Part 28

QUO. O my two spirits, Shortyard and Falselight, you that have so enricht me! I have industry for you both. SHO. Then do you please us best, sir. QUO. Wealthy employment. SHO. You make me itch, sir. QUO. You, Falselight, as I have directed you— FAL. I am nimble. QUO. Go, make my coarse commodities look sleek;[951] With subtle art beguile the honest eye: Be near to my trap-window, cunning Falselight. FAL. I never fail’d it yet. QUO. I know thou didst not.— [_Exit_ FALSELIGHT. But now to thee, my true and secret Shortyard, Whom I dare trust e’en with my wife; Thou ne’er didst mistress harm, but master good: There are too few of thy name gentlemen, And that we feel, but citizens abundance: I have a task for thee, my pregnant spirit, To exercise thy pointed wits upon. SHO. Give it me, for I thirst. QUO. Thine ear shall drink it. Know, then, I have not spent this long vacation Only for pleasure’s sake:—give me the man Who out of recreation culls advantage, Dives into seasons, never walks but thinks, Ne[952] rides but plots:—my journey was toward Essex—— SHO. Most true. QUO. Where I have seen what I desire. SHO. A woman? QUO. Pooh, a woman! yet beneath her, That which she often treads on, yet commands her; Land, fair neat land. SHO. What is the mark you shoot at? QUO. Why, the fairest to cleave the heir in twain, I mean his title; to murder his estate, Stifle his right in some detested prison: There are means and ways enow to hook in gentry, Besides our deadly enmity, which thus stands, They’re busy ’bout our wives, we ’bout their lands. SHO. Your revenge is more glorious. To be a cuckold is but for one life; When land remains to you, your heir, or wife. QUO. Ah, sirrah, do we sting ’em? This fresh gallant Rode newly up before me. SHO. I beseech his name. QUO. Young master Easy. SHO. Easy? it may fall right. QUO. I have inquired his haunt—stay,—hah! ay, that ’tis, that’s he, that’s he! SHO. Happily! QUO. Observe, take surely note of him; he’s fresh and free: shift thyself speedily into the shape of gallantry:[953] I’ll swell thy purse with angels.[954] Keep foot by foot with him, outdare his expenses, flatter, dice, and brothel to him; give him a sweet taste of sensuality; train him to every wasteful sin, that he may quickly need health, but especially money; ravish him with a dame or two,—be his bawd for once, I’ll be thine for ever;—drink drunk with him, creep into bed to him, kiss him, and undo him, my sweet spirit. SHO. Let your care dwell in me; soon shall it shine: What subtilty’s[955] in man that is not mine? QUO. O my most cheerful spirit! go, despatch. [_Exit_ SHORTYARD. Gentry is the chief fish we tradesmen catch. [_Exit._ EASY. What’s here? SALE. O, they are bills[956] for chambers. EASY [_reads_]. _Against St. Andrew’s, at a painter’s house, there’s a fair chamber ready furnished to be let; the house not only endued with a new fashion forepart, but, which is more convenient for a gentleman, with a very provident back door._ SALE. Why, here’s virtue still: I like that thing that’s necessary as well as pleasant. COCK. What news in yonder paper? REAR. Hah! seek you for news? there’s for you!

_Enter_ LETHE, _who remains behind reading the bills_.

