The Honest Man's Fortune. A TRAGI-COMEDY. (continued 2)

A Noble Soul is like a Ship at Sea, That sleeps at Anchor when the Ocean's calm; But when she rages, and the wind blows high, He cuts his way with skill and Majesty. I would turn a Fool, or Poet, or any thing, or marry, to make you merry; prethee let's walk: good Veramour, leave thy Master and me, I have earnest business with him.

What have you to do with him? come Sir will you go? And I'll sing to you again:

Charl. Still [shall] I wooe thee, whilst thy ears reply I cannot, or I will not marry thee? Why hast thou drawn the bloud out of my cheeks, And given a quicker motion to my heart? Oh thou hast bred a Feaver in my veins Call'd love, which no Physitian can cure; Have mercy on a Maid, whose simple youth— Mont. How your example, fairest, teacheth me A ceremonious Idolatry! [Kneels. By all the joy of love, I love thee better, Than I or any man can tell another; And will express the mercy which thou crav'st, I will forbear to marry thee: consider Thou art Nature's heir in feature, and thy parents, In fair Inheritances; rise with these thoughts, And look on me; but with a womans eye, A decaid fellow, void of means and spirit. Charl. Of spirit? Mont. Yes, could I tamely live, Forget my Fathers bloud, wait, and make legs, Stain my best breeches, with the servile drops That fall from others draughts. Charl. This vizard wherewith thou wouldst hide thy spirit, Is perspective, to shew it plainlier. This undervalue of thy life, is but Because I should not buy thee, what more speaks Greatness of man, than valiant patience, That shrinks not under his fates strongest strokes? These Roman deaths, as falling on a sword, Opening of veins, with poison quenching thirst, (Which we erroneously do stile the deeds Of the heroick and magnanimous man) Was dead-ey'd cowardize, and white-cheek'd fear, Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortunes false Lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death; that soul's most stout, That bearing all mischance, dares last it out; Will you perform your word, and marry me, When I shall call you to't?

A business of import awaits 'em here, And craves for speedy answer.

Mont. So should I you, but that I am asham'd. But though thou know'st me, prethee Longaville, Mock not my poverty, pray remember your self; Shows it not strangely for thy cloaths to stand Without a Hat to mine? mock me no more. Long. The —— embroider me all over, Sir, If ever I began to mock you yet. The —— on me, why should I wear Velvet And Silver Lace? —— I will tear it off. Mont. Why Mad-man? Long. Put on my Hat? yes, when I am hang'd I will: ---- I could break my head. For holding eyes that knew not you at first: But time and fortune run your courses with him, He'll laugh and storm you, when you shew most hate.

Lam. You're a fair Mounsieur. Long. Do you mock me, Lady? Lam. Your business, Sir, I mean. Lady. Regard your self good Mounsieur Longueville. Lam. You are too negligent of your self and place, Cover your head sweet Mounsieur. Long. Mistake me not fair Ladies, 'Tis not to you, nor you, that I stand bare. Lav. Nay sweet dear Mounsieur, let it not be to us then. La Poop. —— A compliment. Mal. And —— of manners. Pray hide your head, your gallants use to do't. Long. And you your foreheads, why you needful accessary rascals, That cannot live without your mutual knaveries, More than a Bawd, a Pandor, or a Whore From one another; how dare you suspect That I stand bare to you? what make you here? Shift your house, Lady of 'em, for I know 'em, They come to steal Napkins, and your Spoons; Look to your Silver-bodkin, (Gentlewoman) 'Tis a dead Utensil, and Page 'ware your pockets; My reverence is unto this man, my Master, Whom you, with protestations, and oaths As high as Heaven, as deep as Hell, which would Deceive the wisest man of honest nature, Have cozen'd and abus'd; but I may meet you, And beat you one with th' other. Mont. Peace, no more. Long. Not a word, Sir. Lav. I am something thick of hearing; what said he? La poop. I hear him, but regard him not. Mal. Nor I, I am never angry fasting. Long. My love keeps back my duty, noblest Lady; If Husband or brother merit love from you, Prevent their dangers, this hour brings to trial Their hereto sleeping hates; by this time each Within a yard is of the others heart, And met to prove their causes and their spirits With their impartial swords points; haste and save, Or never meet them more, but at the grave. Lady. Oh my distracted heart, that my wrackt honor Should for a Brothers, or a Husbands life, through thy undoing, die. Lam. Amiens engag'd; if he miscarry all my hopes and joys, I now confess it loudly, are undone: Caroch, and haste, one minute may betray A life more worth than all time can repay.

