ACTUS I.

AWay, I am asham'd of your proceedings, and seri­ously you have in this one act overthrown the repu­tation the world held of your wisdom.

Why Sir?

Can you not see your error? that having buried so good a wife not a moneth since; one that, to speak the truth, had all those excellencies which our books have onely feign'd to make a compleat Wife, most exactly in her in practice, and to marry a Girl of fifteen; one bred up i'th Court, that by all consonancy of reason, is like to cross your estate: why, one new Gown of hers when 'tis paid for, will eat you out the kee­ping of a bountiful Christmas. I am asham'd of you, for you shall make too dear a proof of it, I fear; that in the election of a Wife, as in a project of War, to erre but once, is to be undone for ever.

Good my Lord, I do beseech you let your better judge­ment go along with your reprehension.

So it does, and can finde nought to extenuate your fault, but your dotage: you are a man well sunck in years, and to graft such a yong blossom into your Stock, is the next way to make every carnal eye bespeak your injury. Troth I pity her too, she was not made to wither and go out by painted fires, that yields her no more heat, then to be lodg'd in some bleak Banquetting-house i'th dead of Winter, and what follows then? your shame, and the ruine of your children, and there's the end of a rash bargain.

With your pardon, that she is young is true; but that Discretion ha's gone beyond her years▪ and overtane those of ma­turer age, does more improve her goodness. I confess she was bred at Court, but so retiredly, that (as still the best in some place is to be learnt there) so her life did rectifie it self more by the Court Chappel, then by the Office of the Revels: best of all vertues are [Page] to be found at Court, and where you meet with writings contrary to this known truth, they are framed by men that never were so happy to be planted there to know it: for the difference between her youth and mine, if you will read a Matrons sober staidness in her eye, and all the other grave demeanor fitting the Governess of a House, you'l then confess there's no disparity between us.

Come, come, you read

what you would have her to be, not what she is. Oh Mr. Water Chamlet, you are welcome.

I thank your Lordship.

And what news stirring in Cheapside?

Nothing new there my Lord, but the Standard.

Oh that's a Monument your wives take great delight in; I do hear you are grown a mighty Purchaser, I hope shortly to finde you a continual resident upon the North Isle of the Exchange.

Where? with the Scotch-men?

No Sir, with the Aldermen.

Believe it, I am a poor Commoner.

Come, you are warm, and blest with a fair Wife.

There's it, her going brave, has the onely vertue to improve my credit in the Subsidy-book.

But I pray, how thrives your New Plantation of Silk­worms, those I saw last Summer at your garden?

They are remov'd sir.

Whether?

This winter my wife has remov'd them home to a fair Chamber, where divers Courtiers use to come and see them, and my wife carries them up; I think shortly, what with the store of Visitants, they'l prove as chargeable to me as the morrow after Simon and Jude, onely excepting the taking down and setting up again of my Glass-windows.

That a man of your estate should be so gripple-minded, and repining at his wives bounty!

There are no such ridiculous things i'th world, as those love money better then themselves; for though they have under­standing to know riches, and a minde to seek them, and a wit to finde them, and policy to keep them, and long life to possess them; yet commonly they have withal such a false sight, such bleard-eyes, all their wealth when it lies before them, does seem poverty, and such a one are you.

Good sir Francis, you have had sore eyes too, you have [Page] been a Gamester, but you have given it o're, and to redeem the vice belong'd to't, now you entertain certain farcels of silenc'd Mi­nisters, which I think will equally undo you▪ yet should these waste you but lenatively, your devising new Water-mill for recovery of drown'd Land, and certain dreams you have in Alchimy to finde the Philosophers-Stone, will certainly draw you to'th bottom: I speak freely sir, and would not have you angry, for I love you.

I am deeply in your Books for furnishing my late VVed­ding; have you brought a Note of the particulars?

No sir, at more leisure.

What comes the sum to?

For Tissue, Cloth of Gold, Velvets and Silks, about fif­teen hundred pounds.

Your money is ready.

Sir, I thank you.

And how does my two yong children, whom I have put to board with you?

Have you put forth two of your children already?

Twas my wifes discretion to have it so.

Come, tis the first principle in a Mother-in-law's Chop-Logick, to divide the Family, to remove from forth your sight the Object, that her cunning knows would dull her insinuation: had you been a kinde father, it would have been your practice every day to have preacht to these two young ones carefully, your late Wifes Funeral Sermon. L'as poor souls, are they turn'd so soon a grasing?

My Lord, they are plac'd where they shall be respected as mine own.

I make no question of it, good Mr. Cham­let. See here your eldest son, Franck Cressingham!

You have displeas'd and griev'd your Mother in Law, and till you have made submission and procur'd her pardon, Ile not know you for my son.

I have wrought her no offence sir, the difference grew about certain Jewels which my Mother (by your consent) lying upon her Death-bed, bequeath'd to her three Children; these I demanded, and being deny'd these, thought this sin of hers to violate so gentle a Request of her Predecessor, was an ill fore­going of a Mother in Laws harsh nature.

Sir, understand my will mov'd in her denial: You have Jewels to pawn, or sell them! Sirrah, I will have you as obedient to this woman as to my self, till then you are none of mine.

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Oh Mr. George, be rul'd, do any thing for a quiet Life, your Fathers peace of Life moves in it too. I have a Wife, when she is in the Sullens, like a Cooks dog that you see turn a wheel, she will be sure to go and hide her self out of the way Dinner and Supper: and in these Fits Bowe-bell is a still Organ to her, when we were married first, I well remember, her railing did appear but a vision, till certain scratches on my hand and face, assur'd me it was substantial. She's a creature uses to way lay my faults, and more desires to finde them out, then to have them amended: She has a Book, which I may truly nominate her Black­book, for she remembers in it in short Items all my misdemea­nors: As, Item such a day I was got fox'd with foolish Metheglin, in the company of certain Welsh Chapmen. Item, such a day be­ing at the Artillery-Garden, one of my neighbors in courtesie to salute me with his Musquet, set a fire my Fustian and Apes Bree­ches. Such a day I lost fifty pound in hugger mugger, at Dice at the Quest-house. Item I lent money to a Sea-Captain, on his bare Confound-him he would pay me again the next morning, and such like; for which she rail'd upon me when I should sleep, and that's, you know, intollerable; for indeed 'twill tame an Elephant.

Tis a shrewd vexation, but your discretion sir, does bear it out with a moneths sufferance.

Yes, and I would wish you to follow mine example.

Here's small comfort George from your Father. Here's a Lord whom I have long depended upon for employment, I will see if my suit will thrive better. Please your Lordship, you know I am a younger brother, and my Fate throwing me upon the late ill-starr'd Voyage to Guiana; failing of our golden hopes, I and my Ship addrest our selves to serve the Duke of Florence.

Yes, I understood so.

Who gave me both Encouragement and Means, to do him some small service 'gainst the Turk; being settled there both in his Pay and Trust, your Lordship minding to rigg forth a Ship to trade for the East-Indies, sent for me, and what your pro­mise was, if I would leave so great a fortune to become your ser­vant, your Letters yet can witness.

Yes, what follows?

That for ought I perceive, your former purpose is [Page] quite forgotten; I have stayed here two moneths, and finde your intended Voyage but a Dream, and the Ship you talk of as imagi­nary, as that the Astronomers point at in the clouds. I have spent two thousand Duckets since my arrival; men that have command, my Lord, at Sea, cannot live a shore without money.

Know sir, a late Purchase which cost me a great sum, has diverted me from my former purpose, besides Suits in Law do every Term so trouble me by Land, I have forgot going by Wa­ter. If you please to rank your self among my followers, you shall be welcome, and Ile make your means better than any Gentle­mans I keep.

Some twenty Mark a year! will that maintain Scarlet and Gold-lace, play at th▪ Ordinary, and Beavers at the Tavern?

I had thought to prefer you to have been Captain of a Ship that's bound for the Red-sea.

VVhat hinders it?

Why certainly the Mer­chants are possest you have been a Pyrate.

Say I were one still, if I were past the Line once, why methinks I should do them better service.

Pray forbear: here's a Gentleman whose business must in­gross me wholly.

What's he, dost thou know him?

A pox upon him, a very knave and rascal, that goes a hunting with the penal Statutes; and good for nought but to per­swade their Lords to rack their Rents, and give o're House-keep­ing; such Caterpillars may hang at their Lords ears, when better men are neglected.

What's his name?

Knaves-bee.

Knaves-bee!

One that deals in a tenth share about Projections: he and his partners when they have got a Suit once past the Seal, will so wrangle about partition, and sometimes they fall to'th eares about it, like your Fencers, that cudgel one another by Patent; you shall see him so terribly bedasht in a Michaelmas Term coming from Westminster, that you would swear he were lighted from a Horse-race: Hang him, hang him, he's a scurvey Informer, has more couzenage in him, then is in five travelling Lotteries. To feed a Kite with the carrion of this Knave when he's dead, and re­claim her, oh she would prove an excellent Hawk for tallon: has [Page] a fair Creature to his Wife too, and a witty rogue it is, and some men think this knave will wink at small faults; but honest George, what shall become of us now?

'Faith I am resolv'd to set up my rest for the Low-Countreys.

To serve there?

Yes certain.

There's thin commons, besides they have added one day more to'th Week then was in the Creation; Art thou valiant? Art thou valiant, George?

I may be, and I be put too't.

O never fear that, thou canst not live two hours after thy Landing without a quarrel. Thou must resolve to fight, or like a Sumner, thou'lt be bastanado'd at every Townes end. You shall have Gallants there as ragged as the Fall o'th Leaf, that live in Holland, where the finest Linnen's made, and yet wear ne're a Shirt: These will not onely quarrel with a new-commer when they are drunk, but they will quarrel with any man has means to be drunk afore them: Follow my council, George, thou shalt not go o're, wee'l live here i'th City.

But how?

How? why, as other Gallants do that feed high, and play copiously, yet brag they have but nine pound a year to live on: these have wit to turn rich Fools and Gulls into Quarter-days, that bring them in certain payment. I have a Project reflects upon y'on Mercer, Mr. Chamlet, shall put us into money.

What is't?

Nay, I will not stale it afore-hand, 'tis a new one: Nor cheating amongst Gallants may seem strange, Why a reaching Wit goes currant on th'Exchange.

O my Lord, I remember you and I were Students together at Cambridge; but believe me you went far beyond me.

When I studied there, I had so fantastical a brain, that like a Phelphare, frighted in winter by a Birding-piece, I could setle no where; here and there a little of every several Art, and away.

Now my wit, though it were more dull, yet I went slowly on, and as divers others, when I could not prove an excel­lent Scholar by a plodding patience, I attain'd to be a Petty Law­yer; and I thank my dulness for't, you may stamp in Lead any fi­gure, but in Oyl or Quick-silver nothing can be imprinted, for [Page] they keep no certain station.

O, you tax me well of irresolution; but say worthy friend, how thrives my weighty Suit which I have trusted to your friendly bosom? is there any hope to make me happy?

Tis yet questionable, for I have not broke the yce to her; an hour hence come to my house, and if it lye in man, be sure, as the Law Phrase says, I will create you Lord Paramount of your wishes.

O my best friend, and one that takes the hardest course i'th world, to make himself so. Sir, now Ile take my leave.

Nay good my Lord, my Wife is co­ming down.

Pray pardon me, I have business so importunes me o'th sudden, I cannot stay; deliver mine excuse, and in your ear this. Let not a fair woman make you forget your children.

What? are you taking leave too?

