Part 20

“He [Ben Jonson] is said to have assisted Middleton and Fletcher in writing _The Widow_, which must have appeared about this time [i. e. soon after 1621]. This comedy was very popular, and not undeservedly, for it has a considerable degree of merit. I cannot, however, discover many traces of Jonson in it. The authors’ names rest, I believe, on the authority of the editor, A. Gough, who sent the play to the press in 1652.” Such is Gifford’s note on _Memoirs of B. Jonson_, p. cxliv. But in a note on Jonson’s _New Inn_ (_Works_, vol. v. p. 433), he says, that _The Widow_ “appeared on the stage so early as 1618.”

The last editor of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_ thinks “there is internal evidence that Ben Jonson contributed to _The Widow_, and it is rather surprising that Mr. Gifford did not trace his pen through the whole of the fourth act.”

The mention of “yellow bands” as “_hateful_” (see act v. sc. 1, and note), in consequence of Mrs. Turner’s execution, November 1615, shews that _The Widow_ was written _after_ that period: but in all probability it was produced _very soon after_, for a play, entitled _The Honest Lawyer, by S. S._, and printed in 1616, contains a manifest imitation of a passage in act iv. sc. 2: vide note. We can hardly suppose that the author (or authors) of _The Widow_ would have borrowed from the dramatist just mentioned.

We learn from Sir Henry Herbert’s papers that _The Widow_ was one of the stock-pieces belonging to the Red Bull actors, who afterwards became the king’s servants, and that it was played in 1660: see Malone’s _Hist. Acc. of the English Stage_, pp. 273-5 (_Shakespeare_, by Boswell, vol. iii.). Downes also mentions that it was performed at a somewhat later period: vide _Roscius Anglicanus_, p. 17, ed. Waldron. And Langbaine says, “It was reviv’d not many years ago, at the King’s House, with a new Prologue and Epilogue, which the Reader may find in _London Drollery_, p. 11, 12.” _Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 298.

TO THE READER.

Considering how the curious pay some part of their esteem to excellent persons in the careful preservation but of their defaced statues; instead of decayed medals of the Romans’ greatness, I believed it of more value to present you this lively piece, drawn by the art of Jonson, Fletcher, and Middleton, which is thought to have a near resemblance to the portraiture we have in Terence of those worthy minds, where the great Scipio and Lælius strove to twist the poet’s ivy with the victor’s bays. As the one was deserved by their work in subduing their country’s enemies, so the other by their recreation and delight, which was to banish that folly and sadness that were worse than Hannibal or all the monsters and venom of Africa. Since our own countrymen are not in any thing inferior, it were to be wished they had but so much encouragement, that the past license and abuses charged on the stage might not ever be thought too unpardonable to pass in oblivion, and so good laws and instructions for manners, uncapable of being regulated, which, if but according to this pattern, certainly none need think himself the less a good Christian for owning the same desire as

Your humble servant, ALEXANDER GOUGH.[576]

PROLOGUE.

A sport only for Christmas is the play This hour presents t’ you; to make you merry[577] Is all th’ ambition 't has, and fullest aim Bent at your smiles, to win itself a name; And if your edge be not quite taken off, Wearied with sports, I hope 'twill make you laugh.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

BRANDINO, _a justice_. MARTINO, _his clerk_. FRANCISCO. ATTILIO. RICARDO, _suitor to Valeria_. _Two Old Men, suitors to Valeria._ LATROCINIO, } OCCULTO, } SILVIO, } _Thieves._ STRATIO, } FIDUCIO, } SERVELLIO. } _Officers, Servants._

VALERIA, _a widow_. PHILIPPA, _her sister, wife to Brandino_. MARTIA, _daughter to one of Valeria’s suitors, and disguised as Ansaldo_. VIOLETTA, _waiting-maid to Philippa_.

Scene, CAPO D'ISTRIA and the neighbouring country.

THE WIDOW.

ACT I. SCENE I.

_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.[578]

MARTINO _seated at a writing-table: enter_ FRANCISCO.

