Part 25

Ralph, home to the shop; leave George and I together. RAL. I am gone, sir. [_Exit._ W.-CAM.. Now, George, what better news eastward? all goes ill t’other way. GEO. I bring you the best news that ever came about your ears in your life, sir. W.-CAM.. Thou puttest me in good comfort, George. GEO. My mistress, your wife, will never trouble you more. W.-CAM.. Ha! never trouble me more? of this, George, may be made a sad construction; that phrase we sometimes use when death makes the separation; I hope it is not so with her, George? GEO. No, sir, but she vows she’ll never come home again to you; so you shall live quietly; and this I took to be very good news, sir. W.-CAM.. The worst that could be this, candied poison: I love her, George, and I am bound to do so; The tongue’s bitterness must not separate United[937] souls: ’twere base and cowardly For all to yield to the small tongue’s assault: The whole building must not be taken down For the repairing of a broken window. GEO. Ay, but this is a principal, sir: the truth is, she will be divorced, she says, and is labouring with her cousin Knave—what do you call him? I have forgotten the latter end of his name. W.-CAM.. Knavesby, George. GEO. Ay, Knave, or Knavesby, one I took it to be. W.-CAM.. Why, neither rage nor envy can make a cause, George. GEO. Yes, sir; not only at your person, but she shoots at your shop too; she says you vent ware that is not warrantable, braided ware, and that you give not London measure; women, you know, look for more than a bare yard: and then you keep children in the name of your own, which she suspects came not in at the right door. W.-CAM.. She may as well suspect immaculate truth To be curs’d falsehood. GEO. Ay, but if she will, she will; she’s a woman, sir. W.-CAM.. ’Tis most true, George: well, that shall be redress’d; My cousin Cressingham must yield me pardon, The children shall home again, and thou shalt conduct 'em, George. GEO. That done, I'll be bold to venture once more for her recovery, since you cannot live at liberty, but because you are a rich citizen, you will have your chain about your neck: I think I have a device will bring you together by th' ears again, and then look to ’em as well as you can. W.-CAM.. O George, ’mongst all my heavy troubles, this Is the groaning weight; but restore my wife![938] GEO. Although you ne’er lead hour of quiet life. W.-CAM. I will endeavour ’t, George; I'll lend her will A power and rule to keep all hush’d and still: Eat we all sweetmeats, we are soonest rotten. GEO. A sentence! pity ’t should have been forgotten! [_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_A room in_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM′S _house_.

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM _and Surveyor severally_.

SUR. Where’s master steward? SIR F. CRES. Within: what are you, sir? SUR. A surveyor, sir. SIR F. CRES. And an almanac-maker, I take it: can you tell me what foul weather is toward?[939] SUR. Marry, the foulest weather is, that your land is flying away. [_Exit._ SIR F. CRES. A most terrible prognostication! All the resort, all the business to my house is to my lady and master steward, whilst sir Francis stands for a cipher; I have made away myself and my power, as if I had done it by deed of gift: here comes the comptroller of the game.

_Enter_ SAUNDER.

SAUN. What, are you yet resolved to translate this unnecessary land into ready money? SIR F. CRES. Translate it! SAUN. The conveyances are drawn, and the money ready: my lady sent me to you to know directly if you meant to go through in the sale; if not, she resolves of another course. SIR F. CRES. Thou speakest this cheerfully, methinks; whereas faithful servants were wont to mourn when they beheld the lord that fed and cherished them, as[940] by cursed enchantment, removed into another blood. Cressingham of Cressingham has continued many years, and must the name sink now? SAUN. All this is nothing to my lady’s resolution; it must be done, or she’ll not stay in England: she would know whether your son be sent for, that must likewise set his hand to the sale; for otherwise the lawyers say there cannot be a sure conveyance made to the buyer. SIR F. CRES. Yes, I have sent for him; but, I pray thee, think what a hard task ’twill be for a father to persuade his son and heir to make away his inheritance. SAUN. Nay, for that, use your own logic; I have heard you talk at the sessions terribly against deer-stealers, and that kept you from being put out of the commission. [_Exit._ SIR F. CRES. I do live to see two miseries; one to be commanded by my wife, the other to be censured by my slave.

_Enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.

