The English Dramatists

JOHN MARSTON

VOLUME THE THIRD

VOLUME THE THIRD

LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII

Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market, and 80 for America. Each copy numbered as issued.

No. 30

Eastward Hoe. As It was playd in the Black-friers. By The Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Made by Geo: Chapman. Ben: Jonson. Ioh: Marston. At London Printed for William Aspley. 1605. 4to.

STORY OF THE PLAY.

Master Touchstone, an honest goldsmith, has two daughters and two apprentices. The elder daughter, Gertrude, is proud, extravagant, and wanton; the younger, Mildred, is simple, thrifty, and modest. So with the apprentices: Quicksilver is a graceless unthrift, but Golding is a model of industry and sobriety. A needy knight, Sir Petronel Flash, who represents himself to be the owner of a castle, marries Gertrude; and Golding, released from his apprenticeship, marries Mildred. Sir Petronel’s aim is to acquire some land of which Gertrude is possessed, turn it into ready money, and take ship with some adventurous spirits for Virginia, leaving his wife to find her way to the imaginary castle. Quicksilver, who has been dismissed from Touchstone’s service for riotous living, introduces Sir Petronel to an old usurer, Security; and Gertrude signs a deed, by which her estate is conveyed into Security’s hands. The knight is in love with Security’s wife, Winifred, and is anxious to have her society on the voyage. He tells Security that he intends to run away with the wife of one Bramble, a lawyer, and Security enters heartily into the scheme. It is contrived by Sir Petronel and Quicksilver that on the eve of the voyage Security brings Winifred in disguise (imagining her to be Bramble’s wife) to a river-side tavern, where are gathered Sir Petronel, Quicksilver, Seagull (the captain of the ship which is to sail for Virginia), Bramble, and the knight’s fellow-passengers, Scapethrift and Spendall. After drinking heavily at the tavern, the company rises to take boat for Blackwall, where Sir Petronel’s ship lies. As there is a stormy wind blowing and the tide is against them, the watermen urge that it would be unsafe to venture; but the company insists in starting, and the result is that the boats—one driven one way, another another—are capsized, and the drunken occupants are soused in the Thames. Security swims ashore at Cuckold’s Haven; Winifred is rescued at St. Katherine’s; Quicksilver finds himself by the gallows at Wapping; Sir Petronel and Seagull are cast-up on the Isle of Dogs, which the cupshot knight takes to be a spot on the French coast. Quicksilver falls in with Sir Petronel and the two repair to London, where they are arrested at the suit of Touchstone and, after being examined before Golding (who has been appointed deputy to the alderman of his ward), are committed to the Counter. Here, having leisure to review their conduct, they become deeply penitent, and set a wholesome example to the rest of the prisoners. By Golding’s kind offices they are released from the Counter and are taken into the good graces of Touchstone, who has had convincing proof of their reformation. Gertrude, though she has been slower to express contrition, finally humbles her pride and is received back into favour. Quicksilver marries his cast mistress, Sindefy, and lives cleanly; Security takes back Winifred.

PROLOGUS.

Not out of envy, for there’s no effect
Where there’s no cause; nor out of imitation,
For we have evermore been imitated;[1]
Nor out of our contention to do better
Than that[2] which is opposed to ours in title,
For that was good; and better cannot be:
And for the title, if it seem affected,
We might as well have call’d it, “God[3] you good even:”
Only that eastward westwards still exceeds,
Honour the sun’s fair rising, not his setting.    10
Nor is our title utterly enforced,
As by the points we touch at you shall see.
Bear with our willing pains, if dull or witty,
We only dedicate it to the City.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[4]

Touchstone, a goldsmith.
Quicksilver, and Golding, apprentices to Touchstone.
Sir Petronel Flash, a shifty knight.
Security, an old usurer.
Bramble, a lawyer.
Seagull, a sea-captain.
Scapethrift, and Spendall, adventurers bound for Virginia.
Slitgut, a butcher’s apprentice.
Poldavy, a tailor.
Holdfast, and Wolf, officers of the Counter.
Hamlet, a footman.
Potkin, a tankard-bearer.
Drawer.

Mistress Touchstone.
Gertrude, and Mildred, her daughters.
Winifred, wife to Security.
Sindefy, mistress to Quicksilver.
Bettrice, a waiting-woman.
Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Gazer, Coachman, Page, Constables, Prisoners, &c.

Scene—London and Thames-side.

SCENE I.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Enter Master Touchstone and Quicksilver at several doors; Quicksilver with his hat, pumps, short sword and dagger, and a racket trussed up under his cloak. At the middle door, enter Golding, discovering a goldsmith’s shop, and walking short turns before it.

To. And whither with you now? what loose action are you bound for? Come, what comrades are you to meet withal? where’s the supper? where’s the rendezvous?

Qu. Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir——

To. Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir! Behind my back thou wilt swear faster than a French foot-boy, and talk more bawdily than a common midwife; and now “indeed and in very good sober truth, sir!” but if a privy search should be made, with what furniture are you rigged now? Sirrah, I tell thee, I am thy master, William Touchstone, goldsmith; and thou my prentice, Francis Quicksilver, and I will see whither you are running. Work upon that now.    14

Qu. Why, sir, I hope a man may use his recreation with his master’s profit.

To. Prentices’ recreations are seldom with their master’s profit. Work upon that now. You shall give up your cloak, though you be no alderman. Heyday! ruffians’-hall sword, pumps, here’s a racket indeed!

[Touchstone uncloaks Quicksilver.

Qu. Work upon that now.

To. Thou shameless varlet! dost thou jest at thy lawful master, contrary to thy indentures?    23

Qu. Why ’sblood, sir, my mother’s a gentlewoman, and my father a justice of peace and of Quorum; and though I am a younger brother and a prentice, yet I hope I am my father’s son; and by God’s lid, ’tis for your worship and for your commodity that I keep company. I am entertained among gallants, true;[5] they call me cousin Frank, right; I lend them moneys, good; they spend it, well. But when they are spent, must not they strive to get more, must not their land fly? and to whom? Shall not your worship ha’ the refusal? Well, I am a good member of the city, if I were well considered. How would merchants thrive, if gentlemen would not be unthrifts? How could gentlemen be unthrifts if their humours were not fed? How should their humours be fed but by white meat, and cunning secondings? Well, the city might consider us. I am going to an ordinary now: the gallants fall to play; I carry light gold with me; the gallants call, “Cousin Frank, some gold for silver;” I change, gain by it; the gallants lose the gold, and then call, “Cousin Frank, lend me some silver.” Why——    43

To. Why? I cannot tell. Seven-score pound art thou out in the cash; but look to it, I will not be gallanted out of my moneys. And as for my rising by other men’s fall, God shield me! did I gain my wealth by ordinaries? no: by exchanging of gold? no: by keeping of gallants’ company? no. I hired me a little shop, fought low, took small gain, kept no debt-book, garnished my shop, for want of plate, with good wholesome thrifty sentences; as, “Touchstone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;” “Light gains makes heavy purses;” “’Tis good to be merry and wise.” And when I was wived, having something to stick to, I had the horn of suretyship ever before my eyes. You all know the device of the horn, where the young fellow slips in at the butt-end, and comes squeezed out at the buckall: and I grew up, and I praise providence, I bear my brows now as high as the best of my neighbours: but thou——well, look to the accounts; your father’s bond lies for you: seven-score pound is yet in the rear.    62

Qu. Why ’slid, sir, I have as good, as proper gallants’ words for it as any are in London—gentlemen of good phrase, perfect language, passingly behaved; gallants that wear socks and clean linen, and call me “kind cousin Frank,” “good cousin Frank,” for they know my father: and by God’s lid shall I not trust ’hem?—not trust?

Enter a Page as inquiring for Touchstone’s shop.

Go. What do ye lack, sir? What is’t you’ll buy, sir?

To. Ay, marry sir; there’s a youth of another piece. There’s thy fellow-prentice, as good a gentleman born as thou art: nay, and better meaned. But does he pump it, or racket it? Well, if he thrive not, if he outlast not a hundred such crackling bavins as thou art, God and men neglect industry.    75

Go. It is his shop, and here my master walks.

[To the Page.

To. With me, boy?

Pa. My master, Sir Petronel Flash, recommends his love to you, and will instantly visit you.

To. To make up the match with my eldest daughter, my wife’s dilling,[6] whom she longs to call madam. He shall find me unwillingly ready, boy. [Exit Page.] There’s another affliction too. As I have two prentices, the one of a boundless prodigality, the other of a most hopeful industry—so have I only two daughters: the eldest, of a proud ambition and nice wantonness; the other of a modest humility and comely soberness. The one must be ladified, forsooth, and be attired just to the court-cut and long tail.[7] So far is she ill-natured to the place and means of my preferment and fortune, that she throws all the contempt and despite hatred itself can cast upon it. Well, a piece of land she has; ’twas her grandmother’s gift; let her, and her Sir Petronel, flash out that; but as for my substance, she that scorns me, as I am a citizen and tradesman, shall never pamper her pride with my industry; shall never use me as men do foxes, keep themselves warm in the skin, and throw the body that bare it to the dunghill. I must go entertain this Sir Petronel. Golding, my utmost care’s for thee, and only trust in thee; look to the shop. As for you, Master Quicksilver, think of husks, for thy course is running directly to the prodigal’s hog’s-trough; husks, sirrah! Work upon that now.

[Exit Touchstone.

Qu. Marry faugh,[8] goodman flat-cap![9] ’sfoot! though I am a prentice I can give arms;[10] and my father’s a justice-a-peace by descent, and ’sblood——    106

Go. Fie, how you swear!

Qu. ’Sfoot, man, I am a gentleman, and may swear by my pedigree. God’s my life! Sirrah Golding, wilt be ruled by a fool? Turn good fellow, turn swaggering gallant, and let the welkin roar, and Erebus also.[11] Look not westward to the fall of Dan Phœbus, but to the east—Eastward-ho!

Where radiant beams of lusty Sol appear,
And bright Eous makes the welkin clear.

