Prov. Cleere all the Skaffold; Let no more into th'Court; we are choakd with people.

Bar. You are curteous in your preparations, gentlemen,

1 Lord. You must ascend, Sir.

Bar. Feareles I will, my lords, And, what you can inflict, as feareles suffer. Thus high you raise me, a most glorious kindnes For all my Cares! For my most faithfull service For you and for the State thus ye promote me! I thanck ye, Cuntrymen, most nobely thanck ye. —Pull of my Gowne. Of what place are ye, frend?

Exec. Of Utrich, Sir.

Bar. Of Utrich! Wherefore, prethee, Art thou appointed here?

Exec. To tell you true, Sir, I won this place at dyce: we were three appointed.

Bar. Am I becom a generall game? a Rest[212] For every Slave to pull at? Thanck ye still: You are growne the noblest in your favours, gentlemen. —What's that hangs there? what Coffin?

Lord. How it stirrs him.

2 Lord. The body, Sir, of Leidenberch[213] the Traitour.

Bar. The traitour?

2 Lord. I, the Traitour, the fowle Traitour, Who, though he killd himself to cleere his cause, Justice has found him out and so proclaimd him.

Bar. Have mercy on his soule! I dare behold him.

1 Lord. Beleeve me, he's much moved.

2 Lord. He has much reason.

Bar. Are theis the holly praires ye prepare for me— The comforts to a parting soule? Still I thanck ye, Most hartely and lovingly I thanck ye. Will not a single death give satisfaction, O you most greedy men and most ungratefull,— The quiet sleep of him you gape to swallow, But you must trym up death in all his terrors And add to soules departing frights and feavors? Hang up a hundred Coffins; I dare view 'em, And on their heads subscribe a hundred treasons It shakes not me, thus dare I smile upon 'em And strongly thus outlooke your fellest Justice.

2 Lord. Will ye bethinck ye, Sir, of what ye come for.

Bar. I come to dye: bethinck you of your Justice And with what Sword ye strike, the edge of mallice. Bethinck ye of the travells I had for ye, The throaes and grones to bring faire peace amongst ye; Bethinck ye of the dangers I have plundgd through And almost gripes of death, to make you glorious. Thinck when the Cuntry, like a Wildernes, Brought nothing forth but desolation, Fire, Sword and Famine; when the earth sweatt under ye Cold dewes of blood, and Spanish flames hoong ore ye, And every man stood markt the child of murder And women wanted wombes to feed theis cruelties;— Thinck then who stept in to you, gently tooke ye And bound your bleeding wounds up; from your faces Wipd of the sweatts of sorrow, fed and nurssd ye; Who brought the plowgh againe to crowne your plenty; Your goodly meadowes who protected (Cuntrymen) From the armd Soldiers furious marches; who Unbard the Havens that the floating Merchant Might clap his lynnen wings up to the windes And back the raging waves to bring you proffit. Thinck through whose care you are a Nation And have a name yet left,—a fruitfull Nation (Would I could say as thanckfull)—bethinck ye of theis things And then turne back and blush, blush [for] my ruyne.

1 Lord. 'Tis strange how this [man b]rags; 'tis a strange impudence Not to be pittied in his [case], not sufferd. You breed the peace, you bring the plowgh againe? You wipe the fire and blood of from this Cuntry, And you restore hir to hir former Beuty? Blush in thine age, bad man; thy grave blush for thee And scorne to hide that man that holds no Creadit. Beare witnes all the world that knowes our Trobles Or ever greiv'd our plagues, what we have sufferd And, under Heaven, by what armes we have cur'd theis,— Councells and frends; in which I tell thee (Barnavelt), And through thy Impudence I here proclaime it, Thou hadst the least and last share. 'Tis not your face, Sir, The greatnes of your friends, corruptly purchast, The Crying up of your manie Services, Which lookd into wither away like Mushrumps, Shall scandall us.

2 Lord. Your Romaine end, to make men Imagine your strong conscience fortifide, No, nor your ground Religion. Examine all men Branded with such fowle syns as you now dye for, And you shall find their first stepp still Religion. Gowrie in Scotland, 'twas his maine pretention: Was not he honest, too? his Cuntries father? Those fyery Speritts next that hatchd in England That bloody Powder-Plot, and thought like meteors To have flashd their Cuntryes peace out in a Moment: Were not their Barrells loden with Religion? Were not they pious, iust and zealous Subiects? Humble your soule for shame, and seeke not now, Sir, To tumble from that happines even Angells Were throwne from for their pride. Confes, and dye well.

1 Lord. Will ye confes your faultes?

Bar. I come not heather To make myself guilty; yet one fault I must utter, And 'tis a great one.

2 Lord. The greater mercy.

Bar. I dye for saving this unthanckfull Cuntry.

1 Lord. Play not with heaven.

Bar. My Game's as sure as yours is, And with more care and inocence I play it. Take of my doblet; and I prethee, fellow, Strike without feare.

Exec. I warrant ile fitt ye. I pray forgive me, Sir.

Bar. Most hartely, And heer's my hand. I love thee, too: thy physick Will quickly purge me from the worldes abuses. When I speak lowdest, strike.

Exec. I shall observe ye.

Bar. Farwell, my lords: to all your Counsailes fortune, Happie succes and proffit; peace to this Cuntry; And to you all, that I have bredd like children, Not a more faithfull father but more fortunate. Doe not I stay too long?

2 Lord. Take your owne time, Sir.

Bar. I have a wiffe, my lords, and wretched children, Unles it please his Grace to looke upon 'em And your good honours with your eies of favour. 'Twill be a litle happines in my death That they partake not with their fathers ruyns.

1 Lord. Let not that troble ye: they shall not find it.

Bar. Commend my last breath to his Excellence; Tell him the Sun he shot at is now setting, Setting this night, that he may rise to morrow, For ever setting. Now let him raigne alone And with his rayes give life and light to all men. May he protect with honour, fight with fortune, And dye with generall love, an old and good Prince. My last petition, good Cuntrymen, forget me: Your memories wound deeper then your mallice, And I forgive ye all.—A litle stay me.— Honour and world I fling ye thus behind me, And thus a naked poore man kneele to heaven: Be gracious to me, heare me, strengthen me. I come, I come, o gracious heaven! now, now, Now, I present—

Exec. Is it well don mine Heeres?

1 Lord. Somewhat too much; you have strooke his fingers, too, But we forgive your haste. Draw in the body; And Captaines, we discharge your Companies.

Vand. Make cleere the Court.—Vaine glory, thou art gon! And thus must all build on Ambition.

2 Lord. Farwell, great hart; full low thy strength now lyes: He that would purge ambition this way dies.

Exeunt.



INTRODUCTION TO CAPTAIN UNDERWIT.

This anonymous Comedy is printed, for the first time, from Harl. MS. 7,650,—a small quarto of eighty-nine leaves. I have followed Halliwell (Dictionary of Old Plays) in adopting the title, Captain Underwit. There is no title-page to the MS.

An editor with plenty of leisure on his hands would find ample opportunities in Captain Underwit for discursive comment. Sometimes I have been obliged to pass over odd phrases and out-of-the-way allusions without a line of explanation; but in the index at the end of the fourth volume I hope to settle some difficulties that at present are left standing.

The date of the play I take to be circ. 1640 or 1642. In I. 1 there is a mention of the "league at Barwick and the late expeditions," where the reference can only be to Charles I.'s march into Scotland in the spring of 1639, and to the so-called Pacification of Berwick. Again, in III. 3, there is an allusion to the Newmarket Cup. Historians of the Turf say that Newmarket races date from 1640; but this statement is incorrect, for in Shirley's Hyde Park (V. 1),—a play licensed in 1632 and printed in 1637,—mention is made of a certain "Bay Tarrall that won the Cup at Newmarket." We find also an allusion to the "great ship" (III. 3), which was built in 1637. Of Mr. Adson's "new ayres" (IV. 1) I know very little. He brought out in 1621 a volume of "Courtly Masquing Ayres," but published nothing later,—although, of course, he may have continued writing long afterwards. Hawkins and Mr. Chappell are altogether silent about Adson's achievements.

Gerard Langbaine tells us that Shirley left at his death some plays in manuscript: I have little doubt, or rather no doubt at all, that Captain Underwit is one of them. In the notes I have pointed out several parallelisms to passages in Shirley's plays; and occasionally we find actual repetitions, word for word. But apart from these strong proofs, it would be plain from internal evidence that the present piece is a domestic comedy of Shirley's, written in close imitation of Ben Jonson. All the characters are old acquaintances. Sir Richard Huntlove, who longs to be among his own tenants and eat his own beef in the country; his lady, who loves the pleasures of the town, balls in the Strand, and masques; Device, the fantastic gallant,—these are well-known figures in Shirley's plays. No other playwright of that day could have given us such exquisite poetry as we find in Captain Underwit. The briskness, too, and cleverness of the dialogue closely recall Shirley; but it must be owned that there are few plays of Shirley's written with such freedom, not to say grossness.



[CAPTAIN UNDERWIT, A COMEDY.]



Act the First.

Enter Captaine Underwit and his man Thomas.

Un. Come, my man Thomas, and my fathers old man Thomas; reioyce, I say, and triumph: thy Master is honourable.

Tho. Then wee are all made.

Un. No, tis only I am made.

Tho. What, and please your worship?

Un. I am made a Captaine of the traind band,[214] Thomas, and this is my Commission, this very paper hath made me a Captaine.

Tho. Are you a paper Captaine, Sir? I thought more had gone to the makeing up of a Captaine.

Un. They are fooles that thinke so, provided he have the favour of the Livetenant of the County.

Tho. Which it seemes you have.

Un. The honour of it is more then the thing, Thomas, since I did not bribe the Secretarys steward or what servant else so ever hath the government of his Lordship therein.

Tho. This is very strange.

Un. Not so much as transitorie wicker bottles to his Deputy Livetenant, no fewell for his winter, no carriages for his summer, no steple sugarloaves to sweeten his neighbours at Christmas, no robbing my brave tennants of their fatt Capons or Chickens to present his worship withall, Thomas.

