A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 14

STRANGE. As true a rogue as thyself. Thou wrong'st me. Send your man away: go to, I have strange and welcome business to impart. The merchant is dead for shame: let's walk into the fields: send away your man.

CAPT. POUTS. How?

STRANGE. Here is a letter from the l.u.s.ty Kate, That tells you all: I must not give it you, But upon some conditions. Let us walk, And send away your man.

CAPT. POUTS. Go, sirrah, and bespeak supper at the Bear, and provide oars: I'll see Gravesend to-night. [_Exit_ SERVANT.

STRANGE. The gentlewoman will run mad after you then. I'll tell you more: let's walk. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[34] This remark, and a question below, in the old copy are given to Luce; but Lucida is not upon the stage, and could not be there, as Scudmore afterwards enters, pretending to be the bearer of a letter from her. The name of _Nevill_ has been subst.i.tuted for Luce, and at least there is no impropriety in a.s.signing what is said to him. Two other speeches, attributed to her, obviously belong to Sir Abraham.

[35] The exclamations of the bowlers, whom Sir Abraham has just quitted.

[36] [Addressing Cupid.]

[37] The French phrase is _avaler le bonnet_, _i.e._, to lower the bonnet. The etymology of _avaler_ is disputed; but our _vale_, or as it is usually spelt, _vail_, is from _avaler_.

[38] This was probably a hit at the sort of "_worsted_ conceits" in plays represented at the old Newington theatre, which appears at one time to have been under the management of Philip Henslowe.

[39] There is a blank in this line in the old copy. Sir Abraham seems as fastidious as most versifiers, and it will be observed, that in reading over his "sonnet" he makes a variety of alterations. Perhaps the blank was left to show that he could not fill it up to his satisfaction, not liking the line as it stood, when he first committed it to paper--

"Ty _unto thee_, pity both him and it."

[40] Alluding to the _bauble_ or truncheon, usually with a head carved at the top of it, part of the _insignia_ of the ancient licensed fool or jester.

[41] Should we not read "is the death on us," or "of us?"

[42] This is one out of innumerable hits, in our old dramatists, at the indiscriminate creation of knights by James I. Their poverty was a constant subject of laughter. See Ben Jonson's "Alchemist," act ii.; Chapman's "Monsieur d'Olive," act i., and "Widows' Tears," act iv.; Barry's "Ram Alley," act i.; and Middleton's "Mad World, my Masters,"

act i., &c. Field's satire is as pungent as that of the best of them.

ACT IV., SCENE I.

_Enter_ SCUDMORE _and_ NEVILL.

I see great'st spirits[43] can serve to their own ends.

Were you the seeming servingman that pa.s.s'd by?

SCUD. By my sad heart, I was; and not a t.i.ttle Of my relation to thee wrong or feign'd.

NEV. In troth you were to blame to venture so.

Mischiefs find us: we need not mischiefs seek.

SCUD. I am not tied to that opinion,[44]

They are like women, which do always shun Their lovers and pursuers, and do follow With most rank appet.i.tes them that do fly: All mischief that I had is but one woman, And that one woman all mischance to me: Who speaks worst of them, there's[45] the best of men.

They are like shadows: mischiefs are like them.

Death fears me, for in troth I seek him out.

The sun is stale to me; to-morrow morn, As this, 'twill rise: I see no difference.

The night doth visit me but in one robe, She brings as many thoughts as she wears stars, When she is pleasant, but no rest at all.

For what new strange thing should I covet life, then?

Is not she false, whom only I thought true?

Shall time to show his strength make Scudmore live, Till (perish the vicious thought!) I love not thee, Or thou, dear friend, remove thy heart from me?

NEV. Time is as weak for that, as he is old.

Take comfort, and attend this counsel, friend: This match is neither sacred nor [is] sure; Close fate annihilates what opinion makes, And since she is resolved this night to die, If you do not redeem her, give the means, Or her blood (credit me) will spring heavier griefs.

Sorer and stranger, in thy oppressed heart, Than her false love before. Besides, 'tis you, My Scudmore, that are false, if you will not Consent to let her make vows good, which were But in a possibility to be broke.

This her repentance casts her vice quite off, And if you leave her now, you take it on.

Nay, you incur a b.l.o.o.d.y mortal sin: You do become an actual murderer.

If you neglect her, she will kill herself This night by poison, knife, or other means.

G.o.d gives you power to cross her desperate will, And if you save not, where you may, you kill.

SCUD. Why, can my n.o.ble and wise friend think still That what a woman says her heart doth mean?

Can you believe that she will kill herself?

'Tis a full hour, since she spake the word, And G.o.d forbid, that any woman's mind Should not be chang'd and chang'd in a long hour.

She is by this time in her lordly arms, And, like pleas'd Juno clasp'd by Jupiter, Forgets the plaints of poor mortality: Such state, such pride, as poets show her in, Incens'd with Jove's loose 'scapes upon the earth, She cast on me at our encountering.

As cold and heavy as a rock of ice, In her love to me, which while I there stay'd, My bitter and hot words resolv'd[46] a little: Just as the sun doth ice I soften'd her,

And made her drown her fault in her own tears.

But think you she holds this flexible vein?

No, I'm remov'd, and she's congeal'd again.

NEV. How well does Scudmore speak ill for himself!

Wit's a disease that fit employment wants; Therefore we see those happiest in best parts, And fortunes under-born unto their merits,[47]

Grow to a sullen envy, hate, and scorn Of their superiors; and at last, like winds, Break forth into rebellious civil wars Or private treasons: none so apt for these As melancholy wits, fetter'd with need.

How free's the rustic swain from these a.s.saults!

He never feels a pa.s.sion all his life, But when he cannot sleep, or hunger gripes; And though he want reason, wit, art--nay, sense, Is not so senseless to capitulate, And ask G.o.d why he made not him as great As that same foolish lord or that rich knave?

His brain with nothing does negotiate, But his hard husbandry, which makes him live.

But have we worthy gifts, as judgment, learning, Ingenious sharpness (which wise G.o.d indeed Doth seldom give out of His equal hand, But join'd with poverty, to make it even With riches, which he clogs with ignorance), We vent our blessing in profane conceits, Foul bawdry, or strong arguments against Ourselves,[48] and stark blindly hold it best Rather to lose a soul than lose a jest.

SCUD. Ill terms my friend this wit in any man; For that, but season'd with discretion, Holds him in awe of all these blemishes Frees him of envy, doth philosophise His spirit, that he makes no difference 'Twixt man and man, 'twixt fortunes high and low, But as the thicker they with virtues grow.

Freedom and bondage wit can make all one; So 'twould by being left and being lov'd, If I had any of it temper'd so.

But you have spoke all this, condemning me For having wit to speak against myself, But I'll be rul'd by you in all.

NEV. Then thus.

To-night by promise I do give a masque, As to congratulate the bridal day, In which the Count, Pendant, and the wise knight Will be most worthy dancers: sir, you shall Learn but my part, which I will teach you too, As nimbly as the usher did teach me, And follow my further directions.

Though I, i' th' morn, were [no][49] prodigious wight, I'll give thee Bellafront in thine arms to-night.

SCUD. I am your property, my enginer.[50]

Prosper your purposes! shine, thou eye of heaven.

And make thy lowering morn a smiling even! [_Exeunt._