A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 2

NEV. O heaven! we speak like G.o.ds and do like dogs.

SCUD. What means my----

NEV. This day this Bellafront, the rich heir, Is married unto Count Frederick, And that's the wedding I was going to.

SCUD. I prythee, do not mock me. Married!

NEV. It is no matter to be play'd withal, But even as true, as women all are false.

SCUD. O, that this stroke were thunder to my breast; For, Nevill, thou hast spoke my heart in twain, And with the sudden whirlwind of thy breath Hast ravish'd me out of a temperate soil, And set me under the red burning zone.

NEV. For shame! return thy blood into thy face.

Know'st not how slight a thing a woman is?

SCUD. Yes, and how serious too. Come! I'll t' the Temple: She shall not d.a.m.n herself for want of counsel.

NEV. O, prythee, run not thus into the streets!

Come, dress you better: so. Ah! yes,[14] thy clothes Are, like thy mind, too much disordered.

How strangely is this tide turn'd! For a world, I would not but have call'd here as I went.

Collect thy spirits: we will use all means To check this black fate flying toward thee. Come!

If thou miscarriest, 'tis my day of doom.

SCUD. Yes--now I'm fine. Married! It may be so; But, women, look to't: if she prove untrue, The devil take you all, that are his due! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ COUNT FREDERICK, _a tailor trussing him; attended by a page_.

C. FRED. Is Sir John Worldly up, boy?

BOY. No, my Lord.

C. FRED. Is my bride up yet?

BOY. No.

C. FRED. No! and the morn so fair?

_Enter_ PENDANT.

PEN. Good morrow, my thrice honoured and heroic lord.

BOY. Good morrow, your lord and master, you might say, for brevity sake.

[_Aside._

C. FRED. Thou'st a good tailor, and art very fine.

PEN. I thank your lordship.

BOY. Ay, you may thank his lordship indeed. [_Aside._

PEN. 'Fore G.o.d, this doublet sets in print, my lord; And the hose excellent; the pickadel[15] rare.

BOY. He'll praise himself in trust with my lord's tailor.

For the next St George's suit.

C. FRED. O, good morrow, tailor; I abhor bills in a morning.

PEN. Your honour says true: Their knavery will be discern'd by daylight; But thou may'st watch at night with bill in hand, And no man dares find fault with it.

TAILOR. A good jest, i' faith. Good morrow to your lordship. A very good jest.

[_Exit_ TAILOR.

C. FRED. I wonder my invited guests are so tardy. What's o'clock?

PEN. Scarce seven, my lord.

C. FRED. And what news, Pendant?

What think'st thou of my present marriage?

How shows the beauty to thee I shall wed?

PEN. Why, to all women like Diana among her nymphs.

BOY. There's all his reading. [_Aside._

PEN. A beauty of that pureness and delight, That none is worthy of her but my lord, My honourable lord.

C. FRED. But then her fortune, Match'd with her beauty, makes her up a match.

PEN. By heaven, unmatchable!--for none fit but lords, And yet for no lord fit but my good lord.

C. FRED. And that her sister, then, should love me too, Is it not strange?

PEN. Strange? no, not strange at all.

By Cupid, there's no woman in the world But must needs love you, doat, go mad for you.

If you vouchsafe reflection, 'tis a thing That does it home: thus much reflection Catches 'em up by dozens like wild fowl.

BOY. Now, ye shall taste the means, by which he eats. [_Aside._

PEN. Nature herself, having made you, fell sick In love with her own work, and can no more Make man so lovely, being diseas'd with love.

You are the world's minion, of a little man.

I'll say no more: I would not be a woman For all has been got by them.

C. FRED. Why, man, why?