THE COXCOMB. A Comedy.

The Persons represented in the Play.

Ricardo, a young Gentleman, in love with Viola. Antonio, the Coxcomb Gentleman. Mercurie, fellow-traveller with Antonio. Uberto, } three merry Gentlemen, friends to Ricardo. Pedro, Silvio, Valerio, a Countrey Gentleman. Curio, Kinsman to Antonio. Justice, a shallow one. Andrugio, Father to Viola. Alexander, servant to Mercurie's Mother. Marke, the Justice's Clerk. Rowland, servant to Andrugio. Tinker. Constable. Watch. Drawer. Musicians.

WOMEN.

Viola, Daughter to Andrugio. Maria, Wife to Antonio. A Countrey-woman, Mother to Mercurie. Nan and } Milk-maids. Madge. Dorothie, the Tinkers Trull.

The Scene England, France.

The Principal Actors were

Nathan Field, Giles Gary, Rich. Allen, Robert Benfeild. Joseph Taylor, Emanuel Read, Hugh Atawell, Will. Barcksted.

PROLOGUE.

This Comedy long forgot, by some thought dead, By us preserv'd, once more doth raise her head. And to your noble censures does present, Her outward form, and inward ornament. Nor let this smell of arrogance, since 'tis known, The makers that confest it for their own Were this way skilful, and without the crime Of flatteries I may say did please the time; The work it self too, when it first came forth, In the opinion of men of worth, Was well receiv'd and favour'd, though some rude And harsh among th' ignorant multitude, (That relish gross food, better than a dish, That's cook'd with care, and serv'd into the wish, Of curious pallats) wanting wit and strength, Truly to judge, condemn'd it for the length, That fault's reform'd, and now 'tis to be try'd Before such Judges 'twill not be deny'd A free and noble hearing: nor fear I, But 'twill deserve to have free liberty, And give you cause (and with content) to say, Their care was good, that did revive this Play.

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Richardo and Viola.

Rich. Let us make use of this stolen privacy, And not loose time in protestation, Mistriss, For 'twere in me a kind of breach of faith, To say again I love you. Vio. Sweet, speak softly For though the venture of your love to me, Meets with a willing, and a full return: Should it arrive unto my Fathers knowledge; This were our last discourse. Rich. How shall he know it? Vio. His watching cares are such, for my advancement, That every where his eye is fix'd upon me: This night that does afford us some small freedom, At the request and much intreaty of The Mistriss of the House, was hardly given me: For I am never suffer'd to stir out, But he hath spies upon me: yet I know not You have so won upon me, that could I think You would love faithfully (though to entertain Another thought of you, would be my death) I should adventure on his utmost anger. Rich. Why do you think I can be false? Vio. No faith, You [h]ave an honest face, but if you should— Rich. Let all the stor'd vengeance of heaven's justice— Vio. No more, I do believe you, the dance ended, Which this free womans ghests have vow'd to have E'r they depart, I will make home, and store me With all the Jewels, Chains, and Gold are trusted Unto my custody, and at the next corner, To my Fathers house, before one at the farthest, Be ready to receive me. Rich. I desire No bond beyond your promise, let's go in, To talk thus much, before the door, may breed Suspition.

Enter Mercury and Antonio talking.

Vio. Here are company too. Rich. Away, Those powers that prosper true and honest loves Will bless our undertakings. Vio. 'Tis my wish, Sir. [Exit Rich. and Vio. Mer. Nay, Sir, excuse me, I have drawn you to Too much expence already in my travel: And you have been too forward in your love; To make my wants your own, allow me manners Which you must grant I want, should I increase, The bond in which your courtesies have ti'd me: By still consuming you, give me leave To take mine own ways now, and I shall often, With willingness, come to visit you, and then thank you. Ant. By this hand I could be angry, what do you think me? Must we that have so long time been as one Seen Cities, Countreys, Kingdoms, and their wonders; Been bedfellows, and in our various journey Mixt all our observations, part (as if We were two Carriers at two several ways, And as the fore-horse guides, cry God be with you) Without or compliment, or ceremony? In Travellers, that know transalpine garbs, Though our designs are nee'r so serious, friend, It were a capital crime, it must not be: Nay, what is more, you shall not; you e'r long, Shall see my house, and find what I call mine Is wholly at your service. Mer. 'Tis this tires me, Sir, I were easily woo'd, if nothing else But my Will lay in the choice: but 'tis not so, My friends and kindred that have part of me, And such on whom my chiefest hopes depend, Justly expect the tender of my love After my travel: then mine own honesty Tells me 'tis poor, having indifferent means To keep me in my quality and rank, At my return, to tire anothers bounty, And let mine own grow lusty, pardon me. Ant. I will not, cannot, to conclude, I dare not: Can any thing conferr'd upon my friend Be burthensome to me? for this excuse Had I no reason else, you should not leave me, By a travellers faith you should not, I have said, And then you know my humor, there's no contending. Mer. Is there no way to 'scape this Inundation? I shall be drown'd with folly if I go: And after nine days, men may take me up, With my gall broken. Ant. Are you yet resolv'd? Mer. Wou'd you would spare me. Ant. By this light I cannot By all that may be sworn by. Mer. Patience help me, And heaven grant his folly be not catching: If it be, the Town's undone, I now would give A reasonable sum of gold to any Sheriff, That would but lay an execution on me, And free me from his company; while he was abroad, His want of wit and language kept him dumb? But Balaam's Asse will speak now, without spurring. Ant. Speak, have I won you?—

Enter Servant and Musician.

Mer. You are not to be resisted. Ser. Be ready I intreat you, the dance done, Besides a liberal reward I have, A bottle of Sherry in my power shall beget New crotchets in your heads. Musi. Tush, fear not us, we'll do our parts. Serv. Go in. Ant. I know this fellow. Belong you to the house? Serv. I serve the Mistriss. Ant. Pretty, and short, pray you Sir then inform her, Two Gentlemen are covetous to be honor'd, With her fair presence. Serv. She shall know so much, This is a merry night with us, and forbid not Welcome to any that looks like a man: I'll guide you the way. Ant. Nay, follow, I have a trick in't. [Exit.

Enter Uberto, Silvio, Richardo, Maria, Pedro, Portia, Viola, with others.

Uber. Come, where's this Masque? fairest, for our chear, Our thanks and service, may you long survive, To joy in many of these nights. Mar. I thank you. Uber. We must have Musick too, or else you give us, But half a welcome. Mar. Pray you Sir, excuse me. Silv. By no means, Lady. Uber. We'll crown our liberal feast, With some delightful strain fitting your love: And this good company. Mar. Since you enforce it, I will not plead the excuse of want of skill Or be, or nice, or curious, every year I celebrate my marriage night; and will Till I see my absent Husband. Uber. 'Tis fit freedom. Silv. Richardo thou art dull—

Enter Servant.

Rich. I shall be lighter, When I have had a heat. Mar. Now Sir, the news? Serv. Mistriss, there are two Gentlemen. Mar. Where? Serv. Complimenting who should first enter. Mar. What are they? Serv. Heaven knows, but for their strangeness, have you never seen a Cat wash her face? Uber. Yes. Serv. Just such a stir they keep, if you make but haste, You may see 'em yet before they enter.

Enter Antonia and Mercurie.

Mer. Let 'em be what they [will,] we'll [give] them fair Entertain, and gentle welcome. Ant. It shall be so. Mer. Then let it be your pleasure. Ant. Lets stand aside, and you shall see us have Fine sport anon. Mer. A fair society, do you know these Gentlewomen? Ant. Yes. Mer. What are they? Ant. The second is a neighbors Daughter, her name is Viola. There is my kinsmans wife, Portia her name, and a Friend too. Mer. Let her—what's she that leads the dance? 1 Serv. A Gentlewoman. Mer. I see that. 1 Serv. Indeed? Mer. What? 1 Serv. A Gentlewoman. Mer. Udsfoot, good Sir, what's she that leads the dance? 2 Serv. My Mistriss. Mer. What else? 2 Serv. My Mistriss, Sir. Mer. Your Mistriss? a pox on you, What a fry of fools are here? I see 'tis treason to understand in this house: if nature were not better to them, than they can be to themselves, they would scant hit their mouths; my Mistriss? is there any one with so much wit in's head, that can tell me at the first fight, what Gentlewoman that is that leads the dance? [Ant.] 'Tis my wife. Mer. Hum. Ant. How dost thou like her? Mer. Well, a pretty Gentlewoman. Ant. Prethee be quiet. Mer. I would I could Let never any hereafter that's a man, That has affections in him, and free passions, Receive the least tye from such a fool as this is, That holds so sweet a wife, 'tis lamentable to consider truly What right he robs himself of, and what wrong He doth the youth of such a Gentlewoman, That knows her beauty, is no longer hers, Than men will please to make it so, and use it Neither of which lies freely in a Husband, Oh what have I done, what have I done, Coxcomb? If I had never seen, or never tasted The goodness of this kix, I had been a made man, But now to make a Cuckold is a sin Against all forgiveness, worse than a murther; I have a Wolf by the ears, and am bitten both ways. Ant. How now friend, what are you thinking of? Mer. Nothing concerning you, I must be gone. Ant. Pardon me, I'll have no going, Sir. Mer. Then good Sir, give me leave to go to bed, I am very weary, and ill-temper'd. Ant. You shall presently, the dance is done. 1 Serv. Mistriss, these are the Gentlemen. Mar. My Husband's welcome home, dear Sir. Mer. She's fair still, oh that I were a knave, or durst be one, For thy sake coxcomb; he that invented honesty, undid me. Ant. I thought you had not known me, y'are merry 'tis well; thought, And how ist with these worthy Gentlemen? Ub & Sil. We are glad to see you here again. Ant. Oh Gent, what ha' you lost? but get you into travels, There you may learn, I cannot say what hidden virtues. Mer. Hidden from you I am sure, My blood boils like a furnace, She's a fare one. Ant. Pray entertain this Gent. with all the courtesie, Fitting my most especial friend. Mar. What this poor house may yield, To make you welcome, dear Sir, command Without more compliment. Mer. I thank you: She's wise, and speaks well too, oh what a blessing Is gone by me, ne'er to be recovered! Well, 'twas an old shame the Devil laid up for me, and now has hit me home; if there be any ways to be dishonest, and save myself yet,——No, it must not be, why should I be a fool too——Yet those eyes would tempt another Adam, how they call to me, and tell me——S'foot, they shall not tell me any thing, Sir, will you walk in? Ant. How is't, Signior? Mer. Crazie a little. Mar. What ail you, Sir? What's in my power, pray make use of, Sir. Mer. 'Tis that must do me good, she does not mock me sure? And't please you nothing, my disease is only weariness. Ub. Come Gentlemen, we'll not keep you from your beds too long. Rich. I ha' some business, and 'tis late, and you far from your lodging. Sil. Well. [Exit manent, Ant. Mar. and Mer. Ant. Come my dear Mercury, I'll bring you to your chamber, and then I am for you Maria, thou art a new wife to me now, and thou shalt find it e'r I sleep. Mer. And I, an old ass to my self, mine own rod whips me,—good Sir, no more of this, 'tis tedious, you are the best guide in your own house—go Sir— [Exit Ant. and Mer. This fool and his fair Wife have made me frantick From two such Physicks for the soul, deliver me. [Exit.