Lav. Oh Fortunatus, I envy thee not For Cap, or pouch, this day I'll prove my Fortune, In which your Lady doth elect her Husband, Who will [b]e Amiens, 'twill save my wedding dinner, Povera, La Poop, and Malicorn: if all fail, I will turn Citizen, a beauteous wife Is the Horn-book to the richest Tradesmans life. [Exeunt.

Dub. Here's a good even piece of ground my Lords: Will you fix here? Orl. Yes, any where; Lacquey, take off my spurs; Upon a bridge, a rail, but my swords breadth upon a battlement, I'll fight this quarrel.

Orl. Go now, stay with the horses, and, do you hear? Upon your lives, till some of us come to you, Dare not to look this way.

Long. Who takes a sword? the advantage is so small, As he that doubts, hath the free leave to choose. Orl. Come, give me any, and search me; 'tis not The ground, weapon, or seconds that can make Odds in those fatal trials: but the cause. Ami. Most true, and, but it is no time to wish When men are come to do, I would desire The cause 'twixt us were other than it is; But where the right is, there prevail our Swords. And if my Sister have out-liv'd her honor, I do not pray I may out-live her shame. Orl. Your Sister Amiens, is a whore, at once. Ami. You oft have spoke that sence to me before, But never in th[i]s language Orleance; And when you spoke it fair, and first, I told you That it was possible you might be abus'd: But now, since you forget your manners, you shall find, If I transgress my custom, you do lye, And are a villain, which I had rather yet My sword had prov'd, than I been forc'd to speak: Nay, give us leave, and since you stand so haughtily And highly on your cause, let you and I, Without engaging these two Gentlemen, singly determine it.

Long. Nor hear none neither, which is less: It is a favour, if my throat be cut, Your Lordship does me; which I never can,

Nor must have hope how to requite: what noise? What cry is that my Lord upon your guard? So[me] treachery is a foot.

Lady. Oh here they are: My Lord (dear Lady help me) help me all; I have so woful interest in both, I know not which to fear for most: and yet I must prefer my Lord. Dear brother, You are too understanding, and too noble To be offended, when I know my duty, Though scarce my tears will let me so to do it. Orl. Out loathed strumpet. Lady. Oh my dearest Lord, If words could on me cast the name of whore, I then were worthy to be loath'd; but know, Your unkindness cannot make me wicked; And therefore should less use that power upon me. Orl. Was this your Art to make these Actors come, To make this interlude? withdraw, cold man, And if thy spirit be not frozen up, Give me one stroke yet at thee for my vengeance. Ami. Thou shalt have strokes, and strokes, thou glorious man, Till thou breath'st thinner air than that thou talkest. Lam. My Lord, Count Amiens. Lady. Princely Husband. Orl. Whore. [Lam.] You wrong her impudent Lord; oh that I had the bulk Of those dull men; look how they stand, and no man Will revenge an innocent Lady. Ami. You hinder it Madam. Lam. I would hinder you; is there none else to kill him? Lady. Kill him, Madam? have you learn'd that bad language? oh repent, And be the motive, rather both kill me.

Orl. Sweet rascal, didst not tho[u] tell me, false fellow, This Montague here was murdered? Dub. I did so; but he was falser, and a worthless Lord, Like thy foul self that would have had it so.