Tho. I cry your worship mercy, you sold him land the last terme; I had forgott that.

Un. I, that lay convenient for him. I us'd him like a gentleman and tooke litle or nothing; 'twere pitty two or three hundred acres of dirt should make friends fall out: we should have gone to fenceing schools.

Tho. How, sir?

Un. I meane to Westminster hall, and let one another blood in Lawe.

Tho. And so the Land has parted you?

Un. Thou saist right, Thomas, it lies betweene both our houses indeed. But now I am thus dignified (I thinke that's a good word) or intituled is better, but tis all one; since I am made a Captaine—

Tho. By your owne desert and vertue.

Un. Thou art deceavd; it is by vertue of the Commission,—the Commission is enough to make any man an officer without desert; Thomas, I must thinke how to provide mee of warlike accoutrements to accomodate, which comes of Accomodo[215]: Shakespeare. The first, and the first—

Tho. No, Sir, it comes of so much money disburs'd.

Un. In troth, and it does, Thomas; but take out your table bookes and remember to bring after me into the Country, for I will goe downe with my father in law Sir Richard this morning in the Coach,—let me see—first and formost: a Buff Coate and a paire of breeches.

Tho. First and formost: Item, a Buff Coate fox and a paire of breeches of the same Cloth.

Un. A paire of bootes and spurres, and a paire of shooes without spurres.

Tho. Spurres.

Un. A paire of gray stockins, thick dapple gray stockins, with a belt, to be worne either about my shoulder or about my wast.

Tho. Wast.

Un. A London Dutch felt without a band, with a feather in't.

Tho. Without a feather in't.

Un. An old fox[216] blade made at Hounsloe heath, and then all the Bookes to be bought of warlike discipline, which the learned call Tacticks.

Tho. Ticktacks.[217]—If your worship would take my Counsell, considering the league at Barwick[218] and the late expeditions, wee may find some of these things in the North or else speake with some reform'd Captaine, though he bee a Catholike; and it may bee wee may have them at cheaper rates.

Un. 'Tis true, Thomas: but I must change the lynings of the breeches, for I love to bee cleanly.

Tho. So you may, Sir; and have the fowling of them yourselfe.

Un. Let me see: A leading staff—

Tho. A leaden staffe—

Un. A lead'ing staffe.

Tho.—ding staffe. Why, a Cane is a leading staffe in a Captaines hand.

Un. But I must have tassells, Thomas, and such things.

Tho. At the harnesse of the Carthorses there are tassells and Bells, too, if you will.

Un. Bells? What should I doe with em?

Tho. Ring all your companie in.

Un. Thou would'st make me a Captaine of a Morris dance. What serve the phifes and Drumms for, prethee?

Tho. But does your worship thinke you shall endure the bouncing of the Gunns? I observed you ever kept a way of at the Musters.

Un. Thou shalt therefore every morne goe a birding about the house to inure me to the report. By that tyme thou hast kild all my pigeons I shall endure the noise well enough.

Tho. But, Sir, you must have a dry Nurse, as many Captaines have. Let me see: I can hire you an old limping decayed Sergeant at Brainford that taught the boyes,—he that had his beard sing'd of at the last Muster: hee'le doe it bravely.

Un. What must he have?

Tho. Alas, twenty pipes[219] of Barmudas a day, six flagons of March[220] beere, a quart of Sack in a weeke, for he scornes meate; and the kitching wench to bring the shirt to him and the only band, for Cuffs he gets none but such as his drunkennes procures him with quarrelling.

Un. No, I shall be bashfull to learne of a stranger, thou sha't goe seeke out Captaine Sackburye.

Tho. He that weares no money in his scarlett hose, and when he is drunke is infected with Counsell?

Un. The very same; you shall find him at his Lodging in Fleetstreet or in the next taverne. Give him this Letter; tell him I desire his Companie this summer in the Country. He shall have a horse of mine, say:—here, give him this gold, too.

Tho. I hope it is gameing gold.

Un. He shall read warres to me and fortification.

Tho. I can teach you to build a sconce[221], sir.

Un. Beside, he is very valiant; he beate me twice when he was drunk, but, poore fellow, I ask'd him forgivenes the next day. Make hast, good Thomas, and remember all the Tacticks.

Tho. I warrant you, Sir: I know 'em well enough. [Exit.

Un. So, so; here's Sir Richard.

Enter Sir Richrd Huntlove, his Ladie and Mistresse Dorothy.

Sir Rich. Me thinkes you looke more sprightly since you were made a Captaine.

Un. Oh, good Sir Richard, indeed my face is the worst part about mee; and yet it will serve at the Muster.

Do. Serve! With reverence to the title, I have seene a Generall with a worse Countenance. It is a good leading face, and though you have no cut ore the nose or other visible scarre, which I doubt not but you may receave all in good tyme, it is a quarrelling face and fitt for a man of warre.

Un. I thanke you, sweet mistress Dorothy: I will commend you as much when you are in the Countrey.—But doe you resolve to goe downe this morning, Sir?

Sir Rich. By all meanes: is your sister readie? bid the Coachman make hast, and have a care you leave none of your trinketts behind: after a little dialogue with my scrivenour Ile returne, and then to Coach.

Lady. But why this expedition, this posting out of towne as the Aire were infected?

Sir Rich. The[222] truth is, my sweet Ladie, we have no Exchange in the Country, no playes, no Masques, no Lord Maiors day, no gulls nor gallifoists[223]. Not so many Ladies to visit and weare out my Coach wheeles, no dainty Madams in Childbedd to set you a longing when you come home to lie in with the same fashion'd Curtaines and hangings, such curious silver Andirons, Cupbord of plate and pictures. You may goe to Church in the Countrey without a new Satten gowne, and play at penny gleeke[224] with a Justice of peaces wife and the parsons; show your white hand with but one Diamond when you carve and not be asham'd to weare your owne wedding ring with the old poesie. There are no Doctors to make you sick wife; no legends of lies brought home by yong gallants that fill my Dyning roome with fleas and new fashions, that will write verses upon the handle of your fanne and comend the education of your Monkey, which is so like their worships as they were all of one familie. I have no humour to provokeing meates; I will downe and enter into a Christian diett, Madam. There is sport in killing my owne partridge and pheasant; my Trowtes will cost me less than your Lobsters and crayfish drest with amber greece[225], and I may renew my acquaintance with mutton and bold chines of beefe; entertaine my tenants, that would pay for my housekeeping all the yeere and thanke my worship at Christmas, over and above their rents, with Turkies and Beeves of supererogation. You may guesse I have some reason to change the aire, wife, and so I leave you to prepare your selfe: You have my purpose and may expect mee. [Exit.

Lady. However he may pretend, and point at charge Which makes his stay unpleasant, 'tis his Jelousie That strikes him into wildnes and dislike Of all things here: he does not use mee well. —Where is my sister?

Do. In the Closet, Madam. —I must waite upon my Ladie, sweete Captaine.

[Exeunt Lady & Dorothy.

Un. This Wench has a notable witt, if I have any Judgment: I doe not thinke but shee's in love with me. If I thought shee were not given to be with child I would examine her abilities; but these waiting women are so fruitfull, when they have a good turne from a gentleman they have not the vertue of concealment: touch a Chambermaide and take a Child, —everything workes with their soluble bodies.

Enter Monsir Device.

De. Noble Mr. Underwitt!

Un. I know not whome you meane, sir: he that comands the family in chiefe, hath been honor'd with a sword and "rise Sir Richard" (who is but my father in lawe[226] to a[nd?] by a former wife): for Mr. Underwitt, whome to salute you humbled your Cloth a gold Dublet, I ken not the wight.

De. Doe not you know mee, noble Sir?

Un. Upon even tearmes I may call your name to memorie, but if you understand not my addition[227] it is honourable to forgett the best friend I have.

De. What's the mistry of this? Your addition? pray honour me to know it.

Un. He that was Mr. Underwit is made a Captaine; you may, if you please, take notice of his title.

De. I beg your mercy, noble Captaine, and congratulate your addition of honour. It was Ignorance which, I professe, made me salute you with a wrong preface. Now, Capt., I shall bee proud to march under the ensigne of your favour.

Un. Friend Device, how does thy body? I am thy vassall; servant is for porters, watermen & lacquies, & is no witt neither. You preserve your tropes and your elegancies? What fancies doe adorne to-day? If I were a Constable I might apprehend you for suspition you had robd a pedlar. Does this thatchd cottage head hold still in fashion? What paid you for this dead mans hair? Where's your night rail[228]? The last time I saw you was in Fleetstreet, when at Complement and bare to an other gentleman. I tooke him for a Barber and I thought you by the wide lynnen about your neck [to] have been under correction in the suds[229], sir.

De. Wee are govern'd by the Mode, as waters by the Moone; but there are more changes in th'one than t'other. But does your Comand extend to the Sea or the land service?

Un. I never see the Sea in my life, sir, nor intend it.

De. You are not the first Captaine that has seene no service: 'tis time lost to travell for't when a man may bee a Comander at home. I never traveld myselfe.

Un. No, Sir?

De. And yet I understand garbes, from the elevation of your pole to the most humble galosh.

Un. Can your hanches play well in these close cut breeches? they want but a pummell to distinguish 'em from Trouses[230].

De. O sir, there is a perfect geometry in these breeches; you doe not observe the morality of your fancie, nor the gentile play and poize of your Lemon, Orange or Melon: this is gentry. Why, I understand all the curiosities of the Mode to a Mathematicall point, and yet I never travaild in all my life for't.

Un. These are extraordinary parts. Alas, a Captaine has but fifty or a hundred at most to looke after, and all they have not so much witt as your French Lacquey. And what need any travaile to instruct them? I can teach them their motions by word of mouth: when they come to fight, my Countrymen will retreate naturally.

Enter Ladie and her Sister.

Lady. Now in revenge could I bee rich, but that I would not be a prisoner to my Chamber. These superstitions will make women doe Strange things sometymes.

Sis. Of whome doe you thinke he should be jealous, sister?

Lady. Of Duke Eneas in the hanging.

Sis. I hope he has no suspition of my servants, That, under the pretence of formall Courtship To mee, should ayme at his dishonour: there's One that would weare my livery.

