book I

make no question but is fit for many of your companies, as well as the person itself, and may be allowed both gallery-room at the playhouse, and chamber-room at your lodging. Worse things, I must needs confess, the world has taxed her for than has been written of her; but ’tis the excellency of a writer to leave things better than he finds ’em; though some obscene fellow, that cares not what he writes against others, yet keeps a mystical bawdyhouse himself, and entertains drunkards, to make use of their pockets and vent his private bottle-ale at midnight,—though such a one would have ript up the most nasty vice that ever hell belched forth, and presented it to a modest assembly, yet we rather wish in such discoveries, where reputation lies bleeding, a slackness of truth than fulness of slander.

THOMAS MIDDLETON.

PROLOGUE.

A play expected long makes the audience look For wonders; that each scene should be a book, Compos’d to all perfection: each one comes And brings a play in’s head with him; up he sums What he would of a roaring girl have writ; If that he finds not here, he mews at it. Only we [do] entreat you think our scene Cannot speak high, the subject being but mean; A roaring girl, whose notes till now ne’er were, Shall fill with laughter our vast theatre.[951] That’s all which I dare promise: tragic passion, And such grave stuff, is this day out of fashion. I see Attention sets wide ope her gates Of hearing, and with covetous listening waits, To know what girl this roaring girl should be, For of that tribe are many. One is she That roars at midnight in deep tavern-bowls, That beats the watch, and constables controls; Another roars i’ th’ daytime, swears, stabs, gives braves, Yet sells her soul to the lust of fools and slaves: Both these are suburb-roarers. Then there’s beside[952] A civil city-roaring girl, whose pride, Feasting, and riding, shakes her husband’s state, And leaves him roaring through an iron grate. None of these roaring girls is ours; she flies With wings more lofty; thus her character lies— Yet what need characters, when to give a guess Is better than the person to express? But would you know who ’tis? would you hear her name? She’s call’d mad Moll; her life our acts proclaim.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE. SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE, _his son_. SIR GUY FITZALLARD. SIR DAVY DAPPER. JACK DAPPER, _his son_. SIR ADAM APPLETON. SIR THOMAS LONG. SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE. LORD NOLAND. GOSHAWK. LAXTON. GREENWIT. GALLIPOT, _an apothecary_. TILTYARD, _a feather-seller_. OPENWORK, _a sempster_. NEATFOOT, _Sir A. Wengrave’s man_. GULL, _page to Jack Dapper_. TRAPDOOR. TEARCAT. _Coachman._ _Porter._ _Tailor._ CURTLEAX, _a sergeant_. HANGER, _his yeoman_. _Gentlemen, Cutpurses, &c._

MOLL, _the Roaring Girl_. MARY FITZALLARD, _daughter to Sir Guy_. MISTRESS GALLIPOT. MISTRESS TILTYARD. MISTRESS OPENWORK.

Scene, LONDON.

THE ROARING GIRL.

--------------

ACT I. SCENE I.

_A Room in_ SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE’S _House_.

_Enter_ MARY FITZALLARD _disguised like a sempster, with a case for bands, and_ NEATFOOT _with her, a napkin on his shoulder, and a trencher[953] in his hand, as from table_.

NEAT. The young gentleman, our young master, sir Alexander’s son, is it into his ears, sweet damsel, emblem of fragility, you desire to have a message transported, or to be transcendent? MARY. A private word or two, sir; nothing else. NEAT. You shall fructify in that which you come for; your pleasure shall be satisfied to your full contentation. I will, fairest tree of generation, watch when our young master is erected, that is to say, up, and deliver him to this your most white hand. MARY. Thanks, sir. NEAT. And withal certify him, that I have culled out for him, now his belly is replenished, a daintier bit or modicum than any lay upon his trencher at dinner. Hath he notion of your name, I beseech your chastity? MARY. One, sir, of whom he bespake falling bands.[954] NEAT. Falling bands? it shall so be given him. If you please to venture your modesty in the hall amongst a curl-pated company of rude serving-men, and take such as they can set before you, you shall be most seriously and ingeniously[955] welcome. MARY. I have dined[956] indeed already, sir. NEAT. Or will you vouchsafe to kiss the lip of a cup of rich Orleans in the buttery amongst our waiting-women? MARY. Not now, in truth, sir. NEAT. Our young master shall then have a feeling of your being here; presently it shall so be given him. MARY. I humbly thank you, sir. [_Exit_ NEATFOOT.] But that my bosom Is full of bitter sorrows, I could smile To see this formal ape play antic tricks; But in my breast a poison’d arrow sticks, And smiles cannot become me. Love woven slightly, Such as thy false heart makes, wears out as lightly; But love being truly bred i’ th’ soul, like mine, Bleeds even to death at the least wound it takes,— The more we quench this [fire], the less it slakes: O me!

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _with_ NEATFOOT.

SEB. A sempster speak with me, sayest thou? NEAT. Yes, sir; she’s there, _viva voce_ to deliver her auricular confession. SEB. With me, sweetheart? what is’t? MARY. I have brought home your bands, sir. SEB. Bands?—Neatfoot. NEAT. Sir? SEB. Prithee, look in; for all the gentlemen are upon rising. NEAT. Yes, sir; a most methodical attendance shall be given. SEB. And dost hear? if my father call for me, say I am busy with a sempster. NEAT. Yes, sir; he shall know it that you are busied with a needle-woman. SEB. In’s ear, good Neatfoot. NEAT. It shall be so given him. [_Exit._ SEB. Bands? you’re mistaken, sweetheart, I bespake none: When, where, I prithee? what bands? let me see them. MARY. Yes, sir; a bond[957] fast seal’d with solemn oaths, Subscrib’d unto, as I thought, with your soul; Deliver’d as your deed in sight of heaven: Is this bond cancellèd? have you forgot me? SEB. Ha! life of my life, sir Guy Fitzallard’s daughter? What has transform’d my love to this strange shape? Stay; make all sure [_shuts the door_]; so: now speak and be brief, Because the wolf’s at door that lies in wait To prey upon us both. Albeit mine eyes Are blest by thine, yet this so strange disguise Holds me with fear and wonder. MARY. Mine’s a loath’d sight; Why from it are you banish’d else so long? SEB. I must cut short my speech: in broken language Thus much, sweet Moll; I must thy company shun; I court another Moll: my thoughts must run As a horse runs that’s blind round in a mill, Out every step, yet keeping one path still. MARY. Umph! must you shun my company? in one knot Have both our hands by th’ hands of heaven been tied, Now to be broke? I thought me once your bride; Our fathers did agree on the time when: And must another bedfellow fill my room? SEB. Sweet maid, let’s lose no time; ’tis in heaven’s book Set down, that I must have thee; an oath we took To keep our vows: but when the knight your father Was from mine parted, storms began to sit Upon my covetous father’s brow[s], which fell From them on me. He reckon’d up what gold This marriage would draw from him; at which he swore, To lose so much blood could not grieve him more: He then dissuades me from thee, call’d thee not fair, And ask’d what is she but a beggar’s heir? He scorn’d thy dowry of five thousand marks.[958] If such a sum of money could be found, And I would match with that, he’d not undo it, Provided his bags might add nothing to it; But vow’d, if I took thee, nay, more, did swear it, Save birth, from him I nothing should inherit. MARY. What follows then? my shipwreck? SEB. Dearest, no: Though wildly in a labyrinth I go, My end is to meet thee: with a side-wind Must I now sail, else I no haven can find, But both must sink for ever. There’s a wench Call’d Moll, mad Moll, or merry Moll; a creature So strange in quality, a whole city takes Note of her name and person: all that affection I owe to thee, on her in counterfeit passion I spend, to mad my father: he believes I doat upon this Roaring Girl, and grieves As it becomes a father for a son That could be so bewitch’d: yet I’ll go on This crooked way, sigh still for her, feign dreams In which I’ll talk only of her: these streams Shall, I hope, force my father to consent That here I anchor, rather than be rent Upon a rock so dangerous. Art thou pleas’d, Because thou seest we’re waylaid, that I take A path that’s safe, though it be far about? MARY. My prayers with heaven guide thee! SEB. Then I will on: My father is at hand; kiss, and begone! Hours shall be watch’d for meetings: I must now, As men for fear, to a strange idol bow. MARY. Farewell! SEB. I’ll guide thee forth: when next we meet, A story of Moll shall make our mirth more sweet. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, SIR DAVY DAPPER, SIR ADAM APPLETON, GOSHAWK, LAXTON, _and Gentlemen_.

ALL. Thanks, good sir Alexander, for our bounteous cheer! S. ALEX. Fie, fie, in giving thanks you pay too dear. S. DAVY. When bounty spreads the table, faith, ’twere sin, At going off if thanks should not step in. S. ALEX. No more of thanks, no more. Ay, marry, sir, Th’ inner room was too close: how do you like This parlour, gentlemen? ALL. O, passing well! S. ADAM. What a sweet breath the air casts here, so cool! GOS. I like the prospect best. LAX. See how ’tis furnish’d! S. DAVY. A very fair sweet room. S. ALEX. Sir Davy Dapper, The furniture that doth adorn this room Cost many a fair grey groat ere it came here; But good things are most cheap when they’re most dear. Nay, when you look into my galleries, How bravely they’re trimm’d up, you all shall swear You’re highly pleas’d to see what’s set down there: Stories of men and women, mix’d together Fair ones with foul, like sunshine in wet weather; Within one square a thousand heads are laid, So close that all of heads the room seems made; As many faces there, fill’d with blithe looks, Shew like the promising titles of new books Writ merrily, the readers being their own eyes, Which seem to move and to give plaudities; And here and there, whilst with obsequious ears Throng’d heaps do listen, a cut-purse thrusts and leers With hawk’s eyes for his prey; I need not shew him; By a hanging, villanous look yourselves may know him, The face is drawn so rarely: then, sir, below, The very floor, as ’twere, waves to and fro, And, like a floating island, seems to move Upon a sea bound in with shores above. ALL. These sights are excellent! S. ALEX. I’ll shew you all: Since we are met, make our parting comical.

_Re-enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _with_ GREENWIT.

SEB. This gentleman, my friend, will take his leave, sir. S. ALEX. Ha! take his leave, Sebastian, who? SEB. This gentleman. S. ALEX. Your love, sir, has already given me some time, And if you please to trust my age with more, It shall pay double interest: good sir, stay. GREEN. I have been too bold. S. ALEX. Not so, sir: a merry day ’Mongst friends being spent, is better than gold sav’d.— Some wine, some wine! Where be these knaves I keep?

_Re-enter_ NEATFOOT _with several Servants_.

NEAT. At your worshipful elbow, sir. S. ALEX. You’re kissing my maids, drinking, or fast asleep. NEAT. Your worship has given it us right. S. ALEX. You varlets, stir! Chairs, stools, and cushions!— [_Servants bring in wine, and place chairs, &c._ Prithee, sir Davy Dapper, Make that chair thine. S. DAVY. ’Tis but an easy gift; And yet I thank you for it, sir: I’ll take it. S. ALEX. A chair for old sir Adam Appleton! NEAT. A back friend to your worship. S. ADAM. Marry, good Neatfoot, I thank thee for’t; back friends sometimes are good. S. ALEX. Pray, make that stool your perch, good master Goshawk. GOS. I stoop to your lure, sir. S. ALEX. Son Sebastian, Take master Greenwit to you. SEB. Sit, dear friend. S. ALEX. Nay, master Laxton—furnish master Laxton With what he wants, a stone,—a stool, I would say, A stool. LAX. I had rather stand, sir. S. ALEX. I know you had, good master Laxton: so, so. [_Exeunt_ NEATFOOT _and Servants_. Now here’s a mess of friends; and, gentlemen, Because time’s glass shall not be running long, I’ll quicken it with a pretty tale. S. DAVY. Good tales do well In these bad days, where vice does so excel. S. ADAM. Begin, sir Alexander. S. ALEX. Last day I met An aged man, upon whose head was scor’d A debt of just so many years as these Which I owe to my grave: the man you all know. ALL. His name, I pray you, sir. S. ALEX. Nay, you shall pardon me: But when he saw me, with a sigh that brake, Or seem’d to break, his heart-strings, thus he spake: O my good knight, says he, (and then his eyes Were richer even by that which made them poor, They’d spent so many tears they had no more), O sir, says he, you know it! for you ha’ seen Blessings to rain upon mine house and me: Fortune, who slaves men, was my slave; her wheel Hath spun me golden threads; for, I thank heaven, I ne’er had but one cause to curse my stars. I ask’d him then what that one caue might be. ALL. So, sir. S. ALEX. He paus’d: and as we often see A sea so much becalm’d, there can be found No wrinkle on his brow, his waves being drown’d In their own rage; but when th’ imperious wind[s] Use strange invisible tyranny to shake Both heaven’s and earth’s foundation at their noise, The seas, swelling with wrath to part that fray, Rise up, and are more wild, more mad than they; Even so this good old man was by my question Stirr’d up to roughness; you might see his gall Flow even in’s eyes; then grew he fantastical. S. DAVY. Fantastical? ha, ha! S. ALEX. Yes; and talk[’d] oddly. S. ADAM. Pray, sir, proceed: How did this old man end? S. ALEX. Marry, sir, thus: He left his wild fit to read o’er his cards; Yet then, though age cast snow on all his hairs, He joy’d, because, says he, the god of gold Has been to me no niggard; that disease, Of which all old men sicken, avarice, Never infected me—— LAX. He means not himself, I’m sure. [_Aside._ S. ALEX. For, like a lamp Fed with continual oil, I spend and throw My light to all that need it, yet have still Enough to serve myself: O but, quoth he, Though heaven’s dew fall thus on this aged tree, I have a son that,[959] like a wedge, doth cleave My very heart-root! S. DAVY. Had he such a son? SEB. Now I do smell a fox strongly. [_Aside._ S. ALEX. Let’s see: no, master Greenwit is not yet So mellow in years as he; but as like Sebastian, Just like my son Sebastian, such another. SEB. How finely, like a fencer, My father fetches his by-blows to hit me! But if I beat you not at your own weapon Of subtilty—— [_Aside._ S. ALEX. This son, saith he, that should be The column and main arch unto my house, The crutch unto my age, becomes a whirlwind Shaking the firm foundation. S. ADAM. ’Tis some prodigal. SEB. Well shot, old Adam Bell![960] [_Aside._ S. ALEX. No city-monster neither, no prodigal, But sparing, wary, civil, and, though wifeless, An excellent husband; and such a traveller, He has more tongues in his head than some have teeth. S. DAVY. I have but two in mine. GOS. So sparing and so wary? What, then, could vex his father so? S. ALEX. O, a woman! SEB. A flesh-fly, that can vex any man. S. ALEX. A scurvy woman, On whom the passionate old man swore he doated; A creature, saith he, nature hath brought forth To mock the sex of woman. It is a thing One knows not how to name: her birth began Ere she was all made: ’tis woman more than man, Man more than woman; and, which to none can hap, The sun gives her two shadows to one shape; Nay, more, let this strange thing walk, stand, or sit, No blazing star draws more eyes after it. S. DAVY. A monster! ’tis some monster! S. ALEX. She’s a varlet. SEB. Now is my cue to bristle. [_Aside._ S. ALEX. A naughty pack.[961] SEB. ’Tis false! S. ALEX. Ha, boy? SEB. ’Tis false! S. ALEX. What’s false? I say she’s naught. SEB. I say, that tongue That dares speak so, but yours, sticks in the throat Of a rank villain: set yourself aside—— S. ALEX. So, sir, what then? SEB. Any here else had lied.— I think I shall fit you. [_Aside._ S. ALEX. Lie? SEB. Yes. S. DAVY. Doth this concern him? S. ALEX. Ah, sirrah-boy, Is your blood heated? boils it? are you stung? I’ll pierce you deeper yet.—O my dear friends, I am that wretched father! this that son, That sees his ruin, yet headlong on doth run. S. ADAM. Will you love such a poison? S. DAVY. Fie, fie. SEB. You’re all mad. S. ALEX. Thou’rt sick at heart, yet feel’st it not: of all these, What gentleman but thou, knowing his disease Mortal, would shun the cure!—O master Greenwit, Would you to such an idol bow? GREEN. Not I, sir. S. ALEX. Here’s master Laxton; has he mind to a woman As thou hast? LAX. No, not I, sir. S. ALEX. Sir, I know it. LAX. Their good parts are so rare, their bad so common, I will have nought to do with any woman. S. DAVY. ’Tis well done, master Laxton. S. ALEX. O thou cruel boy, Thou wouldst with lust an old man’s life destroy! Because thou see’st I’m half-way in my grave, Thou shovel’st dust upon me: would thou might’st have Thy wish, most wicked, most unnatural! S. DAVY. Why, sir, ’tis thought sir Guy Fitzallard’s daughter Shall wed your son Sebastian. S. ALEX. Sir Davy Dapper, I have upon my knees woo’d this fond[962] boy To take that virtuous maiden. SEB. Hark you; a word, sir. You on your knees have curs’d that virtuous maiden, And me for loving her; yet do you now Thus baffle[963] me to my face: wear not your knees In such entreats; give me Fitzallard’s daughter. S. ALEX. I’ll give thee rats-bane rather. SEB. Well, then, you know What dish I mean to feed upon. S. ALEX. Hark, gentlemen! he swears To have this cut-purse drab, to spite my gall. ALL. Master Sebastian—— SEB. I am deaf to you all. I’m so bewitch’d, so bound to my desires, Tears, prayers, threats, nothing can quench out those fires That burn within me. [_Exit._ S. ALEX. Her blood shall quench it, then.— [_Aside._ Lose him not; O dissuade him, gentlemen! S. DAVY. He shall be wean’d, I warrant you. S. ALEX. Before his eyes Lay down his shame, my grief, his miseries. ALL. No more, no more; away! [_Exeunt all but_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE.

S. ALEX. I wash a negro, Losing both pains and cost: but take thy flight, I’ll be most near thee when I’m least in sight. Wild buck, I’ll hunt thee breathless: thou shalt run on, But I will turn thee when I’m not thought upon.—

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR _with a letter_.

Now, sirrah, what are you? leave your ape’s tricks, and speak. TRAP. A letter from my captain to your worship. S. ALEX. O, O, now I remember; ’tis to prefer thee into my service. TRAP. To be a shifter under your worship’s nose of a clean trencher, when there’s a good bit upon’t. S. ALEX. Troth, honest fellow—Hum—ha—let me see— This knave shall be the axe to hew that down At which I stumble; has a face that promiseth Much of a villain: I will grind his wit, And, if the edge prove fine, make use of it. [_Aside._ Come hither, sirrah: canst thou be secret, ha? TRAP. As two crafty attorneys plotting the undoing of their clients. S. ALEX. Didst never, as thou’st walk’d about this town, Hear of a wench call’d Moll, mad, merry Moll? TRAP. Moll Cutpurse, sir? S. ALEX. The same; dost thou know her, then? TRAP. As well as I know ’twill rain upon Simon and Jude’s day next: I will sift all the taverns i’ th’ city, and drink half pots with all the watermen[964] a’ th’ Bank-side, but, if you will, sir, I’ll find her out.

S. ALEX. That task is easy; do’t then: hold thy hand up. What’s this? is’t burnt? TRAP. No, sir, no; a little singed with making fireworks.

S. ALEX. There’s money, spend it; that being spent, fetch more. [_Gives money._ TRAP. O sir, that all the poor soldiers in England had such a leader! For fetching, no water-spaniel is like me.

S. ALEX. This wench we speak of strays so from her kind, Nature repents she made her: ’tis a mermaid Has tol’d my son to shipwreck. TRAP. I’ll cut her comb for you.

S. ALEX. I’ll tell out gold for thee, then. Hunt her forth, Cast out a line hung full of silver hooks To catch her to thy company: deep spendings May draw her that’s most chaste to a man’s bosom. TRAP. The gingling of golden bells, and a good fool with a hobbyhorse, will draw all the whores i’ th’ town to dance in a morris.

S. ALEX. Or rather, for that’s best (they say sometimes She goes in breeches), follow her as her man. TRAP. And when her breeches are off, she shall follow me. S. ALEX. Beat all thy brains to serve her. TRAP. Zounds, sir, as country wenches beat cream till butter comes.

S. ALEX. Play thou the subtle spider; weave fine nets To ensnare her very life. TRAP. Her life?

S. ALEX. Yes; suck Her heart-blood, if thou canst: twist thou but cords To catch her, I’ll find law to hang her up. TRAP. Spoke like a worshipful bencher!

S. ALEX. Trace all her steps: at this she-fox’s den Watch what lambs enter; let me play the shepherd To save their throats from bleeding, and cut hers. TRAP. This is the goll[965] shall do’t.

S. ALEX. Be firm, and gain me Ever thine own: this done, I entertain thee. How is thy name? TRAP. My name, sir, is Ralph Trapdoor, honest Ralph.

S. ALEX. Trapdoor, be like thy name, a dangerous step For her to venture on; but unto me—— TRAP. As fast as your sole to your boot or shoe, sir.

S. ALEX. Hence, then; be little seen here as thou canst; I’ll still be at thine elbow. TRAP. The trapdoor’s set. Moll, if you budge, you’re gone: this me shall crown; A roaring boy[966] the roaring girl puts down. S. ALEX. God-a-mercy, lose no time. [_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_Three shops open in a rank: the first an apothecary’s shop, the next a feather-shop, the third a sempster’s shop_; MISTRESS GALLIPOT _in the first_, MISTRESS TILTYARD _in the next_, OPENWORK _and_ MISTRESS OPENWORK _in the third_.

_Enter_ LAXTON, GOSHAWK, _and_ GREENWIT.

MIS. OPEN. Gentlemen, what is’t you lack?[967] what is’t you buy? see fine bands and ruffs, fine lawns, fine cambrics: what is’t you lack, gentlemen? what is’t you buy? LAX. Yonder’s the shop. GOS. Is that she? LAX. Peace. GREEN. She that minces tobacco?[968] LAX. Ay; she’s a gentlewoman born, I can tell you, though it be her hard fortune now to shred Indian pot-herbs. GOS. O sir, ’tis many a good woman’s fortune, when her husband turns bankrout,[969] to begin with pipes and set up again. LAX. And, indeed, the raising of the woman is the lifting up of the man’s head at all times; if one flourish, t’other will bud as fast, I warrant ye. GOS. Come, thou’rt familiarly acquainted there, I grope that. LAX. And[970] you grope no better i’ th’ dark, you may chance lie i’ th’ ditch when you’re drunk. GOS. Go, thou’rt a mystical lecher! LAX. I will not deny but my credit may take up an ounce of pure smoke. GOS. May take up an ell of pure smock! away, go! ’Tis the closest striker![971] life, I think he commits venery forty foot deep; no man’s aware on’t. I, like a palpable smockster, go to work so openly with the tricks of art, that I’m as apparently seen as a naked boy in a phial;[972] and were it not for a gift of treachery that I have in me, to betray my friend when he puts most trust in me—mass, yonder he is too!—and by his injury to make good my access to her, I should appear as defective in courting as a farmer’s son the first day of his feather, that doth nothing at court but woo the hangings and glass windows for a month together, and some broken waiting-woman for ever after. I find those imperfections in my venery, that were’t not for flattery and falsehood, I should want discourse and impudence; and he that wants impudence among women is worthy to be kicked out at bed’s feet. He shall not see me yet. [_Aside._ GREEN. Troth, this is finely shred. LAX. O, women are the best mincers. MIS. G. ’Thad been a good phrase for a cook’s wife, sir. LAX. But ’twill serve generally, like the front of a new almanac, as thus:—calculated for the meridian of cooks’ wives, but generally for all Englishwomen. MIS. G. Nay, you shall ha’t, sir; I have filled it for you. [_She puts it to the fire._ LAX. The pipe’s in a good hand, and I wish mine always so. GREEN. But not to be used a’ that fashion. LAX. O, pardon me, sir, I understand no French. I pray, be covered. Jack, a pipe of rich smoke! GOS. Rich smoke? that’s sixpence a pipe, is’t? GREEN. To me, sweet lady. MIS. G. Be not forgetful; respect my credit; seem strange: art and wit make[973] a fool of suspicion; pray, be wary. LAX. Push![974] I warrant you.—Come, how is’t, gallants? GREEN. Pure and excellent. LAX. I thought ’twas good, you were grown so silent: you are like those that love not to talk at victuals, though they make a worse noise i’ th’ nose than a common fiddler’s ’prentice, and discourse a whole supper with snuffling.—I must speak a word with you anon. MIS. G. Make your way wisely, then. GOS. O, what else, sir? he’s perfection itself; full of manners, but not an acre of ground belonging to ’em. GREEN. Ay, and full of form; has ne’er a good stool in’s chamber. GOS. But above all, religious; he preyeth daily upon elder brothers. GREEN. And valiant above measure; has run three streets from a sergeant. LAX. Puh, puh. [_He blows tobacco in their faces._ GREEN. O, puh! GOS. Ho, ho! LAX. So, so. MIS. G. What’s the matter now, sir? LAX. I protest I’m in extreme want of money; if you can supply me now with any means, you do me the greatest pleasure, next to the bounty of your love, as ever poor gentleman tasted. MIS. G. What’s the sum would pleasure ye, sir? though you deserve nothing less at my hands. LAX. Why, ’tis but for want of opportunity, thou knowest.—I put her off with opportunity still: by this light, I hate her, but for means to keep me in fashion with gallants; for what I take from her, I spend upon other wenches; bear her in hand[975] still: she has wit enough to rob her husband, and I ways enough to consume the money. [_Aside._]—Why, how now? what, the chincough? GOS. Thou hast the cowardliest trick to come before a man’s face, and strangle him ere he be aware! I could find in my heart to make a quarrel in earnest. LAX. Pox, and[976] thou dost—thou knowest I never use to fight with my friends—thou’ll but lose thy labour in’t.— Jack Dapper!