G. CRES. That which I have wanted long, and has been cause of my irregular courses, I beseech you let raise me from the ground. [_Kneels._ SIR F. CRES. [_raising him and giving money_] Rise, George; there’s a hundred pounds for you, and my blessing, with these your mother’s favour: but I hear your studies are become too licentious of late. G. CRES. Has heard of my cozenage. [_Aside._ SIR F. CRES. What’s that you are writing? G. CRES. Sir, not any thing. SIR F. CRES. Come, I hear there’s something coming forth of yours will be your undoing. G. CRES. Of mine? SIR F. CRES. Yes, of your writing; somewhat you should write will be dangerous to you. I have a suit to you. G. CRES. Sir, my obedience makes you commander in all things. SIR F. CRES. I pray, suppose I had committed some fault, for which my life and sole estate were forfeit to the law, and that some great man near the king should labour to get my pardon, on condition he might enjoy my lordship, could you prize your father’s life above the grievous loss of your inheritance? G. CRES. Yes, and my own life at stake too. SIR F. CRES. You promise fair; I come now to make trial of it. You know I have married one whom I hold so dear, that my whole life is nothing but a mere estate depending upon her will and her affections to me; she deserves so well, I cannot longer merit than _durante bene placita_: ’tis her pleasure, and her wisdom moves in’t too, of which I'll give you ample satisfaction hereafter, that I sell the land my father left me: you change colour! I have promised her to do’t; and should I fail, I must expect the remainder of my life as full of trouble and vexation as the suit for a divorce: it lies in you, by setting of your hand unto the sale, to add length to his life that gave you yours. G. CRES. Sir, I do now[941] ingeniously perceive why you said lately somewhat I should write would be my undoing, meaning, as I take it, setting my hand to this assurance. O, good sir, shall I pass away my birthright? O, remember there is a malediction denounced against it in holy writ! Will you, for her pleasure, the inheritance of desolation leave to your posterity? think how compassionate the creatures of the field, that only live on the wild benefits of nature,[942] are unto their young ones; think likewise you may have more children by this woman, and by this act you undo them too. ’Tis a strange precedent this, to see an obedient son labouring good counsel to the father; but know, sir, that the spirits of my great-grandfather and your father move[943] at this present in me, and what they bequeathed you on their[944] deathbed, they charge you not to give away in the dalliance of a woman’s bed. Good sir, let it not be thought presumption in me that I have continued my speech unto this length; the cause, sir, is urgent, and, believe it, you shall find her beauty as malevolent unto you as a red morning, that doth still foretell a foul day to follow. O, sir, keep your land! keep that to keep your name immortal, and you shall see All that her malice and proud will procures Shall shew her ugly heart, but hurt not yours. SIR F. CRES. O, I am distracted, and my very soul sends blushes into my cheeks!

_Enter_ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.

G. CRES. See here an object to beget more compassion. GEO. O, sir Francis, we have a most lamentable house at home! nothing to be heard in’t but separation and divorces, and such a noise of the spiritual court, as if it were a tenement upon London Bridge, and built upon the arches. SIR F. CRES. What’s the matter? GEO. All about boarding your children: my mistress is departed. SIR F. CRES. Dead! GEO. In a sort she is, and laid out too, for she is run away from my master. SIR F. CRES. Whither? GEO. Seven miles off, into Essex; she vowed never to leave Barking while she lived, till these were brought home again. SIR F. CRES. O, they shall not offend her: I am sorry for’t. MARIA.[945] I am glad we are come home, sir; for we lived in the unquietest house! EDW. The angry woman, methought, grutched[946] us our victuals; our new mother is a good soul, and loves us, and does not frown so like a vixen as she does. MARIA. I am at home now, and in heaven, methinks: what a comfort ’tis to be under your wing! EDW. Indeed, my mother was wont to call me your nestle-cock, and I love you as well as she did. SIR F. CRES. You are my pretty souls! G. CRES. Does not the prattle of these move you?

_Re-enter_ SAUNDER _with_ KNAVESBY, _and Surveyor_.

SAUN. Look you, sir, here’s the conveyance and my lady’s solicitor; pray resolve what to do, my lady is coming down.—How now, George? how does thy mistress, that sits in a wainscot-gown,[947] like a citizen’s lure to draw in customers? O, she’s a pretty mouse-trap! GEO. She’s ill baited though to take a Welshman, she cannot away with[948] cheese. SIR F. CRES. And what must I do now? KNA. Acknowledge a fine and recovery of the land; then for possession the course is common. SIR F. CRES. Carry back the writings, sir; my mind is changed. SAUN. Changed! do not you mean to seal?

_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM.