Ami. Orleance, 'tis here no time nor place, to jest or rail Poorly with you, but I will find a time to Whisper you forth to this, or some fit place, As shall not hold a second interruption. Mont. I hope your Lordships honor, and your life Are destined unto higher hazards; this is of A meaner arm. Dub. Yes faith, or none. Long. He is not fit to fall by an honest Sword, A Prince and lye! Dub. And slander, and hire men To publish the false rumours he hath made. Long. And stick 'em on his friends, and innocents. Dub. And practice against their lives after their fames. Long. In men that are the matter of all lewdness, Bawds, Thieves, and Cheaters, it were monstrous. Dub. But in a man of bloud, how more conspicuous! Ami. Can this be? Lady. They do slander him. Orl. Hang them, a pair of railing hangbies. Long. How? stand Orleance; stay, give me my Pistols boy, Hinder me not, by—— I will kill him. Lady. Oh, stay his fury. Ami. Longueville, my friend. Long. Not for my self, my Lord, but for mankind, And all that have an interest to virtue, Or title unto innocence.

Ami. By —— If thou attempt His life, thy own is forfeit.

Mont. We could have kill'd him, but we would not take The justice out of fates.— Sindge but a hair of him, thou diest. Long. No matter, shoot. Ami. Villain. Dub. My Lord, your Sister is slain. Ami. Biancha? Mont. Oh hapless, and most wretched chance. Lam. Standst thou looking upon the mischief thou hast made? Thou godless man, feeding thy blood-shot eyes With the red spectacle, and art not turn'd to stone With horror? Hence, and take the wings of thy black Infamy, to carry thee beyond the shoot of looks, Or sound of curses, which will pursue thee still: Thou hast out-fled all but thy guilt. Orl. Oh wish it off again, for I am crack'd Under the burden, and my heart will break. How heavy guilt is, when men come to feel If you could know the mountain I sustain With horror, you would each take off your part, And more, to ease me: I cannot stand, Forgive where I have wrong'd, I pray. Ami. Look to him Montague. Long. My Lords and Gentlemen, the Lady is well, but for fear, Unless that have shot her; I have the worst on't, that needs would venture Upon a trick had like to ha' cost my guts: Look to her, she'll be well, it was but Powder I charg'd with, thinking that a guilty man Would have been frighted sooner; but I'm glad He's come at last. La[m]. How is Byancha? well? Ami. Lives she? see Sister, doth she breathe? Lady. Oh Gentlemen, think you I can breathe, That am restored to the hateful sense Of feeling in me my dear husbands death? Oh no, I live not; life was that I left; And what you have call'd me to, is death indeed: I cannot weep so fast as he doth bleed. Dub. Pardon me, Madam, he is well. Lady. Ha my Husband. Orl. I cannot speak whether my joy or shame Be greater, but I thank the Heavens for both. Oh look not black upon me, all my friends, To whom I will be reconcil'd, or grow unto This earth, till I have wept a trench That shall be great enough to be my grave, And I will think them too most manly tears, If they do move your pities: it is true, Man should do nothing that he should repent; But if he have, and say that he is sorry, It is a worse fault, if he be not truly. Lam. My Lord, such sorrow cannot be suspected: Here take your honoured wife, and joyn your hands. ----She hath married you again: And Gentlemen, I do invite you all, This night to take my house, where on the morrow, To heighten more the reconciling feast, I'll make my self a Husband and a guest. [Exeunt.

