The Scornful Lady Part 13

_Mor._ Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.

_Capt._ Thou shalt have heart and hand too, n.o.ble _Morecraft_, if them wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pa.s.s again, and I will stile thee n.o.ble, nay _Don Diego_. I'le woo thy _Infanta_ for thee, and my Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.

_Mor._ Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.

_Young Lo._ No Mr. _Morecraft_, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare her for ye.

_Capt._ Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.

_Poet._ Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.

_Young Lo._ But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by to ratifie.

_Wid._ I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say you had it. Take heed?

_Young Lo._ 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir _Savil_?

_Savil._ Yes Sir.

_Young Lo._ Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.

_Sav._ I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.

_Young Lo._ Come come, thou shalt live better.

_Sav._ I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em, I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are no sheep, and they must keep themselves.

_Young Lo._ Drink Master _Morecraft_, pray be merrie all: Nay and you will not drink there's no societie, Captain speak loud, and drink: widow, a word.

_Cap._ Expou[n]d her throughly Knight. Here G.o.d o' gold, here's to thy fair possessions; Be a Baron and a bold one: leave off your tickling of young heirs like Trouts, and let thy Chimnies smoke. Feed men of war, live and be honest, and be saved yet.

_Mor._ I thank you worthie Captain for your counsel. You keep your Chimnies smoking there, your nostrils, and when you can, you feed a man of War, this makes you not a Baron, but a bare one: and how or when you shall be saved, let the Clark o'th' companie (you have commanded) have a just care of.

_Poet._ The man is much moved. Be not angrie Sir, but as the Poet sings, let your displeasure be a short furie, and goe out. You have spoke home, and bitterly, to me Sir. Captain take truce, the Miser is a tart and a wittie whorson--

_Cap._ Poet, you feign perdie, the wit of this man lies in his fingers ends, he must tell all; his tongue fills his mouth like a neats tongue, and only serves to lick his hungrie chaps after a purchase: his brains and brimstone are the devils diet to a fat usurers head: To her Knight, to her: clap her aboard, and stow her. Where's the brave Steward?

_Savil._ Here's your poor friend, and _Savil_ Sir.

_Capt._ Away, th'art rich in ornaments of nature. First in thy face, thou hast a serious face, a betting, bargaining, and saving face, a rich face, p.a.w.n it to the Usurer; a face to kindle the compa.s.sion of the most ignorant and frozen Justice.

_Savil._ 'Tis such I dare not shew it shortly sir.

_Capt._ Be blithe and bonny steward: Master _Morecraft_, Drink to this man of reckoning?

_Mor._ Here's e'ne to him.

_Savil._ The Devil guide it downward: would there were in't an acre of the great broom field he bought, to sweep your durtie Conscience, or to choak ye, 'tis all one to me, Usurer.

_Young Lo._ Consider what I told you, you are young, unapt for worldly business: Is it fit one of such tenderness, so delicate, so contrarie to things of care, should stir and break her better meditations, in the bare brokage of a brace of Angels? or a new Kirtel, though it be Satten? eat by the hope of surfeits, and lie down only in expectation of a morrow, that may undo some easie hearted fool, or reach a widows curses? Let out mony, whose use returns the princ.i.p.al? and get out of these troubles, a consuming heir: For such a one must follow necessarily, you shall die hated, if not old and miserable; and that possest wealth that you got with pining, live to see tumbled to anothers hands, that is no more a kin to you, than you to his couzenage.

_Widow._ Sir you speak well, would G.o.d that charity had first begun here.

_Young Lo._ 'Tis yet time. Be merrie, me thinks you want wine there, there's more i'th' house. Captain, where rests the health?

_Captain._ It shall goe round boy.

_Young Lo._ Say you can suffer this, because the end points at much profit, can you so far bow below your blood, below your too much beautie, to be a partner of this fellowes bed, and lie with his diseases? if you can, I will no[t] press you further: yet look upon him: there's nothing in that hide-bound Usurer, that man of mat, that all decai'd, but aches, for you to love, unless his perisht lungs, his drie cough, or his scurvie.

This is truth, and so far I dare speak yet: he has yet past cure of Physick, spaw, or any diet, a primitive pox in his bones; and o' my Knowledge he has been ten times rowell'd: ye may love him; he had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, his own toward issue, whipt, and then cropt for washing out the roses, in three farthings to make 'em pence.

_Widow._ I do not like these Morals.

_Young Lo._ You must not like him then.

_Enter_ Elder Love.

_Elder Lo._ By your leave Gentlemen?

_Young Lo._ By my troth sir you are welcom, welcom faith: Lord what a stranger you are grown; pray know this Gentlewoman, and if you please these friends here: we are merry, you see the worst on't; your house has been kept warm Sir.

_Elder Lo._ I am glad to hear it Brother, pray G.o.d you are wise too.

_Young Lo._ Pray Mr. _Morecraft_ know my elder Brother, and Captain do you complement. _Savil_ I dare swear is glad at heart to see you; Lord, we heard Sir you were drown'd at Sea, and see how luckily things come about!

_More._ This mony must be paid again Sir.

_Young Lo._ No Sir, pray keep the Sale, 'twill make good Tailors measures; I am well I thank you.

_Wid._ By my troth the Gentleman has stew'd him in his own Sawce, I shall love him for't.

_Sav._ I know not where I am, I am so glad: your worship is the welcom'st man alive; upon my knees I bid you welcome home: here has been such a hurry, such a din, such dismal Drinking, Swearing and Whoring, 'thas almost made me mad: we have all liv'd in a continual _Turnbal-street_; Sir, blest be Heaven, that sent you safe again, now shall I eat and go to bed again.

_Elder Lo._ Brother dismiss these people.

_Young Lo._ Captain be gone a while, meet me at my old _Randevouse_ in the evening, take your small Poet with you. Mr. _Morecraft_ you were best go prattle with your learned Counsel, I shall preserve your mony, I was couzen'd when time was, we are quit Sir.

_Wid._ Better and better still.

_Elder Lo._ What is this fellow, Brother?

_Young Lo._ The thirsty Usurer that supt my Land off.

_Elder Lo._ What does he tarry for?

_Young Lo._ Sir to be Landlord of your House and State: I was bold to make a little sale Sir.

_More._ Am I overreach'd? if there be Law I'le hamper ye.