Act 2 — ACT II. SCENE I.
Reading edition
A room in Knavesby’s house.
Enter Knavesby and Mistress Knavesby.
Kna. Have you drunk[882] the eggs and muscadine I sent you?
Mis. Kna. No, they are too fulsome.
Kna. Away! you’re a fool!—How shall I begin to break the matter to her? [Aside.]—I do long, wife.
Mis. Kna. Long, sir?
Kna. Long infinitely: sit down; there is a penitential motion in me, which if thou wilt but second, I shall be one of the happiest men in Europe.
Mis. Kna. What might that be?
434Kna. I had last night one of the strangest dreams;
Methought I was thy confessor, thou mine,
And we reveal’d between us privately
How often we had wrong’d each other’s bed
Since we were married.
Mis. Kna. Came you drunk to bed?
There was a dream, with a witness!
Kna. No, no witness;
I dreamt nobody heard it but we two.
This dream, wife, do I long to put in act;
Let us confess each other; and I vow,
Whatever thou hast done with that sweet corpse
In the way of natural frailty, I protest,
Most freely I will pardon.
Mis. Kna. Go sleep again:
Was there e’er such a motion?
Kna. Nay, sweet woman,
And[883] thou’lt not have me run mad with my desire,
Be persuaded to’t.
Mis. Kna. Well, be it [at] your pleasure.
Kna. But to answer truly.
Mis. Kna. O, most sincerely.
Kna. Begin then; examine me first.
Mis. Kna. Why, I know not what to ask you.
Kna. Let me see: your father was a captain; demand of me how many dead pays[884] I am to answer for in the muster-book of wedlock, by the martial fault of borrowing from my neighbours.
Mis. Kna. Troth, I can ask no such foolish questions.
Kna. Why, then, open confession, I hope, dear wife, will merit freer pardon: I sinned twice with my laundress; and last circuit there was at Banbury 435a she-chamberlain that had a spice of purity, but at last I prevailed over her.
Mis. Kna. O, you are an ungracious husband!
Kna. I have made a vow never to ride abroad but in thy company: O, a little drink makes me clamber like a monkey! Now, sweet wife, you have been an out-lier too; which is best feed, in the forest or in the purlieus?
Mis. Kna. A foolish mind of you i' this.
Kna. Nay, sweet love, confess freely; I have given you the example.
Mis. Kna. Why, you know I went last year to Stourbridge fair.
Kna. Yes.
Mis. Kna. And being in Cambridge, a handsome scholar, one of Emmanuel College, fell in love with me.
Kna. O you sweet-breathed monkey!
Mis. Kna. Go hang; you are so boisterous.
Kna. But did this scholar shew thee his chamber?
Mis. Kna. Yes.
Kna. And didst thou like him?
Mis. Kna. Like him? O, he had the most enticingest straw-coloured beard, a woman with black eyes would have loved him like jet: he was the finest man, with a formal wit; and he had a fine dog, that sure was whelped i' the college, for he understood Latin.
Kna. Pooh waw! this is nothing, till I know what he did in’s chamber.
Mis. Kna. He burnt wormwood in’t, to kill the fleas i' the rushes.[885]
Kna. But what did he to thee there?
Mis. Kna. Some five-and-twenty years hence I 436may chance tell you: fie upon you; what tricks, what crotchets are these? have you placed any body behind the arras to hear my confession? I heard one in England got a divorce from ’s wife by such a trick: were I disposed now, I would make you as mad: you shall see me play the changeling.[886]
Kna. No, no, wife, you shall see me play the changeling: hadst thou confessed, this other suit I'll now prefer to thee would have been despatched in a trice.
Mis. Kna. And what’s that, sir?
Kna. Thou wilt wonder at it four-and-twenty years longer than nine days.
Mis. Kna. I would very fain hear it.
Kna. There is a lord o' the court, upon my credit, a most dear, honourable friend of mine, that must lie with thee: do you laugh? ’tis not come to that; you’ll laugh when you know who ’tis.
Mis. Kna. Are you stark mad?
Kna. On my religion, I have past my word for’t;
’Tis the Lord Beaufort; thou’rt made happy for ever;
The generous and bountiful Lord Beaufort:
You being both so excellent, ’twere pity
If such rare pieces should not be conferr’d
And sampled together.
Mis. Kna. Do you mean seriously?
Kna. As I hope for preferment.
Mis. Kna. And can you lose me thus?
Kna. Lose you? I shall love you the better: why, what’s the viewing any wardrobe or jewel-house, without a companion to confer their likings? yet, now I view thee well, methinks thou art a rare monopoly, and great pity one man should enjoy thee.