Charl. Well now I am sure you are mine. Mont. I am sure I am glad I have one to own then; you'll find me honest As these days go, enough; poor without question, Which beggars hold a virtue; give me meat, and I Shall do my work, else knock my shooes off, And turn me out again. Char. You are a merry fellow. Mont. I have no great cause. Char. Yes, thy love to me. Mont. That's as we make our game. Char. Why, you repent then? Mont. Faith no worse than I am I cannot be; Much better I expect not: I shall love you, And when you bid me go to bed, obey, Lie still or move, as you shall minister; Keep a four-Nobles Nag, and a Jack Merling, learn to love Ale, and play at Two-hand Irish, And there's then all I aim at. Char. Nay sweet fellow, I'll make it something better. Mont. If you do, you'll make me worse: Now I am poor, and willing to do well, Hold me in that course; of all the Kings creatures, I hate his coin, keep me from that, and save me; For if you chance out of your housewivery To leave a hundred pound or two, bestow it In Plumb-broth e'r I know it, else I take it; Seek out a hundred men that want this money, Share it among 'em, they'll cry noble Montague, And so I stand again at livery. Char. You have pretty fancies, Sir, but married once, This charity will fall home to your self. Mont. I would it would, I am afraid my looseness Is yet scarce stopt, though it have nought to work on But the meer air of what I have had. Char. Pretty. Mont. I wonder sweet heart why you'll marry me, I can see nothing in my self deserves it, Unless the handsome wearing of a band, For that's my stock now, or a pair of garters; Necessity will not let me loose. Char. I see Sir, a great deal more, a handsome man, a Husband, To make a right good woman truly happy. Mont. Lord, where are my eyes, either you are foolish As wenches once a year are, or far worse, Extreamly virtuous, can you love a poor man That relies on cold meat, and cast stockings, One only suit to his back, which now is mewing? But what will be the next coat will pose Tristram. If I should leavy from my friends a fortune: I could not raise ten groats to pay the Priest now. Char. I'll do that duty; 'tis not means nor money Makes me pursue your love; were your mind bankrupt, I would never love you.

Mont. Peace wench, here's my Lady. Lam. Nay, never shrink i'th' wetting, for my presence; D'ye find her willing Montague? Mont. Willing Madam? Lam. How dainty you make of it, do not I know You two love one another? Mont. Certain Madam, I think ye'ave revelations of these matters: Your Ladyship cannot tell me when I kist her. Lam. But she can, Sir. Mont. But she will not Madam; For when they talk once, 'tis like Fairy-Money, They get no more close kisses. Lam. Thou art wanton. Mont. [God] knows I need not, yet I would be lusty: But —— my Provender scarce pricks me. Lam. It shall be mended Montague, I am glad you are grown so merry. Mont. So am I too Madam. Lam. You two will make a pretty handsome Consort. Mont. Yes Madam, if my Fiddle fail me not. Lam. Your Fiddle? why your Fiddle? I warrant thou meanest madly: Mont. Can you blame me? alas I am in love. Char. 'Tis very well, Sir. Lam. How long have you been thus? Mont. How thus in love? Lam. You are very quick, Sir: no, I mean thus pleasant. Mont. —Ever since I was poor. Lam. A little wealth would change you then? Mont. Yes Lady, into another suit, but never more Into another man: I'll bar that mainly, The wealth I get hence-forward shall be charm'd For ever hurting me, I'll spend it fasting: As I live noble Lady, there is nothing I have found directly, cures the melancholy, But want and wedlock; when I had store of money, I simper'd sometime, and spoke wondrous wise, But never laught out-right; now I am empty, My heart sounds like a Bell, and strikes at both sides. Lam. You are finely temper'd, Montague. Mont. Pardon Lady, if any way my free mirth have offended, 'Twas meant to please you: if it prove too saucy, Give it a frown, and I am ever silenc'd. Lam. I like it passing well; pray follow it: This is my day of choice, and shall be yours too, 'Twere pity to delay ye: call to the Steward, And tell him 'tis my pleasure he should give you Five hundred Crowns: make your self handsome Montague, Let none wear better cloaths, 'tis for my credit; But pray be merry still. Mont. If I be not, and make a fool of twice as many hundreds, Clap me in Canvas, Lady. [Exeunt.

