit that comes over my memory, and has a shrewd pull at my fortunes.

What’s that, sir?

Is it for certain, lieutenant, that my grandsire keeps an uncertain
creature, a quean?

Ay, that’s too true, sir.

Faith, from discourse; yet all the policy
That I could use, I could not get her name.

Dull slave, that ne’er could’st spy it!

But the manner of her coming was described to me.

How is the manner, prithee?

Marry, sir, she comes most commonly coached.

True, there I left, sir; guarded with some leash of pimps.

Beside the coachman?

Right, sir; then alighting, she’s privately received by master Gumwater.

That’s my grandsire’s chief gentleman i’ th’ chain of gold: that he should
live to be a pander, and yet look upon his chain and his velvet jacket!

Then is your grandsire rounded i’ th’ ear; the key given after the Italian
fashion, backward; she closely conveyed into his closet; there
remaining, till either opportunity smile upon his credit, or he send
down some hot caudle to take order in his performance.

Peace, ’tis mine own, i’faith; I ha’t!

How now, sir?

Thanks, thanks to any spirit that mingled it ’mongst my inventions

Why, master Follywit –

Captain –

Give me scope, and hear me.
I’ve begot that means, which will both furnish me,
And make that quean walk under his conceit.

That were double happiness; to put thyself into money,
and her out of favour.

And all at one dealing.

’sfoot, I long to see that hand played!

And thou shalt see’t quickly, i’faith: nay, ’tis in grain; I warrant it
hold colour. Lieutenant, step behind yon hanging: if I mistook not at
my entrance, there hangs the lower part of a gentlewoman’s gown, with
a mask and a chinclout: bring all this way. Nay, but do’t cunningly,
now; ’tis a friend’s house, and I’d use it so; there’s a taste for you.

But, prithee, what wilt thou do with a gentlewoman’s lower part?

Why, use it.

You’ve answered me, indeed, in that; I can demand no farther.

Well said. – Lieutenant –

What will you do now, sir?

Come, come, thou shalt see, a woman quickly made up here.

But that’s against kind, captain; for they are always long a-making ready.

And is not most they do against kind, I prithee? To lie with their
horsekeeper, is not that against kind? to wear half moons made of
another’s hair, is not that against kind? to drink down a man, she
that should set him up, pray is not that monstrously against kind
now? Nay, over with it, lieutenant, over with it; ever while you live
put a woman’s clothes over her head: Cupid plays best at blindman buff.

You shall have your will, maintenance; I love mad tricks as well as you
for your heart, sir: but what shift will you make for upper-bodies, captain?

I see now thou’rt an ass; why, I’m ready.

Ready?

Why, the doublet serves as well as the best, and is most in fashion; we’re
all male to th’ middle; mankind from the beaver to th’ bum. ’Tis an
Amazonian time; you shall have women shortly tread their husbands. I
should have a couple of locks behind; prithee, lieutenant, find ’em
out for me, and wind ’em about my hat band: nay, you shall see, we’ll
be in fashion to a hair, and become all with probability: the most
musty-visage critic shall not except against me.

Nay, I’ll give thee thy due behind thy back; thou’rt as mad a piece of clay –

Clay! dost call thy captain clay? Indeed, clay was made to stop holes; he
says true. Did not I tell you, rascals, you should see a woman
quickly made up?

I’ll swear for’t, captain.

Come, come, my mask and my chinclout – come into th’ court.

Nay, they were both i’ th’ court long ago, sir.

Let me see; where shall I choose two or three for pimps, now? but I
cannot choose amiss amongst you all, that’s the best. Well, as I am a
quean, you were best have a care of me, and guard me sure. I give you
warning beforehand; ’tis a monkey-tailed age. Life, you shall go nigh
to have half a dozen blithe fellows surprise me cowardly, carry me
away with a pair of oars, and put in at Putney!

We should laugh at that, i’faith.

Or shoot in upo’ th’ coast of Kew.

Two notable fit landing-places for lechers, P and Q, Putney and Kew.

Well, say you have fair warning on’t; the hair about the hat is as good as
a flag upo’ th’ pole at a common play house, to waft company; and a
chin-clout is of that powerful attraction, I can tell you, ’twill
draw more linen to’t.

Fear not us, captain; there’s none here but can fight for a whore as well
as some Inns-a-court-man.

Why, then set forward; and as you scorn two‑shilling brothel,
Twelvepenny panderism, and such base bribes,
Guard me from bonny scribs and bony scribes.

Hang ’em, pensions and allowances! fourpence halfpenny a
meal, hang ’em!

Ha? read that place again – “Adultery
Draws the divorce ’twixt heaven and the soul.”
Accursed man, that stand’st divorc’d from heaven!
Thou wretched unthrift, that hast play’d away
Thy eternal portion at a minute’s game;
To please the flesh hast blotted out thy name!
Where were thy nobler meditations busied,
That they durst trust this body with itself;
’This natural drunkard, that undoes us all,
And makes our shame apparent in our fall?
Then let my blood pay for’t, and vex and boil!
My soul, I know, would never grieve to th’ death
Th’ eternal spirit, that feeds her with his breath:
Nay, I that knew the price of life and sin,
What crown is kept for continence, what for lust,
The end of man, and glory of that end,
As endless as the giver.
To doat on weakness, slime, corruption, woman!
What is she, took asunder from her clothes?
Being ready, she consists of an hundred pieces,
Much like your German clock, and near ally’d;
Both are so nice, they cannot go for pride:
Besides a greater fault, but too well known,
They’ll strike to ten, when they should stop at one.
Within these three days the next meeting’s fix’d;
If I meet then, hell and my soul be mix’d!
My lodging I know constantly, she not knows:
Sin’s hate is the best gift that sin bestows:
I’ll ne’er embrace her more; never, bear witness, never.

