Act 1 — SCENE II.

Enter two Boys, one with a Child in his Arms. Compass on the other side.

1 Boy. Jack, Who’s this?

2 Boy. O Jeminy! I’ll be hang’d if it ben’t Goodman Compass, that they said was dead three Years ago.

1 Boy. Od’s Life, and so it is!

Comp. O London! sweet London! Do I live to see thee once again? My Eyes are full of Brine for Joy. And if my dear Peggy be but living still, I shall cry ’em out.

1 Boy. Goodman Compass, I am glad to see you; You are welcome home.

Comp. Thank you, good Lad: Honest Jack here too? Why, thou art grown a little Man since I saw thee last: What, is that thy own, heh?

2 Boy. I am fain to keep it, you see, whoever got it; it may be other Mens Cases as well as mine.

Comp. Thou say’st true Jack: But whose pretty Knave is it?

2 Boy. My Dame’s where I live.

Comp. And not thy Master’s?

2 Boy. Nay, nay, I can’t tell that neither: My Master loves it as well as if it were his own, and for ought I see better than my Dame.

Comp. A very good Lad by my Troth!

2 Boy. But, Goodman Compass, I can tell you News, Your Wife has a brave Boy too of her own, not above a Quarter old, as big as two of this.

Comp. Ha! say’st thou so, Jack? Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth I am heartily glad to hear it: I’ll give thee a dozen of Ale, and thy News be true, Boy.

1 Boy. I assure you ’tis very true: All your Neighbours can tell you the same.

Comp. Ha, ha, ha! But a Quarter old, and so lusty, say you? What plaguy thundering Boys are got now-a-days: I Gad, I shall split my Sides with Laughing; Ha, ha, ha.—But Jack, I have been loth to ask thee all this while, for fear of ill News, how does my Wife?

2 Boy. O never better, nor ever so lusty and handsome—And truly she wears better Clothes than she was wont, especially on Holy-days: she has Silk-Gowns, and Lac’d-Petticoats, and fine Holland-Smocks too, they say, that have seen ’em: And some of our Neighbours say, they were taken up in Cheap.

Comp. Like enough, Jack; and there they must be paid for—Well, good Lads, go and tell my Wife the joyful Tidings of my Return.

2 Boy. That I will with all my Heart, for she heard you were dead long ago.

1 Boy. Nay, I’ll go along with you Jack.

2 Boy. Come then. [Exeunt 2 Boys.

Comp. Well, Peggy, if I am one of the Livery, I thank thee for it: The Cuckolds are the greatest Company in all the City: And we have more Aldermen among us, than all the other put them together.

Enter Peg, Compass’s Wife.

Peg. O my dear sweet Honey-suckle! Art thou alive? I am glad to see thee with all my Heart and Soul, so I am. [Runs and kisses him.

Comp. O, ho! good Spouse, give me leave to shed a few pearly Tears; the Fountain of Love will have its Course: And thô I cannot Sing at first sight, yet I can Cry you see. I am as it were new come into the World; and Children Cry before they Laugh, a long time you know.

Peg. Yes; and so thou art new born indeed to me, my Numpy; for I was told you were dead long since, and never thought to see this dear sweet Face of thine again: I heard thou wert div’d to the bottom of the Sea, and that you never did intend to see poor Peggy more.

Comp. He, he, he, I was going down, as you say Peg, but I thought better on’t, and turn’d back: I heard an ill Report of my Neighbours there; the devouring Sharks, and other Sea-Monsters, whose Company, to tell you the Truth, I did not like; and therefore resolv’d to come home and bide with thee my Girl—Come kiss thy poor Hubby, kiss me I say, for Sorrow begins to ebb apace.

Peg. A thousand, thousand Welcomes home dear Numpy!

Comp. An Ocean of Thanks, kind Peggy: Well, and how goes all at Home? What Lank still, poor Peg? Wil’t ne’re be full Sea at our Wharf?

Peg. Alas, Husband, what do you mean?

Comp. A Lass, is it, or a Lad, Wench? I shou’d be glad of both; I look’d for a pair of Compasses long afore now.

Peg. What, and you from home, Love?

Comp. I from home? Why thô I was from home, and other of our Neighbours from home, does that follow that every body else is from home?

Peg. I am pleased you are so merry, Husband.

Comp. Merry, nay I’ll be merrier yet; why shou’d I be sorry? I hope my Boy’s well, is he not? Od’s fish, I look for another by this Time.

Peg. Boy, what Boy, Deary?

Comp. What Boy! why the Boy I got when I came home in the Cock-boat one Night, about a Year ago; You have not forgotten it, I hope, I think I left behind me for a Boy, and a Boy I look for.

Peg. I find he knows all—What shall I do? [Aside.] O dear Husband, pray pardon me. [Kneels.]