_Enter_ JACK DAPPER _and_ GULL.

GREEN. Monsieur Dapper, I dive down to your ancles. J. DAP. Save ye, gentlemen, all three in a peculiar salute. GOS. He were ill to make a lawyer; he despatches three at once. LAX. So, well said.—But is this[977] of the same tobacco, mistress Gallipot?

MIS. G. The same you had at first, sir. LAX. I wish it no better: this will serve to drink[978] at my chamber. GOS. Shall we taste a pipe on’t? LAX. Not of this, by my troth, gentlemen, I have sworn before you. GOS. What, not Jack Dapper? LAX. Pardon me, sweet Jack; I’m sorry I made such a rash oath, but foolish oaths must stand: where art going, Jack? J. DAP. Faith, to buy one feather. LAX. One feather? the fool’s peculiar still. [_Aside._ J. DAP. Gull. GULL. Master? J. DAP. Here’s three halfpence for your ordinary, boy; meet me an hour hence in Paul’s.[979] GULL. How? three single halfpence? life, this will scarce serve a man in sauce, a halp’orth of mustard, a halp’orth of oil, and a halp’orth of vinegar,—what’s left then for the pickle herring? This shews like small beer i’ th’ morning after a great surfeit of wine o’ernight: he could spend his three pound last night in a supper amongst girls and brave bawdyhouse boys: I thought his pockets cackled not for nothing: these are the eggs of three pound, I’ll go sup ’em up presently. [_Aside, and exit._ LAX. Eight, nine, ten angels:[980] good wench, i’faith, and one that loves darkness well; she puts out a candle with the best tricks of any drugster’s wife in England: but that which mads her, I rail upon opportunity still, and take no notice on’t. The other night she would needs lead me into a room with a candle in her hand to shew me a naked picture, where no sooner entered, but the candle was sent of an errand: now, I not intending to understand her, but, like a puny at the inns of venery, called for another light innocently; thus reward I all her cunning with simple mistaking. I know she cozens her husband to keep me, and I’ll keep her honest as long as I can, to make the poor man some part of amends. An honest mind of a whoremaster! how think you amongst you? What, a fresh pipe? draw in a third man? GOS. No, you’re a hoarder, you engross by th’ ounces. [_At the feather-shop._ J. DAP. Pooh, I like it not. MIS. T. What feather is’t you’d have, sir? These are most worn and most in fashion: Amongst the beaver gallants, the stone riders, The private stage’s audience, the twelvepenny-stool gentlemen,[981] I can inform you ’tis the general feather. J. DAP. And therefore I mislike it: tell me of general! Now, a continual Simon and Jude’s rain Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes! Shew me—a—spangled feather. MIS. T. O, to go a-feasting with; You’d have it for a hench-boy,[982] you shall. [_At the sempster’s shop._ OPEN. Mass, I had quite forgot! His honour’s footman was here last night, wife; Ha’ you done with my lord’s shirt? MIS. O. What’s that to you, sir? I was this morning at his honour’s lodging, Ere such a snake as you crept out of your shell. OPEN. O, ’twas well done, good wife! MIS. O. I hold it better, sir, Than if you had done’t yourself. OPEN. Nay, so say I: But is the countess’s smock almost done, mouse?[983] MIS. O. Here lies the cambric, sir; but wants, I fear me. OPEN. I’ll resolve[984] you of that presently. MIS. O. Heyday! O audacious groom! Dare you presume to noble women’s linen? Keep you your yard to measure shepherds’ holland: I must confine you, I see that. [_At the tobacco-shop._ GOS. What say you to this gear?[985] LAX. I dare the arrant’st critic in tobacco To lay one fault upon’t.

_Enter_ MOLL _in a frieze jerkin and a black saveguard_.[986]

GOS. Life, yonder’s Moll! LAX. Moll! which Moll? GOS. Honest Moll. LAX. Prithee, let’s call her.—Moll! GOS. Moll, Moll! GREEN. Pist, Moll![987] MOLL. How now? what’s the matter? GOS. A pipe of good tobacco, Moll? MOLL. I cannot stay. GOS. Nay, Moll, pooh, prithee, hark; but one word, i’faith. MOLL. Well, what is’t? GREEN. Prithee, come hither, sirrah. LAX. Heart, I would give but too much money to be nibbling with that wench! life, sh’as the spirit of four great parishes, and a voice that will drown all the city! Methinks a brave captain might get all his soldiers upon her, and ne’er be beholding[988] to a company of Mile-end milksops, if he could come on and come off quick enough: such a Moll were a marrow-bone before an Italian; he would cry _buona roba_[989] till his ribs were nothing but bone. I’ll lay hard siege to her: money is that aquafortis that eats into many a maidenhead; where the walls are flesh and blood, I’ll ever pierce through with a golden augre. [_Aside._ GOS. Now, thy judgment, Moll? is’t not good? MOLL. Yes, faith, ’tis very good tobacco.—How do you sell an ounce?—Farewell.—God b’i’ you, mistress Gallipot. GOS. Why, Moll, Moll! MOLL. I cannot stay now, i’faith: I am going to buy a shag-ruff; the shop will be shut in presently. GOS. ’Tis the maddest fantasticalest girl! I never knew so much flesh and so much nimbleness put together. LAX. She slips from one company to another, like a fat eel between a Dutchman’s fingers.—I’ll watch my time for her. [_Aside._ MIS. G. Some will not stick to say she is a man, And some, both man and woman.

f LAX. That were excellent: she might first cuckold the husband, and then make him do as much for the wife. [_At the feather-shop._ MOLL. Save you; how does mistress Tiltyard? J. DAP. Moll! MOLL. Jack Dapper! J. DAP. How dost, Moll? MOLL. I’ll tell thee by and by; I go but to th’ next shop. J. DAP. Thou shalt find me here this hour about a feather. MOLL. Nay, and[990] a feather hold you in play a whole hour, a goose will last you all the days of your life.— Let me see a good shag-ruff. [_At the sempster’s shop._ OPEN. Mistress Mary, that shalt thou, i’faith, and the best in the shop. MIS. O. How now? greetings! love-terms, with a pox, between you! have I found out one of your haunts? I send you for hollands, and you’re i’ th’ low countries, with a mischief. I’m served with good ware by th’ shift; that makes it lie dead so long upon my hands: I were as good shut up shop, for when I open it I take nothing. OPEN. Nay, and you fall a-ringing once, the devil cannot stop you.—I’ll out of the belfry as fast as I can, Moll. [_Retires._ MIS. O. Get you from my shop! MOLL. I come to buy. MIS. O. I’ll sell ye nothing; I warn ye my house and shop. MOLL. You, goody Openwork, you that prick out a poor living, And sew[991] many a bawdy skin-coat together; Thou private pandress between shirt and smock; I wish thee for a minute but a man, Thou shouldst ne’er use more shapes; but as thou art, I pity my revenge. Now my spleen’s up, I would not mock it willingly.—

_Enter a Fellow, with a long rapier by his side._

Ha! be thankful; Now I forgive thee. MIS. O. Marry, hang thee, I never asked forgiveness in my life. MOLL. You, goodman swine’s face! FEL. What, will you murder me? MOLL. You remember, slave, how you abused me t’other night in a tavern. FEL. Not I, by this light! MOLL. No, but by candle-light you did: you have tricks to save your oaths; reservations have you? and I have reserved somewhat for you [_strikes him_]. As you like that, call for more; you know the sign again. FEL. Pox on’t, had I brought any company along with me to have borne witness on’t, ’twould ne’er have grieved me; but to be struck and nobody by, ’tis my ill fortune still. Why, tread upon a worm, they say ’twill turn tail; but indeed a gentleman should have more manners. [_Aside, and exit._ LAX. Gallantly performed, i’faith, Moll, and manfully! I love thee for ever for’t: base rogue, had he offered but the least counter-buff, by this hand, I was prepared for him! MOLL. You prepared for him? why should you be prepared for him? was he any more than a man? LAX. No, nor so much by a yard and a handful, London measure. MOLL. Why do you speak this then? do you think I cannot ride a stone-horse, unless one lead him by th’ snaffle? LAX. Yes, and sit him bravely; I know thou canst, Moll: ’twas but an honest mistake through love, and I’ll make amends for’t any way. Prithee, sweet, plump Moll, when shall thou and I go out a’ town together? MOLL. Whither? to Tyburn, prithee? LAX. Mass, that’s out a’ town indeed: thou hangest so many jests upon thy friends still! I mean honestly to Brainford,[992] Staines, or Ware. MOLL. What to do there? LAX. Nothing but be merry and lie together: I’ll hire a coach with four horses. MOLL. I thought ’twould be a beastly journey. You may leave out one well; three horses will serve, if I play the jade myself. LAX. Nay, push,[993] thou’rt such another kicking wench! Prithee, be kind, and let’s meet. MOLL. ’Tis hard but we shall meet, sir. LAX. Nay, but appoint the place then; there’s ten angels[994] in fair gold, Moll: you see I do not trifle with you; do but say thou wilt meet me, and I’ll have a coach ready for thee. MOLL. Why, here’s my hand, I’ll meet you, sir. LAX. O good gold! [_Aside._]—The place, sweet Moll? MOLL. It shall be your appointment. LAX. Somewhat near Holborn, Moll. MOLL. In Gray’s-Inn-Fields then. LAX. A match. MOLL. I’ll meet you there. LAX. The hour? MOLL. Three. LAX. That will be time enough to sup at Brainford. OPEN. I am of such a nature, sir, I cannot endure the house when she scolds: sh’as a tongue will be heard further in a still morning than Saint Antling’s bell.[995] She rails upon me for foreign wenching, that I being a freeman must needs keep a whore i’ th’ suburbs, and seek to impoverish the liberties. When we fall out, I trouble you still to make all whole with my wife. GOS. No trouble at all; ’tis a pleasure to me to join things together. OPEN. Go thy ways, I do this but to try thy honesty, Goshawk. [_Aside._] [_At the feather-shop._ J. DAP. How likest thou this, Moll? MOLL. O, singularly; you’re fitted now for a bunch.—He looks for all the world, with those spangled feathers, like a nobleman’s bed-post. The purity of your wench would I fain try; she seems like Kent unconquered, and, I believe, as many wiles are in her. O, the gallants of these times are shallow lechers! they put not their courtship home enough to a wench: ’tis impossible to know what woman is throughly honest, because she’s ne’er thoroughly tried; I am of that certain belief, there are more queans in this town of their own making than of any man’s provoking: where lies the slackness then? many a poor soul would down, and there’s nobody will push ’em:

Women are courted, but ne’er soundly tried, As many walk in spurs that never ride. [_Aside._ [_At the sempster’s shop._ MIS. O. O, abominable! GOS. Nay, more, I tell you in private, he keeps a whore i’ th’ suburbs. MIS. O. O spittle[996] dealing! I came to him a gentlewoman born: I’ll shew you mine arms when you please, sir. GOS. I had rather see your legs, and begin that way. [_Aside._ MIS. O. ’Tis well known he took me from a lady’s service, where I was well beloved of the steward: I had my Latin tongue, and a spice of the French, before I came to him; and now doth he keep a suburbian whore under my nostrils? GOS. There’s ways enough to cry quit with him: hark in thine ear. [_Whispers her._ MIS. O. There’s a friend worth a million! MOLL. I’ll try one spear against your chastity, mistress Tiltyard, though it prove too short by the burgh.[997] [_Aside._

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

TRAP. Mass, here she is: I’m bound already to serve her, though it be but a sluttish trick. [_Aside._]—Bless my hopeful young mistress with long life and great limbs; send her the upper hand of all bailiffs and their hungry adherents! MOLL. How now? what art thou? TRAP. A poor ebbing gentleman, that would gladly wait for the young flood of your service. MOLL. My service? what should move you to offer your service to me, sir? TRAP. The love I bear to your heroic spirit and masculine womanhood. MOLL. So, sir! put case we should retain you to us, what parts are there in you for a gentlewoman’s service? TRAP. Of two kinds, right worshipful; moveable and immoveable—moveable to run of errands, and immoveable to stand when you have occasion to use me. MOLL. What strength have you? TRAP. Strength, mistress Moll? I have gone up into a steeple, and stayed the great bell as’t has been ringing; stopt a windmill going—— MOLL. And never struck down yourself? TRAP. Stood as upright as I do at this present. [MOLL _trips up his heels_. MOLL. Come, I pardon you for this; it shall be no disgrace to you: I have struck up the heels of the high German’s size'[998] ere now. What, not stand? TRAP. I am of that nature, where I love, I’ll be at my mistress’ foot to do her service. MOLL. Why, well said; but say your mistress should receive injury, have you the spirit of fighting in you? durst you second her? TRAP. Life, I have kept a bridge myself, and drove seven at a time before me! MOLL. Ay? TRAP. But they were all Lincolnshire bullocks, by my troth. [_Aside._ MOLL. Well, meet me in Gray’s Inn Fields between three and four this afternoon, and, upon better consideration, we’ll retain you. TRAP. I humbly thank your good mistresship.—I’ll crack your neck for this kindness. [_Aside, & exit._ LAX. Remember three. [MOLL _meets_ LAXTON, _and_ MOLL. Nay, if I fail you, hang me. LAX. Good wench, i’faith! MOLL. Who’s this? [_then_ OPENWORK. OPEN. ’Tis I, Moll. MOLL. Prithee, tend thy shop and prevent bastards. OPEN. We’ll have a pint of the same wine,[999] i’faith, Moll. [_Exit with_ MOLL.] [_Bell rings._ GOS. Hark, the bell rings! come, gentlemen. Jack Dapper, where shall’s all munch? J. DAP. I am for Parker’s ordinary. LAX. He’s a good guest to’m, he deserves his board; he draws all the gentlemen in a term-time thither. We’ll be your followers, Jack; lead the way.—Look you, by my faith, the fool has feathered his nest well. [_Exeunt_ JACK DAPPER, LAXTON, GOSHAWK, _and_ GREENWIT.

_Enter_ GALLIPOT, TILTYARD, _and Servants, with water-spaniels and a duck_.

TILT. Come, shut up your shops. Where’s master Openwork? MIS. G. Nay, ask not me, master Tiltyard. TILT. Where’s his water-dog? puh—pist[1000]—hur—hur— pist! GAL. Come, wenches, come; we’re going all to Hogsdon. MIS. G. To Hogsdon, husband? GAL. Ay, to Hogsdon, pigsnie.[1001] MIS. G. I’m not ready, husband. GAL. Faith, that’s well—hum—pist—pist.— [_Spits in the dog’s mouth._ Come, mistress Openwork, you are so long! MIS. O. I have no joy of my life, master Gallipot. GAL. Push,[1002] let your boy lead his water-spaniel along, and we’ll shew you the bravest sport at Parlous Pond.[1003]—Hey, trug, hey, trug, hey, trug![1004] here’s the best duck in England, except my wife; hey, hey, hey! fetch, fetch, fetch!— Come, let’s away:[1005] Of all the year this is the sportful’st day. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE.

SEB. If a man have a free will, where should the use More perfect shine than in his will to love? All creatures have their liberty in that,

_Enter behind_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE _listening._

Though else kept under servile yoke and fear; The very bond-slave has his freedom there. Amongst a world of creatures voic’d and silent, Must my desires wear fetters?—Yea, are you So near? then I must break with my heart’s truth, Meet grief at a back way.—Well: why, suppose The two-leav’d[1006] tongues of slander or of truth Pronounce Moll loathsome; if before my love She appear fair, what injury have I? I have the thing I like: in all things else Mine own eye guides me, and I find ’em prosper. Life! what should ail it now? I know that man Ne’er truly loves,—if he gainsay’t he lies,— That winks and marries with his father’s eyes: I’ll keep mine own wide open.

_Enter_ MOLL, _and a Porter with a viol on his back_.

S. ALEX. Here’s brave wilfulness! A made match! here she comes; they met a’ purpose. [_Aside._ POR. Must I carry this great fiddle to your chamber, mistress Mary? MOLL. Fiddle, goodman hog-rubber? Some of these porters bear so much for others, they have no time to carry wit for themselves. POR. To your own chamber, mistress Mary? MOLL. Who’ll hear an ass speak? whither else, goodman pageant-bearer? They’re people of the worst memories! [_Exit Porter._ SEB. Why, ’twere too great a burden, love, to have them Carry things in their minds and a’ their backs together. MOLL. Pardon me, sir, I thought not you so near. S. ALEX. So, so, so! [_Aside._ SEB. I would be nearer to thee, and in that fashion That makes the best part of all creatures honest: No otherwise I wish it. MOLL. Sir, I am so poor to requite you, you must look for nothing but thanks of me: I have no humour to marry; I love to lie a’ both sides a’ th’ bed myself: and again, a’ th’ other side, a wife, you know, ought to be obedient, but I fear me I am too headstrong to obey; therefore I’ll ne’er go about it. I love you so well, sir, for your good will, I’d be loath you should repent your bargain after; and therefore we’ll ne’er come together at first. I have the head now of myself, and am man enough for a woman: marriage is but a chopping and changing, where a maiden loses one head, and has a worse i’ th’ place. S. ALEX. The most comfortablest answer from a roaring girl That ever mine ears drunk in! [_Aside._ SEB. This were enough Now to affright a fool for ever from thee, When ’tis the music that I love thee for. S. ALEX. There’s a boy spoils all again! [_Aside._ MOLL. Believe it, sir, I am not of that disdainful temper but I could love you faithfully. S. ALEX. A pox on you for that word! I like you not now, You’re a cunning roarer, I see that already. [_Aside._ MOLL. But sleep upon this once more, sir; you may chance shift a mind to-morrow: be not too hasty to wrong yourself; never while you live, sir, take a wife running; many have run out at heels that have done’t. You see, sir, I speak against myself; and if every woman would deal with their suitor so honestly, poor younger brothers would not be so often gulled with old cozening widows, that turn o’er all their wealth in trust to some kinsman, and make the poor gentleman work hard for a pension. Fare you well, sir. SEB. Nay, prithee, one word more. S. ALEX. How do I wrong this girl! she puts him off still. [_Aside._ MOLL. Think upon this in cold blood, sir: you make as much haste as if you were a-going upon a sturgeon voyage. Take deliberation, sir; never choose a wife as if you were going to Virginia.[1007] SEB. And so[1008] we parted: my too-cursed fate! S. ALEX. She is but cunning, gives him longer time in’t. [_Aside._

_Enter Tailor._

TAI. Mistress Moll, mistress Moll! so ho, ho, so ho! MOLL. There, boy, there, boy! what dost thou go a-hawking after me with a red clout on thy finger? TAI. I forgot to take measure on you for your new breeches. S. ALEX. Hoyda, breeches? what, will he marry a monster with two trinkets? what age is this! if the wife go in breeches, the man must wear long coats[1009] like a fool. [_Aside._ MOLL. What fiddling’s here! would not the old pattern have served your turn? TAI. You change the fashion: you say you’ll have the great Dutch slop,[1010] mistress Mary. MOLL. Why, sir, I say so still. TAI. Your breeches, then, will take up a yard more. MOLL. Well, pray, look it be put in then. TAI. It shall stand round and full, I warrant you. MOLL. Pray, make ’em easy enough. TAI. I know my fault now, t’other was somewhat stiff between the legs; I’ll make these open enough, I warrant you. S. ALEX. Here’s good gear towards![1011] I have brought up my son to marry a Dutch slop and a French doublet; a codpiece daughter! [_Aside._ TAI. So, I have gone as far as I can go. MOLL. Why, then, farewell. TAI. If you go presently to your chamber, mistress Mary, pray, send me the measure of your thigh by some honest body. MOLL. Well, sir, I’ll send it by a porter presently. [_Exit._ TAI. So you had need, it is a lusty one; both of them would make any porter’s back ache in England. [_Exit._ SEB. I have examin’d the best part of man, Reason and judgment; and in love, they tell me, They leave me uncontroll’d: he that is sway’d By an unfeeling blood, past heat of love, His spring-time must needs err; his watch ne’er goes right That sets his dial by a rusty clock. S. ALEX. [_coming forward_] So; and which is that rusty clock, sir, you? SEB. The clock at Ludgate, sir; it ne’er goes true. S. ALEX. But thou go’st falser; not thy father’s cares Can keep thee right: when that insensible work Obeys the workman’s art, lets off the hour, And stops again when time is satisfied: But thou runn’st on; and judgment, thy main wheel, Beats by all stops, as if the work would break, Begun with long pains for a minute’s ruin: Much like a suffering man brought up with care, At last bequeath’d to shame and a short prayer. SEB. I taste you bitterer than I can deserve, sir. S. ALEX. Who has bewitch[’d] thee, son? what devil or drug Hath wrought upon the weakness of thy blood, And betray’d all her hopes to ruinous folly? O, wake from drowsy and enchanted shame, Wherein thy soul sits, with a golden dream Flatter’d and poison’d! I am old, my son; O, let me prevail quickly! For I have weightier business of mine own Than to chide thee: I must not to my grave As a drunkard to his bed, whereon he lies Only to sleep, and never cares to rise: Let me despatch in time; come no more near her. SEB. Not honestly? not in the way of marriage? S. ALEX. What sayst thou? marriage? in what place? the Sessions-house? And who shall give the bride, prithee? an indictment? SEB. Sir, now ye take part with the world to wrong her. S. ALEX. Why, wouldst thou fain marry to be pointed at? Alas, the number’s great! do not o’erburden’t. Why, as good marry a beacon on a hill, Which all the country fix their eyes upon, As her thy folly doats on. If thou long’st To have the story of thy infamous fortunes Serve for discourse in ordinaries and taverns, Thou’rt in the way; or to confound thy name, Keep on, thou canst not miss it; or to strike Thy wretched father to untimely coldness, Keep the left hand still, it will bring thee to’t. Yet, if no tears wrung from thy father’s eyes, Nor sighs that fly in sparkles from his sorrows, Had power to alter what is wilful in thee, Methinks her very name should fright thee from her, And never trouble me. SEB. Why, is the name of Moll so fatal, sir? S. ALEX. Many one,[1012] sir, where suspect is enter’d; For, seek all London from one end to t’other, More whores of that name than of any ten other. SEB. What’s that to her? let those blush for themselves: Can any guilt in others condemn her? I’ve vow’d to love her: let all storms oppose me That ever beat against the breast of man, Nothing but death’s black tempest shall divide us. S. ALEX. O, folly that can doat on nought but shame! SEB. Put case, a wanton itch runs through one name More than another; is that name the worse, Where honesty sits possest in’t? it should rather Appear more excellent, and deserve more praise, When through foul mists a brightness it can raise. Why, there are of the devils honest gentlemen And well descended, keep an open house, And some a’ th’ good man’s[1013] that are arrant knaves. He hates unworthily that by rote contemns, For the name neither saves nor yet condemns; And for her honesty, I’ve made such proof on’t In several forms, so nearly watch’d her ways, I will maintain that strict against an army, Excepting you, my father. Here’s her worst, Sh’as a bold spirit that mingles with mankind, But nothing else comes near it: and oftentimes Through her apparel somewhat shames her birth; But she is loose in nothing but in mirth: Would all Molls were no worse! S. ALEX. This way I toil in vain, and give but aim[1014] To infamy and ruin: he will fall; My blessing cannot stay him: all my joys Stand at the brink of a devouring flood, And will be wilfully swallow’d, wilfully. But why so vain let all these tears be lost? I’ll pursue her to shame, and so all’s crost. [_Aside, and exit._ SEB. He’s gone with some strange purpose, whose effect Will hurt me little if he shoot so wide, To think I love so blindly: I but feed His heart to this match, to draw on the other, Wherein my joy sits with a full wish crown’d, Only his mood excepted, which must change By opposite policies, courses indirect; Plain dealing in this world takes no effect. This mad girl I’ll acquaint with my intent, Get her assistance, make my fortunes known: ’Twixt lovers’ hearts she’s a fit instrument, And has the art to help them to their own. By her advice, for in that craft she’s wise, My love and I may meet, spite of all spies. [_Exit._

ACT III. SCENE I.