What, at a stand? the fitter for my company.

Celestial soldiers guard me!

How now, man? ’Las, did the quickness of my
presence fright thee?

Shield me you ministers of faith and grace!

Leave, leave; are you not ashamed to use such words to a woman?

Thou’rt a devil!

A devil? feel, feel, man; has a devil flesh and bone?

I do conjure thee, by that dreadful power –

The man has a delight to make me tremble –
Are these the fruits of thy adventurous love?
Was I enticed for this? so soon rejected!
Come, what has chang’d thee so, delight?

Away!

Remember –

Leave my sight!

Have I this meeting wrought with cunning,
Which, when I come, I find thee shunning?
Rouse thy amorous thoughts, and twine me;
All my interest I resign thee:
Shall we let slip this mutual hour,
Comes so seldom in our power?
Where’s thy lip, thy clip, thy fadom?
Had women such loves, would’t not mad ’em?
Art a man? or dost abuse one?
A love, and know’st not how to use one!
Come, I’ll teach thee.

Do not follow –

Once so firm, and now so hollow!
When was place and season sweeter?
Thy bliss in sight, and dar’st not meet her?
Where’s thy courage, youth, and vigour?
Love’s best pleas’d when’t ’s seiz’d with rigour:
Seize me, then, with veins most cheerful;
Women love no flesh that’s fearful:
’Tis but a fit come, drink’t away.
And dance and sing, and kiss and play!
Fa le la, le la, fa le la, le la la;
Fa le la, fa la le, la le la!

Torment me not?

Fa le la, fa le la, fa la la lo!

Fury!

Fa le la, fa le la, fa la la lo!

Devil, I do conjure thee once again,
By that soul-quaking thunder, to depart.
And leave this chamber freed from thy damn’d art!

It has prevail’d – O my sin-shaking sinews!
What should I think? – Jasper, why, Jasper!

Sir? how now? what has disturb’d you, sir?

A fit, a qualm. Is mistress Harebrain gone?

Who, sir? mistress Harebrain?

Is she gone, I say? So

Gone? why, she was never here yet.

No?

Why, no, sir.

Art sure on’t?

Sure on’t? If I be sure I breathe, and am myself.

[Aside] I like it not.
[To Jasper] Where kep’st thou?

I’ the next room, sir.

Why, she struck by thee, man.

You’d make one mad, sir; that a gentlewoman should steal
by me, and I not hear her! ’s foot, one may hear the ruffling of
their bums almost an hour before we see ’em.

What strange humour call you this? he dreams of women,
and both his eyes broad open!

Why, how now, master Gumwater? what’s the news with your haste?

I have a thing to tell your worship –

Why, prithee, tell me; speak, man.

Your worship shall pardon me, I have better bringing up than so.

How, sir?

’Tis a thing made fit for your ear, sir

O, O, O, cry you mercy; now I begin to taste you. Is she come?

She’s come, sir.

Recover’d? well and sound again?

That’s to be feared, sir.

Why, sir?

She wears a linen cloth about her jaw.

Ha, ha, haw! why, that’s the fashion,
You whoreson Gumwater.

The fashion, sir?
Live I so long time to see that a fashion,
Which rather was an emblem of dispraise?
It was suspected much in Monsieur’s days.

Ay, ay, in those days; that was a queasy time: our age
is better hardened now, and put oftener in the fire; we are tried
what we are. Tut, the pox is as natural now as an ague in the
springtime; we seldom take physic without it. Here, take this key;
you know what duties belong to’t. Go, give order for a cullis:
let there be a good fire made i’ th’ matted chamber: do you hear, sir?

I know my office, sir.

An old man’s venery is very chargeable, my masters;
there’s much cookery belongs to’t.

Come, lady: you know where you are now?

Yes, good master Gumwater.

This is the old closet, you know.

I remember it well, sir.

There stands a casket: I would my yearly revenue were but
worth the wealth that’s locked in’t, lady! yet I have fifty pound
a-year, wench.

Beside your apparel, sir?

Yes, faith, have I.

But then you reckon your chain sir.

No, by my troth, do I not, neither; faith, and you
consider me rightly, sweet lady, you might admit a choice gentleman
into your service.

O pray away, sir!

Pusha, come, come; you do but hinder your fortunes,
i’faith: I have the command of all the house, I can tell you: nothing
comes into th’ kitchen but comes through my hands.

Pray, do not handle me, sir.

Faith, you’re too nice, lady; and as for my secrecy, you
know I have vowed it often to you.

Vowed it? no, no, you men are fickle.

Fickle? ’sfoot! bind me, lady

Why, I bind you by virtue of this chain to meet me
tomorrow at the Flower-de-luce yonder, between nine and ten.

