Part 23

_Enter_ KNAVESBY _and_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY. KNA. Have you drunk[882] the eggs and muscadine I sent you? MIS. KNA. No, they are too fulsome. KNA. Away! you’re a fool!—How shall I begin to break the matter to her? [_Aside._]—I do long, wife. MIS. KNA. Long, sir? KNA. Long infinitely: sit down; there is a penitential motion in me, which if thou wilt but second, I shall be one of the happiest men in Europe. MIS. KNA. What might that be? KNA. I had last night one of the strangest dreams; Methought I was thy confessor, thou mine, And we reveal’d between us privately How often we had wrong’d each other’s bed Since we were married. MIS. KNA. Came you drunk to bed? There was a dream, with a witness! KNA. No, no witness; I dreamt nobody heard it but we two. This dream, wife, do I long to put in act; Let us confess each other; and I vow, Whatever thou hast done with that sweet corpse In the way of natural frailty, I protest, Most freely I will pardon. MIS. KNA. Go sleep again: Was there e’er such a motion? KNA. Nay, sweet woman, And[883] thou’lt not have me run mad with my desire, Be persuaded to’t. MIS. KNA. Well, be it [at] your pleasure. KNA. But to answer truly. MIS. KNA. O, most sincerely. KNA. Begin then; examine me first. MIS. KNA. Why, I know not what to ask you. KNA. Let me see: your father was a captain; demand of me how many dead pays[884] I am to answer for in the muster-book of wedlock, by the martial fault of borrowing from my neighbours. MIS. KNA. Troth, I can ask no such foolish questions. KNA. Why, then, open confession, I hope, dear wife, will merit freer pardon: I sinned twice with my laundress; and last circuit there was at Banbury a she-chamberlain that had a spice of purity, but at last I prevailed over her. MIS. KNA. O, you are an ungracious husband! KNA. I have made a vow never to ride abroad but in thy company: O, a little drink makes me clamber like a monkey! Now, sweet wife, you have been an out-lier too; which is best feed, in the forest or in the purlieus? MIS. KNA. A foolish mind of you i' this. KNA. Nay, sweet love, confess freely; I have given you the example. MIS. KNA. Why, you know I went last year to Stourbridge fair. KNA. Yes. MIS. KNA. And being in Cambridge, a handsome scholar, one of Emmanuel College, fell in love with me. KNA. O you sweet-breathed monkey! MIS. KNA. Go hang; you are so boisterous. KNA. But did this scholar shew thee his chamber? MIS. KNA. Yes. KNA. And didst thou like him? MIS. KNA. Like him? O, he had the most enticingest straw-coloured beard, a woman with black eyes would have loved him like jet: he was the finest man, with a formal wit; and he had a fine dog, that sure was whelped i' the college, for he understood Latin. KNA. Pooh waw! this is nothing, till I know what he did in’s chamber. MIS. KNA. He burnt wormwood in’t, to kill the fleas i' the rushes.[885] KNA. But what did he to thee there? MIS. KNA. Some five-and-twenty years hence I may chance tell you: fie upon you; what tricks, what crotchets are these? have you placed any body behind the arras to hear my confession? I heard one in England got a divorce from ’s wife by such a trick: were I disposed now, I would make you as mad: you shall see me play the changeling.[886] KNA. No, no, wife, you shall see me play the changeling: hadst thou confessed, this other suit I'll now prefer to thee would have been despatched in a trice. MIS. KNA. And what’s that, sir? KNA. Thou wilt wonder at it four-and-twenty years longer than nine days. MIS. KNA. I would very fain hear it. KNA. There is a lord o' the court, upon my credit, a most dear, honourable friend of mine, that must lie with thee: do you laugh? ’tis not come to that; you’ll laugh when you know who ’tis. MIS. KNA. Are you stark mad? KNA. On my religion, I have past my word for’t; ’Tis the Lord Beaufort; thou’rt made happy for ever; The generous and bountiful Lord Beaufort: You being both so excellent, ’twere pity If such rare pieces should not be conferr’d And sampled together. MIS. KNA. Do you mean seriously? KNA. As I hope for preferment. MIS. KNA. And can you lose me thus? KNA. Lose you? I shall love you the better: why, what’s the viewing any wardrobe or jewel-house, without a companion to confer their likings? yet, now I view thee well, methinks thou art a rare monopoly, and great pity one man should enjoy thee. MIS. KNA. This is pretty! KNA. Let’s divorce ourselves so long, or think I am gone to th' Indies, or lie with him when I am asleep; for some Familists[887] of Amsterdam will tell you [it] may be done with a safe conscience: come, you wanton, what hurt can this do to you? I protest, nothing so much as to keep company with an old woman has sore eyes; no more wrong than I do my beaver when I try it thus; look, this is all; smooth, and keeps fashion still. MIS. KNA. You’re one of the basest fellows! KNA. I look’d for chiding; I do make this a kind of fortitude The Romans never dreamt of; and[888] ’twere known, I should be spoke and writ of when I'm rotten, For ’tis beyond example. MIS. KNA. But, I pray, resolve[889] me; Suppose this done, could you e’er love me after? KNA. I protest I never thought so well of thee Till I knew he took a fancy to thee; like one That has variety of choice meat before him, Yet has no stomach to’t until he hear Another praise [it]: hark, my lord is coming! [_Knocking within._ MIS. KNA. Possible? KNA. And my preferment comes along with him: be wise, mind your good; and to confute all reason in the world which thou canst urge against it, when ’tis done, we will be married again, wife, which some say is the only _supersedeas_ about Limehouse to remove cuckoldry.

