THE CAPTIVES; OR, THE LOST RECOVERED.

A Comedy by THOMAS HEYWOOD.

Licensed by Sir Henry Herbert in 1624, and now first printed from Egerton MS. 1994.

Actus primus.

SCENA PR.

Enter Mr. Raphael a younge marchaunt, Mr. Treadway his companione and frend.

Raphael. You talke to one thats deaf; I am resolv'd.

Treadway. I knwe [sic] you are not of that stupid sence But you will lyst to reason.

Raphael. Alls but vayne.

Treadway. You saye shees fayre.

Raphael. And there-fore to bee lov'd.

Treadway.[46] No consequent To trust to collour. Are not the bewtyous lyllyes, The gardens pryde and glorye of the feilds, Thoughe to the eye fayre and delectable, Yet ranke in smell? the stayneles swanne With all the Oceans water cannot wash The blacknes from her feete, tis borne with her. Oft painted vessayles bringe in poysond cates, And the blackest serpents weare the goldenst scales; And woman, made mans helper at the fyrst, Dothe oft proove his destroyer.

Raphael. Saye perhapps Some frend of yours miscarried in his choyse, Will you condeme all women for that one? Bycause we reade one Lais was unchast, Are all Corinthian Ladyes cortesans? Shall I, bycause my neighbours house was burnt, Condeme the necessary use of fyre? One surfeitts, and shall I refuse to eate? That marchant man by shipwreck lost his goodds; Shall I, bycause hee perisht in the sea, Abiure the gainfull trade of merchandyse, Despoyle my shipps, and unbecom [?] the deepes Of theire fayre Sayles and tackles?

Treadway. Not so, frend.[47] Althoughe her person may perhapps content, Consider but the place.

Raphael. I knwe it badd, Nay woorst of Ills.

Treadway. A howse of prostitution And common brothellrie.

Raphael. Which coold not stand But that her vertue guards it and protects it From blastinges and heavens thunders. There shee lyves Lyke to a ritche and pretious Jewell lost, Fownd shyninge on a doonge-hill, yet the gemme No wyse disparadged of his former worthe Nor bated of his glory; out of this fyre Of lust and black temptation sheis [sic] returned Lyke gold repur'd and tryde.

Treadway. Of what byrthe is shee?

Raphael. Unknwne to mee or any: shee protests, Neye to her self; what neede I question that? Sure sutche sweete features, goodnes, modesty Such gentlenes, such vertue cannot bee Deryvd from base and obscure parentadge.

Treadway. Whats then your end and purpose?

Raphael. To redeeme her Out of this gayle of sinne and leprosye, This mart of all diseases, where shee lyves Still under the comande and Tyrany Of a most base hee-bawde: about which busines Wee have allready traffict.

Treadway. Well, if so, And to dispose her elsewhere to her goodd, Provided still that vertue be your ayme, I cannot but commende your charity And to my power I'l seeke to further it.

Raphael. You so intyre mee to you. Within theire!

Enter the Clowne.

Clowne. Within theire is nowe without heare: your worshipps pleasure?

Raphael. Hye to the next key and inquire for one cald Seignior Mildewe and resolve him from mee that I have kept apointment: the somms redy and present to bee tendred.

Clowne. Who? the Frenshe monster,[48] Neapolitan Seignor, the man-makarel[49] and marchant of madens-fleshe that deales altogether in flawed ware and crackt comodityes? the bawdy broker, I meanes, where a man for his dollers may have choyse of diseases, and som tymes the pox too, if hee will leeve beehind him a good pawne for it.

Raphael. How thou drummst.

Clowne. Marry qothe hee. So I may happen to bringe it awaye in my nose. Well I smell some bawdy business or other in hand. They call this place Marcellis Roade, the cheiff haven towne in France, but hee keepes a road[50] in his oune howse wherein have ridd and bin ridd more leakinge vessayles, more panderly pinks,[51] pimps and punkes, more rotten bottoms ballanst, more fly-boates[52] laden and unladen every morninge and evenning tyde then weare able to fill the huge greate baye of Portingall. Is this all, syr?

Raphael. Yes all, and heares the somme.

Clowne. A small somme of that is worthe all the busines that I am sent about, for the all in all on't is I am afrayde that all will proove woorthe nothinge.

Treadway. And yet mee thinkes ere folly you conclude You should a little stagger.

Raphael. Should? wherein?

Treadway. For many reasons: Il alleadge som fewe. Who knwes but this your fayre and seeminge saynt, Thoughe disposd well and in her owne condition Of promisinge goodnes, yet livinge in the seminary Of all libidinous actions, spectars, sights, Even in the open market where sinne's sould Where lust and all uncleanes are commerst As freely as comodityes are vended Amongst the noblest marchants,—who I saye So confident that dare presume a virgin Of such a soft and maiden temperature, Deyly and howerly still sollicited By gallants of all nations, all degrees, Allmost all ages, even from upright youth To the stoopinge and decrepitt—

Raphael. Heare mee nowe.

Treadway. Two woords and I have doone: the place considered, The basenes of the person under whome Shee lyves opprest, a slave of sordid lyfe, Conditiond with the devill, temptinge still Sometymes by fayre means, then againe by foul, To prostitute her for his servyle gaynes; And next the dissolute crewe with which shees hows'd Ech night, ech deye perswedinge boathe with toonge And lewde example; all these circonstances Duly considered, I shoold dowbt at least, If not presume, the woorst.

Raphael. Oh you have pleasd mee, And in proposinge all these difficultyes Given of her graces ample testimony. Shee is that miracle, that only one That cann doo these; wear't comon in the sexe Twold not appeare to mee so admirable; It is for these I love her.

Treadway. You are resolvd And I'l not staye your purpose.

Enter the Clowne with Mildewe and Sarleboys his guest and frende.

Clowne. I have brought this flesh-fly whome as soone as the butchers wyves sawe comminge throwghe the shambles, they all of them stood with theire flapps in theire hands like fanns. I, demandinge the reason itt was answerd me againe itt was to keepe away his infectious breath least it should fill theire meate with fly-blowes.

Raphael. Well, mett, good Mr. Mildewe.

Mildewe. My returne Of your salutes I cast belowe your feete.

Raphael. Syr, I am yours to treade on. You will then Stand to your former bargen?

Mildewe. I weare else Not woorthy to bee stil'd what I am tearmd, A trewe venereall broaker.