_Gray’s Inn Fields._

_Enter_ LAXTON _and Coachman_.

LAX. Coachman. COACH. Here, sir. LAX. There’s a tester[1015] more; prithee drive thy coach to the hither end of Marybone-park, a fit place for Moll to get in. COACH. Marybone-park, sir? LAX. Ay, it’s in our way, thou knowest. COACH. It shall be done, sir. LAX. Coachman. COACH. Anon, sir. LAX. Are we fitted with good phrampel[1016] jades? COACH. The best in Smithfield, I warrant you, sir. LAX. May we safely take the upper hand of any coached velvet cap, or tuftaffety jacket? for they keep a vild[1017] swaggering in coaches now-a-days; the highways are stopt with them. COACH. My life for yours, and baffle[1018] ’em too, sir: why, they are the same jades believe it, sir, that have drawn all your famous whores to Ware. LAX. Nay, then they know their business; they need no more instructions. COACH. They’re so used to such journeys, sir, I never use whip to ’em; for if they catch but the scent of a wench once, they run like devils. [_Exit._[1019] LAX. Fine Cerberus! that rogue will have the start of a thousand ones; for whilst others trot a’ foot, he’ll ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, ’tis now about the hour of her appointment, but yet I see her not. [_The clock strikes three._] Hark! what’s this? one, two, three: three by the clock at Savoy; this is the hour, and Gray’s Inn Fields the place, she swore she’d meet me. Ha! yonder’s two Inns-a’-court men with one wench, but that’s not she; they walk toward Islington out of my way. I see none yet drest like her; I must look for a shag ruff, a freize jerken, a short sword, and a safeguard,[1020] or I get none. Why, Moll, prithee, make haste, or the coachman will curse us anon.

_Enter_ MOLL, _dressed as a man_.

MOLL. O, here’s my gentleman! If they would keep their days as well with their mercers as their hours with their harlots, no bankrout[1021] would give seven score pound for a sergeant’s place; for would you know a catchpoll rightly derived, the corruption of a citizen is the generation of a sergeant. How his eye hawks for venery! [_Aside._]—Come, are you ready, sir? LAX. Ready? for what, sir? MOLL. Do you ask that now, sir? Why was this meeting ’pointed? LAX. I thought you mistook me, sir: you seem to be some young barrister; I have no suit in law, all my land’s sold; I praise heaven for’t, ’t has rid me of much trouble. MOLL. Then I must wake you, sir; where stands the coach? LAX. Who’s this? Moll, honest Moll? MOLL. So young, and purblind? You’re an old wanton in your eyes, I see that. LAX. Thou’rt admirably suited for the Three Pigeons at Brainford.[1022] I’ll swear I knew thee not. MOLL. I’ll swear you did not; but you shall know me now. LAX. No, not here; we shall be spied, i’faith; the coach is better: come. MOLL. Stay. [_Puts off her cloak._ LAX. What, wilt thou untruss a point,[1023] Moll? MOLL. Yes; here’s the point [_Draws her sword._ That I untruss; ’t has but one tag, ’t will serve though To tie up a rogue’s tongue. LAX. How! MOLL. There’s the gold With which you hir’d your hackney, here’s her pace; She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it: Ten angels[1024] of mine own I’ve put to thine; Win ’em, and wear ’em. LAX. Hold, Moll! mistress Mary—— MOLL. Draw, or I’ll serve an execution on thee, Shall lay thee up till doomsday. LAX. Draw upon a woman! why, what dost mean, Moll?

MOLL. To teach thy base thoughts manners: thou’rt one of those That thinks each woman thy fond flexible whore; If she but cast a liberal[1025] eye upon thee, Turn back her head, she’s thine; or amongst company By chance drink first to thee, then she’s quite gone, There is no means to help her: nay, for a need, Wilt swear unto thy credulous fellow-lechers, That thou art more in favour with a lady At first sight than her monkey all her lifetime. How many of our sex, by such as thou, Have their good thoughts paid with a blasted name That never deserv’d loosely, or did trip In path of whoredom beyond cup and lip! But for the stain of conscience and of soul, Better had women fall into the hands Of an act silent than a bragging nothing; There is no mercy in’t. What durst move you, sir, To think me whorish? a name which I’d tear out From the high German’s throat,[1026] if it lay leiger[1027] there To despatch privy slanders against me. In thee I defy all men, their worst hates And their best flatteries, all their golden witchcrafts, With which they entangle the poor spirits of fools, Distressed needle-women and trade-fallen wives; Fish that must needs bite, or themselves be bitten: Such hungry things as these may soon be took With a worm fasten’d on a golden hook: Those are the lecher’s food, his prey; he watches For quarrelling wedlocks[1028] and poor shifting sisters; ’Tis the best fish he takes. But why, good fisherman, Am I thought meat for you, that never yet Had angling rod cast towards me? ’cause, you’ll say, I’m given to sport, I’m often merry, jest: Had mirth no kindred in the world but lust, O shame take all her friends then! but howe’er Thou and the baser world censure my life, I’ll send ’em word by thee, and write so much Upon thy breast, ’cause thou shalt bear’t in mind, Tell them ’twere base to yield where I have conquer’d; I scorn to prostitute myself to a man, I that can prostitute a man to me; And so I greet thee. LAX. Hear me—— MOLL. Would the spirits Of all my sland[er]ers were clasp’d in thine, That I might vex an army at one time! [_They fight._ LAX. I do repent me; hold! MOLL. You’ll die the better Christian then. LAX. I do confess I have wronged thee, Moll. MOLL. Confession is but poor amends for wrong, Unless a rope would follow. LAX. I ask thee pardon. MOLL. I’m your hir’d whore, sir! LAX. I yield both purse and body. MOLL. Both are mine, And now at my disposing. LAX. Spare my life! MOLL. I scorn to strike thee basely. LAX. Spoke like a noble girl, i’faith!—Heart, I think I fight with a familiar,[1029] or the ghost of a fencer. Sh’as wounded me gallantly. Call you this a lecherous viage?[1030] here’s blood would have served me this seven year in broken heads and cut fingers; and it now runs all out together. Pox a’ the Three Pigeons![1031] I would the coach were here now to carry me to the chirurgeon’s. [_Aside, and exit._ MOLL. If I could meet my enemies one by one thus, I might make pretty shift with ’em in time, And make ’em know she that has wit and spirit, May scorn To live beholding[1032] to her body for meat; Or for apparel, like your common dame, That makes shame get her clothes to cover shame. Base is that mind that kneels unto her body, As if a husband stood in awe on’s wife: My spirit shall be mistress of this house As long as I have time in’t.—O,

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

Here comes my man that would be: ’tis his hour. Faith, a good well-set fellow, if his spirit Be answerable to his umbles:[1033] he walks stiff, But whether he’ll stand to’t stiffly, there’s the point: Has a good calf for’t; and ye shall have many a woman Choose him she means to make her head by his calf: I do not know their tricks in’t. Faith, he seems A man without; I’ll try what he’s within. TRAP. She told me Gray’s Inn Fields, ’twixt three and four; I’ll fit her mistress-ship with a piece of service: I’m hir’d to rid the town of one mad girl. [MOLL _jostles him_. What a pox ails you, sir? MOLL. He begins like a gentleman. TRAP. Heart, is the field so narrow, or your eyesight— Life, he comes back again! MOLL. Was this spoke to me, sir? TRAP. I cannot tell, sir. MOLL. Go, you’re a coxcomb! TRAP. Coxcomb? MOLL. You’re a slave! TRAP. I hope there’s law for you, sir. MOLL. Yea, do you see, sir? [_Turns his hat._ TRAP. Heart, this is no good dealing! pray, let me know what house you’re of. MOLL. One of the Temple, sir. [_Fillips him._ TRAP. Mass, so methinks. MOLL. And yet sometime I lie about Chick Lane. TRAP. I like you the worse because you shift your lodging so often: I’ll not meddle with you for that trick, sir. MOLL. A good shift; but it shall not serve your turn. TRAP. You’ll give me leave to pass about my business, sir? MOLL. Your business? I’ll make you wait on me Before I ha’ done, and glad to serve me too. TRAP. How, sir? serve you? not if there were no more men in England. MOLL. But if there were no more women in England, I hope you’d wait upon your mistress then? TRAP. Mistress? MOLL. O, you’re a tried spirit at a push, sir! TRAP. What would your worship have me do? MOLL. You a fighter! TRAP. No, I praise heaven, I had better grace and more manners. MOLL. As how, I pray, sir? TRAP. Life, ’thad been a beastly part of me to have drawn my weapons upon my mistress; all the world would ’a cried shame of me for that. MOLL. Why, but you knew me not. TRAP. Do not say so, mistress; I knew you by your wide straddle, as well as if I had been in your belly. MOLL. Well, we shall try you further; i’ th’ mean time We give you entertainment. TRAP. Thank your good mistress-ship. MOLL. How many suits have you? TRAP. No more suits than backs, mistress. MOLL. Well, if you deserve, I cast off this, next week, And you may creep into’t. TRAP. Thank your good worship. MOLL. Come, follow me to St. Thomas Apostle’s: I’ll put a livery cloak upon your back The first thing I do. TRAP. I follow, my dear mistress. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _as from supper_, GALLIPOT _following her_.

GAL. What, Pru! nay, sweet Prudence! MIS. G. What a pruing keep you! I think the baby would have a teat, it kyes[1034] so. Pray, be not so fond of me, leave your city humours; I’m vexed at you, to see how like a calf you come bleating after me. GAL. Nay, honey Pru, how does your rising up before all the table shew, and flinging from my friends so uncivilly! fie, Pru, fie! come. MIS. G. Then up and ride, i’faith! GAL. Up and ride? nay, my pretty Pru, that’s far from my thought, duck: why, mouse,[1035] thy mind is nibbling at something; what is’t? what lies upon thy stomach? MIS. G. Such an ass as you: hoyda, you’re best turn midwife, or physician! you’re a ’pothecary already, but I’m none of your drugs. GAL. Thou art a sweet drug, sweetest Pru, and the more thou art pounded, the more precious. MIS. G. Must you be prying into a woman’s secrets, say ye? GAL. Woman’s secrets? MIS. G. What! I cannot have a qualm come upon me, but your teeth water[1036] till your nose hang over it! GAL. It is my love, dear wife. MIS. G. Your love? your love is all words; give me deeds: I cannot abide a man that’s too fond over me,—so cookish! Thou dost not know how to handle a woman in her kind. GAL. No, Pru? why, I hope I have handled— MIS. G. Handle a fool’s head of your own,—fie, fie! GAL. Ha, ha, ’tis such a wasp! it does me good now to have her s[t]ing me, little rogue! MIS. G. Now, fie, how you vex me! I cannot abide these apron husbands;[1037] such cotqueans![1038] you overdo your things, they become you scurvily. GAL. Upon my life she breeds: heaven knows how I have strained myself to please her night and day. I wonder why we citizens should get children so fretful and untoward in the breeding, their fathers being for the most part as gentle as milch kine. [_Aside._]—Shall I leave thee, my Pru? MIS. G. Fie, fie, fie! GAL. Thou shalt not be vexed no more, pretty, kind rogue; take no cold, sweet Pru. [_Exit._ MIS. G. As your wit has done. Now, master Laxton, shew your head; what news from you? would any husband suspect that a woman crying, _Buy any scurvy-grass_, should bring love-letters amongst her herbs to his wife? pretty trick! fine conveyance! had jealousy a thousand eyes, a silly woman with scurvy-grass blinds them all. Laxton, with bays[1039] Crown I thy wit for this, it deserves praise: This makes me affect thee more, this proves thee wise: ’Lack, what poor shift is love forc’d to devise!—

To th’ point. [_Reads letter._] _O sweet creature_—a sweet beginning!—_pardon my long absence, for thou shalt shortly be possessed with my presence: though Demophoon was false to Phyllis, I will be to thee as Pan-da-rus was to Cres-sida;[1040] though Æneas made an ass of Dido, I will die to thee ere I do so. O sweetest creature, make much of me! for no man beneath the silver moon shall make more of a woman than I do of thee: furnish me therefore with thirty pounds; you must do it of necessity for me; I languish till I see some comfort come from thee. Protesting not to die in thy debt, but rather to live, so as hitherto I have and will_, _Thy true Laxton ever_. Alas, poor gentleman! troth, I pity him. How shall I raise this money? thirty pound! ’Tis thirty sure, a 3 before an 0; I know his threes too well. My childbed linen, Shall I pawn that for him? then if my mark Be known, I am undone; it may be thought My husband’s bankrout.[1041] Which way shall I turn? Laxton, what with my own fears and thy wants, I’m like a needle ’twixt two adamants.

_Re-enter_ GALLIPOT _hastily_.

GAL. Nay, nay, wife, the women are all up—Ha! how? reading a’ letters? I smell a goose, a couple of capons, and a gammon of bacon, from her mother out of the country. I hold my life—steal, steal[1042]—— [_Aside._ MIS. G. O, beshrew your heart! GAL. What letter’s that? I’ll see’t. [MIS. G. _tears the letter_. MIS. G. O, would thou hadst no eyes to see the downfal Of me and thyself! I am for ever, For ever I’m undone! GAL. What ails my Pru? What paper’s that thou tear’st? MIS. G. Would I could tear My very heart in pieces! for my soul Lies on the rack of shame, that tortures me Beyond a woman’s suffering. GAL. What means this? MIS. G. Had you no other vengeance to throw down, But even in height of all my joys—— GAL. Dear woman—— MIS. G. When the full sea of pleasure and content Seem’d to flow over me? GAL. As thou desir’st To keep me out of Bedlam, tell what troubles thee! Is not thy child at nurse fallen sick, or dead? MIS. G. O, no! GAL. Heavens bless me! are my barns and houses Yonder at Hockley-hole consum’d with fire? I can build more, sweet Pru. MIS. G. ’Tis worse, ’tis worse! GAL. My factor broke? or is the Jonas sunk? MIS. G. Would all we had were swallow’d in the waves, Rather than both should be the scorn of slaves! GAL. I’m at my wit’s end. MIS. G. O my dear husband! Where[1043] once I thought myself a fixed star, Plac’d only in the heaven of thine arms, I fear now I shall prove a wanderer. O Laxton, Laxton! is it then my fate To be by thee o’erthrown? GAL. Defend me, wisdom, From falling into frenzy! On my knees, Sweet Pru, speak; what’s that Laxton, who so heavy Lies on thy bosom? MIS. G. I shall sure run mad! GAL. I shall run mad for company then. Speak to me; I’m Gallipot thy husband—Pru—why, Pru! Art sick in conscience for some villanous deed Thou wert about to act? didst mean to rob me? Tush, I forgive thee: hast thou on my bed Thrust my soft pillow under another’s head? I’ll wink at all faults, Pru: ’las, that’s no more, Than what some neighbours near thee have done before! Sweet honey Pru, what’s that Laxton? MIS. G. O! GAL. Out with him! MIS. G. O, he’s born to be my undoer! This hand, which thou call’st thine, to him was given, To him was I made sure[1044] i’ th’ sight of heaven. GAL. I never heard this thunder. MIS. G. Yes, yes, before I was to thee contracted, to him I swore: Since last I saw him,[1045] twelve months three times told The moon hath drawn through her light silver bow; For o’er the seas he went, and it was said, But rumour lies, that he in France was dead: But he’s alive, O he’s alive! he sent That letter to me, which in rage I rent; Swearing with oaths most damnably to have me, Or tear me from this bosom: O heavens, save me! GAL. My heart will break; sham’d and undone for ever! MIS. G. So black a day, poor wretch, went o’er thee never! GAL. If thou should’st wrestle with him at the law, Thou’rt sure to fall. No odd slight?[1046] no prevention? I’ll tell him thou’rt with child. MIS. G. Umh! GAL. Or give out One of my men was ta’en a-bed with thee. MIS. G. Umh, umh! GAL. Before I lose thee, my dear Pru, I’ll drive it to that push. MIS. G. Worse and worse still; You embrace a mischief, to prevent an ill. GAL. I’ll buy thee of him, stop his mouth with gold: Think’st thou ’twill do? MIS. G. O me! heavens grant it would! Yet now my senses are set more in tune, He writ, as I remember, in his letter, That he in riding up and down had spent, Ere he could find me, thirty pounds: send that; Stand not on thirty with him. GAL. Forty, Pru! Say thou the word, ’tis done: we venture lives For wealth, but must do more to keep our wives. Thirty or forty, Pru? MIS. G. Thirty, good sweet; Of an ill bargain let’s save what we can: I’ll pay it him with my tears; he was a man, When first I knew him, of a meek spirit, All goodness is not yet dried up, I hope. GAL. He shall have thirty pound, let that stop all: Love’s sweets taste best when we have drunk down gall.

_Enter_ TILTYARD, MISTRESS TILTYARD, GOSHAWK, _and_ MISTRESS OPENWORK.

God’s-so, our friends! come, come, smooth your cheek: After a storm the face of heaven looks sleek. TILT. Did I not tell you these turtles were together? MIS. T. How dost thou, sirrah?[1047] why, sister Gallipot—— MIS. O. Lord, how she’s chang’d! GOS. Is your wife ill, sir? GAL. Yes, indeed, la, sir, very ill, very ill, never worse. MIS. T. How her head burns! feel how her pulses work! MIS. O. Sister, lie down a little; that always does me good. MIS. T. In good sadness,[1048] I find best ease in that too. Has she laid some hot thing to her stomach? MIS. G. No, but I will lay something anon. TILT. Come, come, fools, you trouble her.—Shall’s go, master Goshawk? GOS. Yes, sweet master Tiltyard.—Sirrah Rosamond, I hold my life Gallipot hath vext his wife. MIS. O. She has a horrible high colour indeed. GOS. We shall have your face painted with the same red soon at night, when your husband comes from his rubbers in a false alley: thou wilt not believe me that his bowls run with a wrong bias. MIS. O. It cannot sink into me that he feeds upon stale mutton abroad, having better and fresher at home. GOS. What if I bring thee where thou shalt see him stand at rack and manger? MIS. O. I’ll saddle him in’s kind, and spur him till he kick again. GOS. Shall thou and I ride our journey then? MIS. O. Here’s my hand. GOS. No more.—Come, master Tiltyard, shall we leap into the stirrups with our women, and amble home? TILT. Yes, yes.—Come, wife. MIS. T. In troth, sister, I hope you will do well for all this. MIS. G. I hope I shall. Farewell, good sister. Sweet master Goshawk. GAL. Welcome, brother, most kindly welcome, sir. ALL. Thanks, sir, for our good cheer. [_Exeunt all but_ GALLIPOT _and_ MIS. GALLIPOT. GAL. It shall be so: because a crafty knave Shall not outreach me, nor walk by my door With my wife arm in arm, as ’twere his whore, I’ll give him a golden coxcomb, thirty pound. Tush, Pru, what’s thirty pound? sweet duck, look cheerly. MIS. G. Thou’rt worthy of my heart, thou buy’st it dearly.

_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_.

LAX. Uds light, the tide’s against me; a pox of your ’pothecaryship! O for some glister to set him going! ’Tis one of Hercules’ labours to tread one of these city hens, because their cocks are still crowing over them. There’s no turning tail here, I must on. [_Aside._ MIS. G. O husband, see he comes! GAL. Let me deal with him. LAX. Bless you, sir. GAL. Be you blest too, sir, if you come in peace. LAX. Have you any good pudding tobacco, sir? MIS. G. O, pick no quarrels, gentle sir! my husband Is not a man of weapon, as you are; He knows all, I have open’d all before him, Concerning you. LAX. Zounds, has she shewn my letters? [_Aside._ MIS. G. Suppose my case were yours, what would you do? At such a pinch, such batteries, such assaults Of father, mother, kindred, to dissolve The knot you tied, and to be bound to him; How could you shift this storm off? LAX. If I know, hang me! MIS. G. Besides a story of your death was read Each minute to me. LAX. What a pox means this riddling? [_Aside._ GAL. Be wise, sir; let not you and I be tost On lawyers’ pens; they have sharp nibs, and draw Men’s very heart-blood from them. What need you, sir, To beat the drum of my wife’s infamy, And call your friends together, sir, to prove Your precontract, when sh’as confest it? LAX. Umh, sir, Has she confest it? GAL. Sh’as, ’faith, to me, sir, Upon your letter sending. MIS. G. I have, I have. LAX. If I let this iron cool, call me slave. [_Aside._ Do you hear, you dame Prudence? think’st thou, vile woman, I’ll take these blows and wink? MIS. GAL. Upon my knees. [_Kneeling._ LAX. Out, impudence! GAL. Good sir—— LAX. You goatish slaves! No wild fowl to cut up but mine? GAL. Alas, sir, You make her flesh to tremble; fright her not: She shall do reason, and what’s fit. LAX. I’ll have thee, Wert thou more common than an hospital, And more diseas’d. GAL. But one word, good sir! LAX. So, sir. GAL. I married her, have lien with her, and got Two children on her body; think but on that: Have you so beggarly an appetite, When I upon a dainty dish have fed To dine upon my scraps, my leavings? ha, sir? Do I come near you now, sir? LAX. Byrlady,[1049] you touch me! GAL. Would not you scorn to wear my clothes, sir? LAX. Right, sir. GAL. Then, pray, sir, wear not her; for she’s a garment So fitting for my body, I am loath Another should put it on: you’ll undo both. Your letter, as she said, complain’d you had spent, In quest of her, some thirty pound; I’ll pay it: Shall that, sir, stop this gap up ’twixt you two? LAX. Well, if I swallow this wrong, let her thank you: The money being paid, sir, I am gone: Farewell. O women, happy’s he trusts none! MIS. G. Despatch him hence, sweet husband. GAL. Yes, dear wife: Pray, sir, come in: ere master Laxton part, Thou shalt in wine drink to him. MIS. G. With all my heart.— [_Exit_ GALLIPOT. How dost thou like my wit? LAX. Rarely: that wile, By which the serpent did the first woman beguile, Did ever since all women’s bosoms fill; You’re apple-eaters all, deceivers still. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Holborn._

_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, SIR DAVY DAPPER, _and_ SIR ADAM APPLETON _on one side, and_ TRAPDOOR _on the other_.