_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT.

L. BEAU. Come, are you ready to attend me to the court? KNA. Yes, my lord. L. BEAU. Is this fair one your wife? KNA. At your lordship’s service. I will look up some writings, and return presently. [_Exit._ MIS. KNA. To see and[890] the base fellow do not leave ’s alone too! [_Aside._ L. BEAU. ’Tis an excellent habit this: where were you born, sweet? MIS. KNA. I am a Suffolk woman, my lord. L. BEAU. Believe it, every country you breathe on is the sweeter for you: let me see your hand; the case is loath to part with the jewel [_drawing off her glove_]: fairest one, I have skill in palmistry. MIS. KNA. Good my lord, what do you find there? L. BEAU. In good earnest, I do find written here, all my good fortune lies in your hand. MIS. KNA. You’ll keep a very bad house then; you may see by the smallness of the table.[891] L. BEAU. Who is your sweetheart? MIS. KNA. Sweetheart? L. BEAU. Yes; come, I must sift you to know it. MIS. KNA. I am a sieve too coarse for your lordship’s manchet.[892] L. BEAU. Nay, pray you, tell me; for I see your husband is an unhandsome fellow. MIS. KNA. O, my lord, I took him by weight, not fashion; goldsmiths' wives taught me that way of bargain, and some ladies swerve not to follow the example. L. BEAU. But will you not tell me who is your private friend? MIS. KNA. Yes, and[890] you’ll tell me who is yours. L. BEAU. Shall I shew you her? MIS. KNA. Yes; when will you? L. BEAU. Instantly: look you, there you may see her. [_Leading her to a mirror._ MIS. KNA. I'll break the glass, ’tis now worth nothing. L. BEAU. Why? MIS. KNA. You have made it a flattering one. L. BEAU. I have a summer-house for you, a fine place to flatter solitariness; will you come and lie there? MIS. KNA. No, my lord. L. BEAU. Your husband has promised me; will you not? MIS. KNA. I must wink, I tell you, or say nothing. L. BEAU. So, I'll kiss you and wink too [_kisses her_]; midnight is Cupid’s holyday.

_Re-enter_ KNAVESBY.

KNA. By this time ’tis concluded.—Will you go, my lord? L. BEAU. I leave with you my best wishes till I see you. KNA. This now, if I may borrow our lawyer’s phrase, is my wife’s _imparlance_; at her next appearance she must answer your _declaration_. L. BEAU. You follow it well, sir. [_Exeunt._ LORD BEAUFORT _and_ KNAVESBY. MIS. KNA. Did I not know my husband of so base, Contemptible [a] nature, I should think 'Twere but a trick to try me; but it seems They’re both in wicked earnest; and methinks Upon the sudden, I've a great mind to loathe This scurvy, unhandsome way my lord has ta’en To compass me; why, ’tis for all the world As if he should come to steal some apricocks My husband kept for’s own tooth, and climb up Upon his head and shoulders: I'll go to him; He’ll put me into brave[893] clothes and rich jewels; 'Twere a very ill part in me not to go, His mercer and his goldsmith else might curse me; And what I'll do there, a' my troth, yet I know not. Women, though puzzled with these subtle deeds, May, as i' the spring, pick physic out of weeds. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

WATER-CAMLET’S _shop_.[894]

WATER-CAMLET, GEORGE, _and_ RALPH _discovered_.