Yes, good Madam.

The rich Stuff which my Husband bought of you, the works of them are too common: I have got a Dutch Painter to draw Patterns, which Ile have sent to your Factors; as in Italy, at Florence and Ragusa, where these Stuffs are woven, to have pieces made for mine own wearing of a new invention.

You may Lady, but 'twill be somewhat chargeable.

Chargeable! what of that? if I live another year, Ile have my Agents shall lye for me at Paris, and at Venice, and at Validolet in Spain, for intelligence of all new Fashions.

Do Sweetest, thou deserv'st to be exquisite in all things.

The two Children to which you are Mother in Law, would be repaired too, 'tis time they had new clothing.

I pray fir, do not trouble me with them; they have a Father indulgent and careful of them.

I am sorry you made the motion to her.

Good friend, I have a suit to you.

Deerest Self▪ you most powerfully sway me.

That you would give o're this fruitless, if I may not say this idle, Study of Alchimy; why half your house looks like a [Page] Glass-house.

And the smoke you make is a worse enemy to good House-keeping, then Tobacco.

Should one of your glasses break, it might bring you to a Dead Palsie.

My Lord, your Quicksilver has made all your more so­lid gold and silver flie in fume.

Ile be ruled by you in any thing.

Go Saunder, break all the Glasses.

I flie to't.

Why noble friend, would you finde the true Philoso­phers-stone indeed, my good Houswifry should do it. You under­stand I was bred up with a great Courtly Lady, do not think all women minde gay clothes and riot, there are some Widows living have improv'd both their own fortunes and their childrens: would you take my counsel, I'de advise you to sell your Land.

My Land!

Yes, and the Mannor House up n't, tis rotten: Oh the new fashion'd Buildings brought from the Hague! 'tis stately. I have intelligence of a Purchase, and the Title sound, will for half the money you may sell yours for, bring you in more Rent then yours now yields you.

If it be so good a pennyworth, I need not sell my Land to purchase it, Ile procure money to do it.

Where sir?

Why, Ile take it up at Interest.

Never did any man thrive that purchast with use-mony.

How come you to know these thrifty Principles?

How? Why my Father was a Lawyer, and died in the Commission, and may not I by a natural instinct, have a reaching that way: there are on mine own knowledge some Divines daugh­ters infinitely affected with reading Controversies, and that some think has been a means to bring so many Suits into the Spiritual Court. Pray be advised, sell your Land, and purchase more: I knew a Pedlar by being Merchant this way, is become Lord of many Mannors: we should look to lengthen our Estates

as we do our Lives; and though I am young, yet I am confident your able constitution of body when you are past fourscore, shall keep you fresh till I arrive at the neglected year that I am past Childe-bearing, and yet ever there quickning our faint heats in a soft embrace, and kindling divine flames in fervent prayers, we [Page] may both go out together, and one Tomb quit our Executors the rites of two.

Oh you are so wise, and so good in every thing, I move by your direction.

She has caught him!

ACTUS. II.

HAve you drunk the Eggs and Muskadine I sent you?

No, they are too fulsom.

Away, y'are a fool, how shall I begin to break the matter to her? I do long, wife.

Long, sir!

Long infinitely. Sit down, there is a penitential motion in me, which if thou wilt but second, I shall be one of the happiest men in Europe.

What might that be?

I had last night one of the strangest Dreams; me thought I was thy Confessor, thou mine, and we reveal'd between us pri­vately how often we had wrong'd each others Bed since we were married.

Came you drunk to bed? there was a Dream with a witness.

No, no witness; I dreamt no body heard it but we two. This Dream wife, do I long to put in act, let us confess each other, and I vow what ever thou hast done with that sweet corps in the way of natural frailty, I protest most freely I will pardon.

Go sleep again; was there ever such a motion?

Nay sweet woman, and thou wilt not have me run mad with my desire, be perswaded to't.

Well, be it your pleasure.

But to answer truly.

O most sincerely.

Begin then; examine me first.

Why, I know not what to ask you.

Let me see, your father was a Captain; Demand of me how many dead Pays I am to answer for in the Muster-book of Wedlock, by the martial fault of borrowing from my neighbors?

Troth I can ask no such foolish questions

Why then open Consession I hope dear wife, will merit freer pardon: I sinn'd twice with my Laundress, and last Circuit there was at Banbury a She-chamberlain that had a spice of purity, [Page] but at last I prevailed over her.

O, you are an ungra­cious husband.

I have made a vow never to ride abroad but in thy company; Oh a little drink makes me clamber like a Monkey: now sweet wife, you have been an out-lyer too, which is best feed in the Forest, or in the Purlewes?

A foolish minde of you i' this.

Nay sweet Love, confess freely, I have given you the ex­ample.

Why you know I went last year to Sturbidge-Fair.

Yes.

And being in Cambridge, a hand­som Scholar, one of Emanuel Colledge, fell in love with me.

O you sweet-breath'd Monkey.

Go hang, you are so boisterous.

But did this Scholar shew thee his Chamber?

Yes.

And didst thou like him?

Like him! oh he had the most enticingst straw-colour'd Beard, a woman with black eyes would have lov'd him like Jeat: he was the finest man with a formal wit; and he had a fine dog that sure was whelpt i'th Colledge, for he understood Latine.

Pue wawe, this is nothing, till I know what he did in's Chamber.

He burnt Wormwood in't, to kill the Fleas i'th Rushes.

But what did he to thee there?

Some five and twenty years hence I may chance tell you. Fie upon you, what tricks? what crotchets are these? have you plac't any body behinde the Arras to hear my Confession? I heard one in England got a Divorce from's wife by such a trick; were I dispos'd now, I would make you as mad. You shall see me play the Changling.

No, no wife, you shall see me play the Changling: hadst thou confest, this other Suit Ile now prefer to thee, would have been dispatcht in a trice.

And what's that sir?

Thou wilt wonder at it four and twenty years longer then nine days.

I would very fain hear it.

There is a Lord o'th Court, upon my credit a most dear, honorable Friend of mine, that mustlye with thee. Do you laugh? 'tis not come to that, you'l laugh when you know who 'tis.

Are you stark mad?

On my Religion I have past my word for't, 'tis the Lord Beaufort, thou art made happy for ever, the generous and bounti­ful Lord Beaufort: you being both so excellent, 'twere pity if such [Page] rare Pieces should not be conferr'd, and sampled together.

Do you mean seriously?

As I hope for prefer­ment.

And can you loose me thus?

Loose you! I shall love you the better: why, what's the viewing any Wardrobe, or Jewel-house, without a companion to confer their likings? yet now I view thee well, methinks thou art a rare Monopoly, and great pity one man should enjoy thee.

This is pretty.

Let's divorce our selves so long, or think I am gone to'th' Indies, or lye with him when I am asleep, for some Familists of Amsterdam will tell you may be done with a safe conscience: Come you wanton, what hurt can this do to you? I protest nothing so much as to keep company with an old woman has sore eyes: no more wrong then I do my Beaver when I try it thus. Look, this is all; smooth, and keeps fashion still.

You are one of the basest fellows.

I lookt for chiding, I do make this a kinde of fortitude the Romans never dreamt of, and 'twere known, I should be spoke and writ of when I am rotten, for 'tis beyond example.

But I pray resolve me: suppose this done, could you ever love me after?

I protest I never thought so well of thee, till I knew he took a fancy to thee; like one that has variety of choice meat be­fore him, yet has no stomach to 't until he hear another praise: Hark, my Lord is coming.

Possible.

And my preferment comes along with him; be wise, mind your good, and to confute all reason in the world which thou canst urge against it when 'tis done, we will be married again wife, which some say is the onely Supersedeas about Limehouse, to remove Cuc­koldry.

Come, are you ready to attend me to the Court?

Yes my Lord.

Is this fair one, your wife?

At your Lordships service; I will look up some Writings, and return presently.

To see and the base fellow do not leave's alone too!

Tis an excellent habit this, where were you born, Sweet?

I am a Suffolk woman, my Lord.

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Believe it, every Countrey you breath on, is the sweeter for you: Let me see your hand. The Case is loth to part with the Jewel: Fairest one, I have skill in Palmestry.

Good my Lord, what do you finde there?

In good earnest I do finde written here, all my good for­tune lies in your hand.

You'l keep a very bad House then, you may see by the smalness of the Table.

Who is your Sweet-heart?

Sweet-heart!

Yes, come, I must sift you to know it.

I am a Sieve too course for your Lordships Manchet.

Nay, pray you tell me, for I see your husband is an un­handsom fellow.

Oh my Lord, I took him by weight, not fashion: Gold­smiths Wives taught me that way of bargain, and some Ladies swerve not to follow the example.

But will you not tell me who is your private friend?

Yes, and you'l tell me who is yours.

Shall I shew you her?

Yes, when will you?

Instantly, look you there you may see her.

Ile break the glass, 'tis now worth nothing.

Why?

You have made it a flattering one.

I have a Summer-house for you; a fine place to flatter solitariness: will you come and lye there?

No my Lord.

Your husband has promis'd me: will you not?

I must wink I tell you, or say nothing.

So, Ile kiss you and wink too,

Midnight is Cupids Holyday.

By this time 'tis concluded: Will you go my Lord?

I leave with you my best wishes till I see you.

This now (if I may borrow our Lawyers phrase) is my Wifes Imparlance, at her next appearance she must answer your Declaration.

You follow it well, sir.

Did I not know my Husband of so base contemptible na­ture, I should think 'twere but a trick to try me; but it seems they are both in wicked earnest; and methinks upon the sudden I have a great minde to loath this scurvy unhandsome way my Lord has tane to compass me: why 'tis for all the world as if he should come [Page] to steal some Apricocks my Husband kept for's own Tooth, and climb up upon his head and shoulders. Ile go to him, he will put me into brave Clothes, and rich Jewels; 'twere a very ill part in me not to go, his Mercer and his Goldsmith else might curse me; and what Ile do there, a my troth yet I know not; Women though puzzel'd with these subtile deeds, May, as i'th Spring, pick Physick out of weeds.

I do lack Content Sir, Content I lack: have you or your worshipful Master here, any Content to sell?

If Content be a Stuff to be sold by the Yard, you may have content at home, and never go abroad for't.

Do, cut me three yards, Ile pay for 'em.

There's all we have i'th Shop; we must know what you'l give for 'em first.

Why Rachel, sweet Rachel, my bosom Rachel, how didst thou get forth? thou wert here sweet Rac. within this hour, even in my very heart.

Away, or stay still, Ile away from thee, one Bed shall never hold us both agen, nor one roof cover us: didst thou bring home

What ist you lack, you lack, you lack?

Peace Bandog, Bandog, give me leave to speak, or I'le

Shall I not follow my Trade? I'm bound to't, and my Master bound to bring me up in't.

Peace, good George, give her anger leave, thy Mistriss will be quiet presently.

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Quiet! I defie thee and quiet too: Quiet thy Bastards thou hast brought home.

What ist you lack, you lack? &c.

Death, give me an Ell, has one bawling Cur rais'd up an­other? two dogs upon me, and the old Bear-ward will not succour me, I'le stave 'em off my self: give me an Ell, I say.

Give her not an Inch, Master, shee'l take two Ells if you do.

Peace George and Ralph, no more words I charge you; and Rachel, sweet Wife, be more temperate, I know your tongue speaks not by the rule and guidance of your heart, when you pro­claim the pretty children of my vertuous and noble Kinswoman, whom in life you knew above my praises reach, to be my bastards; this is not well, although your Anger did it, pray chide your An­ger for it.