S. ALEX. Out with your tale, sir Davy, to sir Adam: A knave is in mine eye deep in my debt. S. DAVY. Nay, if he be a knave, sir, hold him fast. [SIR D. DAPPER _and_ SIR A. APPLETON _talk apart_. S. ALEX. Speak softly; what egg is there hatching now? TRAP. A duck’s egg, sir, a duck that has eaten a frog; I have cracked the shell, and some villany or other will peep out presently: the duck that sits is the bouncing ramp,[1050] that roaring girl my mistress; the drake that must tread is your son Sebastian. S. ALEX. Be quick. TRAP. As the tongue of an oyster-wench. S. ALEX. And see thy news be true. TRAP. As a barber’s every Saturday night. Mad Moll—— S. ALEX. Ah—— TRAP. Must be let in, without knocking, at your back gate. S. ALEX. So. TRAP. Your chamber will be made bawdy. S. ALEX. Good. TRAP. She comes in a shirt of mail. S. ALEX. How? shirt of mail? TRAP. Yes, sir, or a male shirt; that’s to say, in man’s apparel. S. ALEX. To my son? TRAP. Close to your son: your son and her moon will be in conjunction, if all almanacs lie not; her black saveguard[1051] is turned into a deep slop, the holes of her upper body to button-holes, her waistcoat to a doublet, her placket[1052] to the ancient seat of a cod-piece, and you shall take ’em both with standing collars. S. ALEX. Art sure of this? TRAP. As every throng is sure of a pick-pocket; as sure as a whore is of the clients all Michaelmas term, and of the pox after the term. S. ALEX. The time of their tilting? TRAP. Three. S. ALEX. The day? TRAP. This. S. ALEX. Away; ply it, watch her. TRAP. As the devil doth for the death of a bawd; I’ll watch her, do you catch her. S. ALEX. She’s fast: here weave thou the nets. Hark. TRAP. They are made. S. ALEX. I told them thou didst owe me money: hold it up; maintain’t. TRAP. Stiffly, as a puritan does contention.—Pox, I owe thee not the value of a halfpenny halter.

S. ALEX. Thou shalt be hang’d in it ere thou ’scape so: Varlet, I’ll make thee look th[o]rough a grate!

TRAP. I’ll do’t presently, through a tavern grate: drawer! pish. [_Exit._

S. ADAM. Has the knave vex’d you, sir? S. ALEX. Ask’d him my money, He swears my son receiv’d it. O, that boy Will ne’er leave heaping sorrow’s on my heart, Till he has broke it quite! S. ADAM. Is he still wild? S. ALEX. As is a Russian bear. S. ADAM. But he has left His old haunt with that baggage? S. ALEX. Worse still and worse; He lays on me his shame, I on him my curse. S. DAVY. My son, Jack Dapper, then shall run with him All in one pasture. S. ADAM. Proves your son bad too, sir? S. DAVY. As villany can make him: your Sebastian Doats but on one drab, mine on a thousand; A noise of fiddlers,[1053] tobacco, wine, and a whore, A mercer that will let him take up more, Dice, and a water-spaniel with a duck,—O Bring him a-bed with these: when his purse gingles, Roaring boys[1054] follow at’s tail, fencers and ningles,[1055] Beasts Adam ne’er gave name to; these horse-leeches suck My son; he being drawn dry, they all live on smoke. S. ALEX. Tobacco? S. DAVY. Right: but I have in my brain A windmill going that shall grind to dust The follies of my son, and make him wise, Or a stark fool. Pray lend me your advice. S. ALEX. } That shall you, good sir Davy. S. ADAM. } S. DAVY. Here’s the springe I ha’ set to catch this woodcock in: an action In a false name, unknown to him, is enter’d I’ th’ Counter to arrest Jack Dapper. S. ALEX. } Ha, ha, he! S. ADAM. } S. DAVY. Think you the Counter cannot break him? S. ADAM. Break him? Yes, and break’s heart too, if he lie there long. S. DAVY. I’ll make him sing a counter-tenor sure. S. ADAM. No way to tame him like it; there he shall learn What money is indeed, and how to spend it. S. DAVY. He’s bridled there. S. ALEX. Ay, yet knows not how to mend it. Bedlam cures not more madmen in a year Than one of the Counters[1056] does; men pay more dear There for their wit than any where: a Counter! Why, ’tis an university, who not sees? As scholars there, so here men take degrees, And follow the same studies all alike. Scholars learn first logic and rhetoric; So does a prisoner: with fine honey’d speech At’s first coming in he doth persuade, beseech He may be lodg’d with one that is not itchy, To lie in a clean chamber, in sheets not lousy; But when he has no money, then does he try, By subtle logic and quaint sophistry, To make the keepers trust him. S. ADAM. Say they do. S. ALEX. Then he’s a graduate. S. DAVY. Say they trust him not. S. ALEX. Then is he held a freshman and a sot, And never shall commence;[1057] but being still barr’d, Be expuls’d from the Master’s side[1058] to th’ Two-penny ward, Or else i’ th’ Hole beg plac’d.[1059] S. ADAM. When then, I pray, Proceeds a prisoner? S. ALEX. When, money being the theme, He can dispute with his hard creditors’ hearts, And get out clear, he’s then a master of arts. Sir Davy, send your son to Wood Street college, A gentleman can no where get more knowledge. S. DAVY. There gallants study hard. S. ALEX. True, to get money. S. DAVY. Lies[1060] by th’ heels, i’faith: thanks, thanks; I ha’ sent For a couple of bears shall paw him. S. ADAM. Who comes yonder? S. DAVY. They look like puttocks;[1061] these should be they.

_Enter_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.

S. ALEX. I know ’em, They are officers; sir, we’ll leave you. S. DAVY. My good knights, Leave me; you see I’m haunted now with sprites.[1062] S. ALEX. ] Fare you well, sir. [Exeunt. S. ADAM. ] CUR. This old muzzle-chops should be he by the fellow’s description.—Save you, sir. S. DAVY. Come hither, you mad varlets; did not my man tell you I watched here for you? CUR. One in a blue coat,[1063] sir, told us, that in this place an old gentleman would watch for us; a thing contrary to our oath, for we are to watch for every wicked member in a city. S. DAVY. You’ll watch then for ten thousand: what’s thy name, honesty? CUR. Sergeant Curtleax I, sir. S. DAVY. An excellent name for a sergeant, Curtleax: Sergeants indeed are weapons of the law; When prodigal ruffians far in debt are grown, Should not you cut them, citizens were o’erthrown. Thou dwell’st hereby in Holborn, Curtleax? CUR. That’s my circuit, sir; I conjure most in that circle. S. DAVY. And what young toward whelp is this? HAN. Of the same litter; his yeoman, sir; my name’s Hanger.

S. DAVY. Yeoman Hanger: One pair of shears sure cut out both your coats; You have two names most dangerous to men’s throats; You two are villanous loads on gentlemen’s backs; Dear ware this Hanger and this Curtleax! CUR. We are as other men are, sir; I cannot see but he who makes a shew of honesty and religion, if his claws can fasten to his liking, he draws blood: all that live in the world are but great fish and little fish, and feed upon one another; some eat up whole men, a sergeant cares but for the shoulder of a man. They call us knaves and curs; but many times he that sets us on worries more lambs one year than we do in seven. S. DAVY. Spoke like a noble Cerberus! is the action entered? HAN. His name is entered in the book of unbelievers. S. DAVY. What book’s that? CUR. The book where all prisoners’ names stand; and not one amongst forty, when he comes in, believes to come out in haste. S. DAVY. Be as dogged to him as your office allows you to be. BOTH. O sir! S. DAVY. You know the unthrift, Jack Dapper? CUR. Ay, ay, sir, that gull, as well as I know my yeoman. S. DAVY. And you know his father too, sir Davy Dapper? CUR. As damned a usurer as ever was among Jews: if he were sure his father’s skin would yield him any money, he would, when he dies, flay it off, and sell it to cover drums for children at Bartholomew fair. S. DAVY. What toads are these to spit poison on a man to his face! [_Aside._]—Do you see, my honest rascals? yonder Greyhound is the dog he hunts with; out of that tavern Jack Dapper will sally: sa, sa; give the counter; on, set upon him! BOTH. We’ll charge him upo’ th’ back, sir. S. DAVY. Take no bail; put mace[1064] enough into his caudle; double your files, traverse your ground. BOTH. Brave, sir. S. DAVY. Cry arm, arm, arm! BOTH. Thus, sir. S. DAVY. There, boy, there, boy! away: look to your prey, my true English wolves; and so I vanish. [_Exit._ CUR. Some warden of the sergeants begat this old fellow, upon my life: stand close. HAN. Shall the ambuscado lie in one place? CUR. No; nook thou yonder. [_They retire._

_Enter_ MOLL _and_ TRAPDOOR.

MOLL. Ralph. TRAP. What says my brave captain male and female? MOLL. This Holborn is such a wrangling street! TRAP. That’s because lawyers walk[1065] to and fro in’t. MOLL. Here’s such jostling, as if every one we met were drunk and reeled. TRAP. Stand, mistress! do you not smell carrion? MOLL. Carrion? no; yet I spy ravens. TRAP. Some poor, wind-shaken gallant will anon fall into sore labour, and these men-midwives[1066] must bring him to bed i’ the counter: there all those that are great with child with debts lie in. MOLL. Stand up. TRAP. Like your new Maypole. HAN. Whist, whew! CUR. Hump, no. MOLL. Peeping? it shall go hard, huntsmen, but I’ll spoil your game. They look for all the world like two infected malt-men coming muffled up in their cloaks in a frosty morning to London. TRAP. A course, captain; a bear comes to the stake.

_Enter_ JACK DAPPER _and_ GULL.

MOLL. It should be so, for the dogs struggle to be let loose. HAN. Whew! CUR. Hemp. MOLL. Hark, Trapdoor, follow your leader. J. DAP. Gull. GULL. Master? J. DAP. Didst ever see such an ass as I am, boy? GULL. No, by my troth, sir; to lose all your money, yet have false dice of your own; why, ’tis as I saw a great fellow used t’other day; he had a fair sword and buckler, and yet a butcher dry beat him with a cudgel. TRAP.[1067] Honest servant, fly! MOLL. Fly, master Dapper! you’ll be arrested else. J. DAP. Run, Gull, and draw. GULL. Run, master; Gull follows you. [_Exeunt_ DAPPER _and_ GULL. CUR. [MOLL _holding him_] I know you well enough; you’re but a whore to hang upon any man! MOLL. Whores, then, are like sergeants; so now hang you.—Draw, rogue, but strike not: for a broken pate they’ll keep their beds, and recover twenty marks[1068] damages. CUR. You shall pay for this rescue.—Run down Shoe Lane and meet him. TRAP. Shu! is this a rescue, gentlemen, or no? MOLL. Rescue? a pox on ’em! Trapdoor, let’s away; [_Exeunt_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.’s I’m glad I’ve done perfect one good work to-day. If any gentleman be in scrivener’s bands, Send but for Moll, she’ll bail him by these hands. [_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_A Room in_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _House_.

_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE.

S. ALEX. Unhappy in the follies of a son, Led against judgment, sense, obedience, And all the powers of nobleness and wit!

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

O wretched father!—Now, Trapdoor, will she come? TRAP. In man’s apparel, sir; I’m in her heart now, And share in all her secrets. S. ALEX. Peace, peace, peace! Here, take my German watch,[1069] hang’t up in sight, That I may see her hang in English for’t. TRAP. I warrant you for that now, next sessions rids her, sir. This watch will bring her in better than a hundred constables. [_Hangs up the watch._ S. ALEX. Good Trapdoor, sayst thou so? thou cheer’st my heart After a storm of sorrow. My gold chain too; Here, take a hundred marks[1070] in yellow links. TRAP. That will do well to bring the watch to light, sir; And worth a thousand of your headborough’s lanterns. S. ALEX. Place that a’ the court-cupboard;[1071] let it lie Full in the view of her thief-whorish eye. TRAP. She cannot miss it, sir; I see’t so plain, That I could steal’t myself. [_Places the chain._ S. ALEX. Perhaps thou shalt too, That or something as weighty: what she leaves Thou shalt come closely in and filch away, And all the weight upon her back I’ll lay. TRAP. You cannot assure that, sir. S. ALEX. No? what lets[1072] it? TRAP. Being a stout girl, perhaps she’ll desire pressing; Then all the weight must lie upon her belly. S. ALEX. Belly or back I care not, so I’ve one. TRAP. You’re of my mind for that, sir. S. ALEX. Hang up my ruff-band with the diamond at it; It may be she’ll like that best. TRAP. It’s well for her, that she must have her choice; he thinks nothing too good for her. [_Aside._]—If you hold on this mind a little longer, it shall be the first work I do to turn thief myself; [’t]would do a man good to be hanged when he is so well provided for. [_Hangs up the ruff-band._ S. ALEX. So, well said; all hangs well: would she hung so too! The sight would please me more than all their glisterings. O that my mysteries[1073] to such straits should run, That I must rob myself to bless my son! [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE, MARY FITZALLARD _disguised as a Page, and_ MOLL _in her male dress_.

SEB. Thou’st done me a kind office, without touch Either of sin or shame; our loves are honest. MOLL. I’d scorn to make such shift to bring you together else. SEB. Now have I time and opportunity Without all fear to bid thee welcome, love! [_Kisses Mary._ MARY. Never with more desire and harder venture! MOLL. How strange this shews, one man to kiss another! SEB. I’d kiss such men to choose, Moll; Methinks a woman’s lip tastes well in a doublet. MOLL. Many an old madam has the better fortune then, Whose breaths grew stale before the fashion came: If that will help ’em, as you think ’twill do, They’ll learn in time to pluck on the hose[1074] too. SEB. The older they wax, Moll, troth I speak seriously, As some have a conceit their drink tastes better In an outlandish cup than in our own, So methinks every kiss she gives me now In this strange form is worth a pair of two. Here we are safe, and furthest from the eye Of all suspicion; this is my father’s chamber, Upon which floor he never steps till night: Here he mistrusts me not, nor I his coming; At mine own chamber he still pries unto me, My freedom is not there at mine own finding, Still check’d and curb’d; here he shall miss his purpose. MOLL. And what’s your business, now you have your mind, sir? At your great suit I promis’d you to come: I pitied her for name’s sake, that a Moll Should be so crost in love, when there’s so many That owe[1075] nine lays[1076] a-piece, and not so little. My tailor fitted her; how like you his work? SEB. So well, no art can mend it, for this purpose: But to thy wit and help we’re chief in debt, And must live still beholding.[1077] MOLL. Any honest pity I’m willing to bestow upon poor ring-doves. SEB. I’ll offer no worse play. MOLL. Nay, and[1078] you should, sir, I should draw first, and prove the quicker man. SEB. Hold, there shall need no weapon at this meeting; But ’cause thou shalt not loose thy fury idle, Here take this viol, run upon the guts, And end thy quarrel singing. [_Takes down, and gives her, a viol._ MOLL. Like a swan above bridge;[1079] For look you here’s the bridge, and here am I. SEB. Hold on, sweet Moll! MARY. I’ve heard her much commended, sir, for one That was ne’er taught. MOLL. I’m much beholding to ’em. Well, since you’ll needs put us together, sir, I’ll play my part as well as I can: it shall ne’er Be said I came into a gentleman’s chamber, And let his instrument hang by the walls. SEB. Why, well said, Moll, i’faith; it had been a shame for that gentleman then that would have let it hung still, and ne’er offered thee it. MOLL. There it should have been still then for Moll; For though the world judge impudently of me, I never came into that chamber yet Where I took down the instrument myself. SEB. Pish, let ’em prate abroad; thou’rt here where thou art known and loved; there be a thousand close dames that will call the viol[1080] an unmannerly instrument for a woman, and therefore talk broadly of thee, when you shall have them sit wider to a worse quality. MOLL. Push,[1081] I ever fall asleep and think not of ’em, sir; And thus I dream. SEB. Prithee, let’s hear thy dream, Moll. MOLL [_sings_].

_I dream there is a mistress, And she lays out the money_; _She goes unto her sisters, She never comes at any._

_Re-enter_ SIR ALEXANDER _behind_.

_She says she went to th’ Burse[1082] for patterns; You shall find her at Saint Kathern’s, And comes home with never a penny._ SEB. That’s a free mistress, faith! S. ALEX. Ay, ay, ay, Like her that sings it; one of thine own choosing. [_Aside._ MOLL. But shall I dream again?

[_Sings._] _Here comes a wench will brave ye; Her courage was so great, She lay with one o’ the navy, Her husband lying i’ the Fleet. Yet oft with him she cavell’d;[1083] I wonder what she ails: Her husband’s ship lay gravell’d, When her’s could hoise up sails: Yet she began, like all my foes, To call whore first; for so do those— A pox of all false tails!_ SEB. Marry, amen, say I! S. ALEX. So say I too. [_Aside._ MOLL. Hang up the viol now, sir: all this while I was in a dream; one shall lie rudely then; But being awake, I keep my legs together. A watch? what’s a’ clock here? S. ALEX. Now, now she’s trapt! [_Aside._ MOLL. Between[1084] one and two; nay, then I care not. A watch and a musician are cousin-germans in one thing, they must both keep time well, or there’s no goodness in ’em; the one else deserves to be dashed against a wall, and t’other to have his brains knocked out with a fiddle-case. What! a loose chain and a dangling diamond? Here were a brave booty for an evening thief now: There’s many a younger brother would be glad To look twice in at a window for’t, And wriggle in and out, like an eel in a sand-bag. O, if men’s secret youthful faults should judge ’em, ’Twould be the general’st execution That e’er was seen in England! There would be but few left to sing the ballads, There would be so much work: most of our brokers Would be chosen for hangmen; a good day for them; They might renew their wardrobes of free cost then. SEB. This is the roaring wench must do us good. MARY. No poison, sir, but serves us for some use; Which is confirm’d in her. SEB. Peace, peace— ’Foot, I did hear him sure, where’er he be. MOLL. Who did you hear? SEB. My father; ’Twas like a sigh[1085] of his: I must be wary. S. ALEX. No? wilt not be? am I alone so wretched That nothing takes? I’ll put him to his plunge[1086] for’t. [_Aside._ SEB. Life! here he comes.—Sir, I beseech you take it; Your way of teaching does so much content me, I’ll make it four pound; here’s forty shillings, sir— I think I name it right—help me, good Moll— Forty in hand. [_Offering money._ MOLL. Sir, you shall pardon me: I’ve more of the meanest scholar I can teach; This pays me more than you have offer’d yet. SEB. At the next quarter, When I receive the means my father ’lows me, You shall have t’other forty. S. ALEX. This were well now, Were’t to a man whose sorrows had blind eyes; But mine behold his follies and untruths With two clear glasses. [_Aside—then coming forward._] How now? SEB. Sir? S. ALEX. What’s he there? SEB. You’re come in good time, sir; I’ve a suit to you; I’d crave your present kindness. S. ALEX. What’s he there? SEB. A gentleman, a musician, sir; one of excellent fingering. S. ALEX. Ay, I think so;—I wonder how they ’scap’d her. [_Aside._ SEB. Has the most delicate stroke, sir. S. ALEX. A stroke indeed!—I feel it at my heart. [_Aside._ SEB. Puts down all your famous musicians. S. ALEX. Ay,—a whore may put down a hundred of ’em. [_Aside._ SEB. Forty shillings is the agreement, sir, between us: Now, sir, my present means mounts but to half on’t. S. ALEX. And he stands upon the whole? SEB. Ay, indeed does he, sir. S. ALEX. And will do still; he’ll ne’er be in other tale. SEB. Therefore I’d stop his mouth, sir, and[1087] I could. S. ALEX. Hum, true; there is no other way indeed;— His folly hardens, shame must needs succeed.— [_Aside._ Now, sir, I understand you profess music. MOLL. I’m a poor servant to that liberal science, sir. S. ALEX. Where is’t you teach? MOLL. Right against Clifford’s Inn. S. ALEX. Hum, that’s a fit place for’t: you’ve many scholars? MOLL. And some of worth, whom I may call my masters. S. ALEX. Ay, true, a company of whoremasters. [_Aside._ You teach to sing too? MOLL. Marry, do I, sir. S. ALEX. I think you’ll find an apt scholar of my son, Especially for prick-song. MOLL. I’ve much hope of him. S. ALEX. I’m sorry for’t, I have the less for that. [_Aside._ You can play any lesson? MOLL. At first sight, sir. S. ALEX. There’s a thing call’d the Witch; can you play that? MOLL. I would be sorry any one should mend me in’t. S. ALEX. Ay, I believe thee; thou’st so bewitch’d my son, No care will mend the work that thou hast done. I have bethought myself, since my art fails, I’ll make her policy the art to trap her. Here are four angels[1088] mark’d with holes in them Fit for his crack’d companions: gold he’ll give her; These will I make induction to her ruin, And rid shame from my house, grief from my heart. [_Aside._ Here, son, in what you take content and pleasure, Want shall not curb you; pay the gentleman His latter half in gold. [_Gives money._ SEB. I thank you, sir. S. ALEX. O may the operation on’t end three; In her, life, shame in him, and grief in me! [_Aside, and exit._ SEB. Faith, thou shalt have ’em; ’tis my father’s gift: Never was man beguil’d with better shift. MOLL. He that can take me for a male musician, I can’t choose but make him my instrument, And play upon him. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Before_ GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _and_ MISTRESS OPENWORK.

MIS. G. Is, then, that bird of yours, master Goshawk, so wild? MIS. O. A Goshawk? a puttock;[1089] all for prey: he angles for fish, but he loves flesh better. MIS. G. Is’t possible his smooth face should have wrinkles in’t, and we not see them? MIS. O. Possible? why, have not many handsome legs in silk stockings villanous splay feet, for all their great roses?[1090] MIS. G. Troth, sirrah,[1091] thou sayst true. MIS. O. Didst never see an archer, as thou’st walked by Bunhill, look a-squint when he drew his bow? MIS. G. Yes, when his arrows have fline[1092] toward Islington, his eyes have shot clean contrary towards Pimlico. MIS. O. For all the world so does master Goshawk double with me. MIS. G. O, fie upon him! if he double once, he’s not for me. MIS. O. Because Goshawk goes in a shag-ruff band, with a face sticking up in’t which shews like an agate set in a cramp ring,[1093] he thinks I’m in love with him. MIS. G. ’Las, I think he takes his mark amiss in thee! MIS. O. He has, by often beating into me, made me believe that my husband kept a whore. MIS. G. Very good. MIS. O. Swore to me that my husband this very morning went in a boat, with a tilt over it, to the Three Pigeons[1094] at Brainford, and his punk with him under his tilt. MIS. G. That were wholesome. MIS. O. I believed it; fell a-swearing at him, cursing of harlots; made me ready to hoise up sail and be there as soon as he. MIS. G. So, so. MIS. O. And for that voyage Goshawk comes hither incontinently:[1095] but, sirrah, this water-spaniel dives after no duck but me; his hope is having me at Brainford, to make me cry quack. MIS. G. Art sure of it? MIS. O. Sure of it? my poor innocent Openwork came in as I was poking my ruff:[1096] presently hit I him i’ the teeth with the Three Pigeons; he forswore all, I up and opened all; and now stands he in a shop hard by, like a musket on a rest,[1097] to hit Goshawk i’ the eye, when he comes to fetch me to the boat. MIS. G. Such another lame gelding offered to carry me through thick and thin,—Laxton, sirrah,—but I am rid of him now. MIS. O. Happy is the woman can be rid of ’em all! ’las, what are your whisking gallants to our husbands, weigh ’em rightly, man for man? MIS. G. Troth, mere shallow things. MIS. O. Idle, simple things, running heads; and yet let ’em run over us never so fast, we shopkeepers, when all’s done, are sure to have ’em in our pursenets[1098] at length; and when they are in, lord, what simple animals they are! then they hang the head—— MIS. G. Then they droop—— MIS. O. Then they write letters—— MIS. G. Then they cog[1099]—— MIS. O. Then deal they underhand with us, and we must ingle[1100] with our husbands a-bed; and we must swear they are our cousins, and able to do us a pleasure at court. MIS. G. And yet, when we have done our best, all’s but put into a riven dish;[1101] we are but frumped[1102] at and libelled upon. MIS. O. O, if it were the good Lord’s will there were a law made, no citizen should trust any of ’em all!