SALE. Who’s this?[957] In the name of the black angels, Andrew Gruel! REAR. No, Andrew Lethe. SALE. Lethe? REAR. Has forgot[958] his father’s name, Poor Walter Gruel, that begot him, fed him, And brought him up. SALE. Not hither. REAR. No; ’Twas from his thoughts; he brought him up below. SALE. But does he pass for Lethe? REAR. ’Mongst strange eyes, That no more know him than he knows himself, That’s nothing now; for master Andrew Lethe, A gentleman of most received parts, Forgetfulness, lust, impudence, and falsehood, And one especial courtly quality, To wit, no wit at all. I am his rival For Quomodo’s daughter; but he knows it not. SALE. Has spied us o’er his paper. REAR. O, that’s a warning To make our duties ready. COCK. Salute him? hang him! REAR. Pooh, wish his health awhile; he’ll be laid shortly: Let him gorge venison for a time, our doctors Will bring him to dry mutton. Seem respective,[959] To make his pride swell like a toad with dew. [LETHE _comes forward_. SALE. Master Lethe. REAR. Sweet master Lethe. LET. Gentlemen, your pardon; I remember you not. SALE. Why, we supt with you last night, sir. LET. O, cry you mercy! ’tis so long ago, I’d[960] quite forgot you; I must be forgiven. Acquaintance, dear society, suits, and things, Do so flow to me, That had I not the better memory, ’Twould be a wonder I should know myself. Esteem is made of such a dizzy metal; I have receiv’d of many gifts o’er night, Whom I’ve[961] forgot ere morning: meeting the men, I wish’d ’em to remember me agen:[962] They do so; then if I forget agen, I know what help’d before, that will help then: This is my course; for memory I’ve been told Twenty preserves; the best I find is gold; Ay, truly! Are you not knights yet, gentlemen? SALE. Not yet. LET. No? that must be looked into; ’tis your own fault. I have some store of venison: where shall we devour it, gentlemen? SALE. The Horn were a fit place. LET. For venison fit: The horn having chas’d it, At the Horn we’ll—— Rhyme to that? COCK. Taste it. SALE. Waste it. REAR. Cast it. LET. That’s the true rhyme indeed! we hunt our venison twice, I tell you; first out a’ th’ park, next out a’ th’ belly. COCK. First dogs take pains to make it fit for men, Then men take pains[963] to make it fit for dogs. LET. Right. COCK. Why, this [is] kindness; a kind gallant you, And love to give the dogs more than their due: We shall attend you, sir. LET. I pray do so. SALE. The Horn. LET. Easily remember’d that, you know. [_Exeunt all except_ LETHE. But now unto my present business. The daughter yields, and Quomodo consents; only my mistress Quomodo, her mother, without regard runs full against me, and sticks hard. Is there no law for a woman that will run upon a man at her own apperil?[964] Why should not she consent, knowing my state, my sudden fortunes? I can command a custard, and other bake-meats, death of sturgeon:[965] I could keep house with nothing. What friends have I! how well am I beloved! e’en quite throughout the scullery. Not consent? ’tis e’en as I have writ: I’ll be hanged, and[966] she love me not herself, and would rather preserve me, as a private friend, to her own pleasures, than any way advance her daughter upon me to beguile herself. Then how have I relieved her in that point? let me peruse this letter. [_Reads_]—_Good mistress Quomodo, or rather, as I hope ere the term end, mother Quomodo, since only your consent keeps aloof off,[967] and hinders the copulation of your daughter, what may I think, but that it is a mere affection in you, doating upon some small inferior virtue of mine, to draw me in upon yourself? If the case stand so, I have comfort for you; for this you may well assure yourself, that by the marriage of your daughter I have the better means and opportunity to yourself, and without the least suspicion._—This is moving stuff, and that works best with a citizen’s wife: but who shall I get to convey this now? My page I ha’ lent forth; my pander I have employed about the country to look out some third sister, or entice some discontented gentlewoman from her husband, whom the laying out of my appetite shall maintain. Nay, I’ll deal like an honourable gentleman, I’ll be kind to women; that which I gather i’ th’ day, I’ll put into their purses at night. You shall have no cause to rail at me; no, faith: I’ll keep you in good fashion, ladies; no meaner men than knights shall ransom home your gowns and recover your smocks: I’ll not dally with you.—Some poor[968] widow woman would come as a necessary bawd now! and see where fitly comes—

_Enter_ MOTHER GRUEL.

