The Scornful Lady Part 18

_Wid_. You have half perswaded me, pray use your pleasure: and my good friends since I do know your diet, I'le take an order, meat shall not offend you, you shall have Ale.

_Capt_. We ask no more, let it be, mighty Lady: and if we perish, then our own sins on us.

_Young Lo_. Come forward Gentlemen, to Church my boys, when we have done, I'le give you cheer in bowles. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Elder Loveless.

_Elder Lo_. This senseless woman vexes me to th' heart, she will not from my memory: would she were a man for one two hours, that I might beat her.

If I had been unhansome, old or jealous, 'thad been an even lay she might have scorn'd me; but to be young, and by this light I think as proper as the proudest; made as clean, as straight, and strong backt; means and manners equal with the best cloth of silver Sir i'th' kingdom: But these are things at some time of the Moon, below the cut of Canvas: sure she has some Meeching Rascal in her house, some Hind, that she hath seen bear (like another _Milo_) quarters of Malt upon his back, and sing with't, Thrash all day, and i'th' evening in his stockings, strike up a Hornpipe, and there stink two hours, and ne're a whit the worse man; these are they, these steel chin'd Rascals that undo us all. Would I had been a Carter, or a Coachman, I had done the deed e're this time.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Ser_. Sir, there's a Gentleman without would speak with you.

_Elder Lo_. Bid him come in.

_Enter_ Welford.

_Wel_. By your leave Sir.

_Elder Lo_. You are welcome, what's your will Sir?

_Wel_. Have you forgotten me?

_Elder Lo_. I do not much remember you.

_Wel_. You must Sir. I am that Gentleman you pleas'd to wrong, in your disguise, I have inquired you out.

_Elder Lo_. I was disguised indeed Sir if I wrong'd you, pray where and when?

_Wel_. In such a Ladies house, I need not name her.

_Elder Lo_. I do remember you, you seem'd to be a Sutor to that Lady?

_Wel_. If you remember this, do not forget how scurvily you us'd me: that was no place to quarrel in, pray you think of it; if you be honest you dare fight with me, without more urging, else I must provoke ye.

_Elder Lo_. Sir I dare fight, but never for a woman, I will not have her in my cause, she's mortal, and so is not my anger: if you have brought a n.o.bler subject for our Swords, I am for you; in this I would be loth to p.r.i.c.k my Finger. And where you say I wrong'd you, 'tis so far from my profession, that amongst my fears, to do wrong is the greatest: credit me we have been both abused, (not by our selves, for that I hold a spleen, no sin of malice, and may with man enough be best forgoten,) but by that willfull, scornful piece of hatred, that much forgetful Lady: for whose sake, if we should leave our reason, and run on upon our sense, like _Rams_, the little world of good men would laugh at us, and despise us, fixing upon our desperate memories the never-worn out names of Fools and Fencers. Sir 'tis not fear, but reason makes me tell you; in this I had rather help you Sir, than hurt you, and you shall find it, though you throw your self into as many dangers as she offers, though you redeem her lost name every day, and find her out new honours with your Sword, you shall but be her mirth as I have been.

_Wel_. I ask you mercy Sir, you have ta'ne my edge off: yet I would fain be even with this Lady.

_Elder Lo_. In which I'le be your helper: we are two, and they are two: two Sisters, rich alike, only the elder has the prouder Dowry: In troth I pity this disgrace in you, yet of mine own I am senceless: do but follow my Counsel, and I'le p.a.w.n my spirit, we'l overreach 'em yet; the means is this--

_Enter_ Servant.

_Ser_. Sir there's a Gentlewoma[n] will needs speak with you, I cannot keep her out, she's entred Sir.

_Elder Lo_. It is the waiting woman, pray be not seen: sirrah hold her in discourse a while: hark in your ear, go and dispatch it quickly, when I come in, I'le tell you all the project.

_Wel_. I care not which I have. [_Exit_ Welford.

_Elder Lo_. Away, 'tis done, she must not see you: now Lady _Guiniver_ what news with you?

_Enter_ Abigal.

_Abig_. Pray leave these frumps Sir, and receive this letter.

_Elder Lo_. From whom good vanity?

_Abig_. 'Tis from my Lady Sir: Alas good soul, she cries and takes on!

_Elder Lo_. Do's she so good Soul? wou'd she not have a Cawdle? do's she send you with your fine Oratory goody _Tully_ to tye me to believe again?

bring out the Cat-hounds, I'le make you take a tree Wh.o.r.e, then with my tiller bring down your _Gibship_, and then have you cast, and hung up i'th' Warren.

_Abig_. I am no beast Sir, would you knew it.

_Elder Lo_. Wou'd I did, for I am yet very doubtful; what will you say now?

_Abig_. Nothing not I.

_Elder Lo_. Art thou a woman, and say nothing?

_Abig_. Unless you'l hear me with more moderation, I can speak wise enough.

_Elder Lo_. And loud enough? will your Lady love me?

_Abig_. It seems so by her letter, and her lamentations; but you are such another man.

_Elder Lo_. Not such another as I was, Mumps; nor will not be: I'le read her fine Epistle: ha, ha, ha, is not thy Mistress mad?

_Abig_. For you she will be, 'tis a shame you should use a poor Gentlewoman so untowardly; she loves the ground you tread on; and you (hard heart) because she jested with you, mean to kill her; 'tis a fine conquest as they say.

_Elder Lo_. Hast thou so much moisture in the Whitleather hide yet, that thou canst cry? I wou'd have sworn thou hadst been touchwood five year since; nay let it rain, thy face chops for a shower like a dry Dunghil.

_Abig_. I'le not indure this Ribauldry; farewel i'th' Devils name; if my Lady die, I'le be sworn before a Jury, thou art the cause on't.

_Elder Lo_. Do Maukin do, deliver to your Lady from me this: I mean to see her, if I have no other business: which before I'le want to come to her, I mean to go seek birds nests: yet I may come too: but if I come, from this door till I see her, will I think how to rail vildly at her; how to vex her, and make her cry so much, that the Physician if she fall sick upon't, shall find the cause to be want of Urine, and she remediless dye in her Heresie: Farewell old Adage, I hope to see the Boys make Potguns on thee.

_Abig_. Th'art a vile man, G.o.d bless my issue from thee.

_Elder Lo_. Thou hast but one, and that's in thy left crupper, that makes thee hobble so; you must be ground i'th' breach like a Top, you'I ne're spin well else: Farewell Fytchock. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Lady _alone_.