Part 4

SIR OL. ’Tis thy fault. LADY KIX. Mine? drouth and coldness! SIR OL. Thine; ’tis thou art barren. LADY KIX. I barren? O life, that I durst but speak now In mine own justice, in mine own right! I barren? ’Twas otherwise with me when I was at court; I was ne’er called so till I was married. SIR OL. I'll be divorc’d. LADY KIX. Be hang’d! I need not wish it, That will come too soon to thee: I may say Marriage and hanging go[95] by destiny, For all the goodness I can find in’t yet. SIR OL. I'll give up house, and keep some fruitful whore, Like an old bachelor, in a tradesman’s chamber; She and her children shall have all. LADY KIX. Where be they? TOUCH. SEN. Pray, cease; When there are friendlier courses took for you, To get and multiply within your house At your own proper costs, in spite of censure, Methinks an honest peace might be establish’d. SIR OL. What, with her? never. TOUCH. SEN. Sweet sir—— SIR OL. You work all in vain. LADY KIX. Then he doth all like thee. TOUCH. SEN. Let me entreat, sir—— SIR OL. Singleness confound her! I took her with one smock. LADY KIX. But, indeed, you Came not so single when you came from shipboard. SIR OL. Heart, she bit sore there! [_Aside._]—Prithee, make us friends. TOUCH. SEN. Is’t come to that? the peal begins to cease. [_Aside._ SIR OL. I'll sell all at an out-cry.[96] LADY KIX. Do thy worst, slave!— Good, sweet sir, bring us into love again. TOUCH. SEN. Some would think this impossible to compass.—— [_Aside._ Pray, let this storm fly over. SIR OL. Good sir, pardon me; I'm master of this house, which I'll sell presently; I'll clap up bills this evening. TOUCH. SEN. Lady, friends, come! LADY KIX. If ever ye lov’d woman, talk not on’t, sir: What, friends with him? good faith, do you think I'm mad? With one that’s scarce th' hinder quarter of a man? SIR OL. Thou art nothing of a woman. LADY KIX. Would I were less than nothing! [_Weeps._ SIR OL. Nay, prithee, what dost mean? LADY KIX. I cannot please you. SIR OL. I'faith, thou’rt a good soul; he lies that says it; Buss, buss, pretty rogue. [_Kisses her._ LADY KIX. You care not for me. TOUCH. SEN. Can any man tell now which way they came in? By this light, I'll be hang’d then! [_Aside._ SIR OL. Is the drink come? TOUCH. SEN. Here is a little vial of almond-milk, That stood me in some threepence. [_Aside._ SIR OL. I hope to see thee, wench, within these few years, Circled with children, pranking up[97] a girl, And putting jewels in her[98] little ears; Fine sport, i’faith! LADY KIX. Ay, had you been ought, husband, It had been done ere this time. SIR OL. Had I been ought? Hang thee, hadst thou been ought! but a cross thing I ever found thee. LADY KIX. Thou’rt a grub, to say so. SIR OL. A pox on thee! TOUCH. SEN. By this light, they’re out again At the same door, and no man can tell which way! [_Aside._ Come, here’s your drink, sir. SIR OL. I'll not take it now, sir, And[99] I were sure to get three boys ere midnight. LADY KIX. Why, there thou shew’st now of what breed thou com’st To hinder generation: O thou villain, That knows how crookedly the world goes with us For want of heirs, yet put[s] by all good fortune! SIR OL. Hang, strumpet! I will take it now in spite. TOUCH. SEN. Then you must ride upon’t five hours. [_Gives vial to_ SIR OLIVER. SIR OL. I mean so.— Within there!

_Enter Servant._

SER. Sir? SIR OL. Saddle the white mare: [_Exit Servant._ I'll take a whore along, and ride to Ware. LADY KIX. Ride to the devil! SIR OL. I'll plague you every way: Look ye, do you see? ’tis gone. [_Drinks._ LADY KIX. A pox go with it! SIR OL. Ay, curse, and spare not now. TOUCH. SEN. Stir up and down, sir; You must not stand. SIR OL. Nay, I'm not given to standing. TOUCH. SEN. So much the better, sir, for the———[100] SIR OL. I never could stand long in one place yet; I learnt it of my father, ever figient.[101] How if I cross’d this,[102] sir? [_Capers._ TOUCH. SEN. O, passing good, sir, And would shew well a' horseback: when you come to your inn, If you leapt over a joint-stool or two, 'Twere not amiss—although you brake your neck, sir. [_Aside._ SIR OL. What say you to a table thus high, sir? TOUCH. SEN. Nothing better, sir, if’t be furnish’d with good victuals. You remember how the bargain runs ’bout this business? SIR OL. Or else I had a bad head: you must receive, sir, Four hundred pounds of me at four several payments; One hundred pound now in hand. TOUCH. SEN. Right, that I have, sir. SIR OL. Another hundred when my wife[103] is quick; The third when she’s brought a-bed; and the last hundred When the child cries, for if’t should be still-born, It doth no good, sir. TOUCH. SEN. All this is even still: A little faster, sir. SIR OL. Not a whit, sir; I'm in an excellent pace for any physic.