Enter Richardo, Uberto, Pedro, and Silvio.

Ub. Well you must have this wench then. Ric. I hope so, I am much o'th' bow-hand else. Ped. Wou'd I were hang'd, 'tis a good loving little fool, that dares venture her self upon a coast she never knew yet, but these women, when they are once thirteen, god speed the plough. Sil. Faith they'll venture further for their lading, than a Merchant, and through as many storms, but they'll be fraughted, they are mad[e] like Carrecks, only strength and storage. Ric. Come, come, you talk, you talk. Sil. We do so, but tell me Richardo, wot thou marry her? Ric. Marry her? why, what should I do with her? Ped. Pox, I thought we should have [had] all shares in her, like lawful prize. Ric. No by my faith, Sir, you shall pardon me, I lanch'd her at my own charge, without partners and so I'll keep her. Ub. What's the hour? Rich. Twelve. Ub. What shall we do the while? 'tis yet scarce eleven. Sil. There's no standing here, is not this the place? Ric. Yes. Ped. And to go back unto her fathers house, may breed suspition, Let's slip into a Tavern, for an hour, 'tis very cold. Ub. Content, there is one hard by, a quart of burnt sack will recover us, I am as cold as Christmas, this stealing flesh in the frosty weather, may be sweet i'th' eating, but sure the Woodmen have no great catch on't; Shall's go? Rich. Thou art the strangest lover of a Tavern, What shall we do there now? lose the hour and our selves too. Ub. Lose a pudding; What do'st thou talk of the hour; Will one quart muzle us? have we not ears to hear, and tongues to ask the Drawers, but we must stand here like bawds to watch the minutes? Sil. Prethee content thy self, we shall scout here, as though we went a haying, and have some mangey prentice, that cannot sleep for scratching, over-hear us; Come, Will you go Sirs? when your love fury is a little frozen, you'll come to us. Ric. Will you drink but one quart then? Ped. No more i'faith. Sil. Content. Ric. Why then, have with you, but lets be very watchful. Ub. As watchful as the Belman, come, I'll lead, because I hate good manners, they are too tedious. [Exeunt.

EnterViola with a Key, and a little Casket.

The night is terrible, and I enclos'd With that my vertue and my self hate most, Darkness; yet must I fear that which I wish, Some company, and every step I take Sounds louder in my fearful ears to night Than ever did, the shrill and sacred bell That rang me to my prayers; the house will rise When I unlock the dore, were it by day I am bold enough, but then a thousand eyes Warne me from going, might not [God] have made A time for envious prying folk to sleep, Whilst lovers met, and yet the Sun have shone? Yet I was bold enough, to steal this key Out of my fathers Chamber, and dare yet Venture upon mine enemy, the night, Arm'd only with my love, to meet my friend Alas how valiant, and how fraid at once Love makes a Virgin! I will throw this key Back through a window, I had wealth enough In Jewels with me, if I hold his love I steal e'm for; farewell my place of birth, I never make account to look on thee again; And if there be, as I have heard men say, These houshold gods, I do beseech them look To this my charge, bless it from theeves and fire, And keep, till happily my love I win, Me from thy door, and hold my Father in. [Exit.

Enter Richardo, Pedro, Uberto, Silvio, and Drawer with a Candle.

Ric. No more for Gods sake, how is the night boy? Draw. Faith Sir, 'tis very late. Ub. Faith, Sir, you lie, is this your jack i'th' clock-house? will you strike, Sir? gi's some more sack, you varlet. Ric. Nay, if you love me, good Uberto goe, I am monstrous hot with Wine. Ub. Quench it again with love, Gentlemen, I will drink one health more, and then if my legs say me not shamefully nay, I will go with you, give me a singular quart. Draw. Of what Wine Sir? Uber. Of Sack, you that speak confusion at the bar, of Sack, I say, and every one his quart, what a Devil lets be merry. Draw. You shall, Sir. [Exit. Ped. We will, Sir, and a dryed tongue. Sil. And an Olive, boy, and a whole bunch of fidlers, my head swims plaguely, 'uds pretious I shall be clawd.

Enter Drawer with four quarts of wine.

Ric. Pray go, I can drink no more, think on your promise, 'tis midnight Gentlemen. Ub. O that it were dum midnight now, not a word more, every man on's knees, and betake himself to his saint, here's to your wench, seignior, all this, and then away. Rich. I cannot drink it. Ped. 'Tis a toy, a toy, away wo't. Uber. Now dare I speak any thing, to any body living, come, Where's the fault? off with it. Ric. I have broke my wind, Call you this Sack?—I wonder who made it? he was a sure workman, for 'tis plaguy strong work, Is it gone round? Ub. 'Tis at the last, out of my way, good boy, Is the Moon up yet? Draw. Yes, Sir. Ub. Where is she boy? Draw. There, Sir. Ub. We shall have rain and thunder, boy. Draw. When Sir? Ub. I cannot tell, but sure we shall boy. Draw. The Gentleman is Wine-wise. Uber. Drawer? Draw. Here, Sir. Ub. Can you procure? Draw. What Sir? Uber. A Whore, or two or three, as need shall serve, boy? Sil. I, a good Whore were worth money, boy. Draw. I protest Sir, we are all together unprovided. Ric. The mor's the pitty, boy, Can you not 'vize us where my Child? [Draw. Neither, in troth sir.] Ped. Why where were you brought up, boy? no inckling of a Whore? no aym my boy? Uber. It cannot sink in my head now, that thou shouldst marry, Why shouldst thou marry, tell me? Rich. I marry? I'll be hang'd first: some more wine boy. Sil. Is she not a Whore translated? and she be, lets repair to her. Ric. I cannot tell, she may be an offender; but signior Silvio, I shall scratch your head, indeed I shall. Sil. Judge me, I do but jest with thee, what an she were inverted with her heeles upward, like a traitor's Coat? what care I. Ub. I, hang her, Shall we fall out for her? Rich. I am a little angry, but these wenches, Did you not talke of wenches? Sil. Boy, lend me your Candle. Draw. Why Sir? Sil. To set fire to your rotten seeling, you'll keep no Whores, Rogue, no good members. Draw. Whores, Sir. Sih. I, Whores Sir, Do you think we come to lye with your hogsheads? Rich. I must beat the watch, I have long'd for't any time this three weeks. Silv. Wee'll beat the Town too, and thou wilt, we are proof boy; Shall [wee] kill any body? Rich. No, but wee'll hurt 'em dangerously. Uber. Silv. Now must I kill one, I cannot avoid it, boy, easily afore there with your candle; Where's your Mistriss? Draw. A bed, Sir. Sil. With whom? Draw. With my Master. Uber. You lye Boy, shee's better brought up than to lye with her husband, Has he not cast his head yet? next year he will be a velvet-headed Cuckold. [Exeunt. Draw. You are a merry Gentleman, there Sir, take hold.

Enter Viola.

Viola. This is the place, I have out-told the Clock, For haste, he is not here. Richardo? no; Now every power that loves and is belov'd: Keep me from shame to night, for all you know Each thought of mine is innocent, and pure, As flesh and blood can hold: I cannot back; I threw the Key within, and ere I raise My Father up, to see his daughters shame, I'll set me down, and tell the Northern Wind, That it is gentler than the curling West; If it will blow me dead, but he will come; I'faith 'tis cold; if he deceive me thus, A woman will not easily trust a Man. Hark, What's that? Sil. within. Th'art over long at thy pot, tom, tom, thou art over long at the pot tom. Viol. Bless me! Whose that? Pedro within. Whoo! Uber. within. There Boyes. Viol. Darkness be thou my cover, I must fly, To thee I haste for help—

Enter Richardo, Pedro, Uberto, Drawer with a Torch.

