Act 2 — [Scene I.][3820]

[Scene I.][3820]

Enter Lucre.

Luc. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew, forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a beggar,5 must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we have no part in their follies, why should we have part in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s pen’worth;10 let me see, half in half, true. I saw neither hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and was it not then better bestow’d upon his uncle than upon one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one knows what “aunt” stands for in the last translation.16

[Enter Servant.]

Now, Sir?

Ser. There ’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to speak with your worship.

Luc. I ’m at best leisure now; send him in20 to me.

[Exit Servant.]

Enter Host like a serving-man.

Host. Bless your venerable worship.

Luc. Welcome, good fellow.

Host. [Aside.] He calls me thief[3821] at first sight, yet he little thinks I am an host.

Luc. What ’s thy business with me?26

Host. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a doubtful point: ’t is indifferent, sir, to whom I come, for I know none, nor30 did my mistress direct me to any particular man, for she ’s as mere a stranger here as myself; only I found your worship within, and ’t is a thing I ever lov’d, sir, to be despatcht as soon as I can.35

Luc. [Aside.] A good, blunt honesty; I like him well.—What is thy mistress?

Host. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir. Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she intends to stay till a little40 term business be ended.

Luc. Her name, I prithee?

Host. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her lands; Widow Medler.

Luc. Medler? Mass, have I[3822] ne’er heard45 of that widow?

Host. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir; not the rich widow in Staffordshire?

Luc. Cuds[3823] me, there ’t is indeed; thou hast put me into memory. There ’s a widow indeed;50 ah, that I were a bachelor again!

Host. No doubt your worship might do much then; but she ’s fairly promist to a bachelor already.

Luc. Ah, what is he, I prithee?55

Host. A country gentleman too; one of whom your worship knows not, I ’m sure; h’as spent some few follies in his youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him home. My mistress loves him, sir, and love covers faults, you60 know, one Master Witgood, if ever you have heard of the gentleman.

Luc. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?

Host. That ’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like to bring him to a goodly seat65 yonder; four hundred a-year, by my faith.

Luc. But, I pray, take me with you.[3824]

Host. Ay, sir.

Luc. What countryman might this young Witgood be?70

Host. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.

Luc. [Aside.] My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I ’ll fetch out more of this, i’ faith: a simple country fellow, I ’ll work ’t out of him.—And is that gentleman, sayst thou, presently to marry her?76

Host. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; h’as the best card in all the bunch for ’t, her heart; and I know my mistress will be married ere she go down;[3825] nay, I ’ll swar that, for80 she ’s none of those widows that will go down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can tell you, sir.

Luc. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper gentleman, and a comely; I ’ll give85 her that gift.

Host. Why, does your worship know him, sir?

Luc. I know him? Does not all the world know him? Can a man of such exquisite90 qualities be hid under a bushel?

Host. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had charge given me to inquire after him.

Luc. Inquire of him? If I might counsel95 thee, thou shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him no more, but of me; I ’ll fit thee. I grant he has been youthful; but is he not now reclaim’d? Mark you that, sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton100 in her youth? If men be wags, are there not women wagtails?

Host. No doubt, sir.

Luc. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt with his own follies?105

Host. Why, very true, sir.

Luc. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal, and a worthy; who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble Witgood!110

Host. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him, can you resolve me, sir, what his living might be? My duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’ estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though I115 say it. Many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his sake; yet, though her love be so fixt, a man cannot tell whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir, he makes us believe he has lands and living.120

Luc. Who, young Master Witgood? Why, believe it, he has as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the place?

Host. Nay, I know not, i’ faith.

Luc. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have125 not forgot the name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and fair meadows: pax[3826] on ’t, I can ne’er hit of that place neither.—He? Why, he ’s Witgood of Witgood Hall; he an unknown thing!130

Host. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! Trust me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay mortgag’d to an uncle he has in town here.

Luc. Push! ’t is a tale, ’t is a tale.135

Host. I can assure you, sir, ’t was credibly reported to my mistress.

Luc. Why, do you think, i’ faith, he was ever so simple to mortgage his lands to his uncle, or his uncle so unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?141

Host. That was my saying still, sir.

Luc. Pooh, ne’er think it.