And if I do not, lady, let me lose it, thy love, and my
best fortunes!

Why, now I’ll try you; go to.

Farewell, sweet lady!

Welcome, sweet coxcomb: by my faith, a good induction: I
perceive by his overworn phrase, and his action toward the middle
region still, there has been some saucy nibbling motion; and no doubt
the cunning quean waited but for her prey: and I think ’tis better
bestowed upon me, for his soul’s health and his body’s too. I’ll
teach the slave to be so bold yet, as once to offer to vault into his
master’s saddle, i’faith. Now, casket, by your leave;
I’ve seen your outside oft, but that’s no proof:
Some have fair outsides that are nothing worth.

Ah, sirrah, methink I feel myself well toasted,
bombasted, rubbed, and refreshed! but, i’faith, I cannot forget to
think how soon sickness has altered her to my taste. I gave her a
kiss at bottom o’ th’ stairs, and, by th’ mass, methought her breath
had much ado to be sweet; like a thing compounded, methought, of
wine, beer, and tobacco; I smelt much pudding in’t.
It may be but my fancy, or her physic:
For this I know, her health gave such content.
The fault rests in her sickness, or my scent. –
How dost thou now, sweet girl? what! well recover’d?
Sickness quite gone, ha? speak – ha? wench? Frank Gullman! –
Why, body of me, what’s here? my casket wide open, broke open, my
jewels stolen! – Why, Gumwater!

Anon, anon, sir.

Come hither, Gumwater.

That were small manners, sir, i’faith: I’ll find a time
anon: your worship’s busy yet.

Why, Gumwater!

Foh, nay then you’ll make me blush, i’faith, sir

Where’s this creature?

What creature is’t you’d have, sir?

The worst that ever breathes.

That’s a wild boar, sir.

That’s a wild whore, sir; – where did’st thou
leave her, rascal?

Who, your recreation, sir?

My execration, sir!

Where I was wont; in your worship’s closet.

A pox engross her! it appears too true. See you this casket, sir?

My chain, my chain, my chain! my one and only chain!

Thou runnest to much purpose now. Gumwater, yea! Is not
a quean enough to answer for, but she must join a thief to’t? a
thieving quean! nay, I have done with her, i’faith. ’Tis a sign sh’as
been sick a’ late; for she’s a great deal worse than she was: by my
troth I would have pawned my life upon’t.
Did she want anything? was she not supplied?
Nay, and liberally; for that’s an old man’s sin:
We’ll feast our lechery, though we starve our kin.
Is not my name Sir Bounteous? am I not express’d there?
Ah, fie, fie, fie, fie, fie! but I perceive.
Though she have never so complete a friend,
A strumpet’s love will have a waft i’ th’ end.
And distaste the vessel. I can hardly bear this;
But say, I should complain; perhaps she has pawn’d ’em –
’Sfoot, the judges will but laugh at it and bid her borrow more money
of ’em; make the old fellow pay for’s lechery; that’s all the mends I
get. I have seen the same case tried at Newbury the last ’sizes.
Well, things must slip and sleep; I will dissemble it,
Because my credit shall not lose her lustre:
But whilst I live, I’ll neither love nor trust her, no
I ha’ done, I ha’ done, I ha’ done with her, i’faith!

Who’s that knocks?

[Within] A friend.

What’s your will, sir?

Is master Harebrain at home?

No, newly gone from it, sir.

Where’s the gentlewoman his wife?

My mistress is within, sir.

When came she in, I pray?

Who, my mistress? she was not out these two days, to my knowledge.

No? trust me, I’d thought I’d seen her. I would
request a word with her.

I’ll tell her, sir.

I thank you.

It likes me worse and worse.

Why, how now, sir? ’twas desperately adventured;
I little looked for you until the morrow.

No? Why what made you at my chamber then even now?

I at your chamber?

Pooh, dissemble not;
Come, come, you were there.

By my life, you wrong me, sir!

What?

First, you’re not ignorant what watch keeps o’er me;
And for your chamber, as I live, I know’t not.

Burst into sorrow then, and grief’s extremes.
Whilst I beat on this flesh!

What is’t disturbs you, sir?

Then was the devil in your likeness there.

Ha!

The very devil assum’d thee formally;
That face, that voice, that gesture, that attire.
E’en as it sits on thee, not a plait alter’d;
That beaver band, the’ colour of that periwig,
The farthingale above the navel; all
As if the fashion were his own invention.

Mercy, defend me!

To beguile me more.
The cunning Succubus told me that meeting
Was wrought ’a purpose by much wit and art;
Wept to me; laid my vows before me; urg’d me;
Gave me the private marks of all our love;
Woo’d me in wanton and effeminate rhymes.
And sung and danc’d about me like a fairy:
And had not worthier cogitations blest me,
Thy form, and his enchantments, had possess’d me.

What shall become of me? my own thoughts doom me.