Clowne. That's in Italian A damnable hee bawde.

Mildewe Y'have such a bargen Marcellis, nor all France, shall yeild the like. Tis such a deynty peece of purity Such a coy thinge that[53] hee unto whose lott She shall hereafter fall may boast himself To bee a happy husband. For our trade Shees out at that: neather promises, rewards, Example or Intreaty, fayre, fowle meanes, Gaine present or the hope of future goodd, Can force from her a presens; then much lesse A frendly prostitution.

Raphael. Hearst thou this?

Treadway. Yes[54] and comende it in her, if that toonge, Even from his fyrst of speakinge traind to lye, Can now at lengthe speake truth.

Clowne. Ay theres the dowbt.

Sarly. This too yeares I have quested to his howse, And knwe all this most certeine.

Raphael. Witnes too.

Mildewe. I doo protest she spoyles my family And rather growne a hyndrance to my trade Then benefitt; so that, if not to losse, I wishe that I were clerly ridd of her, For shee hathe gott a trick to[55] my whores; And such as of themselves are impudent, When shee but coms in presens she makes blushe, As if ashamd of what they late had doon Or are about to doo.

Clowne. Well sayde, ould sinner.

Raphael. See, heeres the sum, 3 hundred crownes.

Mildewe. O'th somme.

Raphael. All currant and full weight.

Mildewe. I'l fetch my doughter That hath no lightnes in her, currant too As any lasse i'th cittye.

Raphael. Mildewe, staye.

Clowne. Staye, oh thou father of fornication and marchant of nothinge but mesteryes and mischeife; whele about, thou dung[c]art of diseases; sayle this way thoue galley foyst[56] of galls and garbadge! Dost not heare my master? staye!

Mildewe. Why, did his worshippe call?

Clowne. Didst thou not heare him call, and mee cry out upon thee?

Mildewe. His pleasure then?

Raphael. I have bethought mee better nowe to keepe This business secrett, least it chance to arryve To th'eares of some of my most noble frends; And not to make it publicke and this honest Purpose of myne by that meanes misreated,[57] Heare lett her stay till night bycause I am loath In th'eye of day to move her through the streetes.

Mildewe. Good, syr.

Raphael. Nwe [Now] in the villaige by, that fronts the sea, Som halff league off where stands the monastery, I have bespoake a place to sojorn her. There I this evening do intend[58] a feast Where only wee and som fewe private frends Have purpost to bee jhoviall. To that place I prithee, with what pryvacy thou canst, Conduct her and so add unto our guests.

Mildewe. The place I knwe, the tyme is perfect with mee, And for the feast you saye you have prepared I shall provyde a stomacke.

Raphael. Her caskett, and such other necessaryes Included in our bargen, bring alonge Or lett her mayde do'ot for thee.

Mildewe. I'l not bate her A ruff or ragge; no pinne that's usefull too her Will I keepe backe.

Raphael. To this you are witnes, frend.

Treadway. I am, Syr.

Mildewe. So's my guest.

Clowne. And lookes as if with me Hee only could write witlesse.

Raphael. Supper tyme You will remember, Mildewe.

Mildewe. Possible I should forgett to eate of others' cost? It never was my custom.

Clowne. Choake you for't.

Raphael. Come, frend, mee thinks I have doone a deede this day Crownes all my better actions, for I have raised An Innocent from the hands of an Infidell agent.

Clowne. Farewell, rott, farewell murreine, adiewe.

Mildewe. Farewell till soone.

[Exeunt Raphael, Treadway, and Clowne.

Sarleb. And do you meane to keepe your promisse then, And doo as you have sayde?

Mildewe. Why not, I prithee? What else canst thou advyse mee?

Sarleb. Are not wee Boathe of a rotten conscience, men debosht, Secluded from the company of such As either are or else would stryve to bee Reputed honest? wherefore then should wee Keepe tutche with any that professe themselves Not to bee of our ranke?

Mildewe. Proceede, good frend: Thou hast putt project in my brayne allredy, Small tyme woold better fashion.

Sarleb. What if I Laye such a plotte that you shall gayne these crownes These full three hundred to your proper use, And of these peevishe harletryes at home Make a much greater market?

Mildewe. Marry, syr, That were a tale worth listeninge.

Sarleb. These crowns Are all your owne in your possession, So are the maydes. I knowe you ritche besydes In coyne and jewells; heere you lyve despysed, And whats this clime to us of more esteme Then any forreine region? whores and bawdes May lyve in every corner of the woorld, We knowe tis full of sinners. This, this day Letts hyre a bark; wee dwell upon the haven, And instantly 'tis done. Shipp all your goods With these shee-chatteyles; putt this night to sea— England they saye is full of whormasters; There will bee vent for such comoditye, There strompett them where they (you saye) weare born, Else you in Spayne may sell them to the stewes, Venyce or any place of Italy; They are everywhere good chaffer. If not these, What saye you to Morocho, Fesse, Algiers? Faith these are wares in all parts vendible, No matter thoughe to Turke and infidell, So itt bringe gayne and profitt.

Mildewe. Lett me hugg thee For this, deare frend; heareafter I will style thee My better genius; thou hast monied mee in this, Nay landed me, made me thy braynes executor, And putt mee in a lardge possession. Go hyre a barke.

Sarlab. I shall.

Mildewe. And instantly.

Sarlab. I shall.

Mildewe. Ere night wee'l putt into a sea No larger then our full stretcht consciences. Lett mee once more Imbrace thee. [Exeunt.

SCENA 2.

Enter an Abbot with his covent[59] of Fryars, amongst them Fryar Jhon, and Fryar Ritchard.

Abbot. As I have heare priority of place, Boathe by our patrons favour and your voyce, So give me leave to arbitrate amongst you.

Fr. Jhon. Without respect of person wee acknowledge you. Our prince and cheiff.

Fr. Rich. And to your fatherly And grave advyse humbly submitt our selves.

Abbot. Knwe then in this small covent, which consysts Only of 12 in nomber, fryars I meane And us the Abbat, I have fownde amongst you Many and grosse abuses; yet for the present I will insist on fewe. Quarrells, debates, Whisperinge, supplantinges, private calumnyes, These ought not bee in such a brotherhood. Of these Fryar Jhon and thou Fryar Richard are Accused to bee most guilty, ever jarring And opposite to peace.