Viol. They have a light, Wind, if thou lov'st a Virgin, blow it out, And I will never shut a window more, To keep thee from me. Rich. Boy? Draw. Sir. Rich. Why Boy? Draw. What say you, Sir? Rich. Why Boy? Art thou drunk Boy? Draw. What would you, Sir? Rich. Why very good, Where are we? Uber. I, that's the point. Draw. Why Sir, you will be at your Lodging presently. Rich. I'll go to no lodging Boy. Draw. Whither will you go then, Sir? Rich. I'll go no farther. Draw. For Gods sake, Sir, do not stay here all night. Rich. No more I will not, Boy, lay me down, and rowle me to a Whore. Uber. And me. Ped. There spoke an— Silvio. Then set your foot to my foot, and up tailes all. Viola. That is Richardo, what a noise they make! 'Tis ill done on 'em: here, Sirs, Richardo? Rich. What's that Boy? Draw. 'Tis a Wench, Sir, pray Gentlemen come away. Viol. O my dear love! How doest thou? Rich. [My] sweet heart? even as thou seest. Ped. Where's thy Wench? Uber. Where's this bed worme? Viol. Speak softly for the love of heaven. Draw. Mistriss, get you gone, and do not entice the Gentlemen, now you see they'r drunk, or I'll call the Watch, and lay you fast enough. Vio. Alas, What are you? or, What do you mean? Sweet love, Where's the place? Ric. Marry sweet love, e'en here, lye down, I'll feese [you]. Vio. Good God! What mean you? Ped. I'll have the Wench. Uber. If you can get her. Sil. No, I'll lye with the Wench to night, and she shall be yours to morrow. Ped. Let go the Wench. Sil. Let you go the Wench. Viol. O Gentlemen, as you had mothers! Uber. They had no mothers; they are the Sons of bitches. Ric. Let that be maintain'd. Sil. Marry then. Viol. Oh bless me heaven! Uber. How many is there on's? Ric. About five. Uber. Why then lets fight three to three. Sil. Content. [Draw and fall down. Draw. The Watch! the watch! the watch! Where are you? [Exit. Ric. Where are these Cowards? Ped. There's the W[h]ore. Viol. I never saw a drunken man before, But these I think are so. Sil. Oh! Ped. I mist you narrowly there. Viol. My state is such, I know not how to think, A prayer fit for me, only I could move, That never Maiden more might be in love. [Exit.

Enter Drawer, Constable and Watch.

Watch. Where are they, Boy? Draw. Make no such haste, Sir, they are no runners. Ub. I am hurt, but that's all one, I shall light upon some of ye. Pedro, thou art a tall Gentleman, let me kiss thee. Watch. My friend. Uber. Your friend? you lie. Ric. Stand further off, the watch, you are full of fleas. Con. Gentlemen, either be quiet, or we must make you quiet. Rich. Nay, good Mr. Constable, be not so Rigorous. Uber. Mr. Constable, lend me thy hand of Justice. Const. That I will Sir. Uber. Fy Mr. Constable, What golls you have! is Justice so blind [She] cannot see to wash your hands? I cry you Mercy, Sir; Your gloves are on. Draw. Now you are up, Sir, Will you go to bed? Ped. I'll truckle here, Boy, give me another pillow. Draw. Will you stand up, and let me lay it on then? Ped. Yes. Draw. There hold him two of ye, now they are up, be going Mr. Constable. Rich. And this way, and that way, tom. Uber. And here away, and there away, tom. Silv. This is the right way, the others the wrong. Ped. Th' others the wrong. All. Thou art over-long at the pot, tom, tom. Rich. Lead valiantly, sweet Constable, whoop! ha Boyes. Const. This Wine hunts in their heads. Rich. Give me the bill, for I'll be the Sergeant. Const. Look to him, Sirs. Rich. Keep your Ranks, you Rascalls, keep your Ranks. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Mercury.

Mer. I cannot sleep for thinking of this Asses Wife, I'll be gon presently, there's no staying here, with this Devil about me; hoe, this is the house of sleep, hoe! again there, 'sfoot, the darkness, and this love together, will make me lunatick; ho!

Enter a Servingman above unready.

Ser. Who calls there? Mer. Pray take the pains to rise and light a candle. Ser. Presently. Mer. Was ever man but I in such a stocks? well, this shall be a warning to me, and a fair one too, how I betray my self to such a Dunce, by way of benefit.

Enter Servingman.

Ser. Did you call? Mer. Yes, pray do me the kindness, Sir, to let me out, and not [to] enquire why, for I must needs be gone. Ser. Not to night, I hope, Sir, Mer. Good Sir to night, I would not have troubled you else, pray let it be so. Ser. Alas, Sir, my Master will be offended. Mer. That I have business? no I warrant ye. Ser. Good Sir take your rest. Mer. Pray my good friend let me appoint my own rest. Ser. Yes, Sir. Mer. Then shew me the way out, I'll consider you. Ser. Good Lord, Sir. Mer. If I had not an excellent temper'd patience, now should I break this fellows head, and make him understand 'twere necessary; the onely plague of this house is the unhandsome love of servants, that ne'er do their duty in the right place, but when they muster before dinner, and sweep the Table with a wodden dagger, and then they are troublesome too, to all mens shoulders, the Woodcocks flesht agen, now I shall have a new stir.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Why how now friend? What do you up so late? are you well? Do you want any thing? pray speak. Mer. Onely the cause I rise for. Ant. What knaves are these? What do you want? why Sirrah? Mer. Nothing i'th' World, but the keyes to let me out of dores; I must be gon, be not against it, for you cannot stay me. Ant. Be gon at this time? that were a merry jest. Mer. If there be any mirth in't, make you use on't, but I must go. Ant. Why for loves sake? Mer. 'Twill benefit your understanding nothing to know the cause, pray go to bed, I'll trouble your Man only. Ant. Nay, Sir, you have rais'd more, that has reason to curse you, and you knew all, my Wifes up, and coming down too. Mer. Alas, it will be a trouble, pray go up to her, and let me disturbe no more, 'tis unmannerly.

Enter Wife as out of her [b]ed.

Ant. Shee's here already; sweet heart: How say you by this Gentleman? he would away at midnight. Wife. That I am sure he will not. Mer. Indeed I must. Mar. Good Sir let not your homely entertainment press you to leave your bed at midnight; if you want, what my house or our town may afford you, make it your own fault if you call not for it; pray go to bed again; let me compel you, I am sure you have no power to deny a Woman; the ayr is piercing, and to a body beaten with long travel, 'twill prove an ill Physitian. Mer. If she speak longer I shall be a knave, as rank as ever sweat for't; Sir, if you will send your Wife up presently, I will either stay with you, d'ye mark me, or deliver you, so just a cause, that you your self, shall thrust me out of dores, both suddenly, and willingly. Ant. I would fain hear that 'faith, pray thee go up sweet heart, I have half perswaded him, besides, he hath some private business with me. Mar. Good night, Sir, and what content you would have, I wish with you. [Exit. Mer. Could any man that had a back ask more! O me! O me! Ant. Now deal directly with me: Why should you go? Mer. If you be wise do not enquire the cause, 'twill trouble you: Ant. Why? prithee why? Mer. 'Faith I would not have you know it, let me go, 'twill be far better for you. Ant. Who's that, that knocks there? i'st not at the street door? Ser. Yes, Sir. Ant. Who's there, cannot you speak? Within Vio. A poor distressed Maid, for gods sake let me in. Mer. Let her in and me out together, 'tis but one labor, 'tis pity she should stand i'th' street, it seems she knows you. Ant. There she shall stand for me, you are ignorant; this is a common custome of the Rogues that lie about the loose parts of the City. Mer. As how? Ant. To knock at doors in dead time of night, and use some feigned voice to raise compassion, and when the doors are open, in they rush, and cut the throats of all, and take the booty, we cannot be too careful. Within Vi. As ever you had pity let me in, I am undone else. Ant. Who are you? Vio. My name is Viola, a Gentlewoman, that ill chance hath distressed, you know my Father. Mer. Alas of god we'll let her in, 'tis one of the Gentlewomen were here i'th' evening, I know her by her name, (poor soul) shee's cold I warrant her, let her have my warme Bed, and I'll take her fortune; come, pray come. Ant. It is not Viola, that's certain, she went home to her Fathers, I am sure. Via. Will not you be so good to let me in? Ant. I'll be so good to have you whipt away if you stay a little longer: Shee's gone I warrant her, now let me know your cause, for I will hear it, and not repent the knowing. Mer. Since you are so importunate, I'll tell you, I love your Wife extreamly. Ant. Very well. Mer. And so well that I dare not stay. Ant. Why? Mer. For wronging you, I know I am flesh and blood, and you have done me friendships infinite and often, that must require me honest, and a true Man, and I will be so, or I'll break my heart. Ant. Why, you may stay for all this, methinks. Mer. No, though I wood be good, I am no saint, nor is it safe to try me, I deal plainly. Ant. Come, I dare try you, do the best you can. Mer. You shall not, when I am right agen, I'll come and see you, till when, I'll use all Countryes, and all means, but I will lose this folly, 'tis a Divel. Ant. Is there no way to stay you? Mer. No, unless you will have me such a villain to you, as all men shall spit at me. Ant. Do's she know you love her? Mer. No, I hope not, that were recompence fit for a Rogue to render her. Ant. If ever any had a faithful friend, I am that Man, and I may glory in't, this is he, that ipse, he that passes all Christendome for goodness, he shall not over goe me in his friendship, 'twere recreant and base, and I'll be hang'd first, I am resolv'd, go thy wayes, a Wife [shall] never part us: I have consider'd, and I find her nothing to such a friend as thou art; I'll speak a bold world, take your time and woe her, you have overcome me clearly, and do what's fitting with her, you conceive me, I am glad at heart you love her: by this light, ne're stare upon me, for I will not flye from it, if you had spoken sooner, sure you had been serv'd; Sir, you are not every Man, now to your taske, I give you free leave, and the sin is mine if there be any in it. Mer. He will be hang'd before he makes this good, he cannot be so innocent a Coxcombe, he can tell ten sure, if I had never known you as I have done, I might be one, as others perhaps sooner, but now 'tis impossible, there's too much good between us. Ant. Well, thou art e'en the best man—I can say no more, I am, so over-joy'd, you must stay this night, and in the morning go as early as you please, I have a toy for you. Mer. I thought this pill would make you sick. Ant. But where you mean to be I must have notice, And it must be hard by too, do you mark me? Mer. Why, What's the matter? Ant. There is a thing in hand. Mer. Why? What thing? Ant. A sound one, if it take right, and you be not peevish. We two will be—you would little think it; as famous for our friendship— Mer. How? Ant. If [God] please, as ever Damon was, and Pytheas; or Pylades and Orestes, or any two that ever were: do you conceive me yet? Mer. No, by my troth, Sir; he will not help me up sure. Ant. You shall anon, and for our names, I think they shall live after us, and be remember'd while there is a story; or [I] lose my aime. Mer. What a vengeance ailes he? How do you? Ant. Yes faith, we two will be such friends, as the world shall ring of. Mer. And why is all this? Ant. You shall enjoy my wife. Mer. Away, away. Ant. The wonder must begin, so I have cast it, 'twill be scurvy else, you shall not stir a foot in't, pray be quiet till I have made it perfect. Mer. What shall a Man do with this wretched fellow? there is no mercy to be used towards him, he is not capable of any pitty, he will in spight of course be a Cuckold, And who can help it? must it begin so needs Sir?—think agen. Ant. Yes marry must it, and I my self will woe this woman for you, Do you perceive it now? ha? Mer. Yes, now I have a little sight ith' matter; O that thy head should be so monstrous, that all thy Servants hats may hang upon't! but do you meane to do this? Ant. Yes certain, I will woe her, and for you, strive not against it, 'tis the overthrow of the best plot that ever was then. Mer. Nay, I'll assure you, Sir, I'll do no harm, you have too much about you of your own. Ant. Have you thought of a place yet? Mer. A place? Ant. I a place where you will bide, prethee no more of this modesty, 'tis foolish, and we were not determin'd to be absolute friends indeed, 'twere tolerable. Mer. I have thought, and you shall hear from me. Ant. Why, this will gain me everlasting glory; I have the better of him, that's my comfort, good night. [Exit. Mer. Good night, well go thy wayes, thou art the tydiest wittall this day I think above ground, and yet thy end for all this must be mottly. [Exit.

