Part 27
PROD. Fidelio! FID. Glad tidings to your grace! The prince is safe return’d, and in your court. DUKE. Our joy breaks at our eyes; the prince is come! PROD. Soul-quicking[922] news!—pale vengeance to my blood! [_Aside._ FID. By me presenting to your serious view A brief of all his travels. [_Delivers a paper._ DUKE. ’Tis most welcome; It shall be dear and precious to our eye. PROD. He reads; I’m glad he reads.— Now take thy opportunity, leave that place. PHŒ. At his first rising let his fall be base.[923] PROD. That must be alter’d now. PHŒ. Which? his rising or his fall? PROD. Art thou dull now? Thou hear’st the prince is come. DUKE. What’s here?[924] PROD. My lord? DUKE [_reads_]. _I have got such a large portion of knowledge, most worthy father, by the benefit of my travel_—— PROD. And so he has, no doubt, my lord. DUKE [_reads_]. _That I am bold now to warn you of Lord Proditor’s insolent treason, who has irreligiously seduced a fellow, and closely conveyed him e’en in the presence-chair to murder you._ PHŒ. O guilty, guilty! DUKE. What was that fell? what’s he? PHŒ. I am the man. PROD. O slave! PHŒ. I have no power to strike. PROD. I’m gone, I’m gone! DUKE. Let me admire heaven’s wisdom in my son. PHŒ. I confess it, he hir’d me—— PROD. This is a slave: ’Tis forg’d against mine honour and my life; For in what part of reason can’t appear, The prince being travell’d should know treasons here? Plain counterfeit. DUKE. Dost thou make false our son? PROD. I know the prince will not affirm’t.[925] FID. He can And will, my lord. PHŒ. Most just, he may. DUKE. A guard! LUS. We cannot but in loyal zeal ourselves Lay hands on such a villain. DUKE. Stay you; I find you here too. [_Attendants secure_ PRODITOR. LUS. Us, my lord? DUKE [_reads_]. _Against Lussurioso and Infesto, who not only most riotously consume their houses in vicious gaming, mortgaging their livings to the merchant, whereby he with his heirs enter upon their lands; from whence this abuse comes, that in short time the son of the merchant has more lordships than the son of the nobleman, which else was never born to inheritance: but that which is more impious, they most adulterously train out young ladies to midnight banquets, to the utter defamation of their own honours, and ridiculous abuse of their husbands._ LUS. How could the prince hear that? PHŒ. Most true, my lord: My conscience is a witness ’gainst itself; For to that execution of chaste honour I was both hir’d and led. LUS. I hope the prince, out of his plenteous wisdom, Will not give wrong to us: as for this fellow, He’s poor, and cares not to be desperate.
_Enter_ FALSO.
FAL. Justice, my lord! I have my niece stol’n from me: Sh’as left her dowry with me, but she’s gone: I’d rather have had her love than her money, I. This, this is one of them. Justice, my lord! I know him by his face; this is the thief. PROD. Your grace may now in milder sense perceive The wrong done to us by this impudent wretch, Who has his hand fix’d at the throat of law, And therefore durst be desperate of his life. DUKE. Peace, you’re too foul; your crime is in excess: One spot of him makes not your ulcers less. PROD. O! DUKE. Did your violence force away his niece? PHŒ. No, my good lord; I’ll still confess what’s truth; I did remove her from her many wrongs, Which she was pleas’d to leave, they were so vild.[926] DUKE. What are you nam’d? FAL. Falso, my lord, Justice Falso; I’m known by that name. DUKE. Falso? you came fitly; You are the very next that follows here. FAL. I hope so, my lord; my name is in all the records, I can assure your good grace.
_Enter_ NIECE _and_ CASTIZA _behind_.
