ACTUS I, SCÆNA 1.

Con. In this disguise, ere scarce my mourning robes Could have a general note, I have forsook My shape, my mother, and those rich demesnes, Of which I am sole heir; and now resolve In this disguise of page to follow him, Whose love first caus'd me to assume this shape. Lord, how my feminine blood stirs at the sight Of these same breeches! methinks this codpiece[322] Should betray me: well, I will try the worst. Hither they say he usually doth come, Whom I so much affect: what makes he here? In the skirts of Holborn, so near the field, And at a garden-house? he has some punk Upon my life! No more: here he comes.

God save you, sir: your name, unless I err, Is Master Thomas Boutcher. Bout. 'Tis, sweet boy. Con. I have a letter for you.

Bout. From whom is't? Con. The inside, sir, will tell you; I shall see What love he bears me now. [Aside. Bout. Th' art welcome, boy. How does the fair Constantia Sommerfield, Thy[323] noble mistress? Con. I left her in health. Bout. She gives thee here good words; and for her sake Thou shalt not want a master: be mine for ever. Con. I thank you, sir. Now shall I see the punk.

W. Small. Who knocks so fast? I thought 'twas you; what news? Bout. You know my business well; I sing one song. W. Small. 'Sfoot, what would you have me do? my land is gone, My credit of less trust than courtiers' words To men of judgment; and for my debts I might deserve a knighthood:[324] what's to be done? The knight my father will not once vouchsafe To call me son: that little land he gave, Throat the lawyer swallowed at one gob For less than half the worth; and for the city There be so many rascals and tall yeomen, Would hang upon me for their maintenance, Should I but peep or step within the gates, That I am forc'd, only to ease my charge, To live here in the suburbs; or in the town To walk in tenebris. I tell you, sir, Your best retired life is an honest punk In a thatch'd house with garlic: tell not me: My punk's my punk, and noble lechery Sticks by a man when all his friends forsake him. Bout. The pox, it will: art thou so senseless grown, So much endeared to thy bestial lust, That thy original worth should lie extinct And buried in thy shame? Far be such thoughts From spirits free and noble! Begin to live: Know thyself, and whence thou art deriv'd. I know that competent state thy father gave Cannot be yet consum'd. W. Small. 'Tis gone, by heaven! Not a denier is left. Bout. 'Tis impossible. W. Small. Impossible! s'heart! I have had two suckers Able to spend the wealthy Crœsus' store.

Bout. What are they? W. Small. Why, a lawyer and a whore: See, here comes one. Dost think this petticoat, A perfum'd smock, and twice a week a bath, Can be maintain'd with half a year's revenues? No, by heaven! we annual younger brothers Must go to't by wholesale; by wholesale, man,[325] These creatures are maintained: her very face Has cost a hundred pounds. Fran. Sir, thank yourself. [Coming forward. Con. They keep this whore betwixt them. [Aside. Fran. You know, sir, I did enjoy a quiet country life, Spotless and free, till you corrupted me, And brought me to the court. I never knew What sleeking, glazing, or what pressing meant: Till you preferr'd me to your aunt the lady. I knew no ivory teeth, no caps of hair, No Mercury water, fucus[326] or perfumes, To help a lady's breath, until your aunt Learnt me the common trick. W. Small. The common trick, Say you? a pox upon such common tricks! They will undo us all. Bout. And knowing this, Art thou so wilful-blind still to persist In ruin and defame? W. Small. What should I do? I've pass'd my word to keep this gentlewoman, Till I can place her to her own content. And what is a gentleman but his word? Bout. Why, let her go to service. W. Small. To service! Why, so she does; she is my laundress,[327] And by this light, no puisne Inn-a-Court But keeps a laundress at his command To do him service; and shall not I, ha? Fran. Sir, you are his friend (I love him too); Propound a course which may advantage him, And you shall find such real worth in me, That rather than I'll live his hindrance, I will assume the most penurious state The city yields, to give me means of life. W. Small. Why, there's it: you hear her what she says; Would not he be damn'd that should forsake her? Says she not well? can you propound a course, To get my forfeit land from yonder rogue: Parcel-lawyer, parcel-devil, all knave, Throat, Throat? Bout. Not I. W. Small. Why, so: I thought as much; You are like our citizens to men in need, Which cry, 'tis pity a proper gentleman Should want money; yet not an usuring slave Will lend him a denier to help his wants. Will you lend me forty shillings? Bout. I will. W. Small. Why, God-a-mercy, there's some goodness in thee: You'll not repent? Bout. I will not. W. Small. With that money I will redeem my forfeit land, and wed My cockatrice to a man of worship— To a man of worship, by this light! Bout. But how? W. Small. Thus: in Ram-Alley lies a fellow, by name Throat: one that professeth law, but indeed Has neither law nor conscience; a fellow That never saw the bar, but when his life Was call'd in question for a cosenage. The rogue is rich; to him go you, tell him That rich Sir John Sommerfield— Con. How's that? [Aside. W. Small. Is lately dead, and that my hopes stand fair To get his only daughter. If I speed,[328] And have but means to steal away the wench, Tell him I reckon him my chiefest friend To entertain us, till our nuptial rites May be accomplish'd: and could you but procure My elder brother meet me on the way, And but associate me unto his house, 'Twere hit, i' faith; I'd give my cunning Throat An honest slit for all his tricks in law. Bout. Why this shall be perform'd; take; there's my store. To friends all things are common. W. Small. Then at the court There are none foes, for all things there are common. [Aside. Bout. I will as carefully perform thy wish, As if my fortunes lay upon th' attempt. W. Small. When shall I hear from you? Bout. Within this hour. W. Small. Let me alone for the rest: if I gull not And go beyond my open-throated lawyer, For all his book-cases of Tricesimo nono And Quadragesima octavo, let me, Like waiting gentlewomen, be ever bound To sit upon my heels, and pick rushes. Will you about this gear? Bout. With my best speed. W. Small. Then fare you well; you'll meet me? Bout. Without fail.