_Enter_ GOSHAWK.

MIS. G. Hush, sirrah! Goshawk flutters. GOS. How now? are you ready? MIS. O. Nay, are you ready? a little thing, you see, makes us ready. GOS. Us? why, must she make one i’ the voyage? MIS. O. O, by any means! do I know how my husband will handle me? GOS. ’Foot, how shall I find water to keep these two mills going? [_Aside._]—Well, since you’ll needs be clapped under hatches, if I sail not with you both till all split,[1103] hang me up at the mainyard and duck me.—It’s but liquoring them both soundly, and then you shall see their cork-heels fly up high, like two swans when their tails are above water, and their long necks under water diving to catch gudgeons. [_Aside._]—Come, come, oars stand ready; the tide’s with us; on with those false faces; blow winds, and thou shalt take thy husband casting out his net to catch fresh salmon at Brainford.[1104] MIS. G. I believe you’ll eat of a cod’s head of your own dressing before you reach half way thither. [_Aside_—_She and_ MISTRESS O. _mask themselves_. GOS. So, so, follow close; pin as you go.

_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_. LAX. Do you hear? MIS. G. Yes, I thank my ears. LAX. I must have a bout with your ’pothecaryship. MIS. G. At what weapon? LAX. I must speak with you. MIS. G. No. LAX. No? you shall. MIS. G. Shall? away, souced sturgeon! half fish, half flesh. LAX. Faith, gib,[1105] are you spitting? I’ll cut your tail, puss-cat, for this. MIS. G. ’Las, poor Laxton, I think thy tail’s cut already! your worst. LAX. If I do not—— [_Exit._ GOS. Come, ha’ you done?

_Enter_ OPENWORK.

’S foot, Rosamond, your husband! OPEN. How now? sweet master Goshawk! none more welcome; I’ve wanted your embracements: when friends meet, The music of the spheres sounds not more sweet Than does their conference. Who’s this? Rosamond? Wife? how now, sister? GOS. Silence, if you love me! OPEN. Why mask’d? MIS. O. Does a mask grieve you, sir? OPEN. It does. MIS. O. Then you’re best get you a mumming.[1106] GOS. ’Sfoot, you’ll spoil all! MIS. G. May not we cover our bare faces with masks, As well as you cover your bald heads with hats? OPEN. No masks; why they’re thieves to beauty, that rob eyes Of admiration in which true love lies. Why are masks worn? why good? or why desir’d? Unless by their gay covers wits are fir’d To read the vildest[1107] looks: many bad faces, Because rich gems are treasur’d up in cases, Pass by their privilege current; but as caves Damn misers’ gold, so masks are beauties’ graves. Men ne’er meet women with such muffled eyes, But they curse her that first did masks devise, And swear it was some beldam. Come, off with’t. MIS. O. I will not. OPEN. Good faces mask’d are jewels kept by sprites;[1108] Hide none but bad ones, for they poison men’s sights; Shew, then, as shopkeepers do their broider’d stuff, By owl-light; fine wares can’t be open enough. Prithee, sweet Rose, come, strike this sail. MIS. O. Sail? OPEN. Ha! Yes, wife, strike sail, for storms are in thine eyes. MIS. O. They’re here, sir, in my brows, if any rise. OPEN. Ha, brows?—What says she, friend? pray, tell me why Your two flags[1109] were advanc’d; the comedy, Come, what’s the comedy? MIS. G.[1110] _Westward ho._[1111] OPEN. How? MIS. O. ’Tis _Westward ho_, she says. GOS. Are you both mad? MIS. O. Is’t market-day at Brainford, and your ware Not sent up yet? OPEN. What market-day? what ware? MIS. O. A pie with three pigeons in’t: ’tis drawn, And stays your cutting up. GOS. As you regard my credit—— OPEN. Art mad? MIS. O. Yes, lecherous goat, baboon! OPEN. Baboon? then toss me in a blanket. MIS. O. Do I it well? MIS. G. Rarely. GOS. Belike, sir, she’s not well; best leave her. OPEN. No; I’ll stand the storm now, how fierce soe’er it blow. MIS. O. Did I for this lose all my friends, refuse Rich hopes and golden fortunes, to be made A stale[1112] to a common whore? OPEN. This does amaze me. MIS. O. O God, O God! feed at reversion now? A strumpet’s leaving? OPEN. Rosamond! GOS. I sweat; would I lay in Cold Harbour![1113] [_Aside._ MIS. O. Thou’st struck ten thousand daggers through my heart! OPEN. Not I, by heaven, sweet wife! MIS. O. Go, devil, go; that which thou swear’st by damns thee! GOS. ’S heart, will you undo me? MIS. O. Why stay you here? the star by which you sail Shines yonder above Chelsea; you lose your shore; If this moon light you, seek out your light whore. OPEN. Ha! MIS. G. Push,[1114] your western pug![1115] GOS. Zounds, now hell roars! MIS. O. With whom you tilted in a pair of oars This very morning. OPEN. Oars? MIS. O. At Brainford, sir. OPEN. Rack not my patience.—Master Goshawk, Some slave has buzz’d this into her, has he not? I run a tilt in Brainford with a woman? ’Tis a lie! What old bawd tells thee this? ’s death, ’tis a lie! MIS. O. ’Tis one [who] to thy face shall justify All that I speak. OPEN. Ud’soul, do but name that rascal! MIS. O. No, sir, I will not. GOS. Keep thee there, girl, then! [_Aside._ OPEN.[1116] Sister, know you this varlet? MIS. G. Yes. OPEN. Swear true; Is there a rogue so low damn’d? a second Judas?— A common hangman, cutting a man’s throat, Does it to his face,—bite me behind my back? A cur dog? swear if you know this hell-hound. MIS. G. In truth, I do. OPEN. His name? MIS. G. Not for the world; To have you to stab him. GOS. O brave girls, worth gold![1117] [_Aside._ OPEN. A word, honest master Goshawk. [_Drawing his sword._ GOS. What do you mean, sir? OPEN. Keep off, and if the devil can give a name To this new fury, holla it through my ear, Or wrap it up in some hid character. I’ll ride to Oxford, and watch out mine eyes, But I will hear the Brazen Head[1118] speak, or else Shew me but one hair of his head or beard, That I may sample it. If the fiend I meet In mine own house, I’ll kill him; [in] the street, Or at the church-door,—there, ’cause he seeks t’ untie The knot God fastens, he deserves most to die. MIS. O. My husband titles him! OPEN. Master Goshawk, pray, sir, Swear to me that you know him, or know him not, Who makes me at Brainford to take up a petticoat Besides my wife’s. GOS. By heaven, that man I know not! MIS. O. Come, come, you lie! GOS. Will you not have all out? By heaven, I know no man beneath the moon Should do you wrong, but if I had his name, I’d print it in text letters. MIS. O. Print thine own then: Did’st not thou swear to me he kept his whore? MIS. G. And that in sinful Brainford they’d commit That which our lips did water at, sir,—ha? MIS. O. Thou spider that hast woven thy cunning web In mine own house t’ ensnare me! hast not thou Suck’d nourishment even underneath this roof, And turn’d it all to poison, spitting it On thy friend’s face, my husband, (he as ’twere sleeping,) Only to leave him ugly to mine eyes, That they might glance on thee? MIS. G. Speak, are these lies? GOS. Mine own shame me confounds! OPEN.[1119] No more; he’s stung. Who’d think that in one body there could dwell Deformity and beauty, heaven and hell? Goodness I see is but outside; we all set In rings of gold stones that be counterfeit: I thought you none. GOS. Pardon me! OPEN. Truth I do: This blemish grows in nature, not in you; For man’s creation stick[s] even moles in scorn On fairest cheeks.—Wife, nothing’s perfect born. MIS. O. I thought you had been born perfect. OPEN. What’s this whole world but a gilt rotten pill? For at the heart lies the old core still. I’ll tell you, master Goshawk, ay, in your eye I have seen wanton fire; and then, to try The soundness of my judgment, I told you I kept a whore, made you believe ’twas true, Only to feel how your pulse beat; but find The world can hardly yield a perfect friend. Come, come, a trick of youth, and ’tis forgiven; This rub put by, our love shall run more even. MIS. O. You’ll deal upon men’s wives no more? GOS. No; you teach me A trick for that. MIS. O. Troth, do not; they’ll o’erreach thee. OPEN. Make my house yours, sir, still. GOS. No. OPEN. I say you shall: Seeing thus besieg’d it holds out, ’twill never fall.

_Enter_ GALLIPOT, _followed by_ GREENWIT _disguised as a sumner;[1120] and_ LAXTON _muffled aloof off_.[1121]

OPEN. } How now? GOS., _&c._[1122] } GAL. With me, sir? GREEN. You, sir. I have gone snuffling[1123] up and down by your door this hour, to watch for you. MIS. G. What’s the matter, husband? GREEN. I have caught a cold in my head, sir, by sitting up late in the Rose tavern; but I hope you understand my speech. GAL. So, sir. GREEN. I cite you by the name of Hippocrates Gallipot, and you by the name of Prudence Gallipot, to appear upon _Crastino_,—do you see?—_Crastino sancti Dunstani_, this Easter term, in Bow Church. GAL. Where, sir? what says he? GREEN. Bow, Bow Church, to answer to a libel of precontract on the part and behalf of the said Prudence and another: you’re best, sir, take a copy of the citation, ’tis but twelvepence. OPEN. } A citation! GOS., _&c._ } GAL. You pocky-nosed rascal, what slave fees you to this? LAX. [_coming forward_] Slave? I ha’ nothing to do with you; do you hear, sir? GOS. Laxton, is’t not? What fagary[1124] is this? GAL. Trust me, I thought, sir, this storm long ago Had been full laid, when, if you be remember’d,[1125] I paid you the last fifteen pound, besides The thirty you had first; for then you swore—— LAX. Tush, tush, sir, oaths,— Truth, yet I’m loath to vex you—tell you what, Make up the money I had an hundred pound, And take your bellyful of her. GAL. An hundred pound? MIS. G. What, a hundred pound? he gets none: what, a hundred pound? GAL. Sweet Pru, be calm; the gentleman offers thus: If I will make the moneys that are past A hundred pound, he will discharge all courts, And give his bond never to vex us more. MIS. G. A hundred pound? ’Las, take, sir, but threescore! Do you seek my undoing? LAX. I’ll not ’bate one sixpence.— I’ll maul you, puss, for spitting. MIS. G. Do thy worst.— Will fourscore stop thy mouth? LAX. No. MIS. G. You’re a slave; Thou cheat, I’ll now tear money from thy throat.— Husband, lay hold on yonder tawny-coat.[1126] GREEN. Nay, gentlemen, seeing your women are so hot, I must lose my hair[1127] in their company, I see. [_Takes off his false hair._ MIS. O. His hair sheds off, and yet he speaks not so much in the nose as he did before. GOS. He has had the better chirurgeon.—Master Greenwit, is your wit so raw as to play no better a part than a sumner’s? GAL. I pray, who plays _A knack to know an honest man_,[1128] in this company? MIS. G. Dear husband, pardon me, I did dissemble, Told thee I was his precontracted wife, When letters came from him for thirty pound: I had no shift but that. GAL. A very clean shift, But able to make me lousy: on. MIS. G. Husband, I pluck’d, When he had tempted me to think well of him, Gelt feathers[1129] from thy wings, to make him fly More lofty. GAL. A’ the top of you, wife: on. MIS. G. He having wasted them, comes now for more, Using me as a ruffian doth his whore, Whose sin keeps him in breath. By heaven, I vow, Thy bed he ne’er wrong’d more than he does now! GAL. My bed? ha, ha! like enough; a shop-board will serve To have a cuckold’s coat cut out upon: Of that we’ll talk hereafter.—You’re a villain. LAX. Hear me but speak, sir, you shall find me none. OPEN. } Pray, sir, be patient, and hear him. GOS., _&c._ } GAL. I’m muzzl’d for biting, sir; use me how you will. LAX. The first hour that your wife was in my eye, Myself with other gentlemen sitting by In your shop tasting smoke, and speech being us’d, That men who’ve fairest wives are most abus’d, And hardly scape[1130] the horn, your wife maintain’d That only such spots in city dames were stain’d Justly but by men’s slanders: for her own part, She vow’d that you had so much of her heart, No man, by all his wit, by any wile Never so fine-spun, should yourself beguile Of what in her was yours. GAL. Yet, Pru, ’tis well.— Play out your game at Irish,[1131] sir: who wins? MIS. O. The trial is when she comes to bearing.[1132] LAX. I scorn’d one woman thus should brave all men, And, which more vex’d me, a she-citizen; Therefore I laid siege to her: out she held, Gave many a brave repulse, and me compell’d With shame to sound retreat to my hot lust: Then, seeing all base desires rak’d up in dust, And that[1133] to tempt her modest ears, I swore Ne’er to presume again: she said, her eye Would ever give me welcome honestly; And, since I was a gentleman, if’t run low, She would my state relieve, not to o’erthrow Your own and hers: did so; then seeing I wrought Upon her meekness, me she set at nought; And yet to try if I could turn that tide, You see what stream I strove with; but, sir, I swear By heaven, and by those hopes men lay up there, I neither have nor had a base intent To wrong your bed! what’s done, is merriment: Your gold I pay back with this interest, When I’d most power to do’t, I wrong’d you least. GAL. If this no gullery be, sir—— OPEN. } No, no, on my life! GOS., _&c._ } GAL. Then, sir, I am beholden—not to you, wife,— But, master Laxton, to your want of doing Ill, which it seems you have not.—Gentlemen, Tarry and dine here all. OPEN. Brother, we’ve a jest, As good as yours, to furnish out a feast. Gal. We’ll crown our table with’t.—Wife, brag no more Of holding out: who most brags is most whore. [_Exeunt._

ACT V. SCENE I.

_A Street._

_Enter_ JACK DAPPER, MOLL, SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE, _and_ SIR THOMAS LONG.

J. DAP. But, prithee, master captain Jack, be plain and perspicuous with me; was it your Meg of Westminster’s courage[1134] that rescued me from the Poultry puttocks[1135] indeed? MOLL. The valour of my wit, I ensure you, sir, fetched you off bravely, when you were i’ the forlorn hope among those desperates. Sir Beauteous Ganymede here, and sir Thomas Long, heard that cuckoo, my man Trapdoor, sing the note of your ransom from captivity. S. BEAU. Uds so, Moll, where’s that Trapdoor? MOLL. Hanged, I think, by this time: a justice in this town, that speaks nothing but _make a mittimus, away with him to Newgate_, used that rogue like a firework,[1136] to run upon a line betwixt him and me. ALL. How, how? MOLL. Marry, to lay trains of villany to blow up my life: I smelt the powder, spied what linstock[1137] gave fire to shoot against the poor captain of the galley-foist,[1138] and away slid I my man like a shovel-board shilling.[1139] He strouts[1140] up and down the suburbs, I think, and eats up whores, feeds upon a bawd’s garbage. S. THO. Sirrah, Jack Dapper—— J. DAP. What sayst, Tom Long? S. THO. Thou hadst a sweet-faced boy, hail-fellow with thee, to your little Gull: how is he spent? J. DAP. Troth, I whistled the poor little buzzard off a’ my fist, because, when he waited upon me at the ordinaries, the gallants hit me i’ the teeth still, and said I looked like a painted alderman’s tomb, and the boy at my elbow like a death’s head.—Sirrah Jack, Moll—— MOLL. What says my little Dapper? S. BEAU. Come, come; walk and talk, walk and talk. J. DAP. Moll and I’ll be i’ the midst. MOLL. These knights shall have squires’ places belike then: well, Dapper, what say you? J. DAP. Sirrah captain, mad Mary, the gull my own father, Dapper Sir Davy, laid these London boot-halers,[1141] the catchpolls, in ambush to set upon me. ALL. Your father? away, Jack! J. DAP. By the tassels of this handkercher, ’tis true: and what was his warlike stratagem, think you? he thought, because a wicker cage tames a nightingale, a lousy prison could make an ass of me. ALL. A nasty plot! J. DAP. Ay, as though a Counter, which is a park in which all the wild beasts of the city run head by head, could tame me! MOLL. Yonder comes my lord Noland.

_Enter_ LORD NOLAND.

ALL. Save you, my lord. L. NOL. Well met, gentlemen all.—Good sir Beauteous Ganymede, sir Thomas Long,—and how does master Dapper? J. DAP. Thanks, my lord. MOLL. No tobacco, my lord? L. NOL. No, faith, Jack. J. DAP. My lord Noland, will you go to Pimlico with us? we are making a boon voyage to that nappy land of spice-cakes. L. NOL. Here’s such a merry ging,[1142] I could find in my heart to sail to the world’s end with such company: come, gentlemen, let’s on. J. DAP. Here’s most amorous weather, my lord. ALL. Amorous weather! [_They walk._ J. DAP. Is not amorous a good word?

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR _disguised as a poor soldier with a patch over one eye, and_ TEARCAT _all in tatters_.

TRAP. Shall we set upon the infantry, these troops of foot? Zounds, yonder comes Moll, my whorish master and mistress! would I had her kidneys between my teeth! TEAR. I had rather have a cow-heel. TRAP. Zounds, I am so patched up, she cannot discover me: we’ll on. TEAR. _Alla corago_[1143] then! TRAP. Good your honours and worships, enlarge the ears of commiseration, and let the sound of a hoarse military organ-pipe penetrate your pitiful bowels, to extract out of them so many small drops of silver as may give a hard straw-bed lodging to a couple of maimed soldiers. J. DAP. Where are you maimed? TEAR. In both our nether limbs. MOLL. Come, come, Dapper, let’s give ’em something: ’las, poor men! what money have you? by my troth, I love a soldier with my soul. S. BEAU. Stay, stay; where have you served? S. THO. In any part of the Low Countries? TRAP. Not in the Low Countries, if it please your manhood, but in Hungary against the Turk at the siege of Belgrade. L. NOL. Who served there with you, sirrah? TRAP. Many Hungarians, Moldavians, Vallachians, and Transylvanians, with some Sclavonians; and retiring home, sir, the Venetian galleys took us prisoners, yet freed us, and suffered us to beg up and down the country. J. DAP. You have ambled all over Italy, then? TRAP. O sir, from Venice to Roma, Vecchia, Bononia,[1144] Romagna, Bologna, Modena, Piacenza, and Tuscana, with all her cities, as Pistoia, Volterra,[1145] Montepulciano, Arezzo; with the Siennois, and divers others. MOLL. Mere rogues! put spurs to ’em once more. J. DAP. Thou lookest like a strange creature, a fat butter-box, yet speakest English: what art thou? TEAR. _Ich, mine here? ich bin den ruffling Tearcat, den brave soldado; ich bin dorich all Dutchlant gereisen; der schellum das meer ine beasa ine woert gaeb, ich slaag um stroakes on tom cop; dastich den hundred touzun divel halle, frollich, mine here._ S. BEAU. Here, here; let’s be rid of their jobbering.[1146] [_About to give money._ MOLL. Not a cross,[1147] sir Beauteous.—You base rogues, I have taken measure of you better than a tailor can; and I’ll fit you, as you, monster with one eye, have fitted me. TRAP. Your worship will not abuse a soldier? MOLL. Soldier? thou deservest to be hanged up by that tongue which dishonours so noble a profession: soldier? you skeldering[1148] varlet! hold, stand; there should be a trapdoor here abouts. [_Pulls off his patch._ TRAP. The balls of these glasiers[1149] of mine, mine eyes, shall be shot up and down in any hot piece of service for my invincible mistress. J. DAP. I did not think there had been such knavery in black patches[1150] as now I see. MOLL. O sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of Dogs,[1151] and can both fawn like a spaniel, and bite like a mastiff, as he finds occasion. L. NOL. What are you, sirrah? a bird of this feather too? TEAR. A man beaten from the wars, sir. S. THO. I think so, for you never stood to fight. J. DAP. What’s thy name, fellow soldier? TEAR. I am called by those that have seen my valour, Tearcat. ALL. Tearcat? MOLL. A mere whip-jack,[1152] and that is, in the commonwealth of rogues, a slave that can talk of sea-fight, name all your chief pirates, discover more countries to you than either the Dutch, Spanish, French, or English ever found out; yet indeed all his service is by land, and that is to rob a fair, or some such venturous exploit. Tearcat? ’foot, sirrah, I have your name, now I remember me, in my book of horners; horns for the thumb,[1153] you know how. TEAR. No indeed, captain Moll, for I know you by sight, I am no such nipping Christian,[1154] but a maunderer upon the pad,[1155] I confess; and meeting with honest Trapdoor here, whom you had cashiered from bearing arms, out at elbows, under your colours, I instructed him in the rudiments of roguery, and by my map made him sail over any country you can name, so that now he can maunder better than myself. J. DAP. So, then, Trapdoor, thou art turned soldier now? TRAP. Alas, sir, now there’s no wars, ’tis the safest course of life I could take! MOLL. I hope, then, you can cant, for by your cudgels, you, sirrah, are an upright man.[1156] TRAP. As any walks the highway, I assure you. MOLL. And, Tearcat, what are you? a wild rogue,[1157] an angler,[1158] or a ruffler?[1159] TEAR. Brother to this upright man, flesh and blood; ruffling Tearcat is my name, and a ruffler is my style, my title, my profession. MOLL. Sirrah, where’s your doxy? halt not with me. ALL. Doxy, Moll? what’s that? MOLL. His wench. TRAP. My doxy? I have, by the salomon,[1160] a doxy that carries a kinchin mort in her slate[1161] at her back, besides my dell and my dainty wild dell,[1162] with all whom I’ll tumble this next darkmans in the strommel,[1163] and drink ben baufe, and eat a fat gruntling cheat, a cackling cheat, and a quacking cheat. J. DAP. Here’s old[1164] cheating! TRAP. My doxy stays for me in a bousing ken,[1165] brave captain. MOLL. He says his wench stays for him in an ale-house.— You are no pure rogues![1166] TEAR. Pure rogues? no, we scorn to be pure rogues; but if you come to our lib ken or our stalling ken,[1167] you shall find neither him nor me a queer cuffin.[1168] MOLL. So, sir, no churl of you. TEAR. No, but a ben cove, a brave cove, a gentry cuffin. L. NOL. Call you this canting? J. DAP. Zounds, I’ll give a school-master half-a-crown a-week, and teach me this pedlar’s French.[1169] TRAP. Do but stroll, sir, half a harvest with us, sir, and you shall gabble your bellyful. MOLL. Come, you rogue, cant with me. S. THO. Well said, Moll.—Cant with her, sirrah, and you shall have money, else not a penny. TRAP. I’ll have a bout, if she please. MOLL. Come on, sirrah! TRAP. Ben mort,[1170] shall you and I heave a bough, mill a ken, or nip a bung, and then we’ll couch a hogshead under the ruffmans, and there you shall wap with me, and I’ll niggle with you. MOLL. Out, you damned impudent rascal! TRAP. Cut benar[1171] whids, and hold your fambles and your stamps. L. NOL. Nay, nay, Moll, why art thou angry? what was his gibberish? MOLL. Marry, this, my lord, says he: _Ben mort_, good wench, _shall you and I heave a bough,[1172] mill a ken, or nip a bung_? shall you and I rob a house, or cut a purse? ALL. Very good. MOLL. _And then we’ll couch a hogshead under the ruffmans_; and then we’ll lie under a hedge. TRAP. That was my desire, captain, as ’tis fit a soldier should lie. MOLL. _And there you shall wap with me, and I’ll niggle with you_,—and that’s all. S. BEAU. Nay, nay, Moll, what’s that wap? J. DAP. Nay, teach me what niggling is; I’d fain be niggling. MOLL. Wapping and niggling is all one, the rogue my man can tell you. TRAP. ’Tis fadoodling, if it please you. S. BEAU. This is excellent! One fit more, good Moll. MOLL. Come, you rogue, sing with me.

