Part 4

PHIL. If thou talk’st longer, I shall turn to marble, And death will stop my hearing. SAND. Horrible fortune! SAV. Nay, sir, our building is so far defac’d, There is no stuff left to raise up a hope. PHIL. O, with more patience could my flesh endure A score of wounds, and all their several searchings, Than this that thou hast told me! SAV. Would that Flemish ram Had ne’er come near our house! there’s no going home As long as he has a nest there, and his young one, A little Flanders egg new fledg’d: they gape For pork, and I shall be made meat for ’em. PHIL. ’Tis not the bare news of my mother’s life— May she live long and happy!—that afflicts me With half the violence that the latter draws; Though in that news I have my share of grief, As I had share of sin and a foul neglect; It is my love’s betraying, that’s the sting That strikes through flesh and spirit; and sense nor wit From thee, in whom I ne’er saw ebb till now, Nor comforts from a faithful friend can ease me; I’ll try the goodness of a third companion, What he’ll do for me. [_Drawing his sword._ SAND. Hold! why, friend—— SAV. Why, master, is this all your kindness, sir? offer to steal into another country, and ne’er take your leave on’s? troth, I take it unkindly at your hands, sir; but I’ll put it up for once. [_Sheathing_ PHILIP’S _sword_.] Faith, there was no conscience in this, sir; leave me here to endure all weathers, whilst you make your soul dance like a juggler’s egg upon the point of a rapier! By my troth, sir, you’re to blame in’t; you might have given us an inkling of your journey; perhaps others would as fain have gone as you. PHIL. Burns this clay-lamp of miserable life, When joy, the oil that feeds it, is dried up?

_Enter_ LADY TWILIGHT, BEVERIL, _and Servants_.