Lav. I am strangely glad, I have found the mystery Of this disguised boy out: I ever trusted It was a woman; and how happily I have found it so; and for my self, I am sure, One that would offer me a thousand pound now (And that's a pretty sum to make one stagger) In ready Gold for this concealment, could not Buy my hope of her, she's a dainty wench, And such a one I find I want extreamly, To bring me into credit: beauty does it.

La-p. True, and as I take it, this is the first truth We told these ten years, and for any thing I know, may be the last: but grant we are knaves, Both base and beastly knaves— Mal. Say so then. Lav. Well. La-p. And likewise let it be considered, we have wrong'd, And most maliciously, this Gentlewoman We cast to stay with, what must we expect now? Mal. I, there's the point, we would expect good eating. La-p. I know we would, but we may find good beating. Lav. You say true Gentlemen, and by—— Though I love meat as well as any man, I care not what he be, if a eat a Gods name; Such a crab-sauce to my meat will turn my pallate. Mal. There's all the hazard, for the frozen Montague Has now got spring again, and warmth in him, And without doubt, dares beat us terribly. For not to mint the matter, we are cowards, And have, and shall be beaten, when men please To call us into cudgeling. La-p. I feel we are very prone that way. Lav. The sons of Adam. La-p. Now, here then rests the state o'th' question; Whether we yield our bodies for a dinner To a sound dog-whip, for I promise ye, If men be given to correction, We can expect no less; or quietly Take a hard Egg or two, and ten mile hence Bait in a ditch, this we may do securely; For, to stay hereabout will be all one, If once our moral mischiefs come in memory. Mal. But pray ye hear me, is not this the day The Virgin Lady doth elect her Husband? Lav. The dinner is to that end.

La-p. 'Tis a seemly saying, I must confess, but if we stay, how fitly We may apply it to our selves (i'th' end) Will ask a Christian fear; I cannot see, If I say true, what special ornaments Of Art or Nature, (lay aside our lying Whoring and drinking, which are no great virtues) We are endued withal, to win this Lady.

Lav. Why should we fear then? they choose men As they feed; sometimes they settle Upon a White broth'd face, a sweet smooth gallant, And him they make an end of in a night; Sometimes a Goose, sometimes a grosser meat, A rump of Beef will serve 'em at some season, And fill their bellies too, though without doubt They are great devourers: Stock-fish is a dish, If it be well drest, for the tuffness sake Will make the proud'st of 'em long and leap for't. They'll run mad for a Pudding, e'r they'll starve. La-p. For my own part I care not, come what can come, If I be whipt, why so be it; if cudgell'd, I hope I shall out-live it, I am sure 'Tis not the hundredth time I have been serv'd so, And yet I thank [God] I am here. Mal. Here's resolution. La-p. A little patience, and a rotten Apple Cures twenty worse diseases; what say you, Sir? Lav. Marry I say Sir, if I had been acquainted With lamming in my youth, as you have been With whipping, and such benefits of nature, I should do better: as I am, I'll venture, And if it be my luck to have the Lady, I'll use my fortune modestly; if beaten, You shall not hear a word, one I am sure of, And if the worst fall, she shall be my Physick. Lets go then, and a merry wind be with us. Mal. Captain, your shooes are old, pray put 'em off, And let one fling 'em after us; be bold, Sirs, And howsoever our fortune falls, lets bear An equal burden; if there be an odd lash, We'll part it afterwards. La-p. I am arm'd at all points. [Exeunt.

Lam. Seat your selves noble Lords and Gentlemen, You know your places; many royal welcomes I give your Grace; how lovely shews this change! My house is honor'd in this reconcilement. Orl. Thus Madam must you do, my Lady now shall see You made a Woman; And give you some short lessons for your voyage. Take her instructions Lady, she knows much. Lam. This becomes you, Sir. L[a]. My Lord must have his Will. Orl. 'Tis all I can do now, sweet-heart, fair Lady; This to your happy choice, brother Amiens, You are the man I mean it to. Ami. I'll pledge you. Orl. And with my heart. Ami. With all my love I take it.