_Song by_ MOLL _and_ TEARCAT.[1173]

_A gage[1174] of ben rom-bouse In a bousing ken of Rom-vile, Is benar than a caster, Peck, pennam, lay, or popler, Which we mill in deuse a vile. O I wud lib all the lightmans, O I wud lib all the darkmans, By the salomon, under the ruffmans, By the salomon, in the hartmans, And scour the queer cramp ring, And couch till a palliard dock’d my dell, So my bousy nab might skew rom-bouse well. Avast to the pad, let us bing; Avast to the pad, let us bing._ ALL. Fine knaves, i’faith! J. DAP. The grating of ten new cart-wheels, and the gruntling of five hundred hogs coming from Rumford market, cannot make a worse noise than this canting language does in my ears. Pray, my lord Noland, let’s give these soldiers their pay. S. BEAU. Agreed, and let them march. L. NOL. Here, Moll. [_Gives money._ MOLL. Now I see that you are stalled to the rogue,[1175] and are not ashamed of your professions: look you, my lord Noland here and these gentlemen bestow[1176] upon you two two boards[1177] and a half, that’s two shillings sixpence. TRAP. Thanks to your lordship. TEAR. Thanks, heroical captain. MOLL. Away! TRAP. We shall cut ben whids[1178] of your masters and mistress-ship wheresoever we come. MOLL. You’ll maintain, sirrah, the old justice’s plot to his face? TRAP. Else trine me on the cheats,[1179]—hang me. MOLL. Be sure you meet me there. TRAP. Without any more maundering,[1180] I’ll do’t.— Follow, brave Tearcat. TEAR. _I præ, sequor_; let us go, mouse.[1181] [_Exeunt_ TRAPDOOR _and_ TEARCAT. L. NOL. Moll, what was in that canting song? MOLL. Troth, my lord, only a praise of good drink, the only milk which these wild beasts love to suck, and thus it was:

_A rich cup of wine, O it is juice divine! More wholesome for the head Than meat, drink, or bread: To fill my drunken pate With that, I’d sit up late; By the heels would I lie, Under a lowsy hedge die, Let a slave have a pull At my whore, so I be full Of that precious liquor_:

and a parcel of such stuff, my lord, not worth the opening.

_Enter a Cutpurse very gallant,[1182] with four or five others, one having a wand._

L. NOL. What gallant comes yonder? S. THO. Mass, I think I know him; ’tis one of Cumberland. FIRST CUT. Shall we venture to shuffle in amongst yon heap of gallants, and strike?[1183] SEC. CUT. ’Tis a question whether there be any silver shells[1184] amongst them, for all their satin outsides. THE REST. Let’s try. MOLL. Pox on him, a gallant? Shadow me, I know him; ’tis one that cumbers the land indeed: if he swim near to the shore of any of your pockets, look to your purses. L. NOL. } Is’t possible? S. BEAU., _&c._[1185] } MOLL. This brave[1182] fellow is no better than a foist. L. NOL. } Foist! what’s that? S. BEAU., _&c._ } MOLL. A diver with two fingers, a pick-pocket; all his train study the figging-law,[1186] that’s to say, cutting of purses and foisting. One of them is a nip; I took him once i’ the two-penny gallery[1187] at the Fortune: then there’s a cloyer, or snap, that dogs any new brother in that trade, and snaps will have half in any booty. He with the wand is both a stale, whose office is to face a man i’ the streets, whilst shells are drawn by another, and then with his black conjuring rod in his hand, he, by the nimbleness of his eye and juggling stick, will, in cheaping a piece of plate at a goldsmith’s stall, make four or five rings mount from the top of his _caduceus_, and, as if it were at leap-frog, they skip into his hand presently. SEC. CUT. Zounds, we are smoked! THE REST.[1188] Ha! SEC. CUT. We are boiled,[1189] pox on her! see, Moll, the roaring drab! FIRST CUT. All the diseases of sixteen hospitals boil her!—Away! MOLL. Bless you, sir. FIRST CUT. And you, good sir. MOLL. Dost not ken me, man? FIRST CUT. No, trust me, sir. MOLL. Heart, there’s a knight, to whom I’m bound for many favours, lost his purse at the last new play i’ the Swan,[1190] seven angels[1191] in’t: make it good, you’re best; do you see? no more. FIRST CUT. A synagogue[1192] shall be called, mistress Mary; disgrace me not; _pacus palabros_,[1193] I will conjure for you: farewell. _Exit with his companions._ MOLL. Did not I tell you, my lord? L. NOL. I wonder how thou camest to the knowledge of these nasty villains. S. THO. And why do the foul mouths of the world call thee Moll Cutpurse? a name, methinks, damned and odious. MOLL. Dare any step forth to my face and say, I’ve ta’en thee doing so, Moll? I must confess, In younger days, when I was apt to stray, I’ve sat amongst such adders; seen their stings, As any here might, and in full play-houses Watch’d their quick-diving hands, to bring to shame Such rogues, and in that stream met an ill name. When next, my lord, you spy any one of those, So he be in his art a scholar, question him; Tempt him with gold to open the large book Of his close villanies; and you yourself shall cant Better than poor Moll can, and know more laws Of cheators, lifters, nips, foists, puggards, curbers,[1194] With all the devil’s black-guard,[1195] than it’s fit Should be discover’d to a noble wit. I know they have their orders, offices, Circuits, and circles, unto which they’re bound To raise their own damnation in. J. DAP. How dost thou know it? MOLL. As you do; I shew’t you, they to me shew it. Suppose, my lord, you were in Venice—— L. NOL. Well. MOLL. If some Italian pander there would tell All the close tricks of courtesans, would not you Hearken to such a fellow? L. NOL. Yes. MOLL. And here, Being come from Venice, to a friend most dear That were to travel thither, you’d proclaim Your knowledge in those villanies, to save Your friend from their quick danger: must you have A black ill name, because ill things you know? Good troth, my lord, I’m made Moll Cutpurse so. How many are whores in small ruffs and still looks! How many chaste whose names fill Slander’s books! Were all men cuckolds whom gallants in their scorns Call so, we should not walk for goring horns. Perhaps for my mad going some reprove me; I please myself, and care not else who love[1196] me. L. NOL. } A brave mind, Moll, i’faith! S. BEAU., _&c._ } S. THO. Come, my lord, shall’s to the ordinary? L. NOL. Ay, ’tis noon sure. MOLL. Good my lord, let not my name condemn me to you, or to the world: a fencer I hope may be called a coward; is he so for that? If all that have ill names in London were to be whipt, and to pay but twelve-pence a-piece to the beadle, I would rather have his office than a constable’s. J. DAP. So would I, captain Moll: ’twere a sweet tickling office, i’faith. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Garden attached to_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _house_.

_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE, GOSHAWK, GREENWIT, _and others_.

S. ALEX. My son marry a thief, that impudent girl, Whom all the world stick their worst eyes upon! GREEN. How will your care prevent it? GOS. ’Tis impossible: They marry close, they’re gone, but none knows whither. S. ALEX. O gentlemen, when have[1197] a father’s heart-strings

_Enter Servant._ Held out so long from breaking?—Now what news, sir? SER. They were met upo’ th’ water an hour since, sir, Putting in towards the Sluice. S. ALEX. The Sluice? come, gentlemen, ’Tis Lambeth works against us. [_Exit Servant._ GREEN. And that Lambeth Joins more mad matches than your six wet towns[1198] ’Twixt that and Windsor Bridge, where fares lie soaking. S. ALEX. Delay no time, sweet gentlemen: to Blackfriars! We’ll take a pair of oars, and make after ’em.

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

TRAP. Your son and that bold masculine ramp[1199] my mistress Are landed now at Tower. S. ALEX. Hoyda, at Tower? TRAP. I heard it now reported. S. ALEX. Which way, gentlemen, Shall I bestow my care? I’m drawn in pieces Betwixt deceit and shame.

_Enter_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.

S. GUY. Sir Alexander, You are well met, and most rightly servèd; My daughter was a scorn to you. S. ALEX. Say not so, sir. S. GUY. A very abject she, poor gentlewoman! Your house had been dishonour’d. Give you joy, sir, Of your son’s gascoyne-bride![1200] you’ll be a grandfather shortly To a fine crew of roaring sons and daughters; ’Twill help to stock the suburbs passing well, sir. S. ALEX. O, play not with the miseries of my heart! Wounds should be drest and heal’d, not vex’d, or left Wide open, to the anguish of the patient, And scornful air let in; rather let pity And advice charitably help to refresh ’em. S. GUY. Who’d place his charity so unworthily? Like one that gives alms to a cursing beggar: Had I but found one spark of goodness in you Toward my deserving child, which then grew fond Of your son’s virtues, I had eas’d you now; But I perceive both fire of youth and goodness Are rak’d up in the ashes of your age, Else no such shame should have come near your house, Nor such ignoble sorrow touch your heart. S. ALEX. If not for worth, for pity’s sake assist me! GREEN. You urge a thing past sense; how can he help you? All his assistance is as frail as ours: Full as uncertain where’s the place that holds ’em; One brings us water-news; then comes another With a full-charg’d mouth, like a culverin’s voice, And he reports the Tower: whose sounds are truest? GOS. In vain you flatter him.—Sir Alexander—— S. GUY. I flatter him? gentlemen, you wrong me grossly. GREEN. He does it well, i’faith. S. GUY. Both news are false, Of Tower or water; they took no such way yet. S. ALEX. O strange! hear you this, gentlemen? yet more plunges.[1201] S. GUY. They’re nearer than you think for, yet more close Than if they were further off. S. ALEX. How am I lost In these distractions! S. GUY. For your speeches, gentlemen, In taxing me for rashness, ’fore you all I will engage my state to half his wealth, Nay, to his son’s revenues, which are less, And yet nothing at all till they come from him, That I could, if my will stuck to my power, Prevent this marriage yet, nay, banish her For ever from his thoughts, much more his arms. S. ALEX. Slack not this goodness, though you heap upon me Mountains of malice and revenge hereafter! I’d willingly resign up half my state to him, So he would marry the meanest drudge I hire. GREEN. He talks impossibilities, and you believe ’em. S. GUY. I talk no more than I know how to finish, My fortunes else are his that dares stake with me. The poor young gentleman I love and pity; And to keep shame from him (because the spring Of his affection was my daughter’s first, Till his frown blasted all), do but estate him In those possessions which your love and care Once pointed out for him, that he may have room To entertain fortunes of noble birth, Where now his desperate wants cast[1202] him upon her; And if I do not, for his own sake chiefly, Rid him of this disease that now grows on him, I’ll forfeit my whole state, before these gentlemen. GREEN. Troth, but you shall not undertake such matches; We’ll persuade so much with you. S. ALEX. Here’s my ring; [_Gives ring._ He will believe this token. ’Fore these gentlemen I will confirm it fully: all those lands My first love ’lotted him, he shall straight possess In that refusal. S. GUY. If I change it not, Change me into a beggar. GREEN. Are you mad, sir? S. GUY. ’Tis done. GOS. Will you undo yourself by doing, And shew a prodigal trick in your old days? S. ALEX. ’Tis a match, gentlemen. S. GUY. Ay, ay, sir, ay. I ask no favour, trust to you for none; My hope rests in the goodness of your son. [_Exit._ GREEN. He holds it up well yet. GOS. Of an old knight, i’faith. S. ALEX. Curst be the time I laid his first love barren, Wilfully barren, that before this hour Had sprung forth fruits of comfort and of honour! He lov’d a virtuous gentlewoman.

_Enter_ MOLL _in her male dress_.

GOS. Life, here’s Moll! GREEN. Jack? GOS. How dost thou, Jack? MOLL. How dost thou, gallant? S. ALEX. Impudence, where’s my son? MOLL. Weakness, go look him. S. ALEX. Is this your wedding gown? MOLL. The man talks monthly:[1203] Hot broth and a dark chamber for the knight! I see he’ll be stark mad at our next meeting. [_Exit._ GOS. Why, sir, take comfort now, there’s no such matter, No priest will marry her, sir, for a woman Whiles that shape’s on; and it was never known Two men were married and conjoin’d in one: Your son hath made some shift to love another. S. ALEX. Whate’er she be, she has my blessing with her: May they be rich and fruitful, and receive Like comfort to their issue as I take In them! has pleas’d me now; marrying not this, Through a whole world he could not choose amiss. GREEN. Glad you’re so penitent for your former sin, sir. GOS. Say he should take a wench with her smock-dowry, No portion with her but her lips and arms? S. ALEX. Why, who thrive better, sir? they have most blessing, Though other have more wealth, and least repent: Many that want most know the most content. GREEN. Say he should marry a kind youthful sinner? S. ALEX. Age will quench that; any offence but theft And drunkenness, nothing but death can wipe away; Their sins are green even when their heads are grey. Nay, I despair not now; my heart’s cheer’d, gentlemen; No face can come unfortunately to me.—

_Re-enter Servant._

Now, sir, your news? SER. Your son, with his fair bride, Is near at hand. S. ALEX. Fair may their fortunes be! GREEN. Now you’re resolv’d,[1204] sir, it was never she. S. ALEX. I find it in the music of my heart.

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _leading in_ MOLL _in her female dress and masked, and_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.

See where they come. GOS. A proper lusty presence, sir. S. ALEX. Now has he pleas’d me right: I always counsell’d him To choose a goodly, personable creature: Just of her pitch was my first wife his mother. SEB. Before I dare discover my offence, I kneel for pardon. [_Kneels._ S. ALEX. My heart gave it thee Before thy tongue could ask it: Rise; thou hast rais’d my joy to greater height Than to that seat where grief dejected it. Both welcome to my love and care for ever! Hide not my happiness too long; all’s pardon’d; Here are our friends.—Salute her, gentlemen. [_They unmask her._ ALL. Heart, who’s this? Moll! S. ALEX. O my reviving shame! is’t I must live To be struck blind? be it the work of sorrow, Before age take’t in hand! S. GUY. Darkness and death! Have you deceiv’d me thus? did I engage My whole estate for this? S. ALEX. You ask’d no favour, And you shall find as little: since my comforts Play false with me, I’ll be as cruel to thee As grief to fathers’ hearts. MOLL. Why, what’s the matter with you, ’Less too much joy should make your age forgetful? Are you too well, too happy? S. ALEX. With a vengeance! MOLL. Methinks you should be proud of such a daughter, As good a man as your son. S. ALEX. O monstrous impudence! MOLL. You had no note before, an unmark’d knight; Now all the town will take regard on you, And all your enemies fear you for my sake: You may pass where you list, through crowds most thick, And come off bravely with your purse unpick’d. You do not know the benefits I bring with me; No cheat dares work upon you with thumb[1205] or knife, While you’ve a roaring girl to your son’s wife. S. ALEX. A devil rampant! S. GUY. Have you so much charity Yet to release me of my last rash bargain, And I’ll give in your pledge? S. ALEX. No, sir, I stand to’t; I’ll work upon advantage, as all mischiefs Do upon me. S. GUY. Content. Bear witness all, then, His are the lands; and so contention ends: Here comes your son’s bride ’twixt two noble friends.

_Enter_ LORD NOLAND _and_ SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE _with_ MARY FITZALLARD _between them_; GALLIPOT, TILTYARD, OPENWORK, _and their Wives_.

MOLL. Now are you gull’d as you would be; thank me for’t, I’d a forefinger in’t. SEB. Forgive me, father! Though there before your eyes my sorrow feign’d, This still was she for whom true love complain’d. S. ALEX. Blessings eternal, and the joys of angels, Begin your peace here to be sign’d in heaven! How short my sleep of sorrow seems now to me, To this eternity of boundless comforts, That finds no want but utterance and expression! My lord, your office here appears so honourably, So full of ancient goodness, grace, and worthiness, I never took more joy in sight of man Than in your comfortable presence now. L. NOL. Nor I more delight in doing grace to virtue Than in this worthy gentlewoman your son’s bride, Noble Fitzallard’s daughter, to whose honour And modest fame I am a servant vow’d; So is this knight. S. ALEX. Your loves make my joys proud. Bring forth those deeds of land my care laid ready, [_Exit Servant, who presently returns with deeds._' And which, old knight, thy nobleness may challenge, Join’d with thy daughter’s virtues, whom I prize now As dearly as that flesh I call mine own. Forgive me, worthy gentlewoman; ’twas my blindness: When I rejected thee, I saw thee not; Sorrow and wilful rashness grew like films Over the eyes of judgment; now so clear I see the brightness of thy worth appear. MARY. Duty and love may I deserve in those! And all my wishes have a perfect close. S. ALEX. That tongue can never err, the sound’s so sweet. Here, honest son, receive into thy hands The keys of wealth, possession of those lands Which my first care provided; they’re thine own; Heaven give thee a blessing with ’em! the best joys That can in worldly shapes to man betide Are fertile lands and a fair fruitful bride, Of which I hope thou’rt sped. SEB. I hope so too, sir. MOLL. Father and son, I ha’ done you simple service here. SEB. For which thou shalt not part, Moll, unrequited. S. ALEX. Thou’rt a mad girl, and yet I cannot now Condemn thee. MOLL. Condemn me? troth, and[1206] you should, sir, I’d make you seek out one to hang in my room: I’d give you the slip at gallows, and cozen the people. Heard you this jest, my lord? L. NOL. What is it, Jack? MOLL. He was in fear his son would marry me, But never dreamt that I would ne’er agree. L. NOL. Why, thou had’st a suitor once, Jack: when wilt marry? MOLL. Who, I, my lord? I’ll tell you when, i’faith; When you shall hear Gallants void from sergeants’ fear, Honesty and truth unslander’d, Woman mann’d, but never pander’d, Cheats[1207] booted, but not coach’d, Vessels older ere they’re broach’d; If my mind be then not varied, Next day following I’ll be married. L. NOL. This sounds like doomsday. MOLL. Then were marriage best; For if I should repent, I were soon at rest. S. ALEX. In troth thou’rt a good wench: I’m sorry now The opinion was so hard I conceiv’d of thee:

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

Some wrongs I’ve done thee. TRAP. Is the wind there now? ’Tis time for me to kneel and confess first, For fear it come too late, and my brains feel it. [_Aside._ Upon my paws I ask you pardon, mistress! MOLL. Pardon! for what, sir? what has your rogueship done now? TRAP. I’ve been from time to time hir’d to confound you By this old gentleman. MOLL. How? TRAP. Pray, forgive him: But may I counsel you, you should never do’t. Many a snare t’ entrap your worship’s life Have I laid privily; chains, watches, jewels; And when he saw nothing could mount you up, Four hollow-hearted angels[1208] he then gave you, By which he meant to trap you, I to save you. S. ALEX. To all which shame and grief in me cry guilty. Forgive me: now I cast the world’s eyes from me, And look upon thee freely with mine own, I see the most of many wrongs before me,[1209] Cast from the jaws of Envy and her people, And nothing foul but that. I’11 never more Condemn by common voice, for that’s the whore That deceives man’s opinion, mocks his trust, Cozens his love, and makes his heart unjust. MOLL. Here be the angels, gentlemen; they were As a musician: I pursue no pity; Follow the law, and[1210] you can cuck[1211] me, spare not; Hang up my viol by me, and I care not. S. ALEX. So far I’m sorry, I’ll thrice double ’em, To make thy wrongs amends. Come, worthy friends, my honourable lord, Sir Beauteous Ganymede, and noble Fitzallard, And you kind gentlewomen,[1212] whose sparkling presence Are glories set in marriage, beams of society, For all your loves give lustre to my joys: The happiness of this day shall be remember’d At the return of every smiling spring; In my time now ’tis born; and may no sadness Sit on the brows of men upon that day, But as I am, so all go pleas’d away! [_Exeunt omnes._

EPILOGUE.

A painter having drawn with curious art The picture of a woman, every part Limn’d to the life, hung out the piece to sell. People who pass’d along, viewing it well, Gave several verdicts on it: some disprais’d The hair; some said the brows too high were rais’d; Some hit her o’er the lips, mislik’d their colour; Some wish’d her nose were shorter; some, the eyes fuller; Others said roses on her cheeks should grow, Swearing they look’d too pale; others cried no. The workman still, as fault was found, did mend it, In hope to please all: but this work being ended, And hung open at stall, it was so vile, So monstrous, and so ugly, all men did smile At the poor painter’s folly. Such, we doubt, Is this our comedy: some perhaps do flout The plot, saying, ’tis too thin, too weak, too mean; Some for the person will revile the scene, And wonder that a creature of her being Should be the subject of a poet, seeing In the world’s eye none weighs so light: others look For all those base tricks, publish’d in a book[1213] Foul as his brains they flow’d from, of cutpurse[s], Of nips and foists, nasty, obscene discourses, As full of lies as empty of worth or wit, For any honest ear or eye unfit. And thus, If we to every brain that’s humorous Should fashion scenes, we, with the painter, shall, In striving to please all, please none at all. Yet for such faults as either the writer’s wit Or negligence of the actors do commit, Both crave your pardons: if what both have done Cannot full pay your expectation, The Roaring Girl herself, some few days hence, Shall on this stage give larger recompence. Which mirth that you may share in, herself does woo you, And craves this sign, your hands to beckon her to you.

END OF VOL. II.

LONDON: PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN, 46 St. Martin’s Lane.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Footnotes

-----

# 1:

_Kix_] I may just remark that this name is intended to describe the person who bears it, an elderly gentleman: _kix_ (or, as it is generally written, _kex_) means a dry stalk.

# 2:

_bring_] Old eds. “brings.”

# 3:

_ordinary_] See note, vol. i. p. 389.

# 4:

_brothel_] i.e. harlot: so in a passage of Greene’s _Groats-worth of Wit_ (quoted in my Account of Greene and his writings, p. xxx., prefixed to his _Works_), “brother to a _brothell_ he kept.” The word was at an early period applied to the worthless of both sexes.

# 5:

_Long-acre_] “Probably the name of the estate Witgood had mortgaged to his uncle.”—_Edit. of 1816._

# 6:

_out of the compass of law_] i.e. out of the reach of, not punishable by, law.

# 7:

_I’ve_] Old eds. “I have.”

# 8:

_were_] Old eds. “was.”

# 9:

_Fate_, &c.] Qy. was the whole of this speech originally blank verse?

# 10:

_Come_, &c.] The editor of 1816 printed,

“_Come, I must help; where left you? I’ll proceed_,”

without mentioning the reading of the old eds., which I have followed, and which (though this scene is probably more than slightly corrupted in several places) I believe to be right. Middleton sometimes, when he introduces a couplet, shews perfect indifference about the length of the first line: see note, vol. i. p. 424, and compare the following passage of _The Phœnix_;

“Without thee, All the whole world were soiled bastardy.”

vol. i. p. 351, (where, in my note, I too hastily remarked that part of the first line had probably dropt out).

# 11:

_valiant_] i.e. worth.

# 12:

_furnished_] The editor of 1816 prints “finish’d.”