We are both gentlemen, and therefore should be no coxcombs: let’s be no longer fools to this flat-cap, Touchstone. Eastward, bully, this satin belly, and canvas-backed Touchstone: ’slife! man, his father was a maltman, and his mother sold gingerbread in Christchurch.[12]    121

Go. What would you ha’ me to do?

Qu. Why, do nothing, be like a gentleman, be idle; the curse of man is labour. Wipe thy bum with testones, and make ducks and drakes with shillings. What, Eastward-ho! Wilt thou cry, “what is’t ye lack?” stand with a bare pate, and a dropping nose, under a wooden pent-house, and art a gentleman? Wilt thou bear tankards, and mayst bear arms? Be ruled; turn gallant; Eastward-ho! ta, lirra, lirra, ro! “Who[13] calls Jeronimo? Speak, here I am.” God’s so! how like a sheep thou look’st: o’ my conscience, some cowherd begot thee, thou Golding of Golding-hall! Ha, boy?    133

Go. Go, ye are a prodigal coxcomb! I a cowherd’s son, because I turn not a drunken whore-hunting rake-hell like thyself!

Qu. Rake-hell! rake-hell!

[Offers to draw, and Golding trips up his heels and holds him.

Go. Pish, in soft terms, ye are a cowardly bragging boy. I’ll ha’ you whipt.

Qu. Whipt?—that’s good, i’faith! untruss me?    140

Go. No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas! I behold thee with pity, not with anger: thou common shot-clog,[14] gull of all companies; methinks I see thee already walk-in Moorfields[15] without a cloak, with half a hat, without a band, a doublet with three buttons, without a girdle, a hose with one point, and no garter, with a cudgel under thine arm, borrowing and begging threepence.

Qu. Nay, ’slife! take this and take all; as I am a gentleman born, I’ll be drunk, grow valiant, and beat thee.

[Exit.

Go. Go, thou most madly vain, whom nothing can recover but that which reclaims atheists, and makes great persons sometimes religious—calamity. As for my place and life, thus I have read:—    154

Whate’er some vainer youth may term disgrace,
The gain of honest pains is never base;
From trades, from arts, from valour, honour springs,
These three are founts of gentry, yea, of kings.

Enter Gertrude, Mildred, Bettrice, and Poldavy, a tailor; Poldavy with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale and French-fall in his arms; Gertrude in a French head-attire, and citizen’s gown; Mildred sewing and Bettrice leading a monkey after her.[16]

Ge. For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach—that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that—for love’s sake tell me if he come. O sister Mill, though my father be a low-capped tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me madam. Does he come? Off with this gown, for shame’s sake, off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city-cut in any hand: tear’t, pax on’t (does he come?) tear’t off. “Thus whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,” &c.[17]    167

Mi. Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city ’tire; I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.

Ge. I tell you I cannot endure it, I must be a lady: do you wear your coif with a London licket,[18] your stammel[19] petticoat with two guards,[20] the buffin[21] gown with the tuff-taffety cape, and the velvet lace. I must be a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humours of the city-dames well: to eat cherries[22] only at an angel a pound, good; to dye rich scarlet, black, pretty; to line a grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, tolerable; their pure linen, their smocks of three pounds a smock, are to be borne withal. But your mincing niceries, taffeta pipkins, durance[23] petticoats, and silver bodkins—God’s my life, as I shall be a lady, I cannot endure it! Is he come yet? Lord, what a long knight ’tis! “And ever she cried, Shoot[24] home!” and yet I knew one longer; “And ever she cried, Shoot[24] home,” fa, la, ly, re, lo, la!

Mi. Well, sister, those that scorn their nest, oft fly with a sick wing.    188

Ge. Bow-bell!

Mi. Where titles presume to thrust before fit means to second them, wealth and respect often grow sullen, and will not follow. For sure in this, I would for your sake I spake not truth: Where ambition of place goes before fitness of birth, contempt and disgrace follow. I heard a scholar once say, that Ulysses, when he counterfeited himself mad, yoked cats[25] and foxes and dogs together to draw his plough, whiles he followed and sowed salt; but sure I judge them truly mad, that yoke citizens and courtiers, tradesmen and soldiers, a goldsmith’s daughter and a knight. Well, sister, pray God my father sow not salt too.    201

Ge. Alas! poor Mildred, when I am a lady, I’ll pray for thee yet, i’faith: nay, and I’ll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still; for though thou art not like to be a lady as I am, yet sure thou art a creature of God’s making; and mayest peradventure to be saved as soon as I (does he come?). “And ever and anon she doubled in her song.” Now, lady’s my comfort, what profane ape’s here? Tailor, Poldavy, prithee, fit it, fit it: is this a right Scot?[26] Does it clip close, and bear up round?    210

Po. Fine and stiffly, i’faith; ’twill keep your thighs so cool, and make your waist so small; here was a fault in your body, but I have supplied the defect, with the effect of my steel instrument, which, though it have but one eye, can see to rectify the imperfection of the proportion.

Ge. Most edifying tailor! I protest you tailors are most sanctified members, and make many crooked things go upright. How must I bear my hands? Light? light?    219

Po. O ay, now you are in the lady-fashion, you must do all things light. Tread light, light. Ay, and fall so: that’s the Court-amble.

[She trips about the stage.

Ge. Has the Court ne’er a trot?

Po. No, but a false gallop, lady.

Ge. And if she will not go to bed—

[Cantat.

Be. The knight’s come, forsooth.

Enter Sir Petronel, Master Touchstone, and Mistress Touchstone.

Ge. Is my knight come? O the Lord, my band! Sister, do my cheeks look well? Give me a little box o’ the ear, that I may seem to blush; now, now! So, there, there, there! here he is: O my dearest delight! Lord, Lord! and how does my knight?    231

To. Fie! with more modesty.

Ge. Modesty! why, I am no citizen now—modesty! Am I not to be married? y’are best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.

Sir Pe. Boldness is good fashion and courtlike.

Ge. Ay, in a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how chance ye came no sooner, knight?

Sir Pe. ’Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count Epernoum, a Welsh knight; we had a match at balloon[27] too with my Lord Whachum, for four crowns.    242

Ge. At baboon? Jesu! you and I will play at baboon in the country, knight.

Sir Pe. O, sweet lady! ’tis a strong play with the arm.

Ge. With arm or leg, or any other member, if it be a Court-sport. And when shall’s be married, my knight?

Sir Pe. I come now to consummate it, and your father may call a poor knight son-in-law.    250

M. To. Sir, ye are come; what is not mine to keep I must not be sorry to forego. A 100 li. land her grandmother left her, ’tis yours; herself (as her mother’s gift) is yours. But if you expect aught from me, know, my hand and mine eyes open together; I do not give blindly. Work upon that now.

Sir Pe. Sir, you mistrust not my means? I am a knight.

To. Sir, sir, what I know not, you will give me leave to say I am ignorant of.    260

Mist. To. Yes, that he is a knight; I know where he had money to pay the gentlemen-ushers and heralds their fees. Ay, that he is a knight, and so might you have been too, if you had been aught else than an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. And I thought you would not ha’ been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha’ dubbed you myself. I praise God I have wherewithal. But as for your daughter——

Ge. Ay, mother, I must be a lady to-morrow; and by your leave, mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my husband), I must take place of you, mother.    272

Mist. To. That you shall, lady-daughter, and have a coach as well as I too.

Ge. Yes, mother. But by your leave, mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in my husband’s right), my coach-horses must take the wall of your coach-horses.

To. Come, come, the day grows low; ’tis supper-time; use my house; the wedding solemnity is at my wife’s cost; thank me for nothing but my [un]willing blessing; for I cannot feign, my hopes are faint. And, sir, respect my daughter; she has refused for you wealthy and honest matches, known good men, well-moneyed, better traded, best reputed.    284

Ge. Body-o’-truth! chittizens,[28] chittizens! Sweet knight, as soon as ever we are married, take me to thy mercy out of this miserable chitty; presently carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal, and the hearing of Bow-bell; I beseech thee down with me, for God sake!

To. Well, daughter, I have read that old wit sings:—

The greatest rivers flow from little springs:
Though thou art full, scorn not thy means at first,
He that’s most drunk may soonest be athirst.

Work upon that now.    294

[All but Touchstone, Mildred, and Golding depart.

No, no! yond’ stand my hopes—Mildred, come hither, daughter. And how approve you your sister’s fashion? how do you fancy her choice? what dost thou think?

Mi. I hope as a sister, well.

To. Nay but, nay but, how dost thou like her behaviour and humour? Speak freely.    300

Mi. I am loth to speak ill; and yet I am sorry of this, I cannot speak well.

To. Well; very good, as I would wish; a modest answer. Golding, come hither; hither, Golding. How dost thou like the knight, Sir Flash? does he not look big? how likest thou the elephant? he says he has a castle in the country.

Go. Pray heaven, the elephant carry not his castle on his back.[29]    309

To. ’Fore heaven, very well! but seriously, how dost repute him?

Go. The best I can say of him is, I know him not.

To. Ha, Golding! I commend thee, I approve thee, and will make it appear my affection is strong to thee. My wife has her humour, and I will ha’ mine. Dost thou see my daughter here? She is not fair, well-favoured or so indifferent, which modest measure of beauty shall not make it thy only work to watch her, nor sufficient mischance to suspect her. Thou art towardly, she is modest; thou art provident, she is careful. She’s now mine; give me thy hand, she’s now thine. Work upon that now.    322

Go. Sir, as your son, I honour you; and as your servant, obey you.

To. Sayest thou so? Come hither, Mildred. Do you see yond’ fellow? he is a gentleman, though my prentice, and has somewhat to take too; a youth of good hope; well friended, well parted.[30] Are you mine? you are his. Work upon that now.    329

Mi. Sir, I am all yours; your body gave me life; your care and love, happiness of life; let your virtue still direct it, for to your wisdom I wholly dispose myself.

To. Say’st thou so? Be you two better acquainted. Lip her, lip her, knave. So, shut up shop; in. We must make holiday.

[Exeunt Golding and Mildred.

This match shall on, for I intend to prove
Which thrives the best, the mean or lofty love.
Whether fit wedlock vow’d ’twixt like and like,
Or prouder hopes, which daringly o’erstrike    340
Their place and means. ’Tis honest time’s expense,
When seeming lightness bears a moral sense.
Work upon that now.

