ACT V. SCENE I.

A room in Allwit’s house.

Enter Allwit, Mistress Allwit, and Davy.

Mis. All. A misery of a house!

80Allwit. What shall become of us!

Davy. I think his wound be mortal.

Allwit. Think’st thou so, Davy?

Then am I mortal too, but a dead man, Davy;

This is no world for me, whene’er he goes;

I must e’en truss up all, and after him, Davy;

A sheet with two knots, and away.

Davy. O see, sir!

Enter Sir Walter Whorehound led in by two Servants, who place him in a chair.

How faint he goes! two of my fellows lead him.

Mis. All. O me! [Swoons.

Allwit. Heyday, my wife’s laid down too; here’s like to be

A good house kept, when we’re all together down:

Take pains with her, good Davy, cheer her up there;

Let me come to his worship, let me come.

Sir Wal. Touch me not, villain! my wound aches at thee,

Thou poison to my heart!

Allwit. He raves already;

His senses are quite gone, he knows me not.—

Look up, an’t like your worship; heave those eyes,

Call me to mind; is your remembrance left?

Look in my face; who am I, an’t like your worship?

Sir Wal. If any thing be worse than slave or villain,

Thou art the man!

Allwit. Alas, his poor worship’s weakness!

He will begin to know me by little and little.

Sir Wal. No devil can be like thee!

Allwit. Ah, poor gentleman,

Methinks the pain that thou endurest [mads thee].

Sir Wal. Thou know’st me to be wicked; for thy baseness

81Kept the eyes open still on all my sins;

None knew the dear account my soul stood charg’d with

So well as thou, yet, like hell’s flattering angel,

Wouldst never tell me on’t, lett’st me go on,

And join with death in sleep; that if I had not

Wak’d now by chance, even by a stranger’s pity,

I had everlastingly slept out all hope

Of grace and mercy.

Allwit. Now he’s worse and worse.

Wife, to him, wife; thou wast wont to do good on him.

Mis. All. How is it with you, sir?

Sir Wal. Not as with you,

Thou loathsome strumpet! Some good, pitying man,

Remove my sins out of my sight a little;

I tremble to behold her, she keeps back

All comfort while she stays. Is this a time,

Unconscionable woman, to see thee?

Art thou so cruel to the peace of man,

Not to give liberty now? the devil himself

Shews a far fairer reverence and respect

To goodness than thyself; he dares not do this,

But part[s] in time of penitence, hides his face;

When man withdraws from him, he leaves the place:

Hast thou less manners and more impudence

Than thy instructor? prithee, shew thy modesty,

If the least grain be left, and get thee from me:

Thou shouldst be rather lock’d many rooms hence

From the poor miserable sight of me,

If either love or grace had part in thee.

Mis. All. He’s lost for ever! [Aside.

Allwit. Run, sweet Davy, quickly,

And fetch the children hither; sight of them

Will make him cheerful straight. [Exit Davy.

Sir Wal. O death! is this

82A place for you to weep? what tears are those!

Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse

As long as they’re a-weeping, they work against me;

There’s nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow,

Thou weep’st for lust; I feel it in the slackness

Of comforts coming towards me; I was well

Till thou begann’st t' undo me: this shews like

The fruitless sorrow of a careless mother,

That brings her son with dalliance to the gallows,

And then stands by and weeps to see him suffer.

Re-enter Davy with Nick, Wat, and other children.

Davy. There are the children, sir, an’t like your worship,

Your last fine girl; in troth, she smiles;^[139]

Look, look, in faith, sir.

Sir Wal. O my vengeance!

Let me for ever hide my cursed face

From sight of those that darken^[140] all my hopes,

And stand^[141] between me and the sight of heaven!

Who sees me now, O too,^[142] and those so near me,

May rightly say I am o’ergrown with sin.

O, how my offences wrestle with my repentance!

It hath scarce breath;

Still my adulterous guilt hovers aloft,

And with her black wings beats down all my prayers

Ere they be half-way up. What’s he knows now

How long I have to live? O, what comes then?

My taste grows bitter; the round world all gall now;

Her pleasing pleasures now have^[143] poison’d me,

83Which I exchang’d my soul for:

Make way a hundred sighs at once for me!

Allwit. Speak to him, Nick.

Nick. I dare not, I'm afraid.

Allwit. Tell him he hurts his wounds, Wat, with making moan.

Sir Wal. Wretched, death of seven!^[144]

Allwit. Come, let’s be talking

Somewhat to keep him alive. Ah, sirrah Wat,

And did my lord bestow that jewel on thee

For an epistle thou mad’st in Latin? thou

Art a good forward boy, there’s great joy on thee.