GEO. What is’t you lack,[895] you lack, you lack? Stuffs for the belly or the back? Silk-grograns, satins, velvet fine, The rosy-colour’d carnadine,[896] Your nutmeg hue, or gingerline, Cloth-of-tissue or tabine,[897] That like beaten gold will shine In your amorous ladies' eyne,[898] Whilst you their softer silks do twine? What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack?

_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.

MIS. W.-CAM. I do lack content, sir, content I lack; have you or your worshipful master here any content to sell? GEO. If content be a stuff to be sold by the yard, you may have content at home, and never go abroad for’t. MIS. W.-CAM. Do, cut me three yards; I'll pay for ’em. GEO. There’s all we have i' the shop; we must know what you’ll give for ’em first. W.-CAM.. Why, Rachel, sweet Rachel, my bosom Rachel, How didst thou get forth? thou wert here, sweet Rac, Within this hour, even in my very heart. MIS. W.-CAM. Away! or stay still, I'll away from thee; One bed shall never hold us both again, Nor one roof cover us: didst thou bring home— GEO. What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack? MIS. W.-CAM. Peace, bandog, bandog! give me leave to speak, Or I'll—— GEO. Shall I not follow my trade? I'm bound to’t, and my master bound to bring me up in’t. W.-CAM.. Peace, good George; give her anger leave; Thy mistress will be quiet presently. MIS. W.-CAM. Quiet! I defy thee and quiet too; Quiet thy bastards thou hast brought home. GEO. _and_ RAL. What is’t you lack, you lack? &c. MIS. W.-CAM. Death, give me an ell![899] has one bawling cur Raised up another? two dogs upon me? And[900] the old bear-ward will not succour me, I'll stave ’em off myself: give me an ell, I say! GEO. Give her not an inch, master, she’ll take two ells if you do. W.-CAM.. Peace, George and Ralph; no more words, I charge you:— And Rachel, sweet wife, be more temperate: I know your tongue speaks not by the rule And guidance of your heart, when you proclaim The pretty children of my virtuous And noble kinswoman, whom in life you knew Above my praises' reach, to be my bastards: This is not well, although your anger did it; Pray, chide your anger for it. MIS. W.-CAM. Sir, sir, your gloss Of kinswoman cannot serve turn; ’tis stale, And smells too rank: though your shop-wares you vent[901] With your deceiving lights,[902] yet your chamber-stuff Shall not pass so with me; I say, and I'll prove— GEO. What is’t you lack?

_Enter_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.

W.-CAM. Why, George, I say—— MIS. W.-CAM. Lecher, I say, I'll be divorc’d from thee; I'll prove ’em thy bastards, and thou insufficient. [_Exit._ MAR. What said my angry cousin[903] to you, sir? That we were bastards? EDW. I hope she meant not us. W.-CAM. No, no, My pretty cousins, she meant George and Ralph; Rage will speak any thing; but they’re ne’er the worse. GEO. Yes indeed, forsooth, she spoke to us, but chiefly to Ralph, because she knows he has but one stone. RAL. No more of that, if you love me, George; this is not the way to keep a quiet house. MAR. Truly, sir, I would not, for more treasure Than ever I saw yet, be in your house A cause of discord. EDW. And do you think I would, sister? MAR. No indeed, Ned.

_Enter_ FRANKLIN _junior and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM, _disguised_.