Enter a Tinker with a Cord, and Dorothy.

Tink. 'Tis b[i]tter cold; a plague upon these Rogues, how wary they are grown! not a door open now, but double barr'd; not a Window, but up with a case of wood like a spice box, and their locks unpickable, the very Smiths that were half venture[r]s, drink penitent, single Ale, this is the Iron age, the Ballad sings of; well, I shall meet with some of our loose Linnen yet, good fellows must not starve; here's he shall shew God a mighties dog bolts, if this hold. Dorothy. Faith thou art but too merciful, that's thy fault, thou art as sweet a Thief, that sin excepted, as ever suffer'd, that's a proud word, and I'll maintain it. Tinck. Come, prethee let's shogg off, and browze an hour or two, there's Ale will make a Cat speak, at the harrow, we shall get nothing now, without we batter, 'tis grown too near morning, the Rogues sleep sober, and are watchful. Dorit. We want a Boy extreamly for this function, kept under for a year, with milk, and knot-grass; in my time I have seen a boy do wonders; Robbin the red Tinker had a Boy, Rest his Soul, he suffer'd this time 4 years, for two Spoons, and a Pewter Candlestick, that sweet Man had a Boy, as I am Curstend Whore, would have run through a Cat hole, he would have boulted such a piece of Linen in an evening— Tinck. Well, we will have a Boy, prethee lets go, I am vengeance cold I tell thee. Dorothy. I'll be hang'd before I stir without some purchase, by these ten bones, I'll turn she-ape, and untile a house, but I'll have it, it may be I have a humor to be hang'd, I cannot tell.

Enter Viola.

Tinck. Peace, you flead Whore, thou hast a mouth like a Bloodhound, here comes a night-shade. Dorit. A Gentlewoman Whore, by this darkness I'll case her to the skin. Tinck. Peace, I say. Viola. What fear have I endur'd this dismal night! And what disgrace, if I were seen and known! In which this darkness onely is my friend, That onely has undone me; a thousand curses Light on my easie, foolish, childish love, That durst so lightly lay a confidence Upon a Man, so many being false; My weariness, and weeping, makes me sleepy, I must lie down.

Tinck. What's this? a Prayer, or a Homily, or a Ballad of good councel? she has a Gown, I am sure.

Dor. Knock out her brains, and then shee'll nee'r bite.

Tinck. Yes, I will knock her, but not yet, you? woman?

Viol. For Gods sake what are you?

Tinck. One of the groomes of your wardrobe, come, uncase, uncase; byr Lady a good Kersey.

Vio. Pray do not hurt me, Sir.

Dor. Let's have no pitty, for if you do, here's that shall cut your whistle.

Viol. Alas, what would you have? I am as miserable as you can make me any way.

Dor. That shall be try'd.

Vio. Here, take my Gown, if that will do you pleasure.

Tink. Yes marry will it, look in the Pockets Doll, there may be birds.

Dor. They are flown, a pox go with them, I'll have this Hat, and this Ruffe too, I like it, now will I flourish like a Lady, brave, I faith boy.

Vio. Y'are so gentle people to my seeming, That by my truth I could live with you.

Tin. Could you so? a pretty young round wench, well bloudded, I am for her, Theeves.

Dor. But by this I am not, coole your Codpiece, Rogue, or I'll clap a spell upon't, shall take your edge off with a very vengeance.

Tin. Peace, horse-flesh, peace, I'll cast off my Amazon, she has walk'd too long, and is indeed notorious, shee'll fight and scould, and drink like one of the worthies.

Dort. Uds, pretious you young contagious Whore, must you be ticing? and, Is your flesh so wranck, Sir, that two may live upon't? I am glad to hear your Cortalls grown so lusty; he was dry founder'd t'other day, wehee my pamper'd Jade of Asia.

Vio. Good Woman do not hurt me, I am sorry that I have given any cause of anger.

Dor. Either bind her quickly, and come away, or by this steel I'll [tell], though I truss for company; now could I eate her broyl'd, or any way, without Vinegar, I must have her Nose.

Vio. By any thing you love best, good Sir, good Woman.

Tin. Why her Nose, Dorothy?

Dor. If I have it not, and presently [and] warm, I lose that I go withal.

Tin. Wood the Devil had that thou goest withall, and thee together, for sure he got thy whelps if thou hast any, shees thy deere dad, Whore! put up your cutpurse; an I take my switch up, 'twill be a black time with you else, sheth your bung Whore.

Dor. Will you bind her? we shall stand here prating, and be hang'd both.

Tin. Come, I must bind you, not a word, no crying.

Vio. Do what you will, indeed I will not cry.

Tin. Hurt her not, if thou dost, by Ale and Beer, I'll clout thy old bald brain pan, with a piece of Brass, you Bitch incarnate. [Exeunt Tinker and Dorothy.

Viola. O [God], to what am I reserv'd, that knew not Through all my childish hours and actions, More sin, than poor imagination, And too much loving of a faithless Man? For which I'm paid, and so, that not the day That now is rising to protect the harmless, And give the innocent a sanctuary From theeves and spoilers, can deliver me From shame, at least suspition—

Enter Valerio.

Val. Sirrah, lead down the horses easily, I'll walke a foot till I be down the hill, 'tis very early, I shall reach home betimes. How now, whose there?

Vio. Night, that was ever friend to Lovers, yet Has rais'd some weary Soul, that hates his bed, To come and see me blush, and then laugh at me.

Val. H'ad a rude heart that did this.

Vio. Gentle Sir, If you have that which honest men call pitty, And be as far from evil as you shew; Help a poor Maid, that this night by bad fortune Has been thus us'd by Robbers.

Val. A pox upon his heart that would not help thee, this Thief was half a Lawyer by his bands, How long have you been tyed here?

Viol. Alas, this hour, and with cold and fear am almost perisht.

Val. Where were the watch the while? good sober Gent. they were like careful members of the City, drawing in diligent Ale, and singing catches, while Mr. Constable contriv'd the Tosts: these fellows would be more severely punisht than wandring Gipsies, that every statute whips; for if they had every one two eyes a piece more, three pots would put them out.

Viol. I cannot tell, I found no Christian to give me succor.

Val. When they take a Thief, I'll take Ostend agen; the whorsons drink Opium in their Ale, and then they sleep like tops; as for their bills, they only serve to reach down Bacon to make Rashers on; now let me know whom I have done this courtesie too, that I may thank my early rising for it.

Viol. Sir, All I am, you see.

Val. You have a name I'm sure, and a kindred, a Father, friend, or something that must own you; shee's a handsome young Wench; What Rogues were these to Rob her?

Vio. Sir, you see all I dare reveale, And as you are a Gentleman press me no further; For there begins a grief, whose bitterness Will break a stronger heart than I have in me, And 'twill but make you heavy with the hearing, For your own goodness sake desire it not.

Val. If you would not have me enquire that, How do you live then?

Viol. How I have liv'd, is still one question, Which must not be resolv'd— How I desire to live, is in your liking, So worthy an opinion I have of you.

Val. Is in my liking? How I pray thee? tell me, i'faith I'll do you any good lies in my power; she has an eye would raise a bedrid man; come, leave your fear, and tell me, that's a good Wench.

Viol. Sir, I would serve—

Val. Who would'st thou serve? do not weep and tell me.

Viol. Faith, Sir, even some good woman, and such a wife if you be married, I do imagine yours.

Val. Alas! thou art young and tender, let me see thy hand, this was ne'er made to wash, or wind up water, beat cloaths, or rub a floor, by this light, for one use that shall be nameless, 'tis the best wanton hand that e're I lookt on.

Vio. Dare you accept me, Sir, my heart is honest, Among your vertuous charitable deeds, This will not be the least.

Val. Thou canst in a Chamber?

Vio. In a Chamber, Sir?

Val. I mean wait there upon a Gentlewoman, How quick she is, I like that mainly too; I'll have her, though I keep her with main strength like a besieged Town, for I know I shall have the Enemy afore me within a week.

