A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 23

MAID. That trouble Already may be pa.s.s'd.

WIFE. Why, if it be, The doubt he will not hold his brittle faith, That he is not a competible choice, And so your n.o.ble friends will cross the match, Doth make your happiness uncertain still; Or say, you married him? what he would prove.

Can you compare your state, then, to a wife?

MAID. Nay, all the freedom that a virgin hath Is much to be preferr'd. Who would endure The humours of so insolent[73] a thing As is a husband? Which of all the herd Runs not possess'd with some notorious vice, Drinking or whoring, fighting, jealousy, Even of a page at twelve or of a groom That rubs horse-heels? Is it not daily seen, Men take wives but to dress their meat, to wash And starch their linen: for the other matter Of lying with them, that's but when they please: And whatsoe'er the joy be of the bed, The pangs that follow procreation Are hideous, or you wives have gull'd your husbands With your loud shriekings and your deathful throes.

A wife or widow to a virgin's life!

WID. Why should the best of you think ye enjoy The roost[74] and rule, that a free widow doth?

I am mine own commander, and the bliss Of wooers and of each variety Frequents me, as I were a maid. No brother Have I to dice my patrimony away, as you, My maiden-madam, may. No husband's death Stand I in doubt on; for thanks be to heaven, If mine were good, the grievous loss of him Is not to come; if he were bad, he's gone, And I no more embrace my injury.

But be yours ill, you nightly clasp your hate; Or good--why, he may die or change his virtue.

And thou, though single, hast a bed-fellow As bad as the worst husband--thought of one; And what that is men with their wives do do, And long expectance till the deed be done.

A wife is like a garment us'd and torn: A maid like one made up, but never worn.

MAID. A widow is a garment worn threadbare, Selling at second-hand, like broker's ware.

But let us speak of things the present time Makes happy to us, and see what is best.

I have a servant then, the crown of men, The fountain of humanity, the prize Of every virtue, moral and divine; Young, valiant, learned, well-born, rich, and shap'd, As if wise Nature, when she fashion'd him, Had meant to give him nothing but his form; Yet all additions are conferr'd on him, That may delight a woman: this same youth To me hath sacrific'd his heart, yet I Have check'd his suit, laugh'd at his worthy service, Made him the exercise of my cruelty, Whilst constant as the sun, for all these clouds, His love goes on.

_Enter_ INGEN.

WID. Peace, here's the man you name.

WIFE. Widow, we'll stand aside.

INGEN. Good morrow to the glory of our age, The Lady Perfect and the Lady Bright, [_Meeting the Wife and Widow._[75]

The virtuous wife and widow; but to you, The Lady Honour and my mistress, The happiness of your wishes.

MAID. By this light, I never heard one speak so scurvily, Utter such stale wit, and p.r.o.nounce so ill.

"But to you, my Lady Honour and my mistress, The happiness of your wishes!"

INGEN. Stop your wit; You would fain show these ladies, what a hand You hold over your servant: 't shall not need; I will express your tyranny well enough, I have lov'd this lady since I was a child, Since I could construe _Amo:_ now she says I do not love her, 'cause I do not weep, Lay mine arms o'er my heart, and wear no garters, Walk with mine eyes in my hat, sigh and make faces For all the poets in the town to laugh at.

Pox o' this howling love! 'tis like a dog Shut out at midnight. Must love needs be powder'd, Lie steep'd in brine, or will it not keep sweet?

Is it like beef in summer?

MAID. Did you ever Hear one talk fustian like a butcher thus?

INGEN. 'Tis foolish, this same telling folks we love: It needs no words, 'twill show itself in deeds; And did I take you for an entertainer, A lady that will wring one by the finger, Whilst on another's toes she treads, and cries "By gad, I love but one, and you are he,"

Either of them thinking himself the man, I'd tell you in your ear, put for the business, Which granted or denied, "Madam, G.o.d be wi' ye."

MAID. Come, these are daily slanders that you raise On our infirm and unresisting s.e.x: You never met, I'm sure, with such a lady.

INGEN. O, many, by this light. I've seen a chamber Frequented like an office of the law: Clients succeed at midnight one another, Whilst the poor madam hath been so distress'd Which of her lovers to show most countenance to, That her dull husband has perceiv'd her wiles.

MAID. Nay, perhaps taught her: many of those husbands Are base enough to live upon't.

INGEN. I have seen another of 'em Cheat, by this light, at cards, and set her women To talk to the gentlemen that play'd, That, so distracted, they might oversee.

MAID. O, fie upon ye! I dare swear you lie.

INGEN. Do not, fair mistress; you will be forsworn.

MAID. You men are all foul-mouth'd: I warrant, you Talk thus of me and other ladies here Because we keep the city.

INGEN. O, profane!

That thought would d.a.m.n me. Will you marry yet?

MAID. No, I will never marry.

INGEN. Shall we then Couple unlawfully? for indeed this marrying Is but proclaiming what we mean to do; Which may be done privately in civil sort, And none the wiser; and by this white hand, The rack, strappado, or the boiling boot[76]

Should never force me tell to wrong your honour.

MAID. May I believe this?

INGEN. Let it be your creed.

MAID. But if you should prove false? Nay, ne'er unhang Your sword, except you mean to hang yourself.

Why, where have you been drinking? 'sfoot, you talk Like one of these same rambling boys that reign In Turnbull Street.[77]

INGEN. How do you know?

MAID. Indeed, my knowledge is but speculative, Not practic there; I have it by relation From such observers as yourself, dear servant.

I must profess I did think well of thee, But get thee from my sight, I never more Will hear or see thee, but will hate thee deadly, As a man-enemy, or a woman turn'd.

Ladies, come forth.

_Enter_ WIDOW, WIFE.

See, sir, what courtesy You have done to me: a strange praise of you Had newly left my lips just as you enter'd, And how you have deserv'd it with your carriage!

Villain! thou hast hurt mine honour to these friends, For what can they imagine but some ill Hath pa.s.s'd betwixt us by thy broad discourse?

Were my case theirs, by virgin chast.i.ty, I should condemn them. Hence! depart my sight!

INGEN. Madam, but hear me. O, that these were men, And durst but say or think you ill for this!

I have so good a cause upon my side That I would cut their hearts out of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, And the thoughts out of them that injur'd you.

But I obey your hest, and for my penance Will run a course never to see you more: And now I lose you, may I lose the light, Since in that beauty dwelt my day or night. [_Exit_ INGEN.

WID. Is this the virtuous youth?

WIFE. Your happiness?

WID. Wherein you thought your seat so far[78] 'bove ours.

MAID. If one man could be good, this had been he.

See, here come all your suitors and your husband; And, room for laughter! here's the Lord Feesimple.

What gentlewoman does he bring along?

_Enter_ HUSBAND, _embracing_ SUBTLE; _the_ LORD FEESIMPLE, _with young_ BOLD _like a waiting gentlewoman, and_ WELLTRIED. WELLTRIED, HUSBAND, _and_ SUBTLE, _talk with_ WIFE.

FEE. One-and-thirty good morrows to the fairest, wisest, richest widow that ever conversation coped withal.

WID. Threescore and two unto the wisest lord That ever was train'd in university.