EDW. Why did you not speak for me with you then, and said we could not have done so? W.-CAM.. No more, sweet cousins, now.—Speak, George, customers approach. G. CRES. Is the barber prepared? FRANK. JUN. With ignorance enough to go through with it; so near I am to him, we must call cousins; would thou wert as sure to hit the tailor! G. CRES. If I do not steal away handsomely, let me never play the tailor again. GEO. What is’t you lack? &c. FRANK. JUN. Good satins, sir. GEO. The best in Europe, sir; here’s a piece worth a piece every yard of him; the king of Naples wears no better silk; mark his gloss, he dazzles the eye to look upon him. FRANK. JUN. Is he not gummed?[904] GEO. Gummed! he has neither mouth nor tooth, how can he be gummed? FRANK. JUN. Very pretty. W.-CAM.. An especial good piece of silk; the worm never spun a finer thread, believe it, sir. FRANK. JUN. Gascoyn, you have some skill in it. W.-CAM.. Your tailor, sir? FRANK. JUN. Yes, sir. G. CRES. A good piece, sir; but let’s see more choice. RAL. Tailor, drive thorough; you know your bribes. G. CRES. Mum: he bestows forty pounds, if I say the word. RAL. Strike through; there’s poundage for you then. FRANK. JUN. Ay, marry, I like this better.—What sayst thou, Gascoyn? G. CRES. A good piece indeed, sir. GEO. The great Turk has worse satin at’s elbow than this, sir. FRANK. JUN. The price? W.-CAM.. Look on the mark, George. GEO. O, _Souse_ and _P_, by my facks, sir. W.-CAM.. The best sort then; sixteen a yard, nothing to be bated. FRANK. JUN. Fie, sir, fifteen’s too high, yet so.— How[905] many yards will serve for my suit, sirrah? G. CRES. Nine yards, you can have no less, sir Andrew. FRANK. JUN. But I can, sir, if you please to steal less; I had but eight in my last suit. G. CRES. You pinch us too near, in faith, sir Andrew. FRANK. JUN. Yet can you pinch out a false pair of sleeves to a friezado doublet. GEO. No, sir; some purses and pin-pillows perhaps: a tailor pays for his kissing that ways. FRANK. JUN. Well, sir, eight yards; eight fifteens I give, and cut it. W.-CAM.. I cannot, truly, sir. GEO. My master must be no subsidy-man, sir, if he take such fifteens. FRANK. JUN. I am at highest, sir, if you can take money. W.-CAM.. Well, sir, I'll give you the buying once; I hope to gain it in your custom: want you nothing else, sir? FRANK. JUN. Not at this time, sir. G. CRES. Indeed but you do, sir Andrew; I must needs deliver my lady’s message to you, she enjoined me by oath to do it; she commanded me to move you for a new gown. FRANK. JUN. Sirrah, I'll break your head, if you motion it again. G. CRES. I must endanger myself for my lady, sir: you know she’s to go to my lady Trenchmore’s wedding; and to be seen there without a new gown! she’ll have ne’er an eye to be seen there, for her fingers in ’em: nay, by my fack, sir, I do not think she’ll go; and then, the cause known, what a discredit 'twill be to you! FRANK. JUN. Not a word more, goodman snip-snapper, for your ears.—What comes this to, sir? W.-CAM.. Six pound, sir. FRANK. JUN. There’s your money. [_Gives money._]—Will you take this, and be gone and about your business presently? G. CRES. Troth, sir, I'll see some stuffs for my lady first; I'll tell her, at least, I did my good will.—A fair piece of cloth-of-silver, pray you, now. GEO. Or cloth-of-gold, if you please, sir, as rich as ever the Sophy wore. FRANK. JUN. You are the arrantest villain of a tailor that ever sat cross-legged; what do you think a gown of this stuff will come to? G. CRES. Why, say it be forty pound, sir, what’s that to you? three thousand a-year I hope will maintain it. FRANK. JUN. It will, sir; very good, you were best be my overseer: say I be not furnished with money, how then? G. CRES. A very fine excuse in you! which place of ten now will you send me for a hundred pound, to bring it presently? W.-CAM.. Sir, sir, your tailor persuades you well; ’tis for your credit and the great content of your lady. FRANK. JUN. ’Tis for your content, sir, and my charges.— Never think, goodman false-stitch, to come to the mercer’s with me again: pray, will you see if my cousin Sweetball the barber—he’s nearest hand—be furnished, and bring me word instantly. G. CRES. I fly, sir. [_Exit._ FRANK. JUN. You may fly, sir, you have clipt somebody’s wings for it, to piece out your own; an arrant thief you are! W.-CAM.. Indeed he speaks honestly and justly, sir. FRANK. JUN. You expect some gain, sir, there’s your cause of love. W.-CAM.. Surely I do a little, sir. FRANK. JUN. And what might be the price of this? W.-CAM.. This is thirty a yard; but if you’ll go to forty, here’s a nonpareil. FRANK. JUN. So, there’s a matter of forty pound for a gown-cloth? W.-CAM.. Thereabouts, sir: why, sir, there are far short of your means that wear the like. FRANK. JUN. Do you know my means, sir? GEO. By overhearing your tailor, sir,—three thousand a-year; but if you’d have a petticoat for your lady, here’s a stuff. FRANK. JUN. Are you another tailor, sirrah? here’s a knave! what are you? GEO. You are such another gentleman! but for the stuff, sir, ’tis _L.SS._ and _K_, for the turn stript[906] a' purpose; a yard and a quarter broad too, which is the just depth of a woman’s petticoat. FRANK. JUN. And why stript for a petticoat? GEO. Because if they abuse their petticoats, there are abuses stript; then ’tis taking them up, and they may be stript and whipt too.[907] FRANK. JUN. Very ingenious! GEO. Then it is likewise stript standing, between which is discovered the open part, which is now called the placket.[908] FRANK. JUN. Why, was it ever called otherwise? GEO. Yes; while the word remained pure in his original, the Latin tongue, who have no K's, it was called the _placet_; _a placendo_, a thing or place to please.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.

