A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 63

JOYCE. Why did my inquiring eye take in this fellow, And let him down so easy to my heart, Where, like a conqueror, he seizes on it, And beats all other men out of my bosom?

W. RASH. Sister, you're well met. Here's a gentleman desires to be acquainted with you.

JOYCE. See, the servingman is turned a gentleman! That villanous wench, my sister, has no mercy. She and my brother have conspired together to play upon me; but I'll prevent their sport; for, rather than my tongue shall have scope to speak matter to give them mirth, my heart shall break. [_Aside._]

W. RASH. You have your desire, sir; I'll leave you; Grapple with her as you can. [_Aside. Exit._]

STAINES. Lady, G.o.d save you.-- She turns back upon the motion; There's no good to be done by praying for her, I see that; I must plunge into a pa.s.sion: Now for a piece of Hero and Leander; 'Twere excellent, and (praise be to my memory), It has reach'd half a dozen lines for the purpose: Well, she shall have them-- "One is no number, maids are nothing, then,[203]

Without the sweet society of men.

Wilt thou live single still? one shalt thou be, Though never singling Hymen couple thee.

Wild savages, that drink of running springs, Think water far excels all earthly things: But they that daily taste neat wine, despise it.

Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, Compar'd with marriage, had you tried them both, Differs as much as wine and water doth."

No? Why then, have at you in another kind.

"By the faith of a soldier, lady, I do reverence the ground that you walk upon. I will fight with him that dares say you are not fair; stab him that will not pledge your health, and with a dagger pierce a vein,[204] to drink a full health to you; but it shall be on this condition, that you shall speak first." Ud's foot! if I could but get her to talk once half my labour were over; but I'll try her in another vein. "What an excellent creature is a woman without a tongue! but what a more excellent creature is a woman that has a tongue, and can hold her peace! but how much more excellent and fortunate a creature is that man that has that woman to his wife!" This cannot choose but mad her; and if anything make a woman talk, 'tis this. It will not do, though, yet. I pray G.o.d they have not gulled me. But I'll try once again--"When will that tongue take liberty to talk? Speak but one word, and I'm satisfied: Or do but say but mum, and I am answer'd." No sound? no accent? Is there no noise in women? Nay, then without direction I ha' done. I must go call for help. [_Leaves her._

W. RASH. How! not speak?

STAINES. Not a syllable. Night nor sleep is not more silent. She's as dumb as Westminster Hall in the long vacation.

W. RASH. Well, and what would you have me do?

STAINES. Why, make her speak.

W. RASH. And what then?

STAINES. Why, let me alone with her.

W. RASH. Ay, so you said before; give you but opportunity, and let you alone--you'd desire no more. But come, I'll try my cunning for you; see what I can do. How do you, sister? I am sorry to hear you are not well.

This gentleman tells me you have lost your tongue; I pray, let's see. If you can but make signs whereabout you lost it, we'll go and look for't.

In good faith, sister, you look very pale; in my conscience, 'tis for grief. Will you have any comfortable drinks sent for? This is not the way [_aside_]; come, walk, seem earnest in discourse, cast not an eye towards her, and you shall see weakness work itself.

JOYCE. My heart is swoll'n so big that it must vent, Or it will burst. [_Aside._] Are you a brother?

W. RASH. Look to yourself, sir; The brazen head has spoke,[205] and I must leave you.

JOYCE. Has shame that power in him, to make him fly, And dare you be so impudent to stand Just in the face of my incensed anger?

What are you? why do you stay? who sent for you?

You were in garments yesterday, befitting A fellow of your fashion: has a crown Purchased that shining satin of the brokers?

Or is't a cast suit of your goodly master's?

STAINES. A cast suit, lady?

JOYCE. You think it does become you? Faith, it does not.

A blue coat[206] with a badge does better with you.

Go, untruss your master's points, and do not dare To stop your nose when as his worship stinks: 'T has been your breeding.

STAINES. Ud's life! this is excellent: now she talks. [_Aside._

JOYCE. Nay, were you a gentleman, and (which is more) Well-landed, I should hardly love you; For, for your face, I never saw a worse: It looks as if 'twere drawn with yellow ochre Upon black buckram; and that hair That's on your chin looks not like beard, But as if't had been smear'd with shoemakers' wax.

STAINES. Ud's foot! she'll make me out of love with myself.

[_Aside._

JOYCE. How dares your baseness once aspire unto So high a fortune, as to reach at me?

Because you have heard that some have run away With butlers, horsekeepers, and their father's clerks, You, forsooth, c.o.c.ker'd with your own suggestion, Take heart upon't, and think me (that am meet, And set up for your master) fit for you.

STAINES. I would I could get her now to hold her tongue. [_Aside_

JOYCE. Or, 'cause sometimes as I have pa.s.s'd along, And have return'd a courtesy for your hat, You, as the common trick is, straight suppose 'Tis love (sir reverence, which makes the word more beastly).

STAINES. Why, this is worse than silence. [_Aside._

JOYCE. But we are fools, and in our reputations We find the smart on't: Kindness is termed lightness in our s.e.x; And when we give a favour or a kiss, We give our good names too.

STAINES. Will you be dumb again?

JOYCE. Men you are call'd, but you're a viperous brood, Whom we in charity take into our bosoms, And cherish with our heart; for which you sting us.

STAINES. Ud's foot! I'll fetch him that wak'd your tongue, To lay it down again. [_Fetches_ WILL RASH.

W. RASH. Why, how now, man?

STAINES. O, relieve me, or I shall lose my hearing!

You have rais'd a fury up into her tongue: A parliament of women could not make Such a confused noise as that she utters.

W. RASH. Well, what would you have me do?

STAINES. Why, make her hold her tongue.

W. RASH. And what then?

STAINES. Why, then, let me alone again.

W. RASH. This is very good, i' faith: first give thee but opportunity, and let thee alone; then make her but speak, and let thee alone; now make her hold her tongue, and then let thee alone By my troth, I think I were best to let thee alone indeed: but come, follow me; the wild cat shall not carry it so away. Walk, walk, as we did.

JOYCE. What, have you fetched your champion? What can he do?

Not have you nor himself from out the storm Of my incensed rage: I will thunder into your ears The wrongs that you have done an innocent maid: O, you're a couple of sweet----what shall I call you?

Men you are not; for, if you were, You would not offer this unto a maid.

Wherein have I deserved it at your hands?

Have I not been always a kind sister to you, and in signs and tokens showed it? Did I not send money to you at Cambridge, when you were but a freshman? wrought you purses and bands; and since you came to th'

inns-o'-court, a fair pair of hangers? Have you not taken rings from me, which I have been fain to say I have lost when you had p.a.w.ned them; and yet was never beholden to you for a pair of gloves?

W. RASH. A woman's tongue, I see, is like a bell, That, once being set agoing, goes itself.

JOYCE. And yet you, to join with my sister against me, send one here to play upon me, whilst you laugh and leer, and make a pastime on me. Is this brotherly done? No, it is barbarous; and a Turk would blush to offer it to a Christian. But I will think on't, and have it written in my heart, when it hath slipped your memories.