W. Small. Adieu. Now, you pernicious cockatrice,[330] You see how I must skelder for your good: I'll bring you where you shall have means to cheat, If you have grace enough to apprehend it. Fran. Believe me, love, howe'er some stricter wits Condemn all women which are prone to love, And think that if their favour fall on any, By consequence they must be naught with many, And hold a false position: that a woman, False to herself, can trusty be to no man— Yet no, I say: howe'er my life hath, lost The fame which my virginity aspir'd, I will be true to thee: my deed shall move To win from all men pity, if not love. W. Small. Tut, I know thee a good rascal; lets in, And on with all your neat and finest rags: On with your cloak, and safeguard,[331] you arrant drab! You must cheat without all conscience, filch for thee and me. Do but thou act what I shall well contrive, We'll teach my lawyer a new way to thrive. [Exeunt.

Taf. Come, lov'd Adriana, here let us sit, And mark who passes. Now, for a wager, What colour'd beard comes next by the window? Adri. A black, madam,[332] I think. Taf. I think not so: I think a red, for that is most in fashion. Lord! how scarce is the world of proper men And gallants! sure, we never more shall see A good leg worn in a long silk stocking With a long codpiece: of all fashions, That carried it, i' faith. What's he goes by?

Adri. A snivelling citizen: he is carrying ware [Exit. Unto some lady's chamber: but who's this?

Taf. I know him not; he looks just like a fool. Adri. He's very brave, he may be a courtier: What's that he reads? Taf. Ah! how light he treads, For dirting his silk stockings! I'll tell thee what, A witty woman may with ease distinguish All men by their noses, as thus: your nose Tuscan is lovely, large and broad, Much like a goose: your valiant generous nose, A crooked, smooth and a great puffing nose; Your scholar's nose is very fresh and raw, For want of fire in winter, and quickly smells His chops of mutton in his dish of porridge; Your puritan nose is very sharp and long (Much like your widow's!)[333] and with ease can smell An edifying capon some few[334] streets off.