Host. Yet that report goes current.

Host. How, sir? what have I done!

Luc. Why, how now! In a swoon, man?

Host. Is your worship his uncle, sir?

Luc. Can that be any harm to you, sir?150

Host. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal it. What a beast was I to utter so much! Pray, sir, do me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat pull’d o’er my ears, an ’t should be known; for the truth is, an ’t155 please your worship, to prevent much rumour and many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly and privately.

Luc. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to do them injury? Must I needs160 say the knowledge of this marriage comes from thee? Am I a fool at fifty-four? Do I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it? There ’s a leash of angels[3827] for thee: come, let me woo thee speak where lie[3828] they?165

Host. So I might have no anger, sir——

Luc. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.

Host. I would not have it known, sir, it came by my means.

Luc. Why, am I a man of wisdom?170

Host. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I ’m a stranger to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire your worship’s ear.

Luc. [Aside.] This fellow ’s worth a matter of trust.—Come, sir. [Host whispers to him.] Why, now, thou ’rt an honest lad.—Ah,176 sirrah, nephew!

Host. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that doubtful point? I must come warily now.181

Host. The time shall cause my attendance.

Exit.

Luc. Fare thee well.—There ’s more true185 honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred of our cloak companions:[3829] I may well call ’em companions,[3829] for since blue[3830] coats have been turn’d into cloaks, we can scarce know the man from the master.—George!190

[Enter George.]

Geo. Anon, sir.

Luc. List hither: [whispers] keep the place secret: commend me to my nephew; I know no cause, tell him, but he might see his uncle.

Geo. I will, sir.195

Geo. [Aside.] Here’s a strange alteration; one day he must be turn’d out like a beggar, and now he must be call’d in like a knight.200

Exit.

Luc. Ah, sirrah, that rich widow!—four hundred a-year! beside, I hear she lays claim to a title of a hundred more. This falls unhappily that he should bear a grudge to me now, being likely to prove so rich. What205 is ’t, trow, that he makes me a stranger for? Hum,—I hope he has not so much wit to apprehend that I cozened him: he deceives me then. Good Heaven, who would have thought it would ever have come to this pass! yet210 he ’s a proper gentleman, i’ faith, give him his due,—marry, that ’s his mortgage; but that I ne’er mean to give him. I ’ll make him rich enough in words, if that be good: and if it come to a piece of money, I will not greatly stick215 for ’t; there may be hope some of the widow’s lands, too, may one day fall upon me, if things be carried wisely.

[Re-enter George.]

Now, sir, where is he?

Geo. He desires your worship to hold him220 excus’d; he has such weighty business, it commands him wholly from all men.

Luc. Were those my nephew’s words?

Geo. Yes, indeed, sir.

Luc. [Aside.] When men grow rich, they225 grow proud too, I perceive that. He would not have sent me such an answer once within this twelvemonth: see what ’t is when a man comes to his lands! Return to him again, sir; tell him his uncle desires his company for an hour;230 I ’ll trouble him but an hour, say; ’t is for his own good, tell him: and, do you hear, sir? put “worship” upon him. Go to do as I bid you; he ’s like to be a gentleman of worship very shortly.235

Geo. [Aside.] This is good sport, i’ faith.

Exit.

Luc. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now. Can he tell what I may do for him? Goodness may come from me in a minute, that comes not in seven year again. He knows my humour;240 I am not so usually good; ’t is no small thing that draws kindness from me, he may know that an he will. The chief cause that invites me to do him most good is the sudden astonishing of old Hoard, my adversary. How245 pale his malice will look at my nephew’s advancement! With what a dejected spirit he will behold his fortunes, whom but last day he proclaim’d rioter, penurious makeshift, despised brothel-master! Ha, ha! ’t will do me250 more secret joy than my last purchase, more precious comfort than all these widow’s revenues.

[Re-]enter [George, showing in] Witgood.

Now, sir?

Geo. With much entreaty he ’s at length255 come, sir.

[Exit.]

Luc. O, nephew, let me salute you, sir! Your ’re welcome, nephew.

Wit. Uncle, I thank you.

Luc. You ’ve a fault, nephew; you ’re a260 stranger here. Well, Heaven give you joy!

