Part 8
SIR O. TWI. Here come the caskets, sir; hold your good mind now, And we shall make a virtuous end between you. MIS. LOW. Though nothing less she merit but a curse, That might still hang upon her and consume her still, As’t has been many a better woman’s fortune, That has deserv’d less vengeance and felt more, Yet my mind scorns to leave her shame so poor. SIR O. TWI. Nobly spoke still! SIR G. LAMB. This strikes me into music; ha, ha! PEP. Parting of goods before the bodies join! WEA. This ’tis to marry beardless, domineering boys; I knew ’twould come to this pass: well fare a just almanac yet; for now is Mercury going into the second house near unto Ursa Major, that great hunks, the Bear at the Bridge-foot in heaven,[168] which shews horrible bear-baitings in wedlock; and the Sun near entering into the Dog, sets ’em all together by the ears. SIR O. TWI. You see what’s in’t. MIS. LOW. I think ’tis as I left it. L. GOLD. Then do but gage your faith to this assembly, That you will ne’er return more to molest me, But rest in all revenges full appeas’d And amply satisfied with that half my wealth, And take’t as freely as life wishes health! SIR O. TWI. La, you, sir! come, come, faith, you shall swear that. MIS. LOW. Nay, gentlemen, For your sakes now I will deal fairly with her. SIR O. TWI. I would we might see that, sir! MIS. LOW. I could set her free; But now I think on’t, she deserves it not. SUN. Nay, do not check your goodness; pray, sir, on with’t. MIS. LOW. I could release her ere I parted with her— But ’twere a courtesy ill plac’d—and set her At as free liberty to marry again As you all know she was before I knew her. SIR O. TWI. What, couldst thou, sir? MIS. LOW. But ’tis too good a blessing for her;— Up with the casket, sirrah. L. GOLD. O sir, stay! MIS. LOW. I’ve nothing to say to you. SIR O. TWI. Do you hear, sir? Pray, let’s have one word more with you for our money. L. GOLD. Since you’ve expos’d me to all shame and sorrow, And made me fit but for one hope and fortune, Bearing my former comforts away with you, Shew me a parting charity but in this,— For all my losses pay me with that freedom, And I shall think this treasure as well given As ever ’twas ill got. MIS. LOW. I might afford it you, Because I ne’er mean to be more troubled with you; But how shall I be sure of the honest use on’t, How you’ll employ that liberty? perhaps sinfully, In wantonness unlawful, and I answer for’t; So I may live a bawd to your loose works still, In giving ’em first vent; not I, shall pardon me; I’ll see you honestly join’d ere I release you; I will not trust you, for the last trick you play’d me: Here’s your old suitors. PEP. Now we thank you, sir. WEA. My almanac warns me from all cuckoldy conjunctions. L. GOLD. Be but commander of your word now, sir, And before all these gentlemen, our friends, I’ll make a worthy choice. SUN. Fly not ye back now. MIS. LOW. I’ll try thee once: I’m married to another, There’s thy release. SIR O. TWI. Hoyday! there’s a release with a witness! Thou’rt free, sweet wench. L. GOLD. Married to another! Then, in revenge to thee,[169] To vex thine eyes, ’cause thou hast mock’d my heart, And with such treachery repaid my love, This is the gentleman I embrace and choose. [_Taking_ BEVERIL _by the hand_. MIS. LOW. O torment to my blood, mine enemy! None else to make thy choice of but the man From whence my shame took head! L. GOLD. ’Tis done to quit[170] thee; Thou that wrong’st woman’s love, her hate can fit thee. SIR O. TWI. Brave wench, i’faith! now thou’st an honest gentleman, Rid of a swaggering knave, and there’s an end on’t; A man of good parts, this t’other had nothing. Life, married to another! SIR G. LAMB. O, brave rascal, with two wives!