Be honest, then the devil will ne’er assume thee:
He has no pleasure in that shape t’ abide
Where these two sisters reign not, lust or pride;
He as much trembles at a constant mind
As looser flesh at him: be not dismayed;
Spring, souls, for joy! his policies are betray’d!
Forgive me, mistress Harebrain, on whose soul
The guilt hangs double,
My lust, and thy enticement! both I challenge;
And therefore of due vengeance it appear’d
To none but me, to whom both sins inher’d.
What knows the lecher, when he clips his whore,
Whether it be the devil his parts adore?
They’re both so like, that, in our natural sense,
I could discern no change nor difference.
No marvel, then, times should so stretch and turn;
None for religion, all for pleasure burn.
Hot zeal into hot lust is now transformed;
Grace into panting, ’charity into clothes;
Faith into false hair, and put off as often.
There’s nothing but our virtue knows a mean:
He that kept open house now keeps a quean.
He will keep open still, that he commends;
And there he keeps a table for his friends:
And she consumes more than his sire could hoard,
Being more common than his house or board.

Live honest, and live happy, keep thy vows;
She’s part a virgin whom but one man knows:
Embrace thy husband, and beside him none;
Having but one heart, give it but to one.

I vow it on my knees, with tears true bred,
No man shall ever wrong my husband’s bed!

Rise; I’m thy friend for ever.

[Coming forward] And I thine
For ever and ever! – Let me embrace thee, sir,
Whom I will love even next unto my soul,
And that’s my wife.
Two dear rare gems this hour presents me with,
A wife that’s modest and a friend that’s right:
Idle suspect and fear, now take your flight!

A happy inward peace crown both your joys!

Thanks above utterance to you! –

Now, the news?

Sir Bounteous Progress, sir,
Invites you and my mistress to a feast
On Tuesday next; his man attends without.

Return both with our willingness and thanks. –

I will entreat you, sir, to be my guest.

Who, I, sir?

Faith, you shall.

Well, I’ll break strife.

A friend’s so rare, I’ll sooner part from life.

What, so coy, so strict? come, come!

Pray, change your opinion, sir; I am not for that use.

Will you but hear me?

I shall hear that I would not.

’Sfoot, this is strange! I’ve seldom seen a wench
Stand upon stricter points: life, she will not
Endure to be courted! does she e’er think to prosper?
I’ll ne’er believe that tree can bring forth fruit
That never bears a blossom; courtship’s a blossom,
And often brings forth fruit in forty weeks.
’Twere a mad part in me now to turn over:
If e’er there were any hope on’t, ’tis at this instant.
Shall I be madder now than e’er I’ve been?
I’m in the way, i’faith.
Man’s never at high height of madness full
Until he love, and prove a woman’s gull.
I do protest in earnest, I ne’er knew
At which end to begin t’affect a woman
Till this bewitching minute; I ne’er saw
Face worth my object till mine eye met hers;
I should laugh and I were caught, i’faith: I’ll see her again, that’s
certain, whate’er comes on’t, by your favour, ladies.

You’re welcome, sir.

Know you the young gentlewoman that went in lately?

I have best cause to know her; I’m her mother, sir.

O, in good time. I like the gentlewoman well; a pretty
contrived beauty.

Ay, nature has done her part, sir.

But she has one uncomely quality.

What’s that, sir?

’Sfoot, she’s afraid of a man.

Alas! impute that to her bashful spirit,
She’s fearful of her honour.

Of her honour? ’slid, I’m sure I cannot get
Her maidenhead with breathing upon her,
Nor can she lose her honour in her tongue.

True; and I have often told her so; but what would you
have a foolish virgin, sir, a wilful virgin? I tell you, sir, I need
not have been in that solitary estate that I am, had she had grace
and boldness to have put herself forward; always timorsome, always
backward! Ah, that same peevish honour of hers has undone her and me
both, good gentleman! the suitors, the jewels, the jointures, that
has been offered her! we had been made women for ever: but what was
her fashion? she could not endure the sight of a man, forsooth, but
run and hole herself presently. So choice of her honour, I am
persuaded, whene’er she has husband,

She’ll e’en be a precedent for all married wives
How to direct their actions and their lives.

Have you not so much power with her to command her presence?

You shall see straight what I can do, sir.

Would I might be hanged, if my love do not stretch to her
deeper and deeper! Those bashful maiden humours take me prisoner.
When there comes a restraint upon flesh we are almost greedy upon’t:
and that makes your merchant’s wife oftentimes pay so dear for a
mouthful. Give me a woman as she was made at first; simple of
herself, without sophistication, like this wench: I cannot bide them
when they have tricks, set speeches, and artful entertainments.

You shall have some so impudently aspected,
They will outcry the forehead of a man,
Make him blush first, and talk him into silence;
And this is counted manly in a woman:
It may hold so; sure, womanly it is not.
No; If e’er I love, or anything move me,
’Twill be a woman’s simple modesty.

Pray let me go; why, mother, what do you mean?
I beseech you, mother! is this your conquest now?
Great glory ’tis to overcome a poor
And silly virgin.

The wonder of our time sits in that brow:
I ne’er beheld a perfect maid till now.

Thou childish thing, more bashful than thou’rt wise,
Why dost thou turn aside, and drown thine eyes?
Look, fearful fool, there’s no temptation near thee;
Art not asham’d that any flesh should fear thee?
Why, I durst pawn my life the gentleman
Means no other but honest and pure love to thee, –
How say you, sir?

By my faith, not I, lady.