Wit. Of what, sir?

Wit. How could you hear of that, sir?

Wit. Not for any defect of love, I protest, uncle.271

Luc. Oh, ’t was unkindness, nephew! fie, fie, fie.

Wit. I am sorry you take it in that sense, sir.

Luc. Pooh, you cannot colour it, i’ faith,275 nephew.

Wit. Will you but hear what I can say in my just excuse, sir.

Luc. Yes, faith, will I, and welcome.279

Wit. You that know my danger i’ th’ city, sir, so well, how great my debts are, and how extreme my creditors, could not out of your pure judgment, sir, have wisht us hither.

Luc. Mass, a firm reason indeed.

Wit. Else, my uncle ’s house! why, ’t had285 been the only make-match.

Luc. Nay, and thy credit.

Wit. My credit? Nay, my countenance. Pish, nay, I know, uncle, you would have wrought it so by your wit, you would have made her believe in time the whole house had been mine.291

Luc. Ay, and most of the goods too.

Wit. La, you there! Well, let ’em all prate what they will, there ’s nothing like the bringing of a widow to one’s uncle’s house.295

Luc. Nay, let nephews be rul’d as they list, they shall find their uncle’s house the most natural place when all ’s done.

Wit. There they may be bold.

Luc. Life, they may do anything there,300 man, and fear neither beadle nor summoner. An uncle’s house! a very Cole-Harbour.[3831] Sirrah, I ’ll touch thee near now: hast thou so much interest in thy widow, that by a token thou couldst presently send for her?305

Wit. Troth, I think I can, uncle.

Luc. Go to, let me see that.

Wit. Pray, command one of your men hither, uncle.

Luc. George!310

[Re-enter George.]

Geo. Here, sir.

Luc. Attend my nephew. [Witgood whispers to George, who then goes out.]—[Aside.] I love a’ life[3832] to prattle with a rich widow; ’t is pretty, methinks, when our tongues go together:315 and then to promise much and perform little. I love that sport a’ life, i’ faith; yet I am in the mood now to do my nephew some good, if he take me handsomely. What, have you despatcht?320

Wit. I ha’ sent, sir.

Luc. Yet I must condemn you of unkindness, nephew.

Wit. Heaven forbid, uncle!

Luc. Yes, faith, must I. Say your debts be325 many, your creditors importunate, yet the kindness of a thing is all, nephew: you might have sent me close[3833] word on ’t, without the least danger or prejudice to your fortunes.329

Wit. Troth, I confess it, uncle; I was to blame there; but, indeed, my intent was to have clapt it up suddenly, and so have broke forth like a joy to my friends, and a wonder to the world. Beside, there ’s a trifle of a forty pound matter toward the setting of me forth;335 my friends should ne’er have known on ’t; I meant to make shift for that myself.

Luc. How, nephew? let me not hear such a word again, I beseech you. Shall I be beholding to you?340

Wit. To me? Alas, what do you mean, uncle?

Luc. I charge you, upon my love, you trouble nobody but myself.

Wit. You ’ve no reason for that, uncle.

Luc. Troth, I ’ll ne’er be friends with you while you live, an you do.346

Wit. Nay, an you say so, uncle, here ’s my hand; I will not do ’t.

Luc. Why, well said I there’s some hope in thee when thou wilt be rul’d. I’ll make it350 up fifty, faith, because I see thee so reclaim’d. Peace; here comes my wife with Sam, her t’ other husband’s son.

[Enter Mistress Lucre and Freedom.]

Wit. Good aunt.354

Free. Cousin Witgood, I rejoice in my salute; you ’re most welcome to this noble city, govern’d with the sword in the scabbard.

Wit. [Aside.] And the wit in the pommel.— Good Master Sam Freedom, I return the salute.

Luc. By the mass, she ’s coming, wife; let360 me see now how thou wilt entertain her.

Mis. L. I hope I am not to learn, sir, to entertain a widow; ’t is not so long since I was one myself.

[Enter Courtesan.]

Wit. Uncle——365

Luc. She’s come indeed.

Wit. My uncle was desirous to see you, widow, and I presumed to invite you.

