THE MAYOR OF Quinborough: A COMEDY. As it hath been often Acted with much Applause at Black-Fryars, By His Majesties Servants.
Written by THO. MIDDLETON.
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Sign of the Blew-Anchor in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange. 1661.
YOu have the first flight of him I assure you; this Mayor of Quinborough whom you have all heard of, and some of you beheld upon the Stage, now begins to walk abroad in Print; he has been known sufficiently by the reputation of his Wit, which is enough (by the way) to distinguish him from ordinary Mayors; but Wit you know, has skulk'd in Corners for many years past, and he was thought to have most of it that could best hide himself: Now whether this Magistrate fear'd the decimating times, or kept up the state of other Mayors, that are bound not to go out of their Liberties during the time of their Mayoralty, I know not; 'tis enough for me to put him into your hands, under the title of an honest man, which will appear plainly to you, because you shall find him all along to have a great picque to the Rebel Oliver; I am told his drollery yields to none the English Dramma did ever produce; and though I would not put his modesty to the blush, by speaking too much in his Commendation, yet I know you will agree with me, upon your better acquaintance with him, that there is some difference in point of Wit, betwixt the Mayor of Quinborough, and the Mayor of Huntingdon.
Drammatis Personae.
- Constantius.
- Aurelius Ambrosius.
- Uther Pendragon.
- Vortiger.
- Hengist.
- Horsus.
- Devonshire, British Lord.
- Stafford. British Lord.
- Gentlemen.
- Symon.
- Oliver.
- Taylour.
- Barber.
- Aminadab.
- Footmen.
- Souldiers.
- Cheaters.
- Castiza.
- Roxena.
- Ladies.
- Raynulph Monck of Chester.
- Germanus. Monck.
- Lupus. Monck.
- Grasiers.
[Page 5]The Mayor of Quinborough.
ACT. 1.
SCENA 1.
They are ours no longer then they do you service.
On me! for what Lords?
The Kingdome Government.
You must not.
How!
My Lord, we are forc'd to rule you.
Were't but my death, you should not kneel so long for't.
My Lord you know the times.
An honourable life enclose your Lordship.
Now, what are you?
Grasiers if't like your Lordship.
This way his Majesty comes.
Thank your good Lordship:
When you hear you door open.
Very good my Lord.
Be ready with your several suits, put forward.
'Tis well you are so deep learn'd, take no denials.
No my good Lord.
Marry would it had Sir.
Not if it fall on the rushes.
Berlady y'had a long time of throbbing of it then.
Yes, Sir, in Lanthorns.
Hark, hark, stand close, it opens now indeed.
Grasiers and Braziers some, and this a Felt-maker.
Here's his Petition and mine, if it like your Grace.
Make your requests to Heaven, not to me.
'Las mine's a supplication for brass buttons, Sir.
Pastures rise 2 d an acre, what will this world come to?
I do beseech your Grace.
Good your Grace.
Your Graces answer to my supplication.
Mine my Lord.
No violent storm lasts ever, that's the comfort of it.
Your Highness answer.
We are almost all undone, the Country begger'd.
My wife will hang me, that's my currish destiny.
My Lord.
Again?
How, to marry?
My Lord, your vow'd love ventures me but dangerously.
'Tis but to strengthen a vexation politique.
That's an uncharitable practice, trust me Sir.
No more of that.
Are you a Virgin?
My Lord, he's taken.
My Lord, my gracious Lord.
Beshrew thy heart.
They all attend your Grace.
Saint Agatha's I take it.
I have answer'd that already.
Would I were less then man.
I never eat on Eeves.
This is beyond all cruelty.
'Tis our care my Lord.
ACT. 2.
SCENA 1.
Are you well?
Oh my passion!
Why, 'tis not possible!
Hark you, Lady.
My Lord.
The Murther of Constantius.
Where's the King?
Who takes him?
Health, power, and victory to Vortiger.
How, the Hide!
Rather then nothing, Sir.
Stay, fellow.
Come, what's the price of your Hide?
I am a Servant, yet a masterless man, Sir.
Prithee how can that be?
Hold you, and thank your Fortune, not your wit.
Do it I bid you.
Dispatch, and cut it carefully with all the advantage, Sirra.
Pray serve me so as oft as you will, Sir.
'Twill be a good soil for Nose-gayes.
But where shall we make choice of our ground, Captain?
Long may he give so.
Send over for more Saxons.
With all speed, Captain.
Especially for Roxena.
Who, my Daughter?
Come, I'le dispatch with speed.
Do, forget none.
Marry pray help my memory.
