THE COXCOMB. A Comedy. (continued 2)

Wife. Do, and seek out the Gentleman of the house, bid him come to me presently.

Ant. Who, Mr. Mercury?

Wife. Do you know him, Post?

Ant. Only by sight forsooth, now I remember your servant will'd me to let you know he is the only man, you [and] your fortunes, are now to rest upon.

Wife. Prethee no more, I know all this already.

Ant. I'll take my leave now, I am made for ever. [Exit.

Wife. Good night, I am provided for you, my fine youth. [Exit.

Enter Mother, beating Viola, Alexander with a broken Glass.

Mother. I'll make thee have more care.

Viola. Good Mistriss pardon me.

Moth. Thou'lt ne'r be good I warrant thee, can your fine fingers hold no faster?

Viola. Indeed it was against my will.

Moth. Alexander, let's see the glass, as I am true kirsome woman, it is one of the chrystal glasses my Cosin sent me, and the baggage hath broke it where it cannot be mended, Alexander, can Humphrey mend this think you?

Alex. No truly, this will ne'er be mended.

Vio. Truly I meant but to wash it for the Gentlewoman that is sick above, and shaking out the water, knockt it against the pail side.

Moth. Did you so? be sure I'll stop it, 'twill make a good gap in your quarters wages, I can tell you.

Viola. I pray forgive me, and let me have no wages this first quarter.

Moth. Go whimling, and fetch two or three grating loaves out of the Kitching, to make Ginger-bread of, 'tis such an untoward thing. [Exit Viola.

Alex. She's somewhat simple indeed, she knew not what a kimnel was, she wants good nurture mightily.

Moth. My Son tells me, Alexander, that this young widow means to sojourn here, she offers largely for her board, I may offer her good cheer, prethee make a step i'th' morning down to the Parsonage for some Pigeons; what are you mad there? what noise is that? are you at bowls within? why do you whine?

Enter Viola weeping.

Vio. I have done another fault, I beseech you sweet Mistriss forgive me.

Moth. What's the matter?

Vio. As I was reaching for the bread that lay upon the shelf, I have thrown down the minc'd meat, that should have made the pies to morrow.

Moth. Get thee out of my house, thou filthy destroying Harlot, thou, I'll not keep thee an hour longer.

Vio. Good Mistriss, beat me rather for my fault, as much as it deserves, I do not know whither to go.

Moth. No I warrant thee, out of my doors.

Vio. Indeed I'll mend, I pray speak you for me.

Alex. If thou hadst hurl'd down any thing but the Pie-meat, I would have spoke for thee, but I cannot find in my heart now.

Moth. Art thou here yet? I think I must have an Officer to thrust thee out of my doors, must I?

Vio. Why, you may stop this in my wages too, For God's sake do, I'll find my self this year; And let me stay.

Mer. Thou't spoil ten times as much, I'll cudgel thee out of my doors.

Vio. I am assur'd you are more merciful, Than thus to beat me and discharge me too.

Moth. Dost thou dispute with me, Alexander carry the prating hilding forth.

Vio. Good Mistriss hear me, I have here a Jewel, My Mother left me, and 'tis something worth: Receive it, and when all my faults together Come to the worth of that, then turn me forth, Till then I pray you keep me.

Moth. What giggombob have we here? pray god you have not pilfred this somewhere, th'art such a puling thing, wipe your eyes, and rise, go your ways, Alexander, bid the Cook mince some more meat, come, and get you to bed quickly, that you may up betime i'th' morning a milking, or you and I shall fall out worse yet. [Exit Moth, and Alex.

Vio. She has hurt my arm; I am afraid she is a very angry woman, but bless him heaven that did me the most wrong, I am afraid Antonio's wife should see me, she will know me.

Mother within. Melvia.

Vio. I am coming, she's not angry agen I hope. [Exit.

Enter Mercury.

Mer. Now what am I the better for enjoying This woman that I lov'd so? all I find, That I before imagined to be happy: Now I have done, it turns to nothing else But a poor pitied, and a base repentance, Udsfoot, I am monstrous angry with my self: Why should a man that has discourse and reason, And knows how near he loses all in these things, Covet to have his wishes satisfied; Which when they are, are nothing but the shame I do begin to loath this woman strangely, And I think justly too, that durst adventure, Flinging away her modesty to take A stranger to her bed, her Husbands body Being scarce cold in the earth for her content, It was no more to take my senses with Than if I had an idle dream in sleep Yet I have made her promises: which grieves me, And I must keep 'em too, I think she hunts me: The devil cannot keep these women off, When they are fletched once.

