1. in_ernet_dli_2015_51977_2015_51977_Select-Collection-Of-Old-English-Plays

UNIVERSITY OF DELHI

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D U P.—178—5-2002—20,000

ARTS LIBRARY

DELHI UNIVERSITY LIBRARY SYSTEM

Cl. No 012 Xk9

A.13

Ac. No. 32577

This book should be returned on or before the date last stamped

below. An overdue charge of Re 1 will be charged for each

day the book is kept overtime.

(Authority : E.C. Res. 200 dated 27th August 1996)

A SELECT COLLECTION

OF

OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY

IN THE YEAR 1744.

FOURTH EDITION,

NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED,

WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS;

AND NEW NOTES

BY

W. CAREW HAZLITT.

VOLUME THE THIRTEENTH

LONDON:

REEVES AND TURNER, 196 STRAND.

AND 100 CHANCERY LANE, W.C.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

VOL. XIII.

EDITION.

A Match at Mid-night. A Pleasant Comadie: As it hath beene Acted by the Children of the Revells. Written by W. R. London: Printed by Aug. Matheres, for William Sheares, and are to be sold at his Shop, in Brittaines Burse. 1633. 4o

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Sir Marmaduke Many-Minds.

Sir Janus Amnenter.

Captain Carvagut,

Lieutenant Bottom.

Ancient Young.

Bloodhound, a usurer.

Alexander Bloodhound,

Tim Bloodhound, }

his two sons.

Randall, a Welshman.

Ear-lack, a scrivener.

Sim, the clown.

John, servant to the Widow.

Jarvis, the Widow's husband, disguised like her servant.

A Smith.

Busy, a Constable.

Watch.

[Women.]

Widow Wag.

Moll, Bloodhound's daughter.

Widow's Maid.

Mistress Coote, a bawd.

Sue Shortheels, a whore.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

ACT I, SCENE I.

Enter, as making themselves ready, TIM. BLOOD-HOUND, and SIM the man.

SIM. Good morrow, Master Tim.

TIM. Morrow, Sim ; my father stirring, Sin?

SIM. Not yet, I think ; he heard some ill-news of your brother Alexander last night, that will make him lie an hour extraordinary.

TIM. Hum : I'm sorry the old man should lie by the hour ; but, O, these wicked elder brothers, that swear refuse them,1 and drink nothing but wicked sack ; when we swear nothing but niggermoggers, made-mean'tur jibaut dértring, water-it

1 Refuse me, or God refuse me, appears to have been among the fashionable modes of swearing in our author's time. So in "The White Devil," act i. sc. 1, Flaminius says, God refuse me. Again, in "A Dogge of Warre,"2 by Taylor the Water-poet, Works, 1630, p. 229--

" Some like Dominicall Letters goe, In scarlet from the top to toe, Whose valours talke and smoake all ; Who make God sink 'em their discourse Refuse, Renounce, or Dam that's worse : I wish a halter choake all."

Again, in "The Gameater," by Shirley, Wilding says, "Refuse me, if I did."

6

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

with four-shillings' beer, and then swear we have

dined as well as my lord mayor.

SIM. Here was goody Fin, the fishwoman,

fetched home her ring last night.

TIM. You should have put her money by itself,

for fear of wronging of the whole heap.

SIM. So I did, sir, and washed it first in two

waters.

TIM. All these petty pawns, sirrah, my father

commits to my managing, to instruct me in this

craft that, when he dies, the commonwealth may

not 1 want a good member.

Enter Mistress Mary.

SIM. Nay, you are cursed as much as he already.

MIS. MARY. O brother, 'tis well you are up.

TIM. Why, why?

MIS. MARY. Now you shall see the dainty

widow, the sweet widow, the delicate widow,

that to-morrow morning must be our mother-in-

law.

TIM. What, the widow Wag?

SIM. Yes, yes; she that dwells in Blackfriars,

next to the sign of the Fool laughing at a feather:2

MIS. MARY. She, she; good brother, make

yourself handsome, for my father will bring her

hither presently.

TIM. Niggers-noggers, I thought he had been

sick, and had not been up, Sim.

SIM. Why, so did I too; but it seems the widow

took him at a better hand, and raised him so much

the sooner.

TIM. While I tie my band, prythee stroke up

my foretop a little : niggers, an' I had but dreamed

1 Not is omitted in the 4o.—Collier.

2 See [Randolph's Works, by Hazlitt, p. 179.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

7

of this an hour before I waked, I would have put

on my Sunday clothes. 'Snails, my shoes are pale

as the cheek of a stewed pander; a clout, a clout,

Sim.

Sim. More haste the worse speed; here's her a

clout now.

Tri. What's that lies by the hooks?

Sim. This? 'tis a sumner's coat 1

Tri. Prythee, lend's a sleeve of that; he had a

noble on't last night, and never paid me my bill's

money.

Enter OLD BLOODHOUND, the WIDOW, her MAID,

and MAN.2

Blood. Look, look, up3 and ready; all is ready,

widow. He is in some deep discontent with him,

concerning moneys out to one or another.

Wid. Has he said his prayers, sir?

Blood. Prayer before providence! When did

ye know any thrive and swell that uses it? He's

a chip o' th' old block4; I exercise him in the trade

of thrift, by turning him to all the petty pawns.

If they come to me, I tell them I have given over

brokering, moiling for muck and trash, and that I

mean to live a life monastic, a praying life: pull

out the tale of Crasus from my pocket, and swear

'tis called "Charity's Looking-Glass, or an exhorta-

tion to forsake the world."

Maid. Dainty hypocrite!

Wid. Peace!

Blood. But let a fine fool that's well-featured

come, and withal good meat, I have a friend, it

1 See note to "The Heir," [vol. xi. 535.]

2 Standing unseen for the present.—Collier.

3 The 4o reads Look, look upon, and ready, &c.—Collier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

may be, that may compassionate his wants. I'll

tell you an old saw1 for't over my chimney yonder—

A poor man seem to him that's poor,

And prays thee for't to lend;

But tell the prodigal (not quite spent)

Thou wilt procure a friend.

WID. Trust me, a thrifty saw.

BLOOD. Many will have virtuous admonitions on

their walls, but not a piece in their coffers; give

me these witty politic saws; and indeed my house

is furnished with no other.

WID. How happy shall I be to wed such wis-

dom!

BLOOD. Shalt bed it, shalt bed it, wench; shalt

ha't by infusion. Look, look!

Enter a SMITH.

SMITH. Save ye, Master Tim.

TIM. Who's this? goodman File, the blacksmith?

I thought it had been our old collier. Did you go

to bed with that dirty face, goodman File?

SMITH. And rise with it too, sir.

TIM. What have you bumming out there, good-

man File?

SMITH. A vice, sir, that I would fain be fur-

nished with a little money upon.

TIM. Why, how will you do to work then, good-

man File?

SMITH. This is my spare vice, not that I live by.

1 A proverb or wise saying. So in "The Wife of Bath's

Prologue," l. 6240—

"But all for nought, I sette not an hawe

Of his Proverbes, na of his olde sawe."

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

TIM. Hum ! you did not buy this spare vice of

a lean courtier, did ye ?

SMITH. No, sir, of a fat cook, that 'strained 1 of

a smith for's rent.

SIM. O hard-hearted man of grease !

TIM. Nay, may, Sim, we must do't sometimes.

BLOOD. Ha, thrifty whoreson !

TIM. And what would serve your turn, good-

man File ?

SMITH. A noble, sir.

TIM. What ! upon a spare vice to lend a noble ?

SM. Why, sir, for ten groats you may make

yourself drunk, and so buy a vice outright for half

the money.

TIM. Thät is a noble vice, I assure you.

SIM. How long would you have it ?

SMITH. But a fortnight ; 'tis to buy stuff, I pre-

test, sir.

TIM. Look you, being a neighbour, and born

one for another—

BLOOD. Ha, villain, shalt have all !

TIM. There is five shillings upon't, which, at the

fortnight's end, goodman File, you must make five

shillings sixpence.

SMITH. How, sir ?

TIM. Nay, an' it were not to do you a courtesy—

BLOOD. Ha, boy !

TIM. And then I had forgot threepence for my

bill ; so there is four shillings and ninepence, 2

which you are to tender back five shillings six-

pence, goodman File, at the end of the fortnight.

1 Distrained. So in “Thomas, Lord Cromwell,” 1602—

“His furniture fully worth half so much,

Which being all strain'd for the king,

He frankly gave it to the Antwerp merchants.”

2 The 4o reads four pence and ninepence. This play, in

the former editions, is very incorrectly printed.

12

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

BLOOD. Look, look; now he's come for more money.

WID. A very hopeful house to match into,

wench; the father a knave, one son a drunkard,

and t'other a fool.

[Aside.

TIM. O monster, father! Look if he be not

drunk; the very sight of him makes me long for

a cup of six.1

ALEX. Pray, father, pray to God to bless me.

[To TIM.

BLOOD. Look, look! takes his brother for his

father!

SIM. Alas, sir! when the drink's in, the wit's

out? and none but wise children know their own

fathers.

TIM. Why, I am none of your father, brother;

I am Tim; do you know Tim?

ALEX. Yes, umph—for a cockscomb.

WID. How wild he looks! Good sir, we'll take

our leaves.

BLOOD. Shalt not go, faith, widow: you

cheater, rogue; must I have my friends frighted

out of my house by you? Look he2 steal no-

thing to feast his bawds. Get you out, sirrah!

there are constables, beadles, whips, and the

college of extravagants, yclept Bridewell, you

rogue; you rogue, there is, there is, mark that.

ALEX. Can you lend me a mark upon this ring,

sir? and there set it down in your book, and,

umph—mark that.

BLOOD. I'll have no stolen rings picked out of

pockets, or taken upon the way,3 not I.

ALEX. I'll give you an old saw for't.

1 [Six-shilling beer, a stronger kind than that previously

described as four-shilling.]

2 Look, he'll steal nothing to feast his bawds, is the

reading of the old copy.—Collier.

3 Highlway.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

13

Blood. There's a rogue mocks his father :

sirrah, get you gone. Sim, go let loose the

mastiff.

Sim. Alas, sir! he'll tear and pull out your son's

throat.

Blood. Better pull't out than halter stretch it.

Away, out of my doors ! rogue, I defy thee.

Alex. Must you be my mother-in-law ?

Wid. So your father says, sir.

Alex. You see the worst of your eldest son ; I

abuse nobody.

Blood. The rogue will fall upon her.

Alex. I will tell you an old saw.

Wid. Pray let's hear it.

Alex. An old man is a bedful of bones,

And who can it deny ?

By whom (umph) 1 a young wench lies and

groans

For better company.

Blood. Did you ever hear such a rascal ?

Come, come, let's leave him: I'll go buy thy

wedding-ring presently. You're best be gone,

sirrah : I am going for the constable—ay, and

one of the churchwardens ; and, now I think

on't, he shall pay five shillings to the poor for

being drunk : twelve pence shall go into the box,

and t'other four my partner and I will share .

betwixt us. There's a new path to thrift, wench ;

we must live, we must live, girl.

Wid. And at last die for all together.

[Exeunt Bloodhound, Widow, Maid, and

Man.

Sim. 'Tis a diamond.2

[Aside.

1 These interjections probably mean to express that

Alexander hiccups in the course of what he says.—Collier.

2 [In allusion to Alexander.]

14

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Tim. You'll be at the Fountain 1 after dinner ?

Alex. While 'twill run, boy.

Tim. Here's a noble now, and I'll bring you t'other as I come by to the tavern ; Lut I'll make you swear I shall drink nothing but -hall beer.

Alex. Niggers-noggers, thou shalt not; there's thine own oath for thee : thou shalt eat nothing, an' thou wilt, but a poacherd spider, and drive it -down with syrup of toads.

[Exit.

Tim. Ah ! prythee, Sim, but the maid eat my breakfast herself.

[Exit.

Sim. H' has turned his -tomach, for all the world like a Puritan's at the -glt of a -uplice.

But your breakfast shall be devoured by a stomach of a stronger constitution, I warrant you.

[Exit

Enter CAPTAIN CArvEr's and LIECTENANT

BOTROU .

Capt. No game abroad this morning? This Coxcomb park,4 I think, he past the best: I have known the time the bottom twixt those hills has been better fledged.

Liect. Look out, Captain, there's matter ot employment at foot o'thi'lull.

Capt. A butiness?

Liect. Yes, and hopeful. There's a morning bird, his flight, it seems, for Lundon: he halloos and sings sweetly : pry thee, let's go and put him out of tune.

1 [A tavern so called.]

2 The aversion of the Puritans to a surplice is alluded to in many of the old comedies. See several instances in Mr Steevens's note to "All's Well that Ends Well," act ii sc. 3.

3 [Two footpads, who seem to have frequented the purlieus of Coomb l'ark. Sham miltary men were as common at that time as now.]

4 The purk belonging to Coomb House.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

15

CAPT. Thee and I have crotchets in our pates; and thou knowest two crotchets make one quaver;1 he shall shake for't.

[Exeunt.

Enter RANDALL.

RAN. Did hur not see hur true loves, As hur came from London? O, if hur saw not hur fine brave loves, Randall is quite undone.

Well, was never mortal man in Wales could have waged praver, finers, and nimblers, than Randalls have done, to get service in Londons : whoope, where was hur now? just upon a pridge of stone, between the legs of a couple of pretty hills, but no more near mountains in Wales, than Clough's bow to hur cozen David's harp. And now hur prattle of Davie, I think yonder come prancing clerks down the hills from Kingston a couple of hur t'other cozens, Saint Nicholas' clerks;2 the morning was so red as an egi, and the place fery full of dangers, perils, and bloody businesses by reports : angh ! her swords was trawn'; Cod pless us ! and hur cozen Hercules was not stand against

1 But two quavers make one crotchet : this seems to be false wit, having no foundation in truth.—Pyege.

2 Highwaymen or robbers were formerly called Saint Nicholas Clerks. See notes by Bishop Warburton and Mr. Steevens on the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 1.

So in Dekker's " Belman of London," 1616 : "The theeffe that commits the robbery, and is chiefe Clarke to Saint Nicholas, is called the high lawyer."

And in "Looke on me London," 1613, sig. C : "Here closely lie Saint Nicholas Clerkes, that, with a good northorne gelding, will gaine more by a halter, than an honest yeoman with a teame of good horses."

16

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

two. Which shall hur take? If they take Ran-

dalls, will rip Randalls cuts out ; and then Randalls

shall see Paul's +ceples no more ; therefore hur

shall go directly under the pridge, here was but

standing to knees in little fine cool fair waters ;

and by cat, if hur have Randalls out, hur shall

come and fetch Randalls, and hur will, were hur

nineteen Nicholas' clerks.

[Exit.

Enter Captain and Lieutenant.

Lieut. Which way took he?

Capt. On straight, I think.

Lieut. Then we should see him, man; he was

just in mine eye when we were at foot o' th' hill,

and, to my thinking, stood hure looking towards

us upon the bridge.

Capt. So thought I ; but with the cloud of dust

we raised about us, with the speed our horses

made, it seems we lost him. Now I could stamp,

and bite my horse's ears off.

Lieut. Let's spur towards Coomb House:1 he

struck that way ; sure, he's not upon the road.

Capt. 'Sfoot, if we miss him, how shall we keep

our word with Saunder Bloodhound in Fleet Street,

after dinner, at the Fountain? he's out of cash ;

and thou know'st, by Cutter's law,2 we are bound

to relieve one another.

Lieut. Let's scour towards Coomb House; but

if we miss him?

1 This ancient fabric, which is now destroyed, was the

seat of the Nevils, Earls of Warwick. It stood about a mile

from Kingston-upon-Thames, near Wolsey's Aqueducts,

which convey water to Hampton Court.—Steevens.

2 A cutter was, about the beginning of the last century, a

cant word for a swaggering fellow. This appears in the old

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

17

CAPT. No matter ; dost see yonder barn o' th'

left hand ?

LIEUT. What of that ?

CAPT. At the west end I tore a piece of board

out.

And stuff'd in close amongst the straw a bag

Of a hundred pound at least, all in round shillings,

Which I made my last night's purchase from a

lawyer.

LIEUT. Dost know the place to fetch it again ?

CAPT. The torn board is my landmark ; if we

miss this.

We make tor that : and whilst that lasts, O London,

Thou labyrinth that puzzlest strictest search,

Convenient inns-c't-court for highway-lawyers,

How with rich wine, tobacco, and sweet wenches,

We'll canvas thy dark case !

LIEUT. Away, let's spur.

[Exeunt.

Enter RANDALL.

RAND. Spur did hur call hur ? have made Ran-

dalls stand without poots in fery pitiful picklos :

but hur will run as nimbles to Londons as crey-

hound after rabbits. And yet, now hur remember

what hur cozen talkt. was some wiser and some,

too, Randalls heard talk of parn upon left hand,

and a prate hag with hundred pounds in round

shillings, Cud pless us ! And yonder was parns,

and upon left hands too : now here was questions

and demands to be made, why Randalls should

not rob them would rob Randalls ? hur will go to

black-letter play entitled "The Faire Maid of Bristow,"

sig. A iij., where Sir Godfrey says of Challener-

"He was a cutter and a swaggerer."

He is elsewhere (sig. A 4) called a swaggering fellow.-

MS. note in Oldys's Langbaine.

VOL. XIII.

B

18

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

parns, pluck away pords, pull out pags, and show

hur cozen a round pair of heels, with all hur round

shillings ; mark hur now.

[Exit.

Enter CAPTAIN and LIEUTENANT.

Lieut. The rogue rose 1 right, and has out-

stripped us. This was staying in Kingston with

our unlucky hostess, that must be dandled, and

made drunk next her heart ; she made us slip the

very cream o' th' morning : if anything stand

awkward, a woman's at one end on't.

Capt. Come, we've a hundred pieces good yet

in the barn ; they shall last us and Sander 2 a

month's mirth at least.

Lieut. O these sweet hundred pieces ! how I

will kiss you and hug you with the zeal a usurer

does his bastard money when he comes from

church. Were't not for them, where were our

hopes? But come, they shall be sure to thunder

in the taverns. I but now, just now, see potte-

pots thrown down the stairs, just like serjeants

and yeomen, one i' th' neck of another.

Capt. Delicate vision !

[Exeunt.

Enter RANDALL.

Ran. Hur have got hur pag and all by the hand,

and hur had ferly thought in conscience, had not

been so many round sillings in whole worlds, but

in Wales : 'twas time to supply hur store, hur had

but thirteenpence halfpenny in all the worlds, and

that hur have left in hur little white purse, witli a

rope hur found py the parn, just in the place hur

had this. Randalls will be no servingmans now ;

1 [Old copy, rise. The meaning seems to be that Randall

had got up betimes.]

2 i.e., Alexander Bloodhound.—Pegge.

hur will buy her prave parels, prave swords, prave taggers, and prave feathers, and go a-woing to prave, comely, pretty maids. Rob Randalls, be-cat ! and hur were ten dozen of cousins, Randalls rob hur; mark hur now.

Exit.

Enter Captain and Lieutenant.

Lieut. A plague of Friday mornings ! the most-unfortunate day in the whole week.

Capt. Was ever the like fate ? 'sfoot, when I put it in, I was so wary, thought it were midnight, that I watched till a cloud had masked the moon, for fear she should have seen't.

Lieut. O luck !

Capt. A gale of wind did but creep o'er the bottom, and, because I heard things stir, I stayed; 'twas twelve score past me.

Lieut. The pottle-pots will sleep in peace to-night.

Capt. And the sweet clinks.

Lieut. The clattering of pipes.

Capt. The Spanish fumes.

Lieut. The More wine, boy, the nimble Anon, anon, sir.1

Capt. All to-night will be nothing; come, we must shift. 'Sfoot, what a witty rogue 'twas to leave this fair thirteenspence halfpenny and this old halter ; intimating aptly,

Had the hangman met us there, by these pre-sages,

Here had been his work, and here his wages.2

Lieut. Come, come, we must make friends.

Exeunt.

1 i.e., The reply of drawers when they are called.

2 [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 247–8.]

20

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Enter BLOODHOUND, TIM, and SIM.

BLOOD. There, sirrah, there's his bond : run into the Strand, 'tis six weeks since the tallow-chandler fetched my hundred marks I lent him to set him up, and to buy grease ; this is his day, I'll have his bones for't else, so pray tell him.

TIM. But are a chandler's bones worth so much, rather ?

BLOOD. Out, coxcomb !

SIM. Worth so much ! I know my master will make dice of them; then 'tis but letting Master Alexander carry them next Christmas to the Temple,1 he'll make a hundred marks a night of them.

1 It was formerly usual to celebrate Christmas, at the several inns of court, with extraordinary festivity. Sometimes plays or masques were performed ; and when these were omitted, a greater degree of licence appears to have been allowed to the students than at other times. In societies where so many young men, possessed of high spirits, and abounding with superfluous sums of money, were assembled, it will not seem wonderful to find the liberty granted at this season should be productive of many irregularities. Among others, gaming, in the reign of James I., when this play was probably written, had been carried to such an extravagant height as to demand the interposition of the heads of some of the societies to prevent the evil consequences attending it. In the 12th of James I. orders for reformation and better government of the inns of court and Chancery were made by the readers and benchers of the four houses of court ; among which is the following;—"For that disorders in the Christmas-time, may both infect the minds, and prejudice the estates and fortunes, of the young gentlemen in the same societies : it is therefore ordered, that there shall be commons of the house kept, in every house of court, during the Christmas ; and that none shall play in their several halls at the dice, except he be a gentleman of the same society, and in commons ; and the benefits of the boxes to go to the butlers of every house respectively."—Dugdale's "Orig. Jurid." p.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

21

Tim. Mass, that's true.

Blood. And run to Master Ear-lack's the in-

318. In the 4th of Car. I. (Nov. 17) the society of Gray's Inn direct, "that all playing at dice, cards, or otherwise, in the hall, buttry, or butler's chaumber, should be thenceforth barred and forbiddlen, at all times of the year, the twenty days in Christmas only excepted."—Ibid. p. 286. And in the 7th of Car. I. (7th Nov.) the society of the Inner Temple made several regulations for keeping good rule in Christmas-time, two of which will show how much gaming had been practised there before that time, "8. That there shall not be any knocking with boxes, or calling aloud for gamesters. 9. That no play be continued within the house upon any Saturday night, or upon Christmas-eve at night, after twelve of the clock."

Sir Simon D'Ewes also, in the MS. life of himself in the British Museum, takes notice of the Christmas irregularities about this period (p. 52; Dec. 1620)—"At the said Temple was a lieutenant chosen, und much gaming, and other excesses increased during these festivall dayes, by his resolving and keeping a standing table ther; and, when sometimes I turned in thither to behold ther sportes, and saw the many oaths, execrations, and quarrels, that accompanied ther dicing, I began seriously to loath it, though at the time I conceived the sporte of itselfe to bee lawfull."—["Life of D'Ewes," edit. 1845, i. 361.] "The first day of Januarie [i.e., 1622–23] at night, I came into commons at the Temple, where ther was a lieftenant choosen, and all manner of gaming and vanitie practised, as if the church had not at all groaned under those hevie desolations which it did. Wherefore I was verie gladd, when, on the Tuesday following, being the seventeenth day of the same moneth, the howse brake upp ther Christmas, and added an end to those excesses."—[Life, ut supr., i. 223.]

To what excess gaming was carried on in the inns-of-court at this period may be judged from the following circumstance, that in taking up the floor of one of the Temple halls about 1764, near one hundred pair of dice were found, the boards, They were very small, scarce more than two-thirds as large as our modern ones. The hall was built in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. [See on this subject "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," i., where copious collections will be found upon this subject.]

22

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

former, in Thieving Lane, and ask him what he has done in my business. He gets abundance ; and if he carry my cause with one false oath, he shall have Moll; he will take her with a little. Are you gone, sir?

Tim. No, forsooth.

Blood. As you come by Temple Bar, make a step to th' Devil,

'Tim. 'To the Devil, father?

Sim. My master means the sign of the Devil ;1 and he cannot hurt you, fool ; there's a saint holds him by the nose.

Tim. Sniggers ! what does the devil and a saint both in a sign ?

Sim. What a question's that? what does my master and his prayer-book o' Sunday both in a pew?

Blood.2 Well, well, ye gipsy, what do we both in a pew?

Sim. Why, make a fair show; and the devil and the saint does no more.

Blood. You're witty, you're witty. Call to the man o' th' house, bid him send in the bottles of wine to-night ; they will be at hand i' th' morning. Will you run, sir?

Tim. To the devil, as fast as I can, sir; the world shall know whose son I am. Exit.

Blood. Let me see now for a poesy for the ring : never an end of an old saw ? 'Tis a quick widow, Sim, and would have a witty poesy.

Sim. If she be quick, she's with child ; whoso-ever got it, you must father it ; so that

1 This tavern, with the same sign as above described, [existed till 1787. See Gifford's Ben Jonson, 1816, ix. 84-5.]

2 This question is improperly given to Sim in the 4o.-Collier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

23

You come o' th' nick,

For the widow's quick.

There's a witty poesy for your quick widow.

Blood. No, no ; I'll have one shall savour of a saw.

Sim. Why then, 'twill smell of the painted cloth.1

Blood. Let me see, a widow witty—

Sim. Is pastime pretty :—put in that for the sport's sake.

Blood. No, no, I can make the sport. Then, an old man—

Sim. Then will she answer, If you cannot, a younger can.2

And look, look, sir, now I talk of the younger, yonder's Ancient Young come over

before he went ; I'm deceived if he come not a day

after the fair.

Blood. Mine almanac !

Sim. A prayer-book, sir?

