[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.