Hark you there? what think
You now, forsooth? what grieves your honour now?
Or what lascivious breath intends to. rear
Against that maiden organ, your chaste ear?
Are you resolv’d now better of men’s hearts,
Their faiths, and their affections? With you none,
Or at most few, whose tongues and minds are one.
Repent you now of your opinion past;
Men love as purely as you can be chaste. –
To her yourself, sir; the way’s broke before you;
You have the easier passage.

Fear not. Come,
Erect thy happy graces in thy look;
I am no curious wooer, but, in faith,
I love thee honourably.

How mean you that, sir?

’Sfoot, as one loves a woman for a wife.

Has the gentleman answered you, trow?

I do confess it truly to you both,
My estate is yet but sickly; but I’ve a grandsire
Will make me lord of thousands at his death.

I know your grandsire well; she knows him better.

Why, then, you know no fiction: my state then
Will be along day’s journey ’bove the waste, wench.

Nay, daughter, he says true.

And thou shalt often measure it in thy coach.
And with the wheel’s track make a girdle for’t.

Ah, ’twill be a merry journey! no

What, is’t a match? if t be, clap hands and lips.

’Tis done; there’s witness on’t.

Why then, mother, I salute you.

Thanks, sweet son.
Son Follywit, come hither; if I might counsel thee.
We’ll take her e’en while the good mood’s upon her;
Send for a priest, and clap’t up within this hour.

By my troth, agreed, mother.

Nor does her wealth consist all in her flesh.
Though beauty be enough wealth for a woman;
She brings a dowry of three hundred with her.

’Sfoot, that will serve ’til my grandsire dies;
I warrant you he’ll drop away at fall a’ th’ leaf;
If e’er he reach to All Hollantide, I’ll be hang’d.

O yes, son, he’s a lusty old gentleman.

Ah, pox, he’s given to women! he keeps a quean at this present.

Fie!

Do not tell my wife on’t.

That were needless, i’faith.

[Aside] He makes a great feast upon the eleventh of this month,
Tuesday next, and you shall see players there – I have one
trick more to put upon him.

[To Mother] My wife and yourself shall go thither before as my guests,
and prove his entertainment: I’ll meet you there at night. The jest
will be here; that feast which he makes will unknown to him serve
fitly for our wedding dinner; we shall be royally furnished, and get
some charges by’t.

An excellent course, i’faith, and a thrifty! why, son,
Methinks you begin to thrive before you’re married.

We shall thrive one day, wench, and clip enough:
Between our hopes there’s but a grandsire’s puff.

So, girl, here was a bird well caught.

If ever, here:
But what for ’s grandsire, ’twill scarce please him well.

Who covets fruit, ne’er cares from whence it fell:
Thou’st wedded youth and strength; and wealth will fall!
Last, thou’rt made honest.

And that’s worth ’em all.

Have a care, blue coats. Bestir yourself, master
Gumwater; cast an eye into th’ kitchen; o’erlook the knaves a little.
Every Jack has his friend today; this cousin, and that cousin, puts
in for a dish of meat: a man knows not, till he make a feast, how
many varlets he feeds; acquaintances swarm in every corner, like
flies at Bartholomew-tide, that come up with drovers; ’sfoot I think
they smell my kitchen seven mile about. –

Master Harebrain, and his sweet bedfellow! you’re very copiously welcome.

Sir, here’s an especial dear friend of ours: we were bold
to make his way to your table.

Thanks for that boldness ever, good master Harebrain:
is this your friend, sir?

Both my wife’s friend and mine, sir.

Why, then, compendiously, sir, you’re welcome.

In octavo I thank you, sir.

Excellently retorted, i’faith! he’s welcome for ’s wit:
I have my sorts of salutes, and know how to place ’em courtly. Walk
in,’sweet gentlemen, walk in; there’s a good fire i’ th’ hall; you
shall have my sweet company instantly.

Ay, good Sir Bounteous.

You shall indeed, gentlemen.

How now? what news brings thee in stumbling now?

There are certain players come to town, sir, and desire to
interlude before your worship.

Players? by the mass, they are welcome; they’ll grace
my entertainment well. But for certain players, there thou liest,
boy; they were never more uncertain in their lives; now up, and now
down; they know not when to play, where to play, nor what to play:
not when to play, for fearful fools; where to play, for puritan
fools; nor what to play, for critical fools. Go, call ’em in.

How fitly the whoresons come upo’ th’ feast! troth, I was e’en
wishing for ’em.

Welcome, welcome, my friends!

The month of May delights not in her flowers
More than we joy in that sweet sight of yours.

Well acted, a’ my credit! I perceive he’s your best actor.

He has greatest share, sir, and may live of himself, sir.

What, what? – Put on your hat, sir, pray, put on;
go to, wealth must be respected: let those that have least feathers
stand bare. And whose men are you, I pray? – nay, keep on your hat still.

We serve my lord Owemuch, sir.

My lord Owemuch? by my troth, the welcomest men alive!
give me all your hands at once! That honourable gentleman, he lay at
my house in a robbery once, and took all quietly, went away
cheerfully: I made a very good feast for him: I never saw a man of
honour bear things bravelier away. Serve my lord Owemuch? welcome,
i’faith! – Some bastard for my lord’s players!

Where be your boys?

They come along with the wagon, sir.