Lady. Device? Hang him, outside! no, my husband loves His folly and would have him the state foole, His garbes are so ridiculous.

Sis. What opinion (Still with a confidence of your cleere thoughts) Holdes he of the Knight Sir Francis Courtwell, That often visits us?

Lady. Sure a Noble one, If I may aske my Innocence; yet I find Him very amorous. O my husband loves him; He is a powerfull man at Court, whose friendship Is worth preserving. Sister, I confesse His nobleness and person hath prevaild With mee to give him still the freest welcome My modestie and honor would permitt; But if I thought my husband had a scruple His visits were not honourable, I Should soone declare how much I wish his absence.

Un. Your Mistresse and my Lady; I have some Affaires require despatch, ile leave you to 'em. [Exit.

Sis. My witty servant!

Lady. Most pretious Alamode, Monsir Device!

De. I blesse my lipps with your white handes.

Lady. You come to take your leave as knowing by instinct wee have but halfe an hour to stay.

Sis. Wee are for the Countrey as fast as your Flanders mares will trott, sir.

De. That's a Solecisme till the Court remove;—are you afraid of the small pox?

Sis. The less the better for a gentlewoman.

De. And the greater more genty for a Cavallier. By this glove (a pretty embroidery is't not?) you must not deprive us so soone of your sweet presence. Why, there's a Ball to night in the Strand and tomorrow I had a purpose to waite upon you to the pictures; I ha' bespoke regalias[231] there, too. There will be a new play shortly, a pretty Comedy written by a profest Scholler: he scornes to take money[232] for his witt, as the Poetts doe.

Lady. He is Charitable to the Actors.

Sis. It may be their repentance enough to play it.

De. You must needs stay and give your opinion. What will become of me when you are gon, Ladie?

Lady. If your devotion catch not cold you may breath your Barbary and visit us, where you may be confident of your welcome.

De. I dare as soone doubt I was Christned. But pray let us visit the Exchange and take a trifle to weare for my sake before you goe. What say, Madam? my owne Coach is at dore, the lyning is very rich and the horses are very well matcht.

Lady. Alas, wee expect upon my husbands returne to take Coach imediatlie.

Sis. But if wee see you in the Countrey you will doe us an honour?

De. You invite me to my happines. I can play well o' the kittar; I thinke your musique is but course there; wee'le have a Countrey dance after supper and a song. I can talke loud to a Theorbo[233], too, and thats cald singing. Now, yee shall heare my Ballet.

Sis. Did you make a Ballet?

De. Oh I, the greatest wit lies that way now; a pittifull Complaint of the Ladies when they were banish'd the Towne[234] with their husbands to their Countrey houses, compeld to change the deere delight of Maske and Revells here for Wassail and windie bagpipes; instead of Silken Fairies tripping in the Banquetting Roome, to see the Clownes sell fish in the hall and ride the wild mare, and such Olimpicks, till the ploughman breake his Crupper, at which the Villagers and plumporidge men boile over while the Dairy maid laments the defect of his Chine and he, poore man, disabled for the trick, endeavours to stifle the noise and company with perfume of sweat instead of Rose water.

Lady. This must be our Countrey recreation, too!

Enter Sir Francis Courtwell.

De. Who is this?

Lady. 'Tis Sir Francis Courtwell; You cannot choose but know him.—This must bee A favour, Sir, to visit us at parting.

Sir Fr. I came with other expectation, Madam, Then to heare this: I could receave no newes So unwelcome. What misfortune doth conclude The Towne so unhappie?

Lady. 'Tis my husbands pleasure, Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night; For I can guess no other cause.

Sir Fr. Could hee Bee capable of fright and you so neere him?

De. He cannot choose but know me then.—Sir, I kisse your noble hand and shall be stellified in your knowledge.

Sir Fr. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with ribbands?

Sis. He is one of my inamoratos, Sir; They call him Mounsir Device.

Sir Fr. Lady, your faire excuse.—He has, it seemes, Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking That he hath bought so many Bride laces.

Sis. You may interpret him a walking mirth.

Sir Fr. He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread, But that his outside's brighter.

De. Sir Francis Courtwell.

Sir Fr. That's my name, Sir.

De. And myne Mounsieur Device.

Sir Fr. A Frenchman Sir?

De. No, sir; an English Monsier made up by a Scotch taylor that was prentice in France. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee.

Sir Fr. Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am willing to bestow at this tyme.

Sis. Take truce a little, servant.

Sir Fr. Will you consider, Madam, yet how much A wounded hart may suffer?

Lady. Still the old businesse; Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive you If you will promise to sollicite this Unwelcome cause no more.

Sir Fr. 'Tis my desire; I take no pleasure in a pilgrimage. If you instruct a nearer way, 'tis in Your will to save your eare the trouble of My pleading, Madam, if with one soft breath You say I'me entertain'd; but for one smile That speakes consent you'le make my life your servant.

Lady. My husband, Sir—

Sir Fr. Deserves not such a treasure to himselfe And starve a noble servant.

Lady. You but pleade For vanitie: desist, for if I could (Forgetting honour and my modestie) Allow your wild desires, it were impossible That wee should meete more then in thought and shadowes.

Sir Fr. If these shadowes, Madam, be but darke enough, I shall account it happines to meet you. But referr that to opportunitie, Which our kind starrs in pitty will sooner offer To both our ioyes.

Lady. But he is very Jealous.

Sir Fr. That word assures my victorie; I never Heard any wife accuse her husband of Or cold neglect or Jealousie, but she had A confirm'd thought within to trick his forehead— It is but Justice, Madam, to reward him For his suspitious thoughts.

Lady. D'ee thinke it fitt To punish his suspition yet perswade To act the sinne he feares?

Sir Fr. Custome and nature make it less offence In women to comitt the deed of pleasure Then men to doubt their chastity; this flowing From poison'd natures, that excus'd by fraielty. Yet I have heard the way to cure the scare Has bin the deed; at truth the scruples vanish. I speake not, Madam, with a thought to suffer A foule breath whisper your white name; for he That dares traduce it must beleeve me dead, Or my fame twisted with your honour must not Have pitty on the Accusers blood.

Device. I will attend you in the Countrey; I take my leave and kiss your ivory hand; Madam, and yours. Sir Francis, your obliged. [Exit.

Sir Fr. You bless me with this promise. —How can you, lady, suffer this impertinent Afflict you thus? [Ex. Lad.

Sis. Alas, my parrat's dead and he supplies the prattle: ith' spring and fall he will save me charge of phisick in purgeing Melancholy.

Sir Fr. If you dare Accept a servant, Ladie, upon my Comends, I should present a kinsman t'ee Who sha'not want a fortune nor, I hope, A meritt to possesse your faire opinion.

Sis. You doe not say he is hansome all this while, and that's a maine consideration. I wod not have a man so tall as a Mast, that I must clyme the shroudes to kisse him, nor so much a dwarfe that I must use a multiplying glass to know the proportion of his limbes. A great man is a great house with too much garret and his head full of nothing but lumber: if he be too round agen hees only fitt to be hung upp in a Christall glasse. The truth is the man I love must please me at first sight; if he take my eye I may take more tyme to examine his talent.

Sir Fr. Do you but grace him with accesse and aske your owne fancie, Ladie, how you can affect him. Ile not despaire if he were cur'd of modesty, which is the whole fault in his behaviour; but he may passe without contempt.

Do. That modestie is a foule fault.

Enter Captaine Underwitt.

Un. Come away, Cosen; Sir Richard's come and calls for you; the Coachman is ready to mount. Noble Sir Richard, because you may not loose breath, you may call me a Captaine, please you, a Captaine o' the train'd band.

Sis. 'Tis very certaine.

Sir Fr. I congratulate your title, Sir.

Un. If you come into the Countrey you shall see me doe as much with my leading staff as another.

Sir Fr. You wonot thrash your men?

Un. If I did 'tis not the first time I ha thrash'd. If I find my Souldiers tractable they shall find me but a reasonable Captaine.

Enter Sir Richard [and] Lady.

Sir Rich. Sir Francis, I am sorrie the violence of my affaires wonot let me entertaine you to my wishes. Pray honour us with your presence in the Countrey, if you can dispence with your employments, when I shall satisfie for this haste of my departure.

Sir Fr. I shall attend you, Sir, and present a kinsman of mine to this virgin Ladie: he is like to be Master of no narrow fortune. It was my busines at this tyme only to prepare his accesse.

Sir Rich. He shall have my vote for your sake, Sir Francis. Come, Madam.

Sir Fr. Ile waite upon you to the Coach and take my leave.

Un. Sweet Mistresse Doritye.

[Exeunt.



Act the Second.

Enter Captaine Sackburie, reading a Letter, and Thomas.

Capt. Hum—hum—Where's the gold?

Tho. Here, Sir; one, two, three, fowre, and five.

Cap. Thou hast learnd the Cinque pace[235], Tho: is the gold weight?

Tho. I hope so, Sir.

Cap. Hum—into the Country;—thou hast a horse, too?

Tho. Not about me, Sir, but he is ready, all but brideling and sadling, at our Inne, Captaine. My master sayes you shalbe troubled with no horse but his.

Cap. Why, is he lame?

Tho. What? Truehunt, the black nag with three white feete? he lame? You meane that I ride upon my selfe.

Cap. Hum,—'make hast as you will preserve the reputation of your true friend and servant:'—so, so—Comend me to him, Thomas; I wonot faile to visit him.

Tho. You may demand the Nag, if you ask for Humfrey the Ostler, by the same token he has bin there this foure dayes and had but one peck of provender.

Cap. Enough I wonot faile, I say. Farewell, honest Tom a Lincolne, farewell: comend me to the traind band.

Tho. Pray doe not fall a drinking and forgett it: bu'oy[236], noble Captaine. [Exit.

Enter Mr. Courtwell.

Cap. My expectation of the Lawz well mett!

Cou. I am glad to see you, Captaine.

Cap. Is thy sight perfect? Thy poring upon statutes and booke cases Makes me suspecte. But dost thou thinke to bee A Dominus factotum on the Bench, And be a Civill Lawyer?