Sir, sir, your gloss of Kinswoman cannot serve turn, 'tis stale, and smells too ranck, though your shop wares you vent with your deceiving lights, yet your Chamber Stuff shall not pass so with me; I say, and I will prove.

What ist you lack?

Why George, I say.

Letcher I say, I'le be divorc't from thee, I'le prove 'em thy bastards, and thou insufficient.

What said my angry Cousin to you sir? that we were ba­stards?

I hope she meant not us.

No, no, my pretty Cousins, she meant George and Ralph; rage will speak any thing, but they are ne're the worse.

Yes indeed forsooth she spoke to us, but chiefly to Ralph, because she knows he has but one stone.

No more of that if you love me, George, this is not the way to keep a quiet house.

Truly Sir, I would not for more treasure then ever I saw yet, be in your house a cause of discord.

And do you think I would, Sister?

No indeed, Ned.

Why did you not speak for me with you then, and said we could not have done so?

No more sweet Cousins now: Speak George, Customers approach.

Is the Barber prepar'd?

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With ignorance enough to go through with it, so neer I am to him, we must call Cousins, would thou wert as sure to hit the Taylor.

If I do not steal away handsomly, let me never play the Taylor agen.

What ist you lack? &c.

Good Sattins sir.

The best in Europe, sir; here's a piece worth a Piece every yard of him, the King of Naples wears no better Silk; mark his gloss, he dazles the eye to look upon him.

Is he not gum'd?

Gum'd! he has neither mouth nor tooth, how can he be gum'd?

Very pretty.

An especial good piece of Silk, the Worm never spun a finer thread, believe it, sir.

Gascoyn, you have some skill in it.

Your Taylor, sir?

Yes sir.

A good piece, sir; but let's see more choice.

Taylor, drive thorow, you know your bribes.

Mum: he bestows forty pounds, if I say the word.

Strike through, there's poundage for you then.

I marry! I like this better, what sayst thou, Gascoyn?

A good piece indeed, sir.

The Great Turk has worse Sattin at's elbow, then this sir.

The price?

Look on the mark, George.

O. Souse and P, by my facks, sir.

The best sort then, sixteen a yard, nothing to be bated.

Fie sir, fifteen's too high, yet so, for how many yards will serve for my Sute, sirrah?

Nine yards, you can have no less, Sir Andrew.

But I can sir, if you please to steal less; I had but eight in my last Sute.

You pinch us too neer in faith, Sir Andrew.

Yet can you pinch out a false pair of Sleeves to a Freezado Dublet.

No sir, some Purses and Pin-pillows per­haps: A Taylor pays for his kissing that ways.

Well sir, eight yards, eight fifteens I give, and cut it.

I cannot truly, sir.

My Master must be no Subsidy-man sir, if he take such fifteens.

I am at highest sir, if you can take money.

Well sir, I'le give you the buying once, I hope to gain it in your custom: want you nothing else, sir?

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Not at this time, sir.

Indeed but you do, Sir Andrew, I must needs deliver my Ladies Message to you, she enjoyn'd me by Oath to do it, she commanded me to move you for a New Gown.

Sirrah, Ile break your head, if you motion it agen.

I must endanger my self for my Lady, sir: you know she's to go to my Lady Trenchmores Wedding, and to be seen there without a New Gown, she'l have ne're an eye to be seen there, for her fingers in 'em: Nay by my fack, sir, I do not think she'l go, and then the cause known, what a discredit 't will be to you!

Not a word more, Goodman Snip-snapper for your ears: What comes this to, sir?

Six pound, sir.

There's your money: will you take this, and be gone, and about your business presently?

Troth Sir, Ile see some Stuffs for my Lady first, Ile tell her at least I did my good will; a fair piece of Cloth of Silver, pray you now.

Or Cloth of Gold if you please sir, as rich as ever the Sophy wore.

You are the arrantest villain of a Taylor, that ever sat cross-leg'd: what do you think a Gown of this Stuff will come to?

Why say it be forty pound sir: what's that to you? three thousand a year I hope will maintain it.

It will sir, very good, you were best be my Overseer: say I be not furnisht with money, how then?

A very fine excuse in you, which place of ten now will you send me for a hundred pound, to bring it presently?

Sir, sir, your Taylor perswades you well, 'tis for your credit, and the great content of your Lady.

Tis for your content sir, and my charges: Never think Goodman False-stitch to come to the Mercers with me agen; pray will you see if my Cousin Sweetball the Barber (he's neerest hand) be furnisht, and bring me word instantly.

I flie, sir.

You may flie sir, you have clipt some bodies wings for it to piece out your own; An arrant thief you are.

Indeed he speaks honestly and justly, sir.

You expect some gain sir, there's your cause of love.

Surely I do a little, sir.

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And what might be the price of this?

This is thirty a yard; but if you'l go to forty, here's a Non pareile.

So, there's a matter of forty pound for a Gown Cloth.

Thereabouts, sir; why sir, there are far short of your means that wear the like.

Do you know my means, sir?

By over-hearing your Taylor, sir, three thousand a year: but if you'd have a Petticoat for your Lady, here's a stuff.

Are you another Taylor, Sirrah? here's a knave, what are you?

You are such another Gentleman; but for the Stuff Sir, 'tis L. SS. and K; for the turn stript a purpose, a yard and a quarter broad too, which is the just depth of a womans Petticoat.

And why stript for a Petticoat?

Because if they abuse their Petticoats, there are abuses stript, then 'tis taking them up, and they may be stript and whipt too.

Very ingenious.

Then it is likewise stript standing, between which is dis­cover'd the open part, which is now call'd the Placket.

Why, was it ever call'd otherwise?

Yes: while the word remain'd pure in his original, the Latine tongue, who have no Ks, it was call'd the Placet, a Placendo, A thing, or place, to please.

Better and worse still: Now sir, you come in haste, what says my Cousin?

Protest sir, he's half angry, that either you should think him unfurnisht, or not furnisht for your use, there's a hun­dred pound ready for you; he desires you to pardon his coming, his folks are busie, and his wife trimming a Gentleman, but at your first approach the money wants but telling.

He would not trust you with it: I con him thanks, for that he knows what Trade you are of: well sir, pray cut him pat­terns, he may in the mean time know my Ladies liking, let your man take the Pieces whole, with the lowest prices, and walk with me to my Cousins.

With all my heart, sir: Ralph, your Cloak, and go with the Gentleman, look you give good measure.

Look you carry a good yard with you.

The best i'th' shop sir, yet we have none bad: you'l have the Stuff for the Petticoat too?

No sir, the Gown onely.

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By all means sir: Not the Petticoat? that were Holy-day upon Working-day yfaith.

You are so forward for a knave, sir.

'Tis for your credit and my Ladies both, I do it sir.

Your man is trusty sir?

O sir, we keep none but those we dare trust sir. Ralph, have a care of light gold.

I warrant you sir, Ile take none.

Come sirrah: Fare you well sir.

Pray know my shop another time, sir.

That I shall sir, from all the shops i'th Town; 'tis the Lamb in Lomberd-street.

A good mornings work, sir; if this Custom would but last long, you might shut up your shop and live privately.

O George. But here's a grief that takes away all the gains and joy of all my thrift.

What's that, sir?

Thy Mistriss, George: her frowardness sowres all my comfort.

Alas sir, they are but Squibs and Crackers, they'l soon die; you know her flashes of old.

But they flie so neer me, that they burn me; George they are as ill as Musquets charged with Bullets.

She has discharg'd her self now sir, you need not fear her.

No man can love without his affliction, George.

As you cannot without my Mistriss.

Right, right, there's harmony in Discords: this Lamp of Love while any Oyl is left, can never be extinct, it may (like a snuff) wink and seem to die, but up he will agen and shew his head; I cannot be quiet George, without my wife at home.

And when she's at home, you're never quiet I'm sure, a fine life you have on't: well sir, Ile do my best to finde her, and bring her back if I can.

Do honest George, at Knaves-bee's house, that Varlots, there's her haunt and harbour, who enforces a Kinsman on her, and calls him Cousin:

Restore her George, to ease this heart that's vext,

The best new Sute that e're thou wore'st is next.

I thank you afore-hand sir.

Were it of greater moment then you speak of (noble Sir) [Page] I hope you think me sufficient, and it shall be effectually performed.

I could wish your wife did not know it, Cuz. Womens tongues are not always tuneable, I may many ways requite it.

Believe me, she shall not sir, which will be the hardest thing of all.

Pray you dispatch him then.

With the celerity a man tells Gold to him.

He hits a good comparison! give my Waste-good your Stuffs, and go with my Cousin sir, he'l presently dispatch you.

Yes Sir.

Come with me youth, I am ready for you in my more private chamber.

Sirrah go you shew your Lady the Stuffs, and let her choose her colour, away, you know whether: Boy, prithee lend me a Brush i'th mean time: Do you tarry all day now.

That I will sir, and all night too, e're I come agen.

Here's a Brush sir.

A good childe.

What Toby.

Anon sir.

Why when, goodman Picklock?

I must attend my Master, sir: I come.

Do pretty Lad: so, take water at Cole-harbor, An easie Mercer, and an innocent Barber.

So friend, Ile now dispatch you presently: Boy, reach me my Dis-membring Instrument, and let my Cauterize be ready; and hark you Snipsnap.

I Sir.

See if my Luxinium, my Fomentation be provided first, and get my Rowlers, Bolsters, and Pleggets arm'd.

Nay good sir dispatch my business first; I should not stay from my shop.

You must have a little patience sir, when you are a Patient; if Prepusium be not too much perisht, you shall loose but little by it, believe my Art for that.

What's that sir?

Marry if there be exulceration between Prepusium and Glannce, by my faith the whole Penis may be endan­ger'd as far as Os pubes.

What's this you talk on, sir?

If they be gangren'd once, Testiculi, Vesica, and all may run to mortification.

What a pox does this Barber talk on?

O fie youth, Pox is no word of Art, Morbus Gallicus, or Neo­politanus had bin well: Come friend, you must not be nice; open [Page] your griefs freely to me.

Why sir, I open my grief to you, I want my money.

Take you no care for that, your worthy Cousin has given me part in hand, and the rest I know he will upon your recovery, and I dare take his word.

's Death, where's my Ware?

Ware! that was well, the word is cleanly, though not artful; your Ware it is that I must see.

My Tobine, and Cloth of Tissue?

You will neither have Tissue nor Issue, if you linger in your malady: better a Member cut off, then endanger the whole Microcosm.

Barber, you are not mad?

I do begin to fear you are subject to Subeth, unkindly sleeps, which have bred opilations in your brain; take heed, the Simptoma will follow, and this may come to Phrensie: begin with the first cause, which is the pain of your Member.

Do you see my Yard, Barber?

Now you come to the purpose, 'tis that I must see indeed.

You shall feel it sir: Death, give me my fifty pounds, or my Ware agen, or I'le measure out your Anatomy by the yard.

Boy, my Cauterizing-Iron red hot.

'Tis here, sir.

If you go further, I take my Dis-membring Knife.

Where's the Knight your Cousin? the Thief, and the Taylor with my Cloth of Gold and Tissue?

The Gentleman that sent away his man with the Stuffs, is gone a pretty while since, he has carried away our new Brush.

O that Brush hurts my hearts side: Cheated! cheated! he told me that your Virga had a Burning-feaver.

Pox on your Virga, Barber.

And that you would be bashful, and asham'd to show your head.