Viol. Sir, I can sow too, and make pretty laces, Dress a head handsome, teach young Gentlewomen, For in all these I have a little knowledge.

Val. 'Tis well, no doubt I shall encrease that knowledge; I like her better still, how she provokes me; pritty young Maid, you shall serve a good Gentlewoman, though I say't, that will not be unwilling you should please me, nor I forgetful if you do.

Viol. I am the happier.

Val. My man shall make some shift to carry you behind him, Can you ride well?

Viola. But I'll hold fast for catching of a fall.

Val. That's the next way to pull another on you, I'll work her as I go, I know shee's wax, now, now, at this time could I beget a Worthy on this Wench.

Viol. Sir, for this Gentleness, may Heaven requite you tenfold.

Val. 'Tis a good Wench, however others use thee, be sure I'll be a loving Master to thee, come. [Exeunt.

Enter Antonio like an Irish Footman, with a Letter.

Ant. I hope I am wild enough, for being known, I have writ a Letter here, and in it have abus'd my self most bitterly, yet all my fear is not enough, for that must do it, that must lay it on, I'll win her out i'th' flint, 'twill be more famous, now for my language.

Enter Servingman.

Ser. Now, Sir, Who would you speak with?

Ant. Where be thy Mastres Man? I would speak with her, I have a Letter.

Ser. Cannot I deliver it?

Ant. No, by my trot, and fait, can'st thou not Man.

Ser. Well, Sir, I'll call her to you, pray shake your ears without a little. [Exit Servingman.

Ant. Cran a Cree do it quickly; this rebbel tonge sticks in my teeth worse than a tough Hen, sure it was ne'er known at Babel, for they sould no Apples, and this was made for certain at the first planting of Orchards,'tis so crabbed.

Enter Wife, and Servingman.

Mar. What's he wood speak with me?

Ser. A kill kenny ring, there he stands Madam.

Mar. What would you have with me, friend?

Ant. He has a Letter for other Women, Wilt thou read it.

Mar. From whence?

Ant. De Crosse creest from my Master.

Mar. Who is your Master?

Ant. I pray do you look.

Mar. Do you know this fellow?

Ser. No Maddam, not I; more than an Irish Footman, stand further friend, I do not like your roperunners, What stallion Rogues are these, to weare such dowsetts, the very Cotton may commit adultery.

Mar. I cannot find whose hand this should be, I'll read, To the beauteous wife of Don Antonio, sure this is some blind scribe—well now, What follows?

Ant. Pray God it take, I have given her that, will stir her conscience, how it works with her; hope, if it be thy will, let the flesh have it.

Mar. This is the most abhor'd, intollerable knavery, that ever slave entertain'd, sure there is more than thine own head in this villany, it goes like practic'd mischiefe; disabled in his body? O good God, as I live he lies fearfully, and basely, ha? I should know that Jewel, 'tis my husband, come hither shat, Are you an Irish Man?

Ant. Sweete Woman a Cree I am an Irish man.

Mar. Now I know it perfectly; is this your trick, Sir? I'll trick you for it; How long have you serv'd this Gentleman.

Ant. Please thee a little day, O my Mac dermond put me to my Mastree, 'tis don I know.

Mar. By my faith he speaks as well as if he had been lousy for the language a year or two; well, Sir, you had been better have kept your own shape as I will use you, What have I done that should deserve this tryal? I never made him Cuckold, to my knowledge, Sirrah come hither.

Ant. Now will she send some Jewel, or some Letter, I know her mind as well; I shall be famous.

Mar. Take this Irish bawde here.

Ant. How?

Mar. And kick him till his breeches and breech be of one colour, a bright blew both.

Ant. I may be well swing'd thus, for I dare not reveale my self, I hope she does not mean it, O hone, O hone, O St. Patricke, O a Cree, O sweet Woman.

Mar. No, turn him, and kick him o't'other side, that's well.

Ant. O good waiting Man, I beseech thee good waiting man, a pox fyre your Legs.

Mar. You Rogue, you enemy to all, but little breeches, How dar'st thou come to me with such a Letter?

Ant. Prethee pitty the poor Irishman, all this makes for me, if I win her yet, I am still more glorious.

Mar. Now could I weep at what I have done, but I'll harden my heart agen, go shut him up, 'till my husband comes home, yet thus much ere ye go, sirrah thach'd head, Would'st not thou be whipt, and think it Justice? well Aquavitæ Barrel, I will bounce you.

Ant. I pray do, I beseech you be not angry.

Mar. O you hobby headed Rascal, I'll have you flead, and trossers made of thy skin to tumble in, go a way with him, let him see no sun, till my husband come home, Sir, I shall meet with you for your knavery, I fear it not.

Ant. Wilt thou not let me go? I do not like this.

Mar. Away with him.

Servingman. Come, I'll lead you in by your Jack a lent hair, go quietly, or I'll make your crupper crack.

Mar. And do you hear me, Sirrah? and when you have done, make my Coach ready.

Serving. Yes forsooth. [Exit Servingman with Antonio.

Mar. Lock him up safe enough, I'll to this Gentleman, I know the reason of all this business, for I do suspect it, If he have this plot, I'll ring him such a peal, shall make his eares deaf for a month at least. [Exit.

Enter Richardo.

Ric. Am I not mad? Can this weak temper'd head, That will be mad with drink, endure the wrong That I have done a Virgin, and my Love? Be mad, for so thou ought'st, or I will beate The walls and trees, down with thee, and will let Either thy memory out, or madness in; But sure I never lov'd fair Viola, I never lov'd my Father, nor my Mother, Or any thing but drink; had I had love; Nay, had I known so much charity, As would have sav'd an Infant from the fire, I had been naked, raving in the street; With halfe a face, gashing my self with knives, Two houres ere this time.

Enter Pedro, Silvio, Uberto.

Ped. Good morrow Sir.

Rich. Good morrow Gentlemen, shall we go drink agen? I have my wits.

Ped. So have I, but they are unsetled ones, would I had some porrige.

Rich. The Tavern boy was here this morning with me And told me, that there was a Gentlewoman, Which he took for a Whore, that hung on me: For whom we quarrel'd, and I know not what.

Ped. I faith nor I.

Ube. I have a glimmering of some such thing.

Rich. Was it you, Silvio, That made me drink so much? 'twas you or Pedro.

Ped. I know not who.

Sil. We [were] all apt enough.

Rich. But I will lay the fault on none but me, That I would be so entreated, come Silvio, Shall we go drink agen, come Gentlemen, Why do you stay, let's never leave off now, Whil'st we have Wine, and Throats, I'll practise it, Till I have made it my best quality; For what is best for me to do but that? For [Gods] sake come and drink; when I am nam'd, Men shall make answer, Which Richardo mean you? The excellent drinker? I will have it so, Will you go drink?

Silv. We drunk too much too lately.

Rich. Why there is then the less behind to drink, Let's end it all, dispatch that, wee'l send abroad, And purchase all the Wine the world can yield, And then drink it off, then take the fruits o'th' earth, Distil the Juice from them, and drink that off; Wee'l catch the rain before it fall to ground, And drink off that that never more may grow; Wee'l set our mouths to Springs, and drink them off, And all this while wee'l never think of those That love us best, more than we did last night. We will not give unto the poor a drop Of all this drink, but when we see them weep, Wee'l run to them, and drink their tears off too, Wee'l never leave whilst there is heat or moisture, In this large globe, but suck it cold and dry, Till we have made it Elemental earth, Merely by drinking.

Ped. Is't flattery to tell you, you are mad?

Rich. If it be false, There's no such way to bind me to a Man; He that will have me, lay my goods and lands, My life down for him, need no more, but say, Richardo thou art mad, and then all these Are at his service, then he pleases me, And makes me think that I had vertue in me, That I had love, and tenderness of heart, That though I have committed such a fault, As never creature did, yet running mad, As honest men should do for such a crime, I have exprest some worth, though it be late: But I alas have none of these in me, But keep my wits still like a frozen Man, That had no fire within him.

Sil. Nay, good Richardo leave this wild talk, and send a letter to her, I'll deliver it.

Rich. 'Tis to no purpose; perhaps she's lost last night, Or she got home agen, she's now so strictly Look'd to, the wind can scarce come to her, or admit She were her self; if she would hear from me, From me unworthy, that have us'd her thus, She were so foolish, that she were no more To be belov'd.

Enter Andrugio and Servant with a Night-gown.

Ser. Sir, we have found this night-gown she took with her.

[An. Where?]

Rich. Where? where? speak quickly.

Ser. Searching in the Suburbs, we found a Tinker and his Whore that had it in a Tap-house, whom we apprehended, and they confest they stole it from her.

Rich. And murthered her?

Sil. What aile you man?

Rich. Why all this doth not make me mad.

Sil.. It does, you would not offer this else, good Pedro look to his sword.

Ser. They do deny the killing of her, but swore they left her tyed to a Tree, in the fields, next those Suburbs that are without our Ladies gate, near day, and by the Rode, so that some passinger must needs unty her quickly.

And. The will of Heaven be done! Sir, I will only entreat you this, that as you were the greatest occasion of her loss, that you will be pleased to urge your friends, and be your self earnest in the search of her; if she be found, she is yours, if she please, I my self only, see these people better examin'd, and after follow some way in search, God keep you Gentlemen. [Exit.

Sil. Alas good man!

Ric. What think you now of me, I think this lump Is nothing but a piece of fleagme congeal'd Without a soul, for where there's so much spirit As would but warm a flea, those faults of mine Would make it glow, and flame in this dull heart, And run like molten gold through every sin, Till it could burst these walls, and fly away. Shall I intreat you all to take your horses, And search this innocent?

Ped. With all our hearts.

