ACT I. SCENE I.

Yellowhammer’s Shop.

Enter Maudlin and Moll.

Maud. Have you played over all your old lessons o' the virginals?^[3]

Moll. Yes.

Maud. Yes? you are^[4] a dull maid a' late; methinks you had need have somewhat to quicken your green sickness—do you weep?—a husband: had not such a piece of flesh been ordained, what had us wives been good for? to make salads, or else cried up and down for samphire. To see the difference of these seasons! when I was of your youth, I was lightsome and quick two years before I was married. You fit for a knight’s bed! drowsy-browed, dull-eyed, drossy-spirited! I hold my life you have forgot your dancing: when was the dancer with you?

Moll. The last week.

Maud. Last week? when I was of your board^[5]

6He miss’d me not a night; I was kept at it;

I took delight to learn, and he to teach me;

Pretty brown gentleman! he took pleasure in my company:

But you are dull, nothing comes nimbly from you;

You dance like a plumber’s daughter, and deserve

Two thousand pound in lead to your marriage,

And not in goldsmith’s ware.

Enter Yellowhammer.

Yel. Now, what’s the din

Betwixt mother and daughter, ha?

Maud. Faith, small;

Telling your daughter, Mary, of her errors.

Yel. Errors? nay, the city cannot hold you, wife,

But you must needs fetch words from Westminster:

I ha'^[6] done, i’faith.

Has no attorney’s clerk been here a' late,

And chang’d his half-crown-piece his mother sent him,

Or rather cozen’d you with a gilded twopence,

To bring the word in fashion for her faults

Or cracks in duty and obedience?

Term ’em even so, sweet wife,

As there’s no woman made without a flaw;

Your purest lawns have frays, and cambrics bracks.^[7]

Maud. But ’tis a husband solders up all cracks.

Moll. What, is he come, sir?

Yel. Sir Walter’s come: he was met

At Holborn Bridge, and in his company

A proper fair young gentlewoman, which I guess,

By her red hair and other rank descriptions,

To be his landed niece, brought out of Wales,

7Which Tim our son, the Cambridge-boy, must marry:

’Tis a match of sir Walter’s own making,

To bind us to him and our heirs for ever.

Maud. We’re honour’d then, if this baggage would be humble,

And kiss him with devotion when he enters.

I cannot get her for my life

To instruct her hand thus, before and after,—

Which a knight will look for,—before and after:

I've told her still ’tis the waving of a woman

Does often move a man, and prevails strongly.

But, sweet, ha' you sent to Cambridge? has Tim word on’t?

Yel. Had word just the day after, when you sent him

The silver spoon to eat his broth in the hall

Amongst the gentlemen-commoners.

Maud. O, ’twas timely.

Enter Porter.

Yel. How now?

Por. A letter from a gentleman in Cambridge.

[Gives letter to Yellowhammer.

Yel. O, one of Hobson’s porters:^[8] thou art welcome.—

I told thee, Maud, we should hear from Tim. [Reads]

8Amantissimis carissimisque ambobus parentibus, patri

et matri.

Maud. What’s the matter?

Yel. Nay, by my troth, I know not, ask not me:

He’s grown too verbal; this learning's a great witch.

Maud. Pray, let me see it; I was wont to understand him. [Reads] Amantissimis carissimis, he has sent the carrier’s man, he says; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri et matri, pay the porter, or it makes no matter.

Por. Yes, by my faith, mistress; there’s no true construction in that: I have took a great deal of pains, and come from the Bell^[9] sweating. Let me come to’t, for I was a scholar forty years ago; ’tis thus, I warrant you: [reads] Matri, it makes no matter; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri, pay the porter; amantissimis carissimis, he’s the carrier’s man, and his name is Sims; and there he says true, forsooth, my name is Sims indeed; I have not forgot all my learning: a money-matter, I thought I should hit on’t.

Yel. Go, thou’rt an old fox; there’s a tester^[10] for thee.