DUKE [_reads_]. _Against Justice Falso_—— FAL. Ah! DUKE [_reads_]. _Who, having had the honest charge of his niece committed to his trust by the last will and testament of her deceased father, and with her all the power of his wealth, not only against faith and conscience detains her dowry, but against nature and humanity assays to abuse her body._
NIECE [_coming forward_]. I’m present to affirm it, my lov’d lord. FAL. How? what make I here?[927] NIECE. Either I must agree To loathed lust, or despis’d beggary. DUKE. Are you the plaintiff here? FAL. Ay, my good lord, For fault of a better. DUKE. Seldom comes a worse.—[_Reads_] _And moreover, not contained in[928] this vice only, which is odious too much, but, against the sacred use of justice, maintains three thieves to his men._ FAL. Cuds me! DUKE [_reads_]. _Who only take purses in their master’s liberty, where if any one chance to be taken, he appears before him in a false beard, and one of his own fellows takes his examination._ FAL. By my troth, as true as can be; but he shall not know on’t. [_Aside._ DUKE [_reads_]. _And in the end will execute justice so cruelly upon him, that he will not trust him in a prison, but commit him to his fellows’ chamber._ FAL. Can a man do nothing i’ the country but ’tis told at court? there’s some busy informing knave abroad, a’ my life. [_Aside._ PHŒ. That this is true, and these, and more, my lord, Be it, under pardon, spoken for mine own; He the disease of justice, these of honour, And this of loyalty and reverence, The unswept venom of the palace. PROD. Slave! PHŒ. Behold the prince to approve it! [_Discovers himself._[929] PROD. O, where? PHŒ. Your eyes keep with your actions, both look wrong. PROD. An infernal to my spirit! ALL. My lord, the prince! PROD. Tread me to dust, thou in whom wonder keeps![930] Behold the serpent on his belly creeps. PHŒ. Rankle not my foot; away! Treason, we laugh at thy vain-labouring stings,[931] Above the foot thou hast no power o’er kings! DUKE. I cannot with sufficient joy receive thee, And yet my joy’s too much. PHŒ. My royal father, To whose unnatural murder I was hir’d, I thought it a more natural course of travel, And answering future expectation, To leave far countries, and inquire mine own. DUKE. To thee let reverence all her powers engage, That art in youth a miracle to age! State is but blindness; thou hadst piercing art: We only saw the knee, but thou the heart. To thee, then, power and dukedom we resign: He’s fit to reign whose knowledge can refine. PHŒ. Forbid it my obedience! DUKE. Our word’s not vain: I know thee wise, canst both obey and reign. The rest of life we dedicate to heaven. ALL. A happy and safe reign to our new duke! PHŒ. Without your prayers safer and happier.— Fidelio. FID. My royal lord. PHŒ. Here, take this diamond:[932] You know the virtue on’t; it can fetch vice. Madam Castiza—— FID. She attends, my lord. [_Exit._ PHŒ. Place a guard near us.— Know you yon fellow, lady? CAS. [_coming forward_] My honour’s evil! PROD. Torment again![933] PHŒ. So ugly are thy crimes, Thine eye cannot endure ’em: And that thy face may stand perpetually Turn’d so from ours, and thy abhorred self Neither to threaten wrack[934] of state or credit, An everlasting banishment seize on thee! PROD. O fiend! PHŒ. Thy life is such it is too bad to end. PROD. May thy rule, life, and all that’s in thee glad, Have as short time as thy begetting had! PHŒ. Away! thy curse is idle. [_Exit_ PRODITOR. The rest are under reformation, And therefore under pardon. LUS. &c. Our duties shall turn edge upon our crimes. FAL. ’Slid, I was afraid of nothing, but that for my thievery and bawdery I should have been turned to an innkeeper. [_Aside._
_Re-enter_ FIDELIO _with_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.
My daughter! I am ashamed her worship should see me. JEW. WIFE. Who would not love a friend at court? what fine galleries and rooms am I brought through! I had thought my Knight durst not have shewn his face here, I. PHŒ. Now, mother of pride and daughter of lust, which is your friend now? JEW. WIFE. Ah me! PHŒ. I’m sure you are not so unprovided to be without a friend here: you’ll pay enough for him first. JEW. WIFE. This is the worst room that ever I came in. PHŒ. I am your servant, mistress;[935] know you not me? JEW. WIFE. Your worship is too great for me to know: I’m but a small-timbered woman, when I’m out of my apparel, and dare not venture upon greatness. PHŒ. Do you deny me then? know you this purse? JEW. WIFE. That purse? O death, has the Knight serv’d me so? Given away my favours? PHŒ. Stand forth, thou one of those For whose close lusts the plague ne’er[936] leaves the city. Thou worse than common! private, subtle harlot! That dost deceive three with one feigned lip, Thy husband, the world’s eye, and the law’s whip. Thy zeal is hot, for ’tis to lust and fraud, And dost not dread to make thy book thy bawd. Thou’rt curse enough to husband’s ill-got gains, For whom the court rejects his gold maintains. How dear and rare was freedom wont to be! Now few but are by their wives’ copies free, And brought to such a head, that now we see City and suburbs wear one livery! JEW. WIFE. ’Tis ’long of those,[937] an’t like your grace, that come in upon us, and will never leave marrying of our widows till they make ’em all as free as their first husbands. PHŒ. I perceive you can shift a point well. JEW. WIFE. Let me have pardon, I beseech your grace, and I’ll peach ’em all, all the close women that are; and, upon my knowledge, there’s above five thousand within the walls and the liberties. PHŒ. A band! they shall be sent against the Turks;[938] Infidels against infidels. JEW. WIFE. I will hereafter live so modestly, I will not lie with mine own husband, nor come near a man in the way of honesty. FAL. I’ll be her warrant, my lord. PHŒ. You are deceiv’d; you think you’re still a justice. FAL. ’S foot, worse than I was before I kneeled! I am no justice now; I know I shall be some innkeeper at last. JEW. WIFE. My father? ’tis mine own father. PHŒ. I should have wonder’d else, lust being so like. NIECE. Her birth was kin to mine; she may prove modest: For my sake I beseech you pardon her. PHŒ. For thy sake I’ll do more.—Fidelio, hand her. My favours on you both; next, all that wealth Which was committed to that perjur’d’s trust. FAL. I’m a beggar now; worse than an innkeeper.