FRAN. Martino! MAR. Signor Francisco? you’re the luckiest gentleman to meet or see first in a morning: I never saw you yet but I was sure of money within less than half an hour. FRAN. I bring you the same luck still. MAR. What, you do not? I hope, sir, you are not come for another warrant? FRAN. Yes, faith, for another warrant. MAR. Why, there’s my dream come out then. I never dreamed of a buttock but I was sure to have money for a warrant; it is the luckiest part of all the body to me: let every man speak as he finds. Now your usurer is of opinion, that to dream of the devil is your wealthier dream; and I think if a man dream of that part that brings many to the devil, ’tis as good, and has all one smatch indeed, for if one be the flesh, th’ other’s the broth: so ’tis in all his members, and[579] we mark it; if gluttony be the meat, lechery is the porridge; they’re both boiled together, and we clerks will have our modicum too, though it conclude in the twopenny chop. Why, sir, signor Francisco! FRAN. 'Twas her voice sure, Or my soul takes delight to think it was, And makes a sound like her’s. [_Aside._ MAR. Sir, I beseech you—— FRAN. It is the prettiest-contriv’d building this! What posy’s[580] that, I prithee? MAR. Which, sir? that Under the great brass squirt? FRAN. Ay, that, sir, that. MAR. _From fire, from water, and all things amiss, Deliver the house of an honest justice._ FRAN. There’s like to be a good house kept then when fire and water’s forbidden to come into the kitchen.—

Not yet a sight of her! this hour’s unfortunate.— [_Aside._ And what’s that yonder, prithee?—O love’s famine, There’s no affliction like thee! [_Aside._]—Ay, I hear you, sir. MAR. You’re quicker-ear’d than I then; you hear me Before I heard myself. FRAN. A gift in friendship; Some call it an instinct. MAR. It may be; th’ other’s the sweeter phrase though. Look you, sir, Mine own wit this, and ’tis as true as turtle; _A goose-quill and a clerk, a constable and a lantern,_ _Bring[581] many a bawd from coach to cart, and many a thief to one turn._ FRAN. That one turn help’d you well. MAR. 'T has helped me to money indeed for many a warrant. I am forty dollars the better for that one turn; and[582] 'twould come off quicker, 'twere ne’er a whit the worse for me. But indeed, when thieves are taken, and break away twice or thrice one after another, there’s my gains; then go[583] out more warrants to fetch 'em again. One fine nimble villain may be worth a man ten dollars in and out a’ that fashion: I love such a one with my heart; ay, and will help him to ’scape too, and[582] I can: hear you me that: I’ll have him in at all times at a month’s warning; nay, say I let him run like a summer nag all the vacation—see you these blanks? I’ll send him but one of these bridles, and bring him in at Michaelmas with a vengeance. Nothing kills my heart but when one of 'em dies, sir; then there’s no hope of more money: I had rather lose at all times two of my best kindred than an excellent thief, for he’s a gentleman I’m more beholding[584] to. FRAN. You betray your mystery too much, sir.—Yet no comfort? ’Tis but her sight that I waste precious time for, For more I cannot hope for, she’s so strict; Yet that I cannot have. [_Aside._ MAR. I’m ready now, signor. Here are blank warrants of all dispositions; give me but the name and nature of your malefactor, and I’ll bestow him according to his merits. FRAN. This only is th’ excuse that bears me out, And keeps off impudence and suspicion From my too frequent coming. What name now Shall I think on, and not to wrong the house? This coxcomb will be prating. [_Aside._]—One Astilio,[585] His offence wilful murder. MAR. Wilful murder? O, I love a’ life[586] to have such a fellow come under my fingers! like a beggar that’s long a-taking leave of a fat louse, I’m loath to part with him; I must look upon him over and over first. Are you wilful? i’faith, I’ll be as wilful as you then. [_Writes._ [PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _appear above at a window_. PHIL. Martino! MAR. Mistress? PHIL. Make haste, your master’s going. MAR. I’m but about a wilful murder, forsooth; I’ll despatch that presently. PHIL. Good morrow, sir.—O that I durst say more! [_Aside, and exit above with_ VIOLETTA. FRAN. ’Tis gone again: since such are all life’s pleasures, No sooner known but lost, he that enjoys 'em The length of life has but a longer dream, He wakes to this i’ th’ end, and sees all nothing. [PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _appear again above_.