Fr. Jhon. The faults in him.

Fr. Rich. As in all other thinges, so even in this Hee still is apt to wronge mee.

Fr. Jhon. Hee that fyrst gives th'occation, fyrst complaines: It ever was his fashion.

Fr. Rich. Never myne: I appeale to the whole covent.

Abbot. Mallyce rooted, I finde, is woondrous hard to bee supprest. But knwe where consell and advise preveyle not, The fayrest meanes that I can wourk your peace, I'l take upon mee my authority, And where I finde in you the least contempt I shall severely punishe.

Fr. Jhon. I submitt.

Fr. Rich. I yeeld myself to your grave fatherhood.

Abbot. Consider, sonnes, this cloystered place of ours Is but newe reared; the founder, hee still lyves, A souldier once and eminent in the feild, And after many battayles nowe retyrd In peace to lyve a lyff contemplative. Mongst many other charitable deedes, Unto religion hee hathe vowed this howse, Next to his owne fayre mantion that adjoynes And parted only by a slender wall. Who knwes but that hee neighboring us so neare And havinge doone this unto pious ends, May carry over us and our behavioures An austere eye of censure?

Fr. Jhon. Fitt therefore Wee should bee in our actions cautelous.[60]

Fr. Rich. And carefull least wee may incurr displeasure Of such a noble patron.

Abbot. Well observ'd. His bewtious Lady—

Fr. Jhon. A sweete soule indeede.

Fr. Rich. On whom Fryar Jhon casts many a leering eye: I have observd that too.

Abbot. Boath for her outward feature And for her inward graces excellent Beyond compare, shee lykewyse is to us A worthy benefactor.

Fr. Rich. Tis confest.

Fr. Jhon. Would I might com to bee her confessor: It is a fayre sweete lady.

Fr. Rich.[61] Howe the lecher Hugges at the very name.

Abbot. Morninge and eveninge They deyly com to mattens and to evensonge; Such and so greate is theire devotion. That, if not crasd or feylinge in theire healthe, They do not misse us any hower of prayer; And therefore it behooves us all in generall To sett a carefull watche upon our deedes, Least we that are proffest religious Bee in the least deffective.

Fr. Richard. Noate, Fryar Jhon, Howe hee makes anticke faces and in scorne Of this your reverent counsell.

Fr. Jhon. I, alas? A weaknes from my childhood, I confesse, I ever had and cannott helpe it nowe, To have a trobled countenance. I make mouthes? This (most observed father) but approoves My innosens and his envye. Markt you that? Fryar Richard bent his fyst and threatned mee. I call all these to witnesse.

Fr. Rich. No such thinge. I have a crampe oft takes me in this hand And makes mee weare clutcht ringers, and that passion Now came upon mee; but for meanacinge him It ever was farr from mee. This but showes His owld inveterate mallice, which in charity I wishe might heare lye buried.—Syrrah, anon I'l have you by the eares.

Fr. Jhon. Doo if thou darst; We'll tugge it out by the teeth.

Fr. Rich. Meete me i'th orchard Just after even song.

Fr. Jhon. I will make short prayers Bycause I'l keepe appointment.

Abbot. I am playne And breife with all: eather betwixt you too [sic] Make frendly reconsilement, and in presence Of this your brotherhood (for what is fryar But frater, and that's brother?), or my selfe Out of my power will putt you to a penance Shall make you in one weeke fyve fasting-dayes.

Fr. Jhon. Oh terrible!

Abbot. Or, if that will not tame you, I will complayne to'th fownder of your loosenes, Your riotts, and disorders, and petition That you, as sowers off seditious hatred[62] And sole disturbers of our common peace, Maye bee excluded this society, Banisht by common barre-law, and shutt out To publick shame and beggerye.

Fr. Rich. Horrible!

Fr. Jhon. Fyrst then to showe my submisse willingnes And forwardnes withall: with as much charity As any new reformed man maye doo, I with a zeale and hart new reconsiled Thus humbly begge his love. (Y'are a rogue, Ritchard.)

Fr. Rich. To meete his trewe And most unfeigned affection, heare in face And viewe of this our holly brotherhoode, As if in open coort with this mi[63] breath I heare confine all hatred. (Jhon, y'are a Jack sauce, I meane a sawcye Jacke.)

Fr. Jhon. The orchard.

Fr. Rich. Theare.

Abbot. Why, this is as it should bee, and becomes A trew religious order. Such as are sequestred And vowed unto a strict monasticke lyfe, Ought to putt off these grosse and prophane sinnes Most frequent amongst laye-men. Unity, Due conformation and fraternall love. Devotion, hott zeale, and obediens; these Are vertues that become a cloyster best. Nowe lett's retyre unto our oresons And p[r]eye for our good fownders; may they still Grow to our wishe and thryve to theire owne will.

[Exeunt all but Friar Jhon.

Fr. Jhon. More then I woold to have my wishe on thee, Richard, though I have a good stomacke too't, Ey, and to baste thee sowndly, I woold nowe To have my will one her. Tis a sweete creature; Our patron owld, shee younge; som hope in that. Besydes, shee's woondrous kind and affable; And when we duck or congee, smiles as if Shee tooke som pleasure in our shaven crownes. I am the fyrst that every morninge, when Shee passes through the cloyster to her prayers, Attend her with good morrowe, pray for her health. For her content and pleasure, such as canott bee Hop't or expected from her husband's age; And these my frendly wishes she returnes Not only in kind language but sweete smiles, The least of which breede som Incoradgement. I will, if shee persist to proove thus kind, If not to speeke my thoughts, to wryte my mynd.

[Exit.

SCENA TERTIA.

Thunder.

Enter after a greate Tempestuous storme Mr. Ashburne an Englishe marchant and his man Godfrey.

Ashburne. Was ever knowne such a tempestuous night Of thunder, hayle, wynd, lightninge! Twas as if The fower seditious brothers threatned warr And weare but nowe at battayle.

Godfrey. The fower winds you meane; blusteringe fellowes they are. Preye God all be well at sea, for I am sure the roofes tyles and ridges have payde for it a shewer.[64]

Ashb. The very rafters of the howses bend; Some breake and are demolisht; barnes blowne downe; The very chimneyes rattle ore our heads; The strongest buildinges tremble just as if Theire is above a tempest, so belowe There weare a fearefull earth-quake.