_Re-enter Servant._

SER. Your white mare’s ready. SIR OL. I shall up presently.— [_Exit Servant._ One kiss and farewell. [_Kisses her._ LADY KIX. Thou shalt have two, love. SIR OL. Expect me about three. LADY KIX. With all my heart, sweet. [_Exit_ SIR OLIVER KIX. TOUCH. SEN. By this light, they’ve forgot their anger since, And are as far in again as e’er they were! Which way the devil came they? heart, I saw ’em not! Their ways are beyond finding out. [_Aside._]—Come, sweet lady. LADY KIX. How must I take mine, sir? TOUCH. SEN. Clean contrary; Yours must be taken lying. LADY KIX. A-bed, sir? TOUCH. SEN. A-bed, or where you will, for your own ease; Your coach will serve. LADY KIX. The physic must needs please. [_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_A room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ TIM _and Tutor_.

TIM. _Negatur argumentum_, tutor. TUTOR. _Probo tibi_, pupil, _stultus non est animal rationale_. TIM. _Falleris sane._ TUTOR. _Quæso ut taceas_,—_probo tibi_—— TIM. _Quomodo probas, domine?_ TUTOR. _Stultus non habet rationem, ergo non est animal rationale._ TIM. _Sic argumentaris, domine; stultus non habet rationem, ergo non est animal rationale: negatur argumentum_ again, tutor. TUTOR. _Argumentum iterum probo tibi, domine; qui non participat de ratione, nullo modo potest vocari rationalis_;[104] but _stultus non participat de ratione, ergo stultus nullo modo potest dici[105] rationalis_. TIM. _Participat._ TUTOR. _Sic disputas; qui participat, quomodo participat?_ TIM. _Ut homo, probabo tibi in syllogismo._ TUTOR. _Hunc proba._ TIM. _Sic probo, domine; stultus est homo, sicut tu et ego sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus est animal rationale._

_Enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. Here’s nothing but disputing all the day long with ’em! TUTOR. _Sic disputas; stultus est homo, sicut tu et ego sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus est animal rationale._ MAUD. Your reasons are both good, whate’er they be, Pray, give them over; faith, you’ll tire yourselves; What’s the matter between you? TIM. Nothing but reasoning About a fool, mother. MAUD. About a fool, son? Alas, what need you trouble your heads ’bout that! None of us all but knows what a fool is. TIM. Why, what’s a fool, mother? I come to you now. MAUD. Why, one that’s married before he has wit. TIM. ’Tis pretty, i’faith, and well guessed of a woman never brought up at the university; but bring forth what fool you will, mother, I'll prove him to be as reasonable a creature as myself or my tutor here. MAUD. Fie, ’tis impossible! TUTOR. Nay, he shall do’t, forsooth. TIM. ’Tis the easiest thing to prove a fool by logic; By logic I'll prove any thing. MAUD. What, thou wilt not? TIM. I'll prove a whore to be an honest woman. MAUD. Nay, by my faith, she must prove that herself, Or logic will ne’er do’t. TIM. ’Twill do’t, I tell you. MAUD. Some in this street would give a thousand pounds That you could prove their wives so. TIM. Faith, I can, And all their daughters too, though they had three bastards. When comes your tailor hither? MAUD. Why, what of him? TIM. By logic I'll prove him to be a man, Let him come when he will. MAUD. How hard at first Was learning to him! truly, sir, I thought He would never ’a took the Latin tongue: How many accidences do you think he wore out Ere he came to his grammar? TUTOR. Some three or four. MAUD. Believe me, sir, some four and thirty. TIM. Pish, I made haberdines[106] of ’em in church-porches. MAUD. He was eight years in his grammar, and stuck horribly At a foolish place there, call’d _as in præsenti_. TIM. Pox, I have it here now. MAUD. He so sham’d me once, Before an honest gentleman that knew me When I was a maid. TIM. These women must have all out! MAUD. _Quid est grammatica?_ says the gentleman to him,— I shall remember by a sweet, sweet token,— But nothing could he answer. TUTOR. How now, pupil, ha? _Quid est grammatica?_ TIM. _Grammatica?_ ha, ha, ha! MAUD. Nay, do not laugh, son, but let me hear you say’t now: There was one word went so prettily off The gentleman’s tongue, I shall remember it The longest day of my life. TUTOR. Come, _quid est grammatica_? TIM. Are you not asham’d, tutor, _grammatica_? Why, _recte scribendi atque loquendi ars_, Sir-reverence[107] of my mother. MAUD. That was it, i’faith: why now, son, I see you’re a deep scholar:—and, master tutor, A word, I pray; let us withdraw a little Into my husband’s chamber; I'll send in The North Wales gentlewoman to him, she looks for wooing: I'll put together both, and lock the door. TUTOR. I give great approbation to your conclusion. [_Exeunt_ MAUDLIN _and Tutor_. TIM. I mar’l[108] what this gentlewoman should be That I should have in marriage; she’s a stranger to me; I wonder what my parents mean, i’faith, To match me with a stranger so, A maid that’s neither kiff nor kin[109] to me: 'Life, do they think I've no more care of my body Than to lie with one that I ne’er knew, a mere stranger, One that ne’er went to school with me neither, Nor ever play-fellows together? They’re mightily o’erseen in it, methinks. They say she has mountains to her marriage, She’s full of cattle, some two thousand runts: Now, what the meaning of these runts[110] should be, My tutor cannot tell me; I have look’d In Rider’s Dictionary[111] for the letter R, And there I can hear no tidings of these runts neither; Unless they should be Romford hogs, I know them not.