Good, good; and which is your politician amongst you?
now, i’faith, he that works out restraints, makes best legs at court,
and has a suit made of purpose for the company’s business; which is
he? come, be not afraid of him.

I am he, sir.

Art thou he? give me thy hand. Hark in thine ear: thou
rollest too fast to gather so much moss as thy fellow there; champ
upon that. Ah, and what play shall we have, my masters?

A pleasant, witty comedy, sir.

Ay, ay, ay; a comedy in any case, that I and my guests
may laugh a little: what’s the name on’t?

’Tis called “The Slip”.

“The Slip” I by my troth a pretty name, and a glib one: go all and slip
into’t, as fast as you can. Cover a table for the players! First take
heed of a lurcher; he cuts deep, he will eat up all from you. –
Some sherry for my lord’s players there! Sirrah, why this will be a
true feast, a right Mitre supper, a play and all.

More lights!

I called for light; here come in two are light enough for a whole
house, i’faith. Dare the thief look me i’ th’ face? O impudent times!
Go to, dissemble it!

Bless you, Sir Bounteous!

O welcome, welcome thief, quean, and bawd! welcome all three!

Nay, here’s but two on’s, sir.

’A my troth, I took her for a couple; I’d have sworn
there had been two faces there.

Not all under one hood, sir. go

Yes, faith, would I, to see mine eyes bear double.

I’ll make it hold, sir; my daughter is a couple,
She was married yesterday.

Buz!

Nay, to no buzzard neither; a right hawk,
Whene’er you know him.

Away! he cannot be but a rascal.
Walk in, walk in, bold guests, that come unsent for!

[Aside] Pox, I perceive how my jewels went now.
To grace her marriage.

Would you with me, sir?

Ay; how hapt it, wench, you put the slip upon me,
Not three nights since? I name it gently to you;
I term it neither pilfer, cheat, nor shark.

You’re past my reach.

I’m old, and past your reach, very good; but you will
not deny this, I trust.

With a safe conscience, sir.

Yea? give me thy hand; fare thee ’ well. – I have
done with her.

Give me your hand, sir; you ne’er yet begun with me.

When, when! O audacious age!
She denies me, and all, when on her fingers
I spied the ruby sit, that does betray her,
And blushes for her fact! Well, there’s a time for’t,
For all’s too little now for entertainment.
Feast, mirth, ay, harmony, and the play to boot;
A jovial season. –

How now, are you ready?

Even upon readiness, sir.

Keep you your hat on.

I have a suit to your worship.

O, cry you mercy; then you must stand bare.

We could do all to the life of action, sir, both for the
credit of your worship’s house, and the grace of our comedy –

Cuds me, what else, sir?

And for some defects, as the custom is, we would be bold
to require your worship’s assistance.

Why, with all my heart; what is’t you want? speak.

One’s a chain for a justice’s hat, sir.

[Giving chain] Why, here, here, here, here, whoreson; will this serve your turn?

Excellent well, sir.

What else lack you?

We should use a ring with a stone in’t.

[Giving jewel] Nay, whoop, I have given too many rings already; talk
no more of rings, I pray you: here, here, here, make this jewel serve for once.

O this will serve, sir.

What, have you all now?

All now, sir; only Time is brought i’ th’ middle of the
play, and I would desire your worship’s watchtime.

[Giving watch] My watch? with all my heart; only give Time a charge
that he be not fiddling with it.

You shall ne’er see that, sir.

Well, now you are furnish’d, sir, make haste; away.
Fol E’en as fast as I can, sir: I’ll set my fellows going first;
They must have time and leisure, or they’re dull else.

I’ll stay and speak a prologue, yet o’ertake ’em:
I cannot have conscience, i’faith, to go away,
And ne’er a word to ’em. My grandsire has given me
Three shares here; sure I’ll do somewhat for ’em.

More lights, more stools! sit, sit: the play begins.

Have you players here, Sir Bounteous?

We have ’em for you, sir; fine nimble comedians, proper
actors most of them.

Whose men, I pray you, sir?

O, there’s their credit, sir! they serve an honourable
popular gentleman, ycleped my Lord Owemuch.

My Lord Owemuch? He was in Ireland lately.

O, you ne’er knew any of the name but were great travellers.

How is the comedy called. Sir Bounteous?

Marry, sir, “The Slip”.

“The Slip”?

Ay, and here the prologue begins to slip in upon’s.

’Tis so indeed, Sir Bounteous.

We sing of wandering knights, what them betide,
Who nor in one place nor one shape abide;
They’re here now, and anon no scouts can reach ’em.
Being every man well hors’d like a bold Beacham?
The play which we present no fault shall meet
But one; you’ll say ’tis short, we’ll say ’tis sweet:
’Tis given much to dumb shows, which some praise;
And, like the term, delights much in delays.
So to conclude, and give the name her due.
The play being called “The Slip”, I vanish too.

Excellently well acted, and a nimble conceit!

The prologue’s pretty, i’faith.

And went off well.

Ay, that’s the grace of all, when they go away well, ah, hah!

A’ my troth, and I were not married, I could find in my
heart to fall in love with that player now, and send for him to a
supper. I know some i’ th’ town that have done as much, and there
took such a good conceit of their parts into th’ two-penny room –
that the actors have been found i’ th’ morning in a less compass than
their stage, though ’twere ne’er so full of gentlemen.