Comp. Pardon thee; why I hope thou hast not made away with my Boy, hast thou? Od’s death I’ll hang thee, if there were never a Whore more in London, if thou hast.

Peg. O no; but your long Absence, and the Rumour of your Death, [Cries.] made me think I might venture.

Comp. Venture, quoth a, I can’t blame thee, Peg; for Wapping, if it were twice Wapping, can’t hold out always, no more than Redriff, Limehouse or Shadwel, nay or the strongest Suburbs about London; and when it comes to that, wo be to the City too, Girl.

Peg. Consider, Husband, I’m but a Woman, neither the first or last that have done the same, and truly I won’t deny but I have a Child.

Comp. Have you so? And what by Consequence must I have then, I pray?

Peg. If you’l forgive me this Time, it shall be so no more, indeed and indeed, now.

Comp. Well, well. I will forgive thee, Peg, upon this Condition, that you tell me who it was that fell foul aboard thee, and sprung this Leak in thee.

Peg. O dear Husband!

Comp. Nay, no Excuses, for I must know.

Peg. Why then truly it was Mr. Venter the Merchant.

Comp. I am beholding to him, and wou’d requite his Civility, if his Wife were but as willing, thô he be one of our Merchants at Sea, he shall give me leave to be Owner at home; and where is my Boy? what, shan’t I see him?

Peg. Yes if you please, good Husband: He’s nurs’d at Bednal green; ’tis now too late, to Morrow will be better.

Comp. Come then we’l home and to bed.

Enter Justice Merryman, Mr. Venter, Spruce, Mrs. Venter and Clara.

Mer. Was the like ever known, that a Bridegroom shou’d absent himself on his Wedding-Day?

Mr. Ven. ’Tis somewhat strange indeed.

Mer. And the Bride too my Daughter, she’s out of the way: Why what shou’d be the meaning of all this, Od’s bobs I can’t tell?

Mrs. Ven. Perhaps they’r busy Brother, privately conferring Notes together: You can’t tell but that the young Man may have a stomach to his Supper, and fall too unawares, and we ne’re the wiser.

Spr. Od’s nigs, very true; what wou’d you say then Sir, if they shou’d be stol’n away, and a-bed together seriously?

Mer. What wou’d I say? marry I wou’d say, Speed ’em well: And if no worse News ever comes to me, I’ll be hang’d if e’re I cry’d for’t.

Enter Nurse.

How now, what’s the Business with you?

Nurse. Business enough, Forsooth; for I have the strangest Tydings!

Mer. Of any One that’s lost, Woman?

Nurse. No forsooth, of One that’s found again, an’t please you.

Mer. O, he was lost then it seems.

Mr. Ven. Her Business is with me, I believe Brother; is it not, Woman?

Nurse. Yes, Sir.

Mr. Ven. Come hither then, [Nurse whispers Mr. Venter.] How, return’d?

Nurse. Yes indeed, Sir, and all discovered.

Mr. Ven. Ah Curse on the Wind that blew him ashore.

Nurse. Aye, so say I Sir, and did not sink him when he was going.

Mr. Ven. Well, well, be sure you do not let him come near the Child.

Nurse. I warrant you, Sir, if you charge me to the contrary.

Mr. Ven. Yes, I do strictly charge you as you tender my Displeasure.

Nurse. Well then let me alone—Besides, Sir, he intends to come to morrow morning with his Wife and see him.

Mr. Ven. I’ll meet him there; and if he chance to be there before me, be sure to keep the Child safe, and not let him touch it.

Nurse. I warrant you, let me alone. [Exit Nurse.

Enter Summerfield and Arabella.

Mer. So, so, Heaven be praised, they are not both lost I see, here’s the Bride, my Daughter, come again.

Ara. Father, and Gentlemen, I desire ye to treat this Stranger here with all Respect and Generosity; He’s a loving Kinsman of my Bonvile’s who kindly came to congratulate our Wedding.

Mer. Sir, you are heartily welcome. Od’s bobs you are.

Mr. Ven. Welcome to all of us.

Spruce. Seriously, Sir, and so you are.

Mer. But where’s the Bridegroom, Girl? Od’s bobs we’re all at a Nonplus here, at a stand, quite out; the Musicks ceas’d, and we all look as thô there were neither a light Heart or Heel among us; nay, my Cousin Clara too as cloudy as on a washing Day.

Clara. ’Tis then because you will not dance with me, Sir.

Ara. ’Tis I alone have cause to be sad, if this Day’s Happiness cou’d admit of any; But I’ve long reason’d with my pressing Thoughts, and from them drawn some Symptoms of Relief. Suppose this Day hath long since appointed by my dear Bonvile, to meet some Foe, and right his injur’d Reputation: Nay, say he fights, alas! Why shou’d I fear, when all the Powers above, that guard true Love and Innocence, will never see him fall.

