Part 5

SER. Sir? PICK. Here, sir! SER. What[’s] your worship[’s] pleasure? MIS. LOW. O, this is something like.—Take you your ease, sir; Here are those now more fit to be commanded. LOW. How few women are of thy mind! she thinks it too much to keep me in subjection for one day; whereas some wives would be glad to keep their husbands in awe all days of their lives, and think it the best bargain that e’er they made. [_Aside, and exit._ MIS. LOW. I’ll spare no cost for the wedding; some device too, To shew our thankfulness to wit and fortune; It shall be so.—Run straight for one o’ the wits. PICK. How? one o’ the wits? I care not if I run on that account: are they in town, think you? MIS. LOW. Whither runnest thou now? PICK. To an ordinary for one of the wits. MIS. LOW. Why to an ordinary above a tavern? PICK. No, I hold your best wits to be at ordinary; nothing so good in a tavern. MIS. LOW. And why, I pray, sir? PICK. Because those that go to an ordinary[102] dine better for twelve pence than he that goes to a tavern for his five shillings; and I think those have the best wits that can save four shillings, and fare better too. MIS. LOW. So, sir, all your wit then runs upon victuals? PICK. ’Tis a sign ’twill hold out the longer then. MIS. LOW. What were you saying to me? SER. Please your worship, I heard there came a scholar over lately With old sir Oliver’s lady. MIS. LOW. Is she come?— [_Aside._ What is that lady? SER. A good gentlewoman, Has been long prisoner with the enemy. MIS. LOW. I know’t too well, and joy in her release.— [_Aside._ Go to that house then straight, and in one labour You may bid them, and entreat home that scholar. SER. It shall be done with speed, sir. [_Exit._ PICK. I’ll along with you, and see what face that scholar has brought over; a thin pair of parbreaking[103] sea-water green chops, I warrant you. [_Exit._ MIS. LOW. Since wit has pleasur’d me, I’ll pleasure wit; Scholars shall fare the better. O my blessing! I feel a hand of mercy lift me up Out of a world of waters, and now sets me Upon a mountain, where the sun plays most, To cheer my heart even as it dries my limbs. What deeps I see beneath me, in whose falls Many a nimble mortal toils, And scarce can feed[104] himself! the streams of fortune, ’Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down, And will not suffer him—past hand to mouth— To lift his arm to his posterity’s blessing: I see a careful sweat run in a ring About his temples, but all will not do; For, till some happy means relieve his state, There he must stick, and bide the wrath of fate. I see this wrath upon an uphill land; O blest are they can see their falls and stand!

_Re-enter Servant, shewing in_ BEVERIL.

How now? SER. With much entreating, sir, he’s come. [_Exit._ MIS. LOW. Sir, you’re—my brother! joys come thick together.—— [_Aside._ Sir, when I see a scholar—pardon me— I am so taken with affection[105], for him, That I must run into his arms and clasp him. [_Embracing him._ BEV. Art stands in need, sir, of such cherishers; I meet too few: ’twere a brave world for scholars, If half a kingdom were but of your mind, sir; Let ignorance and hell confound the rest. MIS. LOW. Let it suffice,[106] sweet sir, you cannot think How dearly you are welcome. BEV. May I live To shew you service for’t! MIS. LOW. Your love, your love, sir; We go no higher, nor shall you go lower. Sir, I am bold to send for you, to request A kindness from your wit, for some device To grace our wedding; it shall be worth your pains, And something more t’ express my love to art; You shall not receive all in bare embracements. BEV. Your love I thank; but, pray, sir, pardon me, I’ve a heart says I must not grant you that. MIS. LOW. No! what’s your reason, sir? BEV. I’m not at peace With the lady of this house; now you’ll excuse me; Sh’as wrong’d my sister; and I may not do’t. MIS. LOW. The widow knows you not. BEV. I never saw her face to my remembrance: O that my heart should feel her wrongs so much, And yet live ignorant of the injurer! MIS. LOW. Let me persuade thee, since she knows you not, Make clear the weather, let not griefs betray you; I’ll tell her you’re a worthy friend of mine, And so I tell her true, thou art indeed. Sir, here she comes.

_Re-enter_ LADY GOLDENFLEECE.