Roxena you remember?
What more dear Sir?
I see your memory's clear, Sir.
Those shouts leap'd from our Army.
Now, Sir, your News?
Roxena the fair.
True, she shall be sent for.
She's here, Sir.
What say'st?
She's come, Sir.
A new youth begins me o're agen.
Her love is infinite to me.
What follows more of her will you take strongly,
How!
This is astonishing!
Gave you attention, Captain? how now man?
A Love knot already, arm in arm!
What's he lays claim to her?
Take it, and send back the rest.
What means your Grace?
My Mistress, Sir, or nothing.
Come again, I never thought to hear so ill of thee.
How, Sir, so ill?
Oh that will doe't.
What ails our friend? look to him.
Pish, this cures not.
Dost think I'le ever wrong thee?
What, you will not?
All this art shall not make me feel my Legs.
I prithee do not wilfully confound me?
My Lord of Kent?
Your loves unworthy Creature.
I say think on it.
If this wind hold I fall to my old disease:
ACT. 3.
SCENA 1.
See, see.
Do you pine at my advancement, Sir?
Oh I pray for't.
Make no pause then.
Is this practis'd?
I praise it then, my Lord, I knew 'twould take.
ACT. 3. SCENA 2.
All's happy, clear and safe.
The rest comes gently on.
Now fortune, and I am sped.
Treason, treason!
A sure Cunning.
Oh rescue, rescue.
Dead her voice, away, make speed.
No help, no succour?
What's my sin?
I never despis'd any.
I have a Lord disproves you.
What said you, Sir?
I admire him.
This almost moves.
By this light he'le be taken.
I'le wrestle down all pity, what, will you consent?
I'le never be so guilty.
ACT. 3. SCENA 3.
What noise is that?
Now, Sir, what's the occasion of their clamours?
That's work for you.
Now, Sir, a good discovery come from you.
There the Barber left indeed.
'Tis piec'd up of two fashions.
A patcht Town the whilest.
What needs that then?
Sometimes I deal in dogs leather, Sir, reverence the while.
Well, to the purpose, if there be any towards.
This is strange work for me, well Sir, what be they?
The one is a Tanner.
Symon.
How Symon too?
What sayest thou?
Marry, my noble Lord, a Fustian Weaver.
What, Master Symonides?
Th'hast a good lucky hand.
I have somewhat, Sir.
I speak first, my Lord.
I leave you to your choice awhile.
Your good Lordship.
A Symon, a Symon.
Good people I thank you all.
I curry, I defie thy Fustian sume.
A Symonides, a true Symonides indeed.
How now, how goes your choice?
This is he, my Lord.
Continue still that favour in his love.
Speak lower.
Heard every word, my Lord.
Plainly?
'Twas well ventur'd.
Two holy Confessors.
Here she comes.
She's gone again.
Not I, my Lord.
My Lord?
Your pardon, Sir.
I thank your Grace for that.
Your Honour loves me.
ACT. 4.
SCENA 1.
Look Sirs, is his back turn'd?
It is, it is.
ACT. 4. SCENA 2.
Horsus!
My Lord!
'Twill be sharp, my Lord.
Oh 'twill be best.
Why here's the Earl her Father.
That's not so.
How? oh my fears!
They would for yours.
F [...]ith dare you swear for your selves? that's a plain question.
My Lord?
May it please your Grace?
I'le swear, my Lord, as far as my remembrance.
How? your remembrance! that were strange.
Well, what's your just excuse? y'are ne're without some.
My Lord?
Oh Heaven forgive him, he has forsworn himself.
Come, 'tis but going now my way:
That's bad enough.
I have clear'd all doubts you see.
Good my Lord spare me.
What?
I dare not.
Fail all confidence in thy weak kind for ever.
Oh beyond patience!
My Lord!
I'le hear no more, our Guard, seize on those Lords:
Here's no dear villany!
That was well thought on, I had quite lost my self else.
To small purpose.
Your Highness?
That's your Daughter?
Yes my good Lord.
Then her own goodness friend her; she comes my Lord.
We are resolv'd, my Lord.
Give us the word, my Lord, and we are perfect.
Enough Sir, then we strike.
But the King's mine, take heed you touch him not.
Calm looks but stormy souls possess you all.
We see you keep your words in all points firm.
They are:
We'le use no other but these only here.
Nempe your Sexes:
Treason, treason!
I have writ mine true, my Lord.
And what will Crown yours, Sir?
Why y'nave the Earldom of it.
This is strange in you.
No less Title?
Very well, take it, I resign it.