I shall so hereafter, but here it is, you see yet my head, my hair, and my wit, and here are my heels that I must shew to my Master, if the Cheaters be not found; and Barber, provide thee Plaisters, I will break thy head with every Bason under the Pole.

ACTUS III.

YOu're welcome Mistriss (as I may speak it) but my Lord will give it a sweeter Emphasis: Ile give him knowledge of you.

Good sir stay, methinks it sounds sweetest upon your tongue, Ile wish you to go no further for my welcome.

Mine! it seems you never heard good Musick, that com­mend a Bag-pipe: hear his harmony.

Nay good now, let me borrow of your patience, Ile pay you agen before I rise to morrow, if it please you.

What would you forsooth?

Your company sir.

My attendance you should have Mistriss, but that my Lord expects it, and 'tis his due.

And must be paid upon the hour! that's too strict, any time of the day will serve.

Alas 'tis due every minute, and paid, 'tis due agen, or else I forfeit my recognizance, the Cloth I wear of his.

Come, come, pay it double at another time, and 'twil be quitted, I have a little use of you.

Of me, forsooth, small use can be made of me: if you have suit to my Lord, none can speak-better for you then you may your self.

Oh, but I am bashful.

So am I in troth, Mistriss.

Now I remember me, I have a toy to deliver your Lord that's yet unfinisht, and you may further me, pray you your hands, while I unwinde this Skain of Gold from you, 'twill not detain you long.

You winde me into your service prettily; with all the haste you can, I beseech you.

If it tangle not, I shall soon have done.

No, it shall not tangle if I can help it, forsooth.

If it do I can help it, fear not, this thing of long length you shall see I can bring you to a bottom.

I think so too, if it be not bottomless, this length will reach it

It becomes you finely, but I forewarn you, and re­member it your enemy gain not this advantage of you, you are his prisoner then; for look you, you are mine now, my captive ma­nacled, [Page] I have your hands in bondage.

'Tis a good Lesson, Mistriss, and I am perfect in it, another time I'le take out this, and learn another, pray you release me now.

I could kiss you now spite of your teeth, if it please me.

But you could not, for I could bite you with the spite of my teeth, if it plea­ses me.

Well, I'le not tempt you so far, I shew it but for rudiment.

When I go a wooing, I'le think on't agen.

In such an hour I learnt it, say I should (in recompence of your hands courtesie) make you a fine Wrist­favor of this Gold, with all the letters of your Name imbost on a soft Tress of Hair, which I shall cut from mine own Fillet, whose ends should meet and close in a fast True-love-knot, would you wear it for my sake, sir?

I think not, truly Mistriss, my Wrists have enough of this Gold already, would they were rid on't yet: pray yuo have done, in troth I'm weary.

And what a vertue is here exprest in you, which had layn hid but for this tryal; weary of Gold, sir! Oh that the close Engrossers of this Treasure could be so free to put it off of hand, what a new mended world would here be! It shows a generous condition in you, in sooth I think I shall love you dearly for't.

But if they were in prison, as I am, they would be glad to buy their freedom with it.

Surely no, there are that rather then release this dear companion, do lye in prison with it, yes, and will die in prison too.

'Twere pity but the hangman did enfranchise both.

Selenger, where are you?

Eene here, my Lord. Mistriss, pray you my liberty, you hinder my duty to my Lord.

Nay sir, one courtesie shall serve us both at this time; you'r busie I perceive, when your leisure next serves you I would employ you.

You must pardon me, my Lord, you see I am entangled here: Mistriss I protest Ile break prison, if you free me not, take you no notice?

Oh cry your Honor mercy, you are now at liberty, sir.

And I'm glad on't, I'le ne're give both my hands at once agen to a womans command, I'le put one finger [Page] in a hole rather.

Leave us.

Free leave have you, my Lord, so I think you may have: filthy Beauty, what a white witch thou art!

Lady, y'are welcome.

I did believe it from your Page, my Lord. Beau. Your husband sent you to me.

He did my Lord, with duty and commends unto your Honor, beseeching you to use me very kindly, by the same token your Lordship gave him grant of a New Lease of Threescore pounds a year, which he and his should forty years enjoy.

The token's true, and for your sake Lady, 'tis likely to be better'd, not alone the Lease, but the Fee-simple may be his and yours.

I have a suit unto your Lordship too, on­ly my self concerns.

'T will be granted sure, tho' it out-value thy husbands.

Nay, 'tis small charge, onely your good will, and good word, my Lord.

The first is thine confirm'd, the second then cannot stay long behinde.

I love your Page, sir.

Love him! for what?

Oh, the great wisdoms that our Grandsires had! do you ask me reason for't? I love him, because I like him, sir.

My Page!

In mine eye, hee's a most delicate youth, but in my heart a thing that it would bleed for.

Either your eye is blinded, or your remembrance broken: call to minde wherefore you came hither, Lady.

I do my Lord, for love, and I am in profoundly.

You trifle sure, do you long for unripe fruit? 'twill breed diseases in you.

Nothing but worms in my belly, and there's a Seed to expel them; in mellow falling fruit I finde no rellish.

'Tis true, the youngest Vines yields the most Clusters, but the old ever the sweetest Grapes.

I can taste of both sir; but with the old I am the soo­nest cloid: the green keep still an edge on appetite.

Sure you are a common creature.

Did you doubt it, wherefore came I hither else? Did you think that honesty onely had bin immur'd for you, and I should bring it as an Offertorie unto your shrine of Lust? As it was, my Lord, 'twas meant to you, had not the slippery Wheel of Fancy turn'd when I beheld your Page; nay had I seen another before [Page] him in mine eyes better grace, he had bin fore-stal'd; but as it is, (all my strength cannot help) beseech you your good will, and good word, my Lord, you may command him, sir; if not affection, yet his body, and I desire but that, do't, and I'le command my self your prostitute.

Y'are a base strumpet, I succeed my Page!

Oh that's no wonder, my Lord, the ser­vant oft tastes to his Master of the daintiest Dish he brings to him; beseech you, my Lord.

Y'are a bold Mischief, and to make me your Spokes-man; your procurer to my Servant.

Do you shrink at that? why, you have done worse without the sense of ill, with a full free conscience of a Libertine: Judge your own sin, was it not worse with a damn'd Broking-fee to a corrupt Husband, state him a Pandor to his own wife, by vertue of a Lease made to him and your Bastard issue, could you get 'em: what a degree of baseness call you this? 'Tis a poor Sheep-steal provok'd by want, compar'd unto a Capital Traitor; the Master to his servant may be recompenc't, but the husband to his wife never.

Your husband shall smart for this.

Hang him, do, you have brought him to deserve it, bring him to the punishment, there I'le joyn with you: I loath him to the Gallowes, hang your Page too, one Mourning-Gown shall serve for both of them: This trick hath kept mine honesty secure, best Soldiers use policy, the Lions skin Becomes not the body when 'tis too great, But then the Foxes may sit close, and neat.

Now Flesh-hook, use thy talon, set upon his right shoulder; thy Sergeant Counter-buff at the left, grasp in his Jugulars, and then let me alone to tickle his Diaphragma.

You are sure he has no protection, sir?

A protection to cheat and cozen! there was never any granted to that purpose.

I grant you that too, sir, but that use has hin made of 'em.

Marry has there sir, how could else so many broken Bankrupts play up and down by their Creditors noses, and we dare not touch 'em?

That's another Case, Counter buff, there's priviledge to cozen; but here cozenage went before, and there's no priviledge [Page] for that; to him boldly, I will spend all the Sizzars in my shop, but I'le have him snapt.

Well sir, if he come within the length of large Mace once, wee'l teach him to cozen.

Marry hang him, teach him no more cozenage, he's too perfect in't already; go gingerly about it, lay your Mace on gin­gerly, and spice him soundly.

He's at the Tavern, you say?

At the Man in the Moon, above stairs, so soon as he comes down, and the Bush left at his back, Ralph is the dog behinde him: he watches to give us notice, be ready then my dear Blood-hounds, you shall deliver him to Newgate, from thence to the Hang-man; his body I will beg of the Sheriffs, for at the next Lecture I am likely to be the Master of my Anatomy, then will I vex every vein about him, I will finde where his Disease of Cozenage lay, whether in the Vertebrae, or in Oscox▪Index, but I guess I shall finde it descend from Humore, through the Thoric, and lye just at his fin­gers ends.

Be in readiness, for hee's coming this way, alone too; stand to't like Gentleman and Yeoman, so soon as he is in sight, I'le go fetch my Master.

I have had a Conquassition in my Cerebrum ever since the disaster, and now it takes me agen, if it turn to a Megrum, I shall hardly abide the sight of him.

My Action of Defamation shall be clapt on him too, I will make him appear to't in the shape of a white Sheet all embroi­dered over with Peccavi's: look about, I'le go fetch my Master.

I Arrest you, sir.

Ha qui va la, que penses vous faire Messieurs, me voles vous derober, ie nay point d'argent: Je suis vn pouure Gentil­homme Francois.

Whoop! pray you sir speak English you did when you bought Cloth of Gold at six Nihils a yard, when Ralphs Preputium was exulcerated.

Que voules vous, me voules vous tuer; Le Francois ne sont point enemis: voila ma bource, que voles vous d'avantage.

Is not your name Franklin, sir?

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Je na'y point de Joiaux que cestui ci; et cest a Monsieur L'ambasadeur, il m'en voie a ces afaires et vous enpaiches mon ser­vice.

Sir, we are mistaken for ought I perceive.

So, so, you have caught him, that's well: how do you sir?

Vous sembles estre vn homme courtois, Je vous prie en­tendes mes affaires: il y a ici deux ou erois Quenailles qui m'ont asseige vn pouure estranger, qui ne leur ay fait nul mal, ny donner mauuaisse parrolle, ny tirer mon espet; l'un me prend par vne es­paule, et me frape deux Liure peisant; L'autre me tire par le bras, il par le ie ne scay quoy: Je leur ay donne ma bource, et si ne me veuleut point Laiser aller; que feray ie Monsieur?

This is a French-man it seems, sirs.

We can finde no other in him, sir, and what that is we know not.

He's very like the man we seek for, else my lights go false.

In your shop they may sir, but here they go true: this is he.

The very same sir, as sure as I am Ralph, this is the Ras­cal.

Sir, unless you will absolutely challenge him the man, we dare not proceed further.

I fear we are too far already.

I know not what to say to't.

Bon iour, bon iour, Gentilhommes.

How now! more News from France?

Ceste femme ici est de mon pais, Madame ie vous prie Leur dire mon pais, il mont retarge Je ne scay pour quoy.

Estes vous de France Monsieur?

Madame vay est, que ie les ay trompes, et suis areste, et n'ay nul moien de chaper quan chansant mon Language▪ aides moy en cest affaire: Je vous cognois bien, ou vous tenes vn Bordeau; vous et les vostre en seres de mieulx.

Laises faire a moy; Este vous de Lion dites vous.

De Lion, ma chere Damme.

Ma Cozin! Je suis bien aise de vous voire en bonne disposition?

Man Cozin!

This is a French-man sure.

If he be, 'tis the likest an English-man that ever I saw, all [Page] his dimensions, proportions! had I but the dissecting of his heart, in capsula cordis, could I finde it now; for a French-mans heart is more quassitive and subject to tremor, then an English-mans.

Stay, wee'l further enquire of this Gentlewoman. Mi­striss, if you have so much English to help us with (as I think you have, for I have long seen you about London) pray tell us, and truly tell us, Is this Gentleman a natural French-man, or no?