_Enter_ TANGLE _mad_.
TAN. Your _mittimus_ shall not serve: I’ll set myself free with a _deliberandum_; with a _deliberandum_, mark you. DUKE. What’s he? a guard! PHŒ. Under your sufferance, Worthy father, his harm is to himself; One that has lov’d vexation so much, He cannot now be rid on’t: Has been so long in suits, that he’s law-mad. TAN. A judgment, I crave a judgment, yea! _nunc pro tunc, corruptione alicujus_. I peeped me a raven in the face, and I thought it had been my solicitor: O, the pens prick me!
_Enter_ QUIETO.
PHŒ. And here comes he (wonder for temperance) Will take the cure upon him. QUI. A blessing to this fair assembly! TAN. Away! I’ll have none on’t: give me an _audita querela_, or a _testificandum_, or a despatch in twelve terms: there’s a blessing, there’s a blessing! PHŒ. You see the unbounded rage of his disease. QUI. ’Tis the foul fiend, my lord, has got within him. The rest are fair to this: this breeds in ink, And to that colour turns the blood possess’d: For instance, now your grace shall see him dress’d. TAN. Ah ha! I rejoice then he’s puzzled, and muzzled too: Is’t come to a _cepi corpus_? QUI. Ah, good sir, This is for want of patience! TAN. That’s a fool: She never saw the dogs and the bears fight;[939] A country thing. QUI. This is for lack of grace. TAN. I’ve other business, not so much idle time. QUI. You never say your prayers. TAN. I’m advised by my learned counsel. QUI. The power of my charm come o’er thee, Place by degrees thy wits before thee! With silken patience here I bind thee, Not to move till I unwind thee. TAN. Yea! is my cause so muddy? do I stick, do I stick fast? Advocate, here’s my hand, pull; art made of flint? Wilt not help out? alas, there’s nothing in’t! PHŒ. O, do you sluice the vein now? QUI. Yes, my honour’d lord. PHŒ. Pray, let me see the issue. QUI. I therefore seek to keep it.—Now burst out, Thou filthy stream of trouble, spite, and doubt! TAN. O, an extent, a proclamation, a summons, a recognisance, a tachment, and injunction! a writ, a seizure, a writ of ’praisement, an absolution, a _quietus est_! QUI. You’re quieter, I hope, by so much dregs.—Behold, my lord! PHŒ. This! why, it outfrowns ink. QUI. ’Tis the disease’s nature, the fiend’s drink. TAN. O sick, sick, signior Ply-fee, sick! lend me thy nightcap, O! QUI. The balsam of a temperate brain I pour into this thirsty vein, And with this blessed oil of quiet, Which is so cheap, that few men buy it, Thy stormy temples I allay: Thou shalt give up the devil, and pray; Forsake his works, they’re foul and black, And keep thee bare in purse and back. No more shalt thou in paper quarrel, To dress up apes in good apparel. He throws his stock and all his flock Into a swallowing gulf, That sends his goose unto his fox, His lamb unto his wolf. Keep thy increase, And live at peace, For war’s[940] not equal to this battle: That eats but men; this men and cattle: Therefore no more this combat choose, Where he that wins does always lose; And those that gain all, with this curse receive it, From fools they get it, to their sons they leave it. TAN. Hail, sacred patience! I begin to feel I have a conscience now; truth in my words, Compassion in my heart, and, above all, In my blood peace’s music. Use me how you can, You shall find me an honest, quiet man. O, pardon, that I dare behold that face! Now I’ve least[941] law I hope I have most grace. PHŒ. We both admire the workman and his piece. Thus when all hearts are tun’d to honour’s strings, There is no music to the quire of kings. [_Exeunt omnes._
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MICHAELMAS TERM.
