ACT IV. SCENE I.

A room in Sir Oliver Twilight’s house.

Enter Sir Oliver Twilight, Lady Twilight, Sunset, Sandfield, Dutch Merchant, Philip Twilight, Servants, and Savourwit aloof off.^[132]

Sir O. Twi. O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence

Makes the sad night of threescore and ten years

Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood:

I cannot make thy welcome rich enough

With all the wealth of words!

L. Twi. It is exprest sir,

With more than can be equall’d; the ill store

Lies only on my side, my thanks are poor.

Sir O. Twi. Blest be the goodness of his mind for ever

That did redeem thy life, may it return

Upon his fortunes double! that worthy gentleman,

Kind master Beveril! shower upon him, heaven,

Some unexpected happiness to requite him

For that my joy^[133] unlook’d for! O, more kind,

And juster far, is a mere stranger’s goodness

Than the sophistic faith of natural sons!

Here’s one could juggle with me, take up the ransom,

He and his loose companion——

Sav. Say you me so, sir?

I’ll eat hard eggs for that trick. [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. Spend the money,

And bring me home false news and empty pockets!

90In that young gallant’s tongue there, you were dead

Ten weeks before this day, had not this merchant

Brought first the truth in words, yourself in substance.

L. Twi. Pray, let me stay you here, ere you proceed, sir;

Did he report me dead, say you?

Sir O. Twi. Else you live not.

L. Twi. See now, sir, you may lay your blame too rashly,

When nobody look’d after it! let me tell you, sir,

A father’s anger should take great advice,

Ere it condemn flesh of so dear a price.

He’s no way guilty yet; for that report

The general tongue of all the country spread;

For being remov’d far off, I was thought dead.

Phil. Can my faith now be taken into favour, sir?

Is’t worthy to be trusted?

Sav. No, by my troth, is’t not,

’Twould make shift to spend another ransom yet. [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. Well, sir, I must confess you’ve here dealt well with me,

And what is good in you I love again.

Sav. Now am I half-ways in, just to the girdle,

But the worst part’s behind. [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. Marry, I fear me, sir,

This weather is too glorious to hold long.

L. Twi. I see no cloud to interpose it, sir,

If you place confidence in what I’ve told you.

Sir O. Twi. Nay, ’tis clear sky on that side; would ’twere so

All over his obedience! I see that,

And so does this good gentleman——

L. Twi. Do you, sir?

Sir O. Twi. That makes his honesty doubtful.

91L. Twi. I pray, speak, sir;

The truth of your last kindness makes me bold with you.

D. Mer. The knight, your husband, madam, can best speak;

He trueliest can shew griefs whose heart they break.

L. Twi. I’m sorry yet for more; pray, let me know’t, sir,

That I may help to chide him, though ’twould grieve me.

Sir O. Twi. Why then prepare for’t; you came over now

In the best time to do’t you could pick out:

Not only spent my money, but, to blind me,

He and his wicked instrument——

Sav. Now he fiddles me! [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. Brings home a minion here, by great chance known;

Told me she was his sister; she proves none.

L. Twi. This was unkindly done, sir; now I’m sorry

My good opinion lost itself upon you;

You are not the same son I left behind me,

More grace took him.—O, let me end in time,

For fear I should forget myself, and chide him!—

Where is [s]he, sir? though he beguil’d your eyes,

He cannot deceive mine, we’re now too hard for him;

For since our first unfortunate separation

I’ve often seen the girl—would that were true!— [Aside.

By many a happy accident, many a one,

But never durst acknowledge her for mine own,

And therein stood my joys distress’d again.

Sir O. Twi. You rehearse miseries, wife.—Call the maid down. [Exit Servant.

92Sav. Sh’as been too often down to be now call’d so;

She’ll lie down shortly, and call somebody up.

[Aside.

L. Twi. He’s now to deal with one, sir, that knows truth;

He must be sham’d or quit, there’s no mean saves him.

Sir O. Twi. I hear her come.

