ACT III.

SCENE I.

Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.

Enter Beatrice, Crispinella and Nurse Putifer.

Put. Nay, good child o’ love, once more Master Freevill’s sonnet o’ the kiss you gave him.

Bea. Sha’t, good nurse:

[Sings.

Purest lips, soft banks of blisses, Self alone deserving kisses; O give me leave to, &c.

Cri. Pish! sister Beatrice, prithee read no more; my stomach o’ late stands against kissing extremely.

Bea. Why, good Crispinella? 9

Cri. By the faith and trust I bear to my face, ’tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies: body o’ beauty! ’tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies: any fellow that has but one nose on his face, and standing collar and skirts also lined with taffety sarcenet, must salute us on the lips as familiarly—Soft skins save us! there was a stub-bearded John-a-Stile with a ployden’s face saluted me last day and struck his bristles through my lips; I ha’ spent ten shillings in pomatum since to skin them again. Marry, if a nobleman or a knight with one lock visit us, though his unclean goose-turd-green[53] teeth ha’ the palsy, his nostrils smell worse than a putrified marrowbone, and his loose beard drops into our bosom, yet we must kiss him with a cursy, a curse! for my part, I had as lieve they would break wind in my lips. 25

Bea. Fie, Crispinella, you speak too broad.

Cri. No jot, sister; let’s ne’er be ashamed to speak what we be not ashamed to think: I dare as boldly speak venery as think venery.

Bea. Faith, sister! I’ll begone if you speak so broad.

Cri. Will you so? Now bashfulness seize you, we pronounce boldly, robbery, murder, treason, which deeds must needs be far more loathsome than an act which is so natural, just, and necessary, as that of procreation; you shall have an hypocritical vestal virgin speak that with close teeth publicly, which she will receive with open mouth privately; for my own part, I consider nature without apparel; without disguising of custom or compliment, I give thoughts words, and words truth, and truth boldness; she whose honest freeness makes it her virtue to speak what she thinks will make it her necessity to think what is good. I love no prohibited things, and yet I would have nothing prohibited by policy, but by virtue; for as in the fashion of time those books that are call’d in are most in sale and request,[54] so in nature those actions that are most prohibited are most desired. 47

Bea. Good quick sister, stay your pace; we are private, but the world would censure you, for truly severe modesty is women’s virtue.

Cri. Fie, fie! virtue is a free, pleasant, buxom quality. I love a constant countenance well; but this froward ignorant coyness, sour austere lumpish uncivil privateness, that promises nothing but rough skins and hard stools; ha! fie on’t, good for nothing but for nothing. Well, nurse, and what do you conceive of all this? 57

Put. Nay, faith, my conceiving days be done. Marry for kissing, I’ll defend that; that’s within my compass; but for my own part, here’s Mistress Beatrice is to be married with the grace of God; a fine gentleman he is shall have her, and I warrant a strong; he has a leg like a post, a nose like a lion, a brow like a bull, and a beard of most fair expectation: this week you must marry him, and I now will read a lecture to you both, how you shall behave yourselves to your husbands the first month of your nuptial; I ha’ broke my skull about it, I can tell you, and there is much brain in it.

Cri. Read it to my sister, good nurse, for I assure you I’ll ne’er marry. 70

Put. Marry, God forfend, what will you do then?

Cri. Faith, strive against the flesh. Marry! no, faith, husbands are like lots in the lottery: you may draw forty blanks before you find one that has any prize in him. A husband generally is a careless, domineering thing, that grows like coral, which as long as it is under water is soft and tender, but as soon as it has got his branch above the waves is presently hard, stiff, not to be bowed but burst; so when your husband is a suitor and under your choice, Lord how supple he is, how obsequious, how at your service, sweet lady! Once married, got up his head above, a stiff, crooked, nobby, inflexible tyrannous creature he grows; then they turn like water, more you would embrace the less you hold. I’ll live my own woman, and if the worst come to the worst, I had rather prove a wag than a fool. 86

Bea. O, but a virtuous marriage.

Cri. Virtuous marriage! there is no more affinity betwixt virtue and marriage than betwixt a man and his horse; indeed virtue gets up upon marriage sometimes, and manageth it in the right way; but marriage is of another piece, for as a horse may be without a man, and a man without a horse, so marriage, you know, is often without virtue, and virtue, I am sure, more oft without marriage. But thy match, sister—by my troth I think ’twill do well; he’s a well-shaped, clean-lipp’d gentleman, of a handsome, but not affected, fineness, a good faithful eye, and a well-humour’d cheek; would he did not stoop in the shoulders, for thy sake. See, here he is.

