Part 6

’Twill set off all my labours far more pleasing Before the widow, whom my heart calls mistress, But my tongue dares not second it. LOW. How say you now, Kate? MIS. LOW. I like this music well, sir. BEV. O unfortunate! Yet though a tree be guarded from my touch, There’s none can hinder me to love the fruit. MIS. LOW. Nay, now we know your mind, brother, we’ll provide for you. [_Exeunt_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER _and_ LOW-WATER. BEV. O were it but as free as late times knew it, I would deserve, if all life’s wealth could do it! [_Exit._

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! In 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. L. 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._ SAV. 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! SAV. 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; I 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, And 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! SIR 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._

L. 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. PHIL. 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! L. 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: Go 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 Let’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._

SCENE II.

_A large room in_ LADY GOLDENFLEECE’S _house_.

_Several Servants discovered placing things in order, and_ PICKADILL _looking on_.

PICK. Bestir your bones nimbly, you ponderous beef-buttocked knaves; what a number of lazy hinds do I keep company withal! where’s the flesh-colour velvet cushion now for my lady’s pease-porridge-tawny-satin bum? You attendants upon revels! FIRST SER. You can prate and domineer well, because you have a privilege[d] place; but I’d fain see you set your hand to’t. PICK. O base bone-pickers, I set my hand to’t! when did you e’er see a gentleman set his hand to any thing, unless it were to a sheep-skin, and receive a hundred pound for his pains? SEC. SER. And afterward lie in the Counter for his pleasure. PICK. Why, true, sir, ’tis for his pleasure indeed; for, spite of all their teeths, he may lie i’ th’ Hole[144] when he list. FIRST SER. Marry, and should for me. PICK. Ay, thou wouldst make as good a bawd as the best jailor of them all; I know that. FIRST SER. How, fool! PICK. Hark! I must call you knave within; ’tis but staying somewhat the longer for’t. [_Exeunt._

_Loud music. Enter, arm in arm_, LADY GOLDENFLEECE _richly dressed, and_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER _richly attired as a man; after them_ SIR OLIVER TWILIGHT, SUNSET, _and Dutch Merchant; after them_ LADY TWILIGHT, GRACE, _and_ JANE; _after them_ PHILIP TWILIGHT, SANDFIELD, SAVOURWIT, _and_ LOW-WATER, _disguised as before_.

MIS. LOW. This fair assembly is most freely welcome. SIR O. TWI., _&c._[145] Thanks to you, good sir. L. GOLD. Come, my long-wish’d-for madam, You and this worthy stranger take best welcome; Your freedom is a second feast to me. MIS. LOW. How is’t with my brother? LOW. The fit holds him still, Nay, love’s more violent. MIS. LOW. ’Las, poor gentleman! I would he had my office without money! If he should offer any, I’d refuse it. LOW. I have the letter ready; He’s worthy of a place knows[146] how to use it. MIS. LOW. That’s well said.— Come, ladies—gentlemen—sir Oliver; Good, seat yourselves: shall we be found unreadiest? [_They sit._ What is yon gentleman with the funeral-face there? Methinks that look does ill become a bride-house. SIR O. TWI. Who does your worship mean, sir? my son Philip? I’m sure he had ne’er less reason to be sad.— Why are you sad, son Philip? PHIL. How, sir, sad? You shall not find it so, sir. SAV. Take heed he do not, then. You must beware how you carry your face in this company; as far as I can see, that young bridegroom has hawk’s eyes, he’ll go nigh to spell sister in your face; if your nose were but crooked enough to serve for an S, he’d find an eye presently, and then he has more light for the rest. PHIL. I’ll learn then to dissemble. SAV. Nay, and[147] you be to learn that now, you’ll ne’er sit in a branched[148] velvet gown as long as you live; you should have took that at nurse, before your mother weaned you; so do all those that prove great children and batten well. Peace, here comes a scholar indeed; he has learnt it, I warrant you.

_Enter_ BEVERIL _with a pasteboard_.

L. GOLD. Kind sir, you’re welcome; you take all the pains, sir. BEV. I wish they were but worthy of the grace Of your fair presence and this choice assembly: Here is an abstract, madam, of what’s shewn, Which I commend to your favour. [_Giving pasteboard._ L. GOLD. Thank you for’t, sir. BEV. I would I durst present my love as boldly! [_Aside._ MIS. LOW. My honest brother! [_Aside._ L. GOLD. Look thee here, sweetheart. MIS. LOW. What’s there, sweet madam? BEV. Music, and we’re ready.

[_After loud music for a while, a thing like a globe opens on one side of the stage, and flashes out fire; then_ SIR G. LAMBSTONE, _in the character of Fire, issues from it, with yellow hair and beard intermingled with streaks like wild flames, a three-pointed fire in his hand; and, at the same time_, WEATHERWISE, _as Air, comes down, hanging by a cloud, with a coat made like an almanac, all the twelve moons set in it, and the four quarters, winter, spring, summer, and autumn, with change of weathers, rain, lightning, tempest, &c.; and from under the stage, on different sides at the farther end, rise_ OVERDONE _as Water, and_ PEPPERTON _as Earth; Water with green flags upon his head standing up instead of hair, and a beard of the same, with a chain of pearl; Earth with a number of little things resembling trees, like a thick grove, upon his head, and a wedge of gold in his hand, his garment of a clay colour_. BEVERIL _stands behind and gives_ SIR G. LAMBSTONE _the first words of his speech_.