But, passion of me, where be these knaves? will they
not come away? methinks they stay very long.

O, you must bear a little, sir; they have many shifts to run into.

Shifts call you ’em? they’re horrible long things.

[Aside] A pox of such fortune, the plot’s betrayed! all will come
out: yonder they come, taken upon suspicion, and brought back by a
constable. I was accursed to hold society with such coxcombs! what’s
to be done? I shall be shamed for ever! My wife here, and all! ah,
pox – by light, happily thought upon! the chain. Invention
stick to me this once, and fail me ever hereafter! so, so –

Life, I say, where be these players? – O, are you
come? troth, it’s time; I was e’en sending for you.

How moodily he walks! what plays he, trow?

A justice, upon my credit; I know by the chain there.

Unfortunate justice!

Ah – a – a –

In thy kin unfortunate!
Here comes thy nephew now upon suspicion.
Brought by a constable before thee; his wild
Associates with him;
But so disguis’d, none knows him but myself.
Twice have I set him free from officer’s fangs,
And for his sake his fellows: let him look to’t;
My conscience will permit but one wink more.

Yea, shall we take justice winking?

For this time
I have bethought a means to work thy freedom.
Though hazarding myself. Should the law seize him.
Being kin to me, ’twould blemish much my name:
No; I’d rather lean to danger than to shame.

A very explete justice!

[Within] Thank you, good neighbours; let me alone with ’em now.

’Sfoot, who’s yonder?

Dare he sit there?

Follywit!

Captain! pooh!

How now constable, what news with thee!

May it please your worship, sir, here are a company of
suspicious fellows.

To me? pooh, turn to th’ justice, you whoreson
hobby-horse! – This is some new player now; they put all their
fools to the constable’s part still.

What’s the matter, constable? what’s the matter?

I have nothing to say to your worship. – They were
all riding a’ horseback, an’t please your worship.

Yet again? a pox of all asses still! they could not
ride a’ foot, unless ’twere in a bawdy-house.

The ostler told me they were all unstable fellows, sir.

Why, sure the fellow’s drunk.

We spied that weakness in him long ago, sir;
Your worship must bear with him, the man’s much o’erseen;
Only in respect of his office we obey’d him.
Both to appear conformable to law,
And clear of all offence; for I protest, sir,
He found us but a’ horseback.

What, he did?

As I have a soul, that’s all, and all he can lay to us.

I’faith, you were not riding away then?

’Sfoot, being a’ horseback, sir, that must needs follow.

Why, true, sir.

Well said, justice! he helps his kinsman well.

Why, sirrah, do you use to bring gentlemen before us
for riding away? What, will you have ’em stand still when they’re up,
like Smug upo’ ih’ white horse yonder? are your wits steeped? I’ll
make you an example for all ditch constables, how they abuse justice.
– Here, bind him to this chair.

Ha, bind him? ho!

If you want cords, use garters.

Help, help, gentlemen!

As fast as we can, sir.

Thieves, thieves!

A gag will help all this: keep less noise, you knave.

O help! rescue the constable; O, O!

Ho, ho, ho, ho!

Why, la, you who lets you now?
You may ride quietly; I’ll see you to
Take horse myself, I have nothing else to do.

O, O, O!

Ha, ha, ha! by my troth, the maddest piece
of justice, gentlemen, that ever was committed.

I’ll be sworn for the madness on’t, sir.

I am deceived, if this prove not a merry comedy and a witty.

Alas, poor constable! his mouth’s open, and ne’er a wise word.

Faith, he speaks now e’en as many as he has done; he
seems wisest when he gapes and says nothing. Ha, ha! he turns and
tells his tale to me like an ass. What have I to do with their riding
away? They may ride for me, thou whoreson coxcomb, thou! nay, thou
art well enough served, i’faith.

But what follows all this while, sir? methinks some
should pass by before this time, and pity the constable.

By th’ mass, and you say true, sir. – Go, sirrah,
step in; I think they have forgot themselves; call the knaves away;
they’re in a wood, I believe.

Ay, ay, ay!

Hark, the constable says ay, they’re in a wood: ha, ha!

He thinks long of the time, Sir Bounteous.

How now? when come they?

Alas, an’t please your worship, there’s not one of them
to be found, sir!

How?

What says the fellow?

Neither horse nor man, sir.

Body of me! thou liest.

Not a hair of either, sir.

How now, Sir Bounteous?

Cheated and defeated! Ungag that rascal;
I’ll hang him for ’s fellows; I’ll make him bring ’em out.

Did not I tell your worship this before?
Brought ’em before you for suspected persons?
Stay’d ’em at town’s end upon warning given?
Made signs that my very jaw-bone aches?
Your worship would not hear me; called me ass.
Saving your worship’s presence, laugh’d at me.

Ha!

I begin to taste it.

Give me leave, give me leave. Why, art not thou the
constable i’ th’ comedy?

I’ th’ comedy? why, I am the constable i’ th’
commonwealth, sir.

I’m gull’d, i’faith, I’m gull’d! When wast thou chose?

On Thursday last, sir.

A pox go with’t! there’t goes,

I seldom heard jest match it.

Nor I, i’faith?

Gentlemen, shall I entreat a courtesy?