Ric. Do not divide your selves till you come there, Where they say she was ty'd, I'll follow too, But never to return till she be found. Give me my sword good Pedro, I will do No harm, believe me, with it, I am now Farr better temper'd; if I were not so, I have enow besides, God keep you all, And send us good success. [Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.

Enter Mercury, and Servant.

Mer. Who is it? can you tell?

Ser. By my troth, Sir, I know not, but 'tis a Gentlewoman.

Mer. A Gentleman, I'll lay my life, you puppy, h'as sent his Wife to me: if he have, fling up the bed.

Ser. Here she is, Sir.

Enter Wife with a Letter.

Wife. I am glad I found you Sir, there, take your Letter, and keep it till you have another friend to wrong, 'tis too malicious false to make me sin, you have provoked me to be that I love not, a talker, and you shall hear me. Why should you dare to imagine me So light a huswife, that from four hours knowledge You might presume to offer to my credit This rude and ruffian tryal, I am sure I never courted you, nor gave you tokens, That might concern assurance, you are a fool.

Mer. I cannot blame you now, I see this letter, Though you be angry, yet with me you must not, Unless you'l make me guilty of a wrong, My worst affections hate——

Wife. Did not you send it?

Mer. No, upon my faith, which is more, I understand it not; the hand is as far from my knowledge, as the malice.

Wife. This is strange.

Mer. It is so, and had been stranger, and indeed more hateful, Had I, that have receiv'd such courtesies, and owe so many Thanks, done this base office.

Wife. Your name is at it.

Mer. Yes, but not my nature, and I shall hate my name worse than the manner, for this base broking; you are wise and vertuous, remove this fault from me; for on the love I bear to truth and goodness, this Letter dare not name me for the author.

Wife. Now I perceive my husbands knavery, if [my] man can but find where he has been, I will goe with this Gentleman whatsoever comes on't: and as I mean to carry it, both he and all the World shall think it fit, and thank me for it.

Mer. I must confess I loved you, at first, however this made me leave your house unmannerly, that might provoke me to do something ill, both to your honor and my faith, and not to write this Letter, which I hold so truly wicked, that I will not think on't.

Wife. I do believe you, and since I see you are free, my words were not meant to you, but this is not the half of my affliction.

Mer. 'Tis pitty you should know more vexation; may I enquire?

Wife. Faith, Sir, I fear I have lost my husband.

Mer. Your husband? it cannot be: I pitty her, how she's vext!

Enter Servant.

Wife. How now? What news? nay speak, for we must know.

Ser. Faith I have found at length, by chance, where he has been.

Wife. Where?

Ser. In a blind out-house in the Suburbs, pray God all be well with him.

Wife. Why?

Serv. There are his cloaths, but, What's become of him, I cannot yet enquire.

Wife. I am glad of this; sure they have murther'd him, What shall I do?

Mer. Be not so grieved, before you know the truth, you have time enough to weep, this is the sodain'st mischief; Did you not bring an Officer to search there, where you say you found his cloaths.

Ser. Yes, and we searcht it, and charg'd the fellow with him: but he, like a Rogue, stubborn Rogue, made answer, he knew not where he was; he had been there, but where he was now, he could not tell: I tell you true, I fear him.

Wife. Are all my hopes and longings to enjoy him, After this 3 years travel, come to this?

Ser. It is the rankest house in all the City, the most cursed roguy Bawdy-house. Hell fire it.

Mer. This is the worst I heard yet; Will you go home? I'll bear you company, and give you the best help I may: this being here will wrong you.

Wife. As you are a Gentleman, and as you lov'd your dead friend, let me not go home, that will but heap one sorrow on another.

Mer. Why propose any thing and I'll perform't; I am at my wits end too.

Ser. So am I, O my dear Master!

Mer. Peace you great fool.

Wife. Then good Sir carry me to some retir'd place, far from the sight of this unhappy City, whether you will indeed, so it be far enough.

Mer. If I might Councel you, I think 'twere better to go home, And try what may be done yet, he may be at home afore you, Who can tell?

Wife. O no, I know he's dead, I know he's murder'd; tell me not of going home, you murder me too.

Mer. Well, since it pleases you to have it so, I will no more perswade you to go home, I'll be your guide in the Countrey, as your grief doth command me, I have a Mother dwelling from this place some 20 miles: the house though homely, yet able to shew something like a welcome; thither I'll see you safe with all your sorrows.

Wife. With all the speed that may be thought upon; I have a Coach here ready, good Sir quickly; I'll fit you my fine husband.

Mer. It shall be so; if this fellow be dead, I see no band of any other Man, to tye me from my will, and I will follow her with such careful service, that she shall either be my Love, or Wife; Will you walk in?

Wife. I thank you, Sir, but one word with my Man, and I am ready; keep the Irish fellow safe, as you love your life, for he I fear has a deep hand in this, then search agen, and get out warrants for that naughty man, that keeps the bad house, that he may answer it, if you find the body, give it due burial; farewel. You shall hear from me, keep all safe. [Exeunt.

Ser. O my sweet Master!

Antonio knocking within.

Ant. within. Man-a-cree, the Devil take thee, Wilt thou kill me here? I prethee now let me goe seek my Master, I shall be very cheel else.

Enter Servant.

Ser. Do you hear man-a-cree, I'll cree your coxcombe, and you keep not still, down you rogue.

Ant. Good sweet fact serving-man, let me out I beseech de, and by my trot I will give dye Worship 2 shillings in good argott, to buy dy Worship pippines.

Ser. This rogue thinks all the worth of man consists in Peepins; by this light I'll beat rebellion out of you for ever.

Ant. Wilt thou not hear me Man? is fet; I'll give thee all I have about me.

Ser. I thank you, Sir, so I may have picking work.

Ant. Here is five shillings Man.

Serv. Here is a cudgel, a very good one.

Enter two Serving-men.

2. Ser. How now, What's the matter? Where's the Irishman.

1. Ser. There, a wyth take him, he makes more noise alone there, than ten Lawyers can do with double, and a scurvy Case.

2. Ser. Let him out, I must talk with him.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Wilt thou give me some drink, O hone? I am very dry Man.

2 Ser. You shall have that shall quench your thirst, my friend.

Ant. Fate dost thou mean man.

2 Ser. Even a good tough halter.

Ant. A halter? O hone!

2 Ser. Sirrah, you are a mischievous Rogue, that's the truth.

Ant. No, fet I am not.

1 Ser. Shall I knock out his brains? I have kill'd dogs have been worth three of him for all uses.

2 Ser. Sirrah, the truth on't is, you must with me to a Justice. O Roger, Roger.

1 Ser. Why, what's the matter William?

2 Ser. Heavy news Roger, heavy newes; god comfort us.

1 Ser. What is't Man?

Ant. What's the matter now? I am e'en weary of this way, would I were out on't.

1 Ser. My Master sure is murder'd, Roger, and this cursed rogue I fear, has had a hand in't.

Ant. No fet not.

1 Ser. Stand away, I'll kickt out of him: come, sirrha, mount, I'll make you dance, you Rascal, kill my Master? If thy breech were cannon proof, having this good cause on my side, I would encounter it; hold fair, Shamrocke.

Ant. Why how now Sirs? you will not murder me indeed.

2 Ser. Bless us Roger!

Ant. Nay, I am no spirit.

2 Ser. How do you Sir, this is my very Master.

Ant. Why well enough yet, but you have a heavy foot of your own; Where's my Wife.

1 Ser. Alas poor sorrowful Gentlewoman, she thinks you are dead, and has given o're house-keeping.

Ant. Whether is she gone then?

1 Ser. Into the Countrey with the Gentleman your Friend Sir, to see if she can wear her sorrows out there; she weeps and takes on too too—

Ant. This falls out pat; I shall be everlasting for a name: Doe you hear? upon your lives and faiths to me, not one word I am living, but let the same report pass along, that I am murther'd still; I am made for ever.

1 Ser. Why Sir?

Ant. I have a Cause Sir, that's enough for you; well, if I be not famous, I am wrong'd much; for any thing I know I will not trouble him this week at least, no, let them take their way one of another.

1 Ser. Sir, Will you be still an Irish-man?

Ant. Yes a while.

2 Ser. But your Worship will be beaten no more?

Ant. No, I thank you William.

1 Ser. In truth, Sir, if it must be so, I'll do it better than a stranger.

Ant. Goe, you are Knaves both, but I forgive you, I am almost mad with the apprehension of what I shall be, not a word I charge you. [Exeunt.

Enter Valerio, and Viola.

Val. Come, pretty soul, we now are near our home, And whilst our horses are walkt down the hill, Let thou and I walke here over this Close: The foot-way is more pleasant, 'tis a time My pretty one, not to be wept away, For every living thing is full of love; Art not thou so too? ha? Vio. Nay, there are living things empty of love, Or I had not been here, but for my self, Alas, I have too much.

Val. It cannot be, that so much beauty, so much youth and grace should have too much of love.

Vio. Pray what is love? for I am full of that I do not know.

Val. Why, love fair Maid is an extream desire, That's not to be examin'd, but fulfill'd, To ask the reason why thou art in love, Or what might be the noblest end in love, Would overthrow that kindly rising warmth, That many times slides gently o'r the heart, 'Twould make thee grave and staid, thy thoughts would be, Like a thrice married Widow, full of ends, And void of all compassion, and to fright thee From such enquiry, whereas thou art now Living in ignorance, mild, fresh, and sweet, And but sixteen; the knowing what love is, Would make thee six and forty. Vio. Would it would make me nothing, I have heard Scholars affirm, the world's upheld by Love, But I believe, women maintain all this, For there's no love in men.

Val. Yes, in some men.

Vio. I know them not.

Val. Why, there is love in me.

Vio. There's charity I am sure towards me.