_Enter Welshwoman._

And here she comes. If I know what to say to her now In the way of marriage, I'm no graduate: Methinks, i’faith, ’tis boldly done of her To come into my chamber, being but a stranger; She shall not say I am so proud yet but I'll speak to her: marry, as I will order it, She shall take no hold of my words, I'll warrant her. [_Welshwoman curtsies._

She looks and makes a curtsy.—

_Salve tu quoque, puella pulcherrima; quid vis nescio nec sane curo_,—

Tully’s own phrase to a heart. WELSH. I know not what he means: a suitor, quoth’a? I hold my life he understands no English. [_Aside._ TIM. _Fertur, mehercule, tu virgo,[112] Walliâ ut opibus abundas maximis._ WELSH. What’s this _fertur_ and _abundundis_? He mocks me sure, and calls me a bundle of farts. TIM. I have no Latin word now for their runts; I'll make some shift or other: [_Aside._ _Iterum dico, opibus abundas maximis, montibus, et fontibus, et ut ita dicam rontibus; attamen vero homunculus ego sum natura, simul et arte baccalaureus, lecto profecto non parato._[113] WELSH. This is most strange: may be he can speak Welsh.— _Avedera whee comrage, der due cog foginis._ TIM. _Cog foggin?_ I scorn to cog[114] with her; I'll tell her so too in a word near her own language.—_Ego non cogo._ WELSH. _Rhegosin a whiggin harle ron corid ambro._ TIM. By my faith, she’s a good scholar, I see that already; She has the tongues plain; I hold my life sh’as travell’d: What will folks say? there goes the learned couple! Faith, if the truth were known, she hath proceeded.[115]

_Re-enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. How now? how speeds your business? TIM. I'm glad My mother’s come to part us. [_Aside._ MAUD. How do you agree, forsooth? WELSH. As well as e’er we did before we met. MAUD. How’s that? WELSH. You put me to a man I understand not; Your son’s no Englishman, methinks. MAUD. No Englishman? Bless my boy, and born i' the heart of London! WELSH. I ha' been long enough in the chamber with him, And I find neither Welsh nor English in him. MAUD. Why, Tim, how have you us’d the gentlewoman? TIM. As well as a man might do, mother, in modest Latin. MAUD. Latin, fool? TIM. And she recoil’d in Hebrew. MAUD. In Hebrew, fool? ’tis Welsh. TIM. All comes to one, mother. MAUD. She can speak English too. TIM. Who told me so much? Heart, and[116] she can speak English, I'll clap to her; I thought you’d marry me to a stranger. MAUD. You must forgive him; he’s so inur’d to Latin He and his tutor, that he hath quite forgot To use the Protestant tongue. WELSH. ’Tis quickly pardon’d, forsooth. MAUD. Tim, make amends and kiss her.— He makes towards you, forsooth. TIM. O delicious! One may discover her country by her kissing: ’Tis a true saying, there’s nothing tastes so sweet As your Welsh mutton.—’Twas reported you could sing. MAUD. O rarely, Tim, the sweetest British songs! TIM. And ’tis my mind, I swear, before I marry, I would see all my wife’s good parts at once, To view how rich I were. MAUD. Thou shalt hear sweet music, Tim.— Pray, forsooth. WELSH. [_sings_][117]