Adri.[335] O mistress! a very proper gentleman. Taf. And trust me, so he is; I never saw A man that sooner could captive my thoughts (Since I writ widow) than this gentleman. I would he would look up! Adri. I'll laugh so loud, That he may hear me. Taf. That's not so good. Bout. And spake you with Master Small-shanks? Con. I did. Bout. Will he meet his brother? Con. He said he would, And I believed him. I tell you, master, I have done that for many of these gallants That no man in this town would do but I. Bout. What is that, boy? Con. Why, trust them on their words? But will you hear the news, which now supplies The city with discourse? Bout. What is it, wag? Con. This, sir: they say some of our city dames Were much desirous to see the baboons Do their newest tricks: went, saw them, came home: Went to bed, slept; next morning one of them, Being to shift a smock, sends down her maid To warm her one; meanwhile, she gins to think On the baboons' tricks, and (naked in her bed) Begins to practise some: at last she strove To get her right leg over her head thus; And by her activity she got it 'Cross her shoulder; but not with all her power Could she reduce[336] it: at last [she, with] much struggling, Tumbles quite from the bed upon the floor. The maid by this return'd with the warm smock, And seeing her mistress thrown on the ground, Truss'd up like a football, exclaims, calls help, Runs down amaz'd, swears that her mistress' neck Is broke: up comes her husband and neighbours. And finding her thus truss'd, some flatly said She was bewitch'd—others she was possess'd: A third said for her pride the devil had set Her face where her rump should stand; but at last Her valiant husband steps me boldly to her, Helps her: she ashamed, her husband amazed, The neighbours laughing, as none forbear, She tells them of the fatal accident. To which one answers that, if her husband Would leave his trade, and carry his wife about To do this trick in public, she'd get more gold Than all the baboons, calves with two tails, Or motions[337] whatsoever. Bout. You are a wag. Taf. [Above.] He will be gone if we neglect to stay him. Adri. Shall I cough or sneeze? Taf. No, I ha't; stand aside. Ah me, my handkerchief! Adrian, Fabian! Adri. Mistress! Taf. Run, run, I have let my handkerchief fall. Gentleman, shall I entreat a courtesy? Bout. Within my power your beauty shall command. What courtesy is't? Taf. To stoop, and take up My handkerchief. Bout. Your desire is performed. Taf. Sir, most hearty thanks: please you come in, Your welcome shall transcend your expectation. Bout. I accept your courtesy: ha! what's this? Assailed by fear and hope in a moment: Boutcher, this womanish passion fits not men, Who know the worth of freedom: shall smiles and eyes With their lascivious glances conquer him, Hath still been lord of his affections? Shall simp'ring niceness, loadstones but to fools, Attract a knowing spirit! it shall, it does. Not Phœbus, rising from Aurora's lap, Spreads his bright rays with more majestic grace Than came the glances from her quick'ning eye. And what of this? Con. By my troth, I know not. Bout. I will not enter: continued flames burn strong. I yet am free, and reason keeps her seat Above all fond affections—yet is she fair.

Adri. Sir, I bring you thanks for this great courtesy: And if you please to enter, I dare presume My mistress will afford you gracious welcome. Bout. How do men call your mistress? Con. The man's in love. [Aside. Adri. Her name, sir, is Mistress Changeable, late wife To Master Taffata, mercer, deceas'd. Bout. I have heard she is both rich and beautiful. Adri. In th' eyes of such as love her; judge yourself; Please you but prick forward, and enter. [Exit Boutcher. Con. Now will I fall aboard the waiting-maid. Adri. Fall aboard of me! dost take me for a ship? Con. Ay, and will shoot you betwixt wind and water. Adri. Blurt! master gunner, your linstock's[338] too short. Con. Foot! how did she know that I dost hear, sweetheart, Should not the page be doing with the maid, Whilst the master is busy with the mistress? Please you, prick forwards; thou art a wench Likely to go the way of all flesh shortly. Adri. Whose witty knave art thou? Con. At your service. Adri. At mine, faith! I should breech thee. Con. How, breech me? Adri. Ay, breech thee;[339] I have breech'd a taller man Than you in my time: come in, and welcome. [Exit. Con. Well, I see now a rich well-practis'd bawd May purse more fees in a summer's progress Than a well-traded lawyer in a whole term. Pandarism! why, 'tis grown a liberal science, Or a new sect, and the good professors Will (like the Brownist) frequent gravel-pits shortly, For they use woods and obscure holes already. [Exit.