Blood. A prayer-book ; for devout beggars I hate ; look, I beseech thee. Fortune, now befriend

me, and I will call tha plaguy whore in. Let me see, six months.

Enter Ancient Young.

Anc. Yes, 'tis he, certain : this is a business

must not be slackened, sir.

Sim. Look, I beseech thee ; we shall have oatmeal in our pottage six weeks after.

Blood. Four days too late, Sim ; four days too

late, Sim.

Sim. Plumbs in our pudding a Sunday, plumbs

in our pudding.

1 [See Dyce's Middleton, iii. 97, and v. 208.]

2 [A line of an old song aitered.]

i'24

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

ANC. Master Bloodhound, as I take it.

BLOOD. You're a stranger, sir. [Aside.] You

shall be witness, I shall be railed at else, they will

call me devil. I pray you, how many months

from the first of May to the sixth of November

following?

ANC. Six months and four days, just.

BLOOD. I ask, because the first of May last, a

noble gentleman, one Ancient Young—

ANC. I am the man, sir.

BLOOD. My spectacles, Sim : look, Sim, is this

Ancient Young?

SIM. 'Twas Ancient Young, sir.

BLOOD. And isn't not Ancient Young?

SIM. No, sir, you have made him a young an-

cient.

BLOOD. O Sim, a chair. I know him now, but

I shall not live to tell him.

ANC. How fare you, sir?

SIM. The better for you ; he thanks you, sir.

BLOOD. Sick, sick, exceeding sick.

ANC. O' th' sudden? Strange!

SIM. A qualm of threescore years come over

his stomach, nothing else.1

[Aside.

BLOOD. That you, beloved you, who, of all men

i' th' world, my poor heart doated on, whom I

loved better than father, mother, brother, sister,

uncles, aunts—what would you have? that you

should stay four days too late!

ANC. I have your money ready ;

And, sir, I hope your old love to my father—

1 This is the reading of the quarto, but Mr Reed, without

necessity or notice, changed it thus—

"A qualm of threescore pounds a year came over his stomach."

Sim refers to the age and infirmity of Bloodhound.—Col-

lier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

25

Blood. Nay, nay, I am noble, fellow, very neble, a very rock of friendship ; but--but I had a house and barn burnt down to the ground since you were here.

Anc. How ?

Blood. How ? burned—ask Sim.

Sim. By fire, sir, by fire.

Blood. To build up which, for I am a poor man—a poor man, I was forced by course of law to enter upon your land, and so, for less money than you had of me, I was fain to sell it to another.

That, by four days' stay, a man should lose his blood ! our livings ! our blood ! O my heart ! O my head !

Anc. Pray, take it not so heinous, we'll go to him : I'll buy it again of him, he won't be too cruel.

Blood. A dog, a very dog; there's more mercy in a pair of unbribcd bailiffs. To shun all such solicitations, he's rid to York. A very cut-throat rogue ! But I'll send to him.

Anc. An honest old man, how it moves him !

[Aside.] This was my negligence. Good Sim, convey him into some warmer room ; and I pray, however Fortune—she that gives ever with the dexterity she takes—shall please to fashion out my sufferings, yet for his sake, my deceased father, the long friend of your heart, in your health keep me happy.

Blood. O right honest young man ! Sim. Sir.

Blood. Have I done't well ?

Sim. The devil himself could not have done't better.

Blood. I tell thee an old saw, sirrah—

He that dissembles in wealth shall not want;

They say doomsday's coming, but think you not on't.

This will make the pot seethe, Sim.

26

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Anc.1 Good sir, talk no more, my mouth runs over. [Exeunt Bloodhound and Sir.] Sleep,

wake, worthy beggar, worthy indeed to be one,

and am one worthily. How fine it is to wanton

without affliction! I must look out for fortunes

over again : no, I have money here, and 'tis the

curse of merit not to work when she has money.

There was a handsome widow, whose wild-mad-

jealous husband died at sea: let me see. I am

near Blackfriars, I'll have one start at her, or

else—

Enter Bloodhound's daughter Moll, with a bowl

of beer.

Moll. By my troth, 'tis he! Captain Young's

son. I have loved him ever since I was a girl;

but should he know it, I

should run mad, sure. What handsome gentlemen

travel and manners make: my father begun to

you, sir, in a cup of small beer.

Anc. How does he, pray?

Moll. Pretty well now, sir.

Anc. Mass, 'tis small indeed. [Aside.] You'll

pledge me?

Moll. Yes, sir.

Anc. Pray, will you tell me one thing?

Moll. What is't?

Anc. Which is smaller, this beer or your maiden-

head ?

Moll. The beer a great deal, sir.

Anc. Ay, in quality.

Moll. But not in quantity?

1 All that follows, to the entrance of Moll, in the 4o is

made a continuation of what is said by Bloodhound—Col-

lier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

27

ANC. No.

MOLL. Why ?

ANC. Let me try, and I'll tell you.

MOLL. Will you tell me one thing before you try ?

ANC. Yes.

MOLL. Which is smaller, this beer or your wit ?

ANC. O the beer, the beer.

MOLL. In quality ?

ANC. Yes, and in the quantity.

MOLL. Why, then, I pray, keep the quantity of your wit from the quality of my maidenhead, and you shall find my maidenhead more than your wit.

ANC. A witty maidenhead. by this hand.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT II., SCENE 1.

A table set out. Enter two servants, JARVIS and JOHN, as to cover it for dinner.

JOHN. Is my mistress ready for dinner ?

JAR. Yes, if dinner be ready for my mistress.

JOHN. Half an hour ago, man.

JAR. But, prithee, sir, is't for certain ? for yet it cannot sink into my head that she is to be married to-morrow.

JOHN. Troth, she makes little preparation ; but it may be, she would be wedded, as she would be bedded, privately.

JAR. Bedded, call you it ? and she be bedded no better than he'll bed her, she may lie tantalised, and eat wishes.

JOHN. Pox on him ! they say he's the arrantest miser : we shall never live a good day with him.

28

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

JAR. Well, and she be snipped by threescore and ten, may she live six score and eleven, and repent twelve times a day—that's once an hour.

[Exit.

Enter Widow.

WID. Set meat o' th' board.

JoHN. Yes.

WID. Why does your fellow grumble so ?

JOHN. I do not know. They say you're to marry one that will feed us with horse-plums instead of beef and cabbage.

WID. And are you grieved at that ?

JOHN. No, but my friends are.

WID. What friends are grieved ?

JOHN. My guts.

WID. So, it seems, you begun clown—

JOHN. Yes, and shall conclude coxcomb, and I be fed with herring-bones. 'Sfoot, I say no more; but if we do want as much bread of our daily allowance as would dine a sparrow, or as much drink as would fox a fly,1 I know what I know.

WID. And what do you know, sir ?

JOHN. Why, that there goes but a pair of shears2 between a promoter and a knave ; if you know more, take your choice of either.

WID. 'Tis well; set on dinner.

Enter JARVIS with a rabbit in one hand and a dish of eggs in another, and the Maid.

JAR. O mistress, yonder's the mad gallant, Master Alexander Bloodhound, entered into the hall.

1 i.e., Intoxicate a fly.

2 The 4o reads a pair of sheets, but evidently wrong. See Marston's " Malcontent," iv. 5.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

29

WID. You should have kept him out.

MAID. Alas ! ne'er a wench in town could do't,

he's so nimble : I had no sooner opened the door,

but he thrust in ere I was aware.

Enter ALEXANDER.

ALEX. And how does my little, handsome,

dainty, delicate, well-favoured, straight and comely,

delicious, bewitching widow ?

JAR. 'Sfoot, here's one runs division before the

fiddlers.

WID. Sir, this is no seasonable time of visit.

ALEX. 'Tis pudding-time, wench, pudding-time ;

and a dainty time, dinner-time, my nimble-eyed,

witty one. Woot be married to-morrow, sirrah ?

[Sits to table.

JAR. She'll be mad to-morrow, sirrah.

ALEX. What, art thou a fortune-teller ?

JAR. A chip of the same block—a fool, sir.

ALEX. Good fool, give me a cup of cool beer.

JAR. Fill your master a cup of cool beer.

ALEX. Pish ! I spoke to the fool.

JAR. I thought you'd brought the fool with you,

sir.

ALEX. Fool, 'tis my man: shalt sit, i' faith,

wench.

WID. For once I'll be as merry as you are mad,

and learn fashions. I am set, you see, sir; but

you must pardon, sir, our rudeness—Friday's fare

for myself, a dish of eggs and a rabbit; I looked

for no strange faces.

ALEX. Strange : mine's a good face, i' faith;

prythee, buss.

JAR. Why, here's one comes to the business

now.

ALEX. Sirrah, woot have the old fellow ?

30

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Wid. Your father? Yes.

Alex I tell thee thou shalt not; no, no; I

have such [a rare one]1—this rabbit's raw too.

Jar. There's but one raw bit, sir.

Alex. Thy jester, sure, shall have a coat.2

Wid. Let it be of your own cut, sir.

Alex. Nay, nay; two to one is extremity—

but, as I was telling thee, I have such a husband

for thee: so knowing, so discreet, so sprightly—

fill a cup of claret—so admirable in desires, so

excellently deserving, that an old man—fie, fie.

prythee. Here's to thee.

Wid. The man's mad, sure.

Jar. Mad! by this hand, a witty gallant.

John. Prythee, peace, shalt hear a song.

Enter Ancient Young.

Wid. What cope's-mate's3 this, trow? who let

him in?

Jar. By this light, a fellow of an excellent

breeding.

He came unbidden, and brought his stool with

him.

John. Look, mistress, how they stare one at

another.

1 [These words seem to have dropped out of the old copy,

as Alexander immediately after puns on the word rare (pro-

nounced sometimes like raw).]

2 i.e., A fool's coat, such as the jesters or fools anciently

wore. See notes to "Tempest," act iii. sc. 2, by Dr John-

son and Mr Steevens.

3 Copesmate Dr Johnson conjectures to be the same as

copemate, a companion in drinking, or one that dwells under

the same cope, or house. I find the word used in "The

Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612, p. 31, but not accord-

ing to either of the above explanations. "Hee that trusts a

tradesman on his word, a userer with his bond, a phisitian

with his body, and the divell with his soule, needes not care

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

31

JAR. Yes, and swell like a couple of gilded cats1 met both by chance i’ th’ dark in an old garret.

Wm. Look, look; now there’s no fear of the wild beasts: they have forgot their spleens, and look prettily; they fall to their pasture. I thought they had been angry, and they are hungry.

JAR. Are they none of Duke Humphrey’s2 furies? Do you think that they devised this plot in Paul’s to get a dinner ?

Wm. Time may produce as strange at mouth. Let’s note them.

Emmott Randall.

Pax. How loved3 hour once; hour loved hour me more.

Saint Texte, so well as hour loved hour them.

Wm. Amicitia6 “burne”, tibiis is the cookemeyd’l heav-ing ope thie dore: and th’ maids is the damnediest dish she has semit in—a wijdgou’n in Welsh sauce ! Pray, let’s milke a meany day on’t.

when his trunors afterwards, neer wilnut cuperemotic encomoters him nevtv.

Cupremotion. Il hetheve, monnvs eildy cumpanimi, a werd whicthe was cnedl inytlh meat lund grend sunte by our anucetore.

This cupar lus to mnrtl witlly, rn cnmumnnmer. Dhians Bianlket—

“mevetor may cvmvenovnthvm onetl withinll.”

Siccmovs.

Agmin, in Witther’s “Abuses Stript and Whipt,” 1613, lib. iii. sc. I—

“Say theadvinufl (qumth hiscpasmnt) holles, Deus stny all nught, for itgrows peetllonee deathe;”

1 She note two “Grammer Curtun’s Needles,” [Bibl. 178], and also thie nuttes (of Dr Percy, for Stawents, and Mr Tollat, to thie “Thirst Plvt off King Henery IV,” act i. sc. 2.

2 [A constant allusion in our old’ playes.]

32

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

RAN. What! do hur keep open house? Had.

heard hur was widows that dwelt here: are you

widows, good womans?

WID. I want a husband, sir.1

RAN. Augh, Randalls comes in very good times: you

keep ordinaries, hur think. What, have you

set a cat before gallants there?

JAR. They will eat him for the second course.

[Aside.] These are suitors to my mistress sure—

things that she slights. Set your feet boldly in;

widows are not caught as maids kiss—faintly, but

as mastiffs fight—valiantly.

RAN. Is hur so: I pray pid hur mistress observe

Randalls for valours and prave adventures?

ANC. Some beer.

WID. Let them want nothing.

ANC. Here, widow.

WID. I thank you, sir.

ALEX. Some wine.

JAR. Here is wine for you, sir.

RAN. Randalls will not be outpraved, I warrant

hur.

ALEX. Here, widow.

WID. I thank you too, sir.

RAN. Sounds, some metheglins here.

WID. What does he call for?

JAR. Here are some eggs for you, sir.

RAN. Eggs, man! some metheglins, the wine of

Wales.

JAR. Troth, sir, here's none i' th' house: pray,

make a virtue of necessity, and drink to her in this

glass of claret.

RAN. Well, because hur will make a great deals

1 This reply, and the preceding question of Randall,

were omitted by Dodsley and Reed.

of necessities of virtues, mark, with what a grace

Randalls will drink to hur mistress.

Maid. He makes at you, forsooth.

Wid. Let him come, I have ever an English

virtue to put by a Welsh.

Ran. O noble widows, hur heart was full ot

woes.

Alex. No, noble Welshman, hur heart was in

hur hose.

Ran. Sounds, was that liur manners, to take

away Randall's cups?

Anc. No, it showed scurvy.

Alex. 'Takk't you at woist, then.

Anc. Whelp of the devil, thou shalt see thy

sire1 for't.

John, Jar. Gentlemen, what mean you?

Ran. Let hur come, let hur come; Randalls

will redeem reputations, hur warrant hur.

Wid. Redeem your wit, sir. First for you, sir,

you are a stranger; but you—fie, Master Blood-

hound!

Anc. Ha! Bloodhound! good sir, let me speak

with you.

Ran. Sounds, what does Randalls amongst

ploodhounds?

Alex. Ancient Young! how false our memories

have played through long discontinuance!2 But

why met here, man? Is Mars so bad a paymaster

that our ancients fight under Cupid's banner?

Anc. Faith, this was but a sudden start, be-

gotten from distraction of some fortunes: I pursue

this widow but for want of wiser work.

1 [It is still a common expression, that a person will "see

his grandmother" after taking so and so.]

2 Mr Reed allowed it to stand continuance instead of dis-

continuance, which made nonsense of the passage.—Collier.

VOL. XIII.

C

34

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

JAR. The Welshman labours at it. [Aside.]

RAN. A pair of a hundred of seep, thirty prate cows, and twelve dozen of runts.

WID. Twelve dozen of goose :

RAN. Give hur but another mark !

ALEX. He has the mortgage still, and I have a handsome sister : do but meet at the Fountain in Fleet Street after dinner ; O, I will read thee a history of happiness, and thou shalt thank me.

ANC. Ay, read, all's well or weapons.

ALEX. A word, Jarvis. [Whispers him.]

RAN. O prave widows, hur will meet hur there, hur knows hur times and hur seasons, hur warrant hur. Randalls will make these prave gallants hang hurselfs in those garters of willow-garlands apout hur pates ; mark hur now, and remembor.

[Exit.

ANC. Adieu, sweet widow ; for my ordinary— [Kisses her.

WID. 'Twas not so much worth, sir.

ANC. You mean, 'twas worth more then ; and that's another handsomely begged.

[Kisses her again.]

WID. You conclude women cunning beggars, then.

ANC. Yes, and men good benefactors. My best wishes wait on so sweet a mistress. Will you walk ?

[Exit ANCIENT.]

ALEX. I'll follow you. Woot think on't soon at night, or not at all ? [Aside to JARVIS.]

JAR. I would not have my wishes wronged ; if I should bring it about handsomely, you can be honest.

[Aside.]

ALEX. Can [I ?] dost conclude me a satin cheat ?

[Aside.]

JAR. No, a smooth gallant, sir. Do not you fail to be here soon at nine, still provided you will

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

35

be honest : if I convey you not under her bed,

throw me a top o' th' tester, and lay me out o' th'

way like a rusty bilbo.

[Aside.]

Alex. Enough : drink that.

[Aside, giving him money.]

Farewell, widow ; Fate, the Destinies,

and the three ill-favoured Sisters have concluded

the means, and when I am thy husband—

Wid. I shall be your wife.

Alex. Do but remember these cross capers then,

ye bitter-sweet one.1

[Exit.

Wid. Till then adieu, you bitter-sweet one.

[Exit.

Jar. This dinner would have showed better in

bed-lane : and she at the other side holdeth her

whole nest of suitors [at] play. What art decks

the dark labyrinth of a woman's heart !

[Exit.

Enter Mary Bloodhound and Sim.

Moll. Marry old Ear-lack ! is my father mad ?

Sim. They're both a-concluding on't yonder ;

to-morrow's the day ; one wedding-dinner must

serve both marriages.

Moll. O Sim ! the Ancient, the delicate

Ancient; there's a man, and thou talk'st of a

man ; a good face, a sparkling eye, a straight

body, a delicate hand, a clean leg and foot.

Ah, sweet Sim there's a man worth a maidenhead.

Enter Bloodhound and Ear-lack.

Sim. But I say, Master Ear-lack, the old man !

a foot like a bear, a leg like a bed-staff, a hand

1 See note to "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 3. vol. x.

edit. 1778.—Steevens.

36

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

like a hatchet, an eye like a pig, and a face like a

winter peony; 1 there's a man for a maidenhead.

MOLL. O look, look! O, alas! what shall I do

with him?

SIM. What? why, what shall fifteen do with

sixty and twelve? make a screen of him; stand

next the fire, whilst you sit behind him and keep

a friend's lips warm. Many a wench would be

glad of such a fortune.

BLOOD. Your oath struck it dead then, o' my

side?

EAR. Fire hundred deep of your side, i' faith,

father.

BLOOD. Moll, come hither, Moll; I hope Sim

has discovered the project.

EAR. And to-morrow must be the day. Moll;

both of a day; one dinner shall serve. We may

have store of little ones; we must save for our

family.

MOLL. Good sir, what rashness was parent to

this madness? marry an old man—Ear-lack the

informer!

BLOOD. Madness! You're a whore.

EAR. Is she a whore, Sim?

SIM. She must be your wife, I tell—

BLOOD. An arrant whore, to refuse Master

Innocent Ear-lack of Rogue-land !—that for his

dwelling: next, that he doth inform now and then

against enormities, and hath been blanketed—it

may be, pumped in's time; yet the world knows

he does it not out of need: he's of mighty means,

but takes delight now and then to trot up and

down to avoid idleness, you whore.

1 [Old copy and former editions, pigme. The peony is

very apt to be nipped by the frost, and so to be pinched up;

hence Sim's similitude.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

37

Sim. Good sir!

Ear. Pray, father!

Moll. This wound wants oil. Good sir, in all

my paths I will make you my guide; I was only startled

With the suddenness of the matriage,

In that I knew that this deserving gentleman

And I had never so much conference.

Whereby this coal of Paphos—by the rhetoric

Of his love-stealing, heart-captivating language—

Might be blown into a flame.

Ear. D's she take tobacco, father?

Blood. No, no, man; these are out of ballads:

she has all the Garland of Good-will 1 by heart.

Ear. Snails, she may sing me asleep o' nights

then. Sim.

Sim. Wily ri ht, sir; and then 'tis but tickling

you o th' tureluid with her heels. you are awake

again. and n r the worse man.

Moll. Is f but five years older than yourself,

sir?

Ear. Nay. I want a week and three days of that

too,

Blood. I'll tell thec an old saw for't, girl—

Dif siz he be. old blades are best.

J n r icarts are never old.

Ear. Ha, ha!

Blood. Q id' a arao* plea, gr?1 Legrts rest.

Tir* frult is frund in gold?

Sim. I will answer presently, sir, with another saw.

1 One of the miscellaneous coiiections of songs and poems,

formerly published, called "Garlunds." The names of a great

number of these, and, amongst the rest, "The Garland of

Good-will," by T. D. [1604,] are enumerated in ¡Hazlitt's

" Handbook," 1867, art. Garlands, Deloney. &c]

38

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Blood. Let's ha't, let's ha't.

Ear. Mark, Moll.

Sim. Young ? say she be young, young mutton's, sweet,

Content is above gold;

If, like an old cock, he with young mutton meet,

He feeds like a cuckold.

Blood. A very pretty pithy one, I protest : look, an' Moll do not laugh : shalt have a pair of

gloves for that. What leather dost love ?

Sim. Calf, sir ; sheep's too simple for me.

Blood. Nay, 'tis a witty notable knave; he should never serve me else.

Enter John with a letter.

John. My mistress remembers her love, and requests you would inure her so much to your

patience as to read that.

Blood. Love-letters, love-lies : dost mark, Sim ; these women are violent, Sim. Whilst I read the

lie,1 do you rail to him upon the brewer : swear he has deceived us, and save a cup of beer by't.

Sim. I will not save you a cup at that rate, sir.

Ear. I can make thee a hundred a year jointure, wench. At the first, indeed, I began with

pretty business, wench; and here I picked, and there I picked ; but now I run through none but

things of value.

Moll. Sir, many thoughts trouble me; and your words carry such weight, that I will choose

a time, when I have nothing else to do, to think on 'em.

1 [A play on the similarity between lye and lie, the former being the dregs or lees of beer.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

39

EAR. By my troth, she talks the wittiest, an' I would understand her.

BLOOD. O nimble, nimble widow! I am sorry we have no better friends; [To JOHN] but pray, commend me, though in a blunt, dry commendation; at the time and place appointed I wonnot fail. I know she has a nest of suitors, and would carry it close, because she fears surprisal.

[Exit JOHN.]

EAR. What news, father?

BLOOD. Shalt lie there all night, son.

EAR. Was that the first news I heard on't?

BLOOD. I must meet a friend i' th' dark soon : let me see, we lovers are all a little mad; do you and Moll take a turn or two i' th' garden, whilst Sim and I go up into the garret and devise till the guests come.

[Exit.

SIM. He's a little mad. I had best hang him upon the cross-beam in the garret.

[Exit.

EAR. Come, Moll, come, Malkin:1 we'll even to the camomile bed, and talk of household stuff; and be sure thou rememberest a trade.

MOLL. Please you go before, sir.

EAR. Nay, an old ape has an old eye; I shall go before, an' thou woot show me a love-trick, and lock me into the garden. I will come discreetly behind, Moll.

MOLL. Out upon him, what a suitor have I got!

I am sorry you're so bad an archer, sir.

EAR. Why, bird, why, bird?

MOLL. Why, to shoot at butts, when you should use prick-shafts : short shooting will lose you the game, I assure you, sir.

1 [Moll and Malkin are the same, of course. Ear-lack, just after, plays on the meanings of the words bed and stuff]

42

A MATCH AT MID\IGHT

ALEX That delicate, sweet young gentle

woman—

TIM Foh ! this tobacco †

ALEX That bears the blush of morning on her

cheeks,

Whose eyes are like a pair of talking twins

TIM She looks just upon me

ALEX I think you are in haste

TIM No, no, no, pray

ALEX Whose lips are beds of roses, betwixt which

There steals a breath sweeter than Indian spice—

TIM Sweeter than ginger !

ALEX. But then to touch those lips you stay

too long, sure ?

TIM Pish, I tell you I do not I know my time

Pray, what's her name ?

ALEX But 'tis descended from the ancient

stem.

[O'] the great Trebatio,1 Lindabride's her name

That ancient matron is her reverend grannum

TIM Nigger,2 I have read of her in the Mirror

of Knighthood 2

ALEX Come, they shall know you

TIM Nay, brother

1 [Former edits , Trebatio ]

2 [the "Mirror of Knighthood ' better known as the

‘ Knight of the Sun," a romance in nine parts tran lated

into English by Margaret Tyler and others, between 1579

and 1601 Complete sets are of the greatest rarity the

bibliography of the work may be seen in Hazlitt's Knight

of the Sun ]

It appears that Thomas Este, the printer, [originally] under-

dertook the publication of this work, which is executed by

different ‘translators, and dedicated to different patrons

Margaret Tyler (think to use, as she says at the oonclusion of

her address to the reader) having no concern with any part

but the first —Steevens

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

43

ALEX. I say they shall.

TIM. Let me go down and wash my face first.

ALEX. Your face is a fine face. My brother,

gentlemen.

CAPT. Sir, you're victoriously welcome.

TIM. That word has e'en conquered me.

LIEUT. I desire to kiss your hand, sir.

TIM. Indeed, but you shall not, sir : I went out

early, and forgot to wash them.

MIS. COOTE. Precious dotterel !

[Aside.

CAPT. Sir, I shall call it a courtesy if you shall

please to vouchsafe to pledge me.

TIM. What is't, brother ? Four or six ?1

CAPT. Four or six ! 'tis rich Canary : it came

from beyond the seas,

TIM. I will do no courtesy at this time, sir; yet

for one cup I care not, because it comes from be-

yond the seas. I think 'tis outlandish wine.

SUE. Look how it glides !

MIS. COOTE. Now, truly, the gentleman drinks

as like one Master Widgeon, a kinsman of

mine—

LIEUT. Pox on you ! heildom !2

TIM. I ha' heard of that Widgeon, I ha' been

taken for him ; and now I think on't, a cup of this

is better than our four-shilling beer at home.

LIEUT. You must drink another, sir : you drank

to nobody.

TIM. Is it the law that, if a man drinks to no-

body, he must drink again ?

1 Tim means to ask, is it four or six shilling beer, supposing that such was the beverage, to which the Captain replies

scornfully, Four or six ! 'Tis rich Canary, &c. This was omitted by Mr Reed.—Collier.