Enter Wife in night attire.

Wife. To bed for gods sake Sir, why do you stay here? Some are up i'th' house, I heard the wife, Good dear sweet-heart to bed. Mer. Why, I am going! why do you follow me? You would not have it known I hope, pray get you Back to your chamber, the doors hard by for me, Let me alone, I warrant you this it is To thresh well, I have got a customer, Will you go to bed? Wife. Will you? Mer. Yes, I am going. Wife. Then remember your promise you made to marry me. Mer. I will, but it was your fault, that it came To this pinch now, that it must need remembrance: For out of honesty I offer'd you To marry you first, why did you slack that offer? Wife. Alas I told you the inconvenience of it, And what wrong it would appear to the world If I had married [you] in such post-haste After his death: beside, the foolish people Would have been bold to have thought we had lain together in his time, and like enough imagin'd We two had murther'd him. Mer. I love her tongue yet, If I were a Saint A gilded Saint, and such a thing as this Should prate thus wittily and feelingly Unto my Holiness, I cannot tell, But I fear shrewdly I should do something That would quite scratch me out o'th' Kalender, And if I stay longer talking with her, Though I am mad at what I have done already, Yet I shall forget my self again; I feel the Devil Ready to hold my stirrop; pray to bed, good night. Wife. This kiss, good night sweet Love, And peace goe with thee: thou hast prov'd thy self The honestest man that ever was entic'd To that sweet sin as people please to call it, Of lying with anothers wife, and I, I think the honestest woman without blushing, That ever lay with another man, I sent my Husband Into a Cellar, post, fearing, and justly He should have known him, which I did not purpose Till I had had my end. Well, now this plot is perfect, let him brag on't. [Exit.

Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Justice and Curio with a Paper.

Just. Birlady Sir, you have rid hard that you have.

Cur. They that have business, must do so, I take it.

Just. You say true, when set you out my friend?

Cur. About ten a clock, and I have rid all night.

Just. By the mass you are tough indeed, I have seen the day, I would have rid too with the proudest of them, and fling dirt in their faces, and I have don't with this foolish boy, Sir, many a time; but what can last always? 'tis done, 'tis done now, Sir, age, care, and office, brings us to our footcloaths, the more the pity.

Curio. I believe that, Sir, but will it please you to read the business?

Just. My friend, I can read, and I can tell you when.

Cur. Would I could too Sir, for my haste requires it.

Just. Whence comes it do you say?

Cur. Sir from the City.

Just. Oh from the City, 'tis a reverent place.

Curio. And his justice be as short as his memory, A Dudgion Dagger will serve him to mow down sin withal, What clod-pole Commissioner is this? Just. And by my faith, govern'd by worthy members, Discreet and upright.

Cur. Sir, they are beholding to you, you have given some of them a commendations, they were not worthy of this twenty years.

Just. Go to, go to, you have a merry meaning, I have found you Sir, i' faith, you are a wag, away, fie now I'll read Your Letter.

Cur. Pray do Sir; what a misery 'tis To have an urgent business wait the Justice Of such an old Tuff-taffata that knows not, Nor can be brought to understand more sence, Than how to restore supprest Alehouses, And have his man compound small trespasses, For ten groats.

Just. Sir, it seems here your business is of a deeper circumstance than I conceiv'd it for; what do you mean, Sir?

Cur. 'Tis for mine own ease I'll assure your Worship.

Just. It shall not be i' faith friend, here I have it, That one Antonio a Gentleman, I take it so, Yes, it is so, a Gentleman is lately thought to Have been made away, and by my faith, upon a Pearls ground too, if you consider; well, there's Knavery in't, I see that without spectacles.

Cur. Sure this fellow deals in revelation, he's so hidden, Goe thy ways, thou wilt stick a bench spit as formally, And shew thy Agot, and hatch'd chain As well as the best of them.

Just. And now I have consider'd, I believe it.

Cur. What Sir?

Just. That he was murdered.

Cur. Did you know him?

Just. No.

Cur. Nor how it is suppos'd.