L. GOLD. What, are you busy, sir? MIS. LOW. Nothing less, lady; here’s a gentleman Of noble parts, beside his friendship to me; Pray, give him liberal welcome. L. GOLD. He’s most welcome. MIS. LOW. The virtues of his mind will deserve largely. L. GOLD. Methinks his outward parts deserve as much then; A proper[107] gentleman it is. [_Aside._ MIS. LOW. Come, worthy sir. BEV. I follow. [_Exeunt_ L. GOLDENFLEECE _and_ MIS. LOW-WATER. Check thy blood, For fear it prove too bold to wrong thy goodness: A wise man makes affections but his slaves; Break ’em in time, let ’em not master thee. O, ’tis my sister’s enemy! think of that: Some speedy grief fall down upon the fire, Before it take my heart; let it not rise ’Gainst brotherly nature, judgment, and these wrongs. Make clear the weather![108] O who could look upon her face in storms! Yet pains may work it out; griefs do but strive To kill this spark, I’ll keep it still alive. [_Exit._

ACT III.[109] SCENE I.

_Before_ LADY GOLDENFLEECE’S _house_.

_Enter_ WEATHERWISE, PEPPERTON, OVERDONE, _and_ SIR GILBERT LAMBSTONE.

WEA. Faith, sir Gilbert, forget and forgive; there’s all our hands to a new bargain of friendship. PEP. Ay, and all our hearts to boot, sir Gilbert. WEA. Why, la, you, there’s but four suitors left on’s in all the world, and the fifth has the widow; if we should not be kind to one another, and so few on’s, i’faith, I would we were all raked up in some hole or other! SIR G. LAMB. Pardon me, gentlemen; I cannot but remember Your late disgraceful words before the widow, In time of my oppression. WEA. Pooh, Saturn reigned then, a melancholy, grumbling planet; he was in the third house of privy enemies, and would have bewrayed[110] all our plots; beside, there was a fiery conjunction in the Dragon’s tail,[111] that spoiled all that e’er we went about. SIR G. LAMB. Dragon or devil, somewhat ’twas, I’m sure. WEA. Why, I tell you, sir Gilbert, we were all out of our wits in’t; I was so mad at that time myself, I could have wished an hind quarter of my Bull out of your belly again, whereas now I care not if you had eat tail and all; I am no niggard in the way of friendship; I was ever yet at full moon in good fellowship; and so you shall find, if you look into the almanac of my true nature. SIR G. LAMB. Well, all’s forgiven for once; hands a-pace, gentlemen. WEA. Ye shall have two of mine to do you a kindness; yet, when they’re both abroad, who shall look to th’ house here? [_Giving his hands to_ SIR G. LAMBSTONE. PEP. } Not only a new friendship, but a friend. OVER. } [_Giving their hands to_ SIR G. LAMBSTONE. SIR G. LAMB. But upon this condition, gentlemen, You shall hear now a thing worth your revenge. WEA. And[112] you doubt that, You shall have mine beforehand, I’ve one ready; I never go without a black oath about me. SIR G. LAMB. I know the least touch of a spur in this Will now put your desires to a false gallop, By all means slanderous in every place, And in all companies, to disgrace the widow; No matter in what rank, so it be spiteful And worthy your revenges: so now I; It shall be all my study, care, and pains; And we can lose no labour; all her foes Will make such use on’t, that they’ll snatch it from us Faster than we can forge it, though we keep Four tongues at work upon’t, and never cease. Then for th’ indifferent world, faith, they are apter To bid a slander[113] welcome than a truth. We have the odds of our side: this in time May grow so general, as disgrace will spread, That wild dissension may divide the bed. WEA. } Excellent! PEP. } OVER. A pure revenge! I see no dregs in’t. SIR G. LAMB. Let each man look to his part now, and not feed Upon one dish all four on’s, like plain maltmen; For at this feast we must have several kickshaws And delicate-made dishes, that the world May see it is a banquet finely furnish’d. WEA. Why, then, let me alone for one of your kickshaws, I’ve thought on that already. SIR G. LAMB. Prithee, how, sir? WEA. Marry, sir, I’ll give it out abroad that I have lain with the widow myself, as ’tis the fashion of many a gallant to disgrace his new mistress when he cannot have his will of her, and lie with her name in every tavern, though he ne’er came within a yard of her person; so I, being a gentleman, may say as much in that kind as a gallant; I am as free by my father’s copy. SIR G. LAMB. This will do excellent, sir. WEA. And, moreover, I’ll give the world thus much to understand beside, that if I had not lain with the widow in the wane of the moon, at one of my Seven Stars’ houses, when Venus was about business of her own, and could give no attendance, she had been brought a-bed with two roaring boys by this time; and the Gemini being infants, I’d have made away with them like a step-mother, and put mine own boys in their places. SIR G. LAM. Why, this is beyond talk; you out-run your master.