WEA. Nay, and[171] our women be such subtle animals, I’ll lay wait at the carrier’s for a country chamber-maid, and live still a bachelor. When wives are like almanacs, we may have every year a new one, then I’ll bestow my money on ’em; in the meantime I’ll give ’em over, and ne’er trouble my almanac about ’em. SIR G. LAMB. I come in a good time to see you hang’d, sir, And that’s my comfort; now I’ll tickle you, sir. MIS. LOW. You make me laugh indeed. SIR G. LAMB. Sir, you remember How cunningly you chok’d me at the banquet With a fine bawdy letter? MIS. LOW. Your own fist, sir. SIR G. LAMB. I’ll read the statute-book to you now for’t; Turn to the act[172] in _anno Jac. primo_, There lies a halter for your windpipe. MIS. LOW. Fie, no! SIR O. TWI. Faith, but you’ll find it so, sir, an’t be follow’d. WEA. So says my almanac, and he’s a true man: Look you; [_reads_] _The thirteenth day, work for the hangman_. MIS. LOW. The fourteenth day, make haste,—’tis time you were there then. WEA. How! is the book so saucy to tell me so? BEV. Sir, I must tell you now, but without gall, The law would hang you, if married to another. MIS. LOW. You can but put me to my book, sweet brother, And I’ve my neck-verse[173] perfect here and here: Heaven give thee eternal joy, my dear, sweet brother! [_Discovering herself, and embracing_ BEVERIL: LOW-WATER _also discovers himself_. SIR O. TWI. } Who’s here? L. TWI., _&c._ } SIR G. LAMB. O devil! herself! did she betray me? A pox of shame, nine coaches shall not stay me! [_Exit._ BEV. I’ve two such deep healths in two joys to pledge, Heaven keep me from a surfeit! SIR O. TWI. Mistress Low-water! Is she the jealous cuckold all this coil’s about?— And my right worshipful serving-man, is’t you, sir? LOW. A poor, wrong’d gentleman, glad to serve for his own, sir. SIR O. TWI. By my faith, You’ve serv’d the widow a fine trick between you. MIS. LOW. No more my enemy now, my brother’s wife And my kind sister. SIR O. TWI. There’s no starting now from’t: ’Tis her own brother; did not you know that? L. GOLD. ’Twas never told me yet. SIR O. TWI. I thought y’had known’t. MIS. LOW. What matter is’t? ’tis the same man was chose still, No worse now than he was. I’m bound to love you; You’ve exercis’d[174] in this a double charity, Which, to your praise, shall to all times be known, Advanc’d my brother, and restor’d mine own, Nay, somewhat for my wrongs, like a good sister— For well you know the tedious suit did cost Much pains and fees; I thank you, ’tis not lost— You wish’d for love, and, faith, I have bestow’d you Upon a gentleman that does dearly love you; That recompence I’ve made you; and you must think, madam, I lov’d you well—though I could never ease you— When I fetch’d in my brother thus to please you. SIR O. TWI. Here’s unity for ever strangely wrought! L. GOLD. I see, too late, there is a heavy judgment Keeps company with extortion and foul deeds, And, like a wind which vengeance has in chase, Drives back the wrongs into the injurer’s face: My punishment is gentle; and to shew My thankful mind for’t, thus I’ll revenge this, With an embracement here, and here a kiss. [_Embraces_ MISTRESS LOW-WATER _and kisses_ BEVERIL. SIR O. TWI. Why, now the bells they go trim, they go trim.— I wish’d thee, sir, some unexpected blessing, For my wife’s ransom, and ’tis faln upon thee. WEA. A pox of this! my almanac ne’er gulled me till this hour: the thirteenth day, work for the hangman, and there’s nothing toward it. I’d been a fine ass if I’d given twelvepence for a horse to have rid to Tyburn to-morrow. But now I see the error, ’tis false-figured; it should be, thirteen days and a half, work for the hangman, for he ne’er works under thirteenpence halfpenny; beside, Venus being a spot in the sun’s garment, shews there should be a woman found in hose[175] and doublet. SIR O. TWI. Nay, faith, sweet wife, we’ll make no more hours on’t now, ’tis as fine a contracting time as ever came amongst gentlefolks.