[Exit.

SCENE I.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Touchstone, Quicksilver, Golding, and Mildred, sitting on either side of the stall.

To. Quicksilver, Master Francis Quicksilver, Master Quicksilver!

Enter Quicksilver.

Qu. Here, sir (ump).

To. So, sir; nothing but flat Master Quicksilver (without any familiar addition) will fetch you; will you truss my points, sir?

Qu. Ay, forsooth (ump).

To. How now, sir? the drunken hiccup so soon this morning?

Qu. ’Tis but the coldness of my stomach, forsooth.    10

To. What? have you the cause natural for it? y’are a very learned drunkard: I believe I shall miss some of my silver spoons with your learning. The nuptial night will not moisten your throat sufficiently, but the morning likewise must rain her dews into your gluttonous weasand.

Qu. An’t please you, sir, we did but drink (ump) to the coming off of the knightly bridegroom.

To. To the coming off an’ him?    19

Qu. Ay, forsooth, we drunk to his coming on (ump) when we went to bed; and now we are up, we must drink to his coming off: for that’s the chief honour of a soldier, sir; and therefore we must drink so much the more to it, forsooth (ump).

To. A very capital reason! So that you go to bed late, and rise early to commit drunkenness; you fulfil the scripture very sufficient wickedly, forsooth.

Qu. The knight’s men, forsooth, be still o’ their knees at it (ump), and because ’tis for your credit, sir, I would be loth to flinch.    30

To. I pray, sir, e’en to ’hem again then; y’are one of the separated crew, one of my wife’s faction, and my young lady’s, with whom, and with their great match, I will have nothing to do.

Qu. So, sir, now I will go keep my (ump) credit with ’hem, an’t please you, sir.

To. In any case, sir, lay one cup of sack more o’ your cold stomach, I beseech you.    38

Qu. Yes, forsooth.

[Exit Quicksilver.

To. This is for my credit! servants ever maintain drunkenness in their master’s house for their master’s credit; a good idle serving-man’s reason. I thank time the night is past; I ne’er waked to such cost; I think we have stowed more sorts of flesh in our bellies than ever Noah’s ark received; and for wine, why my house turns giddy with it, and more noise in it than at a conduit. Ay me! even beasts condemn our gluttony. Well, ’tis our city’s fault, which, because we commit seldom, we commit the more sinfully; we lose no time in our sensuality, but we make amends for it. O that we would do so in virtue, and religious negligences! But see here are all the sober parcels my house can show; I’ll eavesdrop, hear what thoughts they utter this morning.    54

Enter Golding and Mildred.

Go. But is it possible that you, seeing your sister preferred to the bed of a knight, should contain your affections in the arms of a prentice?

Mi. I had rather make up the garment of my affections in some of the same piece, than, like a fool, wear gowns of two colours, or mix sackcloth with satin.

Go. And do the costly garments—the title and fame of a lady, the fashion, observation, and reverence proper to such preferment—no more inflame you than such convenience as my poor means and industry can offer to your virtues?    65

Mi. I have observed that the bridle given to those violent flatteries of fortune is seldom recovered; they bear one headlong in desire from one novelty to another, and where those ranging appetites reign, there is ever more passion than reason: no stay, and so no happiness. These hasty advancements are not natural. Nature hath given us legs to go to our objects; not wings to fly to them.    73

Go. How dear an object you are to my desires I cannot express; whose fruition would my master’s absolute consent and yours vouchsafe me, I should be absolutely happy. And though it were a grace so far beyond my merit, that I should blush with unworthiness to receive it, yet thus far both my love and my means shall assure your requital: you shall want nothing fit for your birth and education; what increase of wealth and advancement the honest and orderly industry and skill of our trade will afford in any, I doubt not will be aspired by me; I will ever make your contentment the end of my endeavours; I will love you above all; and only your grief shall be my misery, and your delight my felicity.    87

To. Work upon that now. By my hopes, he wooes honestly and orderly; he shall be anchor of my hopes! Look, see the ill-yoked monster, his fellow!

Enter Quicksilver unlaced, a towel about his neck, in his flat-cap, drunk.

Qu. Eastward-ho! Holla, ye pampered jades of Asia![31]

To. Drunk now downright, o’ my fidelity!

Qu. (Ump).[32] Pull eo, pullo! showse, quoth the caliver.    95

Go. Fie, fellow Quicksilver, what a pickle are you in!

Qu. Pickle? pickle in thy throat; zounds, pickle! Wa, ha, ho! good-morrow, knight Petronel: morrow, lady goldsmith; come off, knight, with a counterbuff, for the honour of knighthood.

Go. Why, how now, sir? do ye know where you are?    102

Qu. Where I am? why, ’sblood! you jolthead, where I am!

Go. Go to, go to, for shame; go to bed and sleep out this immodesty: thou shamest both my master and his house.

Qu. Shame? what shame? I thought thou wouldst show thy bringing-up; and thou wert a gentleman as I am, thou wouldst think it no shame to be drunk. Lend me some money, save my credit; I must dine with the serving-men and their wives—and their wives, sirrah!    112

Go. E’en who you will; I’ll not lend thee threepence.

Qu. ’Sfoot; lend me some money; hast thou not Hiren here?[33]

To. Why, how now, sirrah? what vein’s this, ha?

Qu. Who cries on murther? Lady, was it you?[34] how does our master? pray thee cry Eastward-ho!

To. Sirrah, sirrah, y’are past your hiccup now; I see y’are drunk.    121

Qu. ’Tis for your credit, master.

To. And hear you keep a whore in town.

Qu. ’Tis for your credit, master.

To. And what you are out in cash, I know.

Qu. So do I; my father’s a gentleman. Work upon that now. Eastward-ho!

To. Sir, Eastward-ho will make you go Westward-ho:[35] I will no longer dishonest my house, nor endanger my stock, with your licence. There, sir, there’s your indenture; all your apparel (that I must know) is on your back, and from this time my door is shut to you: from me be free; but for other freedom, and the moneys you have wasted, Eastward-ho shall not serve you.    134

Qu. Am I free o’ my fetters? Rent, fly with a duck in thy mouth, and now I tell thee, Touchstone——

To. Good sir——

Qu. When[36] this eternal substance of my soul—

To. Well said; change your gold-ends[37] for your play-ends.    140

Qu. Did live imprison’d in my wanton flesh—

To. What then, sir?

Qu. I was a courtier in the Spanish Court, and Don Andrea was my name.

To. Good master Don Andrea, will you march?

Qu. Sweet Touchstone, will you lend me two shillings?

To. Not a penny.

Qu. Not a penny? I have friends, and I have acquaintance; I will piss at thy shop-posts, and throw rotten eggs at thy sign. Work upon that now.    150

[Exit staggering.

To. Now, sirrah, you! hear you? you shall serve me no more neither—not an hour longer.

Go. What mean you, sir?

To. I mean to give thee thy freedom, and with thy freedom my daughter, and with my daughter a father’s love. And with all these such a portion as shall make Knight Petronel himself envy thee! Y’are both agreed, are ye not?

Am. With all submission, both of thanks and duty.

To. Well then, the great Power of heaven bless and confirm you. And, Golding, that my love to thee may not show less than my wife’s love to my eldest daughter, thy marriage feast shall equal the knight’s and hers.    163

Go. Let me beseech you, no, sir; the superfluity and cold meat left at their nuptials will with bounty furnish ours. The grossest prodigality is superfluous cost of the belly; nor would I wish any invitement of states or friends, only your reverent[38] presence and witness shall sufficiently grace and confirm us.    169

To. Son to my own bosom, take her and my blessing. The nice fondling, my lady, sir-reverence, that I must not now presume to call daughter, is so ravished with desire to hansell her new coach, and see her knight’s Eastward Castle, that the next morning will sweat with her busy setting forth. Away will she and her mother, and while their preparation is making, ourselves, with some two or three other friends, will consummate the humble match we have in God’s name concluded. ’Tis to my wish, for I have often read,
Fit birth, fit age, keeps long a quiet bed.    180
’Tis to my wish; for tradesmen, well ’tis known,
Get with more ease than gentry keeps his own.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Room in Security’s house.

Security solus.

Sec. My privy guest, lusty Quicksilver, has drunk too deep of the bride-bowl; but with a little sleep, he is much recovered; and, I think, is making himself ready to be drunk in a gallanter likeness. My house is as ’twere the cave where the young outlaw hoards the stolen vails of his occupation; and here, when he will revel it in his prodigal similitude, he retires to his trunks, and (I may say softly) his punks; he dares trust me with the keeping of both; for I am Security itself; my name is Security, the famous usurer.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Room in Security’s house.

Enter Quicksilver in his prentice’s coat and cap, his gallant breeches and stockings, gartering himself, Security following.

Qu. Come, old Security, thou father of destruction! th’ indented sheepskin is burned wherein I was wrapt; and I am now loose, to get more children of perdition into thy usurous bonds. Thou feed’st my lechery, and I thy covetousness; thou art pander to me for my wench, and I to thee for thy cozenages. Ka me, ka thee,[39] runs through court and country.

Sec. Well said, my subtle Quicksilver! These ka’s ope the doors to all this world’s felicity: the dullest forehead sees it. Let not master courtier think he carries all the knavery on his shoulders: I have known poor Hob, in the country, that has worn hob-nails on’s hoes, have as much villainy in’s head as he that wears gold buttons in’s cap.    14

Qu. Why, man, ’tis the London highway to thrift; if virtue be used, ’tis but as a scape to the net of villainy. They that use it simply, thrive simply, I warrant. Weight and fashion makes goldsmiths cuckolds.

Enter Sindefy, with Quicksilver’s doublet, cloak, rapier, and dagger.

Si. Here, sir, put off the other half of your prenticeship.

Qu. Well said, sweet Sin! Bring forth my bravery.
Now let my trunks shoot[40] forth their silks conceal’d.    22
I now am free, and now will justify
My trunks and punks. Avaunt, dull flatcap, then!
Via the curtain that shadow’d Borgia![41]
There lie, thou husk of my envassail’d state,
I, Sampson, now have burst the Philistines’ bands,
And in thy lap, my lovely Dalila,
I’ll lie, and snore out my enfranchised state.