_Enter_ PICKADILL. PICK. Whoop! draw home next time; here are all the old shooters that have lost the game at pricks! What a fair mark had sir Gilbert on’t, if he had shot home before the last arrow came in! methinks these shew to me now, for all the world, like so many lousy beggars turned out of my lady’s barn, and have ne’er a hole to put their heads in. [_Aside._ WEA. Mass, here’s her ladyship’s ass; he tells us any thing. SIR G. LAMB. Ho, Pickadill! PICK. What, sir Gilbert Lambstone! Gentlemen, outlaws all, how do you do? SIR G. LAMB. How! what dost call us? how goes the world at home, lad? What strange news? PICK. This is the state of prodigals as right as can be; when they have spent all their means on brave feasts, they’re glad to scrape to a serving-man for a meal’s meat:

So you that whilom,[114] like four prodigal rivals, Could goose or capon, crane or woodcock choose, Now’re glad to make up a poor meal with news; A lamentable hearing! WEA. He’s in passion[115] Up to the eyebrows for us. PICK. O master Weatherwise, I blame none but you! You’re a gentleman deeply read in Pond’s Almanac,[116] Methinks you should not be such a shallow fellow; You knew this day, the twelfth of June, would come, When the sun enters into the Crab’s room, And all your hopes would go aside, aside. WEA. The fool says true, i’faith, gentlemen; I knew ’twould come all to this pass; I’ll shew’t you presently. [_Takes out almanac._ PICK. If you had spar’d but four of your Twelve Signs now, You might have gone to a tavern and made merry with ’em. WEA. Has the best moral meaning of an ass that e’er I heard speak with tongue.—Look you here, gentlemen [_reads almanac_], _Fifth day,[117] neither fish nor flesh_. PICK. No, nor good red herring, and[118] you look again. WEA. [_reads_] _Sixth day, privily prevented._ PICK. Marry, faugh! WEA. [_reads_] _Seventh day, shrunk in the wetting._ PICK. Nay, so will the best ware bought for love or money. WEA. [_reads_] _The eighth day, over head and ears._ PICK. By my faith, he come[s] home in a sweet pickle then! WEA. [_reads_] _The ninth day, scarce sound at heart._ PICK. What a pox ailed it? WEA. [_reads_] _The tenth day, a courtier’s welcome._ PICK. That’s a cup of beer, and[118] you can get it. WEA. [_reads_] _The eleventh day, stones against the wind._ PICK. Pox of an ass! he might have thrown ’em better. WEA. Now the _twelfth day_, gentlemen, that was our day; [_Reads._ _Past all redemption_. PICK. Then the devil go with’t! WEA. Now you see plainly, gentlemen, how we’re us’d; The calendar will not lie for no man’s pleasure. SIR G. LAMB. Push,[119] you’re too confident in almanac-posies. PEP. Faith, so said we. SIR G. LAMB. They’re mere delusions. WEA. How! You see how knavishly they happen, sir. SIR G. LAMB. Ay, that’s because they’re foolishly believ’d,[120] sir. WEA. Well, take your courses, gentlemen, without ’em, and see what will come on’t: you may wander like masterless men, there’s ne’er a planet will care a halfpenny for you; if they look after you, I’ll be hanged, when you scorn to bestow twopence to look after them. SIR G. LAMB. How! a device at the wedding, sayest thou? PICK. Why, have none of you heard of that yet? SIR G. LAMB. ’Tis the first news, i’faith, lad. PICK. O, there’s a brave travelling scholar entertained into the house a’ purpose, one that has been all the world over, and some part of Jerusalem; has his chamber, his diet, and three candles[121] allowed him after supper. WEA. By my faith, he need not complain for victuals then, whate’er he be. PICK. He lies in one of the best chambers i’ th’ house, bravely matted; and to warm his wits as much, a cup of sack and an _aqua vitæ_[122] bottle stand[123] just at his elbow. WEA. He’s shrewdly hurt, by my faith; if he catch an ague of that fashion, I’ll be hanged. PICK. He’ll come abroad anon. SIR G. LAMB. Art sure on’t? PICK. Why, he ne’er stays a quarter of an hour in the house together. SIR G. LAMB. No? how can he study then? PICK. Faugh, best of all; he talks as he goes, and writes as he runs; besides, you know ’tis death to a traveller to stand long in one place. SIR G. LAMB. It may hit right, boys!—Honest Pickadill, Thou wast wont to love me. PICK. I’d good cause, sir, then. SIR G. LAMB. Thou shalt have the same still; take that. [_Giving money._ PICK. Will you believe me now? I ne’er loved you better in my life than I do at this present. SIR G. LAMB. Tell me now truly; who are the presenters? What parsons[124] are employ’d in the device? PICK. Parsons? not any, sir; my mistress will not be at the charge; she keeps none but an old Welsh vicar. SIR G. LAMB. Prithee, I mean, who be the speakers? PICK. Troth, I know none but those that open their mouths. Here he comes now himself, you may ask him.