Cou. You are merry.

Cap. Tis more then thou hast been this twelvemonth: th'ast Lost thy Complexion with too much study. Why, thou shalt be an heire and rule the rost Of halfe a shire, and thy father would but Dye once; Come to the Sizes with a band of Janisaries To equall the Grand Signor, all thy tenants, That shall at their owne charge make themselves fine And march like Cavaliers with tilting feathers, Gaudy as Agamemnons[237] in the play: After whome thou, like St. George a horseback Or the high Sheriff, shall make the Cuntrey people Fall downe in adoration of thy Crooper And silver stirrup, my right worshipfull. A pox a buckram and the baggage in't! Papers defil'd with Court hand and long dashes, Or Secretarie lines that stradle more Then Frenchmen and lesse wholsome to the Client. Is thy head to be fild with Proclamations, Rejoynders and hard words beyond the Alchemist[238]? Be ruld, and live like a fine gentleman That may have haukes and hounds and whores and horses, And then thou art fitt Companie.

Cou. You talke wildlie; I wou'd you saw your Errour that place all Your happinesse upon such course delights. I should degenerate too much and forfet My education.

Cap. Education! he has gott a tune: I doe not thinke but thou wilt leave thy law And exercise thy talent in composeing Some treatises against long haire and drinking That most unchristian weed yclipt tobacco; Preach to the puisnes[239] of the Inne sobrietie, And abstinence from shaveing of lewd Baylies That will come shortlie to your Chamber doores And there with reverence entreat your worships Come forth and be arrested,—precious tappoles! I wo'd not willingly despaire of thee, For thy Lands sake and cause I am thy Countreyman. One generous Vagarie, and thou wer't wise, Would breake somebodies hart within a sennight, And then th'art Lord of all. Have but the grace To dine wo' mee at taverne and ile tell Thy friends there is some hope.

Cou. My friends?

Cap. Thy father's In Essex: if he live heele purchase Romford; If he die sooner then the towne's our owne; Spend but an acre a day and thou maist live Till all the world be wearie of thee. Betweene Us two, what thincke you of a wench?

Cou. Nothing.

Cap. You meane one wench betweene us two is nothing. I know a hundred Leverets[240], things that will Bound like a dancer on the rope and kiss thee Into thy naturall complexion: A sinner that shall clime thee like a squirrell.

Cou. And crack me like a Nutt. I ha no kernell To spare for her sweet tooth.

Cap. That was a metaphor: hee's not desperate!

Cou. Buoy, my deere Captaine.

Cap. Wy, farewell, Countreyman: I may live yet to witnes thy conversion. [Exit.

Enter a Footeman.

Cou. How does my uncle?

Fo. He desires presentlie To speake with you at his lodging.

Cou. Ile attend him.

[Exit.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter Captaine Underwit and Thomas.

Un. And hast thou been carefull of all those things I gave charge to be provided?

Tho. There is a note of the particulars.

Un. Tis very well done, Thomas.—Let me see: Imprimis—

Tho. The Captaine wonot faile to be w'ee, sir. He was not at his lodging; and inquiring at the Horne tavern, I heard he had been there with two or three Cittizens that ow'd him mony.

Un. That he owde mony to.

Tho. Tis all one, I thinke, Sir; for when Captaines have not pay, the creditors may pay themselves. Here they said he did mollifie the hart of the haberdashers and dranke himselfe a little mellowe ere they parted, which gave me some hope I might find him ere night at the Divell, where indeed I fetcht him out of the fire and gave him your Letter.

Un. And the gold too?

Tho. That was the first word he read; if you did not write it in text he could not have found it out so soone. His eye was no sooner in the inside but his arme flew out with an open mouth and his very fingers cryed "give me the gold"! which presumeing to be weight he put in his hocas pocas, a little dormer under his right skirt; and so takeing his word to come downe and turning over your horse to him, with caution not to be drunk and forgett your worship, I tooke my leave and went about my Inventorie.

Un. Theis things are very right, Thomas. Let me see now the bookes of Martiall discipline.

Tho. I bought up all that I found have relation to warr and fighting.

Un. That was weldone.—Item: The Sword Salve.

Tho. This I conceiv'd to have the vertue of Achilles speare: if you bee hurt you need goe no further then the blade for a Surgeon.

Un. The Buckler of Faith.

Tho. You had the sword before, Sir.

Un. A Booke of Mortification.

Tho. I, Sir, that is a kind of killing which I thought very necessary for a Captaine.

Un. Item: the Gunpowder Treason and the Booke of Cannons.

Tho. I wod not lett any shott scape mee.

Un. Shakespeares Workes.—Why Shakespeares Workes?

Tho. I had nothing for the pikemen before.

Un. They are plays.

Tho. Are not all your musterings in the Countrey so, Sir? Pray, read on.

Un. Bellarmines Controversie in six tomes.

Tho. That I took upon the Stationers word, who had been a pretty Schollar at Paules; for the word Bellarmine, he said, did comprehend warr, weapons and words of defiance. Ill words provoke men to draw their sword, and fighting makes an end of the busines; and all this is controversy. Pray, goe on, Sir.

Un. Two paire of Tables.—Tables for what?

Tho. Oh, sir, for ticktack. You know it was in my note, which though I doubted at first, yet considering you were newly made a Cap: I conceiv'd it was fitt you should learne to sett and or[d]er your men.

Un. Tacticks, man: thou didst mistake, they are bookes of warre.

Tho. You cannot know these from bookes as they are painted, I warrant you.

Un. Why, dost thou thinke theis will make a Souldier?

Tho. Not of themselves, Sir, and therefore I provided: please you read on, Sir.

Un. Parsons Resolutions and Felthams Resolves[241].

Tho. All is nothing I knew, Sir, without resolution.

Un. Summa totalis three and twenty poundes nyneteene shillings and sevenpence.—Thou hast undone mee.

Tho. If you doe not like the pennyworths tis but the charges of my selfe and a horse agen to London. I will lose but the three odd pounds 19s and 7d: it may be you doe not understand these Authors: when the Captaine comes he will expound 'em to you.

Un. What a Coxcombe have I to my man! but I dare not be angry with him. Well, carry 'em into my study, Thomas.

[Ext. Tho.

Enter Device.

De. Most honor'd Captaine.

Un. My compleat Monsier Device, this is a grace to us. You come to visit your Mistres my Cosen. As if by instinct she had knowledge of your [Enter Ladie and Sister, & Dorothy. approach, she is come to meet you.—Shall I never get opportunitie with that shee waiter! If I gett her with Child my man Thomas shall marry her.

Enter Thomas.

Tho. Sir, the Captaine is new alighted.

Un. Gett a bottle of sack up to my Chamber presently.

[Ext. [Underwit & Thomas.

La. You are a gentleman of your word.

Sis. And such a gentleman is to be trusted, Madam.

De. He is an Infidell that will breake his word with a Ladie.

Sis. I suspect, servant, you have many Mistresses.

De. Not I, by this white hand. I must acknowledge there are some Ladies in the Court in whose eyes and opinion I am favour'd. I cannot obscure my selfe from their observation; but my heart with contempt of all other endeerement is only devoted to your service.

Sis. Is't not a charge to dresse your selfe with such variety of Ribbands every day?

De. Is that your scruple? Tis the Mode to express our fancie upon every occasion; to shew the turne and present state of our hope or feares in our Affection. Your colours to an understanding Lover carry the interpretation of the hart as plainely as wee express our meaning one to another in Characters. Shall I decipher my Colours to you now? Here is Azure and Peach: Azure is constant, and Peach is love; which signifies my constant Affection.

Sis. This is very pretty.

De. Oh, it saves the trouble of writing, where the Mistres and Servant are learned in this amorous blazon. Yesterday I wore Folimort, Grisdelin and Isabella: Folimort is withered, Grisdelin is absent, and Isabella is beauty, which put together express I did wither or languish for your absent beautie.

Sis. But is there any reason for theis distinctions?

De. Yes, Lady: for example, your Follimort is a withred leafe, which doth moralise a decay: your yellow is joy, because—

La. Why, yellow, Sir, is Jealous.

De. No, your Lemon colour, a pale kind of yellow, is Jealous; your yellow is perfect joy. Your white is Death, your milke white inocence, your black mourning, your orange spitefull, your flesh colour lascivious, your maides blush envied, your red is defiance, your gold is avaritious, your straw plenty, your greene hope, your sea greene inconstant, your violet religious, your willow forsaken.

Sis. We may then comitt a solecisme and be strangely interpreted by such curious expounders in the rash election and wearing of our colours, I p[er]ceave.

La. Tis pitty but there should be some bookes for our instruction in this art.

De. Your Hierogliphick was the Egiptian wisdome, your Hebrew was the Cabala, your Roman had your Simball or impresse; but they are now obsolete, your embleme trite and conspicuous, your invention of Character and Alphabeticall key tedious and not delightfull, your motto or rebus too open and demonstrative: but the science and curiosity of your Colours in Ribbands is not only instructive but an ornament and the nearest Comentator of Love; for as Love is entertain'd first by the eye, or, to speake more plaine, as the object affected is tooke in first by these opticks which receive the species of the thing colord & beautifide, so it is answerable to nature that in the progresse of our passion we should distinguish by our eye the change or constancy of our affections in apt and significant colours.

Sis. You have tooke paines to study this learn'd heraldry.

De. It is the onely gentile knowledge or philosophie in the world. I will undertake to open any man or womans hart.

La. Heaven forbid!

De. Tell the most secret imaginations and designes conclude every passion and scruple, if they be carefull to observe the artificiall method of their colours.

Sis. Why, this may be a way of fortune telling too.

De. You say right, Lady: phisiognomy and chiromancy are but trifles; nay, your geomancie meere coniecturall, the execution of your schemes circumstantiall and fallible, but your quaint alamode weare of your fancie more then astrologicall.

La. Tis a kind of Divinitie.

De. You say very true, Madam, and comes neere to propheticall if the minds of Ladies and gentlemen were elevated to the just and sublime consideration.

Sis. What paines he takes to be ridiculous!

Do. This gentleman has a notable fancie and talkes poetically.