Ami. I do Lady. Orl. And I my Lord. Omnes. Y'ave done a work of honor. Ami. Give me the Cup, where this health stops, let That man be either very sick, or very simple; Or I am very angry; Sir, to you; Madam, methinks this Gentleman might sit too; He would become the best on's.

Mont. It is your pleasure, Madam, not my pride, And I obey; I'll pledge ye now my Lord, Monsieur Longaville.

Ami. By Heaven you are a worthy woman, and that Man is blest can come near such a Lady.

Mont. Then as I have a soul, I'll speak my conscience, Give me more Wine, in vino veritas, Here's to my self, and Montague have a care.

Mont. For one whose wit Lies in a ten pound wastcoat; yet not warm; Ye have travell'd like a Fidler to make faces, And brought home nothing but a case of tooth-picks. You would be married, and no less than Ladies, And of the best sort can serve you; thou Silk-worm, What hast thou in thee to deserve this woman? Name but the poorest piece of man, good manners, There's nothing sound about thee, faith, th'ast none, It lies pawn'd at thy Silk-man's, for so much Lace; Thy credit with his wife cannot redeem it, Thy cloaths are all the soul thou hast, for so Thou sav'st them handsome for the next great tilting, Let who will take the t'other, thou wert never christen'd (Upon my conscience) but in Barbers water; Thou art never out o'th' Bason, thou art rotten, And if thou dar'st tell truth, thou wilt confess it; —— Thy skin Looks of a Chesnut colour, greaz'd with Amber, All women that on earth do dwell, thou lov'st, Yet none that understand love thee again, But those that love the Spittle; get thee home Poor painted Butter-flie, th[y] Summers past; Go sweat, and eat dry Mutton, thou may'st live To do so well yet; a bruis'd Chamber-Maid May fall upon thee, and advance thy follies. You have your sentence; now it follows Captain, I treat of you. La-p. Pray [God] I may deserve it. Orl. Beshrew my heart, he speaks plain. Ami. That's plain dealing. Mont. You are a rascal Captain. La-p. A fine Calling. Mont. A Water-coward. Ami. He would make a pretty stuff. Mont. May I speak freely, Madam? Lami. Here's none ties you. Mont. Why shouldst thou dare come hither with a thought To find a wife here fit for thee? are all Thy single money whores that fed on Carrots, And fill'd the high Grass with familiars Fall'n off to Footmen; prethee tell me truly, For now I know thou dar'st not lie, couldst thou not Wish thy self beaten well with all thy heart now, And out of pain? say that I broke a rib, Or cut thy nose off, wer't not merciful for this ambition? La-p. Do your pleasure, Sir, beggars must not be choosers. Orl. He longs for beating. Mont. But that I have nobler thoughts possess my soul, Than such brown Bisket, such a piece of Dog-fish, Such a most maungy Mackril eater as thou art, That dares do nothing that belongs to th' Sea, But spue, and catch Rats, and fear men of War, Though thou hast nothing in the world to loose Aboord thee, but one piece of Beef, one Musket Without a cock for peace sake, and a Pitch-barrel, I'll tell thee, if my time were not more pretious Than thus to loose it, I would rattle thee, It may be beat thee, and thy pure fellow, The Merchant there of Catskins, till my words, Or blows, or both, made ye two branded wretches To all the world hereafter; you would fain to Venture your Bils of lading for this Lady; What would you give now for her? some five frayl Of rotten Figs, good Godson, would you not, Sir? Or a Parrot that speaks High Dutch? can all thou ever saw'st Of thine own fraughts from Sea, or cosenage (At which thou art as expert as the Devil) Nay, sell thy soul for wealth to, as thou wilt do, Forfeit thy friends, and raise a mint of Money, Make thee dream all these double, could procure A kiss from this good Lady? canst thou hope She would lye with such a nook of Hell as thou art, And hatch young Merchant-furies? oh ye dog-bolts! That fear no [God] but Dunkirk, I shall see you Serve in a lowsy Lime-boat, e'r I dye, For mouldy Cheese and Butter, Billingsgate Would not endure, or bring in rotten Pippins To cure blew eyes, and swear they came from China. Lami. Vex 'em no more, alas they shake: Mont. Down quickly on your marrow-bones, and thank this Lady. I would not leave you thus else, there are blankets, And such delights for such knaves; but fear still; 'Twill be revenge enough to keep you waking. Ye have no mind of marriage, ha' ye? La-p. Surely no great mind now. Mont. Nor you. Mal. Nor I, I take it. Mont. Two eager suitors. L[a]v. Troth 'tis wondrous hot, [God] bless us from him. Lami. You have told me Montag[u]e Who are not fit to have me, let me know The man you would point out for me.