L. Twi. [aside to Phil.] You see how hard ’tis now

To redeem good opinion, being once gone;

Be careful then, and keep it when ’tis won.

Now see me take a poison with great joy,

Which, but for thy sake, I should swoon to touch.

Enter Grace.

Grace. What new affliction? am I set to sale

For any one that bids most shame for me? [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. Look you? do you see what stuff they’ve brought me home here?

L. Twi. O bless her, eternal powers! my life, my comforts,

My nine years’ grief, but everlasting joy now!

Thrice welcome to my heart! [embracing Grace] ’tis she indeed.

Sir O. Twi. What, is it?

Phil. I’m unfit to carry a ransom!

Sav. [aside to Grace, who kneels] Down on your knees, to save your belly harmless;

Ask blessing, though you never mean to use it,

But give’t away presently to a beggar-wench.

Phil. My faith is blemish’d, I’m no man of trust, sir!

L. Twi. [raising Grace] Rise with a mother’s blessing!

93Sav. All this while

Sh’as rise with a son’s. [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. But soft ye, soft ye, wife!

I pray, take heed you place your blessing right now;

This honest Dutchman here told me he saw her

At Antwerp in an inn.

L. Twi. True, she was so, sir.

D. Mer. Sir, ’tis my quality, what I speak once,

I affirm ever; in that inn I saw her;

That lets^[134] her not to be your daughter now.

Sir O. Twi. O sir, is’t come to that!

Sun. Here’s joys ne’er dreamt on!

Sir O. Twi. O master Sunset, I am at the rising

Of my refulgent happiness!—Now, son Sandfield,

Once more and ever!

Sand. I am proud on’t, sir.

Sir O. Twi. Pardon me, boy; I’ve wrong’d thy faith too much.

Sav. Now may I leave my shell, and peep my head forth. [Aside, and advancing.

Sir O. Twi. Where is this Savourwit, that honest whorson,

That I may take my curse from his knave’s shoulders?

Sav. O, sir, I feel you at my very blade here!

Your curse is ten stone weight, and a pound over.

Sir O. Twi. Come, thou’rt a witty varlet and a trusty.

Sav. You shall still find me a poor, faithful fellow, sir,

If you’ve another ransom to send over,

Or daughter to find out.

Sir O. Twi. I’ll do thee right, boy;

94I ne’er yet knew thee but speak honest English;

Marry, in Dutch I found thee a knave lately.

Sav. That was to hold you but in play a little,

Till farther truths came over, and I strong;

You shall ne’er find me a knave in mine own tongue,

I’ve more grace in me; I go out of England still

When I take such courses; that shews modesty, sir.

Sir O. Twi. Any thing full of wit and void of harm,

I give thee pardon for; so was that now.

Sav. Faith, now I’m quit,^[135] I find myself the nimbler

To serve you so again, and my will’s good;

Like one that lately shook off his old irons,

And cuts a purse at bench to deserve new ones.

Sir O. Twi. Since it holds all the way so fortunate still,

And strikes so even with my first belief,

This is the gentleman, wife, young master Sandfield here,

A man of worthy parts, beside his lands,

Whom I make choice of for my daughter’s bed.

Sav. But he’ll make choice there of another bedfellow.

[Aside.

L. Twi. I wish ’em both the happiness of love, sir.

Sir O. Twi. ’Twas spoke like a good lady! And^[136] your memory

Can reach it, wife—but ’tis so long ago too—

Old master Sunset he had a young daughter

When you unluckily left England so,

95And much about the age of our girl there,

For both were nurs’d together.

L. Twi. ’Tis so fresh

In my remembrance, now you’ve waken’d it,

As if twelve years were but a twelve hours’ dream.

Sir O. Twi. That girl is now a proper^[137] gentlewoman,

As fine a body, wife, as e’er was measur’d

With an indenture cut in farthing steaks.

Sun. O say not so, sir Oliver; you shall pardon me, sir;

I’faith, sir, you’re to blame.