PHIL. He cannot see me now; I’ll mark him better Before I be too rash. Sweetly compos’d he is; Now as he stands he’s worth a woman’s love That loves only for shape, as most on ’s do: But I must have him wise as well as proper,[587] He comes not in my books else;[588] and indeed I’ve thought upon a course to try his wit. Violetta. VIO. Mistress? PHIL. Yonder’s the gentleman again. VIO. O sweet mistress, Pray give me leave to see him! PHIL. Nay, take heed, Open not the window, and[589] you love me. VIO. No, I’ve the view of [his] whole body here, mistress, At this poor little slit: O, enough, enough! In troth, ’tis a fine outside. PHIL. I see that. VIO. Has curl’d his hair most judiciously well. PHIL. Ay, there’s thy love now! it begins in barbarism. She buys a goose with feathers that loves a gentleman for’s hair; she may be cozened to her face, wench. Away: he takes his leave. Reach me that letter hither; quick, quick, wench. [VIOLETTA _brings a letter, which_ PHILIPPA _presently throws down_. MAR. [_giving warrant to_ FRANCISCO] Nay, look upon’t, and spare not: every one cannot get that kind of warrant from me, signor. Do you see this prick i’ th’ bottom? it betokens power and speed; it is a privy mark that runs betwixt the constables and my master: those that cannot read, when they see this, know ’tis for lechery or murder; and this being away, the warrant comes gelded and insufficient. FRAN. I thank you, sir. MAR. Look you; all these are _nihils_; They want the punction. FRAN. Yes, I see they do, sir. There’s for thy pains [_giving money_]:—mine must go unrewarded: The better love, the worse by fate regarded. [_Aside, and exit._[590] MAR. Well, go thy ways for the sweetest customer that ever penman was blest withal! Now will he come for another to-morrow again: if he hold on this course, he will leave never a knave i’ th’ town within this twelvemonth: no matter, I shall be rich enough by that time. PHIL. Martino! MAR. Say you, forsooth? PHIL. What paper’s that the gentleman let fall there? MAR. Paper?—’Tis the warrant, I hope: if it be, I’ll hide it, and make him pay for’t again. No, pox; ’tis not so happy. [_Aside._ PHIL. What is’t, sirrah? MAR. ’Tis nothing but a letter, forsooth. PHIL. Is that nothing? MAR. Nothing in respect of a warrant, mistress. PHIL. A letter? why, 't has been many a man’s undoing, sir. MAR. So has a warrant, and[591] you go to that, mistress. PHIL. Read but the superscription, and away with’t. Alas, it may concern the gentleman nearly! MAR. Why, mistress, this letter is at home already. PHIL. At home? how mean you, sir? MAR. You shall hear, mistress [_reads_]:—_To the deservingest of all her sex, and most worthy of his best respect and love, mistress Philippa Brandino._ PHIL. How, sir, to me? MAR. To you, mistress. PHIL. Run, as thou lov’st my honour and thy life, Call him again; I’ll not endure this injury:— But stay, stay, now I think on’t, ’tis my credit, I’ll have your master’s counsel. Ah, base fellow, To leave his loose lines thus! ’tis even as much As a poor honest gentlewoman’s undoing, Had I not a grave wise man to my husband: And thou a vigilant varlet to admit Thou car’st not whom! MAR. 'Las, ’tis my office, mistress! You know you have a kirtle every year, And ’tis within two months of the time now; The velvet’s coming over: pray be milder.

A man that has a place must take money of any body: please you to throw me down but half a dollar, and I’ll make you a warrant for him now; that’s all I care for him. PHIL. Well, look you be clear now from this foul conspiracy Against mine honour; or your master’s love to you, That makes you stout, shall not maintain you here; It shall not, trust to’t. [_Exit above, with_ VIOLETTA. MAR. This is strange to me now: Dare she do this, and but eight weeks to new-year’s tide? A man that had his blood as hot as her’s now Would fit her with French velvet: I’ll go near it.