2 [Former edits., Fox on you heilding. Heildom is a

health, and the lieutenant means to say that Tim should

propose one.]

44

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Omnes. Ay, ay, ay. Fill his glass.

Tim. Why, then, I will drink to nobody once more, because I will drink again:

Alex. Did not I tell you? More wine there, drawer.

Sue. This pageant's worth the seeing, by this hand.

Tim. Methinks this glass was better that t'other, gentlemen.

Capt. O sir, the deeper the sweeter ever.

Tim. Do you think so?

Lieut. Ever that when ye drink to nobody.

Tim. Why, then, I pray give me t'other cup.

Mis. Coote. I have not drunk yet. sir.

Alex. Again, ye witch! Drink to the young gentlewoman.

Tim. Mistress Lindabrides.

Sue. Thanks, most ingenious sir.

Tim. She's a little shame-faced. The deeper the sweeter, forsooth.

Alex. Pox on you for a coxcomb!

Enter Ancient Young [standing aside].

Anc. I' th' next room I have seen and heard all.

O noble soldiers!

Tim. Here, boys, give us some more wine.

There's a hundred marks, gallants; 'tis your own, an' do but let me bear an office amongst ye.

I know as great a matter has been done for as small a sum.

Pray let me follow the fashion.

Capt. Well, for once take up the money.

Give me a cup of sack, and give me your hand, sir; and, because our Flemish corporal was lately choked at Delft with a flap-dragon,1 bear you his name and

1 [See Dyce's Middleton, i. 66.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

45

place, and be henceforth called Corporal Cods-head. Let the health go round !

Tim. Round! An' this go not round !—Some wine there, tapster. Is there ne'er a tapster i' th' house?

[ANCIENT shows himself.

Alex. My worthy friend, thou'rt master of thy word. Gentlemen, 'tis Ancient Young; you're soldiers; come, come, save cap: compliment in cup. Prythee, sit down.

Anc. Are you a captain, sir ?

Capt. Yes.

Anc. And you a lieutenant ?

Lieut. Yes.

Anc. I pray, where served you last ?

Capt. Why, at the battle of Prague.1

Anc. Under what colonel? In what regiment ?

Capt. Why, let me see—but come, in company ? Let's sit, sir. True soldiers scorn unnecessary discourse. especially in taverns.

Anc. 'Tis true, true soldiers do : but you are tavern-rats.

Capt. How ?

Alex. Pry thee !

Anc. Foul food, that lies all day undigested Upon the queasy stomach of some tavern, And are spew'd out at midnight.

Tim. Corporal Cods-head's health, sir.

Anc. In thy face, fool.

[TIM retires.

Alex. This is cruel, Ancient.

Anc. You are but

The worms of worth, the sons of shame and baseness, That in a tavern dare outsit the sun,

1 This battle was fought at Weisenberg, near Prague, 18th November 1620, and was fatally decisive against the Elector Palatine who, in consequence of it, not only lost his new kingdom of Bohemia, but also was deprived by the Emperor of his hereditary dominions.

46

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

And, rather than a whore shall part unpledg'd,

You'll pawn your souls for a superfluous cup,

Though ye cast it into the reckoning.

The true soldier, who is all o'er, a history of man,

Noble and valiant ; wisdom is the mould

In which he casts his actions. Such a discreet

temperance

Doth daily deck his doings, that by his modesty

He's guess'd the son of merit, and by his mildness

Is believed valiant. Go, and build no more

These airy castles of hatched fame, which fools

Only admire and fear you for : the wise man

Derides and jeers you as puffs. [Be] really not1

Virtue and valour, those fair twins,

That are born, breathe, and die together : then

You'll no more be called butterflies, but men :

Think on't, and pay your reckoning. [Exit.

Capt. Shall we suffer this, Saunder ?

Alex. I must go after him.

Sue. Kill him, an' there be no more men in

Christendom.

Alex. I know my sister loves him, and he

swears he loves her ; and, by this hand, it shall go

hard if he have her not, smock and all. Brave,

excellent man ! With what a strength of zeal we

admire that goodness in another which we cannot

call our own ! [Exit.

Lieut. He's a dead man, I warrant him.

Capt. But where's our corporal? Corporal,

corporal !

Tim. Well, here's your corporal, an' you can be

quiet. [Looks out.2

1 [In the former edits. this passage stands, "jeers ye puffs

really of:]

2 Tim, who has hidden or ensconced himself, looks out,

and not the Captain, as Mr Reed made it, by misplacing

the stage direction.—Collier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

47

SUE. Look, an' he have not ensconced1 himself

in a wooden castle.

TIM. Is he gone that called us butterflies?

MIS. COOTE. Yes, yes; h' has taken wing; and

your brother's gone after him, to fight with

him.

TIM. That's well; he cannot in conscience but

do us the courtesy to kill him for us. Come, gal-

lants, what shall we do? I'll never go home to go

to bed with my guts full of four-shillings beer,

when I may replenish them with sack. Ha! now

an I as lusty! Methinks we two have blue

beards. Is there ne'er a wench to be had?

Drawer, bring us up impossibilities, an honest

where and a conscionable reckoning.

LIEUT. Why, here's all fire-wit, whe'r2 he will

or no.

SUE. A whore! O tempting, handsome sir!

think of a rich wife rather.

TIM. Tempting, handsome sir! She's not mar-

ried, is she, gentlemen?

CAPT. A woodcock springed! Let us but keep

him in this bacchanalian mist till morning, and

'tis done.

[Aside.

TIM. Tempting, handsome sir! I've known a

woman of handsome, tempting fortunes throw

herself away upon a handsome, tempting sir.

1 A sconce is a petty fortification. The verb to ensconce

occurs more than once in Shakespeare. See note on "The

Merry Wives of Windsor," act ii. sc. 2.—Steevens. (This

note amounts to nothing, as the word ensconce is very

common, and all that is here intended is that Tim, fright-

ened at the Ancient, had hidden himself behind a chest of

drawers (a very petty fortification!) or some other article of

furniture.]

2 i.e., Whether. It is frequently so [spelled] in ancient

writers. See Ben Jonson's "New Inn," act v. sc. 2., and

Mr Whalley's note, [Gifford's edit., v. 423.]

48

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

LIEUT. Hark you, sir: if she had, and could be

tempted to't, have you a mind to marry? Would

you marry her?

Tim. O, and a man were so worthy, tempting

sir.

LIEUT. Give me but a piece from you.

Tim. And when will you give it me again?

LIEUT. Pray, give me but a piece from you. I'll

pay this reckoning into the bargain: and if I have

not a trick to make it your own, I'll give you ten

for't—here's my witness.

Tim. There 'tis; send thee good luck with't,

and go drunk to bed.

LIEUT. Do not you be too rash, for she observes

you, and is infinitely affected to good breedin'.

Tim. I wu'not speak, I tell you, tell you hold up

your finger or fall a-whistling.

CAPT. Come, we'll pay at bar. and to the Mitre

in Bread Street;1 we'll make a mud night on't.

Please you, sweet ladies, but to walk into Bread

Street; this gentleman has [had] a foolish slight

supper, and he most ingeniously professes it would

appear to him the meridian altitude of his desired

happiness but to have the table decked with a

pair of perfections so exquisitely refilgent.

Tim. He talks all sack, and he will drink no

small beer.

Mis. Coort. Pray lead, and we2 shall follow.

SUE. Bless mine eyes! my heart is full of

changes.

Tim. O, is it so? I have heard there may be

[Exit.

1 From a passage in "Ram Alley," [x. 313], it has already

appeared there were two taverns at this time with the same

sign.

2 [Former edits., he.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

49

more changes in a woman's heart in an hour than

can be rung upon six bells in seven days. Well,

go thy ways : little dost thou think how thou shalt

be betrayed. Within this four-and-twenty hours

thou shalt be thine own wife, flesh and blood, by

father and mother, O tempting, handsome sir !

[Exeunt.

ACT III., SCENE I.

Enter JOHN and the MAID.

JOHN. But, sirrah, canst tell what my mistress

means to do with her suitors ?

MAID. Nay, may, I know not : but there is one

of them, I am sure, worth looking after.

JOHN. Which is he, I prythee ?

MAID. O John, Master Randall, John.

JOHN. The Welshman ?

MAID. The witty man, the pretty man, the

singing-man. He has the daintiest ditty, so full

of pith, so full of spirit, as they say.

JOHN. Ditties ! they are the old ends of ballads1

MAID. Old ends ! I am sure they are new

beginnings with me.

JOHN. Here comes my mistress.

Enter WIDOW and JARVIS.

WID. Who was that knocked at the gate ?

JAR. Why, your Welsh wooer.

MAID. Alas ! the sight on's eyes is enough to

singe my little maidenhead. I shall never be able

to endure him.

[Exit MAID.

2[Old copy, ends of old balletts.]

VOL. XIII.

D

50

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT,

Enter RANDALL.

RAN. When high King Henry rul'd this land,1

The couple of her name.

Besides hur queen was tearily lov'd,

A fair and princely—widows.

Hark you, widows ; Randalls was disturbed in

cogitations about lands, ploughs, and cheese-

presses in Wales ; and, by cat, hur have forgot

where hur and hur meet soon at pright dark even-

ings.

WID. Why, on the 'Change, in the Dutch walks.

RAN. O hav, have hur ? but Randalls was talk

no Dutch ; pray meet her in the Welsh walk.

Was no Welsh walk there ?

WID. Fie, no ! There are no Welsh merchants

there ?

RAN. Mass, was fery true, was all shentlemen

in Wales. Hur never saw hur shambermaid :

pray, where was her shambermaid ?

JAR. Taken up i' th' kitchen, sir.

RAN. Can hur make wedding-ped pravely for

Randalls and widows ?

WID. Pray tell him, Jarvis, whe'r2 she can or no.

JAR. Sir, not to delay. but to debilitate the

strength of your active apprehension of my mis-

tress's favour—

RAN. Was fery good words.

JAR. Hark in your ear : she will have her nest

feathered with no British breed.

RAN. Sounds, was not British so good as Eng-

lish ?

1 A stanza, with some alterations, of the old ballad of

"Fair Ro-amond," [printed in Deloney's " Garland of

Good-Will."] See Perry's " Reliques," vol. ii.

2 See note on p. 47.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

51

JAR. Yes, where there's wisdom, wit, and valour; but, as amongst our English, we may have one fool, a knave, a coxcomb, and a coward, she bid me tell you, she has seen such wonders come out of Wales. In one word,1 you're an ass, and she'll have none of you.

RAN. Augh, Saint Tarrie, Owen, Morgan, and all hur cousins! was widow herself say so?

WID. Good sir, let every circumstance make up one answer, take it with you.

JAR. And the Roman answer is, the English goose, sir.'

RAN. Sounds! hur was kill now! Gog and Gogmagog! a whole dozen of shiants. Make fool of Randalls! Randalls was nisht to as prave match as widows; was know one Mary Bloodhound, was ha' all, when her father kick up heels; and, by cat, though hur never saw hur, hur will send hur love-letters presently, get hur good-wills, and go to shurch and marray, and hur were eight-and-thirty, two hundred and nine and fifty widows. Mark hur now.

[Exit RANDALL.

JAR. He pelts as he goes pitifully.

WID. Where's Mary?

JOHN. Mary!

Enter MAID.

WID. Pray go to Aldgate, to my sempstress, for my ruff; I must use it, say, to-morrow. Did ye bid her hollow it just in the French fashion out?

MAID. Yes, forsooth.

'Twas well; we have no other proof in use that we are English, if we do not zany them. Let John go with you.

1 The 4o reads in one shirt.—Collier.

2 A pun on the Latin word anser, which signifies a goose.

52

A WATCH AT MIDNIGHT

HUM. Yes, forsooth.

JAR. But pray, forsooth, how do you mean to dispose of your suitors?

WID. Shall I tell thee? For this, thou hast given him his cure, and he is past care; for old Bloodhound the sawmonger, I writ to him to meet me soon, at ten in the dark, upon the Change; and if I come not by ten, he should stay till twelve: intimating something mystically that, to avoid surprisals of other rivals, I mean to go from thence with him to lie at his house all night, and go to church with him i' th' morning; when my meaning is only Knavey, to make myself merry, and let him cool his heels I there till morning.

JAR. And now have I a whimsey, newly jumped into the coil of ingenious apprehension, to sauce him daintily - that for that. What think you of the gentleman that brought a stool with him out of the hall, and sat down at dinner with you in the parlour?

WID. They say he's an ancient, but I affect not his colours.

JAR. But what say you to the mad, vicious Alexander?

WID. A wit, mad roarer, a trouble not worth minding.

JAR. He will mind you ere morning, troth, mistress. [Aside] There waits a gentleman i' th' next room that hath a long time loved you, and has watched for such an hour, when all was out of doors, to tell you so; and, none being within but you and I, he desires you would hear him speak, and there's an end on't.

1 To cool his heels is a very common expression, which for some reason, or perhaps no reason, was altered in the edition of 1750, to cool himself. - Collier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

53

WID. What is he?

JAR. An honest man.

WID. How know you?

JAR. Why, he told me so.

WID. And why were you such a fool to take his

own word.

JAR. Because all the wit I had could get

nobody's else.

WID. I know will ever tell you he's an honest

man.

JAR. But an honest man will never tell you he's

a knave.

WID. Well, sir, your mistress dares look upon

the honest man.

JAR. And the honest man dares look upon my-

mistress.

'Tis the roughest, 'bluntest fellow. Yet,

when I take young Bloodhound to a retired collec-

tion of scattered judgment, which often lies dis-

jointed with the confused distraction of so many,

methinks he dwells in my opinion a right

ingenious snirit, veiled merely with the vanity of

youth and wildness. He looks, methinks, like one

that could retract himself from his mad starts, and,

when he pleased, turn tame. His handsome wild-

ness, methinks, becomes him, could he keep it

bounded in thrift and temperance. But down,

these thoughts; my resolve rests here in private.

1 Ingenius and ingenuous were formerly used indiscrimi-

nately for each other. [The truth seems to be that

ingenuous was merely understood formerly in the sense in

which we use it now, and that ingenious, on the contrary,

had a larger meaning, standing generally for the gifts of the

mind or intellect. Old-fashioned people only would say of

such an one, "He's an ingenuous man," meaning a person of

intellectual culture.]

54

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

But from a fool, a miser, and a man too jealous

for a little sweetness [in] love, Cupid defend me!

Enter JARVIS like a gentleman, very brave, with his

former clothes in his hand.1

JAR.

And to a widow wise, nobly liberal and

discreetly credulous, Cupid hath sent me.

WID.

Pray prove you, as you appear, a gentle-

man.

Why, Jarvis?

JAR.

Look you, here's Jarvis hangs by geometry

[Hangs up his livery]; and here's the gentleman—

for less I am not—that afar off, taken with the

fainted praises of your wealthy beauty, your per-

son, wisdom, modesty, and all that can make

woman gracious, in this habit sought and obtained

your service.

WID.

For heaven's sake what's your intent?

JAR.

I love you.

WID.

Pray, keep off.

JAR.

I would keep from you. Had my desires

bodies,

How I could beat them into better fashion,

And teach them temperance. For I rid to find

you;

And, at a meeting amongst many dames,

I saw you first. O, how your talking eyes,

Those active, sparkling sweet, discoursing2 twins,

In their strong captivating motion told me

The story of your heart! A thousand Cupids,

1 The stage direction in the old copy is not very intelli-

gible : Enter like a gentleman very brave, with Jarvis

cloaths in's hand.—Collier.

2 The 4° reads sweet discovered twins.—Collier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

55

Methought, sat playing on that pair of crystals,1

Carrying, to the swiftness of covetous fancy,

The very letters we spell love with.

Wid. Fie, fie !

Jar. I have struck her to the heart, though my

face

Apparelled with this shield of gravity, [bear] 2

The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart.

These diamond-pointed eyes but hither throw,

And you will see a young spring on't ; but ques-

tion

Time's fair ones, they'll confess, though with a

blush.

They have often found good wine at an old bush.

My blood is young, and full of amorous heats,

Which but branch'd out into these lusty veins,

Would play and dally, and in wanton turnings

Would teach you strange constructions, [madam.]

Let time and place then, with love's old friend,

Opportunity, instruct you to be wise.

Wid. Alas, sir !

Where learned you to catch occasions thus ?

Jar. Of a lawyer's clerk, wench, that, with six

such catches, leaped in five years from his desk to

his coach, drawn with four horses.

Wid. Do you mean marriage ?

Jar. Marriage is a cloying meat ; marry who

thou woot to make a show to shroud thee from the

1 A common expression to signify the eyes. See several

instances in Mr Steevens's note on "King Henry V.," act ii.

sc. 3.

2 [The text has been changed here, with what degree of

success the reader has to determine. In the former editions

it stood thus--

"Through my face

Apparelled with this feild of gravity,

The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart."

Perhaps this passage was intended as an aside.]

56

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

storms round-headed opinion, that sways all the

world, may let fall on thee. Me cousin thou shalt

call. Once in a month or so, I'll read false letters

from a far-distant uncle, insert his commendations

to thee, hug thy believing husband into a pair of

handsome horns; look upon him with one eye,

and wink upon thee with the other. Wouldst

have any more?

WID. The return of servants, or some friendly

visit, will intercept us now : re-assume your habit,

and be but Jarvis till to-morrow morning, and, by

the potent truth of friendship, I will give you

plenty of cause to confess I love you truly and

strongly.

JAR. You're in earnest?

WID. On my life, serious ; let this kiss seal it.

JAR. The softest wax ever sealed hardly busi-

ness ! Now for old Bloodhound : I'll meet you

upon the 'Change, sir, with a blind bargain, and

then help your son to a good pennyworth: this

night shall be all mirth, a mistress of delight.

[Exeunt.

Enter BLOODHOUND,1 SIM, and MOLL.

BLOOD. Nay, nay, nay, mark what follows ; I

must bring her home i' th' dark, turn her up to

bed, and here she goes to church. My cloak, sirrah.

SIM. 'Tis a very dark night, sir ; you'll not have

a cloak for the rain.2

BLOOD. I'm going to steal the widow from I,

know not how many.

1 The 4o has Enter Bloodhound, Ear-lack with letters,

Sim, and Moll. But as there is no business nor speech for

Ear-lack during the whole scene, I have expunged his name.

2 [An allusion to the proverb, "He has a cloak for every

rain"—i.e., an expedient for every turn of fortune.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

57

Sim. Nay, then I'll let your cloak for the rain alone, and fetch you a cloak for your knavery.

Blood. To bed, to bed, good Sim. What, Moll, I say!

Moll. Sir.

Blood. I charge you, let not one be up i' th' house but yourself after the clock strikes ten, nor a light be stirring. Moll, trick up the green bed-chamber very daintily.

Moll. I shall, sir.

Blood. And—well-remembered, Moll—the keys of my compting-house are in the left pocket of my hosc1 above i' th' wicker chair; look to them, and have a care of the black box there I have often told thee of: look to that as to thy maidenhead.

Moll. I shall, sir.

Blood. Pray for me, all; pray for me, all.

Sim. Have you left out anything for supper?

Blood. Out, rogue! shall not I be at infinite expense to-morrow? fast to-night, and pray for me.

Sim. An old devil in a greasy satin doublet keep you company!

[Aside.

Blood. Ha, what's that?

Sim. I say, the satin doublet you will wear to-morrow will be the best in the company, sir.

Blood. That's true, that's true. I come, widow, I come, wench.

[Exit Bloodworth.

Moll. O sweet Sim, what shall I do to-morrow?

Sim. To-morrow must be the day, the doleful day, the dismal day! Alas, Sim! what dost thou think in thy conscience I shall do with an old man?

Sim. Nay, you're well enough served; you know how your brother, not an hour ago, lay at you to

1 Mr Reed altered hose to coat without any warrant whatever.—Collier.

58

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

have the Ancient, one that your teeth e'en water at; and yet you cry, I cannot love him, I wonnot have him.

MOLL. I could willingly marry him, if I might do nothing but look on him all day, where he might not see me; but to lie with him—alas! I shall be undone the first night.

SIM. That's true: how will you go to bed else? But, remember, he is a man of war, an ancient, you are his colours: now, when he has nimbly displayed you, and handsomely folded you up against the next fight, then we shall have you cry, O sweet Sim. I had been undone, if I had not been undone.1

MOLL. Nay, and then the old fellow would mumble me to bed.

SIM. A bed! a bawd with two teeth would not mumble bacon so: then he is so sparing. You shall wear nothing but from the broker's at second-hand; when, being an ancient's wife, you shall be sure to flourish.

MOLL. Prythee, go in and busy the old man with a piece of Reynard the Fox.2 that he may not disturb us; for at this hour I expect Ancient Young and my brother.

SIM. Well, I leave you to the managing of Ancient Young, while I go in and flap the old man i' th' mouth with a fox-tail.

[Exit.

1 A parody of that Latin saying, Periissem nisi periissem. —Pegge.

2 i.e., The story-book with that name, [first printed in 1481. The abridged and modernised version was probably the one with which Moll was familiar. The earliest edition of this yet discovered is dated 1620.]—Steevens.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

59

Enter Alexander and Ancient.

Moll. Look, look, an' he have not brought him just upon the minute. O sweet, silken Ancient, my mind gives me thee and I shall dance the shaking of the sheets1 together.

Alex. Now, you Mistress Figtail, is the wind come about yet? I ha' brought the gentleman : do not you tell him now, you had rather have room than his company, and so show your breeding.

Moll. Now, fie upon you; by this light you're the wickedest fellow ! My brother but abuses you : pray, sir, go over again, you've a handsome spying wit, you may send more truth over in one of your well-penned pamphlets, than all the weekly news we buy for our penny.

Anc. Pox on't ! I'll stay no longer.

Alex. 'Sfoot, thou shalt stay longer ; we'll stay her heart—her guts out.

Moll. Ha, ha ! how will you do for a sister then?

Alex. Prythee, Moll, do but look upon him.

Moll. Yes, when I ha' no better object.

Alex. What canst thou see in him, thou unhandsome hidcous thing, that merits not above thee?

Moll. What would I give to kiss him ! [Aside.

Alex. Has he not a handsome body, straight legs,2 a good face?

Moll. Yes, but his lips look as if they were as hard as his heart.

Anc. 'Sfoot, shalt try that presently.

Moll. You're basely, sir, conditioned. Pah !

1 [A play on the name of] a dance, [which is constantly mentioned in old plays.]

2 [Old copy, legg'd.]

60

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Alex. Why do you spit?

Moll. You may go. By this light, he kisses sweetly.

[4 side.

Alex. Do but stay a little, Moll : prythee, Moll, thou knowest my father has wronged him ;

make him amends, and marry him.

Moll. Sweet Master Spendall, spare your busy breath ; I must have a wise man, or else none.

Alex. And is not he a wise man?

Moll. No.

Alex. Why ?

Moll. Because he keeps a fool company.

Alex. Why, you are now in's company.

Moll. But birds of a feather will fly together ;

and you and he are seldom asunder.

Alex. Why, you young witch. call your elder brother fool ! But go thy ways, and keep thy

maidenhead till it grow more deservedly despised

than are the old base boots of a half-stewed pan-

der : lead a Welsh morris with the apes in hell

amongst the little devils ; or, when thou shalt lie

sighing by the side of some rich fool, remember,

thou thing of thread and needles, not worth three-

pence halfpenny.

Moll. Too late, I fear ; I ha' been too coy.

[Aside.] You are to be married then, sir ?

Anc. I am indeed, sweet mistress, to a maid

Of excellent parentage, breeding, and beanty.

Alex. I ha' thought of such musicians for thee !

Anc. But let it not be any way distasterful unto

you, that thus I tried you ; for your brother per-

suaded me to pretend to love you, that he might

perceive how your mind stood to marriage, in that,

as I guess, he has a husband kept in store for you.

Alex. Ay, I have provided a husband for thee,

Moll.

Moll. But I'll have no husband of your provid-

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

61

ing; for, alas! now I shall have the old man, whether I will or no.

Alex. I have such a stripling for thee, he wants one eye, and is crooked-legged: but that was broke at football.

Anc. Alas! we cannot mould men, you know.

Alex. He's rich, he's rich, Moll.

Moll. I hate him and his riches. Good sir, are you to be married in earnest?

Alex. In earnest! Why, do you think men marry, as fencers sometimes fight, in jest? Shall I show her Mistress Elizabeth's letter I snatched from thee?

[To Ancient.]

Anc. Not, and thou lovest me.

Moll. Good brother, let me see it; sweet brother, dainty brother, honey brother.

Alex. No indeed, jun shall not see it, sweet sister, dainty sister, honey sister.

Moll. O good sir, since so long time I have loved you, let me not die for your sake.

[Aside.]

Alex. The tide turns.

Anc. Long time loved me!

Moll. Long ere you went to sea. I did.

I have lor'd you very long with all my heart.

Alex. Think of Bess, think of Bess; 'tis the better match.

Moll. You wicked brother! Indeed I love you better than all the Besses in the world; and if to-night I shift not into better fortunes, to-morrow I am made the miserable wife marriage and misery can produce.

Alex. Is't possible?

Moll. Alas, sir! I am to marry an old man—a very old man, trust me. I was strange1 in the

1 i.e., Shy, coy. See note to "Cymbeline," act i. sc. 7, edit. 1778.—Steevens.

162

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

nice timorous temper of a maid : I know it as against our sex to say we love ; but rather than match with sixty and ten, threescore and ten times I would tell you so, and tell them ten times over, too. Truth loves not virtue with more or virtuous truth than I do you ; and woont you love me then ?

[Teaps.