Just. No, nor I care not two-pence, those are toys and yet I verily believe he was murdered, as sure as I believe thou art a man, I never fail'd in these things yet, w'are a man that's beaten to these matters, experience is a certain conceal'd thing that fails not: pray let me ask you one thing, why do you come to me?

Cur. Because the Letter is addrest to you, being the nearest Justice.

Just. The nearest? is that all?

Cur. I think it be Sir, I would be loth you should be the wisest.

Just. Well Sir, as it is, I will endeavour in it; yet if it had come to me by name, I know not, but I think it had been as soon dispatcht as by another, and with as round a wisdom, I, and as happily, but that's all one: I have born this place this thirty years, and upwards, and with sufficient credit, and they may when they please, know me better; to the nearest? well.

Cur. Sir, it is not my fault, for had I known you sooner—

Just. I thank you Sir, I know it.

Cur. I'll be sworn you should have plaid for [any] business now.

Just. And further, they have specified unto me, his Wife is sorely suspected in this matter, as a main cause.

Cur. I think she be Sir, for no other cause can be yet found.

Just. And one Mercury a traveller, with whom they say directly she is run away, and as they think this way.

Cur. I knew all this before.

Just. Well Sir, this Mercury I know, and his breeding, a neighbors child hard by, you have been happy, Sir, in coming hither.

Cur. Then you know where to have him, Sir?

Just. I do Sir, he dwells near me.

Cur. I doubt your Worship dwels near a knave then.

Just. I think so; pray put on: but 'tis a wonder To see how graceless people are now given, And how base virtue is accounted with them That should be all in all, as says a wise man. I tell you Sir, and it is true, that there have been such murthers, and of late days, as 'twould make your very heart bleed in you, and some of them as I shall be enabled, I will tell you, it fell out of late days.

Cur. It may be so, but will it please you to proceed in this?

Just. An honest Weaver, and as good a workman, as e'er shot shuttle, and as close: but every man must dye; this honest Weaver being a little mellow in his Ale, that was the evidence verbatim, Sir, God bless the mark, sprung his neck just in this place: well Jarvis, thou hadst wrongs, and if I live some of the best shall sweat for't, then a wench—

Cur. But Sir, you have forgot my business.

Just. A sober pretty maid about 17, they say, certainly, howsoever 'tis shuffled, she burst her self, and fondly, if it be so, with Furmety at a Churching, but I think the Devil had another agent in't: either of which, if I can catch, shall stretch for't.

Cur. This is a mad Justice that will hang the Devil; but I would you would be short in this, before that other notice can be given.

Just. Sir, I will doe discreetly what is fitting; what, Antonio?

Ant. within. Your Worship.

Just. Put on your best coat, and let your fellow Mark goe to the Constable, and bid him aid me with all the speed he can, and all the power, and provide Pen and Ink to take their confessions, and my long sword: I cannot tell what danger we may meet with; you'll go with us?

Cur. Yes, what else? I came to that end to accuse both parties.

Just. May I crave what you are?

Cur. Faith Sir, one that to be known would not profit you, more than a near kinsman of the dead Antonio's.

Just. 'Tis well, I am sorry for my neighbor, truly, that he had no more grace, 'twill kill his Mother; she's a good old woman, will you walk in? I'll but put my cloak on, and my chain off, and a clean band, and have my shooes blackt over, and shift my Jerkin, and we'll to our business, and you shall see how I can bolt these matters.

Cur. As soon as't please you, Sir. [Exit.

Enter Valerio, and Richardo.