When[42] Sampson was a tall young man,    30
His power and strength increased than;
He sold no more nor cup nor can;
But did them all despise.
Old Touchstone, now write to thy friends
For one to sell thy base gold-ends;
Quicksilver now no more attends
Thee, Touchstone.

But, dad, hast thou seen my running gelding dressed to-day?

Sec. That I have, Frank. The ostler a’th’ Cock dressed him for a breakfast.    41

Qu. What! did he eat him?

Sec. No, but he eat his breakfast for dressing him; and so dressed him for breakfast.

Qu. O witty age! where age is young in wit,
And all youths’ words have gray-beards full of it!

Sec. But alas, Frank! how will all this be maintained now? Your place maintained it before.    48

Qu. Why, and I maintained my place. I’ll to the court: another manner of place for maintenance, I hope, than the silly City! I heard my father say, I heard my mother sing an old song and a true: Thou art a she-fool, and know’st not what belongs to our male wisdom. I shall be a merchant, forsooth! trust my estate in a wooden trough as he does! What are these ships but tennis-balls for the winds to play withal? tossed from one wave to another; now under line, now over the house; sometimes brick-walled against a rock, so that the guts fly out again; sometimes strook under the wide hazard, and farewell, master merchant!    60

Si. Well, Frank, well: the seas you say, are uncertain: but he that sails in your Court seas shall find ’hem ten times fuller of hazard; wherein to see what is to be seen is torment more than a free spirit can endure; but when you come to suffer, how many injuries swallow you! What care and devotion must you use to humour an imperious lord, proportion your looks to his looks, smiles to his smiles; fit your sails to the winds of his breath!

Qu. Tush! he’s no journeyman in his craft that cannot do that.    71

Si. But he’s worse than a prentice that does it; not only humouring the lord, but every trencher-bearer, every groom, that by indulgence and intelligence crept into his favour, and by panderism into his chamber; he rules the roast; and when my honourable lord says it shall be thus, my worshipful rascal, the groom of his close stool, says it shall not be thus, claps the door after him, and who dares enter? A prentice, quoth you? ’Tis but to learn to live; and does that disgrace a man? He that rises hardly stands firmly; but he that rises with ease, alas! falls as easily.    82

Qu. A pox on you! who taught you this morality?

Sec. ’Tis ’long of this witty age, Master Francis. But, indeed, Mistress Sindefy, all trades complain of inconvenience, and therefore ’tis best to have none. The merchant, he complains and says, traffic is subject to much uncertainty and loss; let ’hem keep their goods on dry land, with a vengeance, and not expose other men’s substances to the mercy of the winds, under protection of a wooden wall (as Master Francis says); and all for greedy desire to enrich themselves with unconscionable gain, two for one, or so; where I, and such other honest men as live by lending money, are content with moderate profit; thirty or forty i’ th’ hundred, so we may have it with quietness, and out of peril of wind and weather, rather than run those dangerous courses of trading, as they do.    98

[Exit[43] Sindefy.

Qu. Ay, dad, thou may’st well be called Security, for thou takest the safest course.

Sec. ’Faith, the quieter, and the more contented, and, out of doubt, the more godly; for merchants, in their courses, are never pleased, but ever repining against heaven: one prays for a westerly wind, to carry his ship forth; another for an easterly, to bring his ship home, and at every shaking of a leaf[44] he falls into an agony, to think what danger his ship is in on such a coast, and so forth. The farmer, he is ever at odds with the weather: sometimes the clouds have been too barren; sometimes the heavens forget themselves; their harvests answer not their hopes; sometimes the season falls out too fruitful, corn will bear no price, and so forth. The artificer, he’s all for a stirring world: if his trade be too full, and fall short of his expectation, then falls he out of joint. Where we that trade nothing but money are free from all this; we are pleased with all weathers, let it rain or hold up, be calm or windy; let the season be whatsoever, let trade go how it will, we take all in good part, e’en what please the heavens to send us, so the sun stand not still, and the moon keep her usual returns, and make up days, months, and years.    121

Qu. And you have good security?

Sec. Ay, marry, Frank, that’s the special point.

Qu. And yet, forsooth, we must have trades to live withal; for we cannot stand without legs, nor fly without wings, and a number of such scurvy phrases. No, I say still, he that has wit, let him live by his wit; he that has none, let him be a tradesman.

Sec. Witty Master Francis! ’tis pity any trade should dull that quick brain of yours. Do but bring Knight Petronel into my parchment toils once, and you shall never need to toil in any trade, o’ my credit. You know his wife’s land?    133

Qu. Even to a foot, sir; I have been often there; a pretty fine seat, good land, all entire within itself.

Sec. Well wooded?

Qu. Two hundred pounds’ worth of wood ready to fell, and a fine sweet house, that stands just in the midst on’t, like a prick in the midst of a circle; would I were your farmer, for a hundred pound a year!

Sec. Excellent Master Francis! how I do long to do thee good! How I do hunger and thirst to have the honour to enrich thee! ay, even to die, that thou mightest inherit my living! even hunger and thirst! for o’ my religion, Master Francis, and so tell Knight Petronel, I do it to do him a pleasure.    146

Qu. Marry, dad! his horses are now coming up to bear down his lady; wilt thou lend him thy stable to set ’hem in?

Sec. ’Faith, Master Francis, I would be loth to lend my stable out of doors; in a greater matter I will pleasure him, but not in this.

Qu. A pox of your hunger and thirst! Well, dad, let him have money; all he could any way get is bestowed on a ship now bound for Virginia; the frame of which voyage is so closely conveyed that his new lady nor any of her friends know it. Notwithstanding, as soon as his lady’s hand is gotten to the sale of her inheritance, and you have furnished him with money, he will instantly hoist sail and away.    160

Sec. Now, a frank gale of wind go with him, Master Frank! we have too few such knight adventurers; who would not sell away competent certainties to purchase, with any danger, excellent uncertainties? your true knight venturer ever does. Let his wife seal to-day; he shall have his money to-day.

Qu. To-morrow she shall, dad, before she goes into the country; to work her to which action with the more engines, I purpose presently to prefer my sweet Sin here to the place of her gentlewoman; whom you (for the more credit) shall present as your friend’s daughter, a gentlewoman of the country, new come up with a will for awhile to learn fashions forsooth, and be toward some lady; and she shall buzz pretty devices into her lady’s ear; feeding her humours so serviceably (as the manner of such as she is, you know).    176

Sec. True, good Master Francis.

Re-enter Sindefy.

Qu. That she shall keep her port open to anything she commends to her.

Sec. O’ my religion, a most fashionable project; as good she spoil the lady, as the lady spoil her; for ’tis three to one of one side. Sweet Mistress Sin, how are you bound to Master Francis! I do not doubt to see you shortly wed one of the head-men[45] of our city.

Si. But, sweet Frank, when shall my father Security present me?    186

Qu. With all festination; I have broken the ice to it already; and will presently to the knight’s house, whither, my good old dad, let me pray thee, with all formality to man her.

Sec. Command me, Master Francis, I do hunger and thirst to do thee service. Come, sweet Mistress Sin, take leave of my Winifred, and we will instantly meet Frank, Master Francis, at your lady’s.

Enter Winifred above.

Wi. Where is my Cu there? Cu?

Sec. Ay, Winnie.    196

Wi. Wilt thou come in, sweet Cu?

Sec. Ay, Winnie, presently.

[Exeunt Security and Sindefy.

Qu. Ay, Winnie, quod he, that’s all he can do, poor man, he may well cut off her name at Winnie. O, ’tis an egregious pander! What will not an usurous knave be, so he may be rich? O, ’tis a notable Jew’s trump! I hope to live to see dogs’ meat made of the old usurer’s flesh, dice of his bones, and indentures of his skin; and yet his skin is too thick to make parchment, ’twould make good boots for a peter-man[46] to catch salmon in. Your only smooth skin to make fine vellum is your Puritan’s skin; they be the smoothest and slickest knaves in a country.    209

Enter Sir Petronel in boots, with a riding-wand.[47]

Pe. I’ll out of this wicked town as fast as my horse can trot! Here’s now no good action for a man to spend his time in. Taverns grow dead; ordinaries are blown up; plays are at a stand; houses of hospitality at a fall; not a feather waving, nor a spur jingling anywhere. I’ll away instantly.

Qu. Y’ad best take some crowns in your purse, knight, or else your Eastward Castle will smoke but miserably.

Pe. O, Frank! my castle? Alas! all the castles I have are built with air, thou know’st.    219

Qu. I know it, knight, and therefore wonder whither your lady is going.

Pe. ’Faith, to seek her fortune, I think. I said I had a castle and land eastward, and eastward she will, without contradiction; her coach and the coach of the sun must meet full butt. And the sun being outshined with her ladyship’s glory, she fears he goes westward to hang himself.

Qu. And I fear, when her enchanted castle becomes invisible, her ladyship will return and follow his example.

Pe. Oh, that she would have the grace! for I shall never be able to pacify her, when she sees herself deceived so.    232

Qu. As easily as can be. Tell her she mistook your directions, and that shortly yourself will down with her to approve it; and then clothe but her crouper in a new gown, and you may drive her any way you list. For these women, sir, are like Essex calves, you must wriggle ’hem on by the tail still, or they will never drive orderly.

Pe. But, alas! sweet Frank, thou knowest my ability will not furnish her blood with those costly humours.

Qu. Cast that cost on me, sir. I have spoken to my old pander, Security, for money or commodity; and commodity (if you will) I know he will procure you.    243

Pe. Commodity! Alas! what commodity?

Qu. Why, sir! what say you to figs and raisins?

Pe. A plague of figs and raisins, and all such frail[48] commodities! We shall make nothing of ’hem.