Ami. Do you speak Sir, out of your friendship to me? Mont. Yes my Lord, and out of truth, for I could never flatter. Ami. I would not say how much I owe you for it, For that were but a promise, but I'll thank ye, As now I find you, in despite of fortune, A fair and noble Gentleman. Lami. My Lords, I must confess the choice this man hath made Is every way a great one, if not too great, And no way to be slighted: yet because We love to have our own eyes sometimes n[o]w, Give me a little liberty to see, How I could fit my self, if I were put to't. Ami. Madam we must. Lami. Are ye all agreed? Omnes. We be. Lami. Then as I am a Maid, I shall choose here. Montague I must have thee. Mont. Why Madam, I have learnt to suffer more Than you can (out of pity) mock me with this way especially. Lami. Thou think'st I jest now; But by the love I bear thee, I will have thee. Mont. If you could be so weak to love a fall'n man, He must deserve more than I ever can, Or ever shall (dear Lady;) look but this way Upon that Lord, and you will tell me then Your eyes are no true choosers of good men.

Ami. 'Twere a deep sin to cross ye, noble Montague, I wish ye all content, and am as happy In my friends good as it were meerly mine. Mont. Your Lordship does ill to give up your right; I am not capable of this great goodness, There sits my wife that holds my troth.

Lami. Sweet-heart 'tis so, the drift was mine to hide My purpose till it struck home.

Lav. Their pennance Sir, I'll undertake, so please ye To grant me one concealment. Long. A right Courtier, still a begging. Mont. What is it Sir? Lav. A Gentlewoman. Mont. In my gift? Lav. Yes Sir, in yours. Mont. Why, bring her forth, and take her. Lami. What wench would he have? Mont. Any wench I think.

Lav. This is the Gentlewoman. Mont. 'Tis my Page, Sir. Ver. No Sir, I am a poor disguis'd Lady, That like a Page have followed you full long for love god-wot. Omnes. A Lady—Laverdine—yes, yes, 'tis a Lady. Mont. It may be so, and yet we have lain together, But by my troth I never found her, Lady. L. Orl. Why wore you boys cloaths? Ver. I'll tell you, Madam, I took example by two or three Plays, that methought Concerned me. Mont. Why made you not me acquainted with it? Ver. Indeed Sir, I knew it not my self, Until this Gentleman open'd my dull eyes, And by perswasion made me see it. Ami. Could his power in words make such a change? Ver. Yes, as truly woman as your self, my Lord. Lav. Why, but hark you, are not you a woman? Ver. If hands and face make it not evident, you shall see more. Mai. Breeches, breeches, Laverdine. La-p. 'Tis not enough, women may wear those cases. Search further Courtier. Omnes. Ha, ha, ha. La-p. Oh thou fresh-water Gudgeon, wouldst thou come To point of Marriage with an Ignoramus? Thou shouldst have had her Urin to the Doctors, The foolishest Physitian could have made plain The liquid Epicæne; a blind man by the hand Could have discovered the ring from the stone. Boy, come, to Sea with me, I'll teach thee to climb, And come down by the Rope, nay to eat Rats. Ver. I shall devour my Master before the prison then, Sir, I have began my Trade. Mal. Trade? to the City, child, a flat-cap will become thee. Mont. Gentlemen, I beseech you molest your selves no further, For his preferment it is determin'd. Lav. I am much ashamed, and if my cheek Gives not satisfaction, break my head. Mont. Your shame's enough, Sir. Ami. Montague, much joy attend thy marriage-bed; By thy example of true goodness, envy is exil'd, And to all honest men that truth intend, I wish good luck, fair fate be still thy friend. [Exeunt.