—Son Philip, master Sandfield, come to the book here. PHIL. Now I’m wak’d Into a thousand miseries and their torments. SAV. And I come after you, sir, drawn with wild horses; there will be a brave show on’s anon, if this weather continue. SIR O. TWI. Come, wenches, where be these young gen[tle]men’s hands now? L. TWI. Poor gentleman, my son! [_Aside._]—Some other time, sir. SIR O. TWI. I’ll have’t now, i’faith, wife. L. GOLD. What are you making here? SIR O. TWI. I’ve sworn, sweet madam, My son shall marry master Sunset’s daughter, And master Sandfield mine. L. GOLD. So you go well, sir; But what make you this way then? SIR O. TWI. This? for my son. L. GOLD. O back, sir, back! this is no way for him. SUNSET. } How! SIR O. TWI. } L. GOLD. O, let me break an oath, to save two souls, Lest I should wake another judgment greater! You come not here for him, sir. SIR O. TWI. What’s the matter? L. GOLD. Either give me free leave to make this match, Or I’ll forbid the banes.[176] SIR O. TWI. Good madam, take it. L. GOLD. Here, master Sandfield, then—— SIR O. TWI. Cuds bodkins! L. GOLD. Take you this maid. [_Giving_ JANE _to_ SANDFIELD. SAND. You could not please me better, madam. SIR O. TWI. Hoyday! is this your hot love to my daughter, sir? L. GOLD. Come hither, Philip; here’s a wife for you. [_Giving_ GRACE _to_ PHILIP TWILIGHT. SIR O. TWI. Zouns, he shall ne’er do that; marry his sister! L. GOLD. Had he been rul’d by you, he had married her, But now he marries master Sunset’s daughter, And master Sandfield yours: I’ve sav’d your oath sir. PHIL. O may this blessing hold! SAV. Or else all the liquor runs out. SIR O. TWI. What riddle’s this, madam? L. GOLD. A riddle of some fourteen years of age now.— You can remember, madam, that your daughter Was put to nurse to master Sunset’s wife. L. TWI. True, that we talk’d on lately. SIR O. TWI. I grant that, madam. L. GOLD. Then you shall grant what follows: at that time, You likewise know, old master Sunset here Grew backward in the world, till his last fortunes Rais’d him to this estate. SIR O. TWI. Still this we know too. L. GOLD. His wife, then nurse both to her own and yours, And both so young, of equal years, and daughters, Fearing the extremity of her fortunes then Should fall upon her infant, to prevent it, She chang’d the children, kept your daughter with her, And sent her own to you for better fortunes. So long, enjoin’d by solemn oath unto’t Upon her deathbed, I have conceal’d this; But now so urg’d, here’s yours, and this is his. SAV. Whoop, the joy is come of our side! WEA. Hey! I’ll cast mine almanac to the moon too, and strike out a new one for next year. PHIL. It wants expression, this miraculous blessing! SAV. Methinks I could spring up and knock my head Against yon silver ceiling now for joy! WEA. By my faith, but I do not mean to follow you there, so I may dash out my brains against Charles’ wain, and come down as wise as a carman. SIR O. TWI. I never wonder’d yet with greater pleasure. L. TWI. What tears have I bestow’d on a lost daughter, And left her [here] behind me! L. GOLD. This is Grace, This Jane; now each has her right name and place. SUN. I never heard of this. L. GOLD. I’ll swear you did not, sir. SIR O. TWI. How well I’ve kept mine oath against my will! Clap hands, and joy go with you! well said, boys! PHIL. How art thou blest from shame, and I from ruin! [_To_ GRACE. SAV. I from the baker’s ditch, if I’d seen you in. PHIL. Not possible the whole world to match again Such grief, such joy, in minutes lost and won! BEV. Who ever knew more happiness in less compass? Ne’er was poor gentleman so bound to a sister As I am, for the weakness[177] of thy mind; Not only that thy due, but all our wealth Shall lie as open as the sun to man, For thy employments; so the charity Of this dear bosom bids me tell thee now. MIS. LOW. I am her servant for’t. L. GOLD. Hah, worthy sister! The government of all I bless thee with. BEV. Come, gentlemen, on all perpetual friendship. Heaven still relieves what misery would destroy; Never was night yet of more general joy. [_Exeunt omnes._
EPILOGUE
_Spoken by_ WEATHERWISE.