What is’t, sir?

Do not laugh at me seven year hence.

We should betray and laugh at our own folly then,
For, of my troth, none here but was deceiv’d in’t.

Faith, that’s some comfort yet; ha, ha! it was featly
carried; troth, I commend their wits; before our faces make us asses,
while we sit still and only laugh at ourselves!

Faith, they were some counterfeit rogues, sir.

Why, they confess so much themselves; they said they’d
play “The Slip”; they should be men of their words. I hope the
justice will have more conscience, i’faith, than to carry away a
chain of a hundred mark of that fashion.

What, sir?

Ay, by my troth, sir;
Besides a jewel and a jewel’s fellow,
A good fair watch that hung about my neck, sir.

’Sfoot, what did you mean, sir?

Methinks my lord Owemuch’s players should not scorn me
so, i’faith; they will come, and bring all again, I know; push, they
will, i’faith; but a jest, certainly.

[Kneeling] Pray, grandsire, give me your blessing.

Who? son Follywit?

[Aside] This shows like kneeling after the play; I praying for my Lord
Owemuch and his good countess, our honourable lady and mistress.

Rise richer by a blessing; thou art welcome.

Thanks, good grandsire; I was bold to bring
Those gentlemen, my friends.

They’re all welcome!
Salute you that side, and I’ll welcome this side. –
Sir, to begin with you.

Master Follywit!

I am glad ’tis our fortune so happily to meet, sir.

Nay, then, you know me not, sir.

Sweet mistress Harebrain!

You cannot be too bold, sir.

Our marriage known?

Not a word yet.

The better.

Faith, son, would you had come sooner with these gentlemen!

Why, grandsire?

We had a play here.

A play, sir? no?

Yes, faith! a pox a’ th’ author!

Bless us all! why, were they such wild ones, sir?

I am sure villainous ones, sir.

Some raw simple fools!

Nay, by th’ mass, these were enough for thievish knaves.

What, sir?

Which way came you, gentlemen? you could not choose but meet ’em.

We met a company with hampers after ’em.

O, those were they, those were they! A pox hamper ’em!

Bless us all again!

They have hampered me finely, sirrah.

How, sir?

How, sir? I lent the rascals properties to furnish out
their play, a chain, a jewel, and a watch; and they watched their
time, and rid quite away with ’em.

Are they such creatures?

Hark, hark, gentlemen! by this light, the watch rings
alarum in his pocket! there’s my watch come again, or the very
cousin-german to’t: whose is’t, whose is’t? by th’ mass, ’tis he!
Hast thou one, son? prithee, bestow it upon thy grandsire; I now look
for mine again, i’faith: nay, come with a good will, or not at all;
I’ll give thee a better thing. –

[Draws chain, etc., out of Follywit’s pocket] A prize, a prize, gentlemen!

Great or small?

At once I’ve drawn chain, jewel, watch, and all.

By my faith, you have a fortunate hand, sir!

Nay, all to come at once!

A vengeance of this foolery!

Have I ’scaped the constable to be brought in by the watch?

O destiny! have I married a thief, mother?

Comfort thyself; thou art beforehand with him, daughter.

Why, son, why, gentlemen, how long have you been my
lord Owemuch his servants, i’faith?

Faith, grandsire, shall I be true to you?

I think ’tis time; thou’st been a thief already.

I, knowing the day of your feast, and the natural
inclination you have to pleasure and pastime, presumed upon your
patience for a jest, as well to prolong your days as –

Whoop! why, then, you took my chain along with you to
prolong my days, did you?

Not so neither, sir;
And that you may be seriously assur’d
Of my hereafter stableness of life,
I have took another course.

What?

Took a wife.

A wife! ’sfoot, what is she for a fool would marry
thee, a madman? when was the wedding kept? in bedlam?

She’s both a gentlewoman and a virgin.

Stop there, stop there: would I might see her!

You have your wish; she’s here.

Ah, ha, ha, ha! this makes amends for all.

How now?

Captain, do you hear? is she your wife in earnest?

How then?

Nothing, but pity you, sir.

Speak, son; is’t true?
Can you gull us, and let a quean gull you?

Ha!

What I have been is past; be that forgiven.
And have a soul true both to thee and heaven!

Is’t come about? tricks are repaid, I see.

The best is, sirrah, ’you pledge none but me;
And since I drink the top, take her – and, hark,
I spice the bottom with a thousand mark.

By my troth, she is as good a cup of nectar as any
bachelor needs to sip at.
Tut, give me gold, it makes amends for vice;
Maids without coin are caudles without spice.

Come, gentlemen, to th’ feast; let not time waste;
We’ve pleas’d our ear, now let us please our taste.
Who lives by cunning, mark it, his fate’s cast;
When he has gull’d all, then is himself the last.

O for a bowl of fat canary,
Rich Aristippus, sparkling sherry!
Some nectar else from Juno’s dairy;
O these draughts would make us merry!

O for a wench! I deal in faces.
And in other daintier things:
Tickled am I with her embraces;
Fine dancing in such fairy rings!

O for a plump, fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and cony!
None is happy but a glutton.
None an ass but who wants money.

Wines, indeed, and girls are good,
But brave victuals feast the blood:
’For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,
Jove would come down to surfeit here.