A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 58

STAINES. Come on, sir. [_They fight._

SPEND. Now, sir, your life is mine.

STAINES. Why then, take it, for I'll not beg it of thee.

SPEND. n.o.bly resolv'd, I love thee for those words.

Here, take thy arms again, and, if thy malice Have spent itself like mine, then let us part More friendly than we met at first encounter.

STAINES. Sir, I accept This gift of you, but not your friendship, Until I shall recover 't with my honour.

SPEND. Will you fight again, then?

STAINES. Yes.

SPEND. Faith, thou dost well, then, Justly to whip my folly. But come, sir.

STAINES. Hold: y' are hurt, I take it.

SPEND. Hurt! where? zounds, I feel it not.

STAINES. You bleed, I am sure.

SPEND. 'Sblood, I think you wear a cat's-claw upon your rapier's point: I am scratched indeed: but, small as 'tis, I must have blood for blood.

STAINES. Y' are bent to kill, I see.

SPEND. No, by my hopes; if I can 'scape that sin, And keep my good name, I'll never offer't.

STAINES. Well, sir, your worst.

SPEND. We both bleed now, I take it; And, if the motion may be equal thought To part with clasp'd hands, I shall first subscribe.

STAINES. 'Twere unmanliness in me to refuse The safety of us both; my hand shall never fall From such a charitable motion.

SPEND. Then join we both, and here our malice ends: Though foes we came to th' field, we'll depart friends.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL _and a_ SERVANT.

SIR LIONEL. Come, come, follow me, knave, follow me; I have the best nose i' the house, I think: either we shall have rainy weather, or the vault's unstopped. Sirrah, go see; I would not have my guests smell out any such inconvenience. Do you hear, sirrah Simon?

SER. Sir.

SIR LIONEL. Bid the kitchen-maid scour the sink, and make clean her backside, for the wind lies just upon't.

SER. I will, sir.

SIR LIONEL. And bid Anthony put on his white fustian doublet, for he must wait to-day. [_Exit_ SERVANT.] It doth me so much good to stir and talk, to place this and displace that, that I shall need no apothecaries' prescriptions. I have sent my daughter this morning as far as Pimlico,[190] to fetch a draught of Derby ale,[191] that it may fetch a colour in her cheeks: the puling harlotry looks so pale, and it is all for want of a man, for so their mother would say (G.o.d rest her soul) before she died. [_Exit._

_Enter_ BUBBLE, SCATTERGOOD, STAINES, _and_ SERVANT.

SER. Sir, the gentlemen are come already.

SIR LIONEL. How, knave? the gentlemen?

SER. Yes, sir: yonder they are.

SIR LIONEL. G.o.d's precious! we are too tardy: let one be sent presently to meet the girls, and hasten their coming home quickly. How, dost thou stand dreaming! [_Exit_ SERVANT.] Gentlemen, I see you love me, you are careful of your hour; you may be deceived in your cheer, but not in your welcome.

BUB. Thanks, and _Tu quoque_ is a word for all.

SCAT. A pretty concise room; Sir Lionel, where are your daughters?

SIR LIONEL. They are at your service, sir, and forthcoming.

BUB. G.o.d's will, Gervase! how shall I behave myself to the gentlewomen?

STAINES. Why, advance yourself toward them with a comely step; and in your salute be careful you strike not too high nor too low: and afterward, for your discourse, your _Tu quoque_ will bear you out.

BUB. Nay, and that be all, I care not, for I'll set a good face on't, that's flat: and for my nether parts, let them speak for themselves.

Here's a leg; and ever a baker in England show a better, I'll give him mine for nothing.

STAINES. O, that's a special thing that I must caution you of.

BUB. What, sweet Gervase?

STAINES. Why, for commending yourself: never, whilst you live, commend yourself; and then you shall have the ladies themselves commend you.

BUB. I would they would else.

STAINES. Why, they will, I'll a.s.sure you, sir; and the more vilely you speak of yourself, the more will they strive to collaud you.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _and_ JOYCE.

BUB. Let me alone to dispraise myself: I'll make myself the errantest c.o.xcomb within a whole country.

SIR LIONEL. Here come the gipsies, the sun-burnt girls, Whose beauties will not utter them alone; They must have bags, although my credit crack for't.

BUB. Is this the eldest, sir?

SIR LIONEL. Yes, marry is she, sir.

BUB. I'll kiss the youngest first, because she likes me best.[192]

SCAT. Marry, sir, and whilst you are there, I'll be here. [_Kisses the elder._] O delicious touch! I think in conscience her lips are lined quite through with orange-tawny velvet.

BUB. They kiss exceeding well; I do not think but they have been brought up to't. I will begin to her, like a gentleman, in a set speech. Fair lady, shall I speak a word with you?