Sis. Yes, yes; he can write verses.

Do. Well, I have read Authors in my dayes and knew the length of the poets in my tyme too, which was an hexameter and which a pentameter, but the wits are not as they have been—right and straite.

Sis. Why, Doroty?

Do. Why, because wind is the cause of many things; now if the wind bee not in the right corner tis the ill wind our proverbe speakes of that blowes nobodie good; for when vapors and wind flie into the head it cannot be in two places at one time: and that's the reason your men of most wit doe seldome love a woman.—But here comes my Master and Sir Francis.

Enter Sir Richard and Sir Francis, and Mr. Courtwell.

Ri. This is a double honour to us, Sir Francis. I shall want language, but not a friendly hart to entertaine you and your noble kinsman. What my exquisite Cavalier Device!—tis to no purpose I see to remove into the Countrey to save charges and be quiet; the whole Citty will come hither if I stay. I have no stomack to my kn't.

Fra. I hope, madam, you will be no enemy to my kinsman.

Ri. Sister, I present this gentleman; observe and cherish him; he has been i'th Universitie.

Sis. Any degree, Sir?

Co. Onely Bachelour, forsooth!

Ri. If he winne you to marriage, Lady quicksilver—

Sis. He wilbe Master of his Art.

Ri. My vote is for him.

De.—I like not the induction of this rivall.

Ri. He studies now the law, And thats the high way to preferment, Sister.

Sis. Indeed it is the high way in which some Deliver up their purses. He may clime To scarlet, but that he has too good a face.

De. Sir, I hope—

Ri. Troth, do not, Sir,—I meane, trouble yourselfe: He is too bashfull to prevaile upon Your spirited mistres!

Enter Mr. Engine.

En. Sir Richard.

Ri. More customers? Mr. Engine, welcome; Your presence was unexpected in the Countrey.

En. Twas my ambition with some intents To serve you, sir. Please you vouchsafe your privacie, I bring Affaires are worth your entertainement: I have rid hard.

Cou. What Cavallier's this, Uncle?

Fra. He is the inventor of new proiects, cosen, They say, and patents; one that lives like a moth Upon the Common wealth.

Cou. He lookes like one.

Ric. You will excuse me, gentlemen.—Make much of Sir Francis, Madam.

Ext. [Sir Richard and Engine.

Fra. Weele leave my Nephew and your sister, Madam, And take a turne i'th garden.

Sis. You may be confident.

[Exeunt Sir Francis, Lady, and Dorothy.

De.—I doe not like the fancie in his hat; That gules is warre and will be ominous.

Ext. [Device.

Sis. The gentleman's turnd statue! blesse me how He staires upon me and takes roote, I thinke. It mooves, and now to earth is fixt agen; Oh, now it walkes and sadly marches this way. Is't not a ghost? heele fright me. Oh, sweet sir, Speake if you can and say who murderd you. It points at me: my eyes? ungentle eyes To kill so at first sight! Ile have my lookes Arraigned for't and small Cupid shall be judg, Who for your sake will make me blind as he is.

Co. Ladie—

Sis. The man's alive agen and has A tongue! discretion guide it; he but sent His soule forth of an arrand; tis returnd, Now wee shall have some sentences.

Co. Such are the strange varieties in love, Such heates, such desperate coldes,—

Sis. No more winter, and you love me, unlesse you can command the colepits; we have had a hard tyme on't already for want of fuell.

Co. I'me all turnd eares and, Lady, long to heare you, But pressing to you doubt I am too neare you. Then I would speake, but cannot; nought affordes Expression, th'Alphabet's too poore for wordes: He that knowes Love knowes well that every hower Love's glad, Love's sad, Love's sweet—

Sis. And sometymes sower. Theis wordes would goe well to a tune; pray letts heare you sing. I doe not thinke but you can make me a ioynture of fower nobles a yeare in Balletts, in lamentable balletts; for your wit I thinke lies tragicall. Did you make the Ladies Downefall[242]. You expresse a passion rarely, but pray leave Your couplets and say something in blanck verse Before you goe.

Co. Before I goe? breath not that killing language: There is no sunne but in your eyes, and when I once take leave of those celestiall beames I meet with darkenes in my habitation; Where stretch'd on sable ground I downe shall lay My mournefull body, and with folded Armes Heare sadder noats uppon the Irish harpe[243] And drop division with my brinish teares.[244]

Sis. This must be lamentable musick sure!

Co. But I have found an art to cure this wound, For I with fancies pencill will so draw Your picture in the table of my hart, Your absence shall but like darke shadowes stand To sett you of and see you, Lady, better Then Love will lett me when I looke upon you.

Sis. Could this be true and meant, sweet sir, to me, I should be kinder then the gentlest spring That warms the world and makes fierce beasts so tame And trees to swell themselves to cheerefull greene; More jocund then the proudest quire of birds, What ere they be that in the woods so wide Doe sing their merry catches.—Sure he does But counterfeit.

Co. Oh, now I see that Love Is sweet as flowers in their fragrant birth, Gentle as silke, and kind as Cloudes to Earth?

Sis. One rime more and you undoe my love for ever. Out upon't! pedlars French[245] is a Christian language to this. I had rather you should put me a case out of Litleton. They say you are a pretty Lawyer.

Co. Tenant[246] per la Curtesie d'Engleterre est, hon home prent feme seisie in fee simple ou en fee taile generall, ou seisie come heire de la taile speciall et ad issue per mesme la fame, male ou female, oies ou wife, soit lissue apres mort ou en vie si la feme de aie, la baron tiendra la terre durant sa vie, per la ley dengleterre.

Sis. Nay, here's enough a Conscience! What a Noise this confusion of languages make; tis almost as good as a beare baiting. Harke you, Sir, you are never like to recover me by law.

Co. You are not the first sweet Ladie has been overthrowne at Common Lawe.

Sis. Not by tenn thousand, Sir. Confest: but I have no mind to come to issue with a Lawyer; when he should consider my cause at home, heele be at Westminster, teaching men the Statutes. No, no, I wo'not marry a Judge.

Co. Why, Lady?

Sis. They are casuall things and men that hold such strange opinions.

Co. Lady, you may be misinform'd: Astraea Hath not quite left the earth, and the abuses Of some which shame the calling are but like Patches of beauty on the shape of lawe To set the whitenes of.

Sis. Farewell, Sir: You are in love with a barrd gown, not beauty; If you will be my learned Counsell, leave it —This yong thing is a foole or a fine fellow. [Exit.

Co. She kicks and flings out like a Colt unwayed; Her witt's a better portion then her money; I would not love her yet, and I could help it.— My Uncle and his Mistres: Ile not hinder em.

[Ex.



[SCENE 3.]

Enter Sir Francis and Ladie.

La. It is no honour, Sir, if arm'd with so Much eloquence you overcome a woman. I blush to say I love you now too much; I wish you would release what your sweet charmes Won from my tongue; I shall repent my promise.

Fra. Make me not miserable after so much blessing. Why, Madam, tis on honourable tearmes, Since not upon the first attempt but after A tedious seige in to your faire love you give up What shall enrich us both. It were a sinne To feare you can retract what both our lipps Have seal'd, and loose a happines so neare And so secure. Your husband holds his pleasure Of early hunting constant, and when he Pursues the tymerous hare to morrow morne, Cupid will waite to bring me to Elizium, Your bed, where every kisse shall new create us.

La. You must be wise in your excuse, to quit His importunitie.

Fra. Leave that to me: I weare not worth the name of him that serv'd you To loose my glorious hope for want of such A thinne device. In your thought wish me prosper, And I am fortifide against the power Of fate to seperate us; and when thou art Within the amorous circle of my armes, We will make lawes to love; teach him new motion Or chaine[247] him with the cordage of his haire, Like a tame thing, to walke, and watch our pillow And be our pleasures Centinell.

La. I see My husband; tis not safe he should observe us: Be wise and constant. [Exit Lady.

Fra. All that's sweet attend thee. So I am sailing now to my owne Indies, And see the happie Coast, too: How my wings Doe spread to catch the wind which comes to court 'em, And the green Sea, enamour'd on my barke, Doth leap to see how Cupid sitts at helme. And steeres my soule to his new world.

Enter Sir Richard and Engine.

Ri. A monopolie say you For Perriwigs?

En. Is't not a rare designe? and by such art And reasons I can name, most beneficiall To the common wealth, preventing the diseases Which some unwholsome haire breeds in mens heads, It will be worth our agitation, Sir; And you, after the rate of every thousand Per Annum milk'd out of the comon purse Into your owne, may easily defaulke To me a hundred for my first projection. Did I not love you, Sir, I could make choice Of other able men that would be glad To multiplie their money.

Ri. Sir, I thanke you, But have no mind to thrive upon abuse of My princes favour nor the peoples curse. Here is a gentleman, Sir Francis Courtwell, Perhapps will undertake it.

Fra. What, Sir Richard?

Ri. A Monopolie for composeing and selling of perriwiggs.

Fra. Excuse me, Sir, I dare not deale in 'em. If I be not mistaken, Sir, your name Is Engine?

En. Yes, Sir.

Fra. The proiector generall? If I may advise you, Sir, you should make your will, Take some convenient phisick and dye tymely To save your credit, and an execution: It is thought else—

En. Oh—

Fra. What aile you, Sir?

En. A Megrim in my head.

Ri. Whoes there?

Enter Thomas.

Looke to Mr. Engine heere, he faints, and send To your Ladie for some Cordiall waters presently.

Tho. There is a Soveraigne Well hard by has done Strange cures: please you, ile throw him into that. Ext. [Thomas; carrying away Engine.

Ri. Though I distast his busines I wod not He should miscarry here; you frighted him. But come, I thinke tis supper tyme, Sir Francis. I shall expect youle hunt with me i'th morning; I have a pack of Doggs sent me will make The Forrest ring.

Fra. Ile cheerefully attend you, I love the sport; as earlie as you please, Sir.

Ri. I wish wee had all pleasures to delight you, But no thing wants in my true love to serve you.

Fra.—Yet I must cuckold him; I cannot helpe it.



Act the Third.

Enter Thomas with Sir Richards bootes.