my mother! Curse of poverty! does she come up to shame me, to betray my birth, and cast soil upon my new suit? Let her pass me; I’ll take no notice of her,—scurvy murrey kersey![969] MOTH. G. By your leave, and[970] like your worship—— LET. Then I must proudly venture it.—To me, good woman? MOTH. G. I beseech one word with your worship. LET. Prithee, be brief then. MOTH. G. Pray, can your worship tell me any tidings of one Andrew Gruel, a poor son of mine own? LET. I know a gallant gentleman of the name, one master Andrew Gruel, and well received amongst ladies. MOTH. G. That’s not he, then: he is no gentleman that I mean. LET. Good woman, if he be a Gruel, he’s a gentleman i’ th’ mornings, that’s a gentleman a’ th’ first; you cannot tell me. MOTH. G. No, truly; his father was an honest, upright tooth-drawer. LET. O my teeth! MOTH. G. An’t please your worship, I have made a sore journey out, all this vacant time, to come up and see my son Andrew. Poor Walter Gruel, his father, has laid his life, and left me a lone woman; I have not one husband in all the world: therefore my coming up is for relief, an’t like your worship, hoping that my son Andrew is in some place about the kitchen. LET. Kitchen! pooh, faugh! MOTH. G. Or a serving-man to some knight of worship. LET. O, let me not endure her! [_Aside._]—Know you not me, good woman? MOTH. G. Alas, an’t please your worship, I never saw such a glorious suit since the hour I was kersened.[971] LET. Good, she knows me not; my glory does disguise[972] me; Beside, my poorer name being drench’d in Lethe, She’ll hardly understand me. What a fresh air can do! I may employ her as a private drudge, To pass my letters and secure my lust; And ne’er be noted mine, to shame my blood, And drop my staining birth upon my raiment.— [_Aside._ Faith, good woman, you will hardly get to the speech of master Andrew, I tell you. MOTH. G. No? marry, hang him! and[973] like your worship, I have known the day when nobody cared to speak to him. LET. You must take heed how you speak ill of him, I can tell you, now; he’s so employed. MOTH. G. Employed? for what? LET. For his ’haviour, wisdom, and other virtues. MOTH. G. He, virtues? no, ’tis well known his father was too poor a man to bring him up to any virtues; he can scarce write and read. LET. He’s the better regarded for that amongst courtiers, for that’s but a needy quality. MOTH. G. If it be so, then he’ll be great shortly, for he has no good parts about him. LET. Well, good woman, or mother, or what you will—— MOTH. G. Alack the day! I know your worship scorns to call me mother; ’tis not a thing fit for your worship indeed, such a simple old woman as I am. LET. In pity of thy long journey, there’s sixpence British: tend upon me; I have business for you. MOTH. G. I’ll wait upon your worship. LET. Two pole off at least. MOTH. G. I am a clean old woman, an’t like your worship. LET. It goes not by cleanness here, good woman; if you were fouler, so you were braver,[974] you might come nearer. [_Exit._ MOTH. G. Nay, and[975] that be the fashion, I hope I shall get it shortly; there’s no woman so old but she may learn: and as an old lady delights in a young page or monkey, so there are young courtiers will be hungry upon an old woman, I warrant you. [_Exit._

## SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter_ HELLGILL[976] _and_ COUNTRY WENCH.

HELL. Come, leave your puling and sighing. COUN. W. Beshrew you now, why did you entice me from my father? HELL. Why? to thy better advancement. Wouldst thou, a pretty, beautiful, juicy squall, live in a poor thrummed[977] house i’ th’ country, in such servile habiliments, and may well pass for a gentlewoman i’ th’ city? does not five hundred do so, thinkest thou, and with worse faces? O, now in these latter days, the devil reigning, ’tis an age for cloven creatures! But why sad now? yet indeed ’tis the fashion of any courtesan to be sea-sick i’ th’ first voyage; but at next she proclaims open wars, like a beaten soldier. Why, Northamptonshire lass, dost dream of virginity now? remember a loose- bodied gown,[978] wench, and let it go; wires and tires, bents and bums,[979] felts and falls, thou that shalt deceive the world, that gentlewomen indeed shall not be known from others. I have a master, to whom I must prefer thee after the aforesaid deckening; Lethe by name, a man of one most admired property; he can both love thee, and for thy better advancement, be thy pander himself; an excellent spark of humility. COUN. W. Well, heaven forgive you! you train me up to’t. HELL. Why, I do acknowledge it, and I think I do you a pleasure in’t. COUN. W. And if I should prove a harlot now, I should be bound to curse you. HELL. Bound? nay, and[980] you prove a harlot, you’ll be loose enough. COUN. W. If I had not a desire to go like a gentlewoman, you should be hanged ere you should get me to’t, I warrant you. HELL. Nay, that’s certain, nor a thousand more of you; I know you are all chaste enough till one thing or other tempt you: deny[981] a satin gown and[982] you dare now? COUN. W. You know I have no power to do’t, and that makes you so wilful; for what woman is there such a beast that will deny any thing[983] that is good? HELL. True; they will not, most[984] dissembler. COUN. W. No; and[985] she bear a brave mind, she will not, I warrant you. HELL. Why, therefore take heart, faint not at all; Women ne’er rise but when they fall: Let a man break, he’s gone, blown up; A woman’s breaking sets her up: Virginity is no city trade, You’re out a’ th’ freedom when you’re a maid: Down with the lattice, ’tis but thin; Let coarser beauties work within, Whom the light mocks; thou art fair and fresh; The gilded flies will light upon thy flesh. COUN. W. Beshrew your sweet enchantments, you have won! HELL. How easily soft women are undone! So farewell wholesome weeds, where treasure pants;[986] And welcome silks, where lie[987] disease and wants! [_Aside._