Val. This is the place; here did I leave the Maid Alone last night, drying her tender eyes, Uncertain what to do, and yet desirous To have me gone. Rich. How rude are all we men, That take the name of Civil to our selves! If she had set her foot upon an earth Where people live that we call barbarous; Though they had had no house to bring her to, They would have spoil'd the glory, that the spring Has deckt the trees in, and with willing hands Have torn their branches down, and every man Would have become a builder for her sake. What time left you her there? Val. I left her, when the Sun had so much to sett, As he is now got from his place of rise. Rich. So near the night she could not wander far; Fair Viola! Val. It is in vain to call, she sought a house Without all question. Rich. Peace, fair Viola? Fair Viola? who should have left her here On such a ground? if you had meant to lose her, You might have found there were no ecchos here To take her name, and carry it about, When her true Lover came to mourn for her, Till all the neighboring valleys and the hills, Resounded Viola,— And such a place, You should have chose— You pity us because The dew a little wets our feet, Unworthy far to seek her in the wet; And what becomes of her? where wandred she, With two showers raining on her, from her eyes Continually, abundantly, from which There's neither tree nor house to shelter her; Will you go with me to travel? Val. Whither? Rich. Over all the world. Val. No by my faith, I'll make a shorter journey When I do travel. Rich. But there's no hope To gain my end in any shorter way. Val. Why, what's your end? Rich. It is to search the earth, Till we have found two in the shapes of men, As wicked as our selves. Val. 'Twere not so hard to find out those. Rich. Why, if we find them out, It were the better, for what brave villany, Might we four do? we wou'd not keep together: For every one has treachery enough For twenty countreys, one should trouble Asia, Another should sow strife in Africa; But you should play the knave, in at home in Europe, And for America let me alone. Val. Sir, I am honester, Than you know how to be, and can no more Be wrong'd, but I shall find my self aright. Rich. If you had any spark of honesty, You would not think that honester than I, Were a praise high enough to serve your turn: If men were commonly so bad as I, Thieves would be put in Calendars for Saints; And bones of murderers would work miracles. I am a kind of knave, of knave so much There is betwixt me, and the vilest else— But the next place of all to mine is yours.

Enter two Milk-maids and Viola with pails.

Val. That last is she, 'tis she.

Rich. Let us away, we shall infect her, let her have the wind, And we will kneel down here.

Vio. Wenches away, for here are men.

Val. Fair maid, I pray you stay.

Vio. Alas, agen?

Rich. Why do you lay hold on her? I pray heartily let her go.

Val. With all my heart, I do not mean to hurt her.

Rich. But stand away then for the purest bodies Will soonest take infection, stand away, But for infecting her my self, by heaven, I would come there, and beat thee further off.

Vio. I know that voice and face.

Val. You are finely mad, g[o]dbwy Sir, now you are here together, I'll leave [y]ou so, god send you good luck, both; when you are soberer, you'll give me thanks. [Exit.

Madg. Wilt thou go milk? come.

Nan. Why dost not come?

Madge. She nods, she's asleep.

Nan. What wert up so early?

Madge. I think yon man's mad to kneel there, nay [come] away, uds body, Nan, help, she looks black i'th face, She's in a sound.

Nan. And you be a man, come hither, and help a woman.

Rich. Come thither? you are a fool.

Nan. And you a knave and a beast that you are.

Rich. Come hither, 'twas my being now so near, That made [her] swound, and you are wicked people, Or you wou'd do so too; my venom eyes Strike innocency dead at such a distance, Here I'll kneel, for this is out of distance. Nan. Th'art a prating ass, there's no goodness in thee, I warrant, how dost thou? Vio. Why? well. Madge. Art thou able to go? Vio. No, pray go you and milk, if I be able to come I'll follow you, if not, Til sit here, Till you come back.

Nan. I am loth to leave thee here with yon wild fool.

Vio. I know him well, I warrant thee he will not hurt me.

Madge. Come then Nan. [Exeunt Maids.

Rich. How do you? be not fearfull, for I hold my hands Before my mouth, and speak, and so My breath can never blast you.

Vio. 'Twas enough to use me ill, though you had never sought me to mock me, why kneel you so far off, were not that gesture better us'd in prayer, had I dealt so with you, I should not sleep, till [God] and you had both forgiven me.

Rich. I do not mock, nor lives there such a villain That can do any thing contemptible To you, but I do kneel, because it is An action very fit and reverent, In presence of so pure a creature, And so far off, as fearful to offend, One too much wrong'd already. Vio. You confess you did the fault, yet scorn to come, So far as hither, to ask pardon for't; Which I could willingly afford to come, To you to grant, good Sir if you have A better love, may you be blest together. She shall not wish you better than I will, I but offend you, there are all the Jewels I stole, and all the love I ever had, I leave behind with you, I'll carry none To give another may the next maid you try Love you no worse, nor be no worse than I. Rich. Do not leave me yet for all my fault, Search out the next things to impossible, And put me on them when they are effected, I may with better modesty receive Forgiveness from you. Vio. I will set no pennance, To gain the great forgiveness you desire: But to come hither and take me and it, Or else I'll come and beg, so you will grant, That you will be content to be forgiven. Rich. Nay, I will come since you [will] have it so, And since you please to pardon me I hope Free from infection, here I am by you; A careless man, a breaker of my faith, A lothsome drunkard; and in that wild fury: A hunter after whores: I do beseech you, To pardon all these faults, and take me up An honest, sober, and a faithful man. Vio. For [gods] sake, urge your faults no more, but mend, All the forgiveness I can make you, is, To love you, which I will do, and desire Nothing but love again, which if I have not Yet I will love you still. Rich. Oh Women, that some one of you will take, An everlasting pen into your hands: And grave in paper which the writ shall make, More lasting than the marble Monuments, Your matchless virtues to posterities: Which the defective race of envious man, Strive to conceal. Vio. Methinks I would not now for any thing, But you had mist me, I have made a story, Will serve to waste many a winters fire When we are old, I'll [tell] my daughters then, The miseries their Mother had in love: And say, my girls be wiser, yet I would not Have had more wit my self, take up those Jewels, For I think I hear my fellows coming.