Tho. Sir.

Within Ri. Whoes that? Thomas?

Tho. The sun is up before you. Here be your bootes.

Ri. That's well.

Within La. I preethe donot rise yet; it is hardly day. Sirra, who bid you call him so earlie? Sir Richard wonot rise yet.

Tho. I cannot helpe it, it is none of my fault.

La. Wheres Doroty?

[Enter Doroty.

Do. Here, Madam; what make you up so soone, Thomas?

Tho. O Mistres Dority, tis e'ne long of you, for betweene sleepe and awake your remembrance came to me this morning, and Thomas was up presently.

Enter Sir Richard [& Lady].

Ri. You must excuse me, wife; I meane to kill a brace of hares before You thinke tis day. Come, on with my Bootes, Thomas; And Dorothy goe you to Sir Francis Chamber, Tell him the Day growes old and I am readie, Our horses and the merry hounds expect us.

La. Any excuse to leave me.

Ri. You may take Your ease a bed still, Madam. Ile not loose One morning that invites so pleasantly, To heare my Doggs, for a new Maidenhead, I. Twas for these sports and my excess of charge I left the towne: besides the Citty foggs And steame of Brick hills almost stifled me; This Aire is pure and all my owne.

Tho. My Ladie Meanes shee would have you gett another heire, Sir, for your lands; though it be against my Master The young Captaine, yet she speakes but reason. And now I talke o'th Captaine, Sir, Would you had given him Counsell.

Ri. To what?

Tho. Before he tooke this huffing[248] trade upon him, To have been a man of peace, I meane a Justice. Nature has made him fit for both alike. Hee's now at charge to keepe a Captaine Schoolemaster; He might have sav'd the qua[r]teridge of his Tutor If I had been his Clarke: and then the income That broken heads bring in, and new yeares guifts From soder'd virgins and their shee provintialls Whose warren must be licenc'd from our office!

Ri. Away you prating knave.—

[Enter Dorothy.

What? is he readie?

Do. Alas, hee's almost dead.

Ri. How? dead?

Do. He has been troubled with a fitt o'th stone, Sir, all this night. Sweet gentleman he groanes, And sweates, and cannot—

Ri. What?

Do. Make urine, Sir.

Tho. I heard my Ladie has an excellent Receit to cure the Stone; she is a peece Of a rare Surgeon.

Ri. Well, away and get the horses readie, sirra, For I shall ride you and your witt together.

Tho. Alas, any foole may ride me, but I would faine see any man ride Mistres Dorothy.

Do. How, sirra? [Exit Thomas.

Ri. I am sorry I must leave such a Companion. But more lament the cause. I wish him health; My presence cannot serve him. Morrow, wife: I cannot lose my sport. [Exit.

Do. Nor shee when you are gone. My Lady does expect another hunt's up.

La. Now I must trust thy secresie.

Do. You shall not doubt me, Madam, and t'assure you My faith, I have a suit to your Ladiship Whose grant, were there no other bonds upon me, Would tye me everlastinglie to silence.

La. What ist? but name, and I shall soone confirme thee.

Do. Our Captaine o'th traind band has been offring To chaffer Maidenheads with me. I must Confesse I can affect the foole upon Good tearmes, and could devise a plott to noose My amorous woodcock, if you privatlie Assist me and dare trust me with some Jewell Of price, that is not knowne, which shalbe faithfully Restor'd Madam.

La. I that dare trust my honour with thee sha'not Suspect thy faith in any treasure else. But prethe draw the Curtains close, while I Expect this friend: I needes must hide my blushes. Thou maist discover from the Gallory windowe When they are hors'd. I tremble to consider What I have promis'd.

Do. Tremble to meet a Ghost! You are more fearefull then a Virgin, Madam. Why this setts me a longing; but ile watch: This is the timerous world of flesh and blood. [Exit.

Enter Sir Richard.

La. within. Alas! What doe you meane? retire for heavens sake! My husband is not gone, I heare his voice yet; This rashnes will undoe my fame for ever Should he returne.

Ri. How's this? "Returne for heavens sake! my husband is not gone: I heard his voice; this will undoe my fame!" It was my wife, and this is sure my bed chamber.

La. (looking forth.) I have undone my selfe; it is my husband.

Ri. My forehead sweats: Where are you, Madam? Whome did you talke too or take me for? ha! Asleepe Alreadie, or doe I dreame? I am all wonder. Madam,—

La. You may kill him and please you, sweet heart; I cannot abide a Blackamore.

Ri. How's this, wife?

La. Helpe, helpe, deare husband, strangle him with one Of my Lute strings; doe, doe, doe.

Ri. If shee be a sleepe she was not us'd to talke thus: She has some hideous dreame. She spake to me, to; Whom should I strangle, sweet hart, with a lute string?

La. The King of Morocco, I thinke.

Ri. Tis so, she dreames. What strange Chimeras wee Doe fancie in our sleepe! I were best wake her. Madam, Madam!

La. O Murder, Murder!

Ri. Sweet heart, Madam, wake!

La. Whoes that?

Ri. Tis I.

La. Sir Richard? Oh you have delivered me From such a dreame I quake to thinke upon't.

Ri. I must confesse you frighted me at first.

Enter Dorothy.

Do.—My Master come back? if he had found the [sic] Sir Francis here!

Ri. How now? art thou frighted too?

Do. Frighted, quoth a! Oh, Madam, the key of the Closet quickly. I must have some Cordiall water for Sir Francis; I feare this fitt will kill him.

La. Alas, good gentleman! make hast.

Do.—His appearance would betray all: I thus prevent it.

La. Nay, sweet hart, you sha'not leave me till I ha told What a cruell Dreame I had. Methought a king Of Blackamores was in love with me, and haveing By flattering Courtship drawne me to his bed chamber, With my consent or force swore to enjoy mee. I knew not by what reasons to divert The Ravisher, but told him that I heard Thy voice, and bid him if he lov'd his life Retire, for thou wouldst deere revenge my honour. But he pursueing me, I cry'd out Murder! At which sad noise methought I saw thee enter, But, having nere a sword, I counselld thee To strangle him with a Lute string, for which cruelty Of mine, me thought he threw an Arrow at me, Which, if thou hadst not wak'd me as thou didst, Would as I slept with my strong feares ha killd me.

Ri. This was the King of Morocco: well, I'me glad I came to take away thy fright.

La. But, sweet, you left me with a resolution To hunt this morning. Have you done already?

Ri. The theeves prevented me. My Stable has been rob'd to night; two geldings And my roane Nagg are vanished.

La. How?

Ri. Nay, doe not thou vexe: I have sent hue and cry that may oretake 'em. But come, Ile leave thee to my glasse, And visit Sir Francis now shees return'd.—

[Enter Dorothy.

How does our Noble guest?

Do. Hees pretty well: he has voided one stone since And now finds ease.

Ri. Tis well: attend your Mistres. [Exit.

La. O, wench, I had almost undone my selfe, Come o'tother side, reach me that peticote; Ile tell the storie as I make me ready.

Ex[eun]t.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter Device, Sister.

Sis. Ist possible you can talke thus and be no travailer?

De. I have traveld in my fancie, Ladie, and with the Muses, and do for my recreation of witt compose some wonders in verse, poeticall essaies, as once upon the report of a heate that was in Egipt.

Sis. Lets heare 'em.

De. In Countreys I have been Under the Equinoctiall, where I have seene The Sunne disperse such a prodigious heat That made our sive-like skins to raine with sweat. Men would have given for an Ecclipse their lives, Or one whisper of Aire; yet each man strives To throw up grasse, feathers, nay women, too, To find the wind: all falls like lead, none blew. The Dogstarre spits new fire till't came to passe Each eye became his neighbours burning glasse. Leane men did burne to ashes presentlie, Fatt men did wast to leane Anatomye; Young womens heat did gett themselves with child, For none but they themselves themselves defild; Old women naturally to witches turne, And onely rubbing one another burne. The beasts were bak'd, skin turnd to crust, they say, And fishes in the River boild away. Birds in the aire were rosted and not burn'd, For, as they fell downe, all the way they turn'd.

Sis. Most excellent!

De. I have seene Larkes in that motion at fire With an Engine of packthread perpendicular.

Sis. What would they have given for a shower in those Cuntries?

De. Now you talke of a Shower you shall heare Another coppie of Verses that I made Of a mighty raine which fell once in the Indies.

Sis. That you made? If you will venture your lungs let me heare more impossible stories to passe away the tyme.

_De. _Heaven did not weepe, but in its swelling eye Whole Seas of Rhume and moist Catarrs did lie, Which so bespauld the lower world, men see Corne blasted and the fruit of every tree; Aire was condenst to water gainst their wish, And all their foule was turn'd to flying Fish; Like watermen they throng'd to ply a fare, As though it had been navigable Aire. Beasts lost the naturall motion of each limbe, Forgott to goe with practiseing to swime: A trout now here you would not thinke how soone Taken and drest for th'Emperour o'the Moone, The fixed Starres, though to our eyes were missing Wee knew yet were by their continuall hissing. Weomen were mermaides sailing with the wind, The greatest miracle was fish behind: But men were all kept chast against their wish, And could comitt but the cold sin of fish_.

Sis. And that synne would puzzle all the Civell Lawyers in the kingdome. Sinns of the flesh they are perfect in; they know well enough what belongs to Adultery and simple fornication, but you would much improve and oblige the practise of the Court, if you could bring this sinne of fish under the Commission. But now, I hope, the raine is over we shall have faire weather.

De. Now I can tell you, Lady, what a strange frost was in one part of the world—

Sis. I shall cry out fire if you doe; I had rather have some discourse to keepe me warm still.

De. Or how the whole world was troubled with the wind Collick.

Sis. No more Earthquakes, I beseech you. Some frends of myne lost a great deale of land the last terme, and for ought I know tis never like to be recover'd. Why, all these verses you have honourd me to heare were translated out of French.

De. You say very right, Lady.

Sis. No, no; they are out of Spanish, as I remember.

De. I thinke it be out of Spanish, indeed.

Sis. Or else the Italian.

De. Troth, I know not which very well.