Val. And love; which I will now express, my pretty maid, I dare not bring thee home, my wife is foul, And therefore envious, she is very old, And therefore jealous: thou art fair and young. A subject fit for her unlucky vices No work upon, she never will endure thee. Via. She may endure If she be ought, but Devil, all the friendship That I will hold with you; can she endure I should be thankful to you? may I pray For you and her, will she be brought to think. That all the honest industry I have, Deserves brown bread? if this may be endur'd She'll pick a quarrel with a sleeping child, E'r she fall out with me.

Val. But trust me, she does hate all handsomness.

Vio. How fell you in love with such a creature?

Val. I never lov'd her.

Vio. And yet married her?

Val. She was a rich one.

Vio. And you swore I warrant you, she was a fair one then too.

Val. Or believe me, I think I had not had her.

Vio. Are you men all such? wou'd you wou'd wall us in a place Where all we women that are innocent, Might live together. Val. Do not weep at this, Although I dare not for some weighty reason Displease my Wife, yet I forget not thee.

Vio. What will you do with me?

Val. Thou shalt be plac'd At my mans house, and have such food and raiment As can be bought with money: these white hands Shall never learn to work, but they shall play As thou say'st they were wont, teaching the strings To move in order, or what else thou wilt. Vio. I thank you, Sir, but pray you cloath me poorly, And let my labor get me means to live. Val. But fair one, you, I know do so much hate A foul ingratitude, you will not look I should do this for nothing. Vio. I will work as much out as I can, and take as little, That you shall have as duely paid to you As ever servant did. Vol. But give me now a trial on't, I may believe We are alone, shew me how thou wilt kiss And hug me hard, when I have stolen away From my too clamorous wife that watches me, To spend a blessed hour or t[w]o with thee. Vio. Is this the love you mean? you would have that Is not in me to give, you would have lust. Val. Not to dissemble, or to mince the word, 'Tis Lust I wish indeed. Vio. And by my troth I have it not: for heavens sake use me kindly. Though I be good, and shew perhaps a monster, As this world goes. Val. I do But speak to thee, thy answers are thy own, I compel none, but if [thou] refuse this motion, Thou art not then for me, alas good soul; What profit can thy work bring me? Vio. But I fear, I pray goe, for lust they say, will grow Outragious, being deni'd, I give you thanks For all your courtesies, and there's a Jewel That's worth the taking, that I did preserve Safe from the robbers, pray you leave me here Just as you found me, a poor innocent, And Heaven will bless you for it. Val. Pretty maid, I am no Robber, nor no Ravisher, I pray thee keep thy Jewel, I have done No wrong to thee, though thou beest virtuous And in extremity, I do not know, That I am bound to keep thee.

Vio. No Sir, for gods sake, if you know an honest man in all these Countreys, give me some directions to find him out.

Val. More honest than my self, good sooth I do not know; I would have lain with thee, with thy consent, and who would not in all these parts, is past my memory, I am sorry for thee, farewel gentle maid, God keep thee safe. [Exit.

Vio. I thank you Sir, and you; Woman they say, was only made of man, Methinks 'tis strange they should be so unlike, It may be all the best was cut away To make the woman, and the naught was left Behind with him, I'll sit me down and weep, All things have cast me from 'em but the earth; The evening comes, and every little flower Droops now, as well as I.

Enter two Milk-maids with pails.

Nan. Good Madge lets rest a little, by my troth I am weary, this new pail is a plaguy heavy one, would Tom were hang'd for choosing it, 'tis the untoward'st fool in a Countrey.

Madg. With all my heart, and I thank you too, Nan.

Vio. What true contented happiness dwels here, More than in Cities! wou'd to God my Father Had liv'd like one of these, and bred me up To milk: and do as they do: methinks 'Tis a life that I wou'd choose, if I were now To tell my time agen, above a Princes; maids, for charity Give a poor wench one draught of Milk, That weariness and hunger have nigh famish'd.

Nan. If I had but one Cows Milk in all the world, you should have some on't; there, drink more, the Cheese shall pay for it, alas poor heart, she's drie.

Madge. Do you dwell here abouts?

Vio. No, would I did.

Nan. Madge, if she does not looke like my cosin Sue o'th' Moor lane, as one thing can look like another—

Madge. Nay, Sue has a hazle eye, I know Sue well, and by your leave, not so trim a body neither, this is a feat bodied thing I tell you.

Nan. She laces close by the mass I warrant you, and so does Sue too.

Vio. I thank you for your gentleness, fair maids.

Nan. Drink agen pray thee.

Vio. I am satisfied, and heaven reward thee for't, yet thus far I will compell you to accept these trifles, toys only that express my thanks, for greater worth, I'm sure they have not in them; indeed you shall, I found 'em as I came.

Nan. Madge, look you here Madge.

Madg. Nay, I have as fine a one as you, mine's all gold, and painted, and a precious stone in't; I warrant it cost a crown wench.

Nan. But mine is the most sumptuous one, that e'r I saw.

Vio. One favour you must do me more, for you are well acquainted here.

Nan. Uds me, our Dorothy went away but last week, and I know my mistriss want's a maid, and why may she not be plac'd there? this is a likely wench, I tell you truly, and a good wench I warrant her.

Madg. And 'tis a hard case if we that have serv'd four years apiece, cannot bring in one servant, we will prefer her; hark you sister, pray what's your name.

Vio. Melvia.

Nan. A feat name i'faith; and can you milk a cow? and make a merry-bush? that's nothing.

Vio. I shall learn quickly.

Nan. But be sure to keep the men out, they will mar all that you make else, I know that by my self; for I have been So touz'd among 'em in my days, come you shall e'en home with us, and be our fellow, our house is so honest, and we serve a very good woman, and a Gentlewoman, and we live as merrily, and dance a good daies after even-song: our Wake shall be on Sunday; do you know what a Wake is? we have mighty cheer then, and such a coil, 'twould bless ye; you must not be so bashful, you'll spoil all.

Madg. Let's home for Gods sake, my Mistriss thinks by this time we are lost, come, we'll have a care of you, I warrant you; but you must tell my Mistress where you were born, and every thing that belongs to you, and the strangest things you can devise, for she loves those extreamly, 'tis no matter whether they be true or no, she's not so scrupulous; you must be our Sister, and love us best, and tell us every thing, and when cold weather comes, we'll lye together, will you do this?

Vio. Yes.

Nan. Then home again o' gods name, can you go apace.

Vio. I warrant you. [Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Pedro and Uberto, severally.

Ped. How now, any good news yet?

Silvio. Faith not any yet.

Ped. This comes o' tipling; would 'twere treason and't pleas['d] God, to drink more than three draughts at a meal.

Sil. When did you see Richardo?

Ped. I crost him twice to day.

Sil. You have heard of a young wench that was seen last [night].

Ped. Yes.

Sil. Has Richard heard of this?

Ped. Yes, and I think he's ridden after, farewel, I'll have another round.

Sil. If you hear any thing, pray spare no horse-flesh, I'll do the like.

Ped. Do. [Exeunt.

Enter Richardo and Valerio.

Rich. Sir, I did think 'twas you by all descriptions.

Val. 'Tis so, I took her up indeed, the manner how You have heard already, and what she had about her, As Jewels, Gold, and other trifling things: And what my end was, which because she slighted, I left her there i'th' fields. Rich. Left i'th' fields? could any but a Rogue That had despis'd humanity and goodness, [God,] law and credit; and had set himself To lose his noblest part, and be a beast, Have left so innocent unmatch'd a virtue, To the rude mercy of a wilderness? Val. Sir, if you come to rail, pray quit my house, I do not use to have such language given Within my doors to me; for your wench, You may go seek her with more patience, She's tame enough, I warrant you. Rich. Pray forgive me. I do confess my much forgetfulness; And weigh my words no farther, I beseech you, Then a mere madness, for such a grief has seiz'd me So strong and deadly, as a punishment, And a just one too, That 'tis a greater wonder I am living, Than any thing I utter; yet let me tell you thus much, 'Twas a fault for leaving her So in the fields. Val. Sir, I will think so now, and credit me, You have so wrought me with your grief, that I Do both forgive and pity you: And if you'll please to take a bed this night here; To morrow I'll bring you where I left her. Rich. I thank you, [no,] shall I be so unworthy: To think upon a bed, or ease, or comfort, And have my heart stray from me, God knows where, Cold and forsaken, destitute of friends, And all good comforts else, unless some tree Whose speechless charity must better ours, With which the bitter east winds made their sport And sung through hourly, hath invited her To keep off half a day? shall she be thus, And I draw in soft slumbers? God forbid. No, night and bitter coldness, I provoke thee, And all the dews that hang upon thy locks, Showrs, Hails, Snows, Frosts, and two edged Winds that prime The maiden blossoms, I provoke you all, And dare expose this body to your sharpness, Till I be made a Land-mark. Val. Will you then stay and eat with me? Rich. Y'are angry with me, I know y'are angry, You would not bid me eat else; my poor Mistriss, For ought I know thou'rt famish'd, for what else Can the fields yield thee, and the stubborn season, That yet holds in the fruit? good gentle Sir, Think not ill manners in me for denying Your offer'd meat, for sure I cannot eat While I do think she wants; well I'm a rascal; A villain, slave, that only was begotten, To murder women, and of them the best. Val. This is a strange affliction. If you'll accept no greater courtesie, yet drink Sir. Ric. Now I am sure you hate me, and you knew What kind of man I am, as indeed 'tis fit, That every man should know me to avoid me. If you have peace within you, Sir, or goodness Name that abhord word - Drink, no more unto me, You had safer strike me. I pray you do not, if you love me do not. Val. Sir, I mean no ill by it. Ric. It may be so, Nor let me see None Sir, if you love heaven; You know not what offence it is unto me, Nor good now do not ask me why: And I warn you once again, let no man else speak of't, I fear your servants will be prating to me. Val. Why Sir, what ail you? Rich. I hate drink, there's the end on't, And that man that drinks with meat is damn'd Without an age of prayers and repentance, And there's a hazard too; good Sir, no more If you will do me a free courtesie; That I shall know for one: go take your horse, And bring me to the place where you left her: Val. Since you are so impo[r]tunate, I will; But I will wish Sir, you had staid to night Upon my credit you shall see no drink. Rich. Be gone, the hearing of it makes me giddy, Sir, will you be intreated to forbear it, I shall be mad else. Val. I pray no more of that, I am quiet, I'll but walk in, and away straight. Rich. Now I thank you, But what you do, do in a twinkling, Sir. Val. As soon as may be. [Exit.