Sir Wal. O sorrow!

Allwit. Heart, will nothing comfort him?

If he be so far gone, ’tis time to moan. [Aside.

Here’s pen and ink, and paper, and all things ready;

Will’t please your worship for to make your will?

Sir Wal. My will! yes, yes, what else? who writes apace now?

Allwit. That can your man Davy, an’t like your worship;

A fair, fast, legible hand.

Sir Wal. Set it down then. [Davy writes.

Imprimis, I bequeath to yonder wittol^[145]

Three times his weight in curses.

Allwit. How!

Sir Wal. All plagues

Of body and of mind.

Allwit. Write them not down, Davy.

Davy. It is his will; I must.

Sir Wal. Together also

With such a sickness ten days ere his death.

84Allwit. There’s a sweet legacy! I'm almost chok’d with’t. [Aside.

Sir Wal. Next, I bequeath to that foul whore his wife

All barrenness of joy, a drouth of virtue,

And dearth of all repentance: for her end,

The common misery of an English strumpet,

In French and Dutch; beholding, ere she dies,

Confusion of her brats before her eyes,

And never shed a tear for’t.

Enter third Servant.

Third Ser. Where’s the knight?—

O sir, the gentleman you wounded is

Newly departed!

Sir Wal. Dead? lift, lift, who helps me?

Allwit. Let the law lift you now, that must have all;

I have done lifting on you, and my wife too.

Third Ser. You were best lock yourself close.

Allwit. Not in my house, sir;

I'll harbour no such persons as men-slayers;

Lock yourself where you will.

Sir Wal. What’s this?

Mis. All. Why, husband!

Allwit. I know what I do, wife.

Mis. All. You cannot tell yet;

For having kill’d the man in his defence,

Neither his life nor estate will be touch’d, husband.

Allwit. Away, wife! hear a fool! his lands will hang him.

Sir Wal. Am I denied a chamber?—What say you, forsooth?

Mis. All. Alas, sir, I am one that would have all well,

But must obey my husband.—Prithee, love,

85Let the poor gentleman stay, being so sore wounded:

There’s a close chamber at one end of the garret

We never use; let him have that, I prithee.

Allwit. We never use? you forget sickness then,

And physic-times; is’t not a place for easement?

Sir Wal. O, death! do I hear this with part^[146]

Of former life in me?—

Enter Fourth Servant.

What’s the news now?

Fourth Ser. Troth, worse and worse; you’re like to lose your land,

If the law save your life, sir, or the surgeon.

Allwit. Hark you there, wife.

Sir Wal. Why, how, sir?

Fourth Ser. Sir Oliver Kix’s wife is new quicken’d;

That child undoes you, sir.

Sir Wal. All ill at once!

Allwit. I wonder what he makes here with his consorts?

Cannot our house be private to ourselves,

But we must have such guests? I pray, depart, sirs,

And take your murderer along with you;

Good he were apprehended ere he go,

Has kill’d some honest gentleman; send for officers.

Sir Wal. I'll soon save you that labour.

Allwit. I must tell you, sir,

You have been somewhat bolder in my house

Than I could well like of; I suffer’d you

Till it stuck here at my heart; I tell you truly

I thought y’had been familiar with my wife once.

Mis. All. With me! I'll see him hang’d first; I defy him,

And all such gentlemen in the like extremity.

86Sir Wal. If ever eyes were open, these are they:

Gamesters, farewell, I've nothing left to play.

Allwit. And therefore get you gone, sir.

[Exit Sir Walter, led off by Servants.

Davy. Of all wittols^[147]

Be thou the head—thou the grand whore of spittles! [Exit.

Allwit. So, since he’s like now to be rid of all,

I am right glad I'm so well rid of him.

Mis. All. I knew he durst not stay when you nam’d officers.

Allwit. That stopp’d his spirits straight. What shall we do now, wife?

Mis. All. As we were wont to do.

Allwit. We’re richly furnish’d, wife,

With household stuff.

Mis. All. Let’s let out lodgings then,

And take a house in the Strand.

Allwit. In troth, a match, wench:

We’re simply stock’d with cloth-of-tissue cushions

To furnish out bay-windows; push,^[148] what not

That’s quaint and costly, from the top to the bottom;

Life, for furniture we may lodge a countess:

There’s a close-stool of tawny velvet too,

Now I think on it, wife.

Mis. All. There’s that should be, sir;

Your nose must be in every thing.

Allwit. I've done, wench;

And let this stand in every gallant’s chamber,—

There is no gamester like a politic sinner,

For whoe’er games, the box is sure a winner. [Exeunt.

87