Anc. And lie with thee too, by this hand, wench. Come, let us have fair weather ; thou art mine, and I am thine ; there's an end o' th' business. This was but a trick, there's the projector.

Moll. O, you're a sweet brother !

Alex. And now thou'rt my sweet sister. I know the old man's gone to meet with an old wench that will meet with him.1 or Jarvis has no juice in his brains ; and while I, i' th' meantime, set another wheel agoing at the window's. do thou soon—about ten, for 'tis to be very conveniently dark—meet this gentleman at the Nag's Head corner, just against Leadenhall. We lie in Lime Street ; thither he shall carry thee, accommodate thee daintily all night with Mistress Dorothy, and marry i' th' morning very methodically.

Moll. But I have the charge of my father's keys, where all his writings lie.

Anc. How all things jump in a just equiv- lency,

To keep thee from the thing of threescore and ten : Lidst thou not see my mortgage lately there?

Moll. Stay, stay.

Alex. A white devil with a red fox-tail in a black box.

[Aside.]

Moll. But yesterday my father showed it me,

1 i.e., Be even with him. The phrase occurs in Shakespeare's " Much Ado about Nothing," act i. sc. 1. See note thereon.—Steevens.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

63

and swears, if I pleased him well, it should serve to jump1 out my portion.

ANC. Prove thine old dad a prophet; bring it with thee, wench.

Moll. But now, at's parting, he charged me to have a care to that as to my maidenhead.

Alex. Why, if he have thy maidenhead and that into the bargain, thy charge is performed. Away, get thee in, forget not the hour; and you had better fight under Ancient Young's colours than the old man's standard of sixty and ten.

Anc.2 Remember this, mad-brain!

[Exeunt.

ACT IV., SCENE I.

Enter Ste, Tim, Captain, and Mistress Coote.

Tim. Ha, ha, grandmother! I'll tell thee the best jest.

Ste. Prithee, chick.

Mis. Coote. Jest, quotha! Here will be jesting of all sides, I think, if Jarris keep his word.

Tim. Sirrah, whilst thou wert sent for into the next room, up came our second course; amongst others, in a dish of blackbirds, there lay one that I swore was a woodcock: you were at table, captain?

Capt. That I was, and our brave mad crew, which for my sake you are pleased to make welcome.

1 Jump is the word in the 4°, though altered in the edit. of 1780 without notice to els. Moll only repeats the term used by the Ancient just before-

"How all things jump in a just equivalency."

—Collier.

2 [Uld copy gives this speech to Moll.]

64

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Tim. Pish, we'll have as many more to-morrow night ; but still I swore 'twas a woodcock : she swore 'twas a blackbird ; now who shall we be tried by but Serjeant Sliceman, Captain Carvegut's cousin here ? a trifling wager, a matter of the reckoning was laid ; the serjeant swore 'twas a blackbird. I presently paid the reckoning, and she clapped o' the breast presently, and swore 'twas a woodcock, as if any other would pass after the reckoning was paid.

Mrs. Coote. This was a pretty one. I protest.

Tim. Made sure before such a mad crew of wittnesses, sirrah. Grannum, all's agreed, Sue's —

Sue. Ay, you may see how you men can betray poor maids.

Enter LIEUTENANT.

Lieut. Do you hear, corporal? yonder's Serjeant Sliceman, and the brave crew that supped with us, have called for three or four gallons of wine, and are offering money.

Tim. How ! prythee, grannum, look to Dab : do you two but hold them in talk, whilst I steal down and pay the reckoning.

Lieut. Do't daintily : they'll stay all night.

Tim. That's it I would have, man : we'll make them all drunk ; they'll never leave as else, and still as it comes to a crown, I'll steal down and pay it in spite of their teeth. Remember, therefore, that ye make them 'all drunk ; but be sure you keep me sober to pay the reckonings.

Omnes. Agreed, agreed.

Mrs. Coote. O Jarvis, Jarvis, how I long till I see thee !

[Exeunt.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

65 .

Enter MOLL BLOODHOUND, and SIM with a letter.

MOLL There we must meet soon, and be married to-morrow morning, Sim : isn't not a mad brother ?

SIM. Yes, and I can tell you news of a mad lover.

MOLL What is he, in the name of Cupid ?

SIM. Why, one Master Randalls, a Welshman :

I have had such a fit with him; he says he was wished1 to a very wealthy widow ; but of you he has heard such histories, that he will marry you, though he never saw you ; and that the parboiled Ætna of his bosom might be quenched by the consequent pastime in the Pittish flames of his

Prittish plood, he salutes you with that love-letter.

MOLL This is a mad lover, indeed ; prythee, read it.

SIM. Mass, h's writ it in the Welsh-English ; we had been spoiled else for want of an interpreter.

But thus he begins :—Mistress Maries—

MOLL He makes two Maries serve one mistress.

SIM. Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in Welsh grammars—2

That hur forsake widows, and take maids, was no great wonder, for sentlemen ever love the just cut.

MOLL But not o' th' coxcomb ; he should have put in that.

SIM. The coxcomb follows by consequence, mark else.

I Randall Crack, of Carmarden, do love thee Mary Ploodhounds, of Houndsditch, dwelling near Aldgate, and Pishop's-gate, just as between hawk and buzeard.

1 i.e., Recommended.

2 Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in Welsh grammare, which is clearly a reply to Moll's remark, has been hitherto very absurdly made a part of Randall's letter, which begins only at That hur forsake, &c.

VOL. XIII.

66

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Moll. He makes an indifferent wooing.

Sim. And that hur loves Maries so monstroùs, yet

never saw hur, was because hur hear hur in all

societies so fery fillanously commended, but specially

before one Master Pusy, constables of hur parish,

who made hurself half foxed by swearing by the wines,

that Maries would be monstroùs good murriages for

Handalls.

Moll. Master Busy, it seems, was not idle.

Sim. If Maries can love a Pritain of the plood of

Cadwallader, which Cadwallader was Pruit's great

grandfather. Handalls was come in proper persons,

pring round sillings in hur pockets, get father's good-

will. and go to shurch a Sunday with a whole dozen

of Welsh harps before hur. So hur rest hur constant

lovers,

By wall William ap Thomas ap Tugu ap

Liobert, ap Rice. ap Sheffery. Crauk.

Moll. Fie! what shall I do with all them?

Sim. Why, said these all rest your constant

lovers, whereof, for manners'-sake, he puts himself

in the first place. He will call here presently :

will you answer him by letter or word of mouth?

Moll. Troth, neither of either, so let him

understand.

Sim. Will ye not answer the love-sick gentle-

man?

Moll. If he be sick with the love of me,

pry thee, tell him I cannot endure him : let him

sinake a virtue of necessity, and apply my hate for's

health.

Sim. Ay, but I'll have more care of the gentle-

man, I warrant you : if I do not make myself

meiry, and startle your midnight meeting, say

Sim has no more wit than his godfathers. and they

were both head-men of his parish.

[Exit.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

67

Enter RANDALL.

RAN. Farewell widows prave, her sall no Randalls have.

Widows was very full of wiles ;

Mary I’loodhounds now, Randalls make a vow,

Was run for Moll a couple of miles.

Honest Simkins, what said Maries to Randall's

letters?

SIM. You’re a madman.

RAN. Augh. hur was very glad hur was mad.

SIM. The old man has money enough for her ;

and if you marry her, as, if her project take,

may, she’ll make you more than a man.

RAN. More than mans ! what's that ?

SIM. Troth. cannot you tell that? this is the

truth on’t ; she would be married to-morrow to

one Ancient Young, a fellow she cannot endure :

now, she says, if you could meet her privately

to night, between ten and eleven, just at the great

cross-way by the Nag’s Head tavern at Leaderhall.

RAN. Was high-lughl pump, there, as her turn

in Graces Street?

SIM. There’s the very place. Now, because you

come the welcomest man in the world to hinder

the match against her mind with the Ancient,

there she will meet you, go with you to your

lodging, lie there all night, and be married to you

i’ th’ morning at the Tower, as soon as you shall

please.

RAN. By cat, hur will go and prepare priests

presently. Look you, Simkins, there is a great

deal of round sillings for hur, hur was very lucky

sillings, for came to Randalls shust for all the

world as fortune was come to fool : tell Maries hur

68

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

will meet hur; hur warrant hur; make many puppy

fools of Ancient, and love her very monstrously.

Exit.

Sim. Ha, ha, ha! so, so; this midnight match

shall be mine; she told me she was to meet the

Ancient there. 'Tll be sure the Ancient shall

meet him there; so I shall lie abed and laugh, to

think, if he meet her there, how she will be

startled; and if the Ancient meet him there, how

he will be cudgeled. Beware your ribs, Master

Randall.

Exit.

Enter OLD BLOODHOUND.

Blood. I wonder where this young rogue spends

the day. I hear he has received my hundred

marks and my advantage with it; and, it may be,

he went home since I went out. Jarvis was with

me but even now, and bid me watch, and narrowly,

for fear of some of my rival spies, for I know she

has many wealthy suitors. All love money. This

Jarvis is most neat in a love business, and, when

we are married (because many mouths, much meat),

I will requite his courtesy, and turn him away:

the widow's all I look for. Nay, let her fling to

see I have her possessions; there's a saw for't—

There's thriving in wiving: for when we buy

Wives by half-dozens, the money makes merry.

O money, money, money! I will build thee

An altar on my heart, and offer thee

My morning longings and my evening wishes,

And, hadst thou life, kill thee with covetous kisses.

Enter JOHN and JARVIS.

John. But now, and she speak, she spoils all;

or if he call her by my mistress's name, hast thou

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

69

not tricks to enjoin them both to silence, till they

come sure ?

JAR. Phaw ! that's a stale one : she shall speak

to him in her own accent ; he shall call her by her

own name, leaving out the bawd, yet she shall vio-

lently believe he loves her, and he shall confidently

believe the same which he requires, and she but

presents. Fall off ; she comes.

Enter Mistress Coote.

MIS. COOTE. Jarvis !

JAR. Here I have discovered him ; 'tis he, by his

roughs. Remember your instructions, and use few

words ; say, though till night you knew it not, you

will be married early in the morning, to prevent a

vintner's widow that lays claim to him.

BLOOD. Jarvis !

JAR. Good old man, I know him by his tongue.

BLOOD. Is she come ? Is she come, Jarvis ?

JAR. Ask her if she would live, sir. She walks

alouf yonder.

BLOOD. We shall cosen all her wooers.

JAR. Nay, amongst all of you, we'll cosen one

great one, that had laid a pernicious plot this

night, with a cluster of his roaring friends, to sur-

prise her, carry her down to the waterside, pop

her in at Puddle-dock,1 and carry her to Graves-

end in a pair of oars.

BLOOD. What, what is his name, I prythee ?

JAR. He's a knight abounding in deeds of

charity ; his name Sir Nicholas Nemo.

1 On the banks of the river Thames, formerly used for a

laystall for the soil of the streets, and much frequented by

barges and lighters for taking the same away ; also for land-

ing corn and other goods.—"Stowe's Survey," bk. iii., p. 229,

vol. i. edit. 1720.

70

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Blood. And would he pop her in at Puddle-dock?

Jar. And he could but get her down there.

Blood. By my troth, we shall pop him fairly.

Where is she ? where is she ?

Jar. Ha ! do you not perceive a fellow walk up and down muffled yonder ?

Blood. There is something walks.

Jar. That fellow has dogged us all the way, and

I fear all is frustrate.

Blood. Not, I hope, man.

Mis. Coote. This it is to be in lore ; if I do not dwindle—

Jar. I know him now.

Blood. 'Tis none of Sir Nicholas' spies. is't ?

Jar. He serves him.

Blood. He wonnot murder me, will he ?

Jar. He shall not touch you : only, I remember,

this afternoon this fellow, by what he had gathered

by eavesdropping, or by frequent observation,

asked me privately if there were no meeting

betwixt you and my mistress to-night in this place.

for a widow, he said, he knew you were to

meet.

Blood. Good.

Jar. Now I handsomely threw dust in's eyes,

and yet kept the plot swift afoot too. I told him

you were here to meet a widow too, whom you long

loved, but would not let her know't till this after-

noon, naming to him one of my aunts,1 a widow by

Fleet-ditch. Her name is Mistress Gray, and keeps

divers gentlewomen lodgers.

Blood. Good again.

1 [The cant meaning of aunt at that time was procuress.

See Dyce's Middleton, i. 444. The word in this acceptation

is not unusual.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

71

JAR. To turn the scent then, and to cheat inqui-

sition the more ingeniously

Blood. And to bob Sir Nicholas most neatly.

JAR. Be sure, all this night, in the hearing of

any that you shall but suspect to be within hear-

ing, to call her nothing but Mistress Coote.

Blood. Or Widow Coote.

JAR. Yes, you may put her in so; but be sure

you cohere in every particle with the precedent

fallacy, as that you have loved her long, though

till this day—and so as I did demonstrate.

Blood. But how an’ she should say she is not

Widow Coote, and that she knows no such woman,

and so spoil all?

JAR. Trust that with her wit and my instruc-

tions. We suspected a spy, and therefore she will

change her voice.

Blood. Thou hast a delicate mistress of her.

JAR. One thing more, and you meet presently.

Mine aunt has had nine husbands; tell her you’ll

hazard a limb, and make the tenth.

Blood. Prythee, let me alone; and Sir Nicho-

las were here himself, he should swear ’twere thine

aunt.

JAR. [To Mistress Coote.] Go forwards

towards him; be not too full of prattle, but make

use of your instructions.

Blood. Who’s there? Widow Coote?

Mis. Coote. Master Bloodhound, as I take it.

Blood. She changes her voice bravely. I must

tell thee, true widow, I have loved thee a long

time (look how the rogue looks!), but had never

the wit to let thee know it till to-day.

Mis. Coote. So I was given to understand,

sir.

JAR. Is’t not a fool finely?

John. Handsome, by this hand.

[Aside.

72

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Blood. I like thy dwelling well upon the Fleet-ditch.

Mis. Coote. A pretty wholesome air, sir, in the summer-time.

Blood. Who would think 'twere she, Jarvis?

[Aside.]

Jar. I told ye she was tutored.

[Aside.]

Blood. I'll home with her presently; some stays up in the dark.

Jar. Fool! and he have any private discourse with her, they discover themselves one to another,

and so spoil the plot. No trick! no, by no means,

sir, hazard your person with her; the bold rogue may come up close, so discover her to be my mis-

tress, and recover her with much danger to you.

Blood. He has got a dagger.

Jar. And a sword six foot in length. I'll carry

her home for you, therefore [let] not a light be stirring. For I know your rivals will watch your

house. Sim shall show us the chamber, we'll conduct her up i' th' dark, shut the door to her above,

and presently come down and let you in below.

Blood. There was never such a Jarvis heard of.

Bid Sim to be careful; by the same token, I told

him he should feed to-morrow for all the week after. Good night, Widow Coote; my man

stayeth up; we will bob Sir Nicholas bravely.

Good night, sweet Widow Coote; I do but seem

to part; we'll meet at home, wench.

[Exit

Mis. Coote.

Adieu, my sweet dear heart.

Jar. Go you with me. So, so, I'll cage this

cuckoo,

And then for my young madcap; if all hit right,

This morning's mirth shall crown the craft o' th'

night.

Follow me warily.

Mis. Coote. I warrant thee, Jarvis, let me alone

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

73

to right myself into the garb of a lady. O, strange!

to see how dreams fall by contraries; I shall be

coached to-morrow, and yet last night dreamed I

was carted. Prythee, keep a little state; go, Jar-

vis.

[Exeunt.

Enter Randall. [Midnight.]

Ran. Was fery exceeding dark, but here is high

pumps, sure, here is two couple of cross-ways, and

there was the street where Grace dwells. One

hundred pound in mornings in round shillings, and

wife worth one thousand, elc hur go to bed. Ran-

dall's fortunes comes tumbling in like lawyers' fees,

huddle upon huddle.

Enter Moll.

Moll. O sweet Aucient, keep thy word and win

my heart. They say a moonshine night is good to

run away with another man's wife; but I am sure

a dark night is best to steal away my father's

daughter.

Ran. Mary.

Moll. O, are you come, sir? there's a box of

land and livings, I know not what you call it.

Ran. Lands and livings

Moll. Nay, nay; and we talk, we are undone.

Do you not see the watch coming up Gracious

Street yonder? This cross-way was the worst

place we could have met at; but that is yours,

and I am yours; but, good sir, do not blame me,

that I so suddenly yielded to your love; alas! you

know what a match on't I should have to-morrow

else.

Ran. Hur means the scurvy Aucient. [Aside.

Moll. I' th' morning we shall be man and wife,

and then--. Alas, I am undone! the watch are

74

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT

hard upon us : go yon back through Cornhill, run round about the 'Change by the Church

Corner, down Cateaton Street, and meet you

at Bartholomew Lane end.

Ran. Cat's Street was call hur ? sure, Randalls

was wrapped in[']s mother's smock.

Enter Constable and Watch.

Con. Keep straight towards Bishopsgate : I'm

deceived if I heard not somebody run that way.

Enter Maid with a handbox.

Watch. Stay, sir ; he's somebody come from

Aldgate Ward ?

Maid. Alas ! I shall be hanged for staying so

long for this cuff.

Watch. Come before the constable here.

Maid. Let the constable come before me, and

he please.

Con. How now ! where ha you been, pray,

dame, ha !

Maid. For my mistress's ruff at her sempstress'.

sir ; she must needs use it to-morrow, and that

made me stay till it was done.

Con. Pray, who's your mistress ? where dwell

you ?

Maid. With one Mistress Wag, in Blackfriars

next to the sign of the Feathers and the Fool, sir.

Con. O, I know her very well ; make haste

1 [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 149. To be wrapped

in his mother's smock is a synonym for good fortune.]

2 In the 4o it runs Enter Chambermaid, Hugh with a hand-

box : probably Hugh, though he says nothing, carried the

box for the maid. Mr Reed made the change.—Collier.

A MAID AT MIDNIGHT.

23

home; ’tis late. Come, come, let’s back to Greenwich; ’tis well, ’tis well.

[Exit.

Enter severally. ANCIENT and MOLL.

Anc. I ’scaped the watch at Bishopsgate with ease: there is somebody turning down the church corner towards the Exchange: it may be Mistress Mary.

Moll. Ancient !

Anc. Yes.

Moll. Are you here again? you have mimick’d follow’d me: what said the watch to you?

Anc. I pass’d them easily: the gates are but now shut in.

Moll. As we go, I’ll tell thee such a tale of a Welsh wooer, and a lamentable love-letter.

Anc. Yes, Sim told me of such a rat, and where he lodges: I thought I should have met him here.

Moll. Here? out upon him: But the watch’s walk their station, and in few words is safety. I hope you will play fair, and lodge me with the maid you told me of.

Anc. She stays up for us, wench: in the word of a gentleman, all shall be fair and civil.

Moll. I believe you.

[Exeunt.

Enter at several doors, RANDALL and MAID

Ran. Sounds, was another fire-drake 1 walk in shange, we’ll run pack; was Maries have saved her labours, and was come after Randalls. Maries, was Randall, that loves hur mightily Maries.

Maid. Master Randall.

1 See note to “The Miseries of Enforced Marriage,” [ix. 572.]

76

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

RAN. How did watch let her go to Grace's Street?

MAID. They knew me, and let me pass.

RAN. Well now hur understands Maries loves

Randalls so mighty deal.

MAID. If John hare not told him, I'll be hanged.

[Aside.]

RAN. Maries shall go with Randalls to lodgings,

and that hur father work no divorcements, he will

lie with her all to-nigit. and marry her betimes

next morning: meantime, hur will make land

and livings fast.

MAID. How? father! this is a mistake sure,

and, to fa-hion it fit for mine own following, I

will both question and an-wer in ambiguitics that

if he snap me one way. I may make myself good

i' th' other; and as he di- over himself. I'll

pursue the once it, ac-ordingly. [Aside.] But

will ye not deceive me?t maids-1 are many men's

almanacs; the dates of your de-sires out. we serve

for nothing but to light tubacco

RAN. If Randall false to Maries proce.

Then let not Maries Randalls love

For Randalls was so tru: as Jove.

And Maries was hur joy.

If Randall: was not Pritain born,

Let Maries Randalls prow adorn.

And let her give a foul great horn

To Randalls.

Hur will love hur creat deal of much, hur warrant

hur.

MAID. And 'tis but venturing a maidenhead; if

the worst come to the worst, it may come back

with advantage.

[Exeunt.

1 [Old copy. many minds ]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT,

77

Enter in her night-clothes, as going to bed, WIDOW

and MAID.

WID. Is not Mary come home yet?

MAID. No, forsooth.

WID. 'Tis a fine time of night, I shall thank her for't: 'tis past eleven, I am sure. Fetch the

prayer-book lies within upon my bed.

MAID. Yes, forsooth.

[Exit.

WID. I wonder what this gentleman should be

that catched me so like Jarvis: he said he has

fitted old Bloodhound according to his quality;

but I must not let him dally too long upon my

daily commodity: lust is a hand-well, who with

daily feeding, one time or other, takes a sudden

starving to his benefactor.

Enter MAID.

MAID. O mistress, mistress:

WID. What's the matter, wench?

MAID. A man, a man under your bed, mistress.

WID. A man! what man!

MAID. A proper man, a well-

favoured man, a handsome man-

WID. Call me John: where's Jarvis?

MAID. Alas! I heard no power to speak his

very looks are while he makes a woman stand as

still as a miller's horse, when he's loading. O,

he comes, he comes!!

[Exit.

Enter ALEXANDER.

WID. How came you hither, sir? how got you

in?

ALEX. As citizens' wives do into mansions,

whether I would or no. Nay, nay, do not doubt

78

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

the discretion of my constitution: I have brought

ne'er a groat in my bosom; and, by this hand, I

lay under thy bed with a heart as honest and a

blood as cold as had my sister lain at top. Will

you have me yet?

Wid. You're a very rude, uncivil fellow.

Alex. Uncivil! and lay so tame while you set

up your foot upon the bed to untie your shoe!

such another word, I will uncivilise that injured

civility which you so scurvily slander, and reward

you with an undecency proportionable to your

understandings. Will you have me? will you

marry me?

Wid. You! why, to-morrow morning I am to

be married to your father.

Alex. What, to sixty and I know not how

many? that will lie by your side, and divide the

hours with coughs, as cocks do the night by

instinct of nature.

Wid. And provide for his family all day.

Alex. And only wish well to a fair wife all

night.

Wid. And keep's credit all day in all companies.

Alex. And discredit himself all night in your

company.

Wid. Fie, fie! pray quit my house, sir.

Alex. Yours? 'tis my house.

Wid. Your house! since when?

Alex. Even since I was begotten; I was born

to't. I must have thee, and I will have thee; and

this house is mine, and none of thine.

Enter Jarvis.

Jar. O mistress, the saddest accident i' th' street

yonder.

Wid. What accident, prythee?

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

79

JAR. You must pardon my boldness in coming into your bed-chamber : there is a gentleman stood in a fix at the door yonder, and the people would be persuaded but that did it look thus the more like. There is a Constable, churchwarden, and all the bead men of the parish be now searching : and they say they will come up hither too, and your bed-chamber; but they’ll find him. I’ll keep the door as long as I can : I can do no more till i come.

[Exit.

WIT. Are you not the murderer, sir ?

JAR. I have been under this bed, by this kennel, this three hours.

WIT. Fear not, you down then : they will kill you too, and find you here and all, and what will the gentlewoman think then? I’ay get you down.

JAR. No, no, sir : I will not go down : now I think on’t.

1 He makes himself wary.

WIT. Pray, what do you mean ; you will not be so merciful do embrace you here !

JAR. By these good kisses, I will, and what will they think on’t---

WIT. All’s I can will undo me.

JAR. No, no, I will undo myself, look ye.

WIT. Good sir.

JAR. I will off with my doublet to my very shirt.

WIT. Pray, sir, have more care of a woman’s reputation.

JAR. Have a care on’t thyself, women are and marry me : then---2

1 To make one’s-self wary was the common term for watching. See several instances in Mr Steevens’s note on the "First Part of King Henry VI," act ii. sc. 1.

2 In the old copy, the dialogue is here confused, what is said by Alexander being given to the widow, and what is said by the widow to Jarvis.--Collier.

80 A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Wid. Should they come up and see this, what

could they think, but that some foul, uncivil act of

shame had this night stained my house? and as

good marry him as my name lost for ever. [Aside.]

Alex. Will you have me, afore t'other sleeve

goes off?

Wid. Do, hang yourself; I will not have you—

look, look, if he have not pulled it off quite: why,

you wonnot pull off your boots too, will you?

Alex. Breeches and all, by this flesh.

Wid. What, and stand naked in a widow's

chamber?

Alex. As naked as Grantham steeple or the

Strand May-pole, by this spur: and what your

grave parishioners will think on't?

Jar. Gentlemen, pray keep down.

Wid. Alas! they are at the stairs' foot; for

heaven's sake, sir!

Alex. Will you have me?

Wid. What shall I do? no.

Alex. This is the last time of asking; they

come up, and down go my breeches. Will you

have me?

Wid. Ay, ay, ay, alas! and your breeches go

down, I am undone for ever.

Alex. Why, then, kiss me upon't. And yet

there's no cracking your credit: Jarvis, come in,

Jarvis.

Enter JARVIS.

Jar. I have kept my promise, sir; you've

catched the old one.

Wid. How, catched? is there nobody below,

then?

Jar. Nobody but John, forsooth, recovering a

tobacco snuff, that departed before supper.

Wid. And did you promise this, sir?

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

81

JAR. A woman cannot have a handsomer cloud than a hair-brained husband: I will be your coz, he shall be my cuckold.