Now, let me see, what weather shall we have now? Hold fair now, and I care not [_looking at almanac_]: mass, full moon too Just between five and six this afternoon! This happens right; [_reads_] _the sky for the best part clear, Save here and there a cloud or two dispers’d_,— That’s some dozen of panders and half a score Pickpockets, you may know them by their whistle; And they do well to use that while they may, For Tyburn cracks the pipe and spoils the music. What says the destiny of the hour this evening? Hah, [_reads_] _fear no colours_! by my troth, agreed then; The red and white looks cheerfully; for, know ye all, The planet’s Jupiter, you should be jovial; There’s nothing lets[178] it but the Sun i’ the Dog: Some bark in corners that will fawn and cog,[179] Glad of my fragments for their ember-week; The sign’s in Gemini too, both hands should meet, There should be noise i’ th’ air, if all things hap, Though I love thunder when you make the clap. Some faults perhaps have slipt, I am to answer:[180] And if in any thing your revenge appears, Send me in with all your fists about mine ears.
THE INNER-TEMPLE MASQUE.
_The Inner-Temple Masque. Or Masque of Heroes. Presented (as an Entertainement for many worthy Ladies:) By Gentlemen of the same Ancient and Noble House. Tho. Middleton. London Printed for John Browne, and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard in Fleetstreete._ 1619. 4to.
It was licensed—“1619 10 July The Temple Maske.—An 1618:” see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 202.
Langbaine (_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 372) having said, in his notice of this Masque, that Mrs. Behn “has taken _part_ of it into the _City Heiress_,” we are told in the _Biographia Dramatica_, that “Mrs. Behn has introduced into the _City Heiress a_ GREAT _part_ of _The Inner-Temple Masque_;” and Warton “believes” that the Masque “is _the foundation_” of Mrs. Behn’s play, _Hist. of English Poetry_, vol. ii. p. 399 (note). Now the fact is, that Mrs. Behn has not borrowed a single line of the _City Heiress_ from _The Inner-Temple Masque_! Langbaine, who in his list of Middleton’s dramas omits _A Mad World, my Masters_, applies, by mistake, to _The Inner-Temple Masque_ a remark which he had prepared for his notice of that play, and which he repeats when he mentions the comedy in his Appendix. He also states that the Masque was first printed in 1640—which is the date of the second edition (the earliest he had seen) of _A Mad World, my Masters_—and hence the _Biogr. Dram._ gives a second edition of the Masque in 1640!
THE MASQUE.
This nothing owes to any tale or story With which some writer pieces up a glory; I only made the time, they sat to see, Serve for the mirth itself, which was found free; And herein fortunate, that’s counted good, Being made for ladies, ladies understood. T. M.
THE PARTS. THE SPEAKERS.
_Doctor Almanac_ JOS. TAYLOR. _Plumporridge_ W. ROWLEY. _A Fasting-Day_ J. NEWTON. _New Year_ H. ATWELL. _Time_ W. CARPENTER. _Harmony_ _A Boy._
TWO ANTEMASQUES.
_In the first, six dancers._
_Candlemas-Day._ _Ill May-Day._ _Shrove-Tuesday._ _Midsummer-Eve._ _Lent._ _The First Dog-Day._
_The second presented by eight Boys._
_Three Good Days._ _Three Bad Days._ _Two Indifferent Days._
_The Masque itself receiving its illustration from nine of the Gentlemen of the House._
THE INNER-TEMPLE MASQUE.
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_Enter_ DOCTOR ALMANAC, _coming from the funeral of December, or the Old Year_.
D. AL. I have seen the Old Year fairly buried; Good gentleman he was, but toward his end Full of diseases: he kept no good diet; He lov’d a wench in June, which we count vild,[181] And got the latter end of May with child; That was his fault, and many an old year smells on’t.
_Enter_ FASTING-DAY.
How now? who’s this?[182] O, one a’ the Fasting-Days That follow’d him to his grave; I know him by his gauntness, his thin chitterlings; He would undo a tripe-wife. [_Aside._]—Fasting-Day, Why art so heavy? F.-DAY. O, sweet doctor Almanac, I’ve lost a dear old master! beside, sir, I have been out of service all this Kersmas;[183] Nobody minds Fasting-Day; I’ve scarce been thought upon a’ Friday nights; And because Kersmas this year fell upon’t, The Fridays have been ever since so proud, They scorn my company: the butchers’ boys At Temple-Bar set their great dogs upon me; I dare not walk abroad, nor be seen yet; The very poulters’[184] girls throw rotten eggs at me, Nay, Fish-street loves me e’en but from teeth outward; The nearest kin I have looks shy upon me, As if ’t had forgot me. I met Plumporridge now, My big-swoln enemy; he’s plump and lusty, The only man in place. Sweet master doctor, Prefer me to the New Year; you can do’t. D. AL. When can I do’t, sir? you must stay till Lent. F.-DAY. Till Lent! you kill my heart, sweet master doctor; Thrust me into Candlemas-Eve, I do beseech you. D. AL. Away! Candlemas-Eve will never bear thee I’ these days, ’tis so frampole;[185] the Puritans Will never yield to’t. F.-DAY. Why, they’re fat enough. D. AL. Here comes Plumporridge.