Ey begar, de French-man, borne a Lyon, my Cozin.

Your Cousin? if he be not your Cousin, he's my Cousin, sure.

Ey konoshe his Pere, what you call his Fadre? he sell Poisons.

Sell poisons, his father was a Potycarry then.

No, no, Poisons, what you call, Fish, fish?

Oh, he was a Fishmonger.

Ouy, ouy.

Well, well, we are mistaken I see, pray you so tell him, and request him not to be offended; an honest man may look like a knave, and be ne're the worse for't, the error was in our eyes, and now we finde it in his tongue.

Je saieray encore vne fois Monsieur Cozin, pour vostre sauuete, ales vous en; vostre Liberte est sufisant: Je gaineray le reste pour mon devoir, et vous aures vostre part a mon Escole: J'ay vne fillie qui parle vn peu Francois, elle conversera avec vous a la Fleur de Lice en Turnbull-street: Mon Cozin aies soin de vous mesme, et trompes ces Ignorans.

Cozin pour L'amour de vous, et principallement pour moy, ie suis content de m'en aller, Je trouueray vostre Escole, et si voz Escoliers me sont agreable, ie tireray a L'espe' seule, et si d'auenture ie le rompe, Je paiera diz souls et pour ce vieulx Foll, ee ce deux Quenailles, ce Poullens Snip snap, et L'autre bonnet rond, Je les voiray pendre premier que ie les voie.

So, so, she has got him off; but I perceive much anger in his countenance still: and what says he, Madam?

Moosh, moosh anger, but ey conosh heere Lodging, shall coole him very well, Dere is a Kinse-womans can moosh allay heere heat and heere spleene, she shall do for my saka, and he no trobla you.

Look, there is earnest, but thy reward's behinde: Come to my shop, the Holy Lamb in Lombard-street, thou hast one friend more then e're thou hadst.

Tanck u Monsieur, shall visit u: ey make all pacisie: [Page] a vostre service treshumbement, tree, four, five fool of u.

What's to be done now?

To pay us for our pains sir, and better reward us, that we may be provided against further danger that may come upon's for false imprisonment.

All goes false I think: what do you neighbor Sweetball?

I must Phlebotomize sir, but my Almanack says the Sign is in Taurus; I dare not cut my own throat, but if I finde any pre­sident that ever Barber hang'd himself, Ile be the second example.

This was your ill Luxinium, Barber, to cause all to be cheated.

What say you to us, sir?

Good friends, come to me at a calmer hour, my sorrows lye in heaps upon me now; what you have, keep, if further trou­ble follow Ile take it on me; I would be prest to death.

Well sir, for this time we'l leave you.

I will go with you, Officers, I will walk with you in the open street though it be a scandal to me; for now I have no care of my credit, a Cacokenny is run all over me.

What shall we do now, Ralph?

Faith I know not, sir: here comes George, it may be he can tell you.

And there I look for more disaster still, yet George ap­peares in a smiling countenance. Ralph, home to the shop, leave George and I together.

I am gone, sir.

Now George, what better News Eastward? all goes ill to'ther way.

I bring you the best news that ever came about your ears in your life, sir.

Thou putst me in good comfort, George.

My Mistriss, your wife, will never trouble you more.

Ha? never trouble me more: of this, George, may be made a sad construction, that phrase we sometimes use when death makes the separation, I hope it is not so with her, George?

No sir, but she vows she 'l never come home agen to you, so you shall live quietly, and this I took to be very good news, sir.

The worst that could be this, candid poison; I love her, George, and I am bound to do so, the tongues bitterness must not separate the united souls: 'twere base and cowardly for all to yield [Page] to the small Tongues assault: the whole building must not be ta­ken down, for the repairing of a broken window.

I but this is a Principal, sir: the truth is, she will be di­vorc't, she says, and is laboring with her Cousin Knave (what do you call him?) I have forgotten the latter end of his name.

Knaves-bee, George.

I Knave, or Knaves-bee, one I took it to be.

Why neither rage, nor envy, can make a cause, George.

Yes sir, not onely at your person, but she shoots at your shop too, she says you vent Ware that is not warrantable, brayded Ware, and that you give not London measure: women you know look for more then a bare yard: and then you keep children in the name of your own, which she suspects came not in at the right door

She may as well suspect immaculate Truth to be cursed Falshood.

I but if she will, she will, she's a woman sir.

'Tis most true, George: well, that shall be redrest, my Cousin Cressingham must yield me pardon, the children shall home agen, and thou shalt conduct 'em, George.

That done, Ile be bold to venter once more for her re­covery, since you cannot live at liberty; but because you are a rich Citizen, you will have your Chain about your neck; I think I have a device will bring you together bi'th years agen, and then look to 'em as well as you can.

Oh George, amongst all my heavy Troubles, this is the groaning weight; but restore my Wife.

Although you ne're lead hour of quiet life.

I will endeavor't George, I'le lend her Will A power and rule to keep all husht and still; Eat we all Sweet-meats we are soonest rotten.

A Sentence! pity 't should have bin forgotten. Exeunt.

ACTUS IV.

WHere's Mr. Steward?

Within: what are you, sir?

A Surveyor, sir.

And an Almanack-maker, I take it: Can you tell me what foul weather [Page] is toward?

Marry the fowlest weather is, that your Land is flying away.

A most terrible prognostication! All the resort, all the business to my house is to my Lady and Mr. Steward; whilest Sir Francis stands for a Cypher: I have made away my self and my power, as if I had done it by Deed of Gift: here comes the Comp­troller of the Game.

What, are you yet resolved to translate this unneces­sary Land into ready money?

Translate it?

The Conveyances are drawn, and the money ready: my Lady sent me to you, to know directly if you meant to go through in the Sale; if not, she resolves of another course.

Thou speakest this cheerfully methinks, whereas faithful servants were wont to mourn when they beheld the Lord that fed and cherisht them, is by curst inchantment remov'd into another blood. Cressingham of Cressingham has continued many years, and must the Name sink now?

All this is nothing to my Ladies resolution, it must be done, or she'l not stay in England: she would know whether your son be sent for, that must likewise set his hand t'oth' Sale; for other­wise the Lawyers say there cannot be a sure Conveyance made to the Buyer.

Yes, I have sent for him: but I pray thee think what a hard task 't will be for a Father to perswade his son and heir to make away his inheritance.

Nay for that, use your own Logick: I have heard you talk at the Sessions terribly against Deer-stealers, and that kept you from being put out of the Commission.

I do live to see two miseries, one to be commanded by my Wife, the other to be censured by my slave.

That which I have wanted long, and has bin cause of my irregular courses, I beseech you let raise me from the ground

Rise George, there's a hundred pounds for you, and my Blessing, with these, your mothers favor: but I here your studies are become too licentious of late.

H'as heard of my cozenage.

What's that you are writing?

Sir, not any thing.

Come, I hear there's something coming [Page] forth of yours, will be your undoing.

Of mine?

Yes of your writing; somewhat you should write, will be dangerous to you. I have a suit to you.

Sir, my obedience makes you commander in all things.

I pray suppose I had committed some fault, for which my Life and sole Estate were forfeit to the Law, and that some great Man neer the King should labor to get my pardon, on condition he might enjoy my Lordship, could you prize your Fathers Life above the grievous loss of your inheritance?

Yes, and my own Life at stake too.

You promise fair, I come now to make trial of it: You know I have married one whom I hold so dear, that my whole life is nothing but a meer estate depending upon her will, and her affections to me: she deserves so well, I cannot longer merit then durante bene placita, 'tis her pleasure, and (her wisdom moves in't too) of which Ile give you ample satisfaction hereafter, that I sell the Land my Father left me: You change colour! I have promis'd her to do't, and should I fail, I must expect the remainder of my life as full of trouble and vexation, as the Suit for a Divorce; it lies in you by setting of your hand unto the Sale, to add length to his life that gave you yours.

Sir, I do now ingeniously perceive why you said lately, somewhat I should write would be my undoing, meaning (as I take it) setting my hand to this Assurance: Oh good Sir, shall I pass away my Birth-right? Oh remember there is a malediction denounc't against it in Holy Writ: will you for her pleasure, the Inheritance of Desolation leave to your posterity? think how com­passionate the creatures of the field that onely live on the wilde be­nefits of Nature, are unto their yong ones; think likewise you may have more children by this woman, and by this act you undo them too: 'tis a strange president this, to see an obedient son laboring good counsel to the father! But know Sir, that the spirits of my Great-Grandfather and your Father moves at this present in me, and what they bequeath'd you, on your Death-bed they charge you not to give away in the dalliance of a womans bed: Good Sir, let it not be thought presumption in me, that I have continued my speech unto this length, the cause sir, is urgent, and believe it you shall finde her Beauty as malevolent unto you, as a red morning [Page] that doth still foretel a foul day to follow: Oh Sir, keep your Land, keep that to keep your Name immortal, and you shall see All that her Malice and proud Will procures,

Shall shew her ugly heart, but hurt not yours.

Oh I am distracted, and my very soul sends blushes into my cheeks.

See here an Object to beget more compassion.

O Sir Francis, we have a most lamentable house at home, nothing to be heard in't but Separation and Divorces, and such a noise of the Spiritual Court, as if it were a Tenement upon London-Bridge, and built upon the Arches.

What's the matter?

All about Boarding your children, my Mistriss is departed. Cress. Dead?

In a sort she is, and laid out too, for she is run away from my Master.

Whither?

Seven miles off, into Essex, she vowd never to leave Barking while she liv'd, till these were brought home agen.

Oh they shall not offend her. I am sorry for't.

I am glad we are come home sir, for we liv'd in the unquietest house!

The angry woman me thought grutcht us our victuals: our new Mother is a good Soul, and loves us, and does not frown so like a Vixen as she does.

I am at home now, and in heaven me thinks: what a comfort 'tis to be under your wing!

Indeed my mother was wont to call me your Nestle­cock, and I love you as well as she did.

You are my pretty souls.

Does not the prattle of these move you?

Look you Sir, here's the Conveyance and my Ladies So­licitor, pray resolve what to do, my Lady is coming down. How now George, how does thy Mistriss that sits in a Wainscot Gown, like a Citizens Lure to draw in Customers? oh she's a pretty Mous­trap!

She's ill baited though to take a Welch-man, she cannot away with Cheese.

And what must I do now?

Acknowledge a Fine and Recovery of the Land, then for possession the course is common.

Carry back the Writings sir, my minde is [Page] chang'd.

Chang'd! do not you mean to seal?

No Sir, the Tide's turn'd.

You must temper him like wax, or he'l not seal.

Are you come back again? How now, have you done?

How do you, Lady Mother?

You are good children; bid my woman give them some Sweet-meats.

Indeed I thank you: Is not this a kinde Mother?

Poor fools, you know not how dear you shall pay for this Sugar.

What, han't you dispatcht?

No Sweetest, I am disswaded by my son from the Sale o'th Land.

Disswaded by your son!

I cannot get his hand to't.

Where's our Steward? cause presently that all my Beds and Hangings be taken down; provide Carts, pack them up, I'le to my House i'th Countrey, have I studied the way to your preferment and your childrens, and do you cool i'th upshot?

With your pardon, I cannot understand this course a way to any preferment, rather a direct path to our ruine.

Oh sir, you are young sighted: shew them the project of the Land I mean to buy in Ireland, that shall out-value yours three thousand in a year.

Look you sir, here is Clangibbon, a fruitful countrey, and well wooded.

What's this, Marsh ground?