Cour. The presumption was nothing, Master Witgood. Is this your uncle, sir?370

Luc. Marry am I, sweet widow; and his good uncle he shall find me; ay, by this smack that I give thee, thou ’rt welcome.—Wife, bid the widow welcome the same way again.374

Free. [Aside.] I am a gentleman now too by my father’s occupation, and I see no reason but I may kiss a widow by my father’s copy:[3834]—truly, I think the charter is not against it; surely these are the words, “The son once a gentleman may revel it, though his father were a dauber;”380 ’t is about the fifteenth page: I ’ll to her. [Offers to kiss the Courtesan, who repulses him.]

Luc. You ’re not very busy now; a word with thee, sweet widow.385

Free. Coads-nigs![3835] I was never so disgrac’d since the hour my mother whipt me.

Luc. Beside, I have no child of mine own to care for; she ’s my second wife, old, past bearing; clap sure to him, widow; he ’s like to be my heir, I can tell you.391

Cour. Is he so, sir?

Luc. He knows it already, and the knave ’s proud on ’t; jolly rich widows have been offer’d him here i’ th’ city, great merchants’ wives; and do you think he will once look upon396 ’em? Forsooth, he ’ll none. You are beholding to him i’ th’ country, then, ere we could be: nay, I ’ll hold a wager, widow, if he were once known to be in town, he would be presently400 sought after; nay, and happy were they that could catch him first.

Cour. I think so.

Luc. O, there would be such running to and fro, widow! He should not pass the streets for ’em: he ’d be took up in one great house or406 other presently: faugh! they know he has it, and must have it. You see this house here, widow; this house and all comes to him; goodly rooms, ready furnisht, ceil’d with plaster410 of Paris, and all hung about with cloth of arras.—Nephew.

Wit. Sir.

Luc. Show the widow your house; carry her into all the rooms, and bid her welcome.—You415 shall see, widow.—[Aside to Witgood.] Nephew, strike all sure above an thou beest a good boy,—ah!

Wit. Alas, sir, I know not how she would take it!420

Luc. The right way, I warrant t’ ee. A pox, art an ass? Would I were in thy stead! get you up, I am asham’d of you. [Exeunt Witgoodand Courtesan.] So! let ’em agree as they will now: many a match has been struck up in my house a’ this fashion’: let ’em try all manner426 of ways, still there ’s nothing like an uncle’s house to strike the stroke in. I ’ll hold my wife in talk a little.—Now Jenny, your son there goes a-wooing to a poor gentlewoman but of430 a thousand pound portion: see my nephew, a lad of less hope, strikes at four hundred a-year in good rubbish.

Mis. L. Well, we must do as we may, sir.

Luc. I ’ll have his money ready told for him again[3836] he come down. Let me see, too;—by436 th’ mass, I must present the widow with some jewel, a good piece a’ plate, or such a device; ’t will hearten her on well. I have a very fair standing cup; and a good high standing cup440 will please a widow above all other pieces.

Exit.

Mis. L. Do you mock us with your nephew?—I have a plot in my head, son;—i’ faith, husband, to cross you.

Free. Is it a tragedy plot, or a comedy plot, good mother?446

Mis. L. ’T is a plot shall vex him. I charge you, of my blessing, son Sam, that you presently withdraw the action of your love from Master Hoard’s niece.450

Free. How, mother?

Mis L. Nay, I have a plot in my head, i’ faith. Here, take this chain of gold, and this fair diamond: dog me the widow home to her lodging, and at thy best opportunity, fasten ’em455 both upon her. Nay, I have a reach:[3837] I can tell you thou art known what thou art, son, among the right worshipful, all the twelve companies.

Free. Truly, I thank ’em for it.460

Mis L. He? he ’s a scab to thee: and so certify her thou hast two hundred a-year of thyself, besides thy good parts—a proper person and a lovely. If I were a widow, I could find in my heart to have thee myself, son; ay,465 from ’em all.

Free. Thank you for your good will, mother: but, indeed, I had rather have a stranger: and if I woo her not in that violent fashion, that469 I will make her be glad to take these gifts ere I leave her, let me never be called the heir of your body.

Mis L. Nay, I know there ’s enough in you, son, if you once come to put it forth.474

Free. I ’ll quickly make a bolt or a shaft on ’t.[3838]

Exeunt.