Enter Freevill and Tysefew.

Free. Good day, sweet! 100

Cri. Good morrow, brother! nay, you shall have my lip. Good morrow, servant!

Tyse. Good morrow, sweet life!

Cri. Life! dost call thy mistress life?

Tyse. Life! yes, why not life?

Cri. How many mistresses hast thou?

Tyse. Some nine.

Cri. Why then thou hast nine lives, like a cat.

Tyse. Mew, you would be taken up for that. 109

Cri. Nay, good, let me still sit; we low statures love still to sit, lest when we stand we may be supposed to sit.

Tyse. Dost not wear high cork shoes—chopines?[55]

Cri. Monstrous ones: I am, as many other are, pieced above and pieced beneath.

Tyse. Still the best part in the——

Cri. And yet all will scarce make me so high as one of the giants’[56] stilts that stalks before my Lord Mayor’s pageant:

Tyse. By the Lord, so I thought ’twas for something Mistress Joyce jested at thy high insteps. 121

Cri. She might well enough, and long enough, before I would be ashamed of my shortness: what I made or can mend myself I may blush at; but what nature put upon me, let her be ashamed for me, I ha’ nothing to do with it. I forget my beauty.

Tyse. Faith, Joyce is a foolish bitter creature.

Cri. A pretty mildewed wench she is.

Tyse. And fair——

Cri. As myself! 130

Tyse. O you forget your beauty now.

Cri. Troth, I never remember my beauty, but as some men do religion,—for controversy’s sake.

Bea. A motion,[57] sister.

Cri. Nineveh,[58] Julius Cæsar, Jonas, or the destruction of Jerusalem.

Bea. My love, hear.

Cri. Prithee call him not love, ’tis the drab’s phrase: nor sweet honey, nor my coney, nor dear duckling, they[59] are citizen terms, but call him—— 140

Bea. What?

Cri. Anything.—What’s the motion?

Bea. You know this night our parents have intended solemnly to contract us, and my love, to grace the feast, hath promised a masque.

Free. You’ll make one, Tysefew, and Caqueteur shall fill up a room.

Tyse. ’Fore heaven, well-remember’d; he borrowed a diamond of me last night to grace his finger in your visitation. The lying creature will swear some strange thing on it now. 151

Enter Caqueteur.

Cri. Peace, he’s here; stand close, lurk.

Caq. Good morrow, most dear, and worthy to be most wise. How does my mistress?

Cri. Morrow, sweet servant; you glister,—prithee, let’s see that stone.

Caq. A toy, lady, I bought to please my finger.

Cri. Why, I am more precious to you than your finger.

Caq. Yes, or than all my body, I swear. 160

Cri. Why, then let it be bought to please me; come, I am no professed beggar.

Caq. Troth, mistress! Zoons! Forsooth, I protest!

Cri. Nay, if you turn Protestant for such a toy.

Caq. In good deed, la; another time I’ll give you a——

Cri. Is this yours to give?

Caq. O God! forsooth mine, quoth you; nay, as for that—— 170

Cri. Now I remember, I ha’ seen this on my servant Tysefew’s finger.

Caq. Such another.

Cri. Nay, I am sure this is it.

Caq. Troth, ’tis forsooth. The poor fellow wanted money to pay for supper last night, and so pawn’d it to me; ’tis a pawn, i’faith, or else you should have it.

Tyse. Hark ye, thou base lying—How dares thy impudence hope to prosper? Were’t not for the privilege of this respected company, I would so bang thee. 180

Cri. Come hither, servant. What’s the matter betwixt you two?

Caq. Nothing; but hark you, he did me some uncivil discourtesies last night; for which, because I should not call him to account, he desires to make me any satisfaction. The coward trembles at my very presence; but I ha’ him on the hip; I’ll take the forfeit on his ring.

Tyse. What’s that you whisper to her? 189

Caq. Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn’d, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation.

Cri. Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o’ the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring.

Tyse. How now, ye base poltroon.

Caq. Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries.

Tyse. Contraries! 200

Caq. She jests—faith, only jests.

Cri. Sir, I’ll no more o’ your service—you are a child—I’ll give you to my nurse.

Put. And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him.

Caq. I offer my service, forsooth.

Tyse. Why, so: now, every dog has his bone to gnaw on.

Free. The masque holds, Master Caqueteur.

