ACTUS IV. SCENA IV.

Enter Andrew.

And. Are you come, old Master? Very good, your Horse is well set up; but ere you part, I'll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep—A Banquet—well, Potatoes and Eringoes, and, as I take it, Cantharides—Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I'll handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority. Now they begin to Bill; how he slavers her! Gramercy Lilly, she spits his kisses out, and now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that's a good Wench) and cries fair play above board. Who are they in the corner? As I live, a covy of Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o'th' Company of Horners; there's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one—Sure 'tis no Anthem, nor no borrow'd Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will listen— [A Song. This was never penn'd at Geneva, the Note's too sprightly. So, so, the Musick's paid for, and now what follows? O that Monsieur Miramont would but keep his word; here were a Feast to make him fat with laughter; at the most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, nor will he break, I hope—O are you come, Sir? the prey is in the Net, and will break in upon occasion.

Mir. Thou shalt rule me, Andrew. O th'infinite fright that will assail this Gentleman! the Quartans, Tertians, and Quotidians that will hang like Serjeants on his Worships shoulders? the humiliation of the flesh of this man, this grave, austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemn looks appear to me; and that severe face, that speaks chains and shackles? Now I take him in the nick, e're I have done with him, he had better have stood between two panes of Wainscot, and made his recantation in the Market, than hear me conjure him.

And. He must pass this way to th' only Bed I have; he comes, stand close.

Bri. Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So. Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee. Come, Wench, a kiss between each point; kiss close, it is a sweet Parenthesis.

Lil. Y'are merry, Sir.

Bri. Merry I will be anon, and thou shalt feel it, thou shalt, my Lilly.

Lil. Shall I air your Bed, Sir?

Bri. No, no; I'll use no Warming-pan but thine, Girl, that's all. Come kiss me again.

Lil. Ha'ye done yet?

Bri. No; but I will do, and do wonders, Lilly. Shew me the way.

Lil. You cannot miss it, Sir; you shall have a Cawdle in the morning for your Worship's breakfast.

Bri. How, i'th' morning, Lilly? th'art such a witty thing to draw me on. Leave fooling, Lilly, I am hungry now, and th'hast another Kickshaw, I must taste it.

Lil. 'Twill make you surfeit, I am tender of you: y'have all y'are like to have.

And. And can this be earnest?

Mir. It seems so, and she honest.

Bri. Have I not thy promise, Lilly?

Lil. Yes, and I have performed enough to a man of your years, this is truth; and you shall find, Sir, you have kiss'd and tous'd me, handl'd my leg and foot; what would you more, Sir? As for the rest, it requires youth and strength, and the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciatica's, and Cramps: You shall not curse me for taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir. Be good unto your self, y'have ta'ne already all you can take with ease; you are past threshing, it is a work too boisterous for you, leave such drudgery to Andrew.

Mir. How she jeers him!

Lil. Let Andrew alone with his own tillage, he's tough, and can manure it.

Bri. Y'are a quean, a scoffing, jeering quean.

Lil. It may be so, but I'm sure I'll ne'r be yours.

Bri. Do not provoke me, if thou do'st I'll have my Farm again, and turn thee out a begging.

Lil. Though you have the will, and want of honesty to deny your deed, Sir; yet I hope Andrew has got so much learning from my young Master, as to keep his own; at the worst I'll tell a short tale to the Judges, for what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on what terms you would revoke it.

Bri. Whore, thou dar'st not. Yield, or I'll have thee whipt: how my Bloud boils, as if't were o're a Furnace!

Mir. I shall cool it.

Bri. Yet, gentle Lilly, pity and forgive me, I'll be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend—

Lil. To avoid Suits in Law, I would grant a little; but should fierce Andrew know it, what would become of me?

And. A Whore, a Whore!

Bri. Nothing but well Wench, I shall put such a strong Bit in his mouth, as thou shall ride him how thou wilt, my Lilly; nay, he shall hold the door, as I will work him, and thank thee for the Office.