Enter the Milk-maids with their pails.

Madge. How dost thou now?

Vio. Why, very well I thank you, 'tis late, shall I haste home?

Nan. I prethee we shall be shent soundly.

Madge. Why does that railing man goe with us?

Vio. I prethee speak well of him, on my word, He's an honest man. Nan. There was never any so one's complexion, a Gentleman? I'de be asham'd to have such a foul mouth. [Exeunt.

Enter Mother, Alexander, Andrugio, and his man Rowland.

Moth. How now Alexander, what Gentleman is this?

Alex. Indeed forsooth I know not, I found him at the market full of woe, crying a lost daughter, and telling all her tokens to the people; and what you wot? by all subscription in the world, it should be our new Maid Melvia, one would little think it, therefore I was bold to tell him of her Mistriss.

Moth. Melvia? It cannot be, fool, alas you know she is a poor wench, and I took her in upon mere charity.

And. So seem'd my daughter when she went away, as she had made her self.

Moth. What stature was your child of, Sir?

And. Not high, and of a brown complexion, Her Hair aborn, a round face, which some friends that flattered me, would say 'twould be a good one.

Alex. This is still Melvia, Mistriss, that's the truth on't.

Moth. It may be so, I'll promise you.

Alex. Well, goe thy ways, the flower of our Town, for a hand and a foot, I shall never see thy fellow.

Moth. But had she not such toyes, as Bracelets, Rings, and Jewels?

And. She was something bold indeed, to take such things that night she left me.

Moth. Then belike she run away?

And. Though she be one I love, I dare not lye, she did indeed.

Moth. What think you of this Jewel?

And. Yes, this was one of them, and this was mine, you have made me a new man, I thank you for it.

Moth. Nay, and she be given to filching, there is your Jewel, I am clear on't: but by your leave, Sir, you shall answer me for what is lost since she came hither, I can tell you, there lye things scattering in every place about the house.

Alex. As I am virtuous, I have the lyingst old Gentlewoman to my Mistriss, and the most malicious, the devil a good word will she give a servant, that's her old rule; and God be thanked, they'll give her as few, there is perfect love on both sides, it yearns my heart to [heare] the wench misconstrued, a careful soul she is, I'll be sworn for her, and when she's gone, let them say what they will, they may cast their caps at such another.

And. What you have lost by her, with all my heart I'll see you double paid for, you have say'd With your kind pity, two that must not live Unless it be to thank you; take this Jewel, This strikes off none of her offences, Mistriss, Would I might see her.

Moth. Alexander, run, and bid her make haste home, she's at the milking Close; but tell her not by any means who's here, I know she'll be too fearful.

Alex. Well, we'll have a posset yet at parting, that's my comfort, and one round, or else I'll lose my Will. [Exit.

And. You shall find Silvio, Uberto, and Pedro enquiring for the Wench at the next Town, tell them she is found, and where I am, and with the favor of this Gentlewoman, desire them to come hither.

Moth. I pray do, they shall be all welcome. [Exit Serv.

Enter Justice, Curio, and Mark.

Just. By your leave forsooth, you shall see me find the parties by a slight.

Moth. Who's that, Mr. Justice? how do you, Sir?

Just. Why, very well, and busie, where's your Son?

Moth. He's within, Sir.

Just. Hum, and how does the young woman my Cosin, that came down with him.

Moth. She's above, as a woman in her case may be.