Caq. I am ready, sir. Mistress, I’ll dance with you, ne’er fear—I’ll grace you. 211

Put. I tell you, I can my singles and my doubles, and my trick o’ twenty[60]—my carantapace—my traverse forward—and my falling back, yet, i’faith.

Bea. Mine! The provision for the night is ours. Much must be our care; till night we leave you; I am your servant, be not tyrannous. Your virtue won me; faith, my love’s not lust; Good, wrong me not; my most fault is much trust.

Free. Until night only, my heart be with you. Farewell, sister. 221

Cri. Adieu, brother. Come on, sister, for these sweetmeats.

Free. Let’s meet and practise presently.

Tyse. Content; we’ll but fit our pumps. Come, ye pernicious vermin.

[Exeunt all but Freevill.

Enter Malheureux.

Free. My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon? How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence?

Mal. The eldest child of nature ne’er beheld So damn’d a creature. 230

Free. What! In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas? Which way bears the tide?

Mal. Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction.

Free. What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61]

Mal. ’Tis well; we both may jest; I ha’ been tempted to your death.

Free. What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241

Mal. Devilishly mad.

Free. As most assured of my second love?

Mal. Right.

Free. She would have had this ring.

Mal. Ay, and this heart; and in true proof you were slain, I should bring her this ring, from which she was assured You would not part until from life you parted; For which deed, and only for which deed, I should possess her sweetness. 251

Free. O! bloody villains! Nothing is defamed but by his proper self. Physicians abuse remedies; lawyers spoil the law; and women only shame women. You ha’ vow’d my death?

Mal. My lust, not I, before my reason would; yet I must use her. That I, a man of sense, should conceive endless pleasure in a body whose soul I know to be so hideously black! 259

Free. That a man at twenty-three should cry, O sweet pleasure! and at forty-three should sigh, O sharp pox! But consider man furnished with omnipotence, and you overthrow him; thou must cool thy impatient appetite. ’Tis fate, ’tis fate!

Mal. I do malign my creation that I am subject to passion. I must enjoy her.

Free. I have it, mark. I give a masque to-night To my love’s kindred; in that thou shalt go. In that we two make show of falling out. Give seeming challenge—instantly depart, 270 With some suspicion to present fight. We will be seen as going to our swords; And after meeting, this ring only lent, I’ll lurk in some obscure place, till rumour (The common bawd to loose suspicions) Have feign’d me slain, which (in respect myself Will not be found, and our late seeming quarrel) Will quickly sound to all as earnest truth. Then to thy wench; protest me surely dead; Show her this ring, enjoy her, and, blood cold, 280 We’ll laugh at folly.

Mal. O but think of it!

Free. Think of it! come away; virtue, let sleep thy passions; What old times held as crimes, are now but fashions.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

House of Master Burnish, the jeweller.

Enter Master Burnish[62] and Lionel. Master Mulligrub, with a standing cup in his hand, and an obligation[63] in the other. Cocledemoy stands at the other door, disguised like a French pedlar, and overhears them.

Mul. I am not at this time furnish’d; but there’s my bond for your plate.

Bur. Your bill had been sufficient: y’are a good[64] man. A standing cup parcel-gilt[65] of thirty-two ounces, eleven pounds seven shillings, the first of July. Good plate—good man—good day—good all.

Mul. ’Tis my hard fortune; I will hang the knave. No, first he shall half rot in fetters in the dungeon—his conscience made despairful. I’ll hire a knave o’ purpose—shall assure him he is damn’d; and after see him with mine own eyes, hang’d without singing any psalm. Lord, that he has but one neck! 12

Bur. You are too tyrannous;—you’ll use me no further?

Mul. No, sir; lend me your servant, only to carry the plate home. I have occasion of an hour’s absence.

Bur. With easy consent, sir.—Haste and be careful.

[Exit Burnish.

Mul. Be very careful, I pray thee,—to my wife’s own hands.

Lio. Secure yourself, sir. 20

Mul. To her own hand!

Lio. Fear not, I have delivered greater things than this to a woman’s own hand.

Coc. Mounsier, please you to buy a fine delicate ball, sweet ball—a camphor ball?

Mul. Prithee, away!

[Exit Lionel.

Coc. Wun’[66] a ball to scour—a scouring ball—a ball to be shaved!

Mul. For the love of God! talk not of shaving. I have been shaved—mischief and a thousand devils seize him!—I have been shaved! 31

[Exit Mulligrub.