L. TWI. He has remov’d his house. BEV. So it seems, madam. L. TWI. I’ll ask that gentleman.—Pray, can you tell me, sir, Which is sir Oliver Twilight’s? PHIL. Few can better, gentlewoman; It is the next fair house your eye can fix on. L. TWI. I thank you, sir.—Go on. [_Exeunt Servants._]— He had a son About some ten years since. PHIL. That son still lives. L. TWI. I pray, how does he, sir? PHIL. Faith, much about my health,—that’s never worse.— [_Aside._ If you have any business to him, gentlewoman, I can cut short your journey to the house; I’m all that ever was of the same kind. L. TWI. [_embracing him_] O, my sweet son! never fell fresher joy Upon the heart of mother!—This is he, sir. BEV. My seven-years’ travel has e’en worn him out Of my remembrance. SAV. O, this gear’s worse and worse! [_Aside._ PHIL. I am so wonder-struck at your blest presence, That, through amaz’d joy, I neglect my duty. [_Kneels._ L. TWI. [raising him] Rise, and a thousand blessings spring up with thee! SAV. I would we had but one in the meantime; Let the rest grow at leisure. [_Aside._ L. TWI. But know you not this gentleman yet, son? PHIL. I take it’s master Beveril. BEV. My name’s Beveril, sir. PHIL. Right welcome to my bosom! [_Embracing him._ L. TWI. You’d not think, son, How much I am beholding[76] to this gentleman, As far as freedom; he laid out the ransom, Finding me so distress’d. PHIL. ’Twas worthily done, sir, And I shall ever rest your servant for’t. BEV. You quite forget your worth: ’twas my good hap, sir, To return home that way, after some travels; Where, finding your good mother so distress’d, I could not but in pity see her releas’d. PHIL. It was a noble charity, sir; heaven quit[77] you! SAV. It comes at last! [_Aside._ BEV. I left a sister here, New married when I last took leave of England. PHIL. O, mistress Low-water. BEV. Pray, sir, how does she? PHIL. So little comfort I can give you, sir, That I would fain excuse myself for silence. BEV. Why, what’s the worst, sir? PHIL. Wrongs have[78] made her poor. BEV. You strike my heart: alas, good gentlewoman! PHIL. Here’s a gentleman— You know him—master Sandfield— BEV. I crave pardon, sir. PHIL. He can resolve[79] you from her kinswoman. SAND. Welcome to England, madam! LADY TWI. Thanks, good sir. PHIL. Now there’s no way to ’scape, I’m compass’d round; My shame is like a prisoner set with halberds. SAV. Pish, master, master, ’tis young flood again, And you can take your time now; away, quick! PHIL. Push,[80] thou’st a swimming head. SAV. Will you but hear me? When did you lose your tide when I set forth with you? PHIL. That’s true. SAV. Regard me then, though you’ve no feeling; I would not hang by the thumbs with a good will. PHIL. I hang by th’ heart, sir, and would fain have ease. SAV. Then this or none: fly to your mother’s pity, For that’s the court must help you; you’re quite gone At common law, no counsellor can hear you; Confess your follies, and ask pardon for ’em; Tell her the state of all things, stand not nicely; The meat’s too hard To be minc’d now, she breeds young bones by this time; Deal plainly, heaven will bless thee; turn out all, And shake your pockets after it; beg, weep, Kneel, any thing, it will break no bones, man: Let her not rest, take breathing time, nor leave thee, Till thou hast got her help. PHIL. Lad, I conceive thee. SAV. About it, then; it requires haste—do’t well; There’s but a short street between us and hell. BEV. Ah, my poor sister! L. TWI. ’Las, good gentlewoman! My heart even weeps for her.—Ay, son, we’ll go now. PHIL. May I crave one word, madam? [_Staying_ LADY TWILIGHT.[81] L. TWI. With me, son? The more, the better welcome. SAV. Now, now, luck! I pray not often; the last prayer I made Was nine-year old last Bartholomew-tide; ’twould have been A jolly chopper and[82] ’t had liv’d till this time. L. TWI. Why do your words start back? are they afraid Of her that ever lov’d them? PHIL. I’ve a suit to you, madam. L. TWI. You’ve told me that already; pray, what is’t? If’t be so great, my present state refuse it, I shall be abler, then command and use it; Whate’er ’t be, let me have warning, to provide for’t. PHIL. [_kneels_] Provide forgiveness then, for that’s the want My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me Into unnatural wrongs against your freedom once! I spent the ransom which my father sent, To set my pleasures free, while you lay captive. SAV. He does it finely, faith. [_Aside._ L. TWI. And is this all now? You use me like a stranger; pray, stand up. PHIL. Rather fall flat; I shall deserve yet worse. L. TWI. [_raising_ PHILIP] Whate’er your faults are, esteem me still a friend, Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon Than when you did the wrong you ask’d it for; And since you have prepar’d me to forgive you, Pray, let me know for what; the first fault’s nothing. SAV. ’Tis a sweet lady every inch of her! [_Aside._ PHIL. Here comes the wrong then that drives home the rest: I saw a face at Antwerp that quite drew me From conscience and obedience; in that fray I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way; There went the ransom, to redeem my mind; ’Stead of the money, I brought over her; And to cast mists before my father’s eyes, Told him it was my sister, lost so long, And that yourself was dead: you see the wrong. L. TWI. This is but youthful still.—O, that word _sister_ Afflicts me when I think on’t!—I forgive thee As freely as thou didst it; for, alas, This may be call’d good dealing to[83] some parts That love and youth play[84] daily among sons. SAV. She helps our knavery well, that’s one good comfort. [_Aside._ PHIL. But such is the hard plight my state lives in, That ’twixt forgiveness I must sin again, And seek my help where I bestow’d my wrongs: O mother, pity once, though against reason, ’Cause I can merit none; though my wrongs grieve ye,[85] Yet let it be your glory to relieve me! L. TWI. Wherein have I given cause yet of mistrust, That you should doubt my succour and my love? Shew me but in what kind I may bestow ’em. PHIL. There came a Dutchman with report this day That you were living. L. TWI. Came he so lately? PHIL. Yes, madam; Which news so struck my father on the sudden, That he grows jealous[86] of my faith in both: These five hours have I kept me from his sight, And wish’d myself eternally so hid; And surely, had not your blest presence quicken’d The flame of life in me, all had gone out. Now, to confirm me to his trust again, And settle much aright in his opinion, Say but she is my sister, and all’s well. L. TWI. You ask devotion[87] like a bashful beggar, That pure need urges, and not lazy impudence; And to express how glad I am to pity you, My bounty shall flow over your demand; I will not only with a constant breath Approve[88] that, but excuse thee for my death. SAV. Why, here’s A woman made as a man would wish to have her! [_Aside._ PHIL. O, I am plac’d higher in happiness Than whence I fell before! SAV. We’re brave fellows once again, and[89] we can keep our own: Now hoffte toffte, our pipes play as loftily! [_Aside._ BEV. My sister fled! SAND. Both fled, that’s the news now: want must obey; Oppressions came so thick, they could not stay. BEV. Mean are my fortunes, yet, had I been nigh, Distress nor wrong should have made virtue fly. L. TWI. Spoke like a brother, worthy such a sister! BEV. Grief’s like a new wound, heat beguiles the sense, For I shall feel this smart more three days hence. Come, madam, sorrow’s rude, and forgets manners. [_Exeunt all except_ SAVOURWIT. SAV. Our knavery is for all the world like a shifting bankrupt; it breaks in one place, and sets up in another: he tries all trades, from a goldsmith to a tobacco-seller; we try all shifts, from an outlaw to a flatterer: he cozens the husband, and compounds with the widow; we cozen my master, and compound with my mistress: only here I turn o’ the right hand from him,— he is known to live like a rascal, when I am thought to live like a gentleman. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ LADY GOLDENFLEECE’S _house_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER _and_ LOW-WATER, _both disguised as before_.