Qu. Why then, sir, what say you to forty pound in roasted beef?[49]

Pe. Out upon’t, I have less stomach to that than to the figs and raisins; I’ll out of town, though I sojourn with a friend of mine, for stay here I must not; my creditors have laid to arrest me, and I have no friend under heaven but my sword to bail me.    254

Qu. God’s me, knight, put ’hem in sufficient sureties, rather than let your sword bail you! Let ’hem take their choice, either the King’s Bench or the Fleet, or which of the two Counters they like best, for, by the Lord, I like none of ’hem.

Pe. Well, Frank, there is no jesting with my earnest necessity; thou know’st if I make not present money to further my voyage begun, all’s lost, and all I have laid out about it.    263

Qu. Why, then, sir, in earnest, if you can get your wise lady to set her hand to the sale of her inheritance, the bloodhound, Security, will smell out ready money for you instantly.

Pe. There spake an angel: to bring her to which conformity, I must feign myself extremely amorous; and alleging urgent excuses for my stay behind, part with her as passionately as she would from her foisting hound.[50]    272

Qu. You have the sow by the right ear, sir. I warrant there was never child longed more to ride a cock-horse or wear his new coat, than she longs to ride in her new coach. She would long for everything when she was a maid, and now she will run mad for ’hem. I lay my life, she will have every year four children; and what charge and change of humour you must endure while she is with child, and how she will tie you to your tackling till she be with child, a dog would not endure. Nay, there is no turnspit dog bound to his wheel[51] more servilely than you shall be to her wheel; for, as that dog can never climb the top of his wheel but when the top comes under him, so shall you never climb the top of her contentment but when she is under you.    286

Pe. ’Slight, how thou terrifiest me!

Qu. Nay, hark you, sir; what nurses, what midwives, what fools, what physicians, what cunning women must be sought for (fearing sometimes she is bewitched, sometimes in a consumption), to tell her tales, to talk bawdy to her, to make her laugh, to give her glisters, to let her blood under the tongue and betwixt the toes; how she will revile and kiss you, spit in your face, and lick it off again; how she will vaunt you are her creature; she made you of nothing; how she could have had thousand mark jointures; she could have been made a lady by a Scotch knight, and never ha’ married him; she could have had ponados[52] in her bed every morning; how she set you up, and how she will pull you down: you’ll never be able to stand of your legs to endure it.    301

Pe. Out of my fortune, what a death is my life bound face to face to! The best is, a large time-fitted conscience is bound to nothing: marriage is but a form in the school of policy, to which scholars sit fastened only with painted chains. Old Security’s young wife is ne’er the further off with me.

Qu. Thereby lies a tale, sir. The old usurer will be here instantly, with my punk Sindefy, whom you know your lady has promised me to entertain for her gentlewoman; and he (with a purpose to feed on you) invites you most solemnly by me to supper.    312

Pe. It falls out excellently fitly: I see desire of gain makes jealousy venturous.

Enter Gertrude.

See, Frank, here comes my lady. Lord! how she views thee! she knows thee not, I think, in this bravery.

Ge. How now? who be you, I pray?

Qu. One Master Francis Quicksilver, an’t please your ladyship.

Ge. God’s my dignity! as I am a lady, if he did not make me blush so that mine eyes stood a-water. Would I were unmarried again!    322

Enter Security and Sindefy.

Where’s my woman, I pray?

Qu. See, madam, she now comes to attend you.

Sec. God save my honourable knight and his worshipful lady.

Ge. Y’are very welcome; you must not put on your hat yet.

Sec. No, madam; till I know your ladyship’s further pleasure, I will not presume.

Ge. And is this a gentleman’s daughter new come out of the country?    332

Sec. She is, madam; and one that her father hath a special care to bestow in some honourable lady’s service, to put her out of her honest humours, forsooth; for she had a great desire to be a nun, an’t please you.

Ge. A nun? what nun? a nun substantive? or a nun adjective?

Sec. A nun substantive, madam, I hope, if a nun be a noun. But I mean, lady, a vowed maid of that order.

Ge. I’ll teach her to be a maid of the order, I warrant you. And can you do any work belongs to a lady’s chamber?    343

Si. What I cannot do, madam, I would be glad to learn.

Ge. Well said; hold up, then; hold up your head, I say; come hither a little.

Si. I thank your ladyship.

Ge. And hark you, good man, you may put on your hat now; I do not look on you. I must have you of my faction now; not of my knight’s, maid.    351

Si. No, forsooth, madam, of yours.

Ge. And draw all my servants in my bow, and keep my counsel, and tell me tales, and put me riddles, and read on a book sometimes when I am busy, and laugh at country gentlewomen, and command anything in the house for my retainers; and care not what you spend, for it is all mine; and in any case be still a maid, whatsoever you do, or whatsoever any man can do unto you.

Sec. I warrant your ladyship for that.    360

Ge. Very well; you shall ride in my coach with me into the country, to-morrow morning. Come, knight, pray thee let’s make a short supper, and to bed presently.

Sec. Nay, good madam, this night I have a short supper at home waits on his worship’s acceptation.

Ge. By my faith, but he shall not go, sir; I shall swoon and he sup from me.

Pe. Pray thee, forbear; shall he lose his provision?

Ge. Ay, by-lady, sir, rather than I lose my longing. Come in, I say; as I am a lady, you shall not go.    370

Qu. I told him what a burr he had gotten.

Sec. If you will not sup from your knight, madam, let me entreat your ladyship to sup at my house with him.

Ge. No, by my faith, sir; then we cannot be abed soon enough after supper.

Pe. What a medicine is this! Well, Master Security, you are new married as well as I; I hope you are bound as well. We must honour our young wives, you know.

Qu. In policy, dad, till to-morrow she has sealed.

Sec. I hope in the morning yet your knighthood will breakfast with me?    381

Pe. As early as you will, sir.

Sec. I thank your good worship; I do hunger and thirst to do you good, sir.

Ge. Come, sweet knight, come; I do hunger and thirst to be abed with thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Security’s house.

Enter Sir Petronel, Quicksilver, Security, Bramble, and Winifred.

Pe. Thanks for your feast-like breakfast, good Master Security; I am sorry (by reason of my instant haste to so long a voyage as Virginia) I am without means by any kind amends to show how affectionately I take your kindness, and to confirm by some worthy ceremony a perpetual league of friendship betwixt us.

Sec. Excellent knight! let this be a token betwixt us of inviolable friendship. I am new married to this fair gentlewoman, you know; and by my hope to make her fruitful, though I be something in years, I vow faithfully unto you to make you godfather, though in your absence, to the first child I am blest withal; and henceforth call me gossip, I beseech you, if you please to accept it.    13

Pe. In the highest degree of gratitude, my most worthy gossip; for confirmation of which friendly title, let me entreat my fair gossip, your wife here, to accept this diamond, and keep it as my gift to her first child, wheresoever my fortune, in event of my voyage, shall bestow me.

Sec. How now, my coy wedlock;[53] I make you strange of so noble a favour? Take it, I charge you, with all affection, and, by way of taking your leave, present boldly your lips to our honourable gossip.    23

Qu. How venturous he is to him, and how jealous to others!

Pe. Long may this kind touch of our lips print in our hearts all the forms of affection. And now, my good gossip, if the writings be ready to which my wife should seal, let them be brought this morning before she takes coach into the country, and my kindness shall work her to despatch it.    31

Sec. The writings are ready, sir. My learned counsel here, Master Bramble the lawyer, hath perused them; and within this hour I will bring the scrivener with them to your worshipful lady.

Pe. Good Master Bramble, I will here take my leave of you then. God send you fortunate pleas, sir, and contentious clients!

Br. And you foreright winds, sir, and a fortunate voyage.

[Exit.

Enter a Messenger.

Me. Sir Petronel, here are three or four gentlemen desire to speak with you.    42

Pe. What are they?

Qu. They are your followers in this voyage, knight: Captain Seagull and his associates; I met them this morning, and told them you would be here.

Pe. Let them enter, I pray you; I know they long to be gone, for their stay is dangerous.

Enter Seagull, Scapethrift, and Spendall.

Sea. God save my honourable colonel!    49

Pe. Welcome, good Captain Seagull, and worthy gentlemen. If you will meet my friend Frank here, and me, at the Blue Anchor Tavern by Billingsgate this evening, we will there drink to our happy voyage, be merry, and take boat to our ship with all expedition.

Sp. Defer it no longer, I beseech you, sir; but as your voyage is hitherto carried closely, and in another knight’s name, so for your own safety and ours, let it be continued: our meeting and speedy purpose of departing known to as few as is possible, lest your ship and goods be attached.    60

Qu. Well advised, captain; our colonel shall have money this morning to despatch all our departures; bring those gentlemen at night to the place appointed, and, with our skins full of vintage, we’ll take occasion by the vantage,[54] and away.

Sp. We will not fail, but be there, sir.

Pe. Good morrow, good captain, and my worthy associates. Health and all sovereignty to my beautiful gossip; for you, sir, we shall see you presently with the writings.    70

Sec. With writings and crowns to my honourable gossip. I do hunger and thirst to do you good, sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An inn-yard.

Enter a Coachman in haste, in his frock, feeding.

Co. Here’s a stir when citizens ride out of town, indeed as if all the house were a-fire! ’Slight! they will not give a man leave to eat’s breakfast afore he rises.

Enter Hamlet, a footman, in haste.

Ha. What, coachman—my lady’s coach! for shame! her ladyship’s ready to come down.

Enter Potkin, a tankard-bearer.

Po. ’Sfoot! Hamlet, are you mad?[55] Whither run you now? you should brush up my old mistress!

Enter Sindefy.

Si. What, Potkin?—you must put off your tankard and put on your blue coat,[56] and wait upon Mistress Touchstone into the country.

[Exit.

Po. I will, forsooth, presently.

[Exit.

Enter Mistress Fond and Mistress Gazer.

Fo. Come, sweet Mistress Gazer, let’s watch here, and see my Lady Flash take coach.    13

Ga. O’ my word here’s a most fine place to stand in; did you see the new ship launched last day, Mistress Fond?

Fo. O God! and we citizens should lose such a sight!

Ga. I warrant here will be double as many people to see her take coach as there were to see it take water.

Fo. O she’s married to a most fine castle i’ th’ country, they say.    21

Ga. But there are no giants in the castle, are there?