Taf. Not marry a widow? Bout. No. Taf. And why? Belike, you think it base and servant-like To feed upon reversion: you hold us widows, But as a pie thrust to the lower end, That hath had many fingers in't before, And is reserv'd for gross and hungry stomachs. Bout. You much mistake me. Taf. Come, in faith, you do: And let me tell you that's but ceremony; For though the pie be broken up before, Yet, says the proverb, the deeper is the sweeter. And though a capon's wings and legs be carv'd, The flesh left with the rump, I hope, is sweet. I tell you, sir, I have been woo'd and sued to By worthy knights of fair demesnes: nay, more, They have been out of debt; yet till this hour I neither could endure to be in love Or be beloved; but proffer'd ware is cheap. What's lawful, that is loath'd, and things denied Are with more stronger appetite pursu'd. I am too yielding. Bout. You mistake my thoughts. But know, thou wonder of this continent, By one more skill'd in unknown fate than was The blind Achaian Prophet,[340] 'twas foretold, A widow should endanger both my life, My soul, my lands, and reputation. This checks my thoughts, and cools th' essential fire Of sacred love, more ardent in my breast Than speech can utter. Taf. A trivial idle jest! Is't[341] for a man of your repute and note To credit fortune-tellers? A petty rogue, That never saw five shillings in a heap, Will take upon him to divine men's fate, Yet never knows himself shall die a beggar, Or be hanged up for pilfering table-cloths, Shirts and smocks, hang'd out to dry on hedges. Tis merely[342] base to trust them: or if there be A man in whom the Delphic god hath breath'd His true divining fire, that can foretell The fix'd decree of fate—he likewise knows What is within the everlasting book Of destiny decreed, cannot by wit Or man's invention be dissolv'd or shunn'd. Then give thy love free scope, embrace and kiss, And to the distaff-sisters leave th' event. Bout. How powerful are their words whom we affect! Small force shall need to win the strongest fort, If to his state the captain be perfidious. I must entreat you license my depart For some few hours. Taf. Choose what you will of time: There lies your way. [Moves away. Bout. I will entreat her [aside.] Stay. Taf. Did you call, sir? Bout. No. Taf. Then fare you well. Bout. Who 'gins to love, needs not a second hell.

Taf. Adriana, makes he no stay? Adri. Mistress? Taf. I pray thee see if he have left the house. Peep close; see, but be not seen: is he gone? Adri. No; he has made a stand. Taf. I prythee, keep close. Adri. Nay, keep you close, y' had best. Taf. What does he now? Adri. Now he retires.[343]

Bout. O you much partial gods! Why gave you men affections, and not[344] power To govern them? what I by fate should shun, I most affect—a widow, a widow. Taf. Blows the wind there? Adri. Ha, ha! he's in, i' faith: Y' have drawn him now within your purlieus, mistress. Bout. Tut, I will not love! my rational And better parts shall conquer blind affections: Let passion children or weak women sway. My love shall to my judgment still obey. [Exit. Taf. What does he now? Adri. He's gone. Taf. Gone! Adriana? Adri. He went his way, and never look'd behind him. Taf. Sure, he's taken? Adri. A little sing'd or so: Each thing must have beginning; men must prepare, Before they can come on, and show their loves In pleasing sorts: the man must do in time; For love, good mistress, is much like to wax— The more 'tis rubb'd, it sticks the faster to; Or, like a bird in bird-lime or a pit-fall, The more he labours, still the deeper in. Taf. Come, thou must help me now; I have a trick To second this beginning, and in the nick To strike it dead, i' faith. Women must woo, When men forget what nature leads them to. [Exeunt.

Throat. Chaste Phœbe, splende; there's that left yet, Next to my book, claro micante auro. Ay, that's the soul of law; that's it, that's it, For which the buckram-bag must trudge all weathers, Though scarcely fill'd with one poor replication. How happy are we, that we joy the law So freely as we do: not bought and sold, But clearly given, without all base extorting: Taking but bare ten angels for a fee, Or upward. To this renown'd estate Have I by indirect and cunning means Enwoven myself, and now can scratch it out: Thrust at a bar, and cry My lord as loud As e'er a listed gownman of them all. I never plead before the honour'd bench: But bench right-worshipful of peaceful justices And country gentlemen: and yet I've found Good gettings, by the mass; besides odd cheats, Will Small-shank's lands, and many garboils[345] more, Dash!