MIS. LOW. I’ve sent in one to the widow. LOW. Well said, Kate! Thou ply’st thy business close; the coast is clear yet. MIS. LOW. Let me but have warning, I shall make pretty shift with them. LOW. That thou shalt, wench. [_Exit._

_Enter Servant._

SER. My lady, sir, commends her kindly to you, And for the third part of an hour, sir, Desires your patience; Two or three of her tenants out of Kent Will hold her so long busied. MIS. LOW. Thank you, sir; ’Tis fit I should attend her time and leisure. [_Exit Servant._ Those were my tenants once; but what relief Is there in what hath been, or what I was? ’Tis now that makes the man: a last-year’s feast Yields little comfort for the present humour; He starves that feeds his hopes with what is past.—

_Re-enter_ LOW-WATER.

How now? LOW. They’re come, newly alighted. MIS. LOW. Peace, peace! I’ll have a trick for ’em; look you second me well now. LOW. I warrant thee. MIS. LOW. I must seem very imperious, I can tell you; therefore, if I should chance to use you roughly, pray, forgive me beforehand. LOW. With all my heart, Kate. MIS. LOW. You must look for no obedience in these[90] clothes; that lies in the pocket of my gown. LOW. Well, well, I will not then. MIS. LOW. I hear ’em coming, step back a little, sir. [LOW-WATER _retires_.]—Where be those fellows?

_Enter_ WEATHERWISE, PEPPERTON, _and_ OVERDONE.

Who looks out there? is there ne’er a knave i’ th’ house to take those gentlemen’s horses? where wait you to-day? how stand you, like a dreaming goose in a corner? the gentlemen’s horses, forsooth! LOW. Yes, an’t like[91] your worship. [_Exit._ PEP. What’s here? a strange alteration! WEA. A new lord! would I were upon my mare’s back again then! MIS. LOW. Pray, gentlemen, pardon the rudeness of these grooms, I hope they will be brought to better fashion; In the meantime, you’re welcome, gentlemen. ALL. We thank you, sir. WEA. Life, here’s quick work! I’ll hold my life, has struck the widow i’ the right planet, _Venus in cauda_! I thought ’twas a lecherous planet that goes to’t with a caudle.

_Re-enter_ LOW-WATER.

MIS. LOW. How now, sir? LOW. The gentlemen’s horses are set up, sir. PEP. No, no, no, we’ll away. WEA. We’ll away. MIS. LOW. How! by my faith, but you shall not yet, by your leave.—Where’s Bess?—Call your mistress, sir, to welcome these kind gentlemen, my friends. [_Exit_ LOW-WATER. PEP. How! Bess? OVER. Peg? WEA. Plain Bess? I know how the world goes then; he has been a-bed with Bess: i’faith, there’s no trust to these widows; a young horsing gentleman carries ’em away clear.