Godfrey. All our howses Are nothinge nowe but windowes, broad bay windowes So spatious that carts laded may drive throughe And neather loush oth' topp or eathere syde. Lights every where, we shall have lightnes inoughe: Heares stupid woork for daubers!

Ashburne. We are forct All to forsake the villaige and to fly Unto the feilds for succor.

Godfrey. Syr, it putt me In minde of the greate King Agathocles, Who was, as I have heard you oft relate, Brain'd with a Tyle. Why may not meaner men Then feare the fall of brick batts?

Enter Raphael, Treadway, and the Clowne.

Treadway. A strange night And full of terror; yet, thanks heaven, well past.

Raphael. Oh, but I feare the greater storms to come, A gust that will more shake mee.

Clowne. More, quothe hee; I can scarce see howe that well can bee, for I can assure you the garrett that I laye in putt mee in mind of myne infancye, for I lye all the night longe as if I had bin rockt in a cradle.

Raphael. Oh, frend, I feare this false and perjur'd slave, That hathe not kept apointment, hath deceiv'd mee Boathe of my coyne and pretious marchandyse.

Clowne. Did you ever looke for better from a Judas [?] of his he[yre]?[65]

Raphael. Which if hee have—

Clowne. Why then hee hathe, and the mends is in y'r owne hands: that's all that I can say too't.

Raphael. Hee hathe undone mee dubly.

Treadway. Hope the best. Perhapps the threatninge weather kept him backe: Itt was a trobled skye, the soon set blusheing, The rack cam swiftly rushing from the west; And these presadges of a future storme, Unwillinge for to trust her tendernes Unto such feares, might make him fayle his hower; And yet with purpose what hee slack't last night Howe to make goodd this morninge.

Raphael. Oh you tent[66] My woonds too gently, dally with my dowbts And flutter my trewe feares: the even was calme, The skye untrobled, and the soon went downe Without disturbance in a temperate ayr. No, not the least conjecture coold be made Of such a suddeine storme, of which the woorld Till after midnight was not sensible. His hower was supper, and in faylinge that—

Clowne. Ey, nowe begin I to feare too for thee. Breake his woord if it bee to com to dinner or supper! I'l never trust his bond for the valewe of a threepenny ordenarye after.

Raphael. Post you back to the citty; make inquiries And most strickt search to find that Mildewe out; Whom if you meete, fyrst rate his last neclect, Then hasten his repayer. Heare you shall finde mee Or in the waye home; for in all this villaige I woll not leave a howse, a place unsearcht. If where hee dwells you misse him, then demande Att every bey what shippinge late went out. If any vowed love still remane betwixt us, Make it appear nowe in your present care And expedition.

Treadw. I'l be your Mercury, Not fayle you in the least.

Raphael. And so betwixt us Increase a frendshipp that was never flawed.

[Exit[67] Treadway.

Ashburne. This gentleman, itt seemes, hathe in this tempest Sustein'd som losse, he appears so much disturb'd.

Clowne. See, syr, heare are some it may bee beelonge to this villadge; you had best aske of them.

Raphael. And well advysed. Hayle, father!

Godfrey. No more hayle if you love mee; we had too much of that last night.

Ashburne. Of what sexe are you that you call me so? I have bene father of a doughter once, Though not these many yeares blest with her sight, But of a soone yet never.

Raphael. What you have lost May you in som most fayer and fortunate hower Againe find to your comfort.

Ashburne. You wishe well.

Raphael. Sawe you not bowte this villadge late last night, Or early now i'th morninge, a short fellowe Thin heyred, flat nosed, sand-bearded and squint eyde?

Clowne. The mapp of misfortune and very picture of ill luck.

Raphael. Grosse-wasted, gowty-legg'd.

Clowne. Whose face is puft up like a bladder and whose belly lyke a toonne.

Raphael. Owld, graye and hoary.

Clowne. And withall cheatinge, cousininge, and crafty; a remarkable raskall, a damnable deceiver, and a most substantiall cinner.

Ashburne. By such I have much suffred in my state, Opprest almost to utmost penury In my once better fortune; but so late I sawe not any such.

Raphael. Hee was expected To bee attended by too [sic] handsome gurles, Boathe younge, boathe fayre, but th'one unparreld [sic]; Neather of which by computation Hathe told so hye as twenty.

Ashb. If such I chance to meete by accident I'l send you notyce. Please you leave your name And place of your abode.

Raphael. Raphael I am cald, A marchant in Marcellis, and my lodginge Is at the Parratt in the markett-place; There you shall finde mee knowne.

Ashb. And by that name Presume I'l not forgett you.

Raph. For which curtesy, Fare you well, syr; You shall oblighe mee to you. If not heare Weele seeke her further; France shall not conteine them But I will finde theire start-holes.

Ashb. Good speede with you.

Clowne. If I weare a dogge nowe and coold hunt dry foote[68] I could smell them out presently.

[Exeunt[69] Raphael and Clown.

Ashb. Come lett us mount ourselfes upon these rockes And, havinge feelinge of our hurts at land, Letts see what shyppes have ben distrest at sea, If any shaken in this storme or wreckt; And though wee cannot help the miserable Yet lett them taste our pittye.

Godfrey. Sir, content; but I hope your fishermen have not putt to sea this night. If they have I sweare they have showed themselves much madder then the tempest.

Ashb. I hope they have bin more discreate and wyse Then with the hazard of my boates and netts To indanger theire owne lyves.

Godfr. See: do you see, Syr?

Ashb. What?

Godfr. Why, yonder.

Ashb. Where?

Godfr. There towards yon shore.

Ashb. A shipp laboringe for liffe Nowe cast upon the rocks, nowe splitt, nowe sinkinge, Nowe dasht to peeces.

Godfr. I see all mischeifes do not com by land, Som's doone upon the water.

Ashb. Though theire goodes perishe, Yet in thy mercy, heaven, protect theire lyves. Som sitt upon the planks, som on the masts, Som hange upon the cables, and som few Have only gott the cock-boat; others swimme. Oh that wee shoold beehold theire misery And want power to assiste them!

