A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 94

CAPT. Yes, yes, the captain knows it, and dares tell you your wit, your fortune, and his face, are but my ploughs; and I would have my fine monsieur know, who, in spite of my counsel, will be finer than his mistress, and appears before her so curiously built, she dares not play with him for fear of spoiling him: and to let him know the truth I speak, to his fair hands I present this letter, but withal give him to understand the contents belong to me.

[_He reads the letter._

WILD. The pearl are sent to me.

CAPT. I deny that, unless you prove you sent me: for the letter begins, "Sir, this n.o.ble gentleman, the bearer, whom you are pleased to make the messenger of your love," and so forth. And now you should do well to inquire for that n.o.ble gentleman, and take an account of him how he has laid out your love; and it may be, he'll return you pearl for it. And now, gentlemen, I dare propose a peace, at least a cessation of wit (but what is defensive) till such time as the plot which is now in my head be effected, in which you have all your shares.

WILD. So she knows I have not the pearl, I am content.

CAPT. She'll quickly find that, when she sees you come not to-night according to my appointment, and hears I have sold the pearl.

JOLLY. Here then ceaseth our offensive war.

CAPT. I'll give you counsel worth two ropes of pearl.

CARE. But the wench--how came the parson to get her?

CAPT. Faith, 'tis hard to say which laboured most, he or I, to make that match; but the knave did well. There it is, if you a.s.sist, I mean to lay the scene of your mirth to-night; for I am not yet fully revenged upon the rogue: for that I know him miserable, is nothing, till he believe so too. Wanton and I have laid the plot.

JOLLY. Do you hold correspondence?

CAPT. Correspondence! I tell thee, the plots we laid to draw him on would make a comedy.

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SER. Sir, the ladies stay dinner.

JOLLY. And as we go, I'll tell you all the story, and after dinner be free from all engagements, as we promised thee; and, follow but our[221] directions, I'll warrant you mirth and a pretty wench.

OMNES. Agreed; anything that breeds mirth is welcome.

JOLLY. Not a word at the widow's: let them go on quietly, and steal their wedding too.

CAPT. I heard a bird sing, as if it were concluded amongst the couples.

WILD. They have been long about: my coz is a girl deserves more haste to her bed. He has arrived there by carrier's journeys.

CARE. But that I hate wooing, by this good day, I like your aunt so well and her humour, she should scarce be thrown away upon pale-face, that has sighed her into a wedding-ring, and will but double her jointure.

CAPT. Why, ay, thus it should be. Pray let us make them the seat of the war all dinner, and continue united and true among ourselves; then we may defy all foreign danger.

Jolly. And with full bowls let us crown this peace, and sing, _Wit without war no mirth doth bring._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ PARSON _and_ WANTON.

WAN. Was she deaf to your report?

PAR. Yes, yes.

[_The_ PARSON _walks troubled up and down_.

WAN. And Ugly, her Abigail, she had her say too?

PAR. Yes, yes.

WAN. And do you walk here, biting your nails? do you think I'll be satisfied with such a way of righting me?

PAR. What wouldst have me do?

WAN. Have you no gall? be abused and laughed at by a dull captain, that a strict muster would turn fool! You had wit, and could rail when I offended you; and none so sudden, none so terrible, none so sure in his revenge, when I displease you.

PAR. Something I'll do.

WAN. Do it, then, or I shall curse that e'er I saw you. Death!

let the sign of my lady, an out-of-fashion wh.o.r.e, that has paid for sin ever since yellow starch[222] and wheel fardingales were cried down, let her abuse me, and say nothing: if this pa.s.ses----

PAR. As Christ bless me, but I did, sweet heart; and if it were not church livings are mortal, and they are always. .h.i.tting me in the teeth with a man of my[223] coat, she should find I am no churchman within, nor Master Parson but in my coat. Come to dinner, and after dinner I'll do something.

WAN. I shall do something will vex somebody.

_Enter_ BAWD.

BAWD. Will you please to come to dinner? the company stays.

PAR. Come, let's go in.

WAN. No, I must walk a little to digest this breakfast; the guests else will wonder to see I am troubled.

PAR. Come, let this day pa.s.s in mirth, spite of mischief, for luck's sake.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

WAN. I'll follow you, and do what I can to be merry.

BAWD. Why, he stands already.

WAN. Peace, let me alone: I'll make him jostle like the miller's mare, and stand like the dun cow, till thou may'st milk him.

BAWD. Pray break him of his miserableness; it is one of the chief exceptions I have against him. He reared a puppy once, till it was ten days old, with three hap'worth of milk, and then with his own dagger slew it, and made me dress it: blessed myself to see him eat it, and he bid me beg the litter, and swore it was sweeter and wholesomer than sucking rabbits or London pigs, which he called Bellmen's issue.

PAR. [_Within._] Why, sweet heart!

WAN. Hark! he calls me. We must humour him a little, he'll rebel else.