_Re-enter_ LOW-WATER.

MIS. LOW. Now, where’s your mistress, sir? how chance she comes not? LOW. Sir, she requests you to excuse her for a while; she’s busy with a milliner about gloves. MIS. LOW. Gloves! WEA. Hoyday! gloves too! MIS. LOW. Could she find no other time to choose gloves but now, when my friends are here? PEP. No, sir, ’tis no matter; we thank you for your good will, sir: to say truth, we have no business with her at all at this time, i’faith, sir. MIS. LOW. O, that’s another matter; yet stay, stay, gentlemen, and taste a cup of wine ere you go. OVER. No, thank you, sir. MIS. LOW. Master Pepperton—master Weatherwise, will you, sir? WEA. I’ll see the wine in a drunkard’s shoes first, and drink’t after he has brewed it. But let her go; she’s fitted, i’faith; a proud, surly sir here, he domineers already; one that will shake her bones, and go to dice with her money, or I have no skill in a calendar: life, he that can be so saucy to call her Bess already, will call her prating quean a month hence. [_Exeunt_ WEATHERWISE, PEPPERTON, _and_ OVERDONE. LOW. They’ve given thee all the slip. MIS. LOW. So, a fair riddance! There’s three rubs gone, I’ve a clear way to the mistress[92]. LOW. You’d need have a clear way, because you’re a bad pricker. MIS. LOW. Yet if my bowl take bank, I shall go nigh To make myself a saver, Here’s alley-room enough; I’ll try my fortune: I’m to begin the world like a younger brother; I know that a bold face and a good spirit Is all the jointure he can make [a] widow, And’t shall go hard but I’ll be as rich as he. Or at least seem so, and that’s wealth enough; For nothing kills a widow’s heart so much As a faint, bashful wooer; though he have thousands, And come with a poor water-gruel spirit And a fish-market face, he shall ne’er speed; I would not have himself left a poor widower. LOW. Faith, I’m glad I’m alive to commend thee, Kate; I shall be sure now to see my commendations delivered. MIS. LOW. I’ll put her to’t, i’faith. LOW. But soft ye, Kate; How and[93] she should accept of your bold kindness? MIS. LOW. A chief point to be thought on, by my faith! Marry, therefore, sir, be you sure to step in, For fear I should shame myself and spoil all. LOW. Well, I’ll save your credit then for once; but look you come there no more. MIS. LOW. Away! I hear her coming. LOW. I am vanish’d. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LADY GOLDENFLEECE.