Coc. The fox grows fat when he is cursed—I’ll shave ye smoother yet. Turd on a tile stone! my lips have a kind of rheum at this bole. I’ll have’t—I’ll gargalise my throat with this vintner, and when I have done with him, spit him out. I’ll shark! Conscience does not repine. Were I to bite an honest gentleman, a poor grogaran poet, or a penurious parson that had but ten pigs’ tails in a twelvemonth, and, for want of learning, had but one good stool in a fortnight, I were damn’d beyond the works of supererogation; but to wring the withers of my gouty-barm’d spiggod-frigging jumbler of elements, Mulligrub, I hold it as lawful as sheep-shearing, taking eggs from hens, caudles from asses, or butter’d shrimps from horses—they make no use of them, were not provided for them. And, therefore, worshipful Cocledemoy, hang toasts! On, in grace and virtue to proceed, only beware, beware degrees. There be rounds in a ladder, and knots in a halter; ware carts, hang toasts, the common council has decreed it! I must draw a lot for the great goblet.

[Exit. 51

SCENE III.

A Tavern.

Enter Mistress Mulligrub, and Lionel with a goblet.

Mistress Mul. Nay, I pray you, stay and drink; and how does your mistress? I know her very well—I have been inward with her, and so has many more. She was ever a good, patient creature, i’faith! With all my heart, I’ll remember your master, an honest man. He knew me before I was married! An honest man he is, and a crafty. He comes forward in the world well, I warrant him; and his wife is a proper woman, that she is. Well, she has been as proper a woman as any in Cheap. She paints now, and yet she keeps her husband’s old customers to him still. In troth, a fine-faced wife, in a wainscot-carved seat,[67] is a worthy ornament to a tradesman’s shop, and an attractive, I warrant; her husband shall find it in the custom of his ware, I’ll assure him. God be with you, good youth; I acknowledge the receipt. [Exit Lionel.] I acknowledge all the receipt—sure, ’tis very well spoken—I acknowledge the receipt. Thus ’tis to have good education, and to be brought up in a tavern. I do keep as gallant and as good company, though I say it, as any she in London. Squires, gentlemen, and knights diet at my table, and I do lend some of them money; and full many fine men go upon my score, as simple as I stand here, and I trust them; and truly they very knightly and courtly promise fair, give me very good words, and a piece of flesh when time of year serves. Nay, though my husband be a citizen, and’s cap’s made of wool,[68] yet I ha’ wit, and can see my good as soon as another, for I have all the thanks; my silly husband, alas! he knows nothing of it; ’tis I that bear—’tis I that must bear a brain[69] for all.

Enter Cocledemoy.

Coc. Fair hour to you, mistress! 31

Mistress Mul. Fair hour!—fine term!—faith, I’ll score it up anon.—A beautiful thought to you, sir.

Coc. Your husband, and my master, Mr. Burnish,[70] has sent you a jole of fresh salmon, and they both will come to dinner to season your new cup with the best wine, which cup your husband entreats you to send back by me, that his arms may be graved a’ the side, which he forgot before it was sent.

Mistress Mul. By what token are you sent?—by no token? Nay, I have wit. 41

Coc. He sent me by the same token, that he was dry shaved this morning.

Mistress Mul. A sad token, but true. Here, sir, I pray you commend me to your master, but especially to your mistress. Tell them they shall be most sincerely welcome.

[Exit.

Coc. Shall be most sincerely welcome! Worshipful Cocledemoy, lurk close. Hang toasts! Be not ashamed of thy quality! Every man’s turd smells well in’s own nose. Vanish, foyst! 51

[Exit.

Re-enter Mistress Mulligrub, with servants and furniture for the table.

Mistress Mul. Come, spread these table diaper napkins, and—do you hear—perfume this parlour; does so smell of profane tobacco. I could never endure this ungodly tobacco, since one of our elders assured me, upon his knowledge, tobacco was not used in the congregation of the family of love. Spread, spread handsomely—Lord? these boys do things arsy-versy—you show your bringing up. I was a gentlewoman by my sister’s side—I can tell ye so methodically. Methodically! I wonder where I got that word? O! Sir Aminadab Ruth bad me kiss him methodically!—I had it somewhere, and I had it indeed. 63

Enter Master Mulligrub.

Mul. Mind, be not desperate; I’ll recover all. All things with me shall seem honest that can be profitable, He must ne’er winch, that would or thrive or save, To be call’d niggard, cuckold, cut-throat, knave!

Mistress Mul. Are they come, husband?