# 13:

_Enter Onesiphorus Hoard, Limber, and Kix_] In the old eds. the entrance of these “right worshipful seniors” is not marked, and the prefixes to their speeches are merely 1., 2., and 3. That one of them is Onesiphorus Hoard, there can be no doubt. That the other two are Limber and Kix, is, I think, as certain: they appear together with Onesiphorus in the last scene of the play, where they are addressed as “_old_ master Limber and master Kix,” and where they immediately recognise the Courtesan.—The editor of 1816 makes the stage-direction here “_Enter Two Gentlemen_:” he ought at least to have observed, that the speech which concludes this scene is given to a _third_ speaker.

# 14:

_You’ve_] Old eds. “You have.”

# 15:

_the viol_] i.e. the _viol de gambo_, which in those days it was the fashion for ladies to play.

# 16:

_laying_] “Is used in the same sense by Jack Cade in the ‘Second Part of Henry VI.’ (Act iv. scene x.) ‘These five days have I hid me in these woods, and durst not peep out, for all the country is _lay’d_ for me.’” _Editor of 1816_.

# 17:

_slight_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 18:

_A Street_] i.e. in London, which continues to be the place of action during the rest of the play.

# 19:

_Enter_, &c.] Old eds. “_Enter_ at seuerall doores.”

# 20:

_affront_] i.e. encounter, face.

# 21:

_wipes his nose_] i.e. cheats him: the expression is of frequent occurrence; but not so the following one, which has the same meaning,—“’Twould anger any man to be _nos’d_ of such a match.” Brome’s _English Moor_, p. 7.—_Five New Plays_, 1659.

# 22:

_brothel-master_] See note, p. 5.

# 23:

_Pecunius_] Though the word here is not printed with a capital letter in the old eds., we learn from a subsequent scene that it is the Christian name of Lucre.

# 24:

_manent_] Old eds. “manet”—which I mention, because the editor of 1816 makes Freedom and Moneylove _enter_ after the others have gone out.

# 25:

_crank_] i.e. brisk.

# 26:

_masty_] i.e. mastiff.

# 27:

_a noble_] A gold coin worth 6_s_. 8_p_.

# 28:

_trampler of the law_] Taylor, the water-poet, begins the account of “A Corrupted Lawyer, and a Knauish Vndershriue,” with the following lines;

“A hall, a hall, the _tramplers_ are at hand, A shifting Master, and as sweetly man’d; His Buckram-bearer, one that knowes his ku, Can write with one hand and receiue with two. The _trampler_ is in hast, O cleere the way, Takes fees with both hands cause he cannot stay, No matter wheth’r the cause be right or wrong, So hee be payd for letting out his tongue.” _A Brood of Cormorants_, p. 13; _Workes_, 1630. In Brome’s _Sparagus Garden_, 1640 (acted 1635), one of the characters is a lawyer named _Trampler_.

# 29:

_galleasses_] Large, heavy, low-built vessels: see Steevens’s note on Shakespeare’s _Taming of a Shrew_, act ii. sc. 1.

# 30:

_motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn_] The editor of 1816 says that he “knows not _exactly_ what these visions were:” nor do I: they are evidently used here as a cant term, like the words with which they are coupled—_tramplers_ (see note in the preceding page), and _motions_ (i.e. puppet-shows, puppets: see note, vol. i. p. 229.)

# 31:

_trashed_] The following passage of _The Puritan_, “a guarded lackey to run before it [a coach], and pied liveries to come _trashing_ after it,” act iv. sc. 1, which is cited here by the editor of 1816, is given by Todd in his additions to Johnson’s _Dict._ as an example of _trash_ in the sense of—to follow with bustle, to tramp about with fatigue; and such seems to be the meaning of the word in our text.

# 32:

_bull-beggars_] i.e. hobgoblins—a word of uncertain derivation.

# 33:

_he calls me thief_] Because _good fellow_ was one of the cant terms for a thief.

# 34:

_take me with you_] i.e. let me understand you.

# 35:

_resolve_] i.e. satisfactorily inform.

# 36:

_pax_] For pox,—perhaps an affected mode of pronouncing the word: it occurs frequently in Middleton. See my note on Webster’s _Works_, vol. iii. p. 195.

# 37:

_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.

# 38:

_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.

# 39:

_sir_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.

# 40:

_companions_] i.e. scurvy fellows,—in which sense the word was often used.

# 41:

_blue coats have been turned into cloaks_] Every reader of our early dramas is aware that blue was the colour usually worn by servants: from the present passage it appears that their coats had been recently exchanged for cloaks, like those which gentlemen then wore.

# 42:

_trow_] i.e. think you.

# 43:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 44:

_brothel-master_] See note, p. 5.

# 45:

_’Twas_] Old eds. “It was.”

# 46:

_kept it_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “_it kept_.”

# 47:

_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.

# 48:

_somner_]—_sumner_, _summoner_—i.e. apparitor.

# 49:

_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.

# 50:

_a’ life_] See note, vol. i. p. 272.

# 51:

_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 52:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 53:

_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 54:

_about_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “above.”

# 55:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 56:

_again_] i.e. against.

# 57:

_of_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “a.”

# 58:

_make a bolt or a shaft on’t_] “This is a proverbial expression, and is enumerated by Ray in his Collection of Proverbial Phrases. The meaning is, that he would immediately try his fortune with the widow, and either be rejected or accepted. The same expression is used by Slender in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act. iii. sc. 4. See notes on the passage.” _Editor of 1816_.

# 59:

_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.

# 60:

_Remove me, &c._] “This and the next speech of Witgood’s form a couplet, and are, I am inclined to think, a quotation.” _Editor of 1816_.

# 61:

_sure yet to_] Compare Brome:

“RA. Who do you think Has married fair Mistris Millicent? DI. Theophilus (I can name him, though his father Was fatal unto mine) was _sure to_ her.” _The English Moor_, p. 3.—_Five New Playes_, 1659. “ER. Then you are _sure to_ her. MAT. No, I never us’d A marriage-question, nor a wooing word,” &c. _The New Academy_, p. 19. _ibid._

# 62:

_resolved_] i.e. convinced, satisfied.

# 63:

_I am_] Old eds. “I’m.”

# 64:

_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 65:

_the better term_] “Ladies of easy virtue were, in the time of our poet, frequently called _termers_, from their visiting the city when the courts of justice were open, and the inns of court filled with young lawyers: to this, I conceive, Witgood alludes.” _Editor of 1816._—Witgood seems to use the word _term_ with a playful allusion to the double meaning of _suitors_.

# 66:

_blue coats_] see note, p. 26.

# 67:

_royals_] See note, vol. i, p. 345.

# 68:

_their_] i.e. Witgood’s and his uncle’s.

# 69:

_censure_] i.e. opinion, judgment.

# 70:

_So help us our best fortunes_ “The declaration of this gentleman somewhat resembles the oath taken by grand jurymen respecting their presentations, and was probably formed on that model.” _Editor of 1816._

# 71:

_lie_] Old eds. “lies.”

# 72:

_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.

# 73:

_slight_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 74:

_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.

# 75:

_likes_] i.e. pleases.

# 76:

_Beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 77:

_days_] Altered by the editor of 1816 to “delays:” but I believe the old text is right. So in act iv. sc. 5, Dampit says of one who owed him money, “he comes to have a longer _day_.”

# 78:

_prevent_] i.e. anticipate.

# 79:

_resolv’d_] See note, p. 39.

# 80:

_Gentlemen_] As Lamprey and Spichcock appear afterwards with Hoard at Cole-Harbour, they ought perhaps to be with him on the present occasion. I suspect, indeed, that some of the speeches given here, and in a former scene, to _Gentlemen_, belong, properly, to these two worthies.

# 81:

_a Dutch widow_] A cant term, sufficiently explained by what follows.

# 82:

_very_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.

# 83:

_prigging_] “_Prig_, in the cant language of that age, meant _thief_, or pickpocket. It is found in Shakespeare, and Beaumont and Fletcher.” _Editor of 1816._—_Prigging_ is used in this passage merely as a jocular term of reproach.

# 84:

_’Las_] Old eds. “asse,”—the initial letter having dropt out in the first ed.

# 85:

_Ay, boy_] Old eds. “I bee.”

# 86:

_making_] i.e. matching: in our early writers _make_ is often used for mate.

# 87:

_Luc._] Ed. 1616, “_Wit_.”

# 88:

_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.

# 89:

_we’ve_] Old eds. “we have.”

# 90:

_anno_ 89] “Both the quartos read ‘99;’ but Stow does not mention any _very_ great storm in that year, although he has noticed one or two; whereas in the year 1589, he observes, that on ‘The 1st August, at night, was the greatest lightning and thunder that had, at any time, bin seene or heard about London in the memory of any man living; and yet, thankes be given to God, little hurt heard of.’” _Editor of 1816._—See Stow’s _Annales_, p. 757. ed. 1631.

# 91:

_mought, and_] i.e. might, if.

# 92:

_years_] Qy. “days?”

# 93:

_make you unready_] i.e. undress you.

# 94:

_cony-catching_] See note, vol. i. p. 290.

# 95:

_doubts_] i.e. fears.

# 96:

_Cole-Harbour_] The stage-direction in the old eds. is “_Enter at Cole-harbour, Hoord, the Widdow, and Gentlemen, he married now._”—_Cole-Harbour_ (a corruption of _Cold-Harbour_, or _Cold-Harborough_) was an ancient building, situated in the parish of All-hallows the Less, in Downgate Ward: see an account of it in Stow’s _Survey_, b. ii. p. 206. (vol. i.) ed. 1720. A good many years before the date of this play, the then Earl of Shrewsbury took it down, and built a number of small tenements in its stead, which were let at great rents, and served as a retreat for debtors, &c.; the place being considered a sort of sanctuary, probably because Tunstall, bishop of Durham, had resided there in Henry the Eighth’s reign. Lodge says, “It was pulled down by Earl Gilbert, about the year 1600.” _Illust. of Brit. Hist._ vol. i. p. 9: but its demolition must have been earlier; for, in Nash’s _Haue with you to Saffron Walden_, 1596, we find, “Or hast thou tooke thee a chamber in _Cole-harbour_?” &c. sig. D. 4. From the present scene, as the editor of 1816 observes in a note on act ii. sc. 1, “it may be inferred that it was notorious as a place where marriages were solemnised hastily and without the proper forms; such as the Fleet Prison and Keith’s Chapel were for some time previously to the passing the marriage-act.” He adds, that “the only [other] allusion he recollects to it among the dramatic writers of the time, is in our author’s _Roaring Girl_:” but half-a-dozen might easily be furnished.

# 97:

_pig-eater_] An odd term of endearment: _pigsnie_ is common enough.

# 98:

_Court._] Old eds. “_Luc._”

# 99:

_friends_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “friend.”

# 100:

_believe’t_] Old eds. “_believe_ it.”

# 101:

_I have no son_, &c.] See what I have said on couplets imperfect in the first line, notes p. 7 of the present vol., and p. 424 of vol. i.

# 102:

_you’re_] Old eds. “you are.”

# 103:

_Ha, ha!_] Old eds. “_ha_, _ha_, ha.”

# 104:

_And_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “I [ay] _and_.”—The speech is part of the first line of a couplet.

# 105:

_O man in lamentation_] In _The Old Wives’ Tale_, “the tune of _O man in desperation_” is mentioned: see Peele’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 208 (ed. 1829), and my note there.

# 106:

_now_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.

# 107:

_passion_] i.e. sorrow.

# 108:

_fie, fie_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “fie.”

# 109:

_Byrlady_] A corruption of _By our Lady_.

# 110:

_toy_] i.e. trifle.

# 111:

_would I might be truss’d up_] Brome has the same poor play on words:

“when Lodovico Does not prove _trustie_, then let me be _truss’d_.” _The Queen and Concubine_, p. 106.—_Five New Playes_, 1659.

# 112:

_so_] First ed. “to.” Sec. ed. “too.”

# 113:

_envy_] i.e. bear ill will.

# 114:

_agen_] So written for the sake of the rhyme: compare vol. i. p. 416.

# 115:

_thrum-chinned_] i.e. rough-chinned: see note, vol. i. p. 431.

# 116:

_a’ life_] See note, vol. i. p. 272.

# 117:

_hole i’ th’ counter_] See notes, vol. i. p. 392.

# 118:

_froating_] “May mean _freting_ or adorning with fretwork. But Witgood’s vices, according to his own confession in a former scene, were those of sensuality, and not of foppery; and it is possible that this was the demand of the keeper of some brothel,” &c. &c. _Editor of 1816._—Perhaps so; but, I think, _froating_ means here nothing more than dressing up, repairing.

# 119:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 120:

_desire_] Old eds. “desires.”

# 121:

_First C._] Old eds. “_Cit._”

# 122:

_nonce_] i.e. occasion.

# 123:

_watchet_] i.e. blue: see note, p. 26.

# 124:

_capes_] The editor of 1816 prints “_caps_,” which may be right.

# 125:

_champion_] i.e. champaign.

“These many ruts and furrows in thy cheek Proves thy old face to be but _champion_ ground Till’d with the plough of age.” RANDOLPH’S _Hey for Honesty_, 1651, p. 36.

# 126:

_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.

# 127:

_like_] See note, p. 47.

# 128:

_marquesse_] i.e. marchioness.

# 129:

_pax_] See note, p. 24.

# 130:

_venture_] Old eds. “ventures.”

# 131:

_vild_] i.e. vile: see note, vol. i. p. 94.

# 132:

_peevish_] i.e. foolish, trifling.

# 133:

_set the hare’s head to the goose-giblet_] A not uncommon proverbial expression:

“Since tit for tat (quoth I) on euen hand is set, _Set the hares head agaynst the goose ieblet_.” HEYWOOD’S _Dialogue, &c._, sig. G.—_Workes_, ed. 1598.

# 134:

_pax_] See note, p. 24.

# 135:

_come_] Old eds. “came.”

# 136:

_mark_] i.e. 13_s._ 4_d._

# 137:

_immoveables_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “immouerables.”

# 138:

_some access_] “The quarto of 1616 reads, ‘some _above_ access;’ and the niece [Joyce] speaks without a notice of her having entered: whereas in the first quarto there is a stage-direction, ‘She is _above_;’ and I suppose the word caught the printer’s eye, and was erroneously introduced into the text.” _Editor of 1816._

# 139:

_a thousand year_] “Our poet alludes here [very irreverently] to a passage in the Revelation of St. John, chap. xx. ver. 2.” _Editor of 1816._

# 140:

_But I think_] “It is unnecessary to observe there was something particular about Dampit’s bed; the reader, however, will collect all the information I could give him from this scene.” _Editor of 1816._

# 141:

_muckinder_] i.e. a handkerchief.

# 142:

_trampler_] See note, p. 18.

# 143:

_the tavern bitch_, &c.] “One of the many proverbs expressive of inebriety.” _Editor of 1816._

# 144:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 145:

_Ay, he changes_, &c.] “I scarcely need notice that Dampit’s explanation of the name is in allusion to the doctrine of _metempsychosis_, first taught by that philosopher.” _Editor of 1816._

# 146:

_longer day_] “Dampit means to insinuate, I conceive, that he had borrowed money of him, and only called to postpone the payment.” _Editor of 1816._—

“You know this meeting Was for the creditors to give longer day.” BROME’S _City Wit_, act i. sc. 1.—_Five New Playes_, 1653.

# 147:

_farewell, and a thousand_] i.e. a thousand times farewell: see Peele’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 217. ed. 1829, and my note there.

# 148:

_device_] “For _advice_; I suppose it intentional.” _Editor of 1816._—Of course it is: so a clown in Randolph’s _Hey for Honesty_, 1651; “Ile tell you what I do _devise_ you now, this is my pinion,” act i. sc. 1.

# 149:

_this geer will fadge well_] i.e. this matter will fit well, succeed well.

# 150:

_dive-dapper_] i.e. dabchick.

# 151:

_a Dutch widow_] See note, p. 50.

# 152:

Virg. _Æn._ iii. 658.

# 153:

_trampling_] See note, p. 18.

# 154:

_Welch ambassador_] “A jocular name for the cuckoo, I presume from its migrating hither from the west.” NARES’S _Gloss. in v._—Perhaps it was so called because

“the note which his hoarse voice doth beare Is harsh and fatall to the wedded eare.” _The Cuckow_ (by NICCOLS), 1607, sig. A 3.

# 155:

_make haste to give up thy verdict_, &c.] Did Pope remember this passage?

“The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, _And wretches hang, that jurymen may dine_.” _The Rape of the Lock_, iii. 21.

# 156:

_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.

# 157:

_Now make your best_] Another couplet, of which the first line is imperfect: see notes, p. 7 of this vol. and p. 424 of vol. i.

# 158:

_cupboard of plate_] i. e. a moveable sideboard, or buffet containing the plate.

# 159:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 160:

_too_] Qy. was this originally a couplet?

# 161:

_other ancient gentlemen_] Old eds. “an _other ancient_ gentleman:” but see what follows; and note, p. 9.

# 162:

_guess_] i.e. guests: see note, vol. i. p. 326.

# 163:

_smack_] Old eds. “smerck.”

# 164:

_a Dutch widow_] See note, p. 50.

# 165:

_junt_] i.e. harlot.

# 166:

_pursu’d, nay_] Old eds. “_pursued_ me, _nay_.”

# 167:

_where_] i.e. whereas.

# 168:

_nuncle_] With this corruption of the word Shakespeare has made all readers acquainted.

# 169:

_defy_] i.e. renounce.

# 170:

_The glances of a sinful eye, Waving of fans_, . . . . . . _All secret friends_]

Here Middleton recollected the Palinode which closes _Cynthia’s Revels_:

“From _secret friends_, . . . . . . _From waving fans_, coy _glances_.” JONSON’S _Works_, vol. ii. p. 380, ed. Giff.

# 171:

_fancy_] i.e. love.

# 172:

_sign_] The editor of 1816 altered this word to “sin.”—According to the directions for bleeding in old almanacs, blood was to be taken from particular parts under particular planets.

“_Alen._ When is the time to let the weathers blood? The forward spring that had such store of grasse, Hath fild them full of ranke vnwholesome blood, Which must be purg’d, else when the winter comes, The rot will leaue me nothing but their skinnes. _Fall._ Chil let on blood, but yet it is no time, Vntill _the zygne be gone below the hart_.” YARINGTON’S _Two Lamentable Tragedies_, 1601, sig. H 4.

# 173:

_Stabbing of arms_ . . . . . . _Dutch flapdragons_]

Here again (see note, p. 97) Middleton has an eye to Jonson:

“_From stabbing of arms, flapdragons._” _Works_, ibid.

To stab their arms with daggers, and drink off the blood mixed with wine, to the health of their mistresses, was formerly a frequent practice among gallants.—For _flapdragons_, see note, vol. i. p. 66: from several passages in our early dramas, it appears that the Dutch were celebrated for swallowing them.— Drinking _healths in urine_ was another and more disgusting feat of gallantry.

# 174:

_defy_] See note, p. 97.

# 175:

_termers_] i.e. persons (generally of ill repute) who resorted to London during term-time.

# 176:

_Prologue_] The first line of it and a word in the fourth line have dropt out at press.

# 177:

The old ed. has (what is generally wanting in early 4tos) a list of the characters. The only alteration I have made in it is the substitution of “SHRIMP” for “SMELT,” the precocious youth being always throughout the play introduced under, and addressed by, the former name.

# 178:

_’a_] For _he_ occurs over and over again in this drama.

# 179:

_great-breeched gallants_] i.e. gallants who wear _trunk-hose_—breeches swelled out to a preposterous size by stuffings of rags, wool, hair, &c.

# 180:

_a cold heat_, &c.] Here, perhaps, the doctor meant to rhyme.

# 181:

_affections_] Qy. here and in the next line but two, for the sake of the verse, _affects_—which in our early poetry has the same meaning.

# 182:

_ask_] Old ed. “axe,” which, though the genuine Saxon form of the word, and perhaps used here by Middleton, is now considered so ludicrous a vulgarism, that I have substituted the modern spelling.

# 183:

_overture_] i.e. overthrow.

# 184:

_vadeth_] Brathwait (_Strappado for the Diuell_, 1615, p. 53) has,

“Thy form’s diuine, no _fading_, _vading_ flower;”

and Spenser and other poets use _vade_ as a rhyme to _fade_: but though the words were considered as different, it would not be easy to assign a distinct meaning to each.

# 185:

_And it like_] i.e. if it please.

# 186:

_Maria ascends_] So old ed.—i.e. goes into the upper chamber which Glister has just mentioned.

# 187:

_tall_] i.e. brave, bold.

# 188:

_a cross_, &c.] Old ed. “_to cross_,” &c.—_Creeping to the cross_ was a ceremony of penance imposed by the Romish Church.

# 189:

_giglot_] i.e. wanton.

# 190:

_gill_] i.e. girl, wench.

# 191:

_A valued price_, &c.] i.e. a price equal in value to her inestimable worth.

# 192:

_unvalued_] Old ed. “in valued,”—which, as one word, might stand; but see the next speech.

# 193:

_unvalued worth_, &c.] This passage seems to be corrupted. For the benefit of those who are not familiar with “small 4tos,” I subjoin it as exhibited in the old ed.

“Vnvalued worth, ha ha ha! Why? shees but a woman, And they are windy turning veins, loue light as chaffe which when Our nourishing graynes are winnow’d from them, Vnconstantly they flye at the least wind of passion A womans eye, can turne it selfe with quick dexterity.”

# 194:

_friend_] Old ed. “fend.”

# 195:

_pitchy_] Old ed. “pithie.”

# 196:

_Wo’t_] Or Wu’t—a corruption of _will_.

# 197:

_Farewell_] An imperfect couplet: see notes, p. 7 of this vol. and p. 424 of vol. i.

# 198:

_Lip. A plague_, &c.] What I have here assigned to Lipsalve is given to Gerardine in the old ed.

# 199:

_under colour of dissuasion_] Like another young lady, in Chapman’s _May Day_, 1611:

“_Æmilia._ But good cuze, if you chance to see my chamber window open, that is upon the tarrasse, doe not let him come in at it in any case.

_Lodovico._ ’Sblood how can he? can he come over the wall think’st?

_Æmilia._ O sir, you men have not devices with ladders of ropes to scale such walles at your pleasure, and abuse us poore wenches!” p. 22.

# 200:

_apparance_] i.e. appearance.

# 201:

_instance_] i.e. proof.

# 202:

_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.

# 203:

_country_] Old ed. “cuntries.”

# 204:

_feast_] Old ed. “feasts.”

# 205:

_Bocardo_] i.e. a dungeon, a prison,—properly, the old north gate of Oxford, which served as a prison. The gate no longer exists, having been pulled down in 1771; but the syllogism from which it seems to have derived its name still torments the students of that university, in the pages of Aldrich’s _Logic_.

# 206:

_grincomes_] i.e. the venereal disease.

# 207:

_great breeches_] See note, p. 111.

# 208:

_honesty_] Old ed. “honestyes.”

# 209:

_then_] Old ed. “that.”

# 210:

_a cross_] See note, vol. i. p. 246.

# 211:

_by_ ( )] So the old ed., the author having used some expression which the printer was afraid to insert. Copies of early plays frequently occur in which words have been struck through with a pen, perhaps by some public authority. I possess several pieces by Marston, from which the objectionable words have been cut out.

# 212:

_refused their_] Old ed. “_refused_ them _their_.”

# 213:

_cony-skins_] i.e. rabbit-skins.

# 214:

_statutes staple_] “The mercer, hee followeth the young vpstart gentleman, that hath no gouernement of himselfe, and he feedeth his humour to goe braue: hee shall not want silkes, sattins, veluets, to pranke abroad in his pompe; but with this prouiso, that hee must binde ouer his land in a _statute-merchant or staple_: and so at last forfeit all vnto the mercilesse mercer, and leaue himselfe neuer a foot of ground in England.” GREENE’S _Quip for an Vpstart Courtier_, sig. F 3. ed. 1620.

