A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 86

PLEA. Faith, mine talks of nothing but how long he has loved me; and those that know me not think I am old, and still finds new causes (as he calls them) for his love. I asked him the other day, if I changed so fast, or no.

WID. But what think'st thou, Secret? my nephew dances well, and has a handsome house in the Piazza.

PLEA. Your nephew! not I, as I live; he looks as if he would be wooed. I'll warrant you, he'll never begin with a woman, till he has lost the opinion of himself; but since you are so courteous, I'll speak to his friend, and let him know how you suffer for him.

WID. Him! marry, G.o.d bless all good women from him. Why, he talks as if the dairymaid and all her cows could not serve his turn.

Then they wear such bawdy breeches, 'twould startle an honest woman to come in their company, for fear they should break, and put her to count from the fall of them; for I'll warrant the year of the Lord would sooner out of her head than such a sight.

PLEA. I am not such an enemy now to his humour as to your nephew's. He rails against our s.e.x, and thinks, by beating down the price of a woman, to make us despair of merchants; but if I had his heartstrings tied on a true-lover's knot, I would so firk him, till he found physic in a rope.

SEC. He's a scurvy-tongued fellow, I am sure of that; and if I could have got a staff, I had marked him.

WID. What did he do to thee, Secret?

PLEA. Why, he swore he had a better opinion of her than to think she had her maidenhead; but if she were that fool, and had preserved the toy, he swore he would not take the pains of fetching it, to have it. I confess, I would fain be revenged on them, because they are so blown up with opinion of their wit.

WID. As I live, my nephew travels still: the sober, honest Ned Wild will not be at home this month.

PLEA. What say you? will you abuse them and all the rest, and stand to my first proposition?

WID. Yes, faith, if it be but to bury my servant Sad; for he cannot last above another fall. And how, think you, will your servant take it?

PLEA. Mine! O, G.o.d help me, mine's a healthy fool. I would he were subject to pine, and take things unkindly: there were some hope to be rid of him; for I'll undertake to use him as ill as anybody.

WID. As I live, I am easily resolved: for if I would marry, I know neither who nor what humour to choose.

SEC. By my troth, madam, you are hard to please, else the courtier might have served turn.

WID. Serve turn! Prythee, what haste, Secret, that I should put myself to bed with one I might make a shift with? When I marry, thou shalt cry, _Ay marry, madam, this is a husband!_ without blushing, wench, and none of your so-so husbands. Yet he might have[203] overcome my aversion, I confess.

PLEA. Overcome! I think so: he might have won a city his way; for when he saw you were resolved he should not eat with you, he would set himself down as if he meant to besiege us, and had vowed never to rise till he had taken us in; and because our s.e.x forbad force, he meant to do it by famine. Yet you may stay, and miss a better market; for, hang me, I am of Secret's opinion, he had but two faults--a handsome fellow, and too soon denied.

WID. 'Tis true, he was a handsome fellow, and a civil, that I shall report him; for as soon as it was given him to understand I desired he would come no more, I never saw him since, but by chance.

PLEA. Why did you forbid him?

WID. There were divers exceptions; but that which angered me then was, he came with the king's letters patents, as if he had been to take up a wife for his majesty's use.

PLEA. Alas! was that all? Why, 'tis their way at court, a common course among them. And was it not one the king had a great care of? When my mother was alive, I had such a packet from the court: directed unto me: I bid them pay the post, and make the fellow drink; which he took as ill as I could wish, and has been ever since such a friendly enemy----

WID. Nay, as I live, she was for the captain too: his scarf and feather won her heart.

SEC. Truly, madam, never flatter yourself; for the gentleman did not like you so well as to put you to the trouble of saying no.

PLEA. Lord, how I hated and dreaded that scarf and buff-coat!

SEC. Why, Mistress Pleasant, a captain is an honourable charge.

WID. Prythee, Secret, name them no more. Colonel and captain, commissioner, free-quarters, ordnance and contribution. When Buff utters these words, I tremble and dread the sound: it frights me still when I do but think on them. Cud's body, they're twigs of the old rod, wench, that whipped us so lately.

PLEA. Ay, ay, and they were happy days, wench, when the captain was a lean poor humble thing, and the soldier tame, and durst not come within the city for fear of a constable and a whipping-post.

They know the penal statutes give no quarter. Then Buff was out of countenance, and skulked from alehouse to alehouse, and the city had no militia but the sheriff's men. In those merry days, a bailiff trod the streets with terror, when all the chains in the city were rusty but Master Sheriff's; when the people knew no evil but the constable and his watch. Now every committee has as much power and as little manners, and examines with as much ignorance, impertinence, and authority, as a constable in the king's key.

[_People talking without._

WID. See who's that so loud?

SEC. The men you talked of, newly come to town.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ JACK CONSTANT, WILL SAD, JOLLY, _and a_ FOOTMAN: _they comb their heads and talk_.[204]

JOLLY. Remember our covenants, get them that can all friends; and be sure to despatch the plot to carry them into the country, lest the brace of newcome monsieurs get them.

CON. Those flesh-flies! I'll warrant thee from them: yet 'twas foolishly done of me to put on this gravity. I shall break out, and return to myself, if you put me to a winter's wooing.

SAD. A little patience does it, and I am content to suffer anything, till they're out of town. Secret says they think my pale face proceeds from my love.

JOLLY. Does she? That shall be one hint to advance your designs and my revenge: for so she be cosened, I care not who does it, for scorning me, who (by this hand) lov'd her parlously.

FOOT. Sir, what shall I do with the horses?

SAD. Carry them to Brumsted's.

FOOT. What shall I do with your worship's?

JOLLY. Mine? Take him, hamstring him, kill him, anything to make away with him; lest, having such a conveniency, I be betrayed to another journey into the country. Gentlemen, you are all welcome to my country house. Charing Cross, I am glad to see thee, with all my heart.

CON. What! not reconciled to the country yet?

SAD. He was not long enough there to see the pleasure of it.

JOLLY. Pleasure! what is't called? walking, or hawking, or shooting at b.u.t.ts?

CON. You found other pleasures, or else the story of the meadow is no gospel.

JOLLY. Yes, a pox upon the necessity! Here I could as soon have taken the cow as such a milk-maid.

SAD. The wine and meat's good, and the company.

JOLLY. When, at a Tuesday meeting, the country comes into a match at two-shillings rubbers, where they conclude at dinner what shall be done this parliament, railing against the court and Pope, after the old Elizabeth-way of preaching, till they are drunk with zeal; and then the old knight of the shire from the board's end, in his coronation breeches, vies clinches with a silenced minister--a rogue that railed against the reformation, merely to be eased of the trouble of preaching.

CON. Nay, as I live, now you are to blame, and wrong him. The man's a very able man.