SIR F. CRES. No, sir, the tide’s turned. SAUN. You must temper him like wax, or he’ll not seal. L. CRES. Are you come back again?—How now, have you done? MARIA. How do you, lady mother? L. CRES. You are good children.—Bid my woman give them some sweetmeats. MARIA. Indeed, I thank you:—is not this a kind mother? G. CRES. Poor fools, you know not how dear you shall pay for this sugar! [_Exeunt._ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD. L. CRES. What, ha’nt you despatched? SIR F. CRES. No, sweetest, I'm dissuaded by my son From the sale o' the land. L. CRES. Dissuaded by your son! SIR F. CRES. I cannot get his hand to’t. L. CRES. Where’s our steward? Cause presently that all my beds and hangings Be taken down; provide carts, pack them up; I'll to my house i' the country: have I studied The way to your preferment and your children’s, And do you cool i' th' upshot? G. CRES. With your pardon, I cannot understand this course a way To any preferment, rather a direct Path to our ruin. L. CRES. O, sir, you’re young-sighted:— Shew them the project of the land I mean To buy in Ireland, that shall outvalue yours Three thousand in a year. KNA. [_shewing map_] Look you, sir; here is Clangibbon, a fruitful country, and well wooded. SIR F. CRES. What’s this? marsh ground? KNA. No, these are bogs, but a little cost will drain them: this upper part, that runs by the black water, is the Cossack’s land,—a spacious country, and yields excellent profit by the salmon and fishing for herring; here runs the Kernesdale, admirable feed for cattle; and hereabout is St. Patrick’s Purgatory.[949] G. CRES. Purgatory? shall we purchase that too? L. CRES. Come, come, will you despatch the other business, We may go through with this? SIR F. CRES. My son’s unwilling. L. CRES. Upon my soul, sir, I'll ne’er bed with you Till you have seal’d. SIR F. CRES. Thou hear’st her: on thy blessing Follow me to the court, and seal. G. CRES. Sir, were it my death, were’t to the loss of my estate, I vow to obey you in all things; yet with it remember there are two young ones living that may curse you; I pray dispose part of the money on their generous educations. L. CRES. Fear no[t] you, sir.—The caroach there!— When you have despatched, you shall find me at the scrivener’s, where I shall receive the money. G. CRES. She’ll devour that mass too. L. CRES. How likest thou my power over him? SAUN. Excellent. L. CRES. This is the height of a great lady’s sway, When her night-service makes her rule i' the day. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.[950]

_A hall in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.

_Enter_ KNAVESBY.

KNA. Not yet, Sib? my lord keeps thee so long, thou’rt welcome, I see then, and pays sweetly too: a good wench, Sib, thou’rt, to obey thy husband. She’s come: a hundred mark[951] a-year, how fine and easy it comes into mine arms now!—

_Enter_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.

Welcome home! what says my lord, Sib? MIS. KNA. My lord says you are a cuckold! KNA. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I thank him for that bob, i’faith; I'll afford it him again at the same price a month hence, and let the commodity grow as scarce as it will. Cuckold, says his lordship? ha, ha! I shall burst my sides with laughing, that’s the worst; name not a hundred [a]-year, for then I burst.[952] It smarts not so much as a fillip on the forehead by five parts: what has his dalliance taken from thy lips? ’tis as sweet as e’er’twas; let me try else; buss me, sugar-candy. MIS. KNA. Forbear! you presume to a lord’s pleasure! KNA. How’s that? not I, Sib. MIS. KNA. Never touch me more; I'll keep the noble stamp upon my lip, No under baseness shall deface it now: You taught me the way, Now I am in, I'll keep it; I have kiss’d Ambition, and I love it; I loathe the memory Of every touch my lip hath tasted from thee. KNA. Nay, but, sweet Sib, you do forget yourself. MIS. KNA. I will forget all that I ever was, And nourish new:[953] sirrah, I am a lady. KNA. Lord bless us, madam! MIS. KNA. I've enjoy’d a lord, That’s real possession, and daily shall, The which all ladies have not with their lords. KNA. But, with your patience, madam, who was it that preferred you to this ladyship? MIS. KNA. ’Tis all I am beholding[954] to thee for; Thou’st brought me out of ignorance into light: Simple as I was, I thought thee a man, [Un]till I found the difference by a man; Thou art a beast, a hornèd beast, an ox! KNA. Are these ladies' terms? MIS. KNA. For thy pander’s fee, It shall be laid under the candlestick; Look for’t, I'll leave it for thee. KNA. A little lower, Good your ladyship, my cousin Camlet Is in the house; let these things go no further. MIS. KNA. ’Tis for mine own credit if I forbear, not thine, thou bugle-browed[955] beast thou!

_Enter_ GEORGE _with rolls of paper in his hand_.