Sis. And yet you made 'em! Some gentlemen have the faculty to make verses and forgett what language was the Originall: tis Alamode, I confesse, sir.

De. Thers the mischiefe in poetry: a man might have told 200 lies in prose upon his owne name, and never miscaried.—But, leaving these rude rymes, Ladie, how do you like the novice that Sir Richard comended.

Sis. Mr. Courtwell?

De. Is he not a pretty Chrisome[249]? I could not choose but laugh to observe in what rurall deportment he came to salute you, that should have made his address in theis postures.

Sis. Tis enough, sir; I apprehend what you would doe. The truth is, touching that thing in black, I doe not love him.

De. I know't; tis impossible.

Sis. Why is't impossible? The man's a pretty indifferent meaning man, but I must have one of a more active spiritt. No, no, the man's a Coward.

De. He lookes like one.

Sis. I put him to't, he dares not fight; and he that expects my favour to so high a degree as marriage must be none of my lord Maiors whifflers[250]; he must be valiant in Armes. I am not taken with a ring or Caskanet, as some avaritious Ladies; he that presents me with the sword of his rivall is more welcome then all the silken soft natur'd six hundreds a yeere, that will be baffeld in their best clothes and goe downe into the Country every Vacacon like Atturneys to be beaten against next terme and get damage by it, but I forget some affaires that concerne me. I take my leave. Your deserts upon me are eminent and many, and for all your noble services I—will promise you nothing: you apprehend me?

De. O, sweet Lady, tis too much.

Sis. I am so weary I can stay no longer w'ee. [Exit.

De. You make mee over happie.—So, so; the matters done. I may write my friends. Hum: well thought upon! I shall leave her joyes without any bound to entertaine me if I first beat this foolish rivall of mine and present her with his sword. She assures me he dares not fight: it shall be so. Thus with one baffling and disarming him I shall secure my Mistresse and get the reputation of a fighting Cavallier, which may save me many a knock hereafter among men of strong faith that shall heare how much honour I have elsewhere taken upon the ticket.



[SCENE 3.]

Enter Captaine and Underwit.

Un. Stand right to your files, make even your rankes, silence! Front to the right hand. As you were. To the right hand about. By the left hand. As you were. Rankes to the right double. Rankes as you were. Rankes to the left double. Midlemen to the right hand double the front; as you were,—to the left, —double the front; middle-men to the right entire [or[251] by division] double the front; files to the right,—to the left,—to the right hand countermarch,—to the right,—to the left,—wheele about—

Cap. Ran tan: enough,—you must not wast your lunges Too much at once. March faire and make a Captaine. When these words of Command are rotten (rooted?) wee Will sowe some other military seeds. You beare[252] a braine and memory.

Un. I hope so.

[Cap.[253]] And now you are chose a Captaine for your Countrey You must give good example to your Soldiers And cherish nature after exercise: You must drinke sack, sack is a fortifier. Come, wee'le to the taverne.

Un. With all my heart.

[Enter Mr. Courtwell.

Here's Mr. Courtwell: lett's take him with us.

Cap. My costive Countrey man? hee's an Anabaptist: he wonot drinke, and yet kist the Cupp of last night, me thought, when his Mistres— drank to him: wee'le try. How ist, my man of mortall breeding?

Cou. My man of warre, trebonn.—Your servant, Captaine.

Cap. Why, this was spoke like one of us; canst doo't Agen? thy voice is more authentick, soundes As I have heard a Cavalliers in taverne, Or like the merry master of the Dragon, Small Neptune, that controlls the rich Canaries, When he Comaunds the Tritons of his cellar 'Skud, and bring wine, you varlotts, with a flavour For my Nobilitie.' Wee were conspiring To goe to'th taverne.

Cou. Ile make one, gentlemen, to wash away some melancholy.

Cap. Spoke boldlie, like an Argonaute.

Cou. I am not now in London, Upon a hall day marching with the puisnes, Twenty on's in a teame, to Westminster In our torne gownes, embroiderd with Strand dirt, To heare the Law.

Cap. Is not thy father dead, thou talkst so well? How I was cosend in thee: come away.

Enter Thomas.

Un. Here's my man Thomas.

Cap. Now the Newes, Sir Tristram.

Tho. Oh the Gentleman is mad.

Un. What gentleman?

Tho. Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night.

Un. With feare of being hang'd for his projections.

Cou. My Uncle told me of him.

_Cap. Let him to _Bedlam_ then; what makes he here? Clean straw and a good whip are held restoratives.

Tho. He walkes and talkes the madliest; twenty midwives Are nothing to him, he drownes all their noise. His tongue is twenty ring of Bells, and yett He seemes so merry.

Enter Engine.

En. Save you, gentlemen, gallants, Cavalliers. How farre travell you: me thinkes you are very finely accomodated. Are you a Doctor, sir?

Cap. No, but I can tell you how to purge, and please you.

En. You say very well. Troth, gentlemen you must pardon me: cry you mercy, your name is Captaine Underwit.

Un. Yes, sir, but my mother came of the Over-muches by the Peake. She broke my father's hart, and Sir Richard buried her: things must be as please the starres.

En. What thinke you of the blazeing starre in Germany? according to Ptolmy tis very strange. Does the race hold at Newmarket for the Cup[254]? When is the Cocking, gentlemen? There are a parcell of rare Jewells to be sold now, and a man had money. I doe meane to build a very fine house next summer and fish ponds. What did you heare of the new play. I am afraid the witts are broke; there be men will make affidavit that [they] have not heard a good jest since Tarleton[255] dyed. Pray, may I crave your name, sir?

Cou. My name is Courtwell, sir.

En. In your eare; I have a cast of the best Marlins[256] in England, but I am resolv'd to goe no more by water but in my Coach. Did you ever see the great ship?[257]

Cap. I have been one of twenty that have dind in her lanterne.

En. It may be so; she is a good sailer. But ile tell you one thing: I intend to have the best pack of hounds in Europe; Sir Richard loves the sport well. And then if I can but find out the reason of the loadstone I were happie and would write Non Ultra.

Cap. The philosophers stone were better in my opinion. Have you no project to gett that?

Cou. That has startled him: I doubt this fellow does but counterfeit.

Un. What thinke you of the Dromedary that was to be seene at the back side[258] of the Bell.

En. I have seene a stranger beast.

Cap. So have I; I have seene you before now, sir.

En. Why then, ile tell you: the strangest beast that ever I saw was an Ostridge that eate up the Iron mynes. But now you talke of birds I saw an Elephant beat a Taylor in the fenceing schoole at his owne weapon.

Tho. The Spanish needle?

En. He did out eat him in bread, and that was miraculous. I have seene a Catamountaine[259] once; but all was nothing to the wench that turnd round and thred needles.

Cou. Troth, sir, I thinke you have turnd round, too, and are not setled yet.

En. Now you talke of setling I knew a gentleman, that was borne to a good fortune, sold all his land, went to sea in a Hollander, was taken by the Dunkirke; at seaven yeares end stole away in an English botome; after that saw both the Indies; for all this was taken by a Turks man of warre, put into the Gallies, and for ought I heare by credible report is not setled yet.

Tho. Sure he is a great scholler; a man cannot understand him.

Un. His braines are out of tune.

En. Now you talke of Musick theres no man in the world loves musick better then I,—ile give you the reason: I have been deafe almost this halfe yeare, and it came with a cold sitting up a primero.

Co. Now you talke of the cold it puts me in mind of the new device of fire for brewing and bakeing. Had you no hand in the project?

Cap. Againe hees startled: come, he shall to taverne with us and confess all. If he do not strip his soule stark naked to us, say I am no fortune teller.—Please you to honour our society: we are going to indulge at the taverne hard by.

En. You shall comand me, sir. Oh the Neats tongues and partargoes that I have eaten at Stillyard, but of all things in the world I do not love a black catt: next a brewers cart, there's nothing will stay a man so much in the night as a Constables. One word before you go, and I beseech you give me your opinion cleerely: was not the Morocco Ambasadour a very fine gentleman for a pagan?

Cap. Yes, surely, and the lead mines in Darbishire hold still for the Allom businesses. But come; will you walke, Sir?

En. I do use to goe a foote sometymes but when I ride; and then I must confesse there is no striving with the streame. You were in London lately: they say the people are more affected to beare baiting then in former tyme.

Cap. There are some a late are drawne like beares to the stake; but for your owne part the gout and the grand pox are all one to you. What price beare[s] meat in the shambles?

En. Flesh rises and falls as it us'd to doe, sir; but a Countrey life is the best when all's done. What thinke you of a bridg from Lion key to Flaunders? You may guess I talke at randum, gentlemen; but you must not interpret all foolish discourse a distemper of the braine: Lords would take it for a Scandalum Magnatum and your Ladies would bee angry too.

Enter Sir Francis and Lady.

Now you talke of Ladies—

Cap. By no meanes, Mr. Engin; that gentleman loves you not. Come, ile bring up the rere. Where's Thomas?

[Exeunt Underwit, Captain, Courtwell and Engine.

Tho. Ile follow, sir.—I would give my fower marks a yeare that I could talke like that mad gentleman. Hee's here and there and everywhere. How will his tongue run when his Coggs are oild; theile drench him! [Exit.

Fra. Although I mist a happines, I applaud Your nimble wit that securd both our honours. You have an excellent Instrument too o' your gentlewoman.

La. Oh she deliver'd to the life how you Were troubled with the Stone. At first I did Beleev't my selfe, and thinke of the sad consequence. But tyme is pretious now: although our Starres Have not been yet propitious to our meeting Ile try my art to night to make 'em shine. With happie influence on our Loves.

Fra. Most excellent Madam, how?

La. Ile not engage Your visit to my chamber, since the first Prov'd so unfortunate, but come to youres.

Fra. This night? wonot your husband be at home.

La. Yes.

Fra. You enjoy but one bed.

La. Without witchcraft, sir, I have a stratageme to delude my husband And all his jealous waking eyes, a plott That cannot faile if you dare but expect me.