You that can look through Heaven, and tell the Stars, Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars; Find out new Lights, and give them where you please, To those men honors, pleasures, to those ease; You that are God's Surveyers, and can show How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow; Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder, And when it will shoot over, or fall under: Tell me, by all your Art I conjure ye, Yes, and by truth, what shall become of me? Find out my Star, if each one, as you say, Have his peculiar Angel, and his way; Observe my fate, next fall into your dreams, Sweep clean your houses, and new line your Sceames, Then say your worst: or have I none at all? Or is it burnt out lately? or did fall? Or am I poor? not able, no full flame? My Star, like me, unworthy of a name? Is it your Art can only work on those, That deal with dangers, dignities, and cloaths? With Love, or new Opinions? you all lye, A Fish-wife hath a fate, and so have I, But far above your finding; he that gives, Out of his providence, to all that lives, And no man knows his treasure, no, not you: He that made Egypt blind, from whence you grew Scabby and lowzie, that the world might see Your Calculations are as blind as ye: He that made all the Stars, you daily read, And from thence filtch a knowledge how to feed; Hath hid this from you, your conjectures all Are drunken things, not how, but when they fall: Man is his own Star, and the soul that can Render an honest, and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate, Nothing to him falls early, or too late. Our Acts our Angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still, And when the Stars are labouring, we believe It is not that they govern, but they grieve For stuborn ignorance; all things that are Made for our general uses, are at war, Even we among our selves, and from the strife, Tour first unlike opinions got a life. Oh man! thou Image of thy Makers good, What canst thou fear, when breathed into thy bloud, His spirit is, that built thee? what dull sence Makes thee suspect, in need, that Providence? Who made the morning, and who plac'd the light Guide to thy labours? who call'd up the night, And bid her fall upon thee like sweet showers In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers? Who gave thee knowledge, who so trusted thee, To let thee grow so near himself, the Tree? Must he then be distrusted? shall his frame Discourse with him, why thus, and thus I am? He made the Angels thine, thy fellows all, Nay, even thy servants, when Devotions call. Oh! canst thou be so stupid then, so dim, To seek a saving influence, and loose him? Can Stars protect thee? or can poverty, Which is the light to Heaven, put out his eye? He is my Star, in him all truth I find, All influence, all fate, and when my mind Is furnish'd with his fullness, my poor story Shall out-live all their age, and all their glory, The hand of danger cannot fall amiss, When I know what, and in whose power it is. [N]or want, the cause of man, shall make me groan, A Holy Hermit is a mind alone. Doth not experience teach us all we can, To work our selves into a glorious man? Love's but an exhalation to best eyes The matter spent, and then the fools fire dies? Were I in love, and could that bright Star bring Increase to Wealth, Honor, and every thing: Were she as perfect good, as we can aim, The first was so, and yet she lost the Game. My Mistriss then be knowledge and fair truth; So I enjoy all beauty and all youth, And though to time her Lights, and Laws she lends, She knows no Age, that to corruption bends. Friends promises may lead me to believe, But he that [is] his own friend, knows to live. Affliction, when I know it is but this, A deep allay, whereby man tougher is To [b]ear the hammer, and the deeper still, We still arise more image of his Will. Sickness, an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light And death, at longest but another night. Man is his own Star, and that soul that can Be honest, is the only perfect man.