# 215:

_how go the squares_] Old ed. “_how goes_,” &c.—i.e. how goes on the game?—(chess-boards being full of squares). “What, fellow Robin, _how goes the squares_ with you?” _Wily Beguilde_, sig. E 4. ed. 1623.

# 216:

_a play, where we saw most excellent Sampson_, &c.] From Henslowe’s MSS. we learn that “_Sampson_, by Samuel Rowley and Edw. Iubye,” was acted in July 1602: see Malone’s _Shakespeare_ (by Boswell), vol. iii. p. 327. To this drama (which has not come down to us) Middleton perhaps alludes.

# 217:

_the youths_] i.e. the children of Paul’s, or some of the other theatrical children then performing.

# 218:

_the upper stage_] Was a balcony at the back of the stage, its platform being raised probably eight or nine feet from the ground. It served for a window, &c. &c. &c.—the frequently occurring direction in our early plays, “enter _above_,” meaning “enter _on the upper stage_.”

# 219:

_tongues_] Old ed. “bones.”

# 220:

_presents_] Old ed. “presence.”

# 221:

_sustain_] Old ed. “sustained.”

# 222:

_shoes_] Old ed. “showes:” in act ii. sc. 4, mistress Glister says, “I pray, let’s have no _polluted feet_ nor rheumatic chaps enter the house; I shall have my floor look more greasy,” &c.: and a little after, “Let them come in, _if their feet be clean_.”

# 223:

_consort_] i.e. company of musicians.

# 224:

_tickles the minikin_] “Minikin,” says Nares (_Gloss._ in v.), "seems sometimes to have meant _treble_ in music."—It certainly also meant a fiddle: “when I was a young man and could _tickle the Minikin_ ... but now ... I am falne from the Fiddle,” &c. “A Fidler, when he hath crackt his _Minikin_.” _Jacke Drums Entertainement_, sigs. A 3, E 3, ed. 1616.

# 225:

_what d’ye lack_] See note, vol. i. p. 447.

# 226:

_lovely_] Old ed. “liuely.”

# 227:

_thine_] Old ed. “then.”

# 228:

_rogation_] From the preceding words, “thou hast been a long vagrant,” I suspect that a pun is intended here: to _rogue_ meant—to play the vagrant.

# 229:

_gird_] i.e. cut, gibe.

# 230:

_leave him_] Old ed. “loues theame.”

# 231:

_bounty obliges_, &c.] Old ed. “_bounty obliges men too’t, giues mony for scrips and scrolls, and liberality seald_,” &c.

# 232:

_make_] Old ed. “makes.”

# 233:

_lectuary_] i.e. electuary.

# 234:

_angle_] i.e. corner.

# 235:

_prevent_] See note, p. 49.

# 236:

_&c._] See note, vol. i. p. 252.

# 237:

_liver_] Was supposed to be the seat of love.

# 238:

_I pray_, &c.] The first part of this speech is addressed to a servant off the stage.

# 239:

_the prick and praise_] So in _The London Prodigall_, 1605: “tho she had _the pricke and praise_ for a prettie wench.” Sig. E 3. Spenser has, _Faery Queene_, ii. xii. 1,

“her adorned head To _prick of highest praise_ forth to advance.”

The _prick_ was the point or mark in the centre of the butts in archery.

# 240:

_niceness_] i.e. scrupulousness, over-delicacy.

# 241:

_Of no proportion_, &c.] Old ed.

“Respectlesse, _of no proportion_,” &c.

“_Respectless_” is probably a word which the author had originally written, but forgot to erase. In the address _To the Reader_ (p. 107) he mentions the “faults in the printing.”

# 242:

_No marvel_] May be right perhaps, if mistress Glister is speaking ironically; but qy. “_Now I_ marvel.”

# 243:

_sect_] i.e. sex: the word in this sense is of frequent occurrence in old writers.

# 244:

_Society_, &c.] Old ed.

“_Society in_ nuptiall beds aboue these _joys_.”

In the MS., I suppose, the word “_beds_,” for which Middleton had substituted “_nuptials_,” was not deleted: see note 244 supr.

# 245:

_satiety_] Old ed. “society.”

# 246:

_Vial_] Here, and afterwards in this scene, the old ed. prefixes _Nun_. (i.e. _Nuntius_) to his speeches.

# 247:

_passions_] i.e. sorrowings.

# 248:

_untrussing of his hose_] i.e. untying the points of his hose: see note, vol. i. p. 367.

# 249:

_resolve_] See note, p. 23.

# 250:

_mouse_] Was formerly a common term of endearment.

# 251:

_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.

# 252:

_footcloth_] See note, vol. i. p. 396.

# 253:

_What should he be for a man?_] i.e. What man should he be?

# 254:

_mistress_] Old ed. “master.”

# 255:

_bruited_] i.e. reported.

# 256:

_endear_] Old ed. “endeauour:” compare our author’s _Michaelmas Term_; “I’ll _be dear to you_, do but perform it,” vol. i. p. 478.

# 257:

_resolve_] See note, p. 23.

# 258:

_feed_] Old ed. “fed.”

# 259:

_Servant_] Old ed. "One."—Perhaps Vial should be the person who enters.

# 260:

_thou_] i.e. one of the whips: the other he presently gives to Gudgeon.

# 261:

_resolves_] See note, p. 23.

# 262:

_Re-enter Maria_] The stage-direction in the old ed. is “_Enter Maria ouer the trunke_;” and Middleton probably intended the spectators to suppose (for, as there was no moveable painted scenery when he wrote, they were obliged to suppose a great deal,) that the trunk, left on the stage by the apprentices, had been removed to Maria’s apartment since the exit of Glister. When she enters at the commencement of scene iv. (p. 133), the room is certainly not her own apartment: Gerardine is thought to have left the country, and she has the free range of the house.

# 263:

_peize_] i.e. weigh down.

# 264:

_thou’st_] Old ed. “thou hast.”

# 265:

_prevented_] See note, p. 49.

# 266:

_cautelous_] i.e. artfully cautious.

# 267:

_Place_] Old ed. “Peace.”

# 268:

_little-ease_] Was a cant term, used long before Middleton’s time, for the pillory, stocks, or bilboes, (and, as I suspect from several passages in our early writers, for some apartment in a prison);

“You dare not make discovery For feare of _Little-ease_. That were a prison Too fearful for such bravery to stoop into.” BROME’S _New Academy_, p. 58.—_Five New Playes_, 1659.

# 269:

_uneven_] i.e. unjust.

# 270:

_unreduct_] i.e. unreduced.

# 271:

_act_] Old ed. “art.”

# 272:

_But who comes here_] In the old ed. these words are preceded by the stage-direction “_Enter Lipsalve and Shrimp his Page_;” and at the end of the speech Gerardine and Maria _exeunt_. I have already noticed (p. 142) the want of moveable painted scenery in Middleton’s days. Here the spectators were to suppose that Gerardine and Maria, standing on the upper-stage (see note, p. 125), were either in the apartment of the latter, or in the gallery communicating with it (see p. 112): when Lipsalve had entered, they were to suppose that the stage represented a street; and when Gerardine and Maria had re-appeared “_above_,” they were to suppose that the upper-stage was a window. Having found it necessary to begin a new scene with the entrance of Lipsalve, I hope my readers will be kind enough to _suppose_ that, when Gerardine says “_who comes here_,” he happens to turn his eye towards the window, and catches a glimpse of that gallant.

# 273:

_loose_] Means, in archery, the discharging of the arrow.

# 274:

_Maria appears_, &c.] The stage-direction in the old ed. is "_Enter Gerardine and Maria above_."—I may observe, that as curtains were suspended before the upper-stage (see note, p. 125), to conceal, if necessary, those who occupied it, they were probably used here for that purpose by Gerardine.

# 275:

_o’ercomes_] Old ed. “ouercomes.”

# 276:

_bruited_] See note, p. 138.

# 277:

_cottens well_] i.e. succeeds, goes on well—an expression drawn, as the present passage indicates, from the manufacturing of cloth.

# 278:

_hose_] i.e. breeches.

# 279:

_in lavender_] i.e. in pawn.

# 280:

_new for a_] Old ed. “_for a new_.”

# 281:

_take her counsel, sir; get a cullis_] Maria had recommended a caudle (see p. 150): but we find in old writers a distinction made between cullises and caudles. A _cullis_ (which will be more particularly noticed hereafter) was a strong broth, a savoury jelly.

# 282:

_flutterers_] Old ed. “flatterers.”

# 283:

_petronel-flashes_] A _petronel_ is a carbine, a horseman’s gun.

# 284:

_abrupt_] i.e. separated.

# 285:

_small-ease_] See note, p. 145.

# 286:

_our_] Some copies of the old ed. “or,” others “nor:” I have already noticed that, though they occasionally present different readings, there is but _one_ edition of the play: see p. 103.

# 287:

_collowest_] i.e. begrimest, blackenest: she alludes to the smoke of the link. _Collow_ is smut from burnt coals.

# 288:

_rine_] A vulgar corruption of _rind_: old ed. “rhyne;”

“Whose eyes doe shine Like bacon rine.” _Wily Beguilde_, sig C 2, ed. 1623.

# 289:

_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.

# 290:

_I hope my body has no organs_] “But the most dangerous of all was a Puritan Chandler ... he thought a man in a surplesse to be the Ghost of Heresy, _and was out of love with his owne members, because they were called Organs_.” MARMYON’S _Fine Companion_, 1633, sig. I 4.

# 291:

_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.

# 292:

_byrlady_] See note, p. 66.

# 293:

_the red letter_] Qy. does he allude to the rubrick distinctions in the Prayer-book, or to those in the Calendar?

# 294:

_clergy_] i.e. doctrine.

# 295:

_gear_] i.e. matter, business.

# 296:

_in the Family_] The old ed. adds, as part of the text, “Let in;” but the words are a stage-direction.— In _The Displaying of the Family of Loue_, &c. (already mentioned, see p. 106), we are told: “They are called together euer in the night time: and commonly to suche houses as be far from neighbours, one of them doth alwayes warne an other: and when they come to the house of meeting, they knocke at the doore, saying, here is a Brother in Christ, or a Sister in Christ.” Sig. H iiii.

# 297:

_peevish_] i.e. silly.

# 298:

_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.

# 299:

_trunks_] i.e. tubes. We find the word used in this sense even during Charles the Second’s time;

“Through optic _trunk_ the planet seem’d to hear.” _To the King_—MARVELL’S _Works_, vol. ii. p. 124, ed. 1726.

# 300:

_hit_] Old ed. “hits.”

# 301:

_Scene V._] I have marked a new scene here, and another after Gudgeon has entered the chamber, contrary to the old ed. and the arrangements (or rather, non-arrangements) of our early stage: see note, p. 147.

# 302:

_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.

# 303:

_Hei mihi_, &c.] _Met._ i. 523.

# 304:

_play at barriers_] i.e. fight within lists.

# 305: LIP. _Hold_, &c.; GUD. _Gogs_, &c.; LIP. _A pox_, &c.; GUD. _Truce_, &c.] Form only one speech in the old ed., with the prefix “_Ambo._”

# 306:

_Cornelius’ tub_] i.e. the heated tub in which patients were sweated for the cure of the venereal disease: the origin of the term (see Douce’s _Illust. of Shake._ vol. ii. p. 70) is uncertain.

# 307:

_suppositor_] i.e. suppository.—Old ed. "suppositar."— “I hold my life hee is a pottecarie, doe you neuer make no _suppositors_ sir?” _Cupids Whirligig_, sig. C 4, ed. 1616.

# 308:

_cockatrice_] A cant term for a harlot.

# 309:

_Phitonessa’s power_] The word _Phitoness_—i.e. _Pythoness_—is of frequent occurrence in the works of our earliest poets. It generally means the witch of Endor:

“And speke as renably, and faire, and wel, As to _the Phitonesse_ did Samuel.” CHAUCER’S _Freres Tale_, v. 7091, ed. Tyr.

See also Gower’s _Conf. Am._ fol. lxxiii. ed. 1554; Skelton’s “Adicyon” to _Phyllyp Sparowe_; Sir D. Lyndsay’s _Monarchie, Works_, vol. iii. p. 151, ed. Chal. Sometimes it is used in a more extended sense;

“And _Phetonisses_, Charmeresses,” &c. CHAUCER’S _House of Fame_, fol. 267, _Works_, ed. 1602.

See also Lydgate’s _Warres of Troy_, sig. K vi. ed. 1555.

# 310:

_corpse of her friend_] Qy. “corps of her friends:” at p. 135, l. 6, _corps_ is used for bodies.

# 311:

_thine aim_] Old ed. “thy plot, _thyne ayme_:” see note, p. 134.

# 312:

_surcease_] i.e. cease.

# 313:

_on_] Old ed. “in.”

# 314:

_those_] Old ed. “these.”

# 315:

_our clothes_] He means the dresses in which they were to pass for Familists: see what follows.

# 316:

_Guttide_] i.e. Shrovetide.

# 317:

_Hollantide_] A common corruption of Hallowstide.

# 318:

_courtlike_] Old ed. “courttake.”

# 319:

_make_] Old ed. “makes.”

# 320:

_Lip._] Old ed. here and before the next speech which I have given to Lipsalve, “_Sa._”

# 321:

_Master_, &c.] This speech has no prefix in the old ed.

# 322:

_resolved_] See note, p. 39.

# 323:

_nice_] See note, p. 134.

# 324:

_private._ Whispers] Old ed. “_priuate_ whisper:” but the second word is a stage-direction.

# 325:

_Galen_] Old ed. “Gallus.”

# 326:

_eke_] i.e. also.

# 327:

_five_] Old ed. “fine.”

# 328:

_gear_] See note, p. 155.

# 329:

_qd_——] Those who are acquainted with the sayings of _Titus Silus_ will probably understand this hieroglyphic.

# 330:

_disguised as a porter_] These words are not in the old ed. From what follows in this scene we find that he wears a disguise, and we may justly conclude that it is no other than the porter’s dress in which he appears during the next scene.

# 331:

_throne_] Qy. “shrine:” compare p. 163, l. 10.

# 332:

_star-like_] Old ed. “warlike:” but see the next line.

# 333:

_His_] Old ed. “This.”

# 334:

_a bell and a clack-dish_] A _clack-dish_, or _clap-dish_, was a wooden dish with a moveable cover, which was carried by beggars, and which they _clacked_ to shew that it was empty: see Steevens’s note on Shakespeare’s _Measure for Measure_, act iii. sc. 2. The _bell_ was another means of attracting attention.

# 335:

_paritor_] i.e. apparitor—a messenger employed to cite persons to appear in the spiritual courts. The word is found so contracted not only in prose but in verse:

“Belike thou art the Diuell’s _Parrator_, The basest officer that liues in Hell.” _Wily Beguilde_, sig. H 3, ed. 1623.

# 336:

_I play_] Old ed. “he plaies.”

# 337:

_crier_] Old ed. “parritor.”

# 338:

_crier_] Old ed. "sumner"—(i.e. apparitor). That the alterations which I have made in this dialogue between Gerardine and Dryfat are absolutely necessary, will appear from subsequent scenes. Of the “faults in the printing” Middleton was aware: see his address _To the Reader_, p. 107: he perhaps had at first assigned the parts of paritor, crier, and proctor differently; and after he had made a new distribution of them, neglected to alter this portion of the MS.

# 339:

_time out of sight_] i.e. (I suppose) time that I was gone.

# 340:

_perfection_] Old ed. “affecton.”

# 341:

_celsitude_] i.e. height.

# 342:

_Give_] Old ed. “Giues.”

# 343:

_gazer loves_] Qy. “gazers’ love.”

# 344:

_Than the Titanian_, &c.] Old ed.

“_Then the_ Tartarians _God, when_ first _Egeons Hill_.”

Ægeon (or, as he was called by the gods, Briareus,) was thrown under mount Ætna.

# 345:

_worm’s bed_; _teeth_] Old ed. “worme bed, to the.”

# 346:

_square_] i.e. (I suppose) fall to quarrelling.

# 347:

_Mis. G._] Old ed. “Mar.”

# 348:

_Orders of knaves_] _Their_ number was 25: see _Brit. Bibliogr._ vol. ii. p. 16, where they are each reckoned up from a tract, printed and probably compiled by Awdeley, called _The Fraternitye of Vacabondes, &c. Wherunto also is adioyned the_ XXV. _Orders of Knaues, otherwyse called a Quartern of Knaues, &c._, 4to, the first ed. of which appeared in 1565: see _Typ. Antiq._ (ed. Dibdin), vol. iv. p. 564.

# 349:

_startups_] Were a sort of clumsy shoes with high tops, worn by peasants. Cotgrave has “Guestres: Startups; high shooes, or gamashes for countrey folkes.”

# 350:

_sir-reverence_] A corruption of _save-reverence_, _salva reverentia_: see Nares in V.

# 351:

_Tweedles_] So the old ed. when the letter is afterwards read: here “_Sweedlesse_.”

# 352:

_pert_] So old ed. afterwards: here it omits the word.

# 353:

_towards_] i.e. in a state of preparation, at hand.

# 354:

_seiz’d_] Old ed. “feard.”

# 355:

_peasant groom_] Old ed. “pleasant Groine.”

# 356:

_Europa’s sea-form_] I can only explain these words by supposing that they allude to Europa, as represented in ancient gems and pictures, holding the bull by the horns, while he bears her over the sea. Vide, for instance, the engraving prefixed to Fischer’s ed. of Palæphatus, 1772.

# 357:

_acrostic_] i.e. crossed on his breast: perhaps some pun is intended here.

# 358:

_A pile_, &c.] This speech has no prefix in the old ed.

# 359:

_manable_] i.e. (I presume) bold, forward, ready.

# 360:

_trow_] See note, p. 26.

# 361:

_passion_] See note, p. 64.

# 362:

_paritor_] See note, p. 170.

# 363:

_Gud. Off_, &c.] Old ed. “_Gud._ Off boyes, Shrimpe what dost thou,” &c.

# 364:

_Shrimp_] Old ed. “Periwincle.”

# 365:

_sumner_] See note, p. 29.

# 366:

_paritor_] See note, p. 170.

# 367:

_Thrum_] Old ed. “Thum.”

# 368:

_And Tipple_, &c.] This part of Gerardine’s speech is given to “_Gud._” in the old ed.

# 369:

_colour_] i.e. pretence.

# 370:

_paritor_] See note, p. 170.

# 371:

_cucking-stool_] i.e. a stool or chair at the end of a long pole, in which scolds, &c. being placed, were plunged into some muddy pool or stinking pond: see Brand’s _Pop. Antiq._ vol. ii. p. 441, ed. 1813.

# 372:

_come_] Old ed. “comes.”

# 373:

_this gear cottens_] See notes, p. 150, 155.

# 374:

_colour_] See note, p. 184.

# 375:

_like_] See note, p. 113.

# 376:

_liver_] See note, p. 133.

# 377:

_and_] i.e. if.

# 378:

_doctor Doddipoll_] Is a ridiculous character in an old play called _The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll_, printed 1600; but the term is found long before that date: _doddipoll_ is dunderhead.

# 379:

_questuary_] i.e. profitable.

# 380:

_bawdies_] See the same miserable pun, vol. i. p. 245.

# 381:

_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”

# 382:

_Enter Maria above_] So the old ed.; and we must suppose that she is standing in a gallery: the first words of Gerardine’s speech on entering shew that this scene takes place _within_ the house: compare p. 159, where Glister appears “_above_,” _within the house_.

# 383:

_Give_] Old ed. “Giues.”

# 384:

_liberal_] i.e. licentious.

# 385:

_Deeply_] Old ed. “Deadly.”

# 386:

_the round_] Certain soldiers of inferior rank (only above the lancepesado), whose office was to _go round_ and inspect the sentinels, watches, and advanced guard, were called _gentlemen of the round_: see Whalley’s note in Gifford’s ed. of B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 85.

# 387:

_word_] i.e. watchword.

# 388:

_Do_] Old ed. “Doth.”

# 389:

_sun approaches_] Old ed. “sons aproache:” but I suspect that the whole line is corrupted, and that the epithet “blushing” belongs to “Aurora.”

# 390:

_towards_] See note, p. 177.

# 391:

_statute-caps_] i.e. citizens, who, according to a statute of Elizabeth in behalf of the trade of cappers, wore, on Sabbath days and holydays, caps of wool. See the notes of the commentators on "Well, better wits have worn plain _statute-caps_."— SHAKESPEARE’S _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, act V. sc. 2.

# 392:

_pedlar’s French_] i.e. unintelligible jargon. It is, properly, the cant language of vagabonds.

# 393:

_costards_] i.e. heads.

# 394:

_cotten_] See note, p. 150.

# 395:

_O, but_, &c.] Qy. ought this to be given to Gerardine?

# 396:

_Poppin_] So some copies of the old ed., others “_Exigent_:” though there is certainly but _one_ impression of this play: see p. 103. Middleton (who did not superintend the printing of it, see p. 107) had dismissed the name _Exigent_ for that of _Poppin_, or _vice versa_; and his uncorrected MS., where Dryfat was sometimes called by one name, sometimes by the other, was followed by the printer. This, however, is the only place in which the copies (at least those that I have seen) differ from each other with respect to these names; an alteration having been made here after part of the impression had been worked off. I have retained the name _Poppin_ throughout.

# 397:

_attone them_] _Attone_ or _atone_ is—reconcile, set them _at one_.—Old ed. “_attone them_ put them together:” but see notes, pp. 134, 162.

# 398:

_play Ambidexter_] So in Nash’s _Pierce Pennilesse_; “it is like inough he is _playing Ambidexter_ amongst them.” Sig. B, ed. 1595. The allusion is to Preston’s _Cambises King of Percia_, n. d. (written about the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign), in which the Vice is named _Ambidexter_. This “_lamentable tragedie mixed full of plesant mirth_” is reprinted in the first vol. of Hawkins’s _Origin of the English Drama_.

# 399:

_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.

# 400:

_cum nemini_, &c.]—“ea, quoniam nemini obtrudi potest, Itur ad me.” Ter. _And._ i. 5, 15.

# 401:

_Byrlady_] See note, p. 66.

# 402:

_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.

# 403:

_cotations_] i.e. quotations—memoranda of what she had heard at the meetings of the Family.

# 404:

_tagged point_] See note, vol. i. p. 244.

# 405:

_bewray all_, &c.] The same play on words occurs in vol. i. p. 294, where see note.

# 406:

_angel_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.

# 407:

_gilt’s_, &c.] _Gilt_ or _gelt_, i.e. gold, money.

# 408:

_five-finger at maw_] “For my game [at maw] stood, me thought, upon my last two tricks, when I made sure of the set, and yet lost it, hauing the varlet and _the fiue finger_ to make two tricks.” Chapman’s _May Day_, 1611, p. 76.—For some account of maw, see Singer’s _Researches into the Hist. of Playing Cards_, p. 258, sqq.

# 409:

_gear_] See note, p. 155.

# 410:

_Club._ _Silence!_] Old ed. has only the stage-direction, “_He cries_.”

# 411:

_apparance_] See note, p. 119.

# 412:

_narrow-ruffed_] Some copies of old ed. “_narrow_ rusty,” others “_narrow_ ruste:” yet there is but one impression of the play: see p. 103. Compare what Gudgeon says of mistress Purge’s “ruffs,” p. 131.

# 413:

_rout_] i.e. rabble.

# 414:

_Byrlady_] See note, p. 66.

# 415:

_edax rerum_] scil. _tempus._

# 416:

_now strike_, &c.] See p. 186.

# 417:

_cast about_] i.e. devise. Dryfat puns on the word _cast_, as meaning to vomit.

# 418:

_bewray_] See note, p. 197.

# 419:

_Kiss the book_] Is, perhaps, only a stage-direction.

# 420:

_sir-reverence_] See note, p. 175.

# 421:

_as if I knew you not_] Imitated from Falstaff’s “I knew ye, as well as he that made ye.” SHAKESPEARE’S _Henry IV.