Mer. Prethee peace, good Girl hold thy tongue; Od’s bobs thou’lt make us all Cowards, to hear a Woman preach up Valour thus.

Ara. Well, Sir, I have done: But pray entertain this Gentleman kindly for my sake. Indeed I was afraid when I saw him first.

Sum. Ha! what does she say? Od’s Death she’l tell!

Ara. Being in search of my dear Bonvile, I had quite lost my Way when he most opportunely came unto my Aid, and gave me many marks of his Esteem in my distress of Fears; nay more than this, which I’ll declare at large.

Sum. Death and Hell, she’l betray me.

Ara. Well, Gentlemen, since the Bridegroom’s absent, I must supply his Place: Come, when I have waited on you to your Pleasure, I will return [To Summerfield.] to you, Sir, we must discourse more of my Bonvile yet. [Exeunt all but Summerfield.]

Manet Summerfield solus.

Sum. What a trembling Trade’s this, when Conscience, that shou’d be our only Guide, flies and leaves us to our accusing Guilt. A Thief! the very Name and Thought chills my Blood, and makes me tremble like an Ague-fit. A Dog, nay every Bough that moves, puts us in fear of present Apprehension. Sure I shall never thrive on this Trade: Perhaps I need take no further Care, I may be now near to my Journey’s End, or at least in a fair way to Newgate, and from thence to Tyburn, the only Place that we poor Rogues can claim for an Inheritance. Trust a Woman, and with a Matter of such Importance, what a simple Dog am I? I cou’d find in my Heart to run away: And that were base to run from a woman; I can lay claim to nothing but her Vows, and those the Women seldom or never mind.

Enter Arabella.

Ara. So, Sir, now you shall find a Woman as good as her Promise; Here are 20 Pieces, the full Value, on my Life, of what they cost.

Sum. Pray, Madam, do not thus suspend my doubtful Soul; but if you do design to insnare my Life, speak, speak freely: Or if the Constable be at the Door, let him shew his Staff of Authority, perhaps I may corrupt him with a Bribe.

Ara. How! base ungrateful Man, do you suspect my Faith? Nay then, Father, Uncle, and Gentlemen, where are you?

Enter all as before.

Mer. How now, how now! What’s the matter, Girl?

Ara. For shame, will you not entertain your Kinsman here a little better: you leave him here alone, as thô you despised his Company.

Mer. Is that all? I thought the Bridegroom had been return’d: Sir, pray pardon this Rudeness; But indeed I had quite forgot you, quite forgot you, as I hope to be sav’d: But what makes you tremble, Sir, are you ill dispos’d.

Ara. Think you he hath not reason to be ill-disposed at this cold [Aside to Justice Merryman.] Entertainment? for my part I blush for shame.

Spr. Come pray, Sir, shake off this Dulness, and participate of our Mirth, Od’s nigs do.

Sum. I am very well, Sir, I thank you, only the Gentleman is a little under a Mistake.

Mer. It may be so, Ay, ay, it may be so; I vow I thought you had trembled, but I believe it might be my own Hand; you must pardon me, I was stiffer once.

Sum. Sir, your humble Servant.

Mer. But, Gentlemen, what think you of an Adventure?

Spr. Adventure whither?

Mer. Why, to the East-Indies? I have a Vessel, Gentlemen, called the Sea-Horse, bound thither, and to morrow I do expect her to sail. Now, Gentlemen, if you’l venture, ye shall have fair Dealing, that I’ll promise you. And for the French, you need not fear them, for she is a smart new Vessel: Nay, she hath a Letter of Mart too, and twenty brave roaring Boys on both Sides her, Starboard and Larboard: And I intend to go as far as Marget down with her, ’twill be as good as Physick to me.

Spr. A very good Motion, Sir, I begin, there’s my ten Pieces.

Sum. And, Sir, if a proffer’d Love may be accepted, be pleased to take my ten Pieces with you.

Mer. Your’s above all the rest, Sir.

Ara. That’s kindly said, Sir, and I thank you: Now pray venture Ten more for my sake.

Sum. Alas, Madam, it’s a younger Brother’s Portion.

Ara. At my Request, Sir, venture the other Ten; if you want, I’ll supply you with as many more.

Sum. With all my Heart then: Come, Sir, if you please, I’ll double mine: So now she’s got her Gold again, and I am now no Thief, (aside) Sir, I have a Suit to you, [To Merryman.

Mer. You may command it, for I am always at your Service: But pray your Pleasure?

Sum. My Request, Sir, is, to have the Honour of keeping you Company to Sea, for I have a great desire to see Marget.

Mer. Sir, I shall be very happy in your good Company.

Ara. I hope you will be both better acquainted e’re you return; and by that time your Kinsman may be here to make you more welcome.

Exeunt.

The End of the Second ACT.