[Gives money.

Por. If I see your worship at Goose-fair, I have a dish of birds for you.

Yel. Why, dost dwell at Bow?

9Por. All my lifetime, sir; I could ever say bo to a goose. Farewell to your worship. [Exit.

Yel. A merry porter!

Maud. How can he choose but be so,

Coming with Cambridge-letters from our son Tim?

Yel. What’s here? maximus diligo; faith, I must to my learned counsel with this gear,^[11] ’twill ne’er be discerned else.

Maud. Go to my cousin then, at Inns-of-court.

Yel. Fie, they are all for French, they speak no Latin.

Maud. The parson then will do it.

Yel. Nay, he disclaims it,

Calls Latin papistry, he will not deal with it.—

Enter a Gentleman.

What is’t you lack,^[12] gentleman?

Gent. Pray, weigh this chain.

[Gives chain, which Yellowhammer weighs.

Enter Sir Walter Whorehound, Welshwoman, and Davy.

Sir Wal. Now, wench, thou art welcome

To the heart of the city of London.

Welsh. Dugat a whee.

Sir Wal. You can thank me in English, if you list.

Welsh. I can, sir, simply.

Sir Wal. ’Twill serve to pass, wench;

’Twas strange that I should lie with thee so often,

To leave thee without English, that were unnatural.

I bring thee up to turn thee into gold, wench,

And make thy fortune shine like your bright trade;

A goldsmith’s shop sets out a city maid.—

Davy Dahanna, not a word.

Davy. Mum, mum, sir.

10Sir Wal. Here you must pass for a pure virgin.

Davy. Pure Welsh virgin!

She lost her maidenhead in Brecknockshire. [Aside.

Sir Wal. I hear you mumble, Davy.

Davy. I have teeth, sir;

I need not mumble yet this forty years.

Sir Wal. The knave bites plaguily!

Yel. What’s your price, sir?

Gent. A hundred pound, sir.

Yel. A hundred marks^[13] the utmost;

’Tis not for me else.—What, sir Walter Whorehound?

[Exit Gentleman.

Moll. O death! [Exit.

Maud. Why, daughter—Faith, the baggage [is]

A bashful girl, sir; these young things are shame-fac’d;

Besides, you have a presence, sweet sir Walter,

Able to daunt a maid brought up i' the city:

A brave court-spirit makes our virgins quiver,

And kiss with trembling thighs; yet see, she comes, sir.

Re-enter Moll.

Sir Wal. Why, how now, pretty mistress? now I've caught you:

What, can you injure so your time to stray

Thus from your faithful servant?

Yel. Pish, stop your words, good knight,—'twill make her blush else,—

Which wound^[14] too high for the daughters of the freedom.

Honour and faithful servant! they are compliments

For the worthies of Whitehall or Greenwich;

E'en plain, sufficient subsidy-words serve^[15] us, sir.

And is this gentlewoman your worthy niece?

11Sir Wal. You may be bold with her on these terms, ’tis she, sir,

Heir to some nineteen mountains.

Yel. Bless us all!

You overwhelm me, sir, with love and riches.

Sir Wal. And all as high as Paul’s.

Davy. Here’s work, i’faith! [Aside.

Sir Wal. How sayst thou, Davy?

Davy. Higher, sir, by far;

You cannot see the top of ’em.

Yel. What, man!—

Maudlin, salute this gentlewoman, our daughter,

If things hit right.

Enter Touchwood junior.

Touch. jun. My knight, with a brace of footmen,

Is come, and brought up his ewe-mutton to find

A ram at London; I must hasten it,

Or else pick^[16] a' famine; her blood is mine,

And that’s the surest. Well, knight, that choice spoil

Is only kept for me. [Aside.