Dash. Sir. Throat. Is that rejoinder done? Dash. Done, sir. Throat. Have you drawn't at length, have you dash'd it out— According to your name? Dash. Some sevenscore sheets. Throat. Is the demurrer drawn 'twixt Snipe and Woodcock? And what do you say to Peacock's pitiful bill? Dash. I have drawn his answer negative to all. Throat. Negative to all! The plaintiff says That William Goose was son to Thomas Goose; And will he swear the general bill is false? Dash. He will. Throat. Then he forswears his father: 'tis well, Some of our clients will go prig[346] to hell Before ourselves. Has he paid all his fees? Dash. He left them all with me. Throat. Then truss my points: And how think'st thou of law? Dash. Most reverently, Law is the world's great light: a second sun To this terrestrial globe: by which all things Have life and being, and without which Confusion and disorder soon would seize The general state of men: wars, outrages. The ulcerous deeds of peace it curbs and cures; It is the kingdom's eye, by which she sees The acts and thoughts of men. Throat. The kingdom's eye! I tell thee, fool, it is the kingdom's nose, By which she smells out all these rich transgressors: Nor is't of flesh, but merely made of wax, And 'tis within the power of us lawyers To wrest this nose of wax which way we please: Or it may be, as thou say'st, an eye indeed; But if it be, 'tis (sure) a woman's eye, [Knock within. That's ever rolling. Dash. One knocks. Throat. Go, see who 'tis— Stay, my chair and gown; and then go see who knocks. Thus must I seem a lawyer, which am indeed But merely dregs and off scum of the law.

Ay, tricesimo primo Alberti Magni, 'Tis very clear. Bout. God save you, sir. Throat. The place is very pregnant. Master Boutcher, Most hearty welcome, sir. Bout. You ply this gear, You are no truant in the law, I see? Throat. Faith, some hundred books in folio I have Turn'd over to better my own knowledge; But that is nothing for a studient.[347] Bout. Or a stationer—they turn them over too, But not as you do, gentle Master Throat. And what? the law speaks profit, does it not? Throat. Faith, some bad angels haunt us now and then; But what brought you hither? Bout. Why, these small legs? Throat. You are conceited, sir. Bout. I am in law, But let that go, and tell me how you do: How does Will Small-shanks and his lovely bride? Throat. In troth, you make me blush; I should have ask'd His health of you; but 'tis not yet too late. Bout. Nay, good Sir Throat,[348] forbear your quillets[349] now. Throat. By heaven, I deal most plain! I saw him not, Since last I took his mortgage. Bout. Sir, be not nice— Yet I must needs herein commend your love— To let me see him; for (know) I know him wed, And that he stole away Sommerfield's heir. Therefore suspect me not: I am his friend. Throat. How! wed to rich Sommerfield's only heir! Is old Sommerfield dead? Bout. Do you make it strange? Throat. By heav'n, I know it not. Bout. Then am I griev'd I spake so much; but that I know you love him, I should entreat your secrecy, sir; fare you well. Throat. Nay, good sir, stay; if ought you can disclose Of Master Small-shanks' good, let me partake, And make me glad in knowing his good hap. Bout. You much endear him, sir; and from your love I dare presume you make yourself a fortune, If his fair hopes proceed. Throat. Say on, good sir. Bout. You will be secret? Throat. Or be my tongue torn out. Bout. [Fair] measure for a lawyer. [Aside.] But to the point, He has stole Sommerfield's heir, hither brings her, As to a man on whom he may rely His life and fortunes: you hath he named Already for the steward of his lands: To keep his courts, and to collect his rent; To let out leases, and to raise his fines: Nothing that may or love or profit bring, But you are named the man. Throat. I am his slave, And bound unto his noble courtesy Even with my life; I ever said he would thrive, And I protest I kept his forfeit mortgage To let him know what 'tis to live in want. Bout. I think no less. One word more in private. [Walk aside. Con. Good Master Dash, shall I put you now a case? Dash. Speak on, good master page. Con. Then thus it is: Suppose I am a page, he is my master, My master goes to bed, and cannot tell What money's in his hose; I, ere next day, Have filch'd out some, what action lies for this? Dash. An action, boy, call'd firking the posteriors. With us your action seldom comes in question; For that 'tis known that most of your gallants Are seldom so well-stor'd, that they forget What money's in their hose; but if they have, There is no other help than swear the page, And put him to his oath. Con. Then, firk o' law,[350] Dost think, he that has conscience to steal, Has not a conscience likewise to deny? Then hang him up, i' faith?

Bout. I must meet him. Throat. Commend me to them; come, when they will, My doors stand open, and all within is theirs; And though Ram-Alley stinks with cooks and ale, Yet say there's many a worthy lawyer's chamber, 'Buts upon Ram-Alley. I have still an open throat, If aught I have which may procure his good, Bid him command—ay, though it be my blood. [Exeunt.