_Cupid[118] is Venus' only joy, But he is a wanton boy, A very, very wanton boy; He shoots at ladies' naked breasts, He is the cause of most men’s crests, I mean upon the forehead, Invisible but horrid; ’Twas he first thought[119] upon the way To keep a lady’s lips in play._

_Why should not Venus chide her son For the pranks that he hath done, The wanton pranks that he hath done? He shoots his fiery darts so thick, They hurt poor ladies to the quick, Ah me, with cruel wounding! His darts are so confounding, That life and sense would soon decay, But that he keeps their lips in play._

_Can there be any part of bliss In a quickly fleeting kiss, A quickly fleeting kiss? To one’s pleasure leisures are but waste, The slowest kiss makes too much haste, And lose it[120] ere we find it: The pleasing sport they only know That close above and close below._ TIM. I would not change my wife for a kingdom: I can do somewhat[121] too in my own lodging.

_Enter_ YELLOWHAMMER _and_ ALLWIT.

YEL. Why, well said, Tim! the bells go merrily; I love such peals a' life.[122]—Wife, lead them in awhile; Here’s a strange gentleman desires private conference.— [_Exeunt_ MAUDLIN, _Welshwoman_, _and_ TIM. You’re welcome, sir, the more for your name’s sake, Good master Yellowhammer; I love my name well: And which a' the Yellowhammers take you descent from, If I may be so bold with you? which, I pray? ALLWIT. The Yellowhammers in Oxfordshire, near Abingdon. YEL. And those are the best Yellowhammers, and truest bred; I came from thence myself, though now a citizen: I will be bold with you; you are most welcome. ALLWIT. I hope the zeal I bring with me shall deserve it. YEL. I hope no less: what is your will, sir? ALLWIT. I understand, by rumours, you’ve a daughter, Which my bold love shall henceforth title cousin. YEL. I thank you for her, sir. ALLWIT. I heard of her virtues And other confirm’d graces. YEL. A plaguy girl, sir! ALLWIT. Fame sets her out with richer ornaments Than you are pleas’d to boast of; ’tis done modestly: I hear she’s towards marriage. YEL. You hear truth, sir. ALLWIT. And with a knight in town, sir Walter Whorehound. YEL. The very same, sir. ALLWIT. I'm the sorrier for’t. YEL. The sorrier? why, cousin? ALLWIT. ’Tis not too far past, is’t? It may be yet recall’d? YEL. Recall’d! why, good sir? ALLWIT. Resolve[123] me in that point, ye shall hear from me. YEL. There’s no contract past. ALLWIT. I'm very joyful, sir. YEL. But he’s the man must bed her. ALLWIT. By no means, coz; She’s quite undone then, and you’ll curse the time That e’er you made the match; he’s an arrant whoremaster, Consumes his time and state——[124] Whom in my knowledge he hath kept this seven years; Nay, coz, another man’s wife too. YEL. O, abominable! ALLWIT. Maintains the whole house, apparels the husband, Pays servants' wages, not so much, but——[125] YEL. Worse and worse; and doth the husband know this? ALLWIT. Knows? ay, and glad he may too, ’tis his living; As other trades thrive, butchers by selling flesh, Poulters by vending conies,[126] or the like, coz. YEL. What an incomparable wittol’s[127] this! ALLWIT. Tush, what cares he for that? believe me, coz, No more than I do. YEL. What a base slave’s that! ALLWIT. All’s one to him; he feeds and takes his ease, Was ne’er the man that ever broke his sleep To get a child yet, by his own confession, And yet his wife has seven. YEL. What, by sir Walter? ALLWIT. Sir Walter’s like to keep ’em and maintain ’em In excellent fashion; he dares do no less, sir. YEL. ’Life, has he children too? ALLWIT. Children! boys thus high, In their Cato[128] and Corderius.[129] YEL. What? you jest, sir! ALLWIT. Why, one can make a verse, and’s now at Eton College. YEL. O, this news has cut into my heart, coz! ALLWIT. ’Thad eaten nearer, if it had not been prevented: One Allwit’s wife. YEL. Allwit! ’foot, I have heard of him; He had a girl kursen’d[130] lately? ALLWIT. Ay, that work Did cost the knight above a hundred mark.[131] YEL. I'll mark him for a knave and villain for’t; A thousand thanks and blessings! I have done with him. ALLWIT. Ha, ha, ha! this knight will stick by my ribs still; I shall not lose him yet; no wife will come; Where’er he woos, I find him still at home: Ha, ha! [_Aside, and exit._ YEL. Well, grant all this, say now his deeds are black, Pray, what serves marriage but to call him back? I've kept a whore myself, and had a bastard By mistress Anne, in _anno_ ——[132] I care not who knows it; he’s now a jolly fellow, Has been twice warden; so may his fruit be, They were but base begot, and so was he. The knight is rich, he shall be my son-in-law; No matter, so the whore he keeps be wholesome, My daughter takes no hurt then; so let them wed: I'll have him sweat well ere they go to bed.