WID. I love you for your art.

[Aside.

JAR. Come, come, put on, sir; I've acquainted you both with your father's intended marriage. I' th' morning you shall certify him very early by letter the quality of your fortunes, and return to your obedience; and that you and your wife, still concealing the parties, will attend him to church. John and I'll be there early, as commanded by my mistress, to discharge our attendance: about goes the plot, out comes the project, and there's a wedding-dinner dressed to your hands.

ALEX. As pat as a fat heir to a lean shark; we shall hunger for't: honest Jarvis, I am thy bed-fellow to-night, and to-morrow thy master.

WID. You're a fine man to use a woman thus.

ALEX. Pish! come, come.

Fine men must use fine women thus; 'tis fit. Plain truth takes maids, widows are won with wit.

JAR. You shall wear horns with wisdom; that is in your pocket.

[Exeunt.

ACT V., SCENE 1.

Enter SIM and JOIN, passing over with a basin of rosemary1 and a great flagon with wine.

SIM. Come, John, carry your hand steadily; the

1 "Rosemary," as Mr Steevens observes (note to "Hamlet," act iv. sc. 5), "was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory; and was not only carried at funerals, but worn at weddings." See the several instances there quoted. Again, in Dekker's "Wonderful Yeare," 1603: "Here is a strange alteration; for the rosemary that was washt in

VOL. XIII.

F

82

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

guests drop in apace, do not let your wine drop

out.1

JoHx. 'Tis as I told thee ; Master Alexander,

thy mistress' eldest son will be here.

Srs. Rose, I pray burn some witch i' th' par-

lour, 'tis good against ill airs ; Master Alexander

will be here.

[Exeunt.

Enter Old Bloodhound and Jarvis.

Blood. I am up before you, son Ear-lack. Will

Ancient Young be here with a rich wife too ?

Thy mistress is not stirring yet, sirrah. I'll hold

iny life the baggage slipped to thy mistress ; there

they have e'en locked the door to them, and are

sweet water to set out the bridall, is now wet in tares to

furnish her burial.'

Again, in " The Old Law," act iv. sc. 1: "Besides,

there will be charges saved, too; the same rosemary that

serves for the funeral will serve for the wedding."

And in "The Fair Quarrell," act v. sc. 1—

"Pris. Your Maister is to bee married to-day.

Tris. Else all this rosemaries lost."

It appears also to have been customary to drink wine at

church, immediately after the marriage ceremony was per-

formed. So in Dekker's "Satiro-mastix : " 'Aud, Peter,

when we are at church, bring wine and cakes,' At

the marriage of the Elector Palatine with the Princess

Elizabeth, daughter of James the First, it is said, "In con-

elusion, a joy pronounced by the king and queen, and

seconded with congratulations of the lords there present,

which crowded with draughts of Ippocras, out of a great

gulden bowl, as a health to the prosperitie of the marriage

lirgan ly the Prince Palatine, and answered by the Princess),

after which were served up by six or seaven barons, so many

bowles fil'ed with wafers, so much of that worke was col-

summate."—Finett's "Philoxenis," 1656, fol. 11.

1 [Uld copy, not.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

83

tricking up one another : O these women ! .But this rogue Tim, he lay out to-night too ; he received my hundred mark, and (I fear) is murdered. Truss, truss, good Jarvis.

JAR. He has been a-wooing, sir, and has fetched over the deliciatest young virgin's. Her father died but a week since, and left her to her marriage five thousand pound in money and a parcel of land worth three hundred per annum.

BLOOD. Nay, nay, 'tis like ; the boy had ever a captivating tongue to take a woman. O excellent money, excellent money, mistress of my devotions ! My widow's estate is little less too ; and then Sander--he has got a moneyed woman too ; there will be a bulk of money. Tim is puling, I may tell thee, one that by nature's course cannot live long : t'other a midnight surfeit cuts off ; then have I a trick to cosen both their widows, and make all mine. O Jarris, what a moneyed generation shall I then get upon thy mistress ?

JAR. A very virtuous brood.

BLOOD. Hast done ?

JAR. I have done, sir.

BLOOD. I'll in and get some music for thy mistress, to quicken her this morning ; and then to church in earnest. When 'tis done, where is Sir Nicholas Nemo and his wards.1

That watch so for her ? Ha, ha, ha ! all's mixed with honey :

I have mirth, a sweet young widow, and her money.

O that sweet saint, call'd Money ! [Exeunt.

1 The old copy reads Sir Nicholas Nemo and his words, but the sense seems to require that it should be Sir Nicholas Nemo and his wards, or watohmen or spies.— Collier.

84

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Enter ALEXANDER, WIDOW, ANCIENT, MOLL, and SIM.

ANC. Joy ! ay, and a hundred pound a year in a black box to the bargain, given away i' th' dark last night to we know not who, and to be heard of, we know not when. 'Sfoot, an' this be joy, would we had a handsome slice of sorrow to season it.

ALEX. By this light, 'twas strange.

MOLL. Believe me, sir, I thought I had given it you : he that took it called me by my name.

SIM. Did he speak Welsh or English ?

MOLL. Alas ! I know not ; I enjoined him silence, seeing the watch coming, who parted us.

SIM. If this were not Master Randall's of Randall Hall, that I told you of, I'll be flayed.

ALEX. Be masked, and withdraw awhile ; here comes our dad.

[Exeunt.

Enter BLOODHOUND, SIR MARMADUKE MANY-MINDS, SIR JANUS AMBIDEXTER, and MASTER BUSY.

BLOOD. Why, Master Busy, asleep as thou stand'st, man ?

SIM. Some horse taught him that ; 'tis worth god-a-mercy.1

CON. I watch all night, I protest, sir ; the compters pray for me ; I send all in cut and long tail.2

1 [See " Old English Jest-Books," ii. 217-18.]

2 [Equivalent to our modern phrase, tag, rag, and bob-tail. The original signification seems to have been descriptive of the different kinds of horses, cuts, curtaile, and long-tails, and hence it came to mean generally all sorts and kinds, like the modern term. Compare Dyce's " Shake-

A WATCH AT MIDNIGHT

85

Sir Mar. What, what ?

Con. I sent twelve gentlewomen, 'our own

neighbours, last night, for boing so late 'but at a

woman's labour.

Bloon. Alas, sir ! a woman in that kind, you

know, must have help.

Con. What's that to me? I am to take no

notice of that : ther might have let her alone till

morning, or she might have cried out some other

time.

Sir Mar. Nay, nay, Master Busy knows his

place. I warrant you.

speare Glossary, 1758, in r] This phrase occurs in 'The

Merry Wives of Windsor, act iii. sc. 4. Steevens says

the origin of it was from Forest Laws, by which the dog of

a man wlio had no right to the privilege of chasa.

obliged to be cut or lawed : and amongst other modes of dis-

abling him. one was by depriving him of his tail. Cut and

long tail therfore signified the dog of a clown and the dog

of a gentleman [Steevens (more correctly) remarks :] 'Cut and

long tail, I apprehend referred originally to horses, when

their tails were either docked, or left to grow their full

length : and this distinction might formerly be made accord-

ing to their qualities and values. A horse therefore need

for drudgery might have his tail cut. while the tails of those

which served for show, might be allowed their

utmost growth. A cfit appears to have been the term used

for a bad horse in many contemporary writers, and from

thence to call a person cut became a common opprobrious

word enit'ored in the vulgar. when they abused each other.

See note to 'Gaminer Gurton's Needle' [iii. 221.] In confir-

mation of this idea, it may be added, that Sim says in the text,

Some horse taught him that, which naturally introduces the

phrase cut and long tail into the Coutestable's answer. The

words cut and long tail occur also in 'The Return from

Parnassus,' act iv. sc. 1 : 'As long as it lasts, come cut

and long tail, we'll spend it as liberally for his sake.'

There seems no doubt that cut and long tail has reference

to horses. Sir J. Vanbrugh, in his 'A:op,' so employs

the phrase : the groom says, 'Your worship has six coach

horses, cut and long tail, two runners, half a dozen hunters,

de."—Collier.

88

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Sim. Nay, sir, the jest was, that they should fall asleep together, and forget themselves; for very lovingly we found them together, like the Gemini, or the two winter mornings met together. Look, look, look, where they come, sir, and Jarvis between 'em—just like the picture of knavery betwixt fraud and lechery.

Enter JARVIS, EAR-LACK, and MISTRESS COOTE.

Jar. Tim is a puling sirroh, I may tell it thee: a midnight surfeit too may cut off Sander; I'll cosen their wives, make all mine own; and then, O Jarvis, what a moneyed generation shall I get upon this Widow Coote that hath two teeth!

Blood. Did we bring you to music, with a mischief? Ear-lack, thou'rt a goat; thou hast abused the best bed in my house; I'll set a summer1 upon thee.

Far. Bloodhound, thou art a usurer, and takest forty in the hundred; I'll inform against thee.

Blood. Are you a bawd, huswife, ha?

Mis. Coote. Alas, sir! I was merely conied, betrayed by Jarvis; but as I have been bawd to the flesh, you have been bawd to your money; so set the hare-pie against the goose-giblets, and you and I are as daintily matched as can be, sir.

Blood. Sir, run to the Widow Wag's; tell her we are both abused; this Jarvis is a juggler, say.

Anc. I can save Sim that labour, sir. I assure you the widow is married to your son Alexander, and, as a confirmation, she is come herself to witness it.

[Discovers.

1 See note to "The Heir," [xi. 535.]

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

39

Alex. Your fair young daughter is wife to this Ancient, who is come likewise to witness it.

Wid. The plain truth is, Master Bloodhound, I would entreat you to keep the kennel : the younger dog, being of the better scent, has borne the game before you.

Alex. We have clapped hands on't, sir; and the priest that should have married you to her is to marry her to me : so, sister, talk for yourself.

Blood. Ha, brave tricks and conceits ! Can you dance, Master Ear-lack ?

Ear. Ha, ha ! the old man's a little mad. But thou art not married, Moll ?

Moll. Ycs, indeed, sir, and will lie with this gentleman soon at night. Do you think I would chew ram-mutton when I might swallow venison ? That's none of Venus's documents, Monsieur Dotterel.

Ear. Pox of that Venus ! she's a whore, I warrant her.

Blood. And were not you the other juggler with Jarvis in this, hey ? pass and repass !

Alex. Good sir, be satisfied ; the widow and my sister sung both one song, and what wasn't, but Crubbed age and youth cannot live together.1 Now we persuaded them, and they could not live together, they would never eudure to lie together ; this consequently descended, there was the antecedent : we clapped hands, sealed lips, and so fell unto the relative.

Sim. This was your bargain upon the exchange, sir, and because you have ever been addicted to

1 This elegant song was the production of our great poet Shakespeare. It is printed in his collection of sonnets, entitled " The Passionate Pilgrim." The reader may likewise see it in " Percy's Reliques of Antient Poetry," vol. i. p. 259.

90

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

old proverbs and pithy saws, pray let me seal up

the mistake with one that will appear very season-

ably.

Blood. And I pray let's hear it, sir.

Sim. You, a new-fangled fowler, came to show

your art i' th' dark; but take this truth, you

catched in truth a cuckoo for't.

Enter Tim and Sue.

Blood. Heyday, we are cheated by the rule,

i' faith. Now, sirrah, they say you are to be

married too.

Tim. Yes, indeed, father, I am going to the

business; and, gentlemen all, I am come, whether

you will or no, to invite you all to my marriage to

this gentleman who, though a good face needs

no mask, she's masked, to make a man think she

has a scurvy face, when I know she has a good

face. This is sack to them, and out of their

element.

Blood. But, sirrah, setting aside marriages,

where's my hundred marks you went to receive?

Tim. Hum !—upon such a match of mine, talk

of a hundred marks! this is to drink ignoble four-

shillings been. A hundred marks! why your

lawyer there can clear such a trifle in a term, and

his clients ne'er the better.

Blood. Such a match! I pray discover her,

what is she?

Tim. What is she! here's my brother

knows what she is well enough. Come hither, Dab, and

be it known unto you, her name is Lindabrides,

descended from the Emperor Trebatio of Greece,

and half-niece, some six-and-fifty descents,

to the most unvanquished Clarindiana.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

91

Alex. Who's this? Pox on't! what makes that bawd yonder?

[Unmasks her.

Con. I am very much deceived if I did not send this gentlewoman very drunk t'other night to the Completer.

Tim. I tell thee, prattling constable, 'tis a lie : Lindabrides a drunkard!

Alex. Harkee, brother, where lies her living?

Tim. Where? why, in Greece.

Alex. In grease.

Sil. She looks as if she had sold kitchen-stuff.

Alex. This is a common whore, and you a cheated coxcomb. Come hither, you rutten hospital, hung round with greasy satin; do not you know this vermin?

Mis. Coote. I winked at you, Sue, and you could have seen me : there's one Jarvis, a rope on him, h' has juggled me into the suds too.

Con. Now I know her name too; do not you pass under the name of Sue Shortheels, minion?

Sue. Go look, Master Littlewit. Will not any woman thrust herself upon a good fortune when it is offered her?

Blood. Sir Marmaduke, you are a justice of peace ; I charge you in the king's name, you and Master Ambidexter, to assist me with the whore and the bawd to Bridewell.

Sir. Mar. By my troth, we will, and we shall have an excellent stomach by that time dinner's ready.

Amb. Ay, ay, away with them, away with them!

Mis. Coote. O this rogue Jarvis!

[Exeunt Coote and Shortheels.

Blood. Now, now, you look like a melancholy dog, that had lost his dinner ; where's my hundred marks now, you coxcomb?

Tim. Truly, father, I have paid some sixteen

92

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

reckonings since I saw you: I was never sober

since you sent me to the devil yesterday; and for

the rest of your money, I sent it to one Captain

Carvegut. He swore to me his father was my

Lord Mayor's cook, and that by Easter next you

should have the principal and eggs for the use,

indeed, sir.

Blood. O rogue, rogue! I shall have eggs for

my money :1 I must hang myself.

Sim. Not before dinner, pray, sir; the pies are

almost baked.

Enter Randall.

Ran. And Maries now was won,

And all her pusiness done,

And Randalls now was run;

Hur have made all sure, I warrant hur.

Alex. Look, look, yonder's the conceit the

mistake happened upon last night.

Anc. And the very box at's girdle.

Ran. Cot pless hur father Ploothounds, Ran-

dalls have robbed Ancients, hur warrant hur.

Anc. Sir, 'tis known how you came by that box.

Ran. Augh ! was hur so ?

Will you hear a noble Pritain,

How her gull an English Flag ? 2

1 The same phrase occurs in Shakespeare's "Winter's

Tale," act i. sc. 2, where Leontes says to Mamillius-

"Mine honest friend.

Will you take eggs for money?"

Dr Johnson says that it seems to be a proverbial

expression used when a man sees himself wronged and

makes no resistance; and Mr Smith is of opinion that it

means Will you put up affronts? In the present instance it

seems intended to express the speaker's fears that he shall

receive nothing in return for his money.

2 These lines seem intended as a parody on the beginning

of the old song called "The Spanish Lady's Love." See

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

93

Anc. And you ought to cry.

Ran. O noble Randalls, as hur meet by Nag's-

head, with Maries plood, prave.

Blood. Here's another madman.

Anc. Harkee in your ear, you must deliver that

box to me.

Ran. Harkee in hur t'other ear, hur will not

deliver hur. and hur were nine-and-forty Ancients,

and five-and-fourscore Flags.

Anc. Let my foe writo mine epitaph if I tear

not my birthright from thy bosom?

Sim. Gentlemen, there's Aligant 1 i' th' house,

pray set no more abroach.

Ran. Nay, let hur come with hur pack of

needles, Randalls can pox and bob as well as hur,

hur warrant hur.

Blood. What box is that? I should know that

box.

Alex. I will resolve you, sir; keep them

asunder.

Anc. You will restore that box?

Ran. Hur will not restore hur: 'twas Mary

Ploodhounds gave hur the box; Randalls have

married Mary Ploodhounds, and gulled Ancient,

mark hur now.

Wid. Mark him, good sir; methinks he says

he has married Mary Bloodhound.

Anc. Hang him, he's mad!

Ran. Souns, make tog of Randalls? come out

here, Maries. Look, here was Mary Ploodhounds.

Percy's "Reliques," vol. ii. p. 233. An English Flag

means the Ancient; a name which was formerly used as

synonymous to Ensigll.

1 i.e., Wine of Alicant. [But Sim means to dissuade

them from bloudshed, as there is red wine already in the

house.]

94

A MATCH AT MIDNIGRT.

Enter MAID and HUGH.

Now I pray tumble down of hur marrow-pomes,

and ask hur father plessing ?

ALEX. This ! why this is your maid. widow.

EAR. This is Mary the widow's maid, inan.

ALEX. And here is Mary Bloodhound, my

choleric shred of Cadwallader, married to this

gentleman, who has a hundred a year dangling at

your girdle there.

WID. I pray, mistress, are you married to this

gentleman ?

MAID. By six i' th' morning, forsooth : he took

me for Mary Bloodhound, having, it seems, never

seen either of us before, and I being something

amorously affected, as they say, to his Welsh

ditties, answered to her name, hay. with him all

night, and married him this morning ; so that as

he took me for her, I took him as he was.

forsooth.

SIR. She means for a fool ; I'm fain to answer

you.

BLOOD. Ha, ha, ha ! Cupid, this twenty-four

hours, has done nothing but cut cross-capers.

ALEX. Do ye hear, Sir Bartholomew Bayard,1

that leap before you look ? it will handsomely

become you to restore the box to that gentleman,

and the magnitude of your desires upon this

dainty, that is so amorously taken with your

ditties.

RAN. Hur vail2 in woe, her plunge in paine.

1 [See Nares, edit. 1859, in v. Bayard meant originally

a bay horse, and afterward any kind or colour.]

2 This tune is mentioned in "Eastward Hoe," 1605. In

Gascoigne's works, 1587, fol. 278, is the following line—

"I wept for woe, I pln'd for deadly paine."

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT

95

And yet, by cat, her do not neither Randalls will prove huisself Pituno boin, and because hui understauds Ancients w as piave fellows and gneat travellers, their is hui box for hui

Anc I thank you

Ran And because was no remelues, before hui all, here will Randalls embrue Maries, and take a pus

[Kisses

Enter Jaris is brave

Jar Sui you, gallint?, do you want any guest ? Call me thy cor, and cuij it handsomely

[to the Widow

Blood Who have we here, trow ?

Ali Dost thou know the gentleman that whispcied to thee?

Wid O, yondhous well ! He bui me call him cor and cuij it handsomely

Jar Widow, would I nere off aguin

Wid Know, all this gentleman has, to obtain his lust and loose desiues, seived me this seven months under the shape and name ot Jarvis

Omnes Possiblc !

Wid Look well , do you not know him ?

Blood The vej fuc of Janis

Tim Ay truly, father, and he were any thing like him, I would swear 'twice he

Jar I must ca t my skin, and am catch d

Why, coz

Wid Come, you're cozen'd,

And with a noble ciaft He tempted me

In mune own house, and I bid him keep's disguse

But till this moining, and he should perceive

I loved him truly, intending here before you

To let him know't, especially i' th' presence

Of you, sir, that intend me for your wife

A c What should this mean ?

96

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

Alex. Some witty trick— I warrant thee: prythee, despatch him presently, that we were at church !

Wip. First, then, know you for truth, sir, I mean never to marry.

Blood Hoe, woman ?

Wip. She has despatched you, sir !

Wip. And for a truth, sir, know you, I never meant to be your whore.

Blood. This is strange.1

Wip., But true, as she, whose chaste, immaculate soul

Retains the noble stamp of her integrity

With an undefac'd perfection— perchance as those.

Nay, eommon fame hath scattered. you conceive me,

Because vile Jealousy (Cupid's angry tool,

Was frequent lodger at that sign of Folly—

My husband's soon suspicious heart—that I,

In a close-cloaked looseness, should expose him

To that desperate distraction of his fortunes

That sent him to the sea, to nourish her

With your vain hope, that the imate of frequent

sultors

Was but a mask of loose 'scapes : like men at lotteries.

You thought to put in for one, sir; but, believe me.

You have drawn a blank.

Han. By cat, dur look fery black indeed.

Wip. O my beloved husband !

However in thy life thy jealousy

Sent thee so far to find death, I will be

Married to nothing but thy memory !

1 Mr. Theobald transferred this exclamation to Alexander, but it is just as probably what old Bloodhound says, and the old copy gives it to him.—Gohier.

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

297

Alex. But shall the pies be spoil'd then?

Jab. Let her alone, if her husband did not know this—

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Blood. Her husband, I told you, was a waterman.

Anc. Why, her husband's dead, sir.

Jab. He is not dead, sir; he had it spread o'

purpose; he is in England, and in your house; and look, do you not see him?

Wid. Where, where?

Jab. Here he is that hath found rash jealousy,

Love's joys, and a wife whose discreet carriage

Can imitate to all men a fair freedom.

And to one be faithful. Such a wife I prove,

Her husband's glory, worth a wealthy love.

Wid. You're welcome to my soul, sir.

Blood. By my troth, Master Wap, this was a wag's trick indeed; but I knew I knew you; I

remembered you a month ago, but that I had forgorten where I saw you.

Sot. I knew you were a crafty merchant; you

helped my master to such bargains upon the Exchange last night: here has been the merriest

morning after it.

Alex. My pitcher's broke just at the wall-head; but give me leave to tell you, sir, that you have a

noble wife. and indeed such a one as would

worthily feast the very discretion of a wise man's

desire. Her wit ingeniously waits upon her

virtue, and her virtue advisedly gives freedom to her

wit; but because my marriage shall animaily pro-

ceed, I wed myself, sir, to obedience and filial

regularity, and vow to redeem, in the duty of a

son, the affection of a father.

*This word has been already explained more than once.

Vol. XIII.

98

A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.

RAN. By cat, was as well spoke as Randall hur- self could talk.

BLOOD. All's forgotten now, my best son Alex- ander;

And that thy wedding want no good company, I invite you all.

JAR. Come, my deserving wife,

Wisdom this day re-marries us. And, gentilemen, From all our errors we'll extract this truth :

Who vicious ends propose,1 they stand on wheels, And the least turn of chance throws up their heels;

But virtuous lovers ever green do last, Like laurel, which no lightening can blast.

1 The 4° has it, Where vicious ends prepose, and in the next line but one virtuous lovers are called virtue's lovers. The last may be right.—Collier.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

EDITION.

The City Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes. A

Tragi-Comedy. By Robert Davenport. As it was Acted

with great Applause, by Her Majesties Servants, at

the Phœnix in Drury-Lane. London: Printed by Ja:

Cottrel, for Samuel Speed, at the Signe of the Print-

ing-Press, in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1661. 4°.

PREFACE.

Robert Davenport is a writer (remarks Reed) of whom scarce any particulars are known. It appears, from the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, that Davenport had licence for the 'History of Henry the First' on the 10th April, 1634; and this is the earliest memorandum relating to him with which we have met. His dramatic productions are—

1. "The History of Henry the First," not printed.

2. "A Pleasant and Witty Comedy, called a New Trick to Cheat the Devil," 1639, 4°.

3. "King John and Matilda," 1655, 4.1

4. "The Pirate," not printed.3

5. "The Woman's Mistaken," not printed.

6. "The Fatal Brothers," not printed.

7. "The Politic Queen" not printed.

8. "The City Nightcap," 1661, 4°. Licensed Oct. 24, 1624.

1 It was published by Andrew Pennycuicke, one of the performers, who says that he was the last who played the character of Matilda. See it criticised in the Retrospective Review, iv. 87–100.

2 In S. Sheppard's "Poems," 8°, 1651, is one "To Mr Davenport, on his play called 'The Pirate.'"—Collier.

102

PREFACE.

He has also been credited with a piece called "The Pedlar," licensed to Robert Allot, April 8, 1630 ; but this production, under the title of "The Conceited Pedlar," is printed at the end of Allot's edition of Randolph's "Aristippus," 4°, 1630. It is, of course, included in Hazlitt's edition of Randolph, 12°, 1875.

Davenport, besides his plays, was the author of a considerable collection of poems, the greater part of which were not published. In 1639, however, appeared a thin 4° volume, entitled "A Crowne for a Conqueror ; and Too late to call backe yesterday. Two Poems, the one Divine, the other Morall. By R. D." In the Bodleian Catalogue this little book is misdated 1623.1 The latter piece is dedicated to his noble friends, as he calls them, Mr Richard Robinson 2 and Mr Michael Bowyer ; and in his address to them he styles both the poems some of the expence of his time at sea. From the address prefixed to the play of "King John and Matilda," signed R. D., he appears to have been alive in the year 1655, when that piece was first published.

1 [For a notice of Davenport's unprinted poems, see Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, in v.]

2 Both Robinson and Bowyer were playors. The former is in the list of the performers in Shakespeare's play, and acted in the "Roman Actor." The name of the latter is to be found amongst the performers in "The Bondman," by Massinger, "King John and Matilda," &c.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Duke of Verona.

Duke of Venice, brother to Abstemio.

Duke of Milan.

Antonio, the duke's son.

Lorenzo, husband to Abstemio.

Philippo, his friend.

Lodovico, husband to Dorothea.

Lords of Verona.

Senators of Venice.

Sanchio, Sebastiano, } lords of Milan.

Pandolpho.

Spinoso.

Jaspo.

Jovanil.

Francisco, servant to Lodovico.

Pambo, a clown.

Morbo, a pander.

A Turk, slave to Antonio.

Two slaves to Lorenzo.

Officers and servants.

WOMEN ACTORS.1

Abstemio, Lorenzo's wife, and sister to the

Duke of Venice.