Godfr. Sure, syr, it was som shipp of passengers, For see you not too women? daynty ducks! Would they coold swime as ducks can, see how they spread And cast theire legges abroad lyke naked frogges! See howe they spread theire armes and stryve for lyfe! I[70] would I weare som Dolphin or some whayle That they might sitt astryde upon my backe To beare them safe ashore; but I as yet Could neare indure still water. See yet still, Still theire coates beare them upp, keepe them aloft; The modest ayer not willinge to discover That which the bawdy waves shame not belowe Rudely to lifte and handle.

Ashb. Blesse them heaven! The wind and tyde still beate them towards the shore, But oh that cursed billowe hath devyded And parted them asunder. Yet all's well; They still beare upp. If they but scape the next There may bee hope of safetye.

Godfr. One's driven this way, The tother that; the men shift for themselves, Howe shall we save thes women?

Ashb. No meanes unlesse we leape downe from the rockes, And that's meare desperation. Yet to showe Our charityes to wretches thus extreame, Lett's see if wee can find the least descent And hasten to theire suckor.

Godfr. By your favour, I had rather they with brine shoold break their bellys Then I my neck with clamberinge.

Explicit Actus primus.

Actus 2.

SCENA PRIMA.

Storme continewed. Enter Palestra all well, as newly shipwreckd and escapt the fury of the seas.

Palestra.[71] Is this then the reward of Innocense, Of goodness to our selfes, namely chast lyfe, Pietye to our parents, love to all, And above all our Christian zeale towardes heaven? But why shoold wee poore wretches thus contest Against the powers above us, when even they That are the best amongst us are servd badd? Alas, I never yet wrongd man or child, Woman or babe; never supplanted frend Or sought revendge upon an enemy. You see yet howe we suffer; howe shall they then That false their faythes, that are of uncleane lyfe And then not only sinne unto them selves But tempt and persuade others? what shall I thinke Becoms of my base guardian? though the waves Have spared the guiltles, sure his putrid s[oule][72] Cannot escape heavens justyce! wee poor wretches Are punishe [sic] for his grosse impietyes, They mov'd heavens wrathe, who stir'd the winds and waves Stryvinge whose fury should destroy us fyrst. These boathe conspyringe in our ruinne, th'one Beate us belowe the billowes whilst the other Swallowed boathe shippe and goodes; [amongst] the rest A[73] budget or portmantau which includes All the bawdes wealth. But that weare nothinge to mee Though he had vowed and sworne to make mee his heyer; The losse I so lament is a small caskett Kept by him from my childhood, and packt up Amongst his treasure; and that perishinge, I forfett the longe expectation Ever to knowe my parents, therefore wishe With it I had i'th sea been buried.

Enter Scribonia.

Scrib. With perill of oft fallinge and the danger Of second deathe, having new scapt the fyrst, I have with feare and terror clim'd these rocks, And these too past I feare to meete a thyrd. I spy no howse, no harbor, meete no creature To point mee to some shelter; therefore heare Must starve by famine or expire by could. O'th sea the whystlinge winds still threaten wreckes, And flyinge nowe for refuge to the lande Find nought save desolation. Thoughe these three, Three dreadfull deaths all spare mee, yeat a fowerth, I cannot shoone [shun] in my Palestras losse, More[74] deare to mee then all the world besides, For the best blood of myne runns in her veynes, This lyfe breath in her bosom. Oh my Palestra!

Palestr. Numnes and feare, hungar and sollitude, Besydes my casket, my Scribonia's losse, All these at once afflict mee.

Scrib. Notheinge mee More than Palestra's deathe. Ha, who's that spake? Suer twas som womans voyce! if my Palestra Only for her sake I coulde wishe to live.

Pal. Then lyve, my deere Scribonia, synce I am only Spar'd to partake with thee newe miseryes.

Scrib. Scarce can I bee perswaded you are shee: But, bee yt but her shadowe, give mee leave For her remembrance to imbrace it thus.

Palest. These armes at once locke all my lyvinge hopes In my restored Scribonia.

Scrib. Nowe I perceave My comfort is not meare imaginary But reall and effectuall. Lyve you then?

Pal. To triumphe in your safety.

Scrib. Possible That mongst these desert unfrequented rocks Thou can imadgine such a thing can be As that which you call safety?

Pal. Yes, Scribonia, And comfort too; for, see, I spy a villadge, A maner and a fayre built monastery, Just at the foott of this descendeinge hill. And where, if not amongst religious men, Shoold we find that's calld charity?

Scrib. Thether, then: Lett[75] us make hast with all the speede we can: Fyre at the least I hope it [is?] well assured, Besydes releiffe and harbor.

Pal. Can you begge?

Scrib. What will not rude necessity compell Distressed folke to doo? We'll not doo't basely, For beinge brought upp to musick and to sing, Demandinge in that kind there charity, And they perceivinge us much better bred Then these our present fortunes might deserve, May move in them compassions.

Pal. Lett's retyre To the backe gate then, there complane our wants And that which others doo with impudence Lett us in shame and blushes.

Scrib. Som sweete echo Speake from these walls and answer to our wants, And eather lend som comfort to our grieffs Or send us hence dispayringe and asham'd.

[They go in.

Pal. _Oh charity where art thou fled, And nowe how longe hast thou been dead?

Answer within. Oh many many many hundred yeares

Scrib. In villadge, borrough, towne or citty Remaines there yet no grace, no pitty?

Answ. Not in sighes, not in want, not in teares.

Pal. Cold comfort in this answer; but proceede.

Above. we see a threatninge skye.

Answ. Beelowe the winds and gusts blowe hye, And all all to fright hence this same juell.

Scrib. The lightninges blast, the thunders cracke, The billows menace nought save wracke.

Answ. And yet man is then these much more crewell.

Pal. Unless my judgment quite miscarry, Shee may lyve in som monastery.

Answ. Tis a place too that was fyrst assigned her.

Scrib. If not amongst religious men, Yett where, where shall wee seeks her then?

Answ. Yet even there, there, you scarce scarce can find her.

Pal. If chastity and Innocens tryde Have boathe escaped wind and tyde—

Answ. Yet oh why should the land, land these cherish?

Scrib. Of whome even billowes have a care, Whom seas preserve, whom tempests spare—

Answ. Yet these these amongst men may perishe._

Pal. Uncharitable echo! from a place Of pure devotion canst thou answer that? If not in these religious monasteries, In what place can we find could charity?

Scrib. Where ere wee meete her shee is lyke our selfes, Bare, without harbor, weake and comfortles.

Enter Fryer John.