Enter Mother, Viola, and two Milk-maids.

Moth. Is this the wench you have brought me? some catch I warrant. How daringly she looks upon the matter!

Madge. Yes forsooth, this is the maiden.

Moth. Come hither, wou'd you serve?

Vio. If it shall please you to accept my service, I hope I shall do something that shall like you, though it be but truth, and often praying for you.

Moth. You are very curious of your hand methinks, You preserve it so with gloves, let me see it; I marry, here's a hand of march-pane, wenches, This pretty palme never knew sorrow yet; How soft it is I warrant you, and supple: O' my word, this is fitter for a pocket to filch withal Than to [work], I fear me little one, You are no better than you should be; goe to. Vio. My Conscience yet is but one witness to me, And that heaven knows, is of mine innocence, 'Tis true, I must confess with shame enough, The time that I have led, yet never taught me What 'twas to break a sleep, or to be weary.

Moth. You can say well: if you be mine, wench, you must doe well too, for words are but slow workers, yet so much hope I have of you, that I'll take you, so you'll be diligent, and do your duty: how now?

Enter Alexander.

Alex. There is a messenger come from your son, That brings you word he is return'd from travel, And will be here this night. Moth. Now joy upon thee for it, thou art ever A bringer of good tidings, there, drink that: In troth thou hast much contented me, my Son! Lord how thou hast pleas'd me, shall I see my Son Yet e'r I dye? take care my house be handsome, And the new stools set out, and boughs and rushes, And flowers for the window, and the Turky Carpet, And the great parcel Salt, Nan, with the Cruets, And prethee Alexander goe to the Cook, And bid him spare for nothing, my son's come home, Who's come with him?

Alex. I hear of none yet, but a Gentlewoman.

Moth. A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman?

Alex. I know not, but such a one there is, he says.

Moth. Pray God he have not cast away himself Upon some snout-fair piece, I do not like it.

Alex. No sure, my Master has more discretion.

Moth. [Well,] be it how it will, he shall be welcome. Sirs to your tasks, and shew this little novice How to bestir her self, I'll sort out things. [Exit.

Madge. We will forsooth, I can tell you, my Mistriss is a stirring woman.

Nan. Lord how she'll talk sometimes! 'tis the maddest cricket—

Vio. Methinks she talks well, and shews a great deal of good huswivery, pray let me deck the chambers, shall I?

Nan. Yes, you shall, but do not scorn to be advis'd, Sister, for there belongs more to that, than you are aware on; why [w]ould you venture so fondly upon the strowings? there's mighty matters in them I'll assure you, and in the spreading of a bough-pot, you may miss, if you were ten years elder, if you take not a special care before you.

Vio. I will learn willingly, if that be all.

Nan. Sirrah where is't they say my young Master hath been?

Madg. Faith I know not, beyond the Sea, where they are born without noses.

Nan. [Jesse blesse] us! without noses? how do they do for handkerchiefs?

Madg. So Richard says, and sirrah, their feet stand in their foreheads.

Nan. That's fine by my troth, these men have pestilent running heads then; do they speak as we do?

Mag. No, they never speak.

Nan. Are they cursend?

Mag. No, they call them Infidels, I know not what they are.

Nan. Sirrah, we shall have fine courting now my young master is come home, were you never courted Sister?

Vio. Alas, I know it not.

Mag. What is that courting, sirrah?

Nan. I can tell, for I was once courted in the matted chamber, you know the party Madge, faith he courted finely.

Madg. Pray thee what is't?

Na[n]. Faith, nothing but he was somewhat figent with me, faith 'tis fine sport, this courting.

Alex. within. Where be the Maids there?

Madg. We shall be hang'd anon, away good wenches, and have a care you dight things handsomly, I will look over you. [Exeunt.

Enter Mercury and Maria.

Mer. If your sorrow will give you so far leave, pray think your self most welcome to this place, for so upon my life you are, and for your own fair sake, take truce awhile with these immoderate mournings.

Wife. I thank you Sir, I shall doe what I may; Pray lead me to a chamber.

Enter Mother and Alexander.

Mer. Presently, Before your blessing Mother, I intreat ye To know this Gentlewoman, and bid her welcome, The virtuous wife of him that was my self In all my travels. Moth. Indeed she is most welcome, so are you son [kneel. Now all my blessing on thee; thou hast made me Younger by 20 years, than I was yesterday, Will you walk in? what ails this Gentlewoman? Alas, I fear she is not well, good Gen[t]lewoman. Mer. You fear right. Moth. She has fasted over long, You shall have supper presently o'th' board. Mer. She will not eat; I can assure you Mother, For Gods sake let your Maid conduct her up Into some fair becoming Chamber Fit for a woman of her Being, and As soon as may be, I know she's very ill, and wou'd have rest. Moth. There is one ready for her, the blew chamber. Mer. 'Tis well, I'll lead you to your chamber door And there I'll leave you to your quiet, Mistriss. Wife. I thank you, Sir, good rest to every one, You'll see me once again to night, I hope. [Exit.

Mer. When you shall please, I'll wait upon you, Lady.

Moth. Where are these maids, attend upon the Gentlewoman, and see she want no good thing in the house? goodnight with all my heart forsooth, good Lord how you are grown, is he not Alexander?

Alex. Yes truly, he's shot up finely, God be thanked.

Mer. An ill weed, Mother, will do so.

Alex. You say true, Sir, an ill weed grows apace.

Mer. Alexander the sharp, you take [me] very quickly.

Moth. Nay, I can tell you, Alexander will do it, do you read madcap still?

Alex. Sometimes forsooth.

Moth. But faith Son, what Countreys have you travell'd?

Mer. Why many, Mother, as they lay before me, France, Spain, Italy and Germany, and other Provinces that I am sure, you are not better'd by, when you hear of them.

Moth. And can you these tongues perfectly?

Mer. Of some a little, Mother.

Moth. Pray spout some French Son.

Mer. You understand it not, and to your ears 'twill goe like an unshod cart upon the stones, only a rough unhandsome sound.

Moth. [Faith] I would fain hear some French.

Alex. Good Sir, speak some French to my Mistriss.

Mer. At your intreaty Alexander, I will, who shall I speak to?

Alex. If your worship will do me the favour Sir, to me.

Mer. Mounseir, Poultron, Coukew, Cullione, Besay, Man cur.

Alex. Awe Mounseir.

Moth. Ha, ha, ha, this fine indeed, gods blessing 'on thy heart Son, by my troth thou art grown a proper Gentleman, cullen and pullen, good god what [saucey] words they use beyond the seas, ha, ha, ha!

Alex. Did not [you sweare] right.

Mer. Yes good Alexander, if you had done so too, But good Mother, I am very hungry, and have rid far to day, and am fasting. Moth. You shall have your supper presently, my sweet Son. Mer. As soon as you please, which once ended, I'll go and visit yo[n] sick Gentlewoman.

Moth. Come then. [Exeunt.

Enter Antonio like a Post, with a Letter.

Ant. I have ridden like a fury, to make up this work, and I will do it bravely, e'r I leave it; this is the house I am sure.

Enter Alexander.

Alex. Who wou'd you speak with, Sir?

Ant. Marry Sir, I would speak with a Gentlewoman, came this night late here from the City, I have some Letters of importance to her, I am a Post Sir, and would be dispa[t]ch'd in haste.

Alex. Sir, cannot I deliver 'em? for the truth is, she's ill, and in her chamber.

Ant. Pray pardon me, I must needs speak with her, my business is so weighty.

Alex. I'll tell her so, and bring you present word.

Ant. Pray do so, and I'll attend her, pray god the grief of my imagined death, spoil not what I intend, I hope it will not.

Alex. Though she be very ill, and desires no trouble, Yet if your business be so urgent, you may come up and speak with her.

Ant. I thank you Sir, I follow you. [Exit Alex.

Enter Wife.

Wife. What should this fellow be i'th' name of Heaven, that comes with such post business? sure my Husband hath reveal'd himself, and in this haste sent after me, are you the Post my friend?

Enter Anto[n]io.

Ant. Yes forsooth Mistriss.

Wife. What good news hast thou brought me gentle Post? For I have woe and grief too much already.

Ant. I would you had less, Mistriss, I could wish it, beshrew my heart she moves me cruelly.

Wife. Have I found you once more Jugler? well Jewel, thou hast only virtue in thee, of all I read of yet; what ears has this ass to betray him with? well, what's your business then?

Ant. I have brought a Letter from your servant, Mistriss, in haste.

Wife. Pray give it me, I hope the best still.

Ant. This is the upshot, and I know I have hit it, Well, if the spirits of the dead do walk, I shall Hear more of this one hundred years hence.

Wife. By any means you must have special care, for now the City is possest for certain, my Master is made away, which for ought I know is [a] truth indeed; good Mistriss leave your grief, and see your danger, and let that wise and noble Gentleman with whom you are, be your right hand in all things.

Ant. Now do I know I have the better on't, by the languishing of her eye at this near instant, 'tis still simming in her blood, in coyning somewhat to turn Mercury, I know it.

Wife. He is my Husband, and 'tis reasonable he should command in all things, since he will be an ass against the hair, at his own peril be it, in the morn you shall have a pacquet, till when, I must intreat you stay, you shall not lose by it.

Ant. I do not doubt it, Mistriss; I'll leave you to your rest, and wait your pleasure.