Moll. Sir——

Touch. jun. Turn^[17] not to me till thou mayst lawfully; it but whets my stomach, which is too sharp-set already. Read that note carefully [giving letter to Moll]; keep me from suspicion still, nor know my zeal but in thy heart:

Read, and send but thy liking in three words;

I'll be at hand to take it.

Yel. O turn, sir, turn.^[18]

12A poor, plain boy, an university man;

Proceeds next Lent to a bachelor of art;

He will be call’d sir Yellowhammer then

Over all Cambridge, and that’s half a knight.

Maud. Please you, draw near

And taste the welcome of the city, sir.

Yel. Come, good sir Walter, and your virtuous niece here.

Sir Wal. ’Tis manners to take kindness.

Yel. Lead ’em in, wife.

Sir Wal. Your company, sir?

Yel. I'll give’t you instantly.

[Exeunt Maudlin, Sir W. Whorehound, Welchwoman, and Davy.

Touch. jun. How strangely busy is the devil and riches!

Poor soul! kept in too hard, her mother’s eye

Is cruel toward her, being to him.

'Twere a good mirth now to set him a-work

To make her wedding-ring; I must about it:

Rather than the gain should fall to a stranger,

’Twas honesty in me t' enrich my father. [Aside.

Yel. The girl is wondrous peevish. I fear nothing

But that she’s taken with some other love,

Then all’s quite dash’d: that must be narrowly look’d to;

We cannot be too wary in our children.— [Aside.

What is’t you lack?^[19]

Touch. jun. O, nothing now; all that I wish is present:

I'd have a wedding-ring made for a gentlewoman

With all speed that may be.

13Yel. Of what weight, sir?

Touch. jun. Of some half ounce, stand fair

And comely, with the spark of a diamond;

Sir, ’twere pity to lose the least grace.

Yel. Pray, let’s see it.

[Takes stone from Touchwood junior.

Indeed, sir, ’tis a pure one.

Touch. jun. So is the mistress.

Yel. Have you the wideness of her finger, sir?

Touch. jun. Yes, sure, I think I have her measure about me:

Good faith, ’tis down, I cannot shew it you;

I must pull too many things out to be certain.

Let me see—long and slender, and neatly jointed;

Just such another gentlewoman—that’s your daughter, sir?

Yel. And therefore, sir, no gentlewoman.

Touch. jun. I protest

I ne’er saw two maids handed more alike;

I'll ne’er seek farther, if you’ll give me leave, sir.

Yel. If you dare venture by her finger, sir.

Touch. jun. Ay, and I'll bide all loss, sir.

Yel. Say you so, sir?

Let us see.—Hither, girl.

Touch. jun. Shall I make bold

With your finger, gentlewoman?

Moll. Your pleasure, sir.

Touch. jun. That fits her to a hair, sir.

[Trying ring on Moll’s finger.

Yel. What’s your posy now, sir?

Touch. jun. Mass, that’s true: posy? i’faith, e’en thus, sir:

Love that’s wise

Blinds parents' eyes.

Yel. How, how? if I may speak without offence, sir,

14I hold my life——

Touch. jun. What, sir?

Yel. Go to,—you’ll pardon me?

Touch. jun. Pardon you? ay, sir.

Yel. Will you, i’faith?

Touch. jun. Yes, faith, I will.

Yel. You’ll steal away some man’s daughter: am I near you?

Do you turn aside? you gentlemen are mad wags!

I wonder things can be so warily carried,

And parents blinded so: but they’re serv’d right,

That have two eyes and were so dull a' sight.

Touch. jun. Thy doom take hold of thee! [Aside.

Yel. To-morrow noon

Shall shew your ring well done.

Touch. jun. Being so, ’tis soon.—

Thanks, and your leave, sweet gentlewoman.

Moll. Sir, you’re welcome.—

[Exit Touchwood junior.

O were I made of wishes, I went with thee! [Aside.

Yel. Come now, we’ll see how the rules^[20] go within.

Moll. That robs my joy; there I lose all I win.

[Aside. Exeunt.