A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 102

CROP. You did not borrow my money with this language.

JOLLY. No, sirrah: then I was fain to flatter you, and endure the familiarity of your family, and hear (nay, fain sometimes to join in) the lying praises of the holy sister that expired at Tyburn.

CROP. Do, abuse her, and be cursed. 'Tis well known she died a martyr, and her blood will be upon some of you. 'Tis her orphan's money I require, and this is the last time I'll ask it: I'll find a way to get it.

[_He offers to go, and_ JOLLY _stays him_.

JOLLY. Art serious? By that light, I'll consent, and take it for an infinite obligation, if thou wilt teach the rest of my creditors that trick: 'twill save me a world of labour, for hang me if I know how to do't.

CROP. Well, sir, since I see your resolution, I shall make it my business.

CARE. Prythee, let's be rid of this fool.

CROP. Fool! Let him pay the fool his money, and he'll be gone.

JOLLY. No, sir, not a farthing. 'Twas my business to borrow it, and it shall be yours to get it in again. Nay, by this hand, I'll be feasted too, and have good words. Nay, thou shalt lend me more, ere thou gett'st this again.

CROP. I'll lay my action upon you.

JOLLY. Your action! You rogue, lay two.

[_They kick him, and thrust him out of the room._[246]

CARE. Lay three for battery.--What have we here? A she-creditor, too? Who would she speak with?

_Enter_ FAITHFUL. WILD _and_ CARELESS _return and meet her_.

WILD. She looks as if she had trusted in her time.

CARE. Would you speak with any here, old gentlewoman?

FAITH. My business is to Master Jolly.

CARE. From yourself, or are you but a messenger?

FAITH. My business, sir, is from a lady.

CARE. From a lady! From what lady, pray? Why so coy?

FAITH. From a lady in the town.

CARE. Hoh, hoh! from a lady in the town! Is it possible? I should have guessed you came from a lady in the suburbs or some country-madam by your riding face.

_Enter_ JOLLY _again_.

JOLLY. I think we have routed the rascals. Faithful! what makes thy gravity in a tavern?

FAITH. Sport, it seems, for your saucy companions.

JOLLY. Ho, ho, Mull,[247] ho! No fury, Faithful.

FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. My lady presents her service to you, and hath sent you a letter: there's my business.

CARE. Prythee, who is her lady?

JOLLY. The Lady Loveall.

CARE. O, O, does she serve that old lady? G.o.d help her!

FAITH. G.o.d help her! Pray for yourself, sir: my lady scorns your prayers.

JOLLY. Faithful, come hither. Prythee, is thy lady drunk?

FAITH. Drunk, sir?

JOLLY. Ay, drunk or mad? she'd never writ this else. She requires me here to send back by you the pearl she gave me this morning, which, sure, she'd never do if she were sober; for, you know, I earned them hard.

FAITH. I know! What do I know? You will not defame my lady, will you?

CARE. By no means. This is by way of counsel. Fie! give a thing and take a thing?[248] If he did not perform, he shall come at night, and pay his scores.

FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. Is this your return for my lady's favours?

Shall I have the pearl, sir?

JOLLY. No; and tell her, 'tis the opinion of us all, he that opens her stinking oyster[249] is worthy of the pearl.

FAITH. You are a foul-mouthed fellow, sirrah, and I shall live to see you load a gallows, when my lady shall find the way to her own again.

JOLLY. If she miss, there are divers can direct her, you know.

Adieu, Faithful. Do you hear? Steal privately down by the back-door, lest some knavish boy spy thee, and call thine age Bawd.

[_Exit_ FAITHFUL.

CARE. Prythee, who is this thing?

JOLLY. 'Tis my lady's waiting-woman, her bawd, her she-confessor, herself at second-hand. Her beginning was simple and below stairs, till her lady finding her to be a likely promising bawd, secret as the key at her girdle, obedient as her thoughts, those virtues raised her from the flat petticoat and kercher to the gorget and b.u.mroll. And I remember 'twas good sport at first to see the wench perplexed with her metamorphosis. She since has been in love with all the family, and now sighs after the Levite; and if he forsake her too, I prophesy a waiting-woman's curse will fall upon her: to die old, despised, poor, and out of fashion.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. Why do you not hang out a painted cloth, and take twopence apiece, and let in all the tame fools at door--those sons of wonder that now gape, and think you mad?[250]

CARE. 'Tis no matter what they think: madness is proper here. Are not taverns Bacchus's temples, the place of madness? Does not the sign of madness hang out at the door?

JOLLY.----while we within possess our joys and cups, as full of pleasure as weeping Niobe's afflicted eyes were swelled with grief and tears! Blessing on the cause that made our joys thus complete: for see Plutus in our pockets, Mars by our sides, Bacchus in our heads, self-love in our hearts, and change of virgins in our arms; beauties whose eyes and hearts speak love and welcome; no rigid thinkers, no n.i.g.g.ard beauties, that maliciously rake up their fire in green sickness to preserve a spark, that shall flame only in some dull day of marriage: let such swear and forswear, till (of the whole parish) they love each other least, whilst we wisely set out our cobwebs in the most perspicuous places to catch these foolish flies.

CARE. He's in the right. Dost think we retreated hither to beat a bargain for a score of sheep, or dispute the legality of votes and weigh the power of prerogative and parliament, and club for concluding sack, or read the Fathers here, till we grow costive, like those that have worn their suffering elbows bare, to find a knowledge to perplex 'em? A pox on such brain-breaking thoughts!

avoid them, and take me into my[251] hand a gla.s.s of eternal sack, and prophesy the restoration of senses and the fall of a lover from grace; which our dear friend Master Jolly will prove to whom the Lady Loveall (by Faithful lately departed) sent for the pearl you wot of.