437Mis. Kna. This is pretty!
Kna. Let’s divorce ourselves so long, or think I am gone to th' Indies, or lie with him when I am asleep; for some Familists[887] of Amsterdam will tell you [it] may be done with a safe conscience: come, you wanton, what hurt can this do to you? I protest, nothing so much as to keep company with an old woman has sore eyes; no more wrong than I do my beaver when I try it thus; look, this is all; smooth, and keeps fashion still.
Mis. Kna. You’re one of the basest fellows!
Kna. I look’d for chiding;
I do make this a kind of fortitude
The Romans never dreamt of; and[888] ’twere known,
I should be spoke and writ of when I'm rotten,
For ’tis beyond example.
Mis. Kna. But, I pray, resolve[889] me;
Suppose this done, could you e’er love me after?
Kna. I protest I never thought so well of thee
Till I knew he took a fancy to thee; like one
That has variety of choice meat before him,
Yet has no stomach to’t until he hear
Another praise [it]: hark, my lord is coming!
[Knocking within.
Mis. Kna. Possible?
Kna. And my preferment comes along with him: be wise, mind your good; and to confute all reason in the world which thou canst urge against it, when ’tis done, we will be married again, wife, which some say is the only supersedeas about Limehouse to remove cuckoldry.
Enter Lord Beaufort.
L. Beau. Come, are you ready to attend me to the court?
438Kna. Yes, my lord.
L. Beau. Is this fair one your wife?
Kna. At your lordship’s service. I will look up some writings, and return presently. [Exit.
Mis. Kna. To see and[890] the base fellow do not leave ’s alone too! [Aside.
L. Beau. ’Tis an excellent habit this: where were you born, sweet?
Mis. Kna. I am a Suffolk woman, my lord.
L. Beau. Believe it, every country you breathe on is the sweeter for you: let me see your hand; the case is loath to part with the jewel [drawing off her glove]: fairest one, I have skill in palmistry.
Mis. Kna. Good my lord, what do you find there?
L. Beau. In good earnest, I do find written here, all my good fortune lies in your hand.
Mis. Kna. You’ll keep a very bad house then; you may see by the smallness of the table.[891]
L. Beau. Who is your sweetheart?
Mis. Kna. Sweetheart?
L. Beau. Yes; come, I must sift you to know it.
Mis. Kna. I am a sieve too coarse for your lordship’s manchet.[892]
L. Beau. Nay, pray you, tell me; for I see your husband is an unhandsome fellow.
Mis. Kna. O, my lord, I took him by weight, not fashion; goldsmiths' wives taught me that way of bargain, and some ladies swerve not to follow the example.
L. Beau. But will you not tell me who is your private friend?
Mis. Kna. Yes, and[890] you’ll tell me who is yours.
439L. Beau. Shall I shew you her?
Mis. Kna. Yes; when will you?
L. Beau. Instantly: look you, there you may see her.
[Leading her to a mirror.
Mis. Kna. I'll break the glass, ’tis now worth nothing.
L. Beau. Why?
Mis. Kna. You have made it a flattering one.
L. Beau. I have a summer-house for you, a fine place to flatter solitariness; will you come and lie there?
Mis. Kna. No, my lord.
L. Beau. Your husband has promised me; will you not?
Mis. Kna. I must wink, I tell you, or say nothing.
L. Beau. So, I'll kiss you and wink too [kisses her]; midnight is Cupid’s holyday.
Re-enter Knavesby.
Kna. By this time ’tis concluded.—Will you go, my lord?
L. Beau. I leave with you my best wishes till I see you.
Kna. This now, if I may borrow our lawyer’s phrase, is my wife’s imparlance; at her next appearance she must answer your declaration.
L. Beau. You follow it well, sir.
[Exeunt. Lord Beaufort and Knavesby.
Mis. Kna. Did I not know my husband of so base,
Contemptible [a] nature, I should think
'Twere but a trick to try me; but it seems
They’re both in wicked earnest; and methinks
Upon the sudden, I've a great mind to loathe
This scurvy, unhandsome way my lord has ta’en
440To compass me; why, ’tis for all the world
As if he should come to steal some apricocks
My husband kept for’s own tooth, and climb up
Upon his head and shoulders: I'll go to him;
He’ll put me into brave[893] clothes and rich jewels;
'Twere a very ill part in me not to go,
His mercer and his goldsmith else might curse me;
And what I'll do there, a' my troth, yet I know not.
Women, though puzzled with these subtle deeds,
May, as i' the spring, pick physic out of weeds.
[Exit.