FRANK. JUN. Better and worse still.— Now, sir, you come in haste; what says my cousin? G. CRES. Protest, sir, he’s half angry, that either you should think him unfurnished, or not furnished for your use; there’s a hundred pound ready for you: he desires you to pardon his coming; his folks are busy, and his wife trimming a gentleman; but at your first approach the money wants but telling. FRANK. JUN. He would not trust you with it—I con him thanks[909]—for that he knows what trade you are of.— Well, sir, pray, cut him patterns; he may in the meantime know my lady’s liking: let your man take the pieces whole, with the lowest prices, and walk with me to my cousin’s. W.-CAM.. With all my heart, sir.—Ralph, your cloak, and go with the gentleman: look you give good measure. G. CRES. Look you carry a good yard with you. RAL. The best i' the shop, sir; yet we have none bad.— You’ll have the stuff for the petticoat too? FRANK. JUN. No, sir, the gown only. G. CRES. By all means, sir: not the petticoat? that were holy-day upon working-day, i’faith. FRANK. JUN. You are so forward for a knave,[910] sir! G. CRES. ’Tis for your credit and my lady’s both I do it, sir. FRANK. JUN. Your man is trusty, sir? W.-CAM.. O sir, we keep none but those we dare trust, sir.—Ralph, have a care of light gold. RAL. I warrant you, sir, I'll take none. FRANK. JUN. Come, sirrah.—Fare you well, sir. W.-CAM.. Pray, know my shop another time, sir. FRANK. JUN. That I shall, sir, from all the shops i' the town; ’tis the Lamb in Lombard Street. [_Exent_ FRANKLIN _jun._, G. CRESSINGHAM, _and_ RALPH _carrying the stuffs and a yard-measure_. GEO. A good morning’s work, sir; if this custom would but last long, you might shut up your shop and live privately. W.-CAM.. O George, but here’s a grief that takes away all the gains and joy of all my thrift. GEO. What’s that, sir? W.-CAM.. Thy mistress, George; her frowardness sours all my comfort. GEO. Alas, sir, they are but squibs and crackers, they’ll soon die; you know her flashes of old. W.-CAM.. But they fly so near me, that they burn me, George; They are as ill as muskets charg’d with bullets. GEO. She has discharged herself now, sir; you need not fear her. W.-CAM.. No man can love without his affliction, George. GEO. As you cannot without my mistress. W.-CAM.. Right, right;[911] there’s harmony in discords: this lamp of love, while any oil is left, can never be extinct; it may, like a snuff, wink and seem to die, but up he will again and shew his head: I cannot be quiet, George, without my wife at home. GEO. And when she’s at home you’re never quiet, I'm sure; a fine life you have on’t! Well, sir, I'll do my best to find her, and bring her back, if I can. W.-CAM.. Do, honest George; at Knavesby’s house, that varlet’s— There is her haunt and harbour—who enforces A kinsman on her, and [she] calls him cousin. Restore her, George, to ease this heart that’s vext, The best new suit that e’er thou wor’st is next. GEO. I thank you aforehand, sir. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ SWEETBALL’S _house_.

_Enter_ FRANKLIN _jun. and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM _disguised as before_, RALPH _carrying the stuffs and a yard-measure_, SWEETBALL, _and Boy_.