_Michaelmas Terme. As it hath been sundry times acted by the Children of Paules. At London, Printed for A. I. and are to be sould at the signe of the white horse in Paules Churchyard. An. 1607._ 4to. Another ed., _newly corrected_, appeared 1630. 4to.
This play was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 15th May, 1607: see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 200.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
EASY, } REARAGE, } _gentlemen_. SALEWOOD, } COCKSTONE, } QUOMODO, _a woollen-draper_. SHORTYARD, } _his attendants_. FALSELIGHT, } SIM, _son to_ QUOMODO. ANDREW LETHE, _an adventurer, son to_ MOTHER GRUEL. HELLGILL, _a pander_. _Father to the Country Wench._ _Judge._ DUSTBOX, _a scrivener_. _Tailor._ _Drawer._ _Boy._ _Beadle._ _Liverymen, Officers, &c._
THOMASINE, _wife to_ QUOMODO, _afterwards married to_ EASY. SUSAN, _her daughter_. THOMASINE’s _mother_. MOTHER GRUEL. _Country Wench, seduced by_ LETHE. MISTRESS COMINGS, _a tire-woman_. WINEFRED, _maid to_ THOMASINE.
INDUCTION.
_Michaelmas Term._ _The other Three Terms._ _Boy, &c._
SCENE, LONDON.
MICHAELMAS TERM.
--------------
INDUCTION.
_Enter Michaelmas Term in a whitish cloak, new come up out of the country, a Boy bringing his gown after him._
MICH. T. Boy. BOY. Here, sir. MICH. T. Lay by my conscience; Give me my gown; that weed is for the country: We must be civil now, and match our evil: Who first made civil black, he pleas’d the devil. So: Now know I where I am: methinks already I grasp best part of the autumnian blessing In my contentious fathom;[942] my hand’s free: From wronger and from wronged I have fee; And what by sweat from the rough earth they draw Is to enrich this silver harvest, law; And so through wealthy variance and fat brawl, The barn is made but steward to the hall. Come they up thick enough? BOY. O, like hops and harlots, sir. MICH. T. Why dost thou couple them? BOY. O very aptly; for as the hop well boiled will make a man not stand upon his legs, so the harlot in time will leave a man no legs to stand upon. MICH. T. Such another, and be my heir! I have no child, Yet have I wealth would redeem beggary. I think it be a curse both here and foreign, Where bags are fruitful’st there the womb’s most barren: The poor has all our children, we their wealth. Shall I be prodigal when my life cools, Make those my heirs whom I have beggar’d, fools? It would be wondrous; rather beggar more; Thou shalt have heirs enow, thou keep’st a whore: And here comes kindred too with no mean purses, Yet strive to be still blest with clients’ curses.
_Music playing, enter the other three Terms, the first bringing in a fellow poor, which the other two advance,[943] giving him rich apparel, a page, and a pander: he then goes out._
MICH. T. What subtilty have we here? a fellow Shrugging for life’s kind benefits, shift and heat, Crept up in three terms, wrapt in silk and silver, So well appointed too with page and pander! It was a happy gale that blew him hither. FIRST T. Thou father of the Terms, hail to thee! SEC. T. May much contention still keep with thee! THIRD T. Many new fools come up and fee thee! SEC. T. Let ’em pay dear enough that see thee! FIRST T. And like asses use such men; When their load’s off, turn ’em to graze agen.[944] SEC. T. And may our wish have full effect, Many a suit, and much neglect! THIRD T. And as it hath been often found, Let the clients’ cups come round! SEC. T. Help your poor kinsmen, when you ha’ got ’em; You may drink deep, leave us the bottom. THIRD T. Or when there is a lamb fall’n in, Take you the lamb, leave us the skin. MICH. T. Your duty and regard hath mov’d us; Never till now we thought you lov’d us. Take comfort from our words, and make no doubt You shall have suits come sixteen times about. ALL THREE. We humbly thank the patron of our hopes. [_Exeunt._ MICH. T. With what a vassal-appetite they gnaw On our reversions, and are proud Coldly to taste our meats, which eight returns Serve in to us as courses! One day our writs, like wild-fowl, fly abroad, And then return o’er cities, towns, and hills, With clients, like dried straws, between their bills; And ’tis no few birds pick to build their neasts,[945] Nor no small money that keeps drabs and feasts! But, gentlemen, to spread myself open unto you, in cheaper terms I salute you; for ours have but sixpenny fees all the year long; yet we despatch you in two hours, without demur; your suits hang not long here after candles be lighted. Why we call this play by such a dear and chargeable title, _Michaelmas Term_, know it consents happily to our purpose, though perhaps faintly to the interpretation of many; for he that expects any great quarrels in law to be handled here will be fondly deceived; this only presents those familiar accidents which happened in town in the circumference of those six weeks whereof Michaelmas Term is lord. _Sat sapienti_: I hope there’s no fools i’ th’ house. [_Exit with Boy._