Fo. O no: they say her knight killed ’hem all, and therefore he was knighted.

Ga. Would to God her ladyship would come away!

Enter Gertrude, Mistress Touchstone, Sindefy, Hamlet, Potkin.

Fo. She comes, she comes, she comes!

Ga. and Fo. Pray heaven bless your ladyship!

Ge. Thank you, good people. My coach, for the love of heaven, my coach! In good truth I shall swoon else.

Ha. Coach, coach, my lady’s coach!

[Exit.

Ge. As I am a lady, I think I am with child already, I long for a coach so. May one be with child afore they are married, mother?    33

Mist. T. Ay, by’r lady, madam; a little thing does that; I have seen a little prick no bigger than a pin’s head swell bigger and bigger, till it has come to an ancome;[57] and e’en so ’tis in these cases.

Enter Hamlet.

Ha. Your coach is coming, madam.

Ge. That’s well said. Now, heaven! methinks I am e’en up to the knees in preferment.    40

But a little higher, but a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, there lies Cupid’s fire!

Mist. T. But must this young man, an’t please you, madam, run by your coach all the way a-foot?

Ge. Ay, by my faith, I warrant him; he gives no other milk, as I have another servant does.

Mist. T. Alas! ’tis e’en pity, methinks; for God’s sake, madam, buy him but a hobby-horse; let the poor youth have something betwixt his legs to ease ’hem. Alas! we must do as we would be done to.    50

Ge. Go to, hold your peace, dame; you talk like an old fool, I tell you!

Enter Sir Petronel and Quicksilver.

Pe. Wilt thou be gone, sweet honey-suckle, before I can go with thee?

Ge. I pray thee, sweet knight, let me; I do so long to dress up thy castle afore thou comest. But I marle how my modest sister occupies herself this morning, that she cannot wait on me to my coach, as well as her mother.

Qu. Marry, madam, she’s married by this time to prentice Golding. Your father, and some one more, stole to church with ’hem in all the haste, that the cold meat left at your wedding might serve to furnish their nuptial table.    63

Ge. There’s no base fellow, my father, now; but he’s e’en fit to father such a daughter: he must call me daughter no more now: but “madam,” and “please you, madam;” and “please your worship, madam,” indeed. Out upon him! marry his daughter to a base prentice!

Mist. T. What should one do? Is there no law for one that marries a woman’s daughter against her will? How shall we punish him, madam?    71

Ge. As I am a lady, an’t would snow, we’d so pebble ’hem with snow-balls as they come from church; but, sirrah Frank Quicksilver.

Qu. Ay, madam.

Ge. Dost remember since thou and I clapt what-d’ye-call’ts in the garret?

Qu. I know not what you mean, madam.

Ge. His[58] head as white as milk, all flaxen was his hair;
But now he is dead, and laid in his bed,    80
And never will come again.
God be at your labour!

Enter Touchstone, Golding, Mildred, with rosemary.[59]

Pe. Was there ever such a lady?

Qu. See, madam, the bride and bridegroom!

Ge. God’s my precious! God give you joy, mistress. What lack you? Now out upon thee, baggage! My sister married in a taffeta hat! Marry, hang you! Westward with a wanion[60] t’ye! Nay, I have done wi’ ye, minion, then, i’faith; never look to have my countenance any more, nor anything I can do for thee. Thou ride in my coach, or come down to my castle! fie upon thee! I charge thee in my ladyship’s name, call me sister no more.    93

To. An’t please your worship, this is not your sister: this is my daughter, and she calls me father, and so does not your ladyship, an’t please your worship, madam.

Mist. T. No, nor she must not call thee father by heraldry, because thou makest thy prentice thy son as well as she. Ah! thou misproud prentice, darest thou presume to marry a lady’s sister?    100

Go. It pleased my master, forsooth, to embolden me with his favour; and though I confess myself far unworthy so worthy a wife (being in part her servant, as I am your prentice) yet (since I may say it without boasting) I am born a gentleman, and by the trade I have learned of my master (which I trust taints not my blood), able, with mine own industry and portion, to maintain your daughter, my hope is, heaven will so bless our humble beginning, that in the end I shall be no disgrace to the grace with which my master has bound me his double prentice.    111

To. Master me no more, son, if thou think’st me worthy to be thy father.

Ge. Son! Now, good Lord, how he shines! and you mark him, he’s a gentleman!

Go. Ay, indeed, madam, a gentleman born.

Pe. Never stand o’ your gentry, Master Bridegroom; if your legs be no better than your arms, you’ll be able to stand upright on neither shortly.    119

To. An’t please your good worship, sir, there are two sorts of gentlemen.

Pe. What mean you, sir?

To. Bold to put off my hat to your worship——

Pe. Nay, pray forbear, sir, and then forth with your two sorts of gentlemen.

To. If your worship will have it so, I say there are two sorts of gentlemen. There is a gentleman artificial, and a gentleman natural. Now though your worship be a gentleman natural: work upon that now.    129

Qu. Well said, old Touchstone; I am proud to hear thee enter a set speech, i’faith; forth, I beseech thee.

To. Cry your mercy, sir, your worship’s a gentleman I do not know. If you be one of my acquaintance, y’are very much disguised, sir.

Qu. Go to, old quipper; forth with thy speech, I say.    137

To. What, sir, my speeches were ever in vain to your gracious worship; and therefore, till I speak to you gallantry indeed, I will save my breath for my broth anon. Come, my poor son and daughter, let us hide ourselves in our poor humility, and live safe. Ambition consumes itself with the very show. Work upon that now.

Ge. Let him go, let him go, for God’s sake! let him make his prentice his son, for God’s sake! give away his daughter, for God’s sake! and when they come a-begging to us for God’s sake, let’s laugh at their good husbandry for God’s sake. Farewell, sweet knight, pray thee make haste after.    149

Pe. What shall I say?—I would not have thee go.

Qu.
Now,[61] O now, I must depart,
Parting though it absence move.

This ditty, knight, do I see in thy looks in capital letters.

What a grief ’tis to depart, and leave the flower that has my heart!
My sweet lady, and alack for woe, why, should we part so?

Tell truth, knight, and shame all dissembling lovers; does not your pain lie on that side?    158

Pe. If it do, canst thou tell me how I may cure it?

Qu. Excellent easily. Divide yourself in two halves, just by the girdlestead; send one half with your lady, and keep t’other yourself; or else do as all true lovers do—part with your heart, and leave your body behind. I have seen’t done a hundred times: ’tis as easy a matter for a lover to part without a heart from his sweetheart, and he ne’er the worse, as for a mouse to get from a trap and leave her [sic] tail behind him. See, here comes the writings.    168

Enter Security with a Scrivener.

Sec. Good morrow to my worshipful lady. I present your ladyship with this writing, to which if you please to set your hand with your knight’s, a velvet gown shall attend your journey, o’ my credit.

Ge. What writing is it, knight?

Pe. The sale, sweetheart, of the poor tenement I told thee of, only to make a little money to send thee down furniture for my castle, to which my hand shall lead thee.

Ge. Very well. Now give me your pen, I pray.

Qu. It goes down without chewing, i’faith.

Scr. Your worships deliver this as your deed?    180

Ambo. We do.

Ge. So now, knight, farewell till I see thee.

Pe. All farewell to my sweetheart!

Mist. T. God-b’w’y’, son knight.

Pe. Farewell, my good mother.

Ge. Farewell, Frank; I would fain take thee down if I could.

Qu. I thank your good ladyship; farewell, Mistress Sindefy.

[Exeunt.

Pe. O tedious voyage, whereof there is no end! What will they think of me?    191

Qu. Think what they list. They longed for a vagary into the country, and now they are fitted. So a woman marry to ride in a coach, she cares not if she ride to her ruin. ’Tis the great end of many of their marriages. This is not the first time a lady has rid a false journey in her coach, I hope.

Pe. Nay, ’tis no matter, I care little what they think; he that weighs men’s thoughts has his hands full of nothing. A man, in the course of this world, should be like a surgeon’s instrument—work in the wounds of others, and feel nothing himself. The sharper and subtler, the better.    203

Qu. As it falls out now, knight, you shall not need to devise excuses, or endure her outcries, when she returns; we shall now begone before, where they cannot reach us.

Pe. Well, my kind compeer, you have now the assurance we both can make you; let me now entreat you, the money we agreed on may be brought to the Blue Anchor, near to Billingsgate, by six o’clock; where I and my chief friends, bound for this voyage, will with feasts attend you.    213

Sec. The money, my most honourable compeer, shall without fail observe your appointed hour.

Pe. Thanks, my dear gossip. I must now impart
To your approved love, a loving secret;
As one on whom my life doth more rely
In friendly trust than any man alive.
Nor shall you be the chosen secretary    220
Of my affections for affection only:
For I protest (if God bless my return)
To make you partner in my actions’ gain
As deeply as if you had ventured with me
Half my expenses. Know then, honest gossip,
I have enjoy’d with such divine contentment
A gentlewoman’s bed whom you well know,
That I shall ne’er enjoy this tedious voyage,
Nor live the least part of the time it asketh,
Without her presence; so I thirst and hunger    230
To taste the dear feast of her company.
And if the hunger and the thirst you vow
As my sworn gossip, to my wishèd good
Be, as I know it is, unfeign’d and firm,
Do me an easy favour in your power.

Sec. Be sure, brave gossip, all that I can do,
To my best nerve, is wholly at your service:
Who is the woman, first, that is your friend?

Pe. The woman is your learned counsel’s wife,
The lawyer, Master Bramble; whom would you    240
Bring out this even in honest neighbourhood,
To take his leave with you, of me your gossip,
I, in the meantime, will send this my friend
Home to his house, to bring his wife disguised,
Before his face, into our company;
For love hath made her look for such a wile,
To free her from his tyrannous jealousy.
And I would take this course before another,
In stealing her away to make us sport,
And gull his circumspection the more grossly;    250
And I am sure that no man like yourself
Hath credit with him to entice his jealousy
To so long stay abroad as may give time
To her enlargement, in such safe disguise.