_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. If this be a wrong to modest reputation, Be you the censurer, sir, that are the master Both of your fame and mine. BRAN. Signor Francisco! I’ll make him fly the land. MAR. That will be hard, sir: I think he be not so well-feather’d, master; Has spent the best part of his patrimony. PHIL. Hark of his bold confederate! BRAN. There thou’rt bitter; And I must chide thee now. PHIL. What should I think, sir? He comes to your man for warrants. BRAN. There it goes then.— Come hither, knave: comes he to you for warrants? MAR. Why, what of that, sir? You know I give no warrants to make cuckolds: That comes by fortune and by nature, sir. BRAN. True, that comes by fortune and by nature.—Wife, Why dost thou wrong this man? MAR. He needs no warrant, master, that goes about such business: a cuckold-maker carries always his warrant about him. BRAN. La, has he answer’d well now, to the full? What cause hast thou t’ abuse him? PHIL. Hear me out, I pray: Through his admittance, has had opportunity[592] To come into the house, and court me boldly. BRAN. Sirrah, you’re foul again, methinks. MAR. Who, I, sir? BRAN. You gave this man admittance into th’ house. MAR. That’s true, sir: you ne’er gave me any order yet To write my warrants i’ th’ street. BRAN. Why, sure thou tak’st delight To wrong this fellow, wife, ha? 'cause I love him. PHIL. Pray, see the fruits; see what has left behind here: Be angry where you should be: there’s few wives Would do as I do. BRAN. Nay, I’ll say that for thee, I ne’er found thee but honest. PHIL. She’s a beast That ever was found otherways. BRAN. Read, Martino: Mine eyes are sore already, and such business Would put 'em out quite. MAR. [_reads letter_] _Fair, dear, and incomparable mistress_—— BRAN. O, every letter draws a tooth, methinks! MAR. And it leads mine to watering. PHIL. Here’s no villany![593] MAR. [_reads_] _My love being so violent, and the opportunity so precious in your husband’s absence to-night, who, as I understand, takes a journey this morning_—— BRAN. O plot of villany! PHIL. Am I honest, think you, sir? BRAN. Exactly honest, perfectly improv’d.[594]— On, on, Martino. MAR. [_reads_] _I will make bold, dear mistress, though your chastity has given me many a repulse, to wait the sweet blessings of this long-desired opportunity at the back gate, between nine and ten this night_—— BRAN. I feel this Inns-a’-court man in my temples! MAR. [_reads_] _Where, if your affection be pleased to receive me, you receive the faithfullest that ever vowed service to woman.—Francisco._ BRAN. I will make Francisco smart for’t! PHIL. Shew him the letter, let him know you know him; That will torment him: all your other courses Are nothing, sir, to that; that breaks his heart. BRAN. The strings shall not hold long then.—Come, Martino. PHIL. Now if Francisco have any wit at all, He comes at night; if not, he never shall. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The Country: near_ FRANCISCO’S _House_.

_Enter_ FRANCISCO, RICARDO, _and_ ATTILIO.