_Enter_ BEVERIL.

WEA. Is this he? by my faith, one may pick a gentleman out of his calves and a scholar out on’s cheeks; one may see by his looks what’s in him: I warrant you there has ne’er a new almanac come out these dozen years, but he has studied it over and over. [_Aside._ SIR G. LAMB. Do not reveal us now. PICK. Because you shall be sure on’t, you have given me a ninepence here, and I’ll give you the slip[125] for’t. SIR G. LAMB. Well said. [_Exit_ PICKADILL.]—Now the fool’s pleas’d, we may be bold. BEV. Love is as great an enemy to wit As ignorance to art; I find my powers So much employ’d in business of my heart, That all the time’s too little to despatch Affairs within me. Fortune, too remiss, I suffer for thy slowness: had I come Before a vow had chain’d their souls together, There might have been some hope, though ne’er so little; Now there’s no spark at all, nor e’er can be, But dreadful ones struck from adultery; And if my lust were smother’d with her will, O, who could wrong a gentleman so kind, A stranger made up with a brother’s mind! [_Aside._ SIR G. LAMB. Peace, peace, enough; let me alone to manage it.— A quick invention, and a happy one, Reward your study, sir! BEV. Gentlemen, I thank you. SIR G. LAMB. We understand your wits are in employment, sir, In honour of this wedding. BEV. Sir, the gentleman To whom that worthy lady is betroth’d Vouchsafes t’accept the power of my good will in’t. SIR G. LAMB. I pray, resolve[126] us then, sir—for we’re friends That love and honour her— Whether your number be yet full, or no, Of those which you make choice of for presenters? BEV. First, ’tis so brief, because the time is so, We shall not trouble many; and for those We shall employ, the house will yield in servants. SIR G. LAMB. Nay, then, under your leave and favour, sir, Since all your pains will be so weakly grac’d, And, wanting due performance, lose their lustre, Here are four of us gentlemen, her friends, Both lovers of her honour and your art, That would be glad so to express ourselves, And think our service well and worthily plac’d. BEV. My thanks do me no grace for this large kindness; You make my labours proud of such presenters. SIR G. LAMB. She shall not think, sir, she’s so ill belov’d, But friends can quickly make that number perfect. BEV. She’s bound t’acknowledge it. SIR G. LAMB. Only thus much, sir, Which will amaze her most; I’d have’t so carried, As you can do’t, that neither she nor none Should know what friends we were till all were done. WEA. Ay, that would make the sport! BEV. I like it well, sir: My hand and faith amongst you, gentlemen, It shall be so dispos’d of. SIR G. LAMB. We’re the men then. BEV. Then look you, gentlemen; the device is single, Naked, and plain, because the time’s so short, And gives no freedom to a wealthier sport; ’Tis only, gentlemen, the four elements In liveliest forms, Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. WEA. Mass, and here’s four of us too. BEV. It fits well, sir: This the effect,—that whereas all those four Maintain a natural opposition And untruc’d war the one against the other, To shame their ancient envies, they should see How well in two breasts all these do agree. WEA. That’s in the bride and bridegroom; I am quick, sir. SIR G. LAMB. In faith, it’s pretty, sir; I approve it well. BEV. But see how soon my happiness and your kindness Are[127] crost together! SIR G. LAMB. Crost? I hope not so, sir. BEV. I can employ but two of you. PEP. How comes that, sir? BEV. Air and the Fire should be by me[n] presented, But the two other in the forms of women. WEA. Nay, then, we’re gone again; I think these women Were made to vex and trouble us in all shapes. [_Aside._ SIR G. LAMB. Faith, sir, you stand too nicely.