Fr. Jhon. What singeinge beggers were those at the gate That would so early rowse our charity, Before it was half styrringe or awake?

Enter Fryer Richard.

I thinke I answerd them in such a way As I beleeve scarce pleas'd them.

Fr. Rich. What sweete musick Was that at the back gate hath cald mee upp Somwhat before my hower?

Fr. Jhon. Morrow, fryar Richard: Howe did you lyke our last night's buffetinge? Whilst all the rest of our fraternity In feare of that greate tempest weare att prayers, Wee too pickt out that tyme of least suspition And in the orchard hand to hand weare att it.

Fr. Rich. Tis trew for blooddy noses; and, Fryar Jhon, As you lyke that which is allredy past So chalendge mee hereafter. But whence cam Those sweete and delicate voyces?

Fr. Jhon. I bare part In theire sadd quire though none of these yet knw't. But peace: our Father Abbat.

Enter the Abbot with other fryars.

Abbott. Morrow, soonns, An early blessinge on you, if as the larke Rysen beetymes still to salute the soon, So your devotion pluckes you from your bedds Beefore your hower unto your orisons. Did you not heare a musicall complaynt Of women that in sadd and mournefull tones Bewayld theire late disasters, harshly answerd By a churlish echo?

Fr. Jhon. Som such thinge wee heard.

Fr. Rich. The noates still persist with mee.

Pal. There appeares In his grave lookes bothe zeele and charity; Letts to his sight boldly expose ourselfes. Hayle, reverent father!

Abbot. What are you poore soules Thus wett and wether-bitt?

Scrib. Ere you demand Further from us, letts tast your Christian charity, Som fyare, som harbor, least ere our sadd tale Bee fully tould wee perishe.

Abbot. Why, whence came you?

Pal. From sea; our shipp last night in the great storme Cast on these rocks and split; this the fyrst place Exposed unto our eyes to begge releiff. But oh I faynt.

Abbot. Some[76] faggotts instantly: Hott brothes, hott water for them, and warme cloathes. Whome the high powers miraculously preserve, Whome even the merciles waves have borne ashore, Shall we soe sinke a land? Even wee our selfes That lyve and eate by others charity, To others shall not wee bee charitable? All succor, all supply that can be given, They from our hands shall tast.

Fr. Jhon. Shall we remove them Into the cloyster?

Fr. Rich. Tis agaynst our oath On any, though the great'st, extremity To addmitt women thether.

Abbot. That I knowe: Yet in som out-office see them chear'd, Want nothinge that the cloyster can affourd. Theire bewtyes, though my eye be bleynd at them, Deserve no lesse; I looke on theire distresse And that I pitty. Ech one lend a hand To take off from theire present misery And ease theire tender shoulders; when they are cheer'd And better comforted, I'l finde occatione To enquire further from them.

Pal. Heaven be as kind To you as you to us!

Abb. Feare not fayre damselles: This place, though not within the monastery, Yet stands within the cloysters previledge And shallbee unto you a sanctuary.

Scrib. No other wee expect it.

Abb. Guide them in: [Bell ring. Bewty and youthe to pitty 'tis no sinne.

The bell ringes to mattens. Enter the Lord de Averne and his Lady. Dennis and others.

Fr. Jhon. Harke, the bell ringes to mattens.

Fr. Rich. See withall Our noble patron with his lovely lady Prepare for theire devotion. Nowe, Friar Jhon, Your letcherous eye is conninge.

Fr. Jhon. I knowe my place.

Abbott. Way for our noble founder!

L. Aberne. Morrowe, father; So to the rest of all the brotherhood.

[The quire and musick; the fryars make a lane with ducks and obeysance.

Voyces. Te tuosque semper, oh semper beamus, Et salvos vos venisse, o venisse gaudeamus.

Fr. Jhon. Good daye to our fayre foundresse!

Lady. Mercy, Fryar Jhon; Above the rest you are still dutifull, For which wee kindly thanke you.

[Exeunt: manet Jhon.

Fr. Jhon. Kindly thanke you! Nay, smyld withall! allthough that I have more Then a monthes mind[77] to these younge harletryes Yet heares the grownd on which I fyrst must build And ryse my fortunes many steepes[78] hye. Nay, I perhapps, ere they can drye there smocks, Will putt th'affayre in motion, whyle these are Att solleme mattens. I'l take pen and wryte, And sett my mind downe in so quaint a strayne Shall make her laughe and tickle, whylst I laughe And tickle with the thought on't, still presuminge These lookes, these smyles, these favours, this sweete language Could never breathe, butt have theire byrthe from love. But how to ha'tt delivered? there's the dowbt. Tush I have plott for that too; hee, no questione, That sett mee on to compasse this my will, May when the up-shoote comes assist mee still.

[Exit.

SCENA 2.

[Tempest. Thunder.

Enter 2 Fishermen.

1st Fish. The trobled sea is yet scarce navigable Synce the last tempest: yet wee that only lyv By our owne sweatt and labour, nor cann eate Beffore[79] wee fetch our foode out of the sea, Must ventur thoughe with daunger or bee suer With empty stomakes go unsupt to bed.

2nd Fish. And so it often happens.

1 Fish. See the cordaige Be stronge and tight, the netts with all theire stringes, Plometts, and corks, well plac't for hookes and bates, This daye wee shall have little use of them: The wind's still hye, beare but a gentle sayle And hazard not the channele. Keepe alonge Close by the shoare, the rocks will shelter us And may perhapps affoord us lobsters, praunes, Shrimps, crabbes, and such lyke shell fishe; hence[80] we may Hunt the sea urchen, and with safety too; There's many holde hime for a dayntye fishe, Hee sells well in the markett. That poore men Are forct too, for a slender competens, A little to prolonge a wretched lyfe!

2 Fish. Com then lett us weighe anchor and aboord: The soone is upp allredy.

Enter the Clowne.

