Part 22

_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT _and_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM.

L. BEAU. Away, I am asham’d of your proceedings! And, seriously, you have in this one act O'erthrown the reputation the world Held of your wisdom. SIR F. CRES. Why, sir? L. BEAU. Can you not see your error? That having buried so good a wife Not a month since,—one that, to speak the truth, Had all those excellencies which our books Have only feign’d to make a complete wife Most exactly in her in practice,—and to marry A girl of fifteen, one bred up i' the court, That by all consonancy of reason is like To cross your estate: why, one new gown of hers, When ’tis paid for, will eat you out the keeping Of a bountiful Christmas. I'm asham’d of you; For you shall make too dear a proof of it, I fear, that in the election of a wife, As in a project of war, to err but once Is to be undone for ever. SIR F. CRES. Good my lord, I do beseech you, let your better judgment Go along with your reprehension! L. BEAU. So it does, And can find nought t' extenuate your fault But your dotage: you’re a man well sunk in years, And to graft such a young blossom into your stock Is the next way to make every carnal eye Bespeak your injury. Troth, I pity her too; She was not made to wither and go out By painted fires, that yield[858] her no more heat Than to be lodg’d in some bleak banqueting-house I' the dead of winter; and what follows then? Your shame and the ruin of your children; and there’s The end of a rash bargain. SIR F. CRES. With your pardon, That she is young is true; but that discretion Has gone beyond her years, and overta’en Those of maturer age, does more improve[859] Her goodness. I confess she was bred at court, But so retiredly, that, as still the best In some place is to be learnt there, so her life Did rectify itself more by the court-chapel Than by th' office of the revels: best of all virtues Are to be found at court; and where you meet With writings contrary to this known truth, They’re fram’d by men that never were so happy To be planted there to know it. For the difference Between her youth and mine, if you will read A matron’s sober staidness in her eye, And all the other grave demeanour fitting The governess of a house, you’ll then confess There’s no disparity between us. L. BEAU. Come, come, you read

_Enter_ WATER-CAMLET.

What you’d have her to be, not what she is.— O, master Water-Camlet, you are welcome. W.-CAM. I thank your lordship. L. BEAU. And what news stirring in Cheapside? W.-CAM. Nothing new there,[860] my lord, but the Standard.[861] L. BEAU. O, that’s a monument your wives take great delight in: I do hear you are grown a mighty purchaser; I hope shortly to find you a continual resident upon the north aisle of the Exchange. W.-CAM.. Where? with the Scotchmen? L. BEAU. No, sir, with the aldermen. W.-CAM. Believe it, I am a poor commoner. SIR F. CRES. Come, you are warm, and blest with a fair wife. W.-CAM. There’s it; her going brave[862] has the only virtue to improve my credit in the subsidy-book. L. BEAU. But, I pray, how thrives your new plantation of silk-worms? those I saw last summer at your garden. W.-CAM. They are removed, sir. L. BEAU. Whither?

W.-CAM. This winter my wife has removed them home to a fair chamber, where divers courtiers use to come and see them, and my wife carries them up: I think shortly, what with the store of visitants, they’ll prove as chargeable to me as the morrow after Simon and Jude, only excepting the taking down and setting up again of my glass-windows. L. BEAU. That a man of your estate should be so gripple-minded and repining at his wife’s bounty! SIR F. CRES. There are no such ridiculous things i' the world as those love money better than themselves; for though they have understanding to know riches, and a mind to seek them, and a wit to find them, and policy to keep them, and long life to possess them; yet, commonly, they have withal such a false sight, such bleared eyes, all their wealth, when it lies before them, does seem poverty; and such a one are you. W.-CAM.. Good sir Francis, you have had sore eyes too, you have been a gamester, but you have given it o’er; and to redeem the vice belonged to’t, now you entertain certain farcels[863] of silenced ministers, which, I think, will equally undo you; yet should these waste you but lenitively, your devising new water-mill[s] for recovery of drowned land, and certain dreams you have in alchemy to find the philosopher’s stone, will certainly draw you to the bottom. I speak freely, sir, and would not have you angry, for I love you. SIR F. CRES. I am deeply in your books for furnishing my late wedding; have you brought a note of the particulars? W.-CAM.. No, sir; at more leisure. SIR F. CRES. What comes the sum to? W.-CAM.. For tissue, cloth-of-gold, velvets, and silks, about fifteen hundred pounds. SIR F. CRES. Your money is ready. W.-CAM.. Sir, I thank you. SIR F. CRES. And how do[864] my two young children, whom I have put to board with you? L. BEAU. Have you put forth two of your children already? SIR F. CRES. ’Twas my wife’s discretion to have it so. L. BEAU. Come, ’tis the first principle in a mother-in-law’s chop-logic to divide the family, to remove from forth your sight the object[s] that her cunning knows would dull her insinuation. Had you been a kind father, it would have been your practice every day to have preached to these two young ones carefully your late wife’s funeral-sermon. 'Las, poor souls, are they turn’d so soon a-grazing? W.-CAM.. My lord, they are placed where they shall be respected as mine own.

_Enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM _and_ FRANKLIN _junior_.

L. BEAU. I make no question of’t, good master Camlet.— See here your eldest son, George[865] Cressingham. SIR F. CRES. You have displeas’d and griev’d your mother-in-law; And till you’ve made submission and procur’d Her pardon, I'll not know you for my son. G. CRES. I've wrought her no offence, sir; the difference Grew about certain jewels which my mother, By your consent, lying upon her deathbed, Bequeath’d to her three children: these I demanded, And being denied these, thought this sin of hers, To violate so gentle a request Of her predecessor, was an ill foregoing Of a mother-in-law’s harsh nature. SIR F. CRES. Sir, understand My will mov’d in her denial: you have jewels, To pawn or sell them! sirrah, I will have you As obedient to this woman as to myself; Till then you’re none of mine. W.-CAM. O master George, Be rul’d, do any thing for a quiet life! Your father’s peace of life moves in it too. I have a wife; when she is in the sullens, Like a cook’s dog that you see turn a wheel, She will be sure to go and hide herself Out of the way dinner and supper; and in These fits Bow-bell is a still organ to her. When we were married first, I well remember, Her railing did appear but a vision, Till certain scratches on my hand[s] and face Assur’d me ’twas substantial. She’s a creature Uses to waylay my faults, and more desires To find them out than to have them amended: She has a book, which I may truly nominate Her Black Book, for she remembers in it, In short items, all my misdemeanours; as, item, such a day I was got foxed[866] with foolish metheglin, in the company of certain Welsh chapmen: item, such a day, being at the Artillery Garden,[867] one of my neighbours, in courtesy to salute me with his musket, set a-fire my fustian and apes breeches:[868] such a day I lost fifty pound in hugger-mugger at dice, at the Quest-house:[869] item, I lent money to a sea-captain on his bare _Confound him he would pay me again the next morning_: and such like: For which she rail’d upon me when I should sleep, And that’s, you know, intolerable, for indeed 'Twill tame an elephant. G. CRES. ’Tis a shrewd vexation; But your discretion, sir, does bear it out With a month’s sufferance. W.-CAM. Yes, and I would wish you To follow mine example. FRANK. JUN. Here’s small comfort, George, from your father; here’s a lord whom I Have long depended upon for employment; I'll see If my suit will thrive better.—Please your lordship, You know I'm a younger brother, and my fate Throwing me upon the late ill-starr’d voyage To Guiana,[870] failing of our golden hopes, I and my ship address’d ourselves to serve The duke of Florence. L. BEAU. Yes, I understood so. FRANK. JUN. Who gave me both encouragement and means To do him some small service ’gainst the Turk: Being settled there, both in his pay and trust, Your lordship, minding to rig forth a ship To trade for the East Indies, sent for me; And what your promise was, if I would leave So great a fortune to become your servant, Your letters yet can witness. L. BEAU. Yes; what follows? FRANK. JUN. That, for ought I perceive, your former purpose Is quite forgotten. I've stay’d here two months, And find your intended voyage but a dream, And the ship you talk of as imaginary As that th' astronomers point at in the clouds. I've spent two thousand ducats since my arrival; Men that have command, my lord, at sea, cannot live Ashore without money. L. BEAU. Know, sir, a late purchase, Which cost me a great sum, has diverted me From my former purpose; besides, suits in law Do every term so trouble me by land, I've forgot going by water. If you please To rank yourself among my followers, You shall be welcome, and I'll make your means Better than any gentleman’s I keep.