_Re-enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband! YEL. How now, Maudlin? MAUD. We are all undone; she’s gone, she’s gone! YEL. Again? death, which way? MAUD. Over the houses: lay[133] the water-side, She’s gone for ever else. YEL. O venturous baggage! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Another room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ TIM _and Tutor severally_.

TIM. Thieves, thieves! my sister’s stoln! some thief hath got her: O how miraculously did my father’s plate ’scape! ’Twas all left out, tutor. TUTOR. Is’t possible? TIM. Besides three chains of pearl and a box of coral. My sister’s gone; let’s look at Trig-stairs for her; My mother’s gone to lay the common stairs At Puddle-wharf; and at the dock below Stands my poor silly father; run, sweet tutor, run! [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A street by the Thames._

_Enter_ TOUCHWOOD _senior and_ TOUCHWOOD _junior_.

TOUCH. SEN. I had been taken, brother, by eight sergeants, But for the honest watermen; I'm bound to them; They are the most requitefull’st people living, For as they get their means by gentlemen, They’re still the forwardest to help gentlemen: You heard how one ’scap’d out of the Blackfriars,[134] But a while since, from two or three varlets came Into the house with all their rapiers drawn, As if they’d dance the sword-dance on the stage, With candles in their hands, like chandlers' ghosts; Whilst the poor gentleman so pursu’d and banded, Was by an honest pair of oars safely landed. TOUCH. JUN. I love them with my heart for’t!

_Enter several Watermen._

FIRST W. Your first man, sir. SEC. W. Shall I carry you, gentlemen, with a pair of oars? TOUCH. SEN. These be the honest fellows: take one pair, And leave the rest for her. TOUCH. JUN. Barn Elms. TOUCH. SEN. No more, brother. [_Exit._ FIRST W. Your first man. SEC. W. Shall I carry your worship? TOUCH. JUN. Go; and you honest watermen that stay, Here’s a French crown for you [_gives money_]: there comes a maid With all speed to take water, row her lustily To Barn Elms after me. SEC. W. To Barn Elms, good, sir.— Make ready the boat, Sam; we’ll wait below. [_Exeunt Watermen._

_Enter_ MOLL.

TOUCH. JUN. What made you stay so long? MOLL. I found the way more dangerous than I look’d for. TOUCH. JUN. Away, quick; there’s a boat waits for you; and I'll Take water at Paul’s wharf, and overtake you. MOLL. Good sir, do; we cannot be too safe. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND, YELLOWHAMMER, TIM, _and Tutor_.

SIR WAL. Life, call you this close keeping? YEL. She was kept Under a double lock. SIR WAL. A double devil! TIM. That’s a buff sergeant, tutor; he’ll ne’er wear out. YEL. How would you have women lock’d? TIM. With padlocks, father; The Venetian uses it; my tutor reads it. SIR WAL. Heart, if she were so lock’d up, how got she out? YEL. There was a little hole look’d into the gutter; But who would have dreamt of that? SIR WAL. A wiser man would. TIM. He says true, father; a wise man for love Will seek every hole; my tutor knows it. TUTOR. _Verum poeta dicit._ TIM. _Dicit Virgilius_, father. YEL. Prithee, talk of thy gills somewhere else; sh’as play’d The gill[135] with me: where’s your wise mother now? TIM. Run mad, I think; I thought she would have drown’d herself; She would not stay for oars, but took a smelt-boat; Sure I think she be gone a-fishing for her. YEL. She’ll catch a goodly dish of gudgeons now, Will serve us all to supper.

_Enter_ MAUDLIN _drawing in_ MOLL _by the hair, and Watermen_.