_Enter_ PLUMPORRIDGE.
F.-DAY. Ay, he’s sure of welcome: Methinks he moves like one of the great porridge-tubs Going to the Counter. PLUM. O, killing, cruel sight! yonder’s a Fasting-Day, a lean, spiny[186] rascal, with a dog in’s belly; his very bowels bark with hunger. Avaunt! thy breath stinks; I do not love to meet thee fasting; thou art nothing but wind, thy stomach’s full of farts, as if they had lost their way, and thou made with the wrong end upward, like a Dutch maw, that discharges still into the mouth.
F.-DAY. Why, thou whorson breakfast, dinner, nunchions, supper, and bever,[187] cellar, hall, kitchen and wet-larder! PLUM. Sweet master doctor, look quickly upon his water, That I may break the urinal ’bout his pate. [_Offering urinal to_ D. ALMANAC. D. AL. Nay, friendship, friendship! PLUM. Never, master doctor, With any Fasting-Day, persuade me not, Nor any thing belongs to Ember-week; And if I take against a thing, I’m stomachful;[188] I was born an Anabaptist, a fell foe To fish and Fridays; pig’s my absolute sweetheart; And shall I wrong my love, and cleave to salt-fish? Commit adultery with an egg and butter? D. AL. Well, setting this apart, whose water’s this, sir? PLUM. O, thereby hangs a tale; my master Kersmas’s, It is his water, sir; he’s drawing on. D. AL. Kersmas[’s]? why, let me see; I saw him very lusty a’ Twelfth Night. PLUM. Ay, that’s true, sir; but then he took his bane With Choosing King and Queen:[189] Has made his will already, here’s the copy. D. AL. And what has he given away? let me see, Plumbroth. [_Taking will from_ PLUMPORRIDGE. PLUM. He could not give away much, sir; his children have so consumed him beforehand. D. AL. [_reads_] _The last will and testament of Kersmas, irrevocable. In primis, I give and bequeath to my second son In-and-In[190] his perpetual lodging i’ the King’s Bench, and his ordinary out of the basket._[191] PLUM. A sweet allowance for a second brother! D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my youngest sons Gleek and Primavista[192] the full consuming of nights and days, and wives and children, together with one secret gift, that is, never to give over while they have a penny._ PLUM. And if e’er they do, I’ll be hanged! D. AL. [_reads_] _For the possession of all my lands, manors, manor-houses, I leave them full and wholly to my eldest son Noddy,_[193] _whom, during his minority, I commit to the custody of a pair of Knaves and One-and-thirty._ PLUM. There’s knaves enow, a’ conscience, to cozen one fool! D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my eldest daughter Tickle-me-quickly, and to her sister My-lady’s-hole, free leave to shift for themselves, either in court, city, or country._ PLUM. We thank him heartily. D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I leave to their old aunt My-sow-has-pigged[194] a litter of courtesans to breed up for Shrovetide._ PLUM. They will be good ware in Lent, when flesh is forbid by proclamation. D. AL. [_reads_] _Item, I give to my nephew Gambols,[195] commonly called by the name of Kersmas Gambols, all my cattle, horse and mare, but let him shoe ’em himself._ PLUM. I ha’ seen him shoe the mare[196] forty times over. D. AL. [_reads_] _Also, I bequeath to my cousin-german Wassail-bowl,[197] born of Dutch parents, the privilege of a free denizen, that is, to be drunk with Scotch ale or English beer; and, lastly, I have given, by word of mouth, to poor Blind-man-buff a flap with a fox-tail._ PLUM. Ay, so has given ’em all, for aught I see. But now what think you of his water, sir? D. AL. Well, he may linger out till Candlemas, But ne’er recover it. F.-DAY. Would he were gone once! I should be more respected. [_Aside._
_Enter_ NEW YEAR.