## ACT I. SCENE I.
_The Middle[946] Aisle of St. Paul’s._
_Enter_ REARAGE _meeting_ SALEWOOD.
SALE. What, master Rearage? REAR. Master Salewood? exceedingly well met in town. Comes your father up this term? SALE. Why, he was here three days before the Exchequer gaped. REAR. Fie, such an early termer? SALE. He’s not to be spoke withal; I dare not ask him blessing till the last of November. REAR. And how looks thy little venturing cousin? SALE. Faith, like a lute that has all the strings broke; nobody will meddle with her. REAR. Fie, there are doctors enow in town will string her again, and make her sound as sweet as e’er she did. Is she not married yet? SALE. Sh’as no luck; some may better steal a horse than others look on: I have known a virgin of five bastards wedded. Faith, when all’s done, we must be fain to marry her into the north, I’m afraid. REAR. But will she pass so, think you? SALE. Pooh, any thing that is warm enough is good enough for them: so it come in the likeness, though the devil be in’t, they’ll venture the firing. REAR. They’re worthy spirits, i’faith. Heard you the news? SALE. Not yet. REAR. Mistress Difficult is newly fallen a widow. SALE. Say true; is master Difficult, the lawyer, dead? REAR. Easily dead, sir. SALE. Pray, when died he? REAR. What a question’s that! when should a lawyer die but in the vacation? he has no leisure to die in the term-time; beside, the noise there would fetch him again. SALE. Knew you the nature of his disease? REAR. Faith, some say he died of an old grief he had, that the vacation was fourteen weeks long. SALE. And very likely: I knew ’twould kill him at last; ’t’as troubled him a long time. He was one of those that would fain have brought in the heresy of a fifth term; often crying, with a loud voice, O why should we lose Bartholomew week? REAR. He savours; stop your nose; no more of him.
_Enter_ COCKSTONE _meeting_ EASY.
COCK. Young master Easy, let me salute you, sir. When came you? EASY. I have but inn’d my horse since, master Cockstone. COCK. You seldom visit London, master Easy; But now your father’s dead, ’tis your only course: Here’s gallants of all sizes, of all lasts; Here you may fit your foot, make choice of those Whom your affection may rejoice in. EASY. You’ve[947] easily possess’d[948] me, I am free: Let those live hinds that know not liberty! COCK. Master Rearage? EASY. Good master Salewood, I am proud of your society. REAR. What gentleman might that be? COCK. One master Easy; has good land in Essex; A fair, free-breasted gentleman, somewhat Too open—bad in man, worse in woman, The gentry-fault at first:—he is yet fresh, And wants the city powdering. But what news? Is’t yet a match ’twixt master Quomodo’s The rich draper’s daughter and yourself? REAR. Faith, sir, I am vildly[949] rivall’d. COCK. Vildly? by whom? REAR. One Andrew Lethe, crept to a little warmth, And now so proud that he forgets all storms; One that ne’er wore apparel, but, like ditches, ’Twas cast before he had it; now shines bright In rich embroideries. Him master Quomodo affects, The daughter him, the mother only me: I rest most doubtful, my side being weakest. COCK. Yet the mother’s side Being surer than the father’s, it may prove, Men plead for money best, women for love. REAR. ’Slid, master Quomodo! COCK. How then? afraid of a woollen-draper! REAR. He warned me his house, and I hate he should see me abroad. [_They all retire._
_Enter_ QUOMODO, SHORTYARD,[950] _and_ FALSELIGHT.