No, these are Boggs, but a little Cost will drain them. This upper part ( Map▪ that runs by the black water, is the Cossacks Land, a spacious coun­trey, and yields excellent profit by the Salmon, and fishing for Her­ring: here runs the Kernes-dale, admirable feed for cattel, and here about is St. Patrick's Purgatory.

Purgatory! shall we purchase that too?

Come, come, will you dispatch th'other business, we may go through with this?

My son's unwilling.

Upon my soul sir, I'le ne­ver bed with you till you have seal'd.

Thou hear'st her: on thy blessing follow me to'th' Court, and seal.

Sir, were it my death, wer't to'th' loss of my estate, I vow to obey you in all things; yet with it remember there are two young ones living that may curse you: I pray dispose part of the money, on their generous Educations.

Fear no you sir: The Caroche there, when you have dispatcht, you shall finde [Page] me at the Scriveners where I shall receive the money.

She'l devour that mass too.

How likest thou my power over him?

Excellent.

This is the height of a great Ladies sway,

When her night service makes her rule i'th day.

Not yet Sib? my Lord keeps thee so long, th'art welcome I see then, and pays sweetly too: a good wench Sib th'art, to obey thy husband. She's come: a hundred mark a year, how fine and easie it comes into mine arms now! Welcome home, what says my Lord, Sib?

My Lord says you are a Cuckold.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, I thank him for that Bob ifaith, Ile afford it him again at the same price a moneth hence, and let the comodity grow as scarce as it will. Cuckold says his Lordship! ha, ha, I shall burst my sides with laughing that's the worst, name not a hundred year, for then I burst. It smarts not so much as a fillip on the fore­head by five parts: what has his dalliance taken from thy lips? 'tis as sweet as ere 'twas, let me try else: buss me Sugar-candy.

Forbear, you presume to a Lords pleasure!

How's that! not I Sib?

Never touch me more, Ile keep the noble Stamp upon my lip, no under baseness shall de­face it now; you taught me the way, now I am in, Ile keep it, I have kist Ambition, and I love it, I loath the memory of every touch my lip hath tasted from thee.

Nay but sweet Sib, you do forget your self.

I will forget all that I ever was, and nourish new sirrah, I am a Lady.

Lord bless us Madam.

I have enjoy'd a Lord, that's real possession, and daily shall, the which all Ladies have not with their Lords.

But with your patience Madam, who was it that prefer'd you to this Ladyship?

'Tis all I am beholding to thee for, th'ast brought me out of ignorance into light, simple as I was, I thought thee a man till I found the difference by a man: thou art a beast, a horned beast, an Ox.

Are these Ladies terms?

For thy Pandors Fee it shall be laid under the Candlestick, look for't, Ile leave it for thee.

A little lower, good your Ladyship, my Cousin Chamlet is in the house, let these things go no further.

'Tis for mine own credit if I forbear, not thine, thou bugle-browd beast thou.

Bidden, bidden, bidden, bidden; so, all these are past: but here's as large a walk to come, if I do not get it up at the feast, I shall be leaner for bidding the Guests I'm sure.

How now! who's this?

Doctor Glister, et; what word's this? fuxor, oh Uxor, the Doctor and his wife: Mr. Body et uxor of Bow-lane, Mr. Knaves-bee et uxor.

Ha, we are in, what soever the matter is.

Here's forty couple more in this quarter; but there the Provision bringing in, that puzzels me most: One Ox, that will hardly serve for Beef too; five Mut­tons, ten Lambs, poor innocents, they'l be devoured too; three gross of Capons.

Mercy upon us! what a Slaughter-house is here!

Two bushels of small Birds, Plovers, Snipes, Woodcocks, Partridge, Larks; then for Bak'd-meats.

George, George, what Feast is this? 'tis not for St. George's day?

Cry you mercy sir, you and your wife are in my Roll: my Master invites you his Guests to morrow dinner.

Dinner sayst thou? he means to feast a moneth sure.

Nay sir, you make up but a hundred couple.

Why, what Ship has brought an India home to him, that he's so bountiful? or what friend dead (unknown to us) has so much left to him of arrable Land, that he means to turn to pasture thus?

Nay, 'tis a vessel sir, a good estate comes all in one bot­tom to him, and 'tis a question whether ever he finde the bottom or no; a thousand a year, that's the uppermost.

A thou­sand a year!

To go no further about the Bush sir, now the Bird is caught; my Master is to morrow to be married, and amongst the rest invites you a Guest, at his Wedding-Dinner the second.

Married!

There is no other remedy for flesh and blood, that will have leave to play whether we will or no, or wander into forbidden pastures.

Married! why he is married, man; his wife is in my house now, thy Mistriss is alive, George.

She that was, it may be sir, but dead to him, she plaid a little too rough with him, and he has discarded her, he's divorc'd sir.

He divorc'd! then is her labor sav'd; for she was laboring a Divorce from him.

They are well parted then sir.

But wilt thou not speak with her? 'ifaith invite her to 't.

[Page]

'Tis not in my Commission, I dare not, fare you well sir, I have much business in hand, and the time is short.

Nay but George, I prithee stay, may I report this to her for a certain truth?

Wherefore am I employ'd in this Invitation sir?

Prithee what is she, his second Choice?

Truly a goodly presence, likely to bear great children, and great store, she never saw five and thirty Summers together in her life by her appearance, and comes in her French-hood, by my fecks a great Match 'tis like to be; I am sorry for my old Mistriss but cannot help it: pray you excuse me now sir, for all the business goes through my hands, none employ'd but my self.

Why here is news that no man will believe, but he that sees.

This, and your Cuckoldry, will be digestion through­out the City dinners and suppers, for a moneth together, there will need no Cheese.

No more of that Sib: Ile call my Cousin Chamlet, and make her partaker of this sport; she's come already. Cousin, take't at once, y'are a free woman, your late husband's to be married to morrow.

Married! to whom?

To a French-hood birlakins, as I understand, great chear prepar'd, and great Guests invited, so far I know.

What a curst wretch was I to pare my Nails to day, a Fryday too; I lookt for some mis­chief.

Why, I did think this had accorded with your best liking, you sought for him what he has songht for you, a Se­paration, and by Divorce too.

Ile Divorce 'em? Is he to be married to a French-hood? I'le dress it the English fashion; ne're a Coach to be had with six horses to strike fire i'th streets as we go?

Will you go home then?

Good Cousin, help me to whet one of my knives, while I sharp the t'other, give me a sowr apple to set my teeth an edge, I would give five pound for the paring of my nails agen: have you ere a Bird-spit i'th' house, I'le dress one dish to the wedding.

This violence hurts your self the most.

I care not who I hurt; oh my heart, how it beats a both sides; will you run with me for a wager into Lombard-street now?

I'le walk with you Cousin a sufficient pace; Sib. shall come softly after, I'le bring you thorough Bearbinder-lane.

Bearbinder-lane cannot hold me, I'le the neerest way [Page] over St. Mildreds Church, if I meet any French-hoods by the way, I'le make black patches enow for the rhume.

Madam, but stay here a little, my Master comes in­stantly, I heard him say he did ow you a good turn, and now's the time to take it, Ile warrant you a sound reward e're you go.

Ey Tank u de bon cour Monsieur.

Look he's here already, now would a skilful Navigator take in his Sails, for sure there is a storm towards.

Oh Madam I perceive in your countenance (I am be­holding to you) All is peace? Mar. All quiet, goor frendsheep, ey mooch a doe, ey striue wid him: give goor worda for you; no more speak a de matra, all es undonne u no more trobla.

Look, there's the price of a fair pair of Gloves, and wear 'em for my sake.

Oh, oh, oh, my hearts broke out of my ribbes.

Nay a little patience.

Ey tank u artely, shall no bestowe en gloves, shall put moosh more to dees, an bestowe your shop; Regarde dees stofa my pettycote u no soosh anodre; shall deal wid u for moosh; take in your hand.

I see it Mistress, 'tis good stuff indeed, 'tis a Silk rash, I can pattern it.

Shall he take up her coats before my face? Oh beastly creature; French-hood, French­hood, I will make your hair grow thorough.

My wife returned! oh welcome home, sweet Rachel.

I forbid the Banes, Letcher and strumpet, thou shalt bear children without noses.

O pardonne moy, by my trat ey meane u no hurta: wat u meant by dees?

I will have thine eyes out, and thy Bastards shall be as blinde as Puppies.

Sweet Rachel, good Cousin help to pacifie.

I forbid the Banes, Adulterer.

What means she by that sir?

Good Cousin forbid your rage a while, unless you hear, by what sense will you receive satisfaction?

By my hands and my teeth [Page] sir, give me leave, will you binde me whiles mine enemy kills me?

Here all are your friends sweet wife.

Wil't have two wives? Do and by hang'd Forni­cator, I forbid the Banes; give me the French-hood, I'le tread it under feet in a pair of Pantophles.

Begar shall save hood head and all; shall come no more heer, ey warran u.

Sir, the truth is, Report spoke it for truth, you were to morrow to be married.

I forbid the Banes.

Mercy deliver me, if my grave imbrace me in the bed of death, I would to Church with willing ceremony; but for my wedlock-fellow, here she is the first and last that ere my thoughts lookt on.

Why law you Cousin, this was nought but er­ror or an assault of mischief.

Whose report was it?

Your man Georges, who invited me to the wedding.

George? And was he sober? Good sir call him.

It needs not sir, I am here already.

Did you report this George?

Yes sir I did.

And wherefore did you so?

For a new sute that you promist me sir, if I could bring home my Mistress, and I think she's come with a mischief.

Give me that villaines ears.

I would give ear, if I could hear you talk wisely.

Let me cut off his ears.

I shall hear worse of you hereafter then, limb for limb, one of my ears, for one of your tongues, and Ile lay out for my Master.

'Twas knavery with a good purpose in't, sweet Rachel, this was e'en Georges meaning, a second marriage 'twixt thy self and me, and now I wooe the to't, a quiet night will make the Sun like a fresh Bridegroom rise, and kiss the chast echeek of the rosy morn which we will imitate, and like him creat Fresh buds of love, fresh spreading arms, fresh fruit, Fresh wedding robes, and Georges fresh new sute.

This is fine stuff, have you much on't to sell?

A remnant of a yard.

Come, come, all's well, sir, you must sup, instead of to morrows dinner.

ACTUS. V.

SIr, your sons death which has apparrel'd you in this darker wearing, is a loss wherein I have ample share; he was my friend.

He was my neerest and deerest enemy, and the perpetual fear of a worse end had he continued his former dissolute course, makes me weigh his death the lighter.

Yet sir, with your pardon, if you value him every way as he deserv'd, it will appear your scanting of his means, and the Lord Beauforts most un-lordly breach of promise to him, made him fall upon some courses, to which his nature and mine own, (made desperate likewise by the cruelty of a Mother in Law) would else have bin as strange, as insolent greatness is to distress'd vertue.

Yes, I have heard of that too; your defeat made upon a Mercer, I style't modestly, the Law intends it plain cozen­age.

'Twas no less, but my penitence and resti­tution, may come fairly off from't; it was no Impeachment to the Glory won at Agencourts great Battel, that the Atchiever of it in his youth had bin a Purse-taker, this with all reverence to'th great Example. Now to my business, wherein you have made such no­ble tryal of your worth, that in a world so dull as this, where faith is almost grown to be a miracle, I have found a friend so worthy as your self, to purchase all the Land my Father sold at the perswa­sion of a riotous woman, and charitable to reserve it for his use, and the good of his three children; this I say, is such a deed shall style you our Preserver, and ow the memory of your worth, and pay it to all posterity.