Fra. I grow immortall with my hopes and fancie More than the worlds most pretious Empire in Our first embrace. I should runne back into An Infant once agen, and by degrees And tyme grow up to meet so vast a happines. Ages in expectation spent were poore And easy sufferings weigh'd against this triumph! Methinkes I am not man but something of A more exalted essence: humane nature Hath not capacity to understand And owne theis spatious blessings.

La. No more rapture; But with the confidence of a lover spread Your equall thoughts, and in your heart and armes Prepare an entertainement for that guest That hath no life or name but what you give. A kisse! and leave our soules to thinke upon The joyes this night attend us.

Fra. Sullen day, Do not tire now; tis downehill all the way.

[Exeunt severally.



Act the Fourth.

[SCENE 1.[260]]

[Captain,[261] Underwit, Courtwell and Musicians, discovered in the Tavern.]

Capt. Come, my Apollos, my Orpheuses or my Bacchus his Minst[rels], which, to leave poeticall expressions, in broader phrase is Taverne fidlers, some of your new tunes, my Masters; doe you heare?

1. Do you meane Mr. Adson's[262] new ayres, Sir?

Cap. I, Sir; but they are such phantasticall ayres as it putts a Poet out of his witts to rhime to them; but let mee heare.

1 Play.

Capt. No, I doe not like that.

1 Play againe.

Capt. Nor that. (Play againe)—No, no, no, neither.

1. An't please your Worship, Mr. Capt., our Boyes can singe songs to these.

Cap. No, no, saveing your presence, your Boyes have nothing, sarreverence,[263] but Love songs, and I hate those monstruously, to make thinges appeare better then they are, and that is but deceptio Visus, which after some embraceings the parties see presently what it is. The Musique Playes.

(Hee sings and reeks and fillips all the time with his finger, then sayees:)

Cap. I, I, this thumping tune I like a life; a Song, a Song to it!

_One Singes. This Song.

The Juice of Spanish squeez'd Grapes is It That makes a dull Braine so full of witt; The Lemonades cleere sparkling wine The grosser witts too, doth much refine. Then to bee foxd[264] it is no crime, Since thickest and dull Braines It makes sublime. The Stillyards Reanish wine and Divells white, Who doth not in them sometimes take delight? If with Mimique Gestures you'le keep you from sadnes, Then drinke lusty Clarett twill put you in Madnes; And then to settle you no hopes in Beer But wholesome Potts of Scotch ale though its deere.

Cap. But looke you, Child, you say the Divells white in your Song. You have beene ill catechiz'd, Boy, for a White Divell is but a poeticall fiction[265]; for the Divell, God bless us, Child, is blacke.

Boy. No, Captaine, I say white wine at the Divell.

Cap. That's true; thats a good Boy, indeed. Underwit, lend mee a Peice to give these harmonious men there. And now begon, my Masters, without noise, for I will have no more fiddle-faddle for my money, no tunes of supererrogation after the Musicall Bill is paid.

[Exeunt[266] omnes.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter Thomas.

Tho. They are all drunke already, and such Confusion in their heads and tongues, my master kisses the next man and calls him Mistres Dorothy; Mr. Courtwell, possest with the spiritt of defiance to Cupid, is ready to beat him for being in love; my Projector dead drunk in a Chaire, and the Captaine peepeing into his mouth like a tooth drawer and powring downe sack which he feeles not, but his chapps shut againe like a spring lock till he returne with a key to open his teeth, to poure in the next health.

Enter Courtwell.

Cou. My Cloake and sword, Drawer.

Tho. Tis here, sir.

Cou. Thou art a pretty fellow; here's half a Crowne, say I am gone Thomas.

Tho. You are pretty well.

Enter Captaine and Underwit.

Un. What shalls doe with him; this Engine burnes like Etna.

Cap. Throw him into the River.

Un. Hee's able to mull the Thames well, for my owne part would Mistresse Dorothy were here to open her files.

Cou. Did you not name a woman. I will have no mention of any thing that's female.

Un. May not a man talke of Sack?

Cap. Sack is a soveraigne medicine.

Un. Oh very Soveraigne.

Cap. Is it not hic et hec sack, both for he and she. Stay, is my Countryman gone? come hither, Thomas; do you thinke I am drunke?

Tho. Truly, Captaine, I cannot tell.

Cap. You cannot tell? there's your ignorance. Drink is a vice I am as little given to as another man, for I doe abhorre it in my selfe. I do wonder how any reasonable man can be drunk; therefore every wise man take Counsell and example by me, and he may see very plainely what an odious thing it is; for you must follow your leader, and vertue, which is an Antient—

Tho. Vertue an Antient?

Cap. I, an Antient old gentlewoman that is growne very poore, and nobodie knowes where she dwells very hard to find her out, especially for a Capt.; you will find it very difficult for a Livetenent. But wee will endeavour the best wee can; you see my courses, I have travel'd to find her out, and I could never yet see her at a baudihouse.

Un. Who is to be seene at a baudihouse? to the right hand countermarch.

Tho. He talkes of vertue, sir.

Un. Vertue? she never comes there; why do you thinke she should be there, Captaine?

Cap. Why, because she is an old gentlewoman and might keepe the house.

Tho. Alas, Captaine, Mistris Vertue is poore and leane.

Cap. Nay, then she is not fit to be a baud, but tell me did you ever see her, or if so did you ever doo't with her?

Un. No, but twas none of my fault; I know not what I may do in time when she understands the wordes of Command.

Tho. He does not meane Mistris Dorothy: but, Captaine, I would faine know the reason why your baudes are so fat still.

Cap. A plaine case: they lie fallow and get hart, then they keepe themselves so in health and so soluble with stewd prunes; and then sipping of sack is a great matter to fatten 'em. But they are as good people as a man shall keepe company withall, and bring up the young gentlewomen so vertuously. I came into one of their houses tother day for a carreere, and I found the baud sick upon her death bed, very religious and much given to repentance for those poore sins she had comitted. When she had taken order for her soule, she told me the young gentlewoman I look'd for was in the next roome; and desiring her upon her blessing to give me content, she turnes herselfe to the wall and gives up the ghost very privatly, because she was loth to trouble us.

Un. By your relation theis appeare to be very good people. What if we went to visit one of these Matrons? I have a great mind—

Cap. Wy, now you speake like an understanding soldier, and one that may come to something in the end. Lett us therefore march on.

Un. March on to Venus Warres.

Cap. For you know, Thomas, that the Spider and the Bee, the Spider and the Bee, do both—something, but in troth I have forgott what tis.

Un. Tis no matter what; let us goe.

Cap. Goe? no more but goe? though I be a Captaine, if I be not chosen in this imployment—

Tho. What, then, Captaine?

Cap. Why, then—I cannot goe.

Tho. Very right; but wo' not those young gentlewomen you talk'd of give a man something to make a man afraid of pepper upon occasion?

Cap. You will be prating so long till I breake your head for pretending to that which you have not, sirra.

Tho. Alas, I never had it in my life.

Un. What's that, Captaine?

Cap. Wit, I talke of wit.

Un, Who has any wit? does my man offer to have wit?

Cap. Nay, take no offence at it, for I meant none to either of you by this sack. Drawer, give me my oath, cannot you drinke without wit? cannot you game without wit?

Un. And yet by your favour the gamesters are cald the wits now.

Cap. Tis no wit to cozen; confederacy and dishonesty will doo't without wit. Ile iustifie it: do not you know the receit of Cozenage? take an ounce of knavery at the least,—and confederacie is but so many knaves put together,—then you must take a very fine young Codling heire and pound him as small as you can.

Un. And what then, Captaine?

Cap. Why, then you must cozen him.

Un. But which way?

Cap. Which way? Why, which way you will: is not cozen him enough? thou art a pretty fellow, ile talke with thee. Thy name's Thomas; take heed, I say still, Thomas, of being drunke, for it doth drowne the mortall soule; and yours cannot swim, Thomas,—can it?

Tho. Not as I know, Captaine; if it scape fire tis as much as I looke for.

Within Eng. Oh—oh—

Cap. What's that?

Tho. Tis Mr. Engine recovered from his dead sleepe. [Exit.

Un. D'ee heare, Captaine, for all this I have a great mind to a wench, and a wench I must have if there be one above ground. Oh London, London, thou art full of frank tenements, give me London. Shall we wheele about yet?

Cap. Give you London? Wo'nott Cheapeside serve your turne, or the Exchange?

Enter Thomas.

Tho. Oh, gentlemen, Mr. Engine is surely bewitch'd.

Cap. What, what's the matter? bring the witch and Mr. Engine before us.

Tho. He does vomit the strangest things yonder.

Cap. Did not I say, murder will out?

Tho. I thinke he has eaten and drunke nothing but Monopolies, and too hard to be digested they come up againe.

Within Eng. Oh!

Tho. Harke, I must hold his head. [Exit.

Cap. Did not I tell you something would come out?

Tho. Pins, pins, they lay across his throat. I told you he was bewitch'd. Heyday! cards and dice, out with 'em, the Divells a gamester and paies the box soundly—Now, now, now.

Un. Whats that?

Tho. Tis something clammy,—now,—oh, tis sope!

Cap. Sope? give a man leave to wash his mouth.

Un. Does not the lyme burne his throat, Thomas?

Tho. Alas, poore gentleman, something now agen is ready to strangle him; out with em,—hides, hides,—it was the hornes stuck in his gullett.

Within. Oh—

Tho. Well straind; what a foule stomack he has! open your mouth, Mr. Engine.

Cap. Throw downe a pottlepot.

Tho. I have, sir, and it has come up full of medium wine; if you have any charity come and helpe me to hold his head; now agen!

Within. Oh, oh, oh!

Un. This is very strange, Captaine; the man is certainely enchanted.

Tho. Master, master, tis Shrovetuesday[267] and the prentices are pulling downe Covent Garden; the Brickes come as whole out as if he had swallowed Cherristones. Hey! will you take Tobacco in the Roll? here is a whole shiplading of Bermudas and one little twopenny paper of berrinas, with a superscription 'To my very loving friends the Custome-house.'

Cap. Put up that for a relique, Thomas, and open it upon high dayes to clear the sore eyes of our Spanish Marchants. Thomas, no more, but call the Drawer, an understanding Drawer and one that writes orthographie.