Sir O. Twi. Sings, dances, plays,

Touches an instrument with a motherly grace.

Sun. ’Tis your own daughter that you mean that by.

Sav. There’s open Dutch indeed, and^[138] he could take it. [Aside.

Sir O. Twi. This wench, under your leave——

Sun. You have my love in’t.

Sir O. Twi. Is my son’s wife that shall be.

Sav. Thus, I’d hold with’t,

Is your son’s wife that should be master Sandfield’s.

[Aside.

L. Twi. I come in happy time to a feast of marriages.

Sir O. Twi. And now you put’s i’ the mind, the hour draws on

At the new-married widow’s, there we’re look’d for;

There will be entertainments, sports, and banquets,

There these young lovers shall clap hands together;

The seed of one feast shall bring forth another.

Sun. Well said, sir Oliver!

96Sir O. Twi. You’re a stranger, sir;

Your welcome will be best.

D. Mer. Good sir, excuse me.

Sir O. Twi. You shall along, faith;^[139] you must not refuse me.

[Exeunt all except Lady Twilight, Grace,

Philip Twilight, and Savourwit.

Phil. O, mother, these new joys, that set^[140] my soul up—

Which had no means, nor any hope of any—

Have brought me now so far in debt to you,

I know not which way to begin to thank you;

I am so lost in all, I cannot guess

Which of the two my service most constrains,

Your last kind goodness, or your first dear pains.

L. Twi. Love is a mother’s duty to a son,

As a son’s duty is both love and fear.

Sav. I owe you a poor life, madam, that’s all;

Pray, call for’t when you please, it shall be ready for you.

L. Twi. Make much on’t, sir, till then.

Sav. If butter’d sack will. [Aside.

L. Twi. Methinks the more I look upon her, son,

The more thy sister’s face runs in my mind.

Phil. Belike she’s somewhat like her; it makes the better, madam.

L. Twi. Was Antwerp, say you, the first place you found her in?

Phil. Yes, madam: why do you ask?

L. Twi. Whose daughter were you?

Grace. I know not rightly whose, to speak truth, madam.

Sav. The mother of her was a good twigger the whilst.

[Aside.

97L. Twi. No? with whom were you brought up then?

Grace. With those, madam,

To whom, I’ve often heard, the enemy sold me.

L. Twi. What’s that?

Grace. Too often have I heard this piteous story,

Of a distressèd mother I had once,

Whose comfortable sight I lost at sea;

But then the years of childhood took from me

Both the remembrance of her and the sorrows.

L. Twi. O, I begin to feel her in my blood!

My heart leaps to be at her. [Aside.]—What was that mother?

Grace. Some said, an English lady; but I know not.

L. Twi. What’s thy name?

Grace. Grace.

L. Twi. May it be so in heaven,

For thou art mine on earth! welcome, dear child,

Unto thy father’s house, thy mother’s arms,

After thy foreign sorrows! [Embracing Grace.

Sav. ’Twill prove gallant! [Aside.

L. Twi. What, son! such earnest-work! I bring thee joy now

Will make the rest shew nothing, ’tis so glorious.

Phil. Why, ’tis not possible, madam, that man’s happiness

Should take a greater height than mine aspires.

L. Twi. No? now you shall confess it: this shall quit thee

From all fears present, or hereafter doubts,

About this business.

Phil. Give me that, sweet mother!

L. Twi. Here, take her then, and set thine arms a-work;

There needs no ’fection,^[141] ’tis indeed thy sister.

98Phil. My sister!

Sav. Cuds me, I feel the razor! [Aside.

L. Twi. Why, how now, son? how comes a change so soon?

Phil. O, I beseech you, mother, wound me any where

But where you pointed last! that’s present death;

Devise some other miserable torment,

Though ne’er so pitiless, and I’ll run and meet it;

Some way more merciful let your goodness think on,

May steal away my joys, but save my soul:

I’ll willingly restore back every one,

Upon that mild condition; any thing

But what you spake last will be comfortable.