Sec. A pretty, pithy, and most pleasant project!
Who would not strain a point of neighbourhood
For such a point device? that as the ship[62]
Of famous Draco went about the world,
Will wind about the lawyer, compassing
The world himself; he hath it in his arms,    260
And that’s enough for him, without his wife.
A lawyer is ambitious, and his head
Cannot be praised nor raised too high,
With any fork of highest knavery.
I’ll go fetch her straight.

[Exit Security.

Pe. So, so. Now, Frank, go thou home to his house,
’Stead of his lawyer’s, and bring his wife hither,
Who, just like to the lawyer’s wife, is prison’d
With his[63] stern usurous jealousy, which could never
Be over-reach’d thus but with over-reaching.    270

Re-enter Security.

Sec. And, Master Francis, watch you th’ instant time
To enter with his exit: ’twill be rare,
Two fine horn’d beasts!—a camel and a lawyer!

Qu. How the old villain joys in villainy!

Sec. And hark you, gossip, when you have her here,
Have your boat ready, ship her to your ship
With utmost haste, lest Master Bramble stay you.
To o’er-reach that head that out-reacheth all heads,
’Tis a trick rampant!—’tis a very quiblin![64]
I hope this harvest to pitch cart with lawyers,    280
Their heads will be so forked. This sly touch
Will get apes to invent a number such.

[Exit.

Qu. Was ever rascal honey’d so with poison?
He that delights in slavish avarice,
Is apt to joy in every sort of vice.
Well, I’ll go fetch his wife, whilst he the lawyer’s.

Pe. But stay, Frank, let’s think how we may disguise her upon this sudden.    288

Qu. God’s me! there’s the mischief! But hark you, here’s an excellent device: ’fore God, a rare one! I will carry her a sailor’s gown and cap, and cover her, and a player’s beard.

Pe. And what upon her head?

Qu. I tell you, a sailor’s cap! ’Slight, God forgive me! what kind of figent[65] memory have you?

Pe. Nay, then, what kind of figent wit hast thou?
A sailor’s cap?—how shall she put it off
When thou present’st her to our company?

Qu. Tush, man, for that, make her a saucy sailor.    299

Pe. Tush, tush! ’tis no fit sauce for such sweet mutton,
I know not what t’ advise.

Re-enter Security with his wife’s gown.

Sec. Knight, knight, a rare device!

Pe. ’Swounds, yet again!

Qu. What stratagem have you now?

Sec. The best that ever. You talk of disguising?

Pe. Ay, marry, gossip, that’s our present care.

Sec. Cast care away then; here’s the best device
For plain Security (for I am no better)
I think, that ever lived: here’s my wife’s gown,
Which you may put upon the lawyer’s wife,    310
And which I brought you, sir, for two great reasons;
One is, that Master Bramble may take hold
Of some suspicion that it is my wife,
And gird me so perhaps with his law-wit;
The other (which is policy indeed)
Is, that my wife may now be tied at home,
Having no more but her old gown abroad,
And not show me a quirk, while I firk others.
Is not this rare?

Ambo. The best that ever was.

Sec. Am I not born to furnish gentlemen?    320

Pe. O my dear gossip!

Sec. Well hold, Master Francis; watch when the lawyer’s out, and put it in. And now I will go fetch him.

[Exit.

Qu. O my dad! he goes as ’twere the devil to fetch the lawyer; and devil shall he be, if horns will make him.

Pe. Why, how now, gossip? why stay you there musing?

Sec. A toy, a toy runs in my head, i’faith.    330

Qu. A pox of that head! is there more toys yet?

Pe. What is it, pray thee, gossip?

Sec. Why, sir, what if you should slip away now with my wife’s best gown, I having no security for it?

Qu. For that I hope, dad, you will take our words.

Sec. Ay, by th’ mass, your word—that’s a proper staff
For wise Security to lean upon!
But ’tis no matter, once I’ll trust my name
On your crack’d credits; let it take no shame.
Fetch the wench, Frank.

[Exit.

Qu. I’ll wait upon you, sir,    340
And fetch you over, you were ne’er so fetch’d.
Go to the tavern, knight; your followers
Dare not be drunk, I think, before their captain.

[Exit.

Pe. Would I might lead them to no hotter service
Till our Virginian gold were in our purses!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Blue Anchor, Billingsgate.

Enter Seagull, Spendall, and Scapethrift, in the Tavern, with a Drawer.

Sea. Come, drawer, pierce your neatest hogsheads, and let’s have cheer—not fit for your Billingsgate tavern, but for our Virginian colonel; he will be here instantly.

Dr. You shall have all things fit, sir; please you have any more wine?

Sp. More wine, slave! whether we drink it or no, spill it, and draw more.

Sea. Fill all the pots in your house with all sorts of liquor, and let ’hem wait on us here like soldiers in their pewter coats; and though we do not employ them now, yet we will maintain ’hem till we do.    12

Dr. Said like an honourable captain; you shall have all you can command, sir.

[Exit Drawer.

Sea. Come, boys, Virginia longs till we share the rest of her maidenhead.

Sp. Why, is she inhabited already with any English?

Sea. A whole country of English is there, man, bred of those that were left there in ’79;[66] they have married with the Indians, and make ’hem bring forth as beautiful faces as any we have in England; and therefore the Indians are so in love with ’hem, that all the treasure they have they lay at their feet.    23

Sca. But is there such treasure there, captain, as I have heard?

Sea. I tell thee, gold is more plentiful there than copper is with us; and for as much red copper as I can bring, I’ll have thrice the weight in gold. Why, man, all their dripping-pans and their chamber-pots are pure gold; and all the chains with which they chain up their streets are massy gold; all the prisoners they take are fettered in gold; and for rubies and diamonds, they go forth on holidays and gather ’hem by the seashore, to hang on their children’s coats, and stick in their caps, as commonly as our children wear saffron-gilt brooches and groats with holes in ’hem.    36

Sca. And is it a pleasant country withal?

Sea. As ever the sun shined on; temperate and full of all sorts of excellent viands: wild boar is as common there as our tamest bacon is here; venison as mutton. And then you shall live freely there, without sergeants, or courtiers, or lawyers, or intelligencers, only[67] a few industrious Scots, perhaps, who indeed are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on’t, in the world, than they are. And for my part, I would a hundred thousand of ’hem were there, for we are all one countrymen now, ye know, and we should find ten times more comfort of them there than we do here. Then for your means to advancement, there it is simple, and not preposterously mixed. You may be an alderman there, and never be scavenger: you may be a nobleman, and never be a slave. You may come to preferment enough, and never be a pander; to riches and fortune enough, and have never the more villainy nor the less wit. Besides,[68] there we shall have no more law than conscience, and not too much of either; serve God enough, eat and drink enough, and enough is as good as a feast.    59

Sp. God’s me! and how far is it thither?

Sea. Some six weeks’ sail, no more, with any indifferent good wind. And if I get to any part of the coast of Africa, I’ll sail thither with any wind; or when I come to Cape Finisterre, there’s a foreright wind continually wafts us till we come at Virginia. See, our colonel’s come.    66

Enter Sir Petronel with his followers.

Pe. Well met, good Captain Seagull, and my noble gentlemen! Now the sweet hour of our freedom is at hand. Come, drawer, fill us some carouses, and prepare us for the mirth that will be occasioned presently. Here will be a pretty wench, gentlemen, that will bear us company all our voyage.

Sea. Whatsoever she be, here’s to her health, noble colonel, both with cap and knee.

Pe. Thanks, kind Captain Seagull, she’s one I love dearly, and must not be known till we be free from all that know us. And so, gentlemen, here’s to her health.    78

Ambo. Let it come, worthy colonel; we do hunger and thirst for it.

Pe. Afore heaven! you have hit the phrase of one that her presence will touch from the foot to the forehead, if ye knew it.

Sp. Why, then, we will join his forehead with her health, sir; and Captain Scapethrift, here’s to ’hem both.

Enter Security and Bramble.

Sec. See, see, Master Bramble, ’fore heaven! their voyage cannot but prosper; they are o’ their knees for success to it!

Br. And they pray to god Bacchus.    90

Sec. God save my brave colonel, with all his tall captains and corporals. See, sir, my worshipful learned counsel, Master Bramble, is come to take his leave of you.

Pe. Worshipful Master Bramble, how far do you draw us into the sweet-briar of your kindness! Come, Captain Seagull, another health to this rare Bramble, that hath never a prick about him.

Sea. I pledge his most smooth disposition, sir. Come, Master Security, bend your supporters, and pledge this notorious health here.    101

Sec. Bend you yours likewise, Master Bramble; for it is you shall pledge me.

Sea. Not so, Master Security; he must not pledge his own health.

Sec. No, Master Captain?

Enter Quicksilver with Winny disguised.

Why, then, here’s one is fitly come to do him that honour.

Qu. Here’s the gentlewoman your cousin, sir, whom, with much entreaty, I have brought to take her leave of you in a tavern; ashamed whereof, you must pardon her if she put not off her mask.    112

Pe. Pardon me, sweet cousin; my kind desire to see you before I went, made me so importunate to entreat your presence here.

Sec. How now, Master Francis? have you honoured this presence with a fair gentlewoman?

Qu. Pray, sir, take you no notice of her, for she will not be known to you.

Sec. But my learned counsel, Master Bramble here, I hope he may know her.    121

Qu. No more than you, sir, at this time; his learning must pardon her.

Sec. Well, God pardon her for my part, and I do, I’ll be sworn; and so, Master Francis, here’s to all that are going eastward to-night towards Cuckold’s Haven;[69] and so to the health of Master Bramble.

Qu. I pledge it, sir. Hath it gone round, Captain?

Sea. It has, sweet Frank; and the round closes with thee.    130

Qu. Well, sir, here’s to all eastward and toward cuckolds, and so to famous Cuckold’s Haven, so fatally remembered.

[Surgit.

Pe. Nay, pray thee, coz, weep not; gossip Security.

Sec. Ay, my brave gossip.