MIS. LOW. How does my life, my soul, my dear sweet madam? L. GOLD. I’ve wrong’d your patience, made you stand too long here. MIS. LOW. There’s no such thing, i’faith, madam, you’re pleas’d to say so. L. GOLD. Yes, I confess I was too slow, sir. MIS. LOW. Why, you shall make me amends for that, then, with a quickness in your bed. L. GOLD. That were a speedy mends, sir. MIS. LOW. Why, then, you are out of my debt; I’ll cross the book, and turn over a new leaf with you. L. GOLD. So, with paying a small debt, I may chance run into a greater. MIS. LOW. My faith, your credit will be the better then; there’s many a brave gallant would be glad of such fortune, and pay use for’t. L. GOLD. Some of them have nothing else to do; they would be idle and[94] ’twere not for interest. MIS. LOW. I promise you, widow, were I a setter up, such is my opinion of your payment, I durst trust you with all the ware in my shop. L. GOLD. I thank you for your good will, I can have no more. MIS. LOW. Not of me, i’faith; nor that neither, and[94] you knew[95] all. [_Aside._]—Come, make but short service, widow, a kiss and to bed; I’m very hungry, i’faith, wench. L. GOLD. What, are you, sir? MIS. LOW. O, a younger brother has an excellent stomach, madam, worth a hundred of your sons and heirs, that stay their wedding-stomachs with a hot bit of a common mistress, and then come to a widow’s bed like a flash of lightning: you’re sure of the first of me, not of the five-hundredth of them: I never took physic yet in my life; you shall have the doctor continually with them, or some bottle for his deputy, out flies your moneys for restoratives and strengthenings; in me ’tis saved in your purse and found in your children: they’ll get peevish[96] pothecaries’ stuff, you may weigh ’em by th’ ounces; I, boys of war, brave commanders, that shall bear a breadth in their shoulders and a weight in their hips, and run over a whole country with a pound a’ beef and a biscuit in their belly. Ho, widow, my kisses are virgins, my embraces perfect, my strength solid, my love constant, my heat comfortable; but, to come to the point, inutterable—— L. GOLD. But soft ye, soft ye; because you stand so strictly Upon your purity, I’ll put you to’t, sir; Will you swear here you never yet knew woman? MIS. LOW. Never, as man e’er knew her, by this light, widow! L. GOLD. What, what, sir?—’Shrew my heart, he moves me much. [_Aside._ MIS. LOW. Nay, since you love to bring a man on’s knees, I take into the same oath thus much more, That you are the first widow, or maid, or wife, That ever I in suit of love did court, Or honestly did woo: how say you to that, widow? L. GOLD. Marry, I say, sir, you had a good portion of chastity left you, though ill fortune run away with the rest. MIS. LOW. That I kept for thee, widow; she’s of fortune, and all her strait-bodied daughters; thou shalt have’t, widow. [_Kissing her._ L. GOLD. Push,[97] what do you mean? MIS. LOW. I cannot bestow’t better. L. GOLD. I’ll call my servants. MIS. LOW. By my troth, you shall not, madam.

_Re-enter_ LOW-WATER.

LOW. Does your worship call, sir? MIS. LOW. Ha, pox! are you peeping?— [_Throws[98] something at_ LOW-WATER, _who goes out_. He came in a good time, I thank him for’t. [_Aside._ L. GOLD. What do you think of me? you’re very forward, sir! MIS. LOW. Extremity of love. L. GOLD. You say you’re ignorant; It should not seem so surely by your play, For aught I see, you may make one yourself, You need not hold the cards to any gamester. MIS. LOW. That love should teach men ways to wrong itself! L. GOLD. Are these the first-fruits of your boldness, sir? If all take after these, you may boast on ’em, There comes few such to market among women; Time you were taken down, sir.—Within there! MIS. LOW. I’ve lost my way again: There’s but two paths that lead[99] to widows’ beds, That’s wealth or forwardness, and I’ve took the wrong one. [_Aside._

_Re-enter_ WEATHERWISE, PEPPERTON, _and_ OVERDONE, _with Servant_.

SER. He marry my lady! why, there’s no such thought yet. [_Exit._ MIS. LOW. O, here they are all again too! [_Aside._ L. GOLD. Are you come, gentlemen? I wish no better men. WEA. O, the moon’s chang’d now! L. GOLD. See you that gentleman yonder? PEP. Yes, sweet madam. L. GOLD. Then, pray, be witness all of you, with this kiss [_Kisses_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER. I choose him for my husband—— WEA. } PEP. } A pox on’t! OVER. } L. GOLD. And with this parted gold, that two hearts join. [_Breaks gold into two pieces, and gives one to_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER. MIS. LOW. Never with chaster love than this of mine! L. GOLD. And those that have the hearts to come to the wedding, They shall be welcome for their former loves. [_Exit._ PEP. No, I thank you; you’ve choked me already. WEA. I never suspected mine almanac till now; I believe he plays cogging[100] John with me, I bought it at his shop; it may learn the more knavery by that. MIS. LOW. Now indeed, gentlemen, I can bid you welcome; Before ’twas but a flourish. WEA. Nay, so my almanac told me there should be an eclipse, but not visible in our horizon, but about the western inhabitants of Mexicana and California. MIS. LOW. Well, we have no business there, sir. WEA. Nor we have none here, sir; and so fare you well. MIS. LOW. You save the house a good labour, gentlemen. [_Exeunt_ WEATHERWISE, PEPPERTON, _and_ OVERDONE.]—The fool carries them away in a voider.[101] Where be these fellows?

_Re-enter Servant_, PICKADILL, _and_ LOW-WATER.