Come, wench; now flow thy fortunes in to bless thee; I’ll bring thee where thou shalt be taught to dress thee. COUN. W. O, as soon as may be! I am in a swoon till I be a gentlewoman; and you know what flesh is man’s meat till it be dressed? HELL. Most certain, no more; a woman. [_Exeunt._

## ACT II. SCENE I.

_An Ordinary._[988]

REARAGE, SALEWOOD, LETHE, EASY, _and_ SHORTYARD, _discovered at dice: Boy attending_.

REAR. Gentlemen, I ha’ sworn I’ll change the room. Dice? devils! LET. You see I’m patient, gentlemen. SALE. Ay, the fiend’s in’t! you’re patient; you put up all. REAR. Come, set me, gentlemen! SHO. An Essex gentleman, sir. EASY. An unfortunate one, sir. SHO. I’m bold to salute you, sir: you know not master Alsup there? EASY. O, entirely well. SHO. Indeed, sir? EASY. He’s second to my bosom. SHO. I’ll give you that comfort then, sir, you must not want money as long as you are in town, sir. EASY. No, sir? SHO. I am bound in my love to him to see you furnished; and in that comfort I recover my salute again, sir. EASY. Then I desire to be more dear unto you. SHO. I rather study to be dear unto you. [_Aside._]—Boy, fill some wine.—I knew not what fair impressure[989] I received at first, but I began to affect your society very speedily. EASY. I count myself the happier. SHO. To master Alsup, sir; to whose remembrance I could love to drink till I were past remembrance. [_Drinks._ EASY. I shall keep Christmas with him, sir, where your health shall likewise undoubtedly be remembered; and thereupon I pledge you. [_Drinks._] I would sue for your name, sir. SHO. Your suit shall end in one term, sir; my name is Blastfield. EASY. Kind master Blastfield, your dearer acquaintance. [_Drinks._ REAR. Nay, come, will ye draw in, gentlemen? set me. EASY. Faith, I’m scattered. SHO. Sir, you shall not give out so meanly of yourself in my company for a million: make such privy to your disgrace! you’re a gentleman of fair fortunes; keep me your reputation: set ’em all; there’s crowns for you. [_Giving him money._ EASY. Sir, you bind me infinitely in these courtesies. SHO. You must always have a care of your reputation here in town, master Easy: although you ride down with nothing, it skills[990] not. EASY. I’m glad you tell me that yet, then I’m indifferent.—Well, come; who throws? I set all these. SHO. Why, well said. SALE. This same master Lethe here begins to undo us again. LET. Ah, sir, I came not hither but to win! SHO. And then you’ll leave us; that’s your fashion. LET. He’s base that visits not his friends. SHO. But he’s more base that carries out his winnings; None will do so but those have base beginnings. LET. It is a thing in use, and ever was. I pass this time. SHO. I wonder you should pass, And that you’re suffer’d. LET. Tut, the dice are ours; Then wonder not at those that have most powers. REAR. The devil and his angels! LET. Are these they? Welcome, dear angels![991] where you’re curs’d ne’er stay. SALE. Here’s luck! EASY. Let’s search him, gentlemen; I think he wears a smock.[992] SHO. I knew the time he wore not half a shirt, Just like a pea. EASY. No? how did he for the rest? SHO. Faith, he compounded with a couple of napkins at Barnet, and so trussed up the lower parts. EASY. ’Twas a pretty shift, i’faith! SHO. But master Lethe has forgot that too. EASY. A mischief on’t, to lose all! I could—— SHO. Nay, but, good master Easy, do not do yourself that tyranny, I beseech you; I must not ha’ you alter your body now for the purge of a little money: you undo me, and[993] you do.