FRANK. JUN. Some twenty mark[871] a-year! will that maintain Scarlet and gold lace, play at th' ordinary,[872] And bevers[873] at the tavern? L. BEAU. I had thought To prefer you to have been captain of a ship That’s bound for the Red Sea. FRANK. JUN. What hinders it? L. BEAU. Why, certainly, the merchants are possess’d[874] You’ve been a pirate. FRANK. JUN. Say I were one still, If I were past the Line once, why, methinks, I should do them better service.

_Enter_ KNAVESBY.

L. BEAU. Pray, forbear; Here is a gentleman whose business must Engross me wholly. G. CRES. What’s he? dost thou know him? FRANK. JUN. A pox upon him! a very knave and rascal, That goes a-hunting with the penal statutes, And good for nought but to persuade their lords To rack their rents and give o’er housekeeping: Such caterpillars may hang at their lords' ears When better men are neglected. G. CRES. What’s his name? FRANK. JUN. Knavesby. G. CRES. Knavesby! FRANK. JUN. One that deals in a tenth share About projections: he and his partners, when They’ve got a suit once past the seal, will so Wrangle about partition, and sometimes They fall to th' ears about it; like your fencers, That cudgel one another by patent: you shall see him So terribly bedash’d in a Michaelmas term, Coming from Westminster, that you would swear He were lighted from a horse-race. Hang him, hang him! He’s a scurvy informer; has more cozenage In him than is in five travelling lotteries. To feed a kite with the carrion of this knave When he’s dead, and reclaim[875] her, O she would prove An excellent hawk for talon! has a fair creature To his wife too, and a witty rogue it is; And some men think this knave will wink at small faults. But, honest George, what shall become of us now? G. CRES. Faith, I'm resolvèd to set up my rest For[876] the Low Countries. FRANK. JUN. To serve there? G. CRES. Yes, certain. FRANK. JUN. There’s thin commons; Besides, they’ve added one day more to the week Than was in the creation: art thou valiant, Art thou valiant, George? G. CRES. I may be, and[877] I be put to’t. FRANK. JUN. O, never fear that; Thou canst not live two hours after thy landing Without a quarrel: thou must resolve to fight, Or, like a sumner,[878] thou’lt be bastinado’d At every town’s end. You shall have gallants there As ragged as the fall o' the leaf, that live In Holland, where the finest linen’s made, And yet wear ne’er a shirt: these will not only Quarrel with a new-comer when they’re drunk, But they will quarrel with any man has means To be drunk afore them. Follow my council, George, Thou shalt not go o’er; we’ll live here i' the city. G. CRES. But how? FRANK. JUN. How! why, as other gallants do, That feed high and play copiously, yet brag They’ve but nine pound a-year to live on: these Have wit to turn rich fools and gulls into quarter-days, That bring them in certain payment. I've a project Reflects upon yon mercer, master Camlet, Shall put us into money. G. CRES. What is’t? FRANK. JUN. Nay, I will not stale[879] ’t aforehand, ’tis a new one: Nor cheating amongst gallants may seem strange; Why, a reaching wit goes current on th' Exchange. [_Exeunt._ G. CRESSINGHAM _and_ FRANKLIN _junior_. KNA. O, my lord, I remember you and I were students together at Cambridge; but, believe me, you went far beyond me. L. BEAU. When I studied there, I had so fantastical a brain, that like a felfare[880] frighted in winter by a birding-piece, I could settle no where; here and there a little of every several art, and away. KNA. Now, my wit, though it were more dull, yet I went slowly on; and as divers others, when I could not prove an excellent scholar, by a plodding patience I attained to be a petty lawyer; and I thank my dulness for’t: you may stamp in lead any figure, but in oil or quicksilver nothing can be imprinted, for they keep no certain station. L. BEAU. O, you tax me well of irresolution: but say, worthy friend, how thrives my weighty suit which I have trusted to your friendly bosom? is there any hope to make me happy? KNA. ’Tis yet questionable, for I have not broke the ice to her: an hour hence come to my house; and if it lie in man, be sure, as the law-phrase says, I will create you lord-paramount of your wishes. L. BEAU. O my best friend! and one that takes the hardest course i' the world to make himself so. [_Exit_ KNAVESBY.]—Sir, now I'll take my leave. SIR F. CRES. Nay, good my lord, my wife is coming down. L. BEAU. Pray, pardon me; I have business so importunes me o' the sudden, I cannot stay: deliver mine excuse; and in your ear this,—let not a fair woman make you forget your children. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM _and_ SAUNDER.