Mir. Take heed, Andrew, these are shrewd temptations.

And. Pray you know your Cue, and second me, Sir. By your Worship's favour.

Bri. Andrew!

And. I come in time to take possession of th'Office you assign me; hold the door! alas, 'tis nothing for a simple man to stay without, when a deep understanding holds conference within, say with his Wife: a trifle, Sir. I know I hold my Farm by Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'th' Soil, Sir. Lilly is a Weft, a stray, she's yours to use, Sir, I claim no interest in her.

Bri. Art thou serious? speak, honest Andrew, since thou hast o'erheard us, and wink at small faults, man; I'm but a pidlar, a little will serve my turn; thou'lt find enough when I've my belly full: Wilt thou be private and silent?

And. By all means, I'll only have a Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune, and the name of it shall be Justice Trap; it will sell rarely with your Worships name, and Lilly's on the top.

Bri. Seek not the ruine o' my reputation, Andrew.

And. 'Tis for your credit, Monsieur Brisac, printed in Capital Letters, then pasted upon all the posts in Paris.

Bri. No mercy, Andrew?

And. O, it will proclaim you from the City to the Court, and prove Sport Royal.

Bri. Thou shalt keep thy Farm.

Mir. He does afflict him rarely.

And. You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, the vizard of his hypocrisie pull'd of[f] to the Judge criminal.

Bri. O I am undone.

And. He's put out of Commission with disgrace, and held uncapable of bearing Office ever hereafter. This is my revenge, and this I'll put in practice.

Bri. Do but hear me.

And. To bring me back from my Grammar to my Hornbook, it is unpardonable.

Bri. Do not play the Tyrant; accept of composition.

Lil. Hear him, Andrew.

And. What composition?

Bri. I'll confirm thy Farm, and add unto it a hundred Acres more, adjoyning to it.

And. Umb, this mollifies; but y'are so fickle, and will again deny this, there being no witness by.

Bri. Call any witness, I'll presently assure it.

And. Say you so? troth there's a friend of mine, Sir, within hearing, that's familiar with all that's past, his testimony will be authentical.

Bri. Will he be secret?

And. You may tie his tongue up, as you would do your purse-strings.

Bri. Miramont!

Mir. Ha-ha-ha!

And. This is my witness. Lord how you are troubled! sure you have an Ag[u]e, you shake so with choler: Here's your loving Brother, Sir, and will tell no body but all he meets, that you have eat a Snake, and are grown young, gamesome, and rampant.

Bri. Caught thus?

And. If he were one that would make jests of you, or plague ye, with making your Religious gravity ridiculous to your Neighbours, then you had some cause to be perplex'd.

Bri. I shall become discourse for Clowns and Tapsters.

And. Quick, Lilly, quick, he's now past kissing, between point and point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordial—Now put in, Sir.

Mir. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: let me see his face, wears he not a false beard? it cannot be Brisac that worthy Gentleman, the Pillar and the Patron of his Country; he is too prudent, and too cautelous, experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, he is the punisher, and not the doer; besides he's old and cold, unfit for Woman: This is some counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, some base abuser of my worthy Brother.

Bri. Open the doors; will ye imprison me? are ye my Judges?

Mir. The man raves! this is not judicious Brisac: yet now I think on't, h'has a kind of Dog look like my Brother, a guilty hanging face.

Bri. I'll suffer bravely, do your worst, do, do.

Mir. Why, it's manly in you.

Bri. Nor will I rail nor curse, you slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you; but all the torments that e're fell on men, that fed on mischief, fall heavily on you all. [Exit.

Lil. You have given him a heat, Sir.

Mir. He will ride you the better, Lilly.

And. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.

Mir. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, Andrew, or I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, Lilly, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to Charles, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn together.

And. 'Twill be rare, Sir. [Exeunt.