Sir, what I have done, looks to the end of the good deed it self, no other way i'th world.

But would you please out of a friendly reprehension, [Page] to make him sensible of the weighty wrong he has done his chil­dren, yet I would not have it too bitter, for he undergoes already such torment in a womans naughty pride, too harsh reproof would kill him.

Leave you that to my discretion: I have made my self my sons Executor, and am come up on purpose to collect his Creditors, and where I finde his pennyworth conscion­able, Ile make them in part satisfaction:

Oh this fellow was born neer me, and his trading here i'th City may bring me to the knowledge of the men my son ought money to.

Your Worship's welcome to London, and I pray how does all our good friends i'th Countrey?

They are well, George: how thou art shot up since I saw thee? what, I think thou art almost out of thy Time?

I am out of my wits sir, I have liv'd in a kinde of Bedlam these four years, how can I be mine own man then?

Why, what's the matter?

I may turn Soap-boyler, I have a loose body: I am turn'd away from my Master.

How! turn'd away! Indenture.

I am gone sir, not in drink, and yet you may behold my Indentures: Oh the wicked wit of woman, for the good turn I did bringing her home, she ne're left sucking my Masters breath, like a Cat, kissing him I mean, till I was turn'd away!

I have heard she's a terrible woman.

Yes, and the miserablest! her sparing in House-keeping has cost him somewhat, the Dagger-pyes can testifie: she has stood in's light most miserably, like your Fasting-days before Red letters in the Alma­nack: saying, the pinching of our bellies would be a mean to make him wear Scarlet the sooner. She had once perswaded him to have bought Spectacles for all his servants, that they might have worn 'em dinner and supper.

To what purpose?

Marry, to have made our Victuals seem bigger than 't was: she shews from whence she came, that my Winde-collick can witness.

Why, whence came she?

Marry from a Courtier, and an Officer too, that was up and down I know not how often.

Had he any great place?

Yes, and a very high one, but he got little by it; he was one that blew the Organ in the Court Chappel, our Puri­tans, especially your Puritans in Scotland, could ne're away with him.

Is she one of the Sect?

Faith I think not, [Page] for I am certain, she denies her husband the supremacy.

Well George, your difference may be reconcil'd. I am now to use your help in a business that concerns me: here's a Note of mens names here i'th' City, unto whom my son ought money, but I do not know their dwelling?

Let me see sir: fifty pound ta'ne up at use of Mr. Water Thin the Brewer.

What's he?

An obstinat fellow, and one that deni'd payment of the groats, till he lay by'th' heels for't; I know him: Item, fourscore pair of provant Breeches'ath' new fashion, to Pinch buttock a Hosier in Burchen-lane, so much.

What the devil did he with so many pair of breeches?

Supply a Captain sir, a friend of his went over to the Palatinate.

Item, to my Tailor Mr. Wetherwise, by St. Clements-church.

Who should that be? it may be 'tis the new Prophet, the Astrological Tailor.

No, no, no sir, we have no­thing to do with him.

Well, I'le read no further, leave the note to my discretion, do not fear but I'le enquire them all.

Why, I thank thee.

Sir, rest assur'd I shall in all your business be faithful to you, and at better leisure finde time to imprint deeply in your father, the wrong he has done you,

You are worthy in all things?

Is my father stirring?

Yes, sir, my Lady wonders you are thus chargeable to your father, and will not direct your self unto some gainful study, may quit him of your dependance.

What study?

Why the Law, that Law that takes up most 'ath' wits i'th kingdom, not for most good, but most gain, or Divinity; I have heard you talk well, and I do not think but you'd prove a singular fine Church-man.

I should prove a plural better, if I could attain to fine benifices.

My Lady now she has money, is studying to do good works, she talk'd last night what a goodly act it was, of a Countess ( Northampton-shire breed belike, or thereabouts) that to make Coventry a Corporation, rode through the City naked, and by day light.

I do not think, but you have Ladies living would discover as much in private, to advance but some member of a Corporation.

Well sir, your wit is still goaring at my Ladies projects: [Page] here's your father.

Thou comst to chide me, hear­ing how like a ward I am handled, since the sale of my Land.

No sir, but to turn your eyes into your own bosom.

Why, I am become my wives pensioner; am confin'd to a hundred mark a year, t'one sute, and one man to attend me.

And is not that enough for a private Gentleman?

Peace sirrah, there is nothing but knave speakes in thee, and my two poor children must be put forth to prentice.

Ha! to prentice: sir, I do not come to grieve you, but to shew how wretched your estate was that you could not come to see order, until foul disorder pointed the way to't, so in­considerate, yet so fruitful stil is dotage to beget its own destruction.

Surely I am nothing, and desire to be so, pray thee fellow intreat her onely to be quiet, I have given her all my estate on that condition.

Yes sir, her Coffers are well lin'd believe me.

And yet she is not contented; we ob­serve the Moon is ne're so pleasant, and so clear as when she is at the full.

You did not use my mother with this observance, you are like the Frogs, who weary of their quiet King, consented to the election of the Stork, who in the end devour'd them.

You may see how apt man is to forfeit all his judgement upon the instant of his fall.

Look up sir.

O my hearts broke; weighty are injuries that come from an enemy, but those are dead­ly that come from a friend, for

we see commonly those are tane most to heart: she comes.

What a terrible eye she darts on us.

Oh most natural, for lightning to go before the thun­der.

What? Are you in councel? are ye levying faction against us.

Good friend.

Sir, sir, pray come hither, there is winter in your looks, a latter winter, do you complain to your kindred? I'le make you fear extreamly, to shew you have any cause to fear: Are the bonds seal'd for the six thousand pounds I put forth to use?

Yes Madam.

The bonds were made in my unckles name.

Yes.

'Tis well.

'Tis strange though.

Nothing strange, you'l think the allowance I have put you to as strange, but your [Page] judgement cannot reach the aim I have in't: you were prickt last year to be High Sheriff, and what it would have cost you I under­stand now, all this charge and the other by the sale of your Land, and the money at my dispose, and your pension so small, will settle you in quiet, make you Master of a retir'd life, and our great ones may think you a politique man, and that you are aiming at some strange business, having made all over.

I must leave you, man is never truly awake till he be dead.

What a dream have you made of my father?

Let him be so, and keep the proper place of dreams; his bed, until I raise him.

Raise! him not unlikely, 'tis you have ruin'd him.

You do not come to quarrel?

No certain, but to perswade you to a thing, that in the vertue of it, nobly carries its own commendation, and you shall gain much honor by it, which is the recompence of all vertuous actions, to use my father kindly.

Why? does he com­plain to you sir?

Complain: why should a King complain for any thing, but for his sins to heaven, the prerogative of husband is like to his, over his wife.

I am full of business sir, and will not minde you.

I must not leave you thus; I tell you mother 'tis dangerous to a woman, when her minde raises her to such height, it makes her onely capable of her own merit; nothing of duty! oh, 'twas a strange unfortunate o're-prising your beauty, brought him, (otherwise discreet) into the fatal neglect of his poor children: what will you give us of the late sum you receiv'd?

Not a penny; away, you are troublesome and sawcy.

You are too cruel: denials even from Princes who may do what they list, should be supplied with a gratious verbal usage, that though they do not cure the sore, they may abate the sence of't; the wealth you seem to command over, is his, and he I hope will dispose of't to our use.

When he can com­mand my will?

Have you made him so miserable, that he must take a Law from his wife?

Have you not had some Lawyers forc't to grone under the burden?

Oh! but the greater the women, the more visible are their vices.

So sir, you have been so bold; by all can [Page] binde an oath, and I'le not break it, I will not be the woman to you hereafter you expected.

Be not; be not your self, be not my fathers wife, be not my Lady Cressingham, and then I'le thus speak to you, but you must not answer in your own per­son.

A fine Puppet play!

Good Madam, please you pity the distress of a poor Gentleman, that is undone by a cruel Mother in Law, you do not know her, nor does she deserve the knowledge of any good one, for she does not know her self, you would sigh for her that ere she took you sex, if you but heard her qualities.

This is a fine Crotchet.

Envy and Pride, flow in her painted breasts, she gives no other suck; all her attendants do not belong to her husband, his money is hers, marry his debts are his own, she bears such sway, she will not suffer his Religion be his own, but what she please to turn it to.

And all this while, I am the woman you libel against.

I remember e're the Land was sold, you talkt of going to Ireland, but should you touch there, you would die presently.

Why Man?

The country brookes no poison: go, You'l finde how difficult a thing it is, to make a setled or assur'd Estate of things ill gotten: when my fa­ther's dead, the curse of Lust and Riot follow you, marry some young gallant that may rifle you; yet add one blessing to your needy age, that you may die full of repentance.

Ha, Ha, Ha.

Oh! shee's lost to any kinde of goodness.

Sirrah, be gone, y'are base.

Base, my good Lord? 'tis a ground part in Musick, trebles, means, all his but sidling, your Honor bore a part as my wife says, my Lord.

Your wifes a Strumpet.

Ah ha, is she so? I am glad to hear it, open confession, open payment, the wagers mine then, a hundred a year my Lord, I said so before, and stak'd my head against it, thus after darksome night, the day is come, my Lord.

Hence, hide thy branded head, let no day see thee, nor thou any but thy execution day.

That's the day after washing day, once a week, I see't at home my Lord.

Go home and see thy prostituted wife (for sure 'tis so) now folded in a Boys adultery, my Page; on whom the hot-rain'd harlot doats, this night he hath been her attendant, my house he's [Page] fled from, and must no more return, go, and make haste sir, lest your reward be lost for want of looking to.

My reward lost; is there nothing due for what is past, my Lord?

Yes Pander, Wittoll, Macrio, basest of knaves, thou Boul­ster-bawd to thine own infamy! go, I have no more about me at this time, when I am better stor'd thou shalt have more where e're I meet thee.

Pander, Wittoll, Macrio, base knave, boul­ster bawd; here is but five mark toward a hundred a year: this is poor payment, if Lords may be trusted no better then thus! I will go home and cut my Wifes Nose off, I will turn over a new Leaf, and hang up the Page; lastly I will put on a large pair of Wet­leather Boots and drown my self, I will sink at Queen-hive, and rise agen at Charing-cross contrary to the Statute in Edwardo primo.

Good health to your Lordship.

Mr. Frank­lin, I heard of your arrival, and the cause of this your sad appear­ance.

And 'tis no more then as your Honor says, indeed appearance, it has more form then feeling sorrow Sir, I must confess, there's none of these Gentlemen (though Aliens in blood) but have as large cause of grief as I.

No, by your fa­vor sir, we are well satisfied; there was in his life a greater hope, but less assurance.

Sir, I wish all my debts of no bet­ter promise to pay me thus, fifty in the hundred comes fairly home­wards.

Considering hard Bargains and dead Commodities, sir.

Thou sayst true, friend, and from a dead Debtor too.

And so you have compounded and agreed all your sons riotous Debts?

There's behinde but one cause of worse condition, that done, he may sleep quietly.

Yes sure my Lord, this Gentleman is come a wonder to us all, that so fairly with half a loss could satisfie those debts were dead, even with his son, and from whom we could have nothing claim'd.

I shewed my reason; I would have a good name live after him, because he bore my Name.

May his tongue perish first (and that will spoil his trade) that first gives him a syllable of ill.

Why this is friendly.

My Lord!

Mr. Chamlet! very welcome.