L. Twi. You’re troubled with strange fits in England here;

Your first suit to me did entreat me hardly

To say ’twas she, to have old^[142] wrath appeas’d;

And now ’tis known your sister, you’re not pleas’d:

How should I shew myself?

Phil. Say ’tis not she.

L. Twi. Shall I deny my daughter?

Phil. O, you kill me,

Beyond all tortures!

L. Twi. Why do you deal thus with me?

Phil. She is my wife, I married her at Antwerp;

I’ve known the way unto her bed these three months.

Sav. And that’s too much by twelve weeks for a sister.

[Aside.

L. Twi. I understand you now, too soon, too plain!

Phil. O mother, if you love my peace for ever,

Examine her again, find me not guilty!

99L. Twi. ’Tis now too late, her words make that too true.

Phil. Her words? shall bare words overthrow a soul?

A body is not cast away so lightly.

How can you know ’tis she—let sense decide it—

She then so young, and both so long divided?

L. Twi. She tells me the sad story.

Phil. Does that throw me?

Many a distress may have the face of yours,

That ne’er was kin to you.

L. Twi. But, however, sir,

I trust you are not married.

Phil. Here’s the witness,

And all the wealth I had with her, this ring,

That join’d our hearts together. [Gives ring.

L. Twi. O, too clear now!

Thou’st brought in evidence to o’erthrow thyself;

Had no one word been spoke, only this shewn,

’T’ad been enough to approv’d^[143] her for mine own;

See here, two letters that begun my name

Before I knew thy father: this I gave her,

And, as a jewel, fasten’d to her ear.

Grace. Pardon me, mother, that you find it stray;

I kept it till I gave my heart away.

Phil. O, to what mountain shall I take my flight,

To hide the monster of my sin from sight!

Sav. I’ll to Wales presently, there’s the best hills

To hide a poor knave in. [Aside.

L. Twi. O heap not desperation upon guilt!

Repent yet, and all’s say’d; ’twas but hard chance:

Amongst all sins, heaven pities ignorance,

She’s still the first that has her pardon sign’d;

All sins else see their faults, she’s only blind:

100Go to thy chamber, pray, leave off, and win;

One hour’s repentance cures a twelvemonth’s sin.

Grace. O my distressèd husband, my dear brother!

[Exeunt Lady Twilight and Grace.

Phil. O Savourwit, never came sorrow yet

To mankind like it! I’m so far distress’d,

I’ve no time left to give my heart attendance,

Too little all to wait upon my soul.

Before this tempest came, how well I stood,

Full in the beams of blessedness and joy!

The memory of man could never say

So black a storm fell in so bright a day.

I am that man that even life surfeits of;

Or, if to live, unworthy to be seen

By the [most] savage eye-sight: give’s thy hand;

Commend me to thy prayers.

Sav. Next time I say ’em. [Aside.

Phil. Farewell, my honest breast, that crav’st no more

Than possible kindness! that I’ve found thee large in,

And I must ask no more; there wit must stay,

It cannot pass where fate stops up the way:

Joy thrive with thee! I’ll never see thee more.

[Going.

Sav. What’s that, sir? pray, come back, and bring those words with you,

You shall not carry ’em so out of my company:

There’s no last refuge when your father knows it;

There’s no such need on’t yet; stay but till then,

And take one with you that will imitate you

In all the desperate on-sets man dare think on:

Were it to challenge all the wolves in France

To meet at one set battle, I’d be your half in’t;

All beasts of venom,—what you had a mind to,

Your part should be took still: for such a day

101Let’s keep ourselves in heart, then am I for you.

In the meantime, to beat off all suspicion,

Let’s to the bride-house too; here’s my petition.

Phil. Thou hast a learning art when all hopes fly;

Let one night waste, there’s time enough left to die.

Sav. A minute’s as good as a thousand year, sir,

To pink a man’s heart like a summer-suit.

[Exeunt.