[128] WEA. So think I, sir. BEV. Yet, when we tax ourselves, it may the better Set off our errors, when the fine eyes judge ’em; But Water certainly should be a woman. WEA. By my faith, then, he is gelded since I saw him last; he was thought to be a man once, when he got his wife with child before he was married. BEV. Fie, you are fishing in another stream, sir. WEA. But now I come to yours, and[129] you go to that, sir; I see no reason then but Fire and Water should change shapes and genders. BEV. How prove you that, sir? WEA. Why, there’s no reason but Water should be a man, because Fire is commonly known to be a quean. BEV. So, sir; you argue well. WEA. Nay, more, sir; water will break in at a little crevice, so will a man, if he be not kept out; water will undermine, so will an informer; water will ebb and flow, so will a gentleman; water will search any place, and so will a constable, as lately he did at my Seven Stars for a young wench that was stole; water will quench fire, and so will Wat the barber: _ergo_, let Water wear a codpiece-point. BEV. Faith, gentlemen, I like your company well. WEA. Let’s see who’ll dispute with me at the full o’ the moon! BEV. No, sir; and[129] you be vain-glorious of your talent, I’ll put you to’t once more. WEA. I’m for you, sir, as long as the moon keeps in this quarter. BEV. Well, how answer you this then? earth and water are both bearers, therefore they should be women. WEA. Why, so are porters and pedlars, and yet they are known to be men. BEV. I’ll give you over in time, sir; I shall repent the bestowing on’t else. WEA. If I, that have proceeded[130] in five-and-twenty such books of astronomy, should not be able to put down a scholar now in one thousand six hundred thirty and eight, the dominical letter being G, I stood for a goose. SIR G. LAMB. Then this will satisfy you; though that be a woman, Oceanus the sea, that’s chief of waters, He wears the form of a man, and so may you. BEV. Now I hear reason, and I may consent. SIR G. LAMB. And so, though earth challenge a feminine face, The matter of which earth consists, that’s dust, The general soul of earth is of both kinds. BEV. Fit yourselves, gentlemen, I’ve enough for me; Earth, Water, Air, and Fire, part ’em amongst you. WEA. Let me play Air,[131] I was my father’s eldest son. BEV. Ay, but this Air never possess’d the lands. WEA. I’m but disposed to jest with you, sir; ’tis the same my almanac speaks on, is’t not? BEV. That ’tis, sir. WEA. Then leave it to my discretion, to fit both the part and the person. BEV. You shall have your desire, sir. SIR G. LAMB. We’ll agree Without your trouble now, sir; we’re not factious, Or envy one another for best parts, Like quarrelling actors that have passionate fits; We submit always to the writer’s wits. BEV. He that commends you may do’t liberally, For you deserve as much as praise can shew. SIR G. LAMB. We’ll send to you privately. BEV. I’ll despatch you. SIR G. LAMB. We’ll poison your device. [_Aside, and exit._ PEP. She must have pleasures, Shows, and conceits, and we disgraceful doom. [_Aside, and exit._ WEA. We’ll make your Elements come limping home. [_Aside, and exit._ BEV. How happy am I in this unlook’d-for grace, This voluntary kindness, from these gentlemen!

_Enter behind_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER _and_ LOW-WATER, _both disguised as before_.