EASY. ’Twas all I brought up with me, I protest, master Blastfield; all my rent till next quarter. SHO. Pox of money! talk not on’t, I beseech you,—what said I to you? mass, I am out of cash myself too.—Boy. BOY. Anon, sir. SHO. Run presently to master Gum the mercer, and will[994], him to tell out two or three hundred pound for me, or more, according as he is furnished: I’ll visit him i’ th’ morning, say. BOY. It shall be said, sir. [_Going._ SHO. Do you hear, boy? BOY. Yes, sir. SHO. If master Gum be not sufficiently ready, call upon master Profit the goldsmith. BOY. It shall be done, sir. [_Going._ SHO. Boy. BOY. I knew[995] I was not sent yet; now is the time. [_Aside._ SHO. Let them both rest till another occasion; you shall not need to run so far at this time; take one nigher hand; go to master Quomodo the draper, and will him to furnish me instantly. BOY. Now I go, sir. [_Exit._ EASY. It seems you’re well known, master Blastfield, and your credit very spacious here i’ th’ city. SHO. Master Easy, let a man bear himself portly, the whorsons will creep to him a’ their bellies, and their wives a’ their backs: there’s a kind of bold grace expected throughout all the parts of a gentleman. Then for your observances, a man must not so much as spit but within line and fashion. I tell you what I ha’ done: sometimes I carry my water all London over only to deliver it proudly at the Standard;[996] and do I pass altogether unnoted, think you? no, a man can no sooner peep out his head but there’s a bow bent at him out of some watch-tower or other. EASY. So readily, sir? SHO. Push,[997] you know a bow’s quickly ready, though a gun be long a-charging, and will shoot five times to his once. Come, you shall bear yourself jovially: take heed of setting your looks to your losses, but rather smile upon your ill luck, and invite ’em to-morrow to another breakfast of bones. EASY. Nay, I’ll forswear dicing. SHO. What? peace, I am ashamed to hear you: will you cease in the first loss? shew me one gentleman that e’er did it. Fie upon’t, I must use you to company, I perceive; you’d be spoiled else. Forswear dice! I would your friends heard you, i’faith! EASY. Nay, I was but in jest, sir. SHO. I hope so: what would gentlemen say of you? there goes a gull that keeps his money! I would not have such a report go on you for the world, as long as you are in my company. Why, man, fortune alters in a minute; I ha’ known those have recovered so much in an hour, their purses were never sick after. REAR. O, worse than consumption of the liver! consumption of the patrimony! SHO. How now? Mark their humours, master Easy. REAR. Forgive me, my posterity yet ungotten! SHO. That’s a penitent maudlin dicer. REAR. Few know the sweets that the plain life allows: Vild[998] son that surfeits of his father’s brows! SHO. Laugh at him, master Easy. EASY. Ha, ha, ha! SALE. I’ll be damned, and[999] these be not the bones of some quean that cozened me in her life, and now consumes me after her death. SHO. That’s the true wicked, blasphemous, and soul- shuddering dicer, that will curse you all service-time, and attribute his ill luck always to one drab or other!

_Enter_ HELLGILL.

LET. Dick Hellgill? the happy news. HELL. I have her for you, sir. LET. Peace: what is she? HELL. Young, beautiful, and plump; a delicate piece of sin. LET. Of what parentage? HELL. O, a gentlewoman of a great house. LET. Fie, fie. HELL. She newly came out of a barn—yet too good for a tooth-drawer’s son. [_Aside._ LET. Is she wife or maid? HELL. That which is daintiest, maid. LET. I’d rather she’d been a wife. HELL. A wife, sir? why? LET. O, adultery is a great deal sweeter in my mind. HELL. Diseases gnaw thy bones! [_Aside._ I think she has deserv’d to be a wife, sir. LET. That will move well. HELL. Her firstlings shall be mine: Swine look but for the husks; the meat be thine.

_Re-enter Boy._