Dorothea, Lodovico's wanton lady.

Timpanina, a bawd.

Ladies.

1 i.e., Actors of women's parts ; though women actors were

brought upon the stage about the date when this play was

printed, but not when it was first performed.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.1

ACT I2

Enter Lorenzo and Philippo.

LOR. Thou shalt try her once more.

PHIL. Fie, fie !

LOR. Thou shalt do’t.

If thou be’st my friend, thou’lt do’t.

PHIL. Try your fair wife ?

You know ’tis an old point, and wondrous frequent

In most of our Italian comedies.

LOR. What do I care for that ? let him seek

new ones,

Cannot make old ones better ; and this new point

(Young sir) may produce new smooth passages,

Transcending those precedent. Pray, will ye do’t ?

1 The plot of this play is taken partly from “Philomela,

the Lady Fitzwater’s Nightingale,” by Robert Greene,

1592, 4o, which resembles the novel of the “Curious Im-

pertinent” in “Don Quixote,” and partly from Boccaccio’s

“Decameron,” Gior. 7, Novella 7.—Reed.

2 This play, in the old copy, is divided into acts, but not

into scenes. It was therefore useless to mark “Scene I.”

at the beginning of each act, as Mr. Reed allowed it to

stand, without the noting of any of the other scenes.—

Collier.

106

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Phil. Pray, fool yourself no farther : twice you

have sway'd me;

Twice have I tried her; and 'tis not yet, ye

know,

Ten days since our reconciliation.

How will it shew in you, so near a kinsman

To the duke ? nay, having woven yourself into

The close-wrought mystery of opinion,

Where you remain a soldier, a man

Of brain and quality, to put your friend

Again on such a business, and to expose

Your fair wife to the tempest of temptation ?

And, by the white, unspotted cheek of truth,

She is—

Lor. A woman.

Phil. A good woman.

Lor. Pish !

Phil. As far from your distrust, as bad ones

are from truth.

She is in love with virtue : would not boast it,

But that her whole life is a well-writ story.

Where each word stands so well-plac'd, that it

passes

Inquisitive detraction to correct.

She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ;

Not that she wants apt words, for, when she

speaks,

She inflames love with wonder ; but because

She calls wise silence the soul's harmony.

She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness,

The poorest call her courteous; and which is

excellent,

Though fair and young, she shuns t' expose

herself

To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom

Or never walks abroad but in your company;

And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if—

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

107

She were venturing on crack'd ice; and takes

delight

To step into the print your foot hath made,

And will follow you whole fields: so she will

drive

Tediousness out of time with her sweet character.

And therefore, good my friend, forbear to try

The gold has pass'd the fire.

LOR. Thou foolish friend,

Beaut'y, like the herb larix, is cool i' th' water,

But hot i' th' stomach. Women are smooth

flatterers,

But cunning injurers.

PHIL. Thou wondrous yellow friend.

Temper an antidote with antimony,

And 'tis infectious : mix jealousy with marriage,

It poisons virtue : let the child feel the sting,

He'll fly the honeycomb. Has she one action

That can expose you to distrust ?

LOR. O, when the Alexanders-leaf looks most

green,

The sap is then most bitter. An approv'd

appearance

Is no authentic instance : she that is lip-holy

Is many times heart-hollow. Here she comes,

Enter ABSTEMIA.

A prayer-book in her hand ! O hypocrisy !

How fell'st thou first in love with woman ? wilt

try again,

But this one time ?

PHIL. Condition'd you will stand

Ear-witness to our conference ; that you may take

In at your ear a virtue that will teach

Your erring soul to wonder.

LOR. He would wittol me

108

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

With a consent to my own horns. I will

I'll give thee a new occasion : there lurks

In woman's blood a vindicating spirit.

Abs. I came, sir, to give you notice,

Count Lodovico, Stroimo, Spinoso, and Pandulpho,

With the rest of the consilliadory, certify

They are setting forth to meet the duke your

kinsman,

Returning from Venice.

Lor. O, there he has seen the duke your

brother.

Abs. Yes, sir, and they stay but for your com-

pany.

Lor. And you're cloy'd with't—

[Kicks her, and retires to conceal himself. She

weeps.]

Phil. And will you still be us'd thus? O

madam,

I do confess twice I have batter'd at

The fort I fain would vanquish, and I know

Ye hold out more, 'cause you would seem a soldier,

Than in hate to the assailant. I am again

Inflam'd with those sweet fountains, from whence

flow

Such a pair of streams. O strong force of de-

sire !

The quality should quench hath set on fire :

I love you in your sorrows.

Abs. And I sorrow

In nothing but your love. Twice, Philippo,

Have I not beat back the impetuous storm

Of thy incessant rudeness ? Wilt thou again

Darken fair honour with dishonesty ?

Thou know'st my lord hath long and truly lov'd

thee

In the wisdom of a friend ; in a fair cause :

He wears his good sword for thee, lays his heart

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

109

A lodger in thy bosom, proclaims thee partner

In all he hath but me : O, be not counterfeit !

We all conclude, a diamond with clouds

The goldsmith casts into his dust : and a gentle-

man

So blemish'd in his honour, blots his name

Out of the herald's book, stands a lost man

In goodness and opinion. O Philippo,

Make me once more so happy to believe

'Tis but a painted passion.

Lor. Most acute witch !1

Phil. Come, learn of your city wagtail: with .

one eye

Violently love your husband, and with t'other

Wink at your friend.

Lor. I will not trust you, brother.

Phil. He seeks : will ye not have him find ?

cries ye out

In his mad fits a strumpet; rails at all women,

Upon no cause, but because you are one :

He gives wound upon wound, and then pours

vinegar

Into your bleeding reputation,

Poison'd with bitter calumny. Pox on him !

Pile a reciprocal reward upon him :

Let ballad-mongers crown him with their scorns :

Who buys the buck's-head well deserves the

horns.

Demur not on't, but clap them on.

Abs. You are, sir,

Just like the Indian hyssop, prais'd of strangers

For the sweet scent, but hated of the inhabitants

For the injurious quality. Can he love the wife,

1 Of course all that Lorenzo says in this scene in the

presence of Abstemia is aside, and while he stands unseen

by her.—Collier.

110

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

That would betray the husband! Hast thou not seen me

Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers

The angry bark to pierce through her bosom.

And yet is presently so smooth, the eye

Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made?

And cannot this inform. I love him better

In his sour fallies than you in your sweet flatteries!

If Verona hath observ'd any errors in me,

I well may call for grace to amend them.

But will never fall from grace to beiried you.

Prithee. With what a majesty good women

thunder!

Lor. He's has given her some close nod that I

am here.

Abs. Rip up the end of thy intent, and see

How shame and fear do lurk there. You would

walk,

Like a pair of serpents in a flow'r mead

Lust sees with pleasure, but with fear doth tread.

Prithee. Very brave, woman!

Abs. What is the pleasure thou pursuest? A

sin

Finish'd with infinite sorrows. Fread, and find

How barbarous nations punish is with death:

How a minute's sin so stolen, wrong'd in the face

Sit summer calms all smooth, yet thou wilt fear.

From the eternal larum of thy conscience,

How it sets within thy soul continual tempests,

Thunder and dismal blackness! Mark but the

course

Of the holy-seeming hollow man, and see

How he that glories heaven with no honour,

Covets to glorify himself with honesty.

1 [old copy, darn.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

111

And, to put you past your hopes, let me leave this with you:-

Thou may'st hold an elephant with a thread, eat fire

And not be burnt, or catch birds with desire

Quench flame with oil, cut diamonds with glass,

Pierce steel with feathers : this thou may'st bring

to pass

Sooner than hope to steal the husband's right,

Whose wife is honest, and no hypocrite.1

[Exit.

Phil. What think you now, sir?

Lor. [Coming forward.] Why now I do think it

possible for the world

To have an honest woman it it. Goodbye, sir;

I must go meet the duke. Adieu.

Phil. Farewell.

O jealousy! how near thou dwell'st to hell!

[Exeunt.

Enter Lodovico, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro,

Jovani, and Clown.

Lod. The duke not seven leagues off! my

horse, rogues!

Pan. Our negligence deserves just blame; and

how

'Twill please his grace to construe it, we know not.

Jas. But where's your fair chaste wife, my lord?

Lod. Marry, with my man Francisco. O that

fellow!

She were undone without him, for

indeed she takes great pleasure in him : he learns

1 The 4o reads-

"Whose wife seems honest, and no hypocrite."

Mr Reed altered it as it stands in the text, and although he

was probably right, the change ought to have been noticed.

Collier.

112

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

her music. To hear what counsel she will give

him ! if he but screw his look sometimes with the

pin, she will tell him straight 'twas an unchristian

look. I love him dearly.

Spin. But can your honour never woo your lady

to a more sociable affability ? She will not kiss,

nor drink, nor talk, but against new fashions.

Lod. O sir, she is my crown : nor is it requisite

women should be so sociable. I have had such a

coil with her, to bring her but to look out at

window ! When we were first married, she would

not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it

were water.

Omnes. Admired temperance !

Lod. Nay, and ye knew all, my lords, ye would

say so. T'other day I brought an English gentle-

man home with me, to try a horse I should sell

him : he (as ye know their custom, though it be

none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash.

Clown. He dashed her out of countenance, I'm

sure of that.

Lod. She did so pout and spit, that my hot-

brained gallant could not forbear but ask the cause.

Quoth she—

Clown. No, sir, she spit again before quoth she

left her lips.

Lod. I think she did indeed : but then, quoth

she, A kiss, sir, is sin's earnest-penny. Is't not

true, Pambo ?

Clown. Very true, sir. By the same token,

quoth he to her again, if you dislike the penny,

lady, pray let me change it into English halfpence,

and so gave her two for't.

Lod. But how she vexed then ! Then she

rattled him, and told him roundly, though confi-

dence made cuckolds in England, she could no cox-

combs in Italy.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

113

Clown. But did ye mark how bitterly he closed

it with a middling jest ?

Lod. What was that, I prythee ?

Clown. Why, quoth he again, Confidence makes

not so many cuckolds in England, but craft picks

open more padlocks in Italy.

Jov. That was something sharp. But there she

comes.

Enter Dorothea and Francisco.

Lod. Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her

presently.

Clown. Then I shall take my turn.

Dor. Francis.

Fran. Madam.

Dor. Have you changed the ditty you last set ?

Fran. I have, madam.

Dor. The conceit may stand ; but I hope you

have clothed the method in a more Christian-like

apparel.

Fran. I have, lady.

Dor. Pray, let me hear it now.

Fran. She that in these days looks for truth,

Seldom or never finds in sooth.

Dor. That's wondrous well.

Clown. Yes, in sadness.

Lod. Peace, sirrah ! nay, she's built of modesty.

Fran. Even as a wicked kiss defiles the lips,

So do new fashions her that through them trips.

Dor. Very modest language.

Fran. She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill

bring her,

Will pluck a rose, although she prick her finger.

Dor. Put in hurt her finger, good Francis : the

phrase will be more decent.

Pan. Y are a wondrous happy man in one so

virtuous !

Vol. XIII.

H

114

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Lod. Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of

me, I warrant ye.

Clown. Nor no Count Lorenzo's lady of your

wife, I warrant ye.

Lod. Sweet chick, I come to take leave of thee:

finger in eye already? We are all to meet the

duke this afternoon, bird, who is now come from

Venice. Thou may'st walk and see the Count

Lorenzo's lady.

Dor. Alas ! she's too merry for my company.

Jas. Too merry ! I have seen her sad,

But very seldom merry.

Dor. I mean, my lord,

That she can walk, tell tales, run in the garden.

Clown. Why, then your ladyship may hold

your tongue, say nothing, and walk in the orchard.

Dor. She can drink a cup of wine not delayed1

with water.

Clown. Why, then you may drink a cup of

water without wine.

Dor. Nay, if a nobleman come to see her lord,

She will let him kiss her too against our custom.

Pan. Why, a modest woman may be kissed by

accident, yet not give the least touch to her repu-

tation.

Lod. Well said : touch her hone.

Dor. Nay, but they may not : she that will kiss,

they say,2 will do worse, I warrant her.

Jov. Why, I have seen you, madam, kissed

against your will.

Dor. Against my will, it may be, I have been

kissed indeed.

1 [Allayed, diluted. Mr Collier altered the word to

allayed.]

2 [In allusion to the proverb, "After kissing comes

greater kindness.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

115

Clown. Pshaw, there's nothing against a woman's will; and I dare be sworn, if my lady kiss but any one man, 'tis because she cannot do with all.

Lod. Nay, I know that to be true, my lords: and at this time, because you cannot do with all, pray kiss them in order; kiss her all over, gentlemen, and we are gone.

Dor. Nay, good my lord, 'tis against our nation's custom.

Lod. I care not; let naturals love nations: My humour's my humour.

Spin. I must have my turn too, then.

Jov. It must go round.

Dor. Fie, fie!

Lod. Look how she spits now!

Jas. The deeper the sweeter, lady.

Clown. The nearer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, lady.

Dor. How now, sauce-box!

Clown. Did not my lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?

Lod. I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen? no. Crede quod habes, et habes still. He that believes he has horns, has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?

Clown. I will bring your horse, sir, and your horse shall bring his tail with him. Exit.

Lod. Francis, I prythee, stay thou at home with thy lady. Get thy instrument ready: this melody will spoil her: before these lords here make her but laugh, when we are gone—

Fran. Laugh before these lords when they are gone, sir!

Lod. Pish! I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come home, and, before these lords, I promise thee a lease of forty crowns per annum.

116

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Fran. Can ye tell whether she be ticklish, sir ?

Lod. O, infinitely ticklish !

Fran. I'll deserve your lease, then, ere you

come home, I warrant.

Lod. And thou shalt ha't, i' faith, boy.

Enter Clown.

Clown. Your horse is ready, sir.

Lod. My lords, I think we have stayed with the

longest. Farewell, Doll. Crûle quod habes, et

labes, gallants.

Pan. Our horses shall fetch it up again. Fare-

well, sweet lady.

Jas. Adieu, sweet mistress: and whensoe'er I marry,

Fortune turn up to me no worse card than you are !

Clown. And whensoe'er I marry, Venus send

me a card may save Fortune the labour. and turn

up herself.

[Exeunt.

Dor. How now ? why loiter you behind ? why

ride you not along with your lord ?

Fran. To lie with your Ladyship.

Dor. How ?

Fran. In the bed, upon the bed. or under the

bed.

Dor. Why, how now, Francis !

Fran. This is the plain truth on't, I would lie

with ye.

Dor. Why, Francis—

Fran. I know too, that you will lie with me.

Dor. Nay, but, Francis—

Fran. Plague of Francis ! I am neither Frank

nor Francis,

But a gentleman of Milan, that even there

Heard of your beauty, which report there guarded

With such a chastity, the glittering'st sin

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

117

Held no artillery of power to shake it.

Upon which I resolv'd to try conclusions;

Assum'd this name and fortune, sought this ser-

vice :

And I will tell ye truly what I guess you

Dor. You will not ravish me, Francis?

Fran. No; but unravel ye in two lines ex-

perience writ lately—

Extremes in virtue are but clouds to vice;

She'll do e' th' dark who is i' th' day too nice.

Dor. Indeed ye do not well to belie me thus.

Fran. Come, I'll lie with thee, wench, and

make all well again. Though your confident lord

makes use of Crede quod habes, et habes, and holds

it impossible for any to be a cuckold, [and] can be-

lieve himself none, I would have his lady have

more wit, and clap them on.

Dor. And truly, Francis, some women now

would do't.

Fran. Who can ye choose more convenient to

practise with than me, whom he doats on? where

shall a man find a friend but at home? so you

break one proverb's pate, and give the other a

plaster. Is't a match, wench?

Dor. Well, for once it is: but, and ye do any

more, indeed I'll tell my husband.

Fran. But when shall this once be? now?

Dor. Now? no indeed, Francis.

It shall be soon at night, when your lord's come

home.

Fran. Then! how is it possible?

Dor. Possible! women can make any of these

things possible, Francis: now many casualties may

cross us; but soon at night my lord, I'm sure, will

be so sleepy, what with his journey and deep

healths for the duke's return, that before he goes

118

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

to bed (as he uses still when he has been hard a-drinking) he will sleep upon the bed in's clothes so sound, bells would not wake him, rung in the chamber.

FRAN. The cuckold slumbers; and though his wife hit him o'th' forehead with her heel, he dreams of no such matter.

Dor. Now Pamho, that makes him merry in his chamber, shall, when the candle's out and he asleep, bring you into the chamber.

FRAN. But will he be secret?

DOR. Will he, good soul! I am not to try him now.

FRAN. 'Sfoot, this is brave,

My kind lord's fool is my cunning lady's knave.

But, pray, how then?

DOR. When you are in at door on right before you, you shall feel the bed; give me but softly a touch, I'll rise, and follow you into the next chamber: but truly, and you do not use me kindly, I shall cry out and spoil all.

FRAN. Use you kindly! was lady c'er used cruelly i'th' dark? Do you but prepare Pamho and your maid: let me alone with her mistress.

About eleven I desire to be expected.

DOR. And till the clock strike twelve, I'll lie awake.

FRAN. Now ye dare kiss?

DOR. Once with my friend, or so; yet you may take two, Francis.

FRAN. My last is ames-ace then.

DOR. Deuce-ace had got the game.

FRAN. Why, then, you're welcome. Adieu, my dainty mistress.

DOR. Farewell, kind Francis.

[Exeunt.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

119

Enter Lorenzo, as from horse.

LOR. I have given them all the slip, the duke

and all,

And am at home before them. I cannot rest,

Philippo and my wife run in my mind so :

I know no cause why I should trust him more

Than all the world beside. I remember

He told her that I bought the buck's-head, there-

fore

Descry'd the horns : although I bid him try her,

Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye

Love me. and with the other wink at a friend.

How we long to grow familiar with affliction;

And, as many words do aptly hold concordance

To make one sentence, just so many causes

Seem to agree, when conceit makes us cuckolds.

Enter Philippo and Abstemio. Lorenzo aside.

And here comes proof apparent ; hand in hand

too !

Now their palms meet : that grasp begets a bas-

tard !

PHIL. By your white hand, I swear 'twas only

so.

LOR. Poison of toads betwixt ye !

ABS. Philippo, you have fully satisfied me.

LOR. Insatiate whore ! could not I satisfy ye ?

I shall commit a murder if I stay :

I'll go forge thunder for ye. O, let me

Nevermore marry ! what plague can transcend

A whorish wife and a perfidious friend ! [Exit.

PHIL. By the unblemish'd faith then of a gentle-

man,

And by your potent goodness (a great oath,

For you are greatly good), by truth itself ;

120

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

For still I swear by you—what again hath pass'd,

Was at the first but trial of your chastity,

Far above time or story : as I speak truth,

So may I prosper.

Abs. And came these trials from your breast

only ?

Phil. Only from my breast; and by the sweet

Excellent blush of virtue, there is in you

Plenty of truth and goodness.

Abs. Yon have nobly

Appeas'd the storm o'ertook you, and you are

Again a good man.

Enter Lorenzo, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspio.

Jovani.

Lor. Traitor to truth and friendship !

Did not mine honour hold me. I should rip out

That blushing hypocrite thy heart. that hath broke

So strong a tie of faith : but behold !

How much of man is in me ! there, I cast thee 1

Of law, the wrong'd man's saint ?

Phil. What means this ?

Pan. My lord, here's warrant

For what's done, immediate from the duke :

By force of which you're early i' th' morning

Before his grace to answer to such injuries

The Count Lorenzo shall allege against you.

Phil. Injuries ? Why, friend, what injuries ?

Lor. Can ye spell stag, sir ? 'tis four letters with

two horns.

Good gentlemen, convey him from my fury,

For fear of greater mischief.

Phil. Thou yellow fool !

[Exit.

1 [Old copy, them].

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

121

Abs. I would you would instruct me, noble sir,

But how to understand all this.

Lor. Do ye see her? look on her, all, and

wonder :

Did ye ever see so foul guilt stand underneath

A look so innocent?

Jov. I should have pawn'd

My blood upon her honour.

PAn. Colours not in grain

Make as fair show, but are more apt to stain.

Abs. My lord.

Lor. Yo whore ! [Kicks her. She swoons.

Jas. Look to the lady.

Lor. Look to her ! hang her : let me send her

now

To the devil, with all her sins upon her head.

Spir. Bear her in gently, and see her guarded.

PAn. You are too violent, my lord.

Lor. That men should ever marry ! that we

should lay our heads,

And take our horns up out of women's laps !

Jov. Be patient, good sir.

Lor. Yes. and go make potguns.

Jas. 'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my

lord.

Lor. Sleep ! why. do you think I am mad, sir ?

Jas. Not I, my lord.

Lor. Then you do lie, my lord,

For I am mad, horn-mad : I shall be arrested

In our theatres of Verona. O, what poison's

Like a false friend, and what plague more ruinous

Than a lascivious wife ? they steal our joys,

And fill us with affliction : they leave our names

Hedg'd in with calumny : in their false hearts

Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise,

And, in betraying, tears 'stil through their eyes.

O, he that can believe he sleeps secure

124

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Lod. That's a strange question to ask at mid-night! Francisco.

Dor. And that same false Francisco in your absence

Most lewdly tempted me to wrong your bed.

Fran. Was ever woodcock catch'd thus!

Lod. O rogue, I'll go cut his throat sleeping.

Dor. Nay, I have fitted him most daintily.

Fran. Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.

Dor. I scem'd, sweetheart, to consent to him——

Fran. A plague of seemings. I were best confess,

And beg pardon.

Dor. And to make him sure for your revenge, I appoinuted

About this hour, the door left ope on purpose——

Fran. Ah!

Dor. To meet me in the garden.

Fran. All's well again.

Dor. Now, sweetheart,

If thou wouldst but steal down thither, thou might'st

Catch him, and snap the fool very finely.

Lod. O my sweet birds-nie! what a wench have I

Of thee! C'ede quod habes, et habes still.

And I had thought it possible to have been

Cuckolded, I had been cuckolded.

I'll take my rapier as I go, sirrah;

And the night being dark, I'll speak like thee,

As if thou hadst kept thy word. O villain!

Nothing vexes me, but that he should think

I can be a cuckold, and have such a lady.

Do thou lie still, and I'll bring thee his heart

For thy monkey's breakfast.

Dor. And would you part unkindly, and not

kiss me?

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

125

Lod. I have no more manners than a goose.

Farewell, delicious Doll. What may his life

'Be compar'd to that meets with such a wife!

[Exit.

Enter Clown.

Fran. Pish, Pambo!

Clown. Here, boy.

Fran. Go meet him in the garden, and hark.

Clown. Excellent! I'll play my lady, I warrant

ye.

Fran. Don't daintily.

Clown. Well, I may hope for a 'squire's place;

my father was a costermonger.1

[Exit.

1 A costermonger is a seller of apples; and an apple-squire was formerly a cant term for a pimp.

So in Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," translated by Chaloner,

1549, sig. P.: "Or doo you judge peradventure they coulde

easily fynde in their hertes, that so many scriveners, so

many registrers, so manie notaries, so many advocates, so

many promoters, so many secretaries, so many moyleters,

so many horsekeepers, so many gentlemen of householde,

so many apple-squires, so many baudes, I had almost spoken

a softer worde," &c.

Again, in "Faults, Faults, and Nothing but Faultes,"

by Barnaby Rich, 1606, p. 2l: "Shee shall not want the

assistance of her ruffians, her apple-squires, and of those

brothell queanes that ludge, that harbour; and that retaine

her."

Again, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour,"

iv. 1—

"Well, good wife bawd, Cob's wife, and you,

That make your husband such a hoddy doddy;

And you, young apple squire, and old cuckold-maker,

I'll ha' you every one before a justice."

See also "Dekker's Belman of London," sig. H 2.

And in Bale's "Actis of Englishe Votaries," 1550, Part I,

fol. 27 : "Women in those dayes might sore have distained

their newlie risen opinion of holines, if they had chaunced

126

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

FRAN. Well, now I see, as he who fain would

know

The real strain of goodness, may in her read it,

Who can seem chaste, but not be what she seems :

So, who would see hell's craft, in her may read it,

Who can seem too, but not be what she seems.

In brief, put him to school (would cheat the devil

of's right)

To a dainty, smooth-fac'd, female hypocrite.

[Exit.

Enter LODOVICO and CLOWN.

Lod. Here's a wife, Pambo !

Clown. Now, Crede quod habes, et habes, sir.

Lod. Why, right, man ; let him believe he has

horns, and he has 'em.

Clown. To discover upon the pinch to ye !

Lod. O you kind loving husbands, like myself,

What fortunes meet ye, fall1 but with such wives.

Clown. Fortune's i' th' fashion of hay-forks.

Lod. Sirrah Pambo, thou shalt seldom see a

harsh fellow have such a wife, such a fortunate

wedding.

Clown. He will go to hanging as soon.

Lod. No, no ; we loving souls have all the for-

tunes.

There's Count Lorenzo, for example, now :

There's a sweet coil to-morrow 'bout his wife.

He has two servants, that will take their oaths

They saw her dishonest with his friend Count

Philippo ;

to have bene with childe by the prelates, and therefore

other spiritual remedies were sought out for them by their

good providers and proctors ; ye may if ye will call them

apple-squires.—Gilchrist.

1 [Old copy, full.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

127

Nay, in the very act. Now what was't brought

her to't,

But his dogged usage of her?

Clown. Nay, she never lived a good day with him.

Lod. How she goes haunting too? she must

have a

Feather in her head and a cork in her heel.

Clown. Ay, that shows her light from head to

heel, sir; and who have heaver heads than those

whose wives have light heels? that feather con-

founds her.