Clowne. If ever menn weare madd then suer my master is not well in his witts, and all about this wenshe; here's such sendeinge and seekeinge, hurriinge and posteinge, and all to no purpose. I have nowe some thyrty errands to deliver and knowe not to whome nor where, what nor to which place fyrst; hee's gone on to the citty and sent mee back to the villaige, whither his frend travelled[81] one waye, hee another, and I a thyrd contrary from them boathe; he cannott beleeve his inquiry to be well doone but hee must send me to doo't over againe. I have asked all I mett and demanded of all I have seene.[82] But what are theese? these should bee fishermen. Good morrowe, you sea theeves.[83]

1 Fish. You call us theeves that may proove honester Than many goe for trewe[84] men on the shore.

Clowne. Sawe[85] you not passe this [way] an ould bald fellowe hutch-shoolderd, crooked nos'd, beetle browd, with a visadge lowreing and a looke skowlinge; one that heaven hates and every good man abhors; a cheatinge raskall and an ugly slave,—did note such passe you?

1 Fish. If such a one as you describe you inquire for, Mee thinks, my frend, thou hast mistooke thy way; Thou shouldst have sought him at the gallowes rather, There such are soonest fownd.

Clowne. Byrlady, worst answered of a playne fellowe; but that you may knowe him the better, hee had too handsome streete-singing-fact lasses in his companye.

2 Fish. And for such creatures y'had best search the stewes O'th citty; this our villadge yields none such. This fellowe doth but flowte us; letts aboord.

1 Fish. Inquire for us of wenshes? tush, wee fishe For no such perewinkles; farewell flesh mongere.

[Ex. Fish.

Clowne. No wonder these fellowes pretend to be witty; for understandinge, so manye have lost there witts as … they have fisht for it and in som drawenett or other have caught it. But where might these lost shrewes bee? I suspect this pestiferous Je vous prie hathe putt some slovenly tricke or other to cheate my mayster boathe of his ware and mony.

Enter Scribonia with an empty pale to y'e Clow.

Scribon. Thus beinge chered with warmth, and change of clothes, With all such comforts as the cloyster yeelds, I am dyrected to a neighbours by For water to refreshe and wash our selves. And this shoold bee the howse.

Clowne. What! not Scribonia, One of the flock that's missing?

Scrib. Oh sweete Jayms, Where is your noble maister?

Clowne. Nay, sweete rogue, Where is his bewteous mystresse?

Scrib. Heare within.

Clowne. In this place joyninge to the monastery? And Mildewe too?

Scrib. Rott on that villeyne! no.

Clowne. Hee promist to bringe you too alonge and meete with my master and som others of his frends att supper.

Scrib. Can such men, ever false unto theire God, Keepe faythe with men at any tyme?

_Clowne. _But staye, staye, there's one riddle I cannot expound: howe com thou so suddenly to lepp out of a howse of roguery into a howse of religion, from a stewes to a cloyster, from beastleness to blessednes and from a sacrilegious place to a sanctuary?

Scrib. Such was the grace heaven sent us, who from perill, Danger of lyfe, the extreamest of all extreames Hathe brought us to the happy patronage Of this most reverent abbott.

Clowne. What dangers? what extreames?

Scrib. From the sea's fury, drowneing; for last night Our shipp was splitt, wee cast upon these rocks.

Clowne. Sayd in a jest, in deede! Shipwreck by land![86] I perceive you tooke the woodden waggen for a ship and the violent rayne for the sea, and by cause some one of the wheeles broake and you cast into some water plashe, you thought the shipp had splitt and you had bene in danger of drowneinge.

Scrib. Are you then ignorant how, late in the even, With purpose to make better sale of us And to defraude thy maister, hee shipt us With all the gold and jewels that hee had, All which save wee are perisht?

Clowne. But that caterpiller, that ould catamiting cankerworme, what's become of him?

Scrib. Dead I hope, with drinkinge of salte water.

Clowne. I would all of his profession had pledged him the same healthe. But how doth Palestra take this?

Scrib. Gladd to bee rid of such a slavery, Yet sadly weepinge for her casket's losse, That which included ample testimony Bothe of her name and parents.

Clowne. All her ill luck go with it![87]—Heere will be simple newes to bringe to my mayster when hee hears shee hath bene shippwreckt! Il make him beleeve I went a fishinge for her to sea and eather drewe her ashore in my netts, or batinge my hooke strooke her and drewe her upp by the gills with myne angle. Make you hast for I'l staye till you come back. [Exit.

Scrib. But this delaye had allmost putt me from What I was sent about; yes this is the place. [Knocks.

Enter Godfrey.

[Godf.] Whoes that that offers violens to these gates That never yet offended? What want you?

Scrib. That which the earthe Dothe forebidd none, and freely yelds to all, A little fayre springe water.

Godfr.—One of those giurles Beelyke this morninge shippwrackt and now scapt? A dainty peece of maydes fleshe. Such sweete bitts Are not heare often swallowed, and my mouth Waters at this fine morsell.

Scrib. Water, frend; Tis that I crave for heaven's sake.

Godfr. Wee have none Of guift, unless you by't.

Scrib. Will you sell that The earthe affourds you gratis, and sett pryse Of what a foe would yeeld an enemy?

Godfr. Not, pretty lasse, so thou'lt afford mee that, Freely and without bargen, which not only One frend will to another but oft tymes A stranger to a stranger.

Scrib. What's that, prithee?

Godfr. Only a kisse, sweete wensh.

Scrib. Ye are too familiar, I'l by none at that pryse: or fill my pale Or I'l returne back empty.

Godfr. Well for once I will not greatly stand out, yet in hope, That what att our fyrst meetinge you'l not grant You'l not denye at partinge; reatch thy pale.

Scrib. Quick as you love mee.

Godfr. As you love mee! right: Who[88] ever lov'd that lov'd not att fyrst sight? The poet's excellent sayeinge. [Exit[89] to draw water.

Scrib. What shall I saye or howe shall I excuse This my longe staye? but nowe I cast myne eyes Backe on the roughe yet unappeased seas, I quake to thinke upon our dangers past. But see the fearefull object of a death More menacinge and affrightfull, a sea monster Cast from the deepes to swallow us ashore! Malevolent fate and black desaster still Pursues us to all places, but of all Enter Myldew and Sarlaboys to her. This, this the greatest, and to this one compard All that are past but trifles. Oh that grand maister Of mechall[90] lusts, that bulke of brothelree, That stillary of all infectious sinnes, Hath scapt the wrack, and with his fellowe guest And partner in corruption makes this waye, And with no tarde pace. Where shall I hyde mee! Whether shall I fly to Palestra back And with this sadd relation kill her quite That's scarce recovered! rather, you hy powers, Then to prolonge our griefes, shorten our howers. [Exit.