Mr. Franklin, I [Page] take it, these Gentlemen I know well: good Mr. Pennystone, Mr. Phillip, Mr. Cheyney! I am glad I shall take my leave of so many of my good friends at once; your hand first, my Lord, fare you well sir, nay I must have all your hands to my Pass.

Will you have mine too sir?

Yes, thy two hands George, and I think two honest hands of a Trades-man, George, as any be­tween Cornhil and Lombard-street.

Take heed what you say sir, there's Birchen-lane between 'em.

But what's the cause of this, Mr. Chamlet?

I have the cause in handling, now my Lord; George, honest George is the cause, yet no cause of Georges, George is turn'd away one way, and I must go an­other.

And whither is your way sir?

E'ne to seek out a Quiet Life, my Lord: I do hear of a fine peaceable Island.

Why 'tis the same you live in.

No, 'tis so fam'd, but we th'inhabitants finde it not so; the place I speak of has bin kept with thunder, with frightful light­nings, amazing Noises, but now (th'inchantment broke) 'tis the Land of Peace, where Hogs and Tobacco yield fair increase.

This is a little wilde methinks.

Gentlemen, fare you well, I am for the Bermudas.

Nay, good sir stay, and is that your onely cause, the loss of George?

The loss of George, my Lord! make you that no cause? why but examine, would it not break the stout heart of a Noble­man to loose his George, much more the tender bosom of a Citizen.

Fie, fie, I'm sorry your gravity should run back to light­ness thus: you go to the Bermothes!

Better to Ireland Sir.

The Land of Ire, that's too neer home, my wife will be heard from Hellbree to Divellin.

Sir, I must of necessity a while detain you: I must acquaint you with a benefit that's coming towards you. You were cheated of some goods of late, come, I'm a Cunning-man, and will help you to the most part again, or some reasonable satisfaction.

That's another cause of my unquiet Life, sir; can you do that, I may chance stay another Tide or two: My wife! (I must speak more private with you) by forty foot pain of death, I dare not reach her: No words of me sweet Gentlemen.

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I had need hide too.

Oh, my Lord, I have scarce tongue enough yet to tell you; my husband, my hus­band's gone from me, your warrant good my Lord, I never had such need of your warrant; my husband's gone from me.

Going he is, 'tis true; has tane his leave of me, and all these Gentlemen, and 'tis your sharp tongue that whips him for­wards.

A warrant, good my Lord.

You turn away his servants, such on whom his estate de­pends he says, who know his books, his debts, his customers; the form and order of all his affairs you make orderless, chiefly his George you have banisht from him.

My Lord, I will call George agen.

Call George agen.

Why hark you, how high voic'd you are, that raise an Eccho from my Selleridge which we with modest loudness cannot.

My Lord, do you think I speak too loud?

Too loud.

Why hark, your own tongue answers you, and rever­berates your words into your teeth.

I will speak lower all the days of my life: I never found the fault in my self till now, your warrant good my Lord, to stay my husband.

Well, well, it shall o'retake him, ere he pass Gravesend, provided that he meet his quietness at home, else he's gone agen.

And withal to call George agen.

I will call George agen.

Call George agen.

See, you are raised agen, the Eccho tells you.

I did forget my self indeed, my Lord: this is my last fault, I will go make a silent enquiry after George, I will whis­per half a score Porters in the ear, that shall run softly up and down the City to seek him. Bewy ye my Lord, buoy all Gentlemen. Exit

George, your way lies before you now, cross the street, and come into her eyes, your Masters Journey will be staid.

Ile warrant you bring it to better subjection yet.

These are fine flashes: how now Mr. Chamlet?

I had one ear lent to you-ward, my Lord, and this o'th to'ther side, both sounded sweetly: I have whole recovered my late losses sir, th'one half paid, the to'ther is forgiven.

Then your Journey is staid?

Alas my Lord, that was a trick of age, for I had left ne­ver [Page] a trick of youth like it, to succour me.

How now? what new Object's here!

The next man we meet shall judge us.

Content, though he be but a Common-Council-man.

The one's a knave, I could know him at twelve score distance.

And to'ther 's a Bar­ber-Surgeon, my Lord.

Ile go no further, here is the honorable Lord, that I know will grant my request; My Lord—

Peace, I will make it plain to his Lordship: My Lord, a Covenant by Jus Jurandum is between us, he is to suffocate my Re­spiration by his Capistrum, and I to make incission so far as mortifi­cation by his Jugulars.

This is not altogether so plain neither, sir.

I can speak no plainer my Lord, unless I wrong mine art.

I can my Lord, I know some part of the Law, I am to take him in this place where I finde him, and lead him from hence to the place of Execution, and there to hang him till he dies; he in equal courtesie is to cut my throat with his Ra­zor, and there's an end of both on's.

There is the end my Lord, but we want the beginning: I stand upon it to be strangled first, before I touch either his Gula or Ceruix.

I am against it, for how shall I be sure to have my Throat cut after he's hang'd.

Is this a Con­dition betwixt you?

A firm Covenant, sign'd and seal'd by oath and handfast, and wants nothing but Agreement.

A little pause: what might be the cause on either part?

My passions are grown to putrifaction, and my griefs are gangren'd; Mr. Chamlet has scarified me all over, besides the loss of my new Brush.

I am kept out of mine own Castle, my Wife keeps the Hold against me: your Page my Lord, is her Champion; I summon'd a Parle at the window, was answered with Defiance: they confess they have layen together, but what they have done else I know not.

Thou canst have no wrong that deserves pity, thou art thy self so bad.

I thank your Honor for that, let me have my throat cut then.

Sir, I can give you a better remedy then his Capistrum; your ear a little.

I come with a bold innocence to answer the best and worst that can accuse me here.

Your husband.

He's the worst, I dare his [Page] worst.

Your Page, your Page.

We lay toge­ther in bed, it is confest; you, and your ends of Law makes wor­ser of it, I did it for reward.

Ile hear no more of this, come Gentlemen will you walk?

My Lord, a little stay; you'l see a sight that neigh­bor amity wilbe much pleas'd with, 'tis come already, my Father sir.

There must be cause certain for this good change: Sir, you are bravely met, this is at the best I ever saw you.

My Lord, I am amazement to my self; I slept in pover­ty, and am awake into this wonder; how I can thus brave, my dreams did not so much as tell me of; I am of my kinde sons new making up, it exceeds the pension much, that yesternight allow'd me, and my pockets centupled, but I am my sons childe, sir, he knows of me more then I do my self.

Sir, you yet have but earnest of your happiness, a Pinace fore-riding a goodly vessel, by this near Anchor-bulkt like a Castle, and with Jewels fraught, (Joys above Jewels sir,) from deck to keel, make way for the receipt, empty your bosom of all griefs and troubles, leave not a sigh to beat her back again, she is so stor'd ye'ad need have room enough, to take her lading.

If one Comodity be wanting now, all this is nothing.

Tush, that must out too, there must be no remembrance, not the thought that ever youth in woman did abuse you, that e're your children had a step­mother, that you sold Lands to please your punishment, that you were circumscrib'd and taken in, abridg'd the large extendure of your grounds, and put into the pinfold that belong'd to't, that your son did cheat for want of maintenance; that he did beg, you shall remember onely, for I have beg'd off all these troubles from you.

This was a good weeks labor.

Not an hours my Lord, but 'twas a happy one; see sir, a new day shines on you.

Oh sir, your son has rob'd me.

Ha! that way I instructed?

Nay, hear her sir.

Of my good purpose sir, he hath forc'd out of me, what lay conceal'd, ripen'd my pity with his dews of duty, for­give me sir, and but keep the number of every grief that I have pain'd you with, I'le ten-fold pay with fresh obedience.

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Oh, that my wife were here to learn this lesson.

Your state is not abated, what was yours, is still your own, and take the cause withal of my harsh seeming usage; it was to reclaim faults in your self, the swift consumption of many large revenues, Gaiming, that of not much less speed, burning up house and land, not casual but cunning fire, which though it keeps the Chymney, and outward shows like Hospitality, is onely de­vourer on't, Consuming Chymistry; there I have made you a flat banquet-out; all your Stillatories and laboring Minerals are de­molish'd, that part of Hell in your house is extinct, put out your desire with them, and then these feet shall level with my hands, un­till you raise my stoop'd humility to higher grace, to warm these lips with love, and duty do to every silver hair, each one shal be a Senator to my obedience.

All this I know before, who ever of you that had but one ill thought of this good woman, you owe a knee to her, and she is merciful if she forgive you.

That shal be private penance sir, we'l all joy in publique with you.

On the conditions I tell you, not else.

Sweet George, dear George, any conditions.

My wife!

Peace, George is bringing her to conditions.

Good ones, good George.

You shall never talk your voice above the key, sol, sol, sol.

Sol, sol, sol, I George.

Say welcome home honest George, in that pitch.

Welcome home honest George.

Why this is well now.

That's well indeed, George.

Rogue, nor Rascal must never come out of your mouth.

They shall never come in, honest George.

Nor I will not have you call my Master plain husband, that's too course, but as your Gentlewomen in the Country use, and your persons wives in the Town, 'tis comely, and shalbe customed in the City, call him Master Chamlet at every word.

At every word, honest George.

Look you, there he is, salute him then.

Welcome home, good Mr. Chamlet.

Thanks, and a thousand sweet Wife; I may say honest George.

Yes sir, or Bird, or Chuck, or Hearts ease, [Page] or plain Rachel, but call her Rac no more, so long as she is quiet.

God-a-mercy, sha't have thy new sute a Sunday George.

George shall have two new sutes, Mr. Chamlet.

God-a-mercy, ifaith Chuck.

Mr. Chamlet, you and I are friends, all even betwixt us?

I do acquit thee, neighbor Sweetbal.

I will not be hang'd then, Knares-bee do thy worst; nor I will not cut thy throat.

I must do't my self.

If thou com'st to my shop, and usurp'st my chair of maintenance, I will go as neer as I can, but I will not do't.

No, 'tis I must cut Knaves-bees throat, for slande­ring a modest Gentlewoman, and my wife in shape of your Page, my Lord, in her own I durst not place her so neer your Lordship.

No more of that sir, if your ends have acquir'd their own events, crown 'em with your own Joy.

Down a your knees Knaves-bee, to your wife, she's too honest for you.

Down, down, before you are hang'd, 'twilbe to late after­wards, and long thou canst not scape it.

You'l play the Pandor no more, will you?

Oh, that's an inch into my throat.

And let out your wife for her?

Oh sweet wife, go no deeper.

Dare any be bail for your better behavior?

Yes, yes I dare, he will mend one day.

And be worse the next.

All then is reconcil'd?

Onely my brush is lost, my dear new brush.

I will help you to satisfaction for that too sir.

Oh, Sperma Caete, I feel it heal already.

Gentlemen, I have fully satisfied my dead sons debts?

All pleas'd, all paid sir.

Then once more here I bring him back to life, from my servant to my son, nay, wonder not; I have not delt by fallacy with any, my son was dead, who e're out lives his vertues is a dead man, for when you hear of spirits that walk in real bodies, to the amaze and cold astonishment of such as meet 'em, and all would shun; those are men of vices, who nothing have but what is visi­ble, and so by consequence they have no souls, but if the soul re­turn [Page]but if the Soul return he lives agen,

You have beguil'd us honestly sir.

And you shall have your brush agen.

My basons shall all ring for joy

Why this deserves a Tryumph, and my cost shall begin a feast to't, to which I do envite you all; such happy reconcilements must not be past without a health of joy,