Why I thank your Grace.
Is your great thirst yet satisfied?
Them too?
There will nothing be abated, I assure you.
Is my sick fate blest with so pure a friend!
ACT. 5.
SCENA 1.
Not yet, so please your Worship.
Yes, if it like your Worship, and 16 yards of Fustian.
A Footman, Sir, to the great King of Kent.
The King my Master—
Ha?
I'le run with your Worships answer.
At your. Worships elbow.
Ha, Players!
For want of better company, if it please your Worship.
We have a Play wherein we use a horse.
We'le not offer it to your Worship.
Give me a Play without a Beast, I charge you.
That's hard, without a Cuckold or a Drunkard?
And that's plain dealing. Come begin, Sir.
The Whirligig, the Whibble, the Carwidgen.
Hey day, what names are these!
I understand thee now.
Gull upon Gull.
Why this is somewhat yet.
Woodcock of our side.
Get thee further off then.
The Cheater and the Clown.
Then is your Clown a Coxcomb, which is he?
This is our Clown, Sir.
Not as he may be drest, Sir.
I commend your Worships wisdom in that, Mr. Mayor.
What have you, Mr. Mayor?
But to what purpose many times I know not.
Methinks they should destroy one another so.
The Rebel is taken.
Oliver the Puritan?
Oliver Puritan and Fustian-Weaver altogether.
There's two in mending, and you know they cannot.
I scorn thy welcome, I.
Oh Devil, I conjure thee by Amsterdam.
Oh that prophane trumper! oh, oh.
Set him down there I charge you Officers.
I'le hide my ears and stop my eyes.
Down with his golls I charge you.
Oh I'le not swound at all for't, though I dye.
Peace, here's a Rascal, lift and edifie.
I say still he's an Ass that cannot live by his wits.
I scorn as much to live by my wits as the proudest of you all.
Why then y'are an Ass for company, so hold your prating.
He comes.
That way's too plain, too easie I am afraid.
I say 'tis Copper in some Countries.
Will you be tryed by him?
I am content, Sir.
They look rather as if they would be tryed next Sessions.
Pray give your judgement of this piece of Coin, Sir.
Look on it well, Sir.
Let him do his worst, Sir.
Y'had both need wear cut clothes, y'are so cholerick.
Nay rub it and spare not, Sir.
Still would I meet with these things call'd Cheaters.
Oh my rent, my whole years rent!
The Cheaters have been here.
What means your Worship? why you'l spoil the Play, Sir.
With me? if it please your Worship, 'twas my part.
Pish, whither goes he now?
What's here to do?
Here, if it please your Worship.
I should have much joy to have such a Rascal to my Son.
I shall offend your Worship.
Knave, do it quickly.
Say you so? then there's for you, and here is for me:
Run, follow him, Officers.
What says your sweet Worship.
'Twas meal, if it please your Worship.
Where is my Masters Worship?
How now Aminadab? I hear thee though I see thee not.
Where's Mr. Mayor?
Od's precious Brother, the King of Kent is newly alighted▪
Where is Symonides, our friendly Host?
Ah blind as one that had been fox'd a sevenight▪
Why how now man?
What need you practise that?
This is strange to me, Sirs.
Arm, arm, my Lord!
What's that?
Roxena?
For her safety I'le forget food and rest: away.
I hope your Worship will hear the jest e're you go.
The jest! torment me not.
Unseasonable Folly!
ACT. 5. SCENA 2.
MY Lord, the Castle is so fortified.
There he appears again, behold, my Lord.
Begirt all round?
Give me leave, Horsus, though—
It rests then.
My Lord, my Counsel—
Reply not, Brother.
This was your Counsel now.
A Devil in madness!
Inhumane practice!
My death?
Say, will it do it?
Say they should say 'twould doe't?
Why then it must.
It must?
It shall, speak but the word, it shall be yielded up.
Believe him not, he cannot do it.
Cannot?
Such another brings him.
How, to my soul?
Ha, ha, ha.
What!
Burst me open the violence of whirl-winds:
Bane to all Comforts!
Insufferable!
Only to make my way to pleasure fearless, free & fluent.
Hells Trump is in that throat.
It shall sound shriller.
I'le damme it up with death first.
Hold out breath and I shall find thee quickly.
I'le tug thy soul out here.
Do Monster:
Vortiger!
Monster!
My Lord!
Toad, Pagan.
Viper, Christian.
What strength's left I'le fix upon thy throat.
I have some force yet.
Her Father and her Uncle!
They are indeed, my Lord.
My wonder sticks in Hengist King of Kent.