Lod. I shall so laugh to hear the comical

history of the great Count Lorenzo's horns: but

as I have such a wife now, what a villain did I

entertain to teach her music? H' has done her no

good since he came, that I saw.

Clown. Hang him, h' has made her a little per-

fect in prick-song, that's all; and it may be, she

had skill in that before you married her too.

Lod. She could sing at the first sight, by this

hand, Pambo.

But hark! I hear somebody.

Enter Francisco.

'Tis he, sure; h' has a dreaming whore-

master's pace. Pray, let me practise my lady's

part, and counterfeit for her.

Lod. Can'st thou imitate to th' life?

Clown. Can I? O wicked Francis!

Lod. Admirable! Thou shalt do't.

Clown. Pray, be you ready with your rapier to

spit him then, and I'll watch him a good turn, I

warrant ye.

Fran. Here they are. If Pambo now comes off

with his part neatly, the comedy passes bravely.

Who's there? madam?

128

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Clown. Francis ?

Fran. The same.

Clown. I think this place lies too open to th'

air, Francis !

Lod. Delicate Pambo.

[Aside]

Clown. And truly there's a great dew fallen

to-night ;

The grass is wondrous wet.

Lod. Sweet rogue !

[Aside.]

Clown. Come, Francis,

And let us sport curselves in yonder rushes.

And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses.

Lod. O villain !

[Aside.]

Fran. Hear me, lady :

It is enough, my lord hath now a fri'nd

In these dishonest days, that dares he lurne-t.

Lod. How is this ?

Clown. Nay, for thy lord, he's a mere cox-

comb, Francis.

Lod. Out, rogue !

Fran. 'Tis but your bad desires that tell you

so.

Can I contain a heart, or can that heart

Harbour a thought of injury 'gainst him

Under whose wing I safely stretch my pinions ?

Has he not nobly entertain'd me ? stand I not

Next neighbour, save yourself, unto his heart ?

Lod. Ay, by this hand, dost thou.

Fran. And should I quit him thus ?

No, lady,

no.

Lod. Brave Frank !

Fran. I am too wise to fall in love with woe,

Much less with wo-man.

I but took advantage

Of my lord's absence for your trial, lady.

For fear some fellow (far hotter rein'd than I)

Might have sought [her] and sped : and I'd be loth

A lord so loving—

THE CITY -NIGHTCAP.

129

Lod. Shalt have five leases, by these fingers.

Fran. Should have a lady false.

Back, lady, to your yet unblemish'd bed :

Preserve your honour and your lord's-calf's—

head.

Clown. Well, Francis, you had been better—if

I do not tell my lord of this !

Lod. He has put him to't now.

Fran. Then I am lost for e'er :

You'll turn it all on me, I know ; but ere

I'll live to wrong so good a lord, or stand

The mark unto your malice, I will first

Fall on my -word and perish.

Lod. Hold, hold, hold, man !

Fran. Ha, who are you?

Lod. Oue that has more humanity in him, than

to see a proper fellow cast himself away, I warrant

thee. 'Tis I, 'tis I, man : I have heard all.

Clown. And 'twas I played my lady to have

snapped ye.

Fran. Has she been then so good to tell your

honour ?

Now am I worse afflicted than before,

That she should thus outrun me in this race

Of honesty.

Lod. Nay, sh' has bubbl'd thee bravely.

Sh' has a thousand of these tricks, i' faith, man :

But howsuer er, what I have found thee, I have

found thee.

Hark in thine ear, shalt have five leases

And mine own nag, when th' hast a mind to ride.

Fran. Let me deserve, sir, first.

Lod. Shalt have them. I know what I do, I

warrant thee.

Fran. I joy in such a lady.

Lod. Nay, there's a couple of you, for a wife

and a fiend. ~Shalt be no more my servant.

VOL. XIII.

130

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

had thought to have made thee my steward, but

thou'rt too honest for the place, that's the truth

on't.

Clown. His superfluity is my necessity. Pray,

let me ha't, sir.

Lod. I will talk with thee to-morrow, Pambo :

thou shalt have something too : but I'll go to bed.

Honest Francis, the dearest must part, I see. I

will so hug the sweet rascal, that thinks every

hour ten. till I come ronder ! Good night, Frank.

To bed, Pambo. What delight in life

Can equal such a friend and such a wife ?

So, my dainty Doll, I come to thee.

[Exit.

Clown. So a city nightcap go with thee ! But

shall I not be thought on for my night's service ?

Fran. O, look ye, pray forget not ye had some-

thing :

Clown. Well, and pray do you remember I had

nothing.

Fran. Nothing ! what's that ?

Clown. Nothing, before I had something, I

mean. So you are well-returned from Utopia.

Fran. You're very nimble, sir : good-morrow.

[Exeunt.

A bar set out. Enter the Duke of Verona, Pan-

Dulprio, Spinoso, Jashro, Jovani, Lorenzo,

Philippo, Abstemla, a guard and two slaves.

Ver. Call the accns'd to th' bar.

Phil. We appear

With acknowledg'd reverence to the presence.

Ver. We meet not

To build on circumstances, but to come plainly

To the business that here plac'd us. Cousin

Lorenzo,

You have free leave to speak your griefs ; but this

Desire the senate to observe, and nearly :

I come here not your kinsman ; neither, madam,

Looking unto the greatness of your blood,

As you are sister to the Duke of Venice ;

But as an equal judge, I come to doom,

As circumstance 1 and proof informs.

Lor. Thus then,

(Great sir, grave lords, and honourable auditors

Of my dishonour) I affirm 'tis known

To th' signiory of Verona, the whole city ;

Nay, the great multitude without, that come

This day to hear unwilling truth, can witness,

How, since my marriage with that woman—weep'st

thou?

O truth, who would not look thee in a woman's

tears !

But showers that fall too late, produce dear years—

All know that, since our marriage, I have perform'd

So fairly all judicial wedlock-offices,

That malice knew not how at my whole actions

To make one blow, and to strike home. I did

Honour her as a saint, sir, than respect her,

As she was my wife. On pilgrimage I sent

All my endeavours to the fair-seeming shrine

Of their desires, where they did offer daily

A penal satisfaction, which she seem'd

Reciprocally to return, paid back

As much obedience as I lent of love :

But then the serpent stings, when like a dove

Opinion feathers him : women's sweet words

As far are from their hearts, though from their

breasts

They fly, as lapwings' cries are from their nests.

Pan. O, you inveigh.

1 [Old copy, circumstgnces.]

132

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

LOR. I would appear no satire.

And for this man (how fain I would call him

friend !)

I appeal to the whole state, if at the fight

Betwixt Biserta galleys and your grace,

Wherein you pleas'd to send me general there,

That he deserv'd (let me not take from him

His merit's neest confession) but I was there,

The man (the erring man) that crown'd his merit

With approbation and reward ; brought him home,

Preferr'd him to those graces you heap'd on him :

Wore him a neighbour to my heart, as lovers

Wear jewels, lett by their dead friends. I look'd

him

Into my heart, and double-barr'd him there

With reason and opinion : his extremities

Fasten'd me more unto him, whilst, like an arch

Well-built, by how much the more weight I bore,

I stood 1 the stronger under him ; so lov'd him,

That in his absence still mine ear became

A sanctuary to his injur'd name.

VER. And what from hence infer you ?

LOR. That 'twas base,

Base in the depth of baseness, for this wife

So honour'd and this smooth friend so belov'd

To conspire betwixt them my dishonour.

VER. How ?

LOR. To stain my sheets with lust, a minute's theft;

To brand perpetually three faces : a husband's,

A wife's, and friend's.

ABS. O good my lord,

Cast out this devil from you.

LOR. O good my lady,

Keep not the devil within you, but confess.

1 [Old copy, stand.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP. 133

Phil. 'Hear me, great sir; I will confess, Lorenzo, And print thee down the fool of passion. Spin. Speak, sir. Phil. 'Tis true, this boasting man did thus erect me In his opinion, plac'd me in his love, Grac'd me with courtesies : O the craft of jealousy ! As boys, to take the bird, about the pit Cast wheat and chaff, contriving a neat train To entice her to her ruin-so this friend, Falser than city-oaths, it is not doubted, Having so far endear'd me, when he came To enjoy a fair wife, guess'd it impossible For me to share with him in all things else, And not in her; for fair wives oft, we see, Strike the discord in sweet friendship's harmony : And having no way to ensnare me so, To separate our loves, he seriously Woo'd me to try his wife. Lor. 'Tis false. Phil. 'Tis true, By all that honest men may be believed by. Three several times I tried her, by him urg'd to't, Yet still my truth not started, kept so constant, That till this hour this lady thus much knew not. I bore her brave reproofs. O, when she spake, The saints (sure) listen'd, and at every point She got th' applause of angels ! Now, upon this, This jealous lord infers (and it may be

But to shun futurity) that I, His betray'd friend, could not hold the cup, But I must drink the poison. No, Lorenzo, An honest man is still an unmov'd rock, Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock. Whose heart conceives no sinister device : Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on ice.

134

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ver. Cousin, did you, as your friend here

affirms,

Counsel him to these trials?

Lor. I?

Phil. You did.

Lor. Philippo, thou art fallen from a good man,

And hast ta'en leave of modesty. Let these my

servants—

That incredulity should be induction

To my more certain shame—let these speak

And relate what they saw : they grew so public,

My servants could discover them.

Pan. Speak, friends, be fearless;

And what you know, even to a syllable,

Boldly confess.

1st Slave. Then know, great sir, as soon

As e'er my lord was gone to meet your grace,

Signor Philippo and my lady privately

Went up to her bed-chamber : we two, suspecting

What afterwards we found, stole softly up,

And through the key-hole (for the door was lock'd)

We saw my lady and Count Philippo there

Upon the bed, and in the very act,

As my lord before affirm'd.

Abs. Canst thou hear, heaven,

And withhold thy thunder?

Phil. My lords, one devil, ye know,

May possess three bodies.

Ver. Will you swear this, sir?

1st Slave. I will, my lord.

Spin. And you?

2d Slave. I will, and dare, sir.

Lor. Brave rascals!

Ver. Reach them the book.

Abs. Ye poor deluded men, O, do not swear!

Lor. Think of the chain of pearl

[Aside.

1st Slave. Give us the book:

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

135

That we affirm the truth, the whole truth,

And nothing but the truth, we swear.

PAN. Believe me, I am sorry for the lady.

PHIL. How soon

Two souls, more precious than a pair of worlds,

Are levell'd below death !

ABS. O, hark ! did you not hear it?

OMNES. What, lady ?

ABS. This hour a pair of glorious towers are

fallen;

Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath

Beneath the grave. You all have seen this day,

A pair of souls both cast and kiss'd away.

SPIR. What censure gives your grace?

VER. In that I am a kinsman

To the accuser, that I might not appear

Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder

If unto your gravities I leave

The following sentence : but as Lorenzo stands

A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,

Abstemia still is si-ter unto Venice.

PHIL. Misery of goodness !

ABS. O Lorenzo Medico !1

Abstemia's lover once, when he did row

And when I did believe ; then when Abstemia

Denied so many princes for Lorenzo,

Then when you swore. O maids ! how men can weep.

Print protestations on their breasts and sigh,

And look so truly, and then weep again,

And then protest again, and again dissemble !

When once enjoy'd, like strange sights we grow

stale,

And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail.

PHIL. O Lorenzo !

1 [A not unusual form of De Medici.]

136

THE CITY NIGHTCAE.

Look upon tears, each one of which, well-valued,

Is worth the pity of a king ; but thou

Art harder far than rocks, and can't not prize

The precious waters of truth's injur'd eyes.

Lor. Please your grace, proceed to censure.

Ver. Thus 'tis decreed, as these lords have set

down

Against all contradiction. Signor Philippo,

In that you have thus grossly, sir, dishonour'd

Even our blood itself in this rude injury

Lights on ourkinsman, his prerogative

Implies death on your trespass ; but your merit,

Of more antiquity is than your trespass,

That death is 1 blotted out, and in the place

Banishment writ, perpetual banishment

(On pain of death, if you return) for ever,

From Verona and her signories.

Phil. Verona is kind.

Pan. Unto you, madam,

This censure is allotted. Your high blood

Takes off the danger of the law, nay, from

Even banishment itself. This lord your hus

Sues only for a legal fair divorce,

Which we think good to grant, the church allow

ing :

And in that the injury chiefly reflects

On him, he hath free licence to marry, when

And whom he pleases.

Abs. I thank ye,

That you are favourable unto my love,

Whom yet I love and weep for.

Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo.

This breast did never yet harbour a thought

Of thee, but man was in it, honest man :

1 [Old copy, than is.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

437

There's all the words that thou art worth. Of

your grace,

I humbly thus take leave : farewell, my lords :

And lastly farewell thou, fairest of many,

Yet by far more unfortunate. Look up

And see a crown held for thee ; win it, and die

Love's martyr, the sad map of injury :

And so remember, sir, your injur'd lady

Has a brother yet in Venice.

Abs. Farewell, Lorenzo,

Whom my soul doth [yet] love : if you e'er marry,

May you meet a good wife : so good, that you

May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy

Of your suspicion : and if you hear hereafter,

That I am dead, inquire but my last words,

And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you :

And when you walk forth with your second choice

Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,

Imagine that you see me lean and pale,

Strewing your paths with flowers ; and when in bed

You cast your arms about her happy side[s],

Think you see me stand with a patient look,

Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper.

But may she never live to pay my debts.

If but in thought she wrong you, may she die

In the conception of the injury.

Pray, make me wealthy with one kiss. Farewell,

sir.

Let it not grieve you, when you shall remember

That I was innocent : nor this forget—

Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan,

She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne.

[Exit.

Ver. Break up the court ; and, cousin, learn

this rede ;

Who stabs truth's bosom, makes an angel bleed.

Lor. The storm upon my breast, sir.

[Exeunt.

138

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

ACT III.

Enter Lodovico, Jaspio, Jovant, and Clown.

Lod. Did chronicle ever match this couple, gentlemen ?

Jas. You make us wonder,

That both should seem to yield to the temptation,

And both so meet in one resolved goodness,

Unknown to one another !

Lod. There lies the jest on't. Sirrah Pambo,

I do but think, an' she had met him in the garden, how she would have rattled him.

Clown. And ruffled him too, sir : the camomile1 would have been better for it many a day after.

Jov. Such an honest-minded servant where shall one find ?

Lod. Servant ! my sworn brother, man; he's

1 The camomile is said to grow faster the more it is pressed or trodden upon, and to this circumstance the Clown here alludes. Frequent notice is taken of this property in the plant by our ancient writers. As in Tofte's " Honour's Academie, or the Famous Pastorall of the Faire Shepheardesse Julletta," 1610, p. 204, 5th part : "But as gold taken out of the burning furnace, is faire more bright and fierce, than when it was first flung in; and as Camomell, the more it is trod upon, the thicker and better it groweth; even so we see this faire Archeresh to shew more cleare and beautifull, when the flame was once past and gone then she had bene before."

And in the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 4 :

"For though the camomile the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears."

See other instances in the notes of Mr Steevens and Dr Farmer on the last passage.

too honest for an office. he'll never thrive in't : ye have few servants will deal so mereifully with their lords.

Jas. A wife ! why, she's a saint ; one that ever bears a good sound soul about her.

Clown. Yes, when she wears her new shoes.

Jov. Shall we see her, my lord ?

Lod. Where is she, Pambo ?

Clown. Walking a turn or two i' th' garden with Francisco, sir ; I'll go call her.

Lod. No, no, no ; let her alone : 'tis pity in-deed to part them, they are so well-matched. Was he not reading to her ?

Clown. No, sir, she was weeping to him: she heard this morning that her confessor, father Jacomo, was dead.

Jas. Father Jacomo dead ?

Lod. Why, now shall not we have her eat one bit this five days.

Clown. She'll munch the more in a corner : that's the puritan's fast.

Lod. Nay, do but judge of her, my lords, by one thing : whereas most of our dames go to con-fession but once a month, some twice a quarter, and some but once a year, and that upon con-straint too, she never misses twice a week.

Jas. 'Tis wonderful !

Jov. 'Tis a sign she keeps all well at home : they are even With the whole world, that so keep touch with heaven.

Lod. Nay, I told ye, ye should find no Philippo of Francisco.

Clown. And I remember I told your honour you should find no Abstemio of my lady.

Lod. Nor no Lorenzo of myself : he was ever a melancholy stubborn fellow. He kept her in too

138

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

ACT III.

Enter LODOVICO, JASPBO, JOVANI, and CLOWN.

Lod. Did chronicle ever match this couple, gen-tlemen?

Jas. You make us wonder,

That both should seem to yield to the temptation,

And both so meet in one resolved goodness,

Unknown to one another!

Lod. There lies the jest on't. Sirrah Pambo,

I do but think, an' she had met him in the gar-den, how she would have rattled him.

Clown. And ruffled him too, sir: the camo-mile1 would have been better for it many a day after.

Jov. Such an honest-minded servant where shall one find?

Lod. Servant! my sworn brother, man; he's

1 The camomile is said to grow faster the more it is pressed or trodden upon, and to this cicumstance the Clown here alludes. Frequent notice is taken of this property in the plant by our ancient writers. As in Tofte's "Honours Academie, or the Famous Pastorall of the Faire Shepheardesse Juljetta," 1610, p. 204, 5th part : "But as gold taken out of the burning furnace, is farre more bright and fierce, than when it was first flung in ; and as Camomill, the more it is trod upon, the thicker and better it groweth : even so we see this faire Archeresh to shew more cleare and beautifull, when the flame was once past and gone then she had bene before."

And in the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 4 :

"For though the camomile the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears."

See other instances in the notes of Mr Steevens and Dr Farmer on the last passage.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP

139

too honest for an officer, he'll never thrive in't: ye

have few servants will deal so mercifully with

their lords.

Jas. A wit! why, she's a saint! one that ever

hears a good ground sound advice her.

Clown. Yes, when she wears her new shoes,

Jow. Shall we sue her, my lord?

Lod. Where is she, Pancuco?

Clown. Walking a turn or two i' th' garden

with Francisco, sir: I'll go call her.

Lod. No, no: let her alone: 'tis pity in-

deed so fair a shew: they are so well-matched,

Was he not zealous to her?

Clown. No, sir, she was weeping to him: she

heard this morning that her confessor, father

Jacome, was dead.

Jas. Father Jacome dead!

Lod. Why, now shall not we have her eat one

bit this five days.

Clown. She'll munch the more in a corner

that's the puritan's fast.

Lod. Nay, do but judge of her, my lords, by

one thing: whereas most of our dames go to con-

fession but once a month, some twice a quarter,

and some but once a year, and that with con-

straint too, she never misses twice a week.

Jas. 'Tis wonderful!

Jov. 'Tis a sign she keeps all well at home.

they are even

With the whole world, that so keep touch with

heaven.

Lod. Nay, I told ye, ye should find no Philippo

of Francisco.

Clown. And I remember I told you honour

you should find no Abstemius of my lady.

Lod. Nor no Lorenzo of myself: he was ever

a melancholy stubborn fellow. He kept her in too

140

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

much, and see what comes on't! I give my wife

her will, and see what comes on't too!

Clown. Nay, sir, there is two come on't, an' a

man could discover 'em.

Lod. Two what, I prythee?

Clown. It may be two babies, sir: for they

come commonly with giving a woman her will.

Lod. I'd laugh at that, i' faith, boy. But who

has she now for her confessor?

Clown. She looks for one, they call him father

Antony, sir; and he's wished1 to her by Madonna

Lussuriosa.

Enter Dorothea and Francisco.

Lod. There's another modest soul too, never

without a holy man at her elbow! But here

comes one outweighs them all. Why, how now,

chick, weeping so fast? This is the fault of most

of our ladies; painting—weeping for their sins I

should say, spoils their faces.

Fran. Sweet madam.

Lod. Look, look, look! loving soul, he weeps for

company!

Clown. And I shall laugh outright by and by.

Dor. O that good man!

Lod. Why, bird?

Jas. Be patient, lady.

Dor. Would he go to heaven without his zealous

pupil?

Clown. It may be he knew not your mind,

forsooth.

Dor. He knew my mind well enough.

Clown. Why then, it may be, he knew you

could not hold out for the journey. Pray, do not

set us all a-crying. [Weeps.

1 [Recommended.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP:

Lod. Prythee, sweet birds-nie, be content.

Dor. Yes, yes, content! when you two leave my company!

No one comes near me; so that were it not For modest simple Francis here—

Clown. As modest as a gib-cat at midnight.

[Aside.

Dor. That sometimes reads Virtuous books to me; were it not for him, I might go look content.1 But 'tis no matter, Nobody cares for me.

Lod. Nay, prythee, Doll. Pray, gentlemen, comfort her.

[Weeps.

Clown. Now is the devil writing an encomium upon cunning cuckold-makers.

Fran. You have been harsh to her of late, I fear, sir.

Lod. By this hand, I turned not from her all last night. What should a man do?

Jas. Come, this is but a sweet obedient shower, To bedew the lamented grave of her old father.

Clown. He thinks the devil's dead too.2

Dor. But 'tis no matter; were I such a one As the Count Lorenzo's lady, were I so graceless To make you wear a pair of wicked horns, You would make more reckoning of me—[Weeps.

Lod. Weep again? She'll cry out her eyes, gentlemen.

Clown. No, I warrant you: remember the two lines your honour read last night—

A woman's eye, 'S April's dust, no sooner wet but dry.

1 [I might go in search of it ]

2 [A proverbial expression, by which the Clown ironically suggests that the world is going to be good at last.]

142 THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Lod. Good pigs-nic ! Frank, prythee, walk her t'other turn i' th' garden, and get her a stomach to her supper. We'll be with ye presently, wench.

Dor. Nay, when ye please; but why should' I go from ye?

Lod. Loving soul! Prythee, Frank, take her away.

Dor. Pray, let me kiss ye first. Come, Francis, Nobody cares for us.

[At the door Francis kisses her. Exeunt.

Lod. Well, there goes a couple : where shall a man match you, indeed? Hark, Pambo!

Jas. Did you observe?

Jov. They kissed !

Jas. Peace.

Lod. And entreat Madonna Lussuriosa to sup with us; as you go, tell her my lady's never well but in her company.

Clown. What, if your honour invited the Count Lorenzo? he'll be so melancholy, now his lady and he are parted.

Lod. Pray do as you are bid, kind sir, and let him alone : I'll have no cuckold sup in my house to-night.

'Tis a very hot evening; your honour will sup in the garden then.

Lod. Yes, marry, will I, sir; what's that to you?

Clown. Why, your honour was ever as good as your word. Keep the cuckolds out of door, and lay a cloth for my lord in the arbour, gentlemen. [Exit.

Lod. I have been this three months about a project.

Jov. What is't, my lord?

Lod. Why, I intend to compose a pamphlet of all my wife's virtues, put them in print, and dedi-

cate them to the duke, as orthodoxal directions against he marries.

Jas. 'Twill give him apt instructions, when he does marry, to pick out such a woman.

Lod. Pick her! where will he pick her? as the English proverb says, He may as soon find a needle in a bottle of hay.

Would I knew what sins she has committed, I would set them down all one with another; they would serve as foils to her virtues: but I do think she has none: d'ye think she has any, gentlemen?

Jov. O, none, sir, but has some.

Lod. Ay, piddling ones, it may be; as when a pin pricks her finger to cry at sight on't, and throw't away; but for other matters—

Jas. Now I think on't, sir, I have a device newly begotten that, if you be so desirous to be resolved of her perfections, 'twill be an apt means fur your intelligence.

Lod. That will be excellent; and then my book, grounded upon mine own experience, the report uf my judgment in the choice of a woman. will sell them off faster than the compositor can set the letters together.

Jas. We will discourse it as we go: meantime, sir,

Let this prepare the path to your cunstruction, Conceit and cconfidence are jugglers born; One grafts in air, t'other hides the real horn.

Lod. Well he that believes he has horns, has horns; and Credo quod habes, et habes, shall be my motto.

[Exeunt.

Enter Pandulpho and Spinoso.

Spin. The powers of Venice upon our con- fines?

144

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

PAN. Yes: Signor Philippo, it seems, having

possess'd him1

With the passages that pass'd upon his sister,

Embassadors were despatch'd to Bergamo,

Where then his forces lay; who thus return'd,

That he came not a public foe unto Verona,

But to require justice against Count Lorenzo,

To approve his sister innocent.

SPIR. What witness,

Proof, or apparent circumstance builds he

His bold attempt upon?

PAN. He says, besides

The honour of Philippo, he has proof

So unresistible to affirm the plot

Of Count Lorenzo, that he only crav'd

(Hostages being render'd for their safe returns)

Here in the senate-chamber the fair trial

Might publicly be censur'd. And by this

They are at hand.

Enter at one door DUKE OF VENICE, PHILIPPO, and

LORDS : at the other; DUKE OF VERONA, JAS-

PRO, JOVANI; LORENZO guarded. A bar set

out. The 1st SLAVE.

VER. Fair sir, the presence is levell'd for your

grievances.

VEN. First summon to the bar the Count

Lorenzo.

PAN. Lorenzo Medico, stand to the bar.

LOR. I do stand to the bar.

VEN. I come not here, witness the good man's

comfort,

1 That is, acquainted, or informed him. [See note at vol.

ix., p. 483.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

145

To add one step unto my territories; and though

I burden

The neighbour-bosom of my confines with

The weight of armour, or do wound your breast

(My dukedom's near next neighbour) with the

hoofs

Of war-apparel'd horses, 'tis not to seek

For martial honours, but for civil justice.