Mul. Who?—what?—how now? What feast towards in my private parlour? 70

Mistress Mul. Pray leave your foolery! What, are they come?

Mul. Come—who come?

Mistress Mul. You need not make’t so strange!

Mul. Strange?

Mistress Mul. Ay, strange. You know no man that sent me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me, and sent this jole of fresh salmon beforehand?

Mul. Peace—not I—peace! The messenger hath mistaken the house; let’s eat it up quickly before it be inquired for. Sit to it—some vinegar—quick! Some good luck yet. Faith, I never tasted salmon relish better! Oh! when a man feeds at other men’s cost! 83

Mistress Mul. Other men’s cost! Why, did not you send this jole of salmon?

Mul. No.

Mistress Mul. By Master Burnish’[71] man?

Mul. No.

Mistress Mul. Sending me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me? 90

Mul. No, no.

Mistress Mul. To season my new bowl?

Mul. Bowl!

Mistress Mul. And withal will’d me to send the bowl back.

Mul. Back!

Mistress Mul. That you might have your arms graved on the side?

Mul. Ha!

Mistress Mul. By the same token you were dry-shaven this morning before you went forth. 101

Mul. Pah! how this salmon stinks!

Mistress Mul. And thereupon sent the bowl back, prepar’d dinner—nay, and I bear not a brain.

Mul. Wife, do not vex me! Is the bowl gone?—is it deliver’d?

Mistress Mul. Deliver’d! Yes, sure, ’tis deliver’d.

Mul. I will never more say my prayers. Do not make me mad; ’tis common. Let me not cry like a woman. Is it gone? 110

Mistress Mul. Gone? God is my witness, I deliver’d it with no more intention to be cozen’d on’t than the child new born; and yet——

Mul. Look to my house! I am haunted with evil spirits! Hear me; do hear me! If I have not my goblet again, heaven! I’ll to the devil,—I’ll to a conjurer. Look to my house! I’ll raise all the wise men i’ the street.

[Exit.

Mistress Mul. Deliver us! What words are these? I trust in God he is but drunk, sure. 120

Re-enter Cocledemoy.

Coc. I must have the salmon too; worship[ful] Cocledemoy, now for the masterpiece. God bless thy neckpiece, and foutra!—Fair mistress, my master——

Mistress Mul. Have I caught you?—what, Roger?

Coc. Peace, good mistress. I’ll tell you all. A jest; a very mere jest: your husband only took sport to fright you:—the bowl’s at my master’s; and there is your husband, who sent me in all haste lest you should be over-frighted with his feigning, to come to dinner to him. 130

Mistress Mul. Praise heaven it is no worse.

Coc. And desired me to desire you to send the jole of salmon before, and yourself to come after to them; my mistress would be right glad to see you.

Mistress Mul. I pray carry it. Now thank them entirely. Bless me, I was never so out of my skin in my life! pray thank your mistress most entirely.

Coc. So now, figo! worshipful Mall Faugh and I will munch; cheaters and bawds go together like washing and wringing. 140

[Exit.

Mistress Mul. Beshrew his heart for his labour, how everything about[72] me quivers. What, Christian! my hat and aporn:[73] here, take my sleeves. And how I tremble! so I’ll gossip it now for’t, that’s certain; here has been revolutions and false fires indeed.

Enter Mulligrub.

Mul. Whither now?—what’s the matter with you now?—whither are you a-gadding?

Mistress Mul. Come, come, play the fool no more. Will you go?

Mul. Whither, in the rank name of madness—whither?

Mistress Mul. Whither?—why to Master Burnish,[74] to eat the jole of salmon. Lord, how strange you make it! 153

Mul. Why so?—why so?

Mistress Mul. Why so? Why, did not you send the self-same fellow for the jole of salmon that had the cup?

Mul. ’Tis well,—’tis very well.

Mistress Mul. And will’d me to come and eat it with you at the goldsmith’s?

Mul. O, ay, ay, ay,—art in thy right wits? 160

Mistress Mul. Do you hear?—make a fool of somebody else; and you make an ass of me, I’ll make an ox of you,—do ye see?

Mul. Nay, wife, be patient; for, look you, I may be mad, or drunk, or so; for my own part, though you can bear more than I, yet I can do well. I will not curse nor cry,[75] but Heaven knows what I think. Come, let’s go hear some music; I will never more say my prayers. Let’s go hear some doleful music. Nay, if Heaven forget to prosper knaves, I’ll go no more to the synagogue. Now I am discontented, I’ll turn sectary; that is fashion.

[Exeunt.