RIC. Nay, mark, mark it, Francisco; it was the naturallest courtesy that ever was ordained; a young gentleman being spent, to have a rich widow set him up again. To see how fortune has provided for all mortality’s ruins! your college for your old-standing scholar, your hospital for your lame-creeping soldier, your bawd for your mangled roarer,[595] your open house for your beggar, and your widow for your gentleman;—ha, Francisco? FRAN. Ay, sir, you may be merry; you’re in hope of a rich widow. RIC. And why shouldst not thou be in hope of another, if there were any spirit in thee? thou art as likely a fellow as any is in the company. I’ll be hanged now if I do not hit the true cause of thy sadness; and confess truly, i’faith; thou hast some land unsold yet, I hold my life. FRAN. Marry, I hope so, sir. RIC. A pox on’t, have I found it? ’Slight, away with’t with all speed, man! I was never merry at heart while I had a foot. Why, man, fortune never minds us till we are left alone to ourselves; for what need she take care for them that do nothing but take care for themselves? Why, dost think if I had kept my lands still, I should ever have looked after a rich widow? alas, I should have married some poor young maid, got five and twenty children, and undone myself! FRAN. I protest, sir, I should not have the face though, to come to a rich widow with nothing. RIC. Why, art thou so simple as thou makest thyself? dost think, i’faith, I come to a rich widow with nothing? FRAN. I mean with state not answerable to her’s. RIC. Why, there’s the fortune, man, that I talk’d on; She knows all this, and yet I’m welcome to her. FRAN. Ay? that’s strange, sir. RIC. Nay more, to pierce thy hard heart, And make thee sell thy land, if thou’st any grace, She has, 'mongst others, two substantial suitors: One, in good time be’t spoke, I owe much money to; She knows this too, and yet I’m welcome to her, Nor dares th’ unconscionable rascal trouble me; Sh’as told him thus, those that profess love to her Shall have the liberty to come and go, Or else get him gone first; she knows not yet Where fortune may bestow her; she’s her gift, Therefore to all will shew a kind respect. FRAN. Why, this is like a woman: I ha’ no luck in’t. RIC. And as at a sheriff’s table,—O blest custom!— A poor indebted gentleman may dine, Feed well and without fear, and depart so, So to her lips fearless I come and go. FRAN. You may well boast, you’re much the happier man, sir. RIC. So you would be, and[596] you would sell your land, sir. FRAN. I’ve heard the circumstance of your sweet fortunes: Prithee give ear to my unlucky tale now. RIC. That’s an ill hearing; but come on for once, sir. FRAN. I never yet lov’d but one woman. RIC. Right, I begun so too; but I’ve lov’d a thousand since. FRAN. Pray, hear me, sir: but this is a man’s wife. RIC. So have[597] five hundred of my thousand been. FRAN. Nay see and[596] you’ll regard me! RIC. No? you see I do; I bring you an example in for every thing. FRAN. This man’s wife—— RIC. So you said. FRAN. Seems very strict. RIC. Ha, humph! FRAN. Do you laugh at that? RIC. Seems very strict, you said; I hear you, man, i’faith; you’re so jealous still! FRAN. But why should that make you laugh? RIC. Because she seems so: you’re such another! FRAN. Nay, sir, I think she is. RIC. You cannot tell[598] then? FRAN. I dare not ask the question, I protest, For fear of a repulse; which yet not having, My mind’s the quieter, and I live in hope still. RIC. Ha, hum! this ’tis to be a landed man. Come, I perceive I must shew you a little of my fortune, and instruct you.

Not ask the question? FRAN. Methought still she frown’d, sir. RIC. Why that’s the cause, fool, that she look’d so scurvily. Come, come, make me your woman; you’ll ne’er do’t else; I’ll shew you her condition[599] presently.

I perceive you must begin like a young vaulter, and get up at horse-tail before you get into the saddle: have you the boldness to utter your mind to me now, being but in hose[600] and doublet? I think, if I should put on a farthingale, thou wouldst never have the heart to do’t.

FRAN. Perhaps I should not then for laughing at you, sir. RIC. In the mean time I fear I shall laugh at thee without one. FRAN. Nay, you must think, friend, I dare speak to a woman. RIC. You shall pardon me for that, friend: I will not think it till I see’t. FRAN. Why, you shall then: I shall be glad to learn too Of one so deep as you are. RIC. So you may, sir.— Now ’tis my best course to look mildly; I shall put him out at first else. FRAN. A word, sweet lady! RIC. With me, sir? say your pleasure. FRAN. O Ricardo, Thou art too good to be a woman long! RIC. Do not find fault with this, for fear I prove Too scornful; be content when you’re well us’d. FRAN. You say well, sir.—Lady, I’ve lov’d you long. RIC. ’Tis a good hearing, sir.—If he be not out now, I’ll be hanged! FRAN. You play a scornful woman! I perceive, Ricardo, you have not been used to 'em: why, I’ll come in at my pleasure with you. Alas, ’tis nothing for a man to talk when a woman gives way to’t! one shall seldom meet with a lady so kind as thou playedst her. RIC. Not altogether, perhaps: he that draws their pictures must flatter 'em a little; they’ll look he that plays 'em should do’t a great deal then. FRAN. Come, come, I’ll play the woman that I’m us’d to: I see you ne’er wore shoe that pinch’d you yet; All your things come[601] on easy. RIC. Say you so, sir? I’ll try your ladyship, 'faith.—Lady, well met. FRAN. I do not think so, sir. RIC. A scornful gom![602] and at the first dash too! My widow never gave me such an answer; I’ll to you again, sir.— Fairest of creatures, I do love thee infinitely! FRAN. There’s nobody bids you, sir. RIC. Pox on thee, thou art the beastliest, crossest baggage that ever man met withal! but I’ll see thee hanged, sweet lady, ere I be daunted with this.—Why, thou’rt too awkward, sirrah. FRAN. Hang thee, base fellow! RIC. Now, by this light, he thinks he does’t indeed!