Just. You have confest it? then sirrah call in the Officers: she's no Cosin of mine; a mere trick to discover all.

Moth. To discover? what?

Enter Mark and Officers.

Just. You shall know that anon: I think [you] have overreached you; oh welcome, enter the house, and by virtue of my warrant which you have there, seize upon the bodily persons of those whose names are there written, to wit, one Mercury, and the wife of one Antonio.

Moth. For what.

Just. Away I say, This Gentleman shall certifie you for what. [Ex. Officer.

Moth. He can accuse my Son of nothing, he came from travel but within these two days.

Just. There hangs a tale.

Moth. I should be sorry this should fall out at any time: but especially now Sir; will you favour me so much, as to let me know of what you accuse him?

Cur. Upon suspition of murther.

Moth. Murther? I defie thee.

Cur. I pray God he may prove himself innocent.

Just. Fie, say not so, you shew your self to be no good Common-wealths man: for the more are hang'd the better 'tis for the Common-wealth.

Moth. By this rule you were best hang your self.

Just. I forgive your honest mirth ever: Oh welcome, welcome Mark.

Enter Mark and Officers, with Mercury and the Wife.

Your Pen, Ink, and Paper, to take their examinations.

Mer. Why do you pull me so? I'll go alone.

Just. Let them stand, let them stand quietly, whilst they are examin'd?

Wife. What will you examine us of?

Just. Of Antonio's murther.

Mer. Why, he was my friend.

Wife. He was my Husband.

Just. The more shame for you both; Mark, your Pen and Ink.

Moth. Pray God all be well, I never knew any of these travellers come to good; I beseech you, Sir, be favourable to my Son.

Just. Gentlewoman, hold you content, I would it were come to that!

Mer. For gods sake mother, why kneel you to such a pig-brib'd fellow? he has surfeited of Geese, and they have put him into a fit of Justice; let him do his worst.

Just. Is your paper ready?

Mark. I am ready, Sir.

Enter Antonio.

Just. Accuse them, Sir, I command thee to lay down accusations against these persons, in behalf of the State, and first look upon the parties to be accus'd, and deliver your name.

Cur. My name is Curio, my murthered kinsman If he were living now, I should not know him, 'Tis so long since we saw one another.

Ant. My Cosin Curio?

Cur. But thus much from the mouths of his servants, and others, whose examinations I have in writing about me, I can accuse them of; this Mercury, the last night, but this last, lay in Antonio's house, and in the night he rose, raising Antonio, where privately they were in talk an hour, to what end I know not: but of likelyhood, finding Antonio's house not a fit place to murder him in, he suffered him to go to bed again, but in the morning early, he train'd him I think forth, after which time he never saw his home; his cloaths were found near the place where Mercury was, and the people at first denyed they saw him: but at last he made a friv[o]lous tale, that there he shifted himself into a Footmans habit: but in short, the next hour this woman went to Mercury, and in her Coach they posted hither; true accusations, I have no more, and I will make none.

Just. No more? we need no more, sirrah, be drawing their Mittimus before we hear their answer. What say you Sir? are you guilty of this murther?

Mer. No Sir.

Just. Whether you are or no, confess, it will be the better for you.

Mer. If I were guilty, your Rhetorick could not fetch it forth: but though I am innocent, I confess, that if I were a stander by, these circ[u]mstances urg'd, which are true, would make me doubtless believe the accused parties, to be guilty.

Just. Write down, that he being a stander by; for so you see he is, doth doubtlesly believe the accused parties, which is himself to be guilty.

Mer. I say no such thing.

Just. Write it down I say, we'll try that.

Mer. I care not what you write, pray God you did not kill him for my love, though I am free from this, we both deserve—

Wife. Govern your tongue I pray you, all is well, my Husband lives, I know it, and I see him.

Just. They whisper, sever them quickly I say, Officers, why do you let them prompt one another, Gentlewoman, what say you to this, are not you guilty?

Wife. No, as I hope for mercy.

Just. But are not those circumstances true, that this Gentleman hath so shortly and methodically deliver'd?

Wife. They are, and what you do with me, I care not, Since he is dead, in whom was all my care: You knew him not.

Just. No, an't been better for you too, and you had never known him.

Wife. Why then you did not know the worlds chief joy, His face so manly as it had been made, To fright the world, yet he so sweetly temper'd; That he would make himself a natural fool, To do a noble kind[n]ess for a friend. He was a man whose name I'll not out-live, Longer than heaven, whose Will must be obey'd; Will have me do.