L. CRES. What, are you taking leave too? W.-CAM.. Yes, good madam. L. CRES. The rich stuff[s] which my husband bought of you, the works of them are too common; I have got a Dutch painter to draw patterns, which I'll have sent to your factors, as in Italy, at Florence, and Ragusa, where these stuffs are woven, to have pieces made for mine own wearing, of a new invention. W.-CAM.. You may, lady; but ’twill be somewhat chargeable. L. CRES. Chargeable! what of that? if I live another year, I'll have my agents shall lie for me at Paris, and at Venice, and at Valladolid in Spain, for intelligence of all new fashions. SIR F. CRES. Do, sweetest; thou deservest to be exquisite in all things. W.-CAM.. The two children, to which you are mother-in-law, would be repaired too; ’tis time they had new clothing. L. CRES. I pray, sir, do not trouble me with them; they have a father indulgent and careful of them. SIR F. CRES. I am sorry you made the motion to her. W.-CAM.. I have done.— He has run himself into a pretty dotage!— [_Aside._ Madam, with your leave.— He’s tied to a new law and a new wife; Yet, to my old proverb, Any thing for a quiet life. [_Aside, and exit._ L. CRES. Good friend, I have a suit to you. SIR F. CRES. Dearest self, you most powerfully sway me.— L. CRES. That you would give o’er this fruitless, if I may not say this idle, study of alchemy; why, half your house looks like a glass-house. SAUN. And the smoke you make is a worse enemy to good housekeeping than tobacco. L. CRES. Should one of your glasses break, it might bring you to a dead palsy. SAUN. My lord, your quicksilver has made all your more solid gold and silver fly in fume. SIR F. CRES. I'll be ruled by you in any thing. L. CRES. Go, Saunder, break all the glasses. SAUN. I fly to’t. [_Exit._ L. CRES. Why, noble friend, would you find the true philosopher’s stone indeed, my good housewifery should do it: you understand I was bred up with a great courtly lady; do not think all women mind gay clothes and riot; there are some widows living have improved both their own fortunes and their children’s: would you take my counsel, I'd advise you to sell your land. SIR F. CRES. My land! L. CRES. Yes; and the manor-house upon’t, ’tis rotten: O the new-fashioned buildings brought from the Hague! ’tis stately. I have intelligence of a purchase, and the title sound, will for half the money you may sell yours for, bring you in more rent than yours now yields you. SIR F. CRES. If it be so good a pennyworth, I need not sell my land to purchase it; I'll procure money to do it. L. CRES. Where, sir? SIR F. CRES. Why, I'll take it up at interest. L. CRES. Never did any man thrive that purchased with use-money. SIR F. CRES. How come you to know these thrifty principles? L. CRES. How? why, my father was a lawyer, and died in the commission; and may not I, by a natural instinct, have a reaching that way? there are, on mine own knowledge, some divines' daughters infinitely affected with reading controversies; and that, some think, has been a means to bring so many suits into the spiritual court. Pray, be advised; sell your land, and purchase more: I knew a pedlar, by being merchant this way, is become lord of many manors: we should look to lengthen our estates, as we do our lives;

_Re-enter_ SAUNDER.

And though I'm young, yet I am confident Your able constitution of body, When you are past fourscore, shall keep you fresh Till I arrive at the neglected year That I'm past child-bearing; and yet even there[881] Quickening our faint heats in a soft embrace, And kindling divine flames in fervent prayers, We may both go out together, and one tomb Quit our executors the rites of two. SIR F. CRES. O, you’re so wise and so good in every thing, I move by your direction. SAUN. She has caught him. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_A room in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.