Pe. A word, I beseech you, sir. Our friend, Mistress Bramble here, is so dissolved in tears, that she drowns the whole mirth of our meeting. Sweet gossip, take her aside and comfort her.    139

Sec. Pity of all true love, Mistress Bramble; what, weep you to enjoy your love? What’s the cause, lady? Is’t because your husband is so near, and your heart yearns to have a little abused him? Alas, alas! the offence is too common to be respected. So great a grace hath seldom chanced to so unthankful a woman, to be rid of an old jealous dotard, to enjoy the arms of a loving young knight, that when your prickless Bramble is withered with grief of your loss, will make you flourish afresh in the bed of a lady.    149

Enter Drawer.

Dr. Sir Petronel, here’s one of your watermen come to tell you it will be flood these three hours; and that ’twill be dangerous going against the tide, for the sky is overcast, and there was a porcpisce[70] even now seen at London Bridge, which is always the messenger of tempests, he says.

Pe. A porcpisce!—what’s that to th’ purpose? Charge him, if he love his life, to attend us; can we not reach Blackwall (where my ship lies) against the tide, and in spite of tempests? Captains and gentlemen, we’ll begin a new ceremony at the beginning of our voyage, which I believe will be followed of all future adventurers.    161

Sea. What’s that, good colonel?

Pe. This, Captain Seagull. We’ll have our provided supper brought aboard Sir Francis Drake’s ship,[71] that hath compassed the world; where, with full cups and banquets, we will do sacrifice for a prosperous voyage. My mind gives me that some good spirits of the waters should haunt the desert ribs of her, and be auspicious to all that honour her memory, and will with like orgies enter their voyages.    170

Sea. Rarely conceited! One health more to this motion, and aboard to perform it. He that will not this night be drunk, may he never be sober.

[They compass in Winifred, dance the drunken round, and drink carouses.

Br. Sir Petronel and his honourable captains, in these young services we old servitors may be spared. We only came to take our leaves, and with one health to you all, I’ll be bold to do so. Here, neighbour Security, to the health of Sir Petronel, and all his captains.

Sec. You must bend then, Master Bramble; so now I am for you. I have one corner of my brain, I hope, fit to bear one carouse more. Here, lady, to you that are encompassed there, and are ashamed of our company. Ha, ha, ha! by my troth, my learned counsel, Master Bramble, my mind runs so of Cuckold’s Haven to-night, that my head runs over with admiration.    186

Br. But is not that your wife, neighbour?

Sec. No, by my troth, Master Bramble. Ha, ha, ha! A pox of all Cuckold’s Havens, I say!

Br. O’ my faith, her garments are exceeding like your wife’s.

Sec. Cucullus non facit monachum, my learned counsel; all are not cuckolds that seem so, nor all seem not that are so. Give me your hand, my learned counsel; you and I will sup somewhere else than at Sir Francis Drake’s ship to-night. Adieu, my noble gossip.

Br. Good fortune, brave captains; fair skies God send ye!

Omnes. Farewell, my hearts, farewell!    199

Pe. Gossip, laugh no more at Cuckold’s Haven, gossip.

Sec. I have done, I have done, sir; will you lead, Master Bramble? Ha, ha, ha!

Pe. Captain Seagull, charge a boat.

Omnes. A boat, a boat, a boat!

[Exeunt all but Drawer.

Dr. Y’are in a proper taking indeed, to take a boat, especially at this time of night, and against tide and tempest. They say yet, “drunken men never take harm.” This night will try the truth of that proverb.    208

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Outside Security’s house.

Enter Security.

Sec. What, Winny!—wife, I say! out of doors at this time! where should I seek the gad-fly? Billingsgate, Billingsgate, Billingsgate! She’s gone with the knight, she’s gone with the knight; woe be to thee, Billingsgate! A boat, a boat, a boat! a full hundred marks for a boat![72]

[Exit.

SCENE I.

Cuckold’s Haven.

Enter Slitgut with a pair of ox-horns, discovering Cuckold’s Haven above.

Sl. All hail, fair haven of married men only! for there are none but married men cuckolds. For my part, I presume not to arrive here, but in my masters behalf (a poor butcher of East-cheap), who sends me to set up (in honour of Saint Luke) these necessary ensigns of his homage.[73] And up I got this morning, thus early, to get up to the top of this famous tree, that is all fruit and no leaves, to advance this crest of my master’s occupation. Up then; heaven and Saint Luke bless me, that I be not blown into the Thames as I climb, with this furious tempest. ’Slight! I think the devil be abroad, in likeness of a storm, to rob me of my horns! Hark how he roars! Lord! what a coil the Thames keeps! she bears some unjust burthen, I believe, that she kicks and curvets thus to cast it. Heaven bless all honest passengers that are upon her back now; for the bit is out of her mouth, I see, and she will run away with ’hem! So, so, I think I have made it look the right way; it runs against London Bridge, as it were, even full butt. And now let me discover from this lofty prospect, what pranks the rude Thames plays in her desperate lunacy. O me! here’s a boat has been cast away hard by. Alas, alas! see one of her passengers labouring for his life to land at this haven here! pray heaven he may recover it! His next land is even just under me; hold out yet a little, whatsoever thou art; pray, and take a good heart to thee. ’Tis a man; take a man’s heart to thee; yet a little further, get up a’ thy legs, man; now ’tis shallow enough. So, so, so! Alas! he’s down again. Hold thy wind, father: ’tis a man in a nightcap. So! now he’s got up again; now he’s past the worst: yet, thanks be to heaven, he comes towards me pretty and strongly.    33

Enter Security without his hat, in a nightcap, wet band, &c.

Sec. Heaven, I beseech thee, how have I offended thee! where am I cast ashore now, that I may go a righter way home by land? Let me see; O I am scarce able to look about me: where is there any seamark that I am acquainted withal?

Sl. Look up, father; are you acquainted with this mark?    40

Sec. What! landed at Cuckold’s Haven! Hell and damnation! I will run back and drown myself.

[He falls down.

Sl. Poor man, how weak he is! the weak water has washed away his strength.

Sec. Landed at Cuckold’s Haven! If it had not been to die twenty times alive, I should never have ’scaped death! I will never arise more; I will grovel here and eat dirt till I be choked; I will make the gentle earth do that, which the cruel water has denied me.    49

Sl. Alas! good father, be not so desperate! Rise, man; if you will I’ll come presently and lead you home.

Sec. Home! shall I make any know my home, that has known me thus abroad? How low shall I crouch away, that no eye may see me? I will creep on the earth while I live, and never look heaven in the face more.

[Exit creeping.

Sl. What young planet reigns now, trow,[74] that old men are so foolish? What desperate young swaggerer would have been abroad such a weather as this, upon the water? Ay me! see another remnant of this unfortunate shipwreck, or some other. A woman, i’faith, a woman; though it be almost at St. Katherine’s, I discern it to be a woman, for all her body is above the water, and her clothes swim about her most handsomely. O, they bear her up most bravely! has not a woman reason to love the taking up of her clothes the better while she lives, for this? Alas! how busy the rude Thames is about her! a pox o’ that wave! it will drown her, i’faith, ’twill drown her! Cry God mercy, she has ’scaped it—I thank heaven she has ’scaped it! O how she swims like a mermaid! some vigilant body look out and save her. That’s well said; just where the priest fell in, there’s one sets down a ladder, and goes to take her up. God’s blessing o’ thy heart, boy! Now take her up in thy arms and to bed with her; she’s up, she’s up! She’s a beautiful woman, I warrant her; the billows durst not devour her.    77

Enter the Drawer of the Blue Anchor,[75] with Winifred.

Dr. How fare you now, lady?

Wi. Much better, my good friend, than I wish; as one desperate of her fame, now my life is preserved.

Dr. Comfort yourself: that power that preserved you from death can likewise defend you from infamy, howsoever you deserve it. Were not you one that took boat late this night, with a knight and other gentlemen at Billingsgate?

Wi. Unhappy that I am, I was.    86

Dr. I am glad it was my good hap to come down thus far after you, to a house of my friend’s here in St. Katherine’s, since I am now happily made a mean to your rescue from the ruthless tempest, which (when you took boat) was so extreme, and the gentleman that brought you forth so desperate and unsober, that I feared long ere this I should hear of your shipwreck, and therefore (with little other reason) made thus far this way. And this I must tell you, since perhaps you may make use of it, there was left behind you at our tavern, brought by a porter (hired by the young gentleman that brought you), a gentlewoman’s gown, hat, stockings, and shoes; which if they be yours, and you please to shift you, taking a hard bed here in this house of my friend, I will presently go fetch you.    101

Wi. Thanks, my good friend, for your more than good news. The gown with all things bound with it are mine; which if you please to fetch as you have promised, I will boldly receive the kind favour you have offered till your return; entreating you, by all the good you have done in preserving me hitherto, to let none take knowledge of what favour you do me, or where such a one as I am bestowed, lest you incur me much more damage in my fame than you have done me pleasure in preserving my life. 110

Dr. Come in, lady, and shift yourself; resolve that nothing but your own pleasure shall be used in your discovery.

Wi. Thank you, good friend; the time may come, I shall requite you.

[Exeunt.

Slit. See, see, see! I hold my life, there’s some other a taking up at Wapping now! Look, what a sort of people cluster about the gallows there! in good troth it is so. O me! a fine young gentleman! What, and taken up at the gallows! Heaven grant he be not one day taken down there! O’ my life, it is ominous! Well, he is delivered for the time. I see the people have all left him; yet will I keep my prospect awhile, to see if any more have been shipwracked.    124

Enter Quicksilver, bareheaded.

Qu. Accursed that ever I was saved or born!
How fatal is my sad arrival here!
As if the stars and providence spake to me,
And said, “The drift of all unlawful courses
(Whatever end they dare propose themselves,
In frame of their licentious policies),    130
In the firm order of just destiny,
They are the ready highways to our ruins.”
I know not what to do; my wicked hopes
Are, with this tempest, torn up by the roots.
O! which way shall I bend my desperate steps,
In which unsufferable shame and misery
Will not attend them? I will walk this bank,
And see if I can meet the other relics
Of our poor shipwreck’d crew, or hear of them.
The knight, alas! was so far gone with wine,    140
And th’ other three, that I refused their boat,
And took the hapless woman in another,
Who cannot but be sunk, whatever fortune
Hath wrought upon the others’ desperate lives.