Ant. And I will quit thy kindness.

Just. Before me, she has made the tears stand in mine eyes, but I must be austere, Gentlewoman; you must confess this murder.

Wife. I cannot, Sir, I did it not, but I desire to see those examinations which this Gentleman acknowledges to have about him, for but late last night I receiv'd Letters from the City, yet I heard of no confession, then.

Just. You shall see them time enough I warrant you, but Letters you say you had, where are those Letters?

Wife. Sir, they are gone.

Just. Gone? whither are they gone? How have you dispos'd of 'em?

Wife. Why Sir, they are for womens matters, and so I use 'em.

Just. Who writ 'em?

Wife. A man of mine.

Just. Who brought 'em?

Wife. A Post.

Just. A Post? there is some great haste sure, aha, where is that Post?

Wife. Sir, there he stands..

Just. Does he so? bring hither that Post, I am afraid that Post will prove a knave; come hither Post, what? what can you say concerning the murder of Antonio?

Ant. What's that to you?

Just. Oh Post, you have no answer ready, have you? I'll have one from you.

Ant. You shall have no more from me than you have; you examine an honest Gentleman and Gentlewoman here, 'tis pitty such fools as you should be i'th Commission.

Just. Say you so Post, take away that Post, whip him and bring him again quickly, I'll hamper you Post.

Mer. 'Tis Antonio, I know him now as well; what an irregular fool is this!

Ant. Whip me? hold off.

Wife. Oh good Sir whip him, by his murmuring he should know something of my Husbands death; that may quit me, for gods sake fetch't out.

Just. Whip him I say.

Ant. Who is't dares whip me now?

Wife. Oh my lov'd Husband.

Mer. My most worthy friend? where have you been so long?

Ant. I cannot speak for joy.

Just. Why, what's the matter now, and shall not Law then have her course?

Andra. It shall h[a]ve no other course than it has I think.

Just. It shall have other course before I go, or I'll beat my brains, and I say it was not honestly done of him to discover himself before the parties accus'd were executed, that Law might have had her course, for then the kingdom flourishes.

Ant. But such a wife as thou, had never any man, and such a friend as he, believe me wife, shall never be [a] good wife, love my friend, friend love my wife, hark friend.

Just. Mark, if we can have nothing to do, you shall swear the peace of some body.

Mark. Yes Sir.

Ant. By my troth I am sorry my wife is so obstinate, sooth, if I could yet do thee any good, I wou'd, faith I wou'd.

Mer. I thank you Sir, I have lost that passion.

Ant. Cosin Curio, you and I must be better acquainted.

Cur. It is my wish, Sir.

Ant. I should not have known you neither, 'tis so long since we saw, we were but children then: but you have shew'd your self an honest man to me.

Cur. I would be ever so.

Enter Richardo and Viola.

Moth. Look you, who's there.

And. Say nothing to me, for thy peace is made.

Rich. Sir, I can nothing say, But that you are her Father, you can both Not only pardon, when you have a wrong, But love where you have most injury.

Just. I think I shall hear of no hanging this year, there's A Tinker and a Whore yet, the Cryer said, that rob'd her, and are in prison, I hope they shall be hang'd.

And. No truly Sir, they have broke prison.

Just. 'Tis no matter, then [t]he Jaylor shall be hang'd.

And. You are deceiv'd in that too, Sir, 'twas known to be against his will, and he hath got his pardon, I think for nothing, but if it doth cost him any thing, I'll pay it.

Just. Mark, up with your papers, away.

Mer. Oh you shall stay dinner, I have a couple of brawling neighbors, that I'll assure you will not agree, and you shall have the hearing of their matter.

Just. With all my heart.

Mer. Go, Gentlemen, go in.

Rich. Oh Viola, that no succeeding age, Might loose the memory of what thou wert, But such an overswayed Sex is yours, That all the virtuous actions you can do, Are but as men will call them; and I swear, 'Tis my belief, that women want but ways; To praise their deeds, but men want deeds to praise. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis ended, but my hopes and fears begin, Nor can it be imputed as a sin In me to wish it favour, if this night, To the Judicious it hath giv'n delight. I have my ends, and may such for their grace, Vouchsaf'd to this, find theirs in every place.