GEO. Bidden, bidden, bidden, bidden: so, all these are past, but here’s as large a walk to come: if I do not get it up at the feast, I shall be leaner for bidding the guests, I'm sure. KNA. How now? who’s this? GEO. [_reads_] _Doctor Glister et_—what word’s this? __fuxor__—O, _uxor_—the doctor and his wife—_Master Body et uxor of Bow Lane, Master Knavesby et uxor_. KNA. Ha! we are in, whatsoever the matter is. GEO. Here’s forty couple more in this quarter; but there, the provision bringing in, that puzzles me most. [_Reads_] _One ox_,—that will hardly serve for beef too;—_five muttons, ten lambs_,—poor innocents, they’ll be devoured too!—_three gross of capons_—— KNA. Mercy upon us! what a slaughter-house is here! GEO. [_reads_] _Two bushels of small birds, plovers, snipes, woodcocks, partridge[s], larks_;—then for baked meats—— KNA. George, George, what feast is this? ’tis not for St. George’s day? GEO. Cry you mercy, sir; you and your wife are in my roll: my master invites you his guests to-morrow dinner. KNA. Dinner, say’st thou? he means to feast a month sure. GEO. Nay, sir, you make up but a hundred couple. KNA. Why, what ship has brought an India home to him, that he’s so bountiful? or what friend dead—unknown to us—has so much left to him of arable land, that he means to turn to pasture thus? GEO. Nay,’tis a vessel, sir; a good estate comes all in one bottom to him, and ’tis a question whether ever he find the bottom or no; a thousand a-year, that’s the uppermost. KNA. A thousand a-year! GEO. To go no further about the bush, sir, now the bird is caught, my master is to-morrow to be married, and, amongst the rest, invites you a guest at his wedding-dinner the second. KNA. Married! GEO. There is no other remedy for flesh and blood, that will have leave to play, whether we will or no, or wander into forbidden pastures. KNA. Married! why, he is married, man; his wife is in my house now; thy mistress is alive, George. GEO. She that was, it may be, sir, but dead to him; she played a little too rough with him, and he has discarded her; he’s divorced, sir. KNA. He divorced! then is her labour saved, for she was labouring a divorce from him. GEO. They are well parted then, sir. KNA. But wilt thou not speak with her? i’faith, invite her to’t. GEO. ’Tis not in my commission, I dare not. Fare you well, sir; I have much business in hand, and the time is short. KNA. Nay, but, George, I prithee, stay; may I report this to her for a certain truth? GEO. Wherefore am I employed in this invitation, sir? KNA. Prithee, what is she his second choice? GEO. Truly, a goodly presence, likely to bear great children, and great store; she never saw five-and-thirty summers together in her life by her appearance, and comes in her French hood; by my fecks, a great match ’tis like to be: I am sorry for my old mistress, but cannot help it. Pray you, excuse me now, sir; for all the business goes through my hands, none employed but myself. [_Exit._ KNA. Why, here is news that no man will believe but he that sees. MIS. KNA. This and your cuckoldry will be digestion throughout the city-dinners and suppers for a month together; there will need no cheese. KNA. No more of that, Sib: I'll call my cousin Camlet, and make her partaker of this sport.

_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.

She’s come already.—Cousin, take’t at once, you’re a free woman; your late husband’s to be married to-morrow. MIS. W.-CAM. Married! to whom? KNA. To a French hood, byrlakins,[956] as I understand; great cheer prepared, and great guests invited; so far I know. MIS. W.-CAM. What a cursed wretch was I to pare my nails to-day! a Friday too; I looked for some mischief. KNA. Why, I did think this had accorded with your best liking; you sought for him what he has sought for you, a separation, and by divorce too.[957] MIS. W.-CAM. I'll divorce ’em! is he to be married to a French hood? I'll dress it the English fashion: ne’er a coach to be had with six horses to strike fire i' the streets as we go? KNA. Will you go home then? MIS. W.-CAM. Good cousin, help me to whet one of my knives, while I sharp the other;[958] give me a sour apple to set my teeth a’n edge; I would give five pound for the paring of my nails again! have you e’er a bird-spit i' the house? I'll dress one dish to the wedding. KNA. This violence hurts yourself the most. MIS. W.-CAM. I care not who I hurt: O my heart, how it beats a' both sides! Will you run with me for a wager into Lombard Street now? KNA. I'll walk with you, cousin, a sufficient pace; Sib shall come softly after; I'll bring you thorough Bearbinder Lane. MIS. W.-CAM. Bearbinder Lane cannot hold me, I'll the nearest way over St. Mildred’s church: if I meet any French hoods by the way, I'll make black patches enow for the rheum. [_Exeunt._ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET _and_ KNAVESBY. MIS. KNA. So, ’tis to my wish. Master Knavesby, Help to make peace abroad, here you’ll find wars; I'll have a divorce too, with locks and bars. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ WATER-CAMLET’S _house_.

_Enter_ GEORGE _and_ MARGARITA.

GEO. Madam, but stay here a little, my master comes instantly; I heard him say he did owe you a good turn, and now’s the time to take it; I'll warrant you a sound reward ere you go. MAR. Ey tank u _de bon cœur, monsieur_.

_Enter_ WATER-CAMLET.

GEO. Look, he’s here already.—Now would a skilful navigator take in his sails, for sure there is a storm towards.[959] [_Aside, and exit._ W.-CAM.. O madam, I perceive in your countenance— I am beholding[960] to you—all is peace? MAR. All quiet, goor frendsheep; ey mooch a do, ey strive wid him; give goor worda for you, no more speak a de matra; all es undonne, u no more trobla.

_Enter behind_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET _and_ KNAVESBY.