Godfr. Where[91] is my daynty damosella? where? Mee thought the water mett mee the half way And lept up full three stepps to meete my pale. This 'tis when as a man goes willingly About his busines. Howe fresh a kisse will tast From her whyte lipps! and every part besydes From head to toe have bin so lately duckt And rincht in the salt water. Wheres my sweete? Not heare? no where? why, hoe, my whytinge mopp[92] Late scapt from feedinge haddocks! ha, what, gone? Nay then, go thou too that shee sent mee for, To him that next shall find thee! yet not so: This learned pale instructs mee by these letters That it beelonges unto this monastery. And iff it shoold be lost by my default I may be chardged with theft or sacriledge. No, I'l deliver it to the owners suer,[93] And this the place.

Enter the Bawde Mildewe and Sarlaboyse.

Mild. Hee that woold stoody to bee miserable Lett him forsake the land and putt to sea. What widgeing,[94] that hath any voyce at all, Would trust his safety to a rotten planke That hath on earthe sounde footinge!

Sarlab. None but madmen.

Mild. Why thou of none, thrifty and well advised, Stryvest thou to make mee such, where's now the gayne And proffitt promist? the riche marchandyse Of lust and whooringe? the greate usury Got by the sale of wantons? these cursed jewelryes With all the wealthe and treasure that I had,[95] All perisht in one bottom, and all, all, Through thy malicious counsell.

Sarlab. Curse thy selfe. The trusty bark, ore laden with thy sinnes, Baudryes, grosse lyes, thy theft and perjuryes Beesydes the burdene of thy ill gott gooddes, Not able to indure so greate a weight Was forct to sinke beneathe them.[96]

Mild. Out, dogge!

Sarl. Out, devill!

Mild. By thee I am made nothinge. Oh my giurles You sweete and never faylinge marchandyse, Comodityes in all coasts, worthy coyne, Christiane or heathen! by whom in distresses I coold have raysed a fortune! more undoone That I should loose you thus!

Sarl. I knowe hee had rather See halfe a hundred of them burnt[97] a land Then one destroyde by water. But, oh Neptune, I feare I have supt so much of thy salt brothe Twill bringe mee to a feavour.

Mild. Oh my Palestra And fayre Scribonia, weare but you too safe, Yet som hope weare reserved me.

Sarl. I praye, Mildewe, When you so early to the bottom dyv'd, For whom weare you a fishinge?

Mild. Marry, for maydens; Woold I knewe howe to catch them. But my gutts, Howe they are sweld with sea brine!

Sarl. Tis good phisick To cure thee of the mangy.

Mild. Wretched man! That have no more left of a magazine Then these wett cloathes upon mee, nay the woorst Of all I had and purposely put on Only to lyv a shipp-board.

Sarl. Once to-day Thou wert in wealthe above mee, nowe the seas have Left us an equall portion.

Mild. In all the wourld I vowe I am not woorthe a lighted faggott Or a poore pan of charcoale.

Sarl. Justly punisht Thou that hast all thy lyfe tyme dealt in fyre-woorks, Stoves and hott bathes to sweet in, nowe to have Thy teethe to falter in thy head for could Nimbler then virginall Jacks.[98]

Mild. Th'art a sweete guest.

Sarl. Too good for such an host, better to have bin Lodgd in som spittle; or, if possible, To bee imprisoned in som surgeon's box That smells of salves and plasters.

Mild. Nowe what sharke Or wyde-mouth'd whale shall swallowe upp my budgett, May it at th'instant choake him!

Sarl. Cursedly twas got, And nowe thy curse goes with it.

Mild. But those giurles! Nought so much greives mee as to part with them Before they lost theire maiden-headds. Had they lyvd Till I had seen them women, and oth' trade, My tast and care bestowed to bringe them upp I should have thought well spent, which nowe with them Is meerely cast away.

Enter Godfrey.

Sarlab. Peace now your pratinge and heare another spirit.

Godfr.[99] The pale religious, which was the pledge Of a kisse lascivious, I have given backe, Ey, and to boote the water; but within There's such a coyle betwixt the 2 young giurles Such quakinge, shakinge, quiveringe, shiveringe Such cryeinge, and such talk of flyinge, then of hyding, And that there's no abydinge; one cryes out and calls, The others redy to breake downe the walls; Then weepinge they whisper together, And saye they woold roone if they knew whither, And are indeede putt to such strange affrights That I was afrayde they weare hunted with sprights, And therefore cam and left them: lass, poor giurles, They are in piteous feare.

Mild. Hee talkt of guerles: why may not these bee they, Escapt as wee? staye, younge man, good frend, staye.

Godf. Too ould drown'd ratts: I'l have som sport with them, And though I pitty those I'l play with these.

Mild. What gurles weare those thou spakest of?

Sarl. Tell us fyrst Where wee might finde som comfort.

Godf. Lett us oh lett us bee advys'd And living still to all men, So though wee bee but midle sizd Wee shalbe held no small men.

Mild. Concerning these fayre damosels, speake of that.

Sarl. Which now concernes us most, where may wee meete With warmth, with foode, and shelter?

Godf. Oh thou that dost demand of mee Som fyre, som meate and harbor, I see thou lately hast ben washt, Hath Neptune ben thy barbor?

Sarl. This fellowe mearely flowtes our misery, And laughs att our distresses.

Mild. But, kind frende, Concerninge these yonge women, are they fayre?

Godf. Fayre flesh and cleane they bothe appeare And not lyke gypsies umber'd.

Mild. How many?

Godf. Just as thou and I when wee are Once but number'd.

Mild. Oh, Sarleboys, there's comfort in these woords; They have allredy warmed my hart within, Why may not these bee they?

Sarl. Bee they or not, I had rather see one caudell downe my throate, To wash downe this salt-water, than bee mayster Of all the wenshes lyveinge.

Mild. Oh where, where, Where might I see too such?

Godf. Thou that goest sydewayes lyke a crabb, gapst on mee lyke an oyster, Followe thy flat nose and smell them there, in th'out part of this cloyster.

Mild. Oh maye this peece of earthe proove happy to mee As hath the sea bin fatall.

Sarl. I'l followe and coold wish Boath cloyster and whole villadge weare a fyre Only to dry my clothes by.

Godf. Marry hange you You that so late scaped drowning for I take you For too pestiferous rascalls.

Exeunt.

Explicit Actus 2.

Act 3.