Conceive mine honour wounded: a sister's shame

Is an unpleasant spot upon our arms;

Yet that we come not here to sanctify

A sister's sin; for if she be so prov'd,

Shame sleep within her epitaph, and brand her;

Let bears and wolves that angel's face confound,

Gives goodness such a foul, unfriendly wound:

But if she chaste be prov'd. what balm can cure

A wounded name? As he that not inflicts

The bitter stroke of law upon the strumpet

Fattens the sad afflictions of a thousand;

So who but stains an honest woman's name

Plagues are yet kept for him: steel is no defence

For the unclean tongue injures innocence.

I affirm my sister wrong'd, wrong'd by this man—

This, that has wrong'd pure judgment, and thrown

poison

Upon the face of truth; and upon him

I seek a satisfaction.

Lor. I reply,

The law must give you satisfaction,

That justly did divorce us: I appeal

To the whole consiliadory, if equal law

In her progression went a step astray,

Either by proof or information.

Let the duke speak (not as he is my kinsman)

If I produc'd not legally in court,

Besides mine own assertion, which even reason

Grounded on probability, two of my servants,

VOL. XIII.

K

146

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

That upon oath affirm'd they saw your sister

Even in the very act of sin and shame

With that Filippo there. Blame me not then,

sir,

If I return an error to your cause.

Reason, the base whereon we build the laws

You injure in this action, gives her the lie.

Who dares not build his faith upon his eye?

They swore what they did see ; and men still fear

(Reason concludes) what they not see, to swear.

Ver. You hear my kinsman's answer?

Pan. And 'tis requisite

That you produce your author : it is held

More madness on a hill of sand to build.

Phil. The foundation-work is mine,

And that I answer : he builds on truth,

The good man's mistress, and not in the sanctuary

Of this injur'd brother's power, but the integrity

And glory of the cause. I throw the pawn

Of my afflicted honour, and on that

I openly affirm your absent lady

Chastity's well-knit abstract : snow in the fall,

Purely refin'd by the bleak northern blast,

Not freer from a soil ; the thoughts of infants

But little nearer heaven : and if these princes

Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts

Injure another hour upon the lady,

My right-drawn sword shall prove it.

Lor. Upon my knee, sir,

(How my soul doth dance !) humbly I entreat

Your grant to this request : fight with Philippo

I' th' midst of flame or pestilence ; in a cave,

Where basilisks do breed.

Ver. We must take counsel :

The price of blood is precious.

Lor. Blood desires burthen :

The price of truth is precious. For all the fights

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

147

I have fought for you on land : the feats 1 at sea,

Where I have tugg'd with tempests, stood storms

at midnight,

Out-star'd the flaring lightning, and the next

morning

Chas'd the unruly stubborn Turk with thunder ;

For all the bullets I have bravely shot,

And sent death singing to the slaughter, sir—

Ver. Peace !

Lor. What should a soldier do with peace ? re-

member

Mine honour lies a-bleeding, and in mine yours ;

Her wide wound inward bleeds ; and while you

cry peace,

Shame wars upon my name. O, rather kill me,

Than cast me to this scandal !

Spin. The doubtful cause,

With such a dare approv'd, you may permit it.

Ver. Your request is granted, coz.

Lor. You have now, sir, breath'd

Fresh air in the face of fainting honour.

Rapiers of fair equality.

Ven.2 Look with what cunning

The spider, when she would snare the fly, doth weave

With neater art appearance [to] deceive.

Stay !—as you said, sir, blood is a precious price :

Let me but see the men produc'd who swore

They saw them in the shameful act, and then

Farewell a sister and her honour.

Pan. Produce your servants, sir.

[Venice sends off a Lord.

Lor. Plague of this change ! here's one of

them ; the t'other,

1 Old copy, fears.]

2 The speech following has hitherto very mistakenly been

assigned to Verona. The sense, even without comparisou

with the old copy, shows the error.—Collier.

148

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

In that I threaten'd him for some neglect,

The next day ran away.

Ven. Did you, sir, swear

You saw our sister and this gentleman

In this base act of sin ?

Lor. Fear nothing.

1st Slave. To deny truth

Is more dangerous than to displease a duke.

I saw it, and did swear it.

Enter Lord, and 2D Slave.

Ven. But here comes one

Will swear you saw it not, and are forsworn.

1st Slave. 'Sfoot, Stratzo !

Spin. This is the other fellow took his oath.

Ver. What come you here to say, sir ?

2d Slave. That we swore falsely, may it please

your grace;

Hir'd by my lord with gifts and promises:

And as I now have spoke the truth, so Heaven

Forgive my former perjury !

Ver. Hear you, cousin ?

1st Slave. Would you would say something :

I have nettles in my breeches.

Lor. Now, now, I hope, your eyes are open,

lords;

The bed of snakes is broke, the trick's come out,

And here's the knot i' th' rush. Good Heaven,

good Heaven !

That craft, in seeking to put on disguise,

Should so discover herself !

Ver. Explain yourself !

Lor. Now see, sir, where this scorpion lurks, to

sting

Mine honour unto death. This noble duke

By nature is engaged to defend a sister :

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

149

And to this duke so engag'd this malicious lord—

For sin still hates her scourger—makes repair,

And prepossesses him with that suppos'd innocence

Of an injur'd sister, which he had hir'd this slave

To follow him and affirm, and lays the cause

To scruple and to conscience; they did consent

To steal belief by seeming accident.

Sin, juggler-like, casts sin before our eyes :

Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise.

With an equal hand now weigh me, and if I

want

A grain of honour, tear me from your blood,

And cast me to contempt.

1st SLAVE My lord would have made an ex-

cellent state-sophister.

[Aside.

VER. In what a strange dilemma judgment sits,

Charm'd to her chair with wonder !

VEN. Shall I have justice?

PAN. Yes, in that this fellow swears for the

duke :

Reach him the book; you shall see him again

Take the former oath.

VER. This doubt must be so ended :

If it give not satisfaction, send back our hostage ;

You have fair regress to your forces: but

The blood remains on you; and still remember,

The price of blood is precious.

PHIL. Let us end it.

VEN. O, what a combat honour holds with 'con-

science !

Reach him the book; and if thou false dost,

May thine own tongue thine own foul heart

1st SLAVE. Amen, say I :

Give me the book. My oath must end all,

SPIN. It must.

LOR. Now you shall hear him swear

He saw them both in the base act.

150

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

1st Slave. Nay, I swear

They are now both seen in the base act.

Omnes. How's this ?

Pan. 'Tis a strange oath.

1st Slave. 'Tis true, though.

Lor. True, villain ! are both now seen in the

base act ?

1st Slave. Yes, both.

Lor. Which both ?

1st Slave. You and I, sir.

Omnes. How ?

1st Slave. Both you and I are seen in the base

act,

Slandering spotless honour, an act so base

The barbarous Moor would blush at.

Phil. D'ye hear him now ?

Lor. Ouf, slave ! wilt thou give ground too ?

fear works upon 'em :

Did you not both here swear i' th' senate-chamber,

You saw them both dishonest ?

1st Slave. Then we swore true, sir.

Lor. I told you 'twas but fear.

Ver. Swore ye true then, sir, when ye swore

Ye both saw them dishonest ?

1st Slave. Yes, marry, did we, sir ;

For we were both two villains when we saw them,

So we saw them dishonest.

Ver. Heaven, thou art eyual !

1st Slave. This is a jealous lord, his lady

chaste.

A rock of crystal not more clear, this gentleman

Basely abus'd ; this great prince dishonour'd;

And so we kneel for mercy.

Ver. You have redeem'd it :

Depart, prove honest men. That I should bear

Dishonour in my blood !

Omnes. Much-injur'd lady !

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

151

VEN. What justice, sir, belongs unto the injur'd ?

VER. First, witness Heaven, I tear thee from

my blood, And cast thee off a stranger. Assume you, sir,

Since the great cause is yours, my seat of justice,

And sentence this foul homicide : it must be,

And suddenly ; he will infect the air else.

Proceed, great sir, with rigour, whilst I stand by,

And do adore the sentence.

VEN. Answer, Lorenzo,

Art thou not guilty ?

LOR. Give me my merit—death.

Princes can build and ruin with one breath.

VEN. The cause may seem to merit death, in that

Two souls were hazarded, a princess' fame,

A duke dishonour'd, and a noble lord

Wounded in reputation ; but since she lives,

And that no blood was spilt (though something

dearer)

Mercy thus far stretches her silver wings

Over your trespass. We do banish you

Both from our dukedom's limits and your own :

If you but set a daring foot upon them,

Whilst life lends you ability to stand,

You fall into the pit of death, unless

You shall find out our most unfortunate sister,

And bring her to our court.

LOR. You, sir, are merciful !

VER. This let me add,

In that you have had impartial justice, sir,

Princes should punish vice in their own blood :

Until you find that excellent injur'd lady,

Upon this gentleman, who hath suffer'd for you,

We confer your lands, revenues, and your place :

[Old copy, made.]

152

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

That, during three days' stay within our confines,

It shall be death to any that relieves you,

But, as they do a beggar at their door,

So cast you from their presence.1

Lor. Your dooms are just !

O love, thy first destruction is distrust !

[Exeunt Lorenzo,2 JASPRO, and JOVANI.

Ver. For you, fair sir, until we shall hear tid-

ings

Of your most-injur'd sister, please you to call

My court your own—conceive it so—where live.

Two partners in one passion we will be,

And sweeten sorrow with a sympathy.

[Exeunt.

Enter LODOVICO like a friar, JASPRO, and JOVANI.

Lod. What, am I fitted, gallants ? am I fitted ?

Jas. To th' life, able to cheat suspicion; and so like

Father Antony the confessor, that I protest

There's not more semblance in a pair of eggs.

Jov. An apple cut in half is not so like.

Lod. Well, lords.3 you're mad lords to counsel

me to this. But now, in this habit, shall I know

the very core of her heart and her little piddling

sins, which will show in my book as foils to her

giant-bodied virtues.

Jas. That will be admirable !

Jov. We'll step aside : by this she's upon

coming,

Jas. We shall know all.

Lod. Reveal, confession ! but go your ways : as

1 [Old copy, So cast him from our presence.]

2 The 4o reads, Exeunt Lord, &c., but Lorenzo is meant.—

Collier.

3 [Old copy, of lords.]

much as may lawfullý be rèvealed, we'll laugh at

at next meeting.

Jas. Come, let's be gone. But once upon a

time, sir,

A beggar found a lark's nest ; and, o'erjoy'd

At his sudden glut, for he thought 'twas full of

young ones,

Looking, they were all gone: he was forc'd again

to beg,

For he found in the lark's nest a serpent's egg.

So much good d'ye, sir.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dorothea.

Lod. Well, thou surpassest all the courtiers in

these pretty ones, if a man had the wit to under-

stand them. Yonder she comes: I can hardly

forbear blushing, but that for discovering myself.

Right reverend habit, I honour thee

With a son's obedience, and do but borrow thee,

As men would play with flies who, i' th' midst

Of modest mirth, with care preserve themselves.

Dor. Hail. holy father !

Lod. Welcome, my chaste daughter !

Dor. Death having taken good father Jacomo,

Upon the plenal and approv'd report

Of your integrity and upright dealing—

Lod. Delicate Doll !

[Aside.]

Dor. I have made a modest choice of you, grave

sir,

To be my ghostly father : and to you I fall

For absolution.

Lod. Empty then, my daughter,

That vessel of your flesh of all the dregs

Which, since your last confession clear'd you, have

Taken a settled habitation in you ;

And with a powerful sweet acknowledgment

154

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Hunt out those spirits which haunt that house

of flesh.

Tears make dry branches flourish green and fresh.

Dor. Since last I confess'd, then I do confess

My first sin was, that my tailor bringing home

My last new gown, having made the sleeves too

flanting,

In an unchristian passion I did bid

'The devil take him.

Lod. That was something harsh, dear daughter,

Yet the more pardonable, for it may be your tailor

Lies in hell night by night. Pray, to your second.

Dor. Next, in a more savage rage, my chamber-maid

Putting a little saffron in her starch,1

I most unmercifully broke her head.

Lod. 'Twas rashly done too. But are you sure,

dear daughter,

The maid's head was not broke before?

Dor. No, no, sir ; she came to me with ne'er a

crack about her.

Lod. These will be brave sins to mix with her

virtues ! Why, they will make no more show than

three or four bailiffs amongst a company of honest

men. [Aside.] These sins, my dove-like daughter,

are out of contradiction venial, trivial, and light.

Have you none of greater growth ?

Dor. O yes, sir, one !

Lod. One ! What should that be, I wonder ?

Dor. One yet remains behind

Of weight and consequence. The same order

Heralds prescribe in shows, I now observe

In placing of my sins ; as there inferiors

Fare 'fore the persons of great note,2 so last,

1 See note on "Albumazar," [xi. 328.]

2 i.e. Go before. Old copy, Far more.—Pegge.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

155

Because the last lives freshest in our memories,1

My great sin comes to obliterate those pass'd,

Lod. Sh' has trod some chicken to death, I

warrant her. [Aside.]

Dor. Hear me, and let a blush make you look

red.

Unseemly I have abus'd my husband's bed.

Lod. You did ill to drink too hard ere you

went to bed.

Dor. 'Alas, sir! you mistake me: I have lain

With another man besides my husband.

Lod. How?

Dor. Nay, the same way I use to lie with him,

But not altogether so often.

Lod. Why then, Crede quod habes, et habes, I will

believe I have horns, for I have 'em. 'Sfoot, a

woman, I perceive, is a neat herald: she can

quarter her husband's coat with another's2 arms at

pleasure. But I have a penance for your pure

whoreship. [Aside.] You are somewhat broad:

are you not with child, daughter?

Dor. Yes, yes; sure, 'twas that night's work.

Lod. How know you that?

Dor. Alas! by experience, sir. The kind fool'

my husband

Wishes all well; but, like a light piece of gold,

He's taken for more than he weighs.

Lod. With child! there's charges too; o' th'

other side, there should follow

A zealous exhortation; but great affairs

That brook no stay make me be brief, remembering

Lawful necessity may dispense with ceremony.

You are ingenuously sorry?

1 [In the former edits. this line precedes the one before

it, to the prejudice of the sense.]

2 [Old copy, butcher's.]

158

THE CITY NIGHTCAP:

But I here discover

Strange actions closely carried in this house.

Great persons (but not good) here nightly revel

In surfeits and in riots, yet so carried,

That the next day the place appears a sanctuary

Rather than sin's foul receptacle. These ways

Have to me still been strangers ; but, Lorenzo,

Thou couldst not, though, believe it. O jealousy !

[O] love's eclipse! Thou art, in thy disease,

A wild mad patient, wondrous hard to please.

Enter TIMPANIA and MORBO.

Mor. Yonder she walks, mumbling to herself.

The Prince Antonio has blessed her with's observa-

tion ; and ye win her but to him, your house

bears the bell away. Accost her quaintly.

Tim. I warrant thee, Morbo; Madonnia Tim-

pania has effected wonders of more weight than a

maidenhead, Have I ruined so many city-citadels

to let in court-martialists, and shall this country-

cottage hold out ? I were more fit for a cart than

a coach then, i' faith. How now, Millicent, how

d'ye this morning?

Abs. Well, I do thank so good a landlady.

Tim. But hark you, Mill. Is the door close,

Morbo ?

Mor. As a usurer's conscience. Grace was

coming in, till she saw the door shut upon her.

Tim. I'll set Grace about her business, and I

come to her. Is here any work for Grace, with a

wanion to her?1 We shall have eavesdroppers,

shall we?

2 This expression occurs in "Pericles, Prince of Tyre,"

act ii. sc. 1—

"Look how thou stirrest now :

Come away, I'll fetch thee with a wannion.'

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

159

Abs. Chastity guard me! how I tremble.

Tim. Come hither, Mistress Millicent. Fie, how

you let your hair hang about your ears too! How

do you like my house, Mill?

Abs. Well indeed, well.

Tim. Nay, I know a woman may rise here in

one month, and she will herself. But truth's

truth : I know you see something, as they say,

and so forth. Did you see the gallant was here

last till twelve?

Abs. Which of them mean you? Here was

many.

Tim. Which? he in the white feather, that

supped in the gallery : wasn't not white, Morbo?

Mor. As a lady's hand, by these five fingers.

Tim. White? No, no, 'twas a tawny, now I

remember.

Mor. As a gipsy, by this hand : it looked white

by candle-light, though.

Tim. That lusty springal,1 Millicent, is no worse

man

Than the Duke of Milan's son.

Abs. His excellent carriage spoke him of noble

birth.

Tim. And this same duke's son loves you, Mil-

licent.

Again, in Ben Jonson's "Devil is an Ass"—

"And a cuckold is,

Where'er he put his head with a woman,

If his horns be forth, the devil's companion!"

[And in a thousand other places.]

1 Springal (adolescens), a youth.—Skinner. So in Spenser's

"Faery Queene," bk. v. c. x. s. 6—

"Amongst the rest which in that space befel,

There came two springals of full tender yeers."

And in "Wily Beguiled," 1606: "Pray ye, maid, bid him

welcome, and make much of him, for by my troth, he's a

good proper springold."

160

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Abs. Now Heaven defend me !

Tim. What, from a duke's son? marry, come up

with a murrain, from whence came you, trow, ha?

Mor. Thus nice Grace was at first, and you

remember.

Tim. I would have ye know, housewife, I could

have taken my coach, and fetched him one of the

best pieces in Milan, and her husband should have

looked after me, that's neighbours. might have

noted, and cried, Farewell, naunt,1 commend me to

mine uncle.

Mor. And yet from these perfumed fortunes

Heaven defend you!

Abs. Perfumed, indeed.

Mor. Perfumed ! I am a pander, a rogue, that

hangs together like a beggar's rags, by geometry, if

there were not three ladies swore yesterday that

my mistress perfumed the coach ! so they were fain

to unbrace all the side-parts, to take in fresh air.

Tim. He tells you true; I keep no common

company, I warrant ye. We vent no breathed

ware here.

Abs. But have ye so many several women to

answer so many men that come ?

Mor. I'll answer that by demonstration. Have

ye not observed the variation of a cloud ? some-

times it will be like a lion, sometimes like a horse,

sometimes a castle, and yet still a cloud.

Abs. True.

Mor. Why, so can we make one wench one

day look like a country wench, another day like a

citizen's wife, another day like a lady, and yet still

be a punk.

Abs. What shall become of me ? O, the curse

Of goodness, to leave one woe for a worse !

1 [i.e., Aunt, a phrase already explained.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Enter PHILIPPO.

PHIL. Morrow, sweet madam.

O, look how, like the sun behind a cloud,

The beauty do give intelligence it is there.

TIM. You're reciprocal welcome, sir.

PHIL. What, have ye not brought this young

wild haggard1 to the lure yet?

TIM. Faith, sir, she's a little irregular yet; but

time, that turns citizens' caps into court-periwigs,

will bring the wonder about.

PHIL. Bless you, sweet mistress!

Enter ANTONIO and SLAVE.

MOR. 'Sfoot ! here's the prince : I smell thunder.

TIM. Your grace is most methodically welcome.

You must pardon my variety of phrase : the 'cour-

tiers e'en cloy us with good words.

ANT. What's he ?

MOR. A gentleman of Ferrara, sir; one Pedro

Sebastiano.

ANT. And do ye set her out to sale ?

I charged

ye reserve for me alone.

TIM. Indeed, sir—

ANT. Pox of your deeds !

[Kicks her.

TIM. O my sciatica !

ANT. Sirrah, you perfumed rascal !

[Kicks PHILIPPO. They draw.

TIM. Nay, good my lord.

MOR. Good sir, 'tis one of the duke's chamber.

PHIL. Let him be of the devil's chamber.

1 "A haggard goshawke" is one that is wild and hard to

reclaim. See Latham's "Book of Faulconry," 1633.

And Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act ii. sc. 2—

"A proud haggard,

And not to be reclaim'd !"

VOL. XIII.

L

162

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ant. Sittrah, leave the house, or I will send thee

out with thunder.

Slave. Good sir, 'tis madness here to stand

him.

Phil. 'Sfoot, kicked ! Pray that we meet no

more again, sir : still keep heaven about you.1

Abs. Whate'er thou art, a good man still go

with thee.

Ant. Will you bestow a cast of your pro-

fessions ?

Mor. We are vanished, sir.

Tim. This 'tis to dream of rotten glasses,

Morbo.

Abs. O, what shall become of me ? In his eye

murder and lust contend.

Ant. Nay, fly not, you sweet,

I am not angry with you ; indeed, I am not.

Do you know me ?

Abs. Yes, sir, report hath given intelligence

You are the prince, the duke's son.

Ant. Both in one.

Abs. Report, sure,

Spoke but her native language : you are none of

either.

Ant. How ?

Abs. Were you the prince, you would not, sure,

be slay'd

To your blood's passion. I do crave your pardon

For my rough language : truth hath a forehead

free,

And in the tow'r of her integrity

Sits an unvanquish'd virgin. Can you imagine

'Twill appear possible you are the prince ?

1 Philippo here makes his Exit, which is not marked in the

old copy, and, under the circumstances, is not very creditable

to him.—Collier.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

163

Why, when you set your foot first in this housë,

You crush'd obeilient duty unto death,

And even then fell from you your respect.

Honour is like a goodly old house, which

If we repair not still with virtue's hand,

Like a citadel being madly rais'd on sand,

It falls, is swallow'd, and not found [again].

Ant. If you rail upon the place, prythee,

How cam'st thou hither?

Abs. By treacherous intelligence. Honest men

so

In the way ignorant, through thieves' purlieus go.

Are you [the] son to such a noble father?

[And would you] send him to's grave then,

Like a white almond-tree, full of glad days,

With joy that he begot so good a son.

O sir, methinks I see sweet majesty

Sit with a mourning sad face full of sorrows,

To see you in this place. This is a cave

Of scorpions and of dragons. O, turn back :

Toads here engender ; 'tis the steam of death :

The very air poisons a good man's breath.

Ant. Within there !

Enter TIMPANIA and MORDA.

Mor. Sir.

Ant. Is my caroch at door ?

Tim. And your horses too, sir. Ye found her

pliant ?

Ant. Y' are rotten hospitals hung with greasy

satin !

Tim. Ah !

Mor. Came this nice piece from Naples, with a

pox to her ?

Tim. And she has not Neapolitanised him, I'll

be flea'd for't.

[Exeunt BAWD and PANDER.

164

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ant. Let me borrow goodness from thy lip.

Farewell.

Here's a new wonder : I have met heaven in hell

[Exeunt.

Enter Venice, Verona, Lodovico, Pandulpho,

Jaspro.

Ver. Is this your chaste. religious lady?

Lod. Nay. good my lord, let it be carried with

a silent reputation, fur the credit of the conclusion.

As all here are privy to the passage, I do desire

not to be laughed at till after the masque, and we

are all ready. I have made bold with some of

your grace's gentlemen, that are good dancers.

Ver. 'Tis one of my greatest wonders, credit

me.

To think what way she will devise here openly

To perform her so strict penance.

Ven. It busies me, believe me, too.

Jas. Ye may see now, sir, how possible it is for

a cunning lady to make an ass of a lord too con-

fident.

Lod. An ass ! I will prove a contented cuckold

the wisest man in's company.

Ver. How prove you that, sir?

Lod. Because he knows himself.

Ver. Very well brought in.

Is all our furniture fit, against the morning,

To go for Milan?

Jas. Ready, and like your grace.

Ver. We are given to understand, the injur'd

princess,

Whom Count Lorenzo and noble Philippo

Are, unknown to one another, gone in search of,

Hath been seen there disguis'd. Strict inquisition

From the duke himself shall, ere many days,

Give our hopes satisfaction.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

165

Enter Dorothea, Ladies, Francisco, and Clown.

Jas. The ladies, sir. Francisco keeps before,

And Pambo keeps all well behind.

Lod. Yes, there's devout lechery between hawk

and buzzard. But, please ye, set the ladies : the

masque attends your grace.

[Exit. Ven. Come, ladies, sit. Madonma Dorothea,

Your ingenious lord hath suddenly prepar'd us

For a conceited masque, and himself, it seems,

Plays the presenter.

Dor. Now, fie upon this vanity !

A profane masque ? Chastity keep us, ladies.

Ven. What, from a masque ? Whereon grounds

your wish ?

Dor. Marry, my lord, upon experience.

I heard of one once brought his wife to a masque

As chaste as a cold night ; but, poor unfortunate

fellow,

He lost her in the throng; and she, poor soul,

Came home so crush'd next morning !

Ven. 'Las, that was ill :

But women will be lust against their will.

Ver. Silence, the masquers enter.

Enter Lodovico, Clown, and Masquers : a stag,

a ram, a bull, and a goat.

Clown. Look to me, master.

Lod. Do not shake : they'll think th' art out. A

masque1

Clown. A masque, or no masque ; no masque

but a by-clap;

And yet a masque yclep'd A City Nightcap.

1 Lodovico stands by, and prompts the Clown as he speaks

the prologues.—Collier.

166

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Lod. And conve—

Clown. And conveniently for to keep off scorns.

Considerately the cap is hedg'd with horns.

Lod. We insinuate.

Clown. Speak a little louder.

Lod. We insinuate.

Clown. We insinuate, by this stag and ram so pretty,

With goat and bull, court, country, camp, and city.

Lod. Cuckold.

Clown. Cuckold, my lord?

Lod. 'Tis the first word of your next line.

Clown. O—Cuckold begins with C. And isn't

not sport?

The C begins with country, camp, and court :

But here's the fine figary of our poet,

That one may wear this nightcap and not know

it.

Dor. Why, chicken, shall they make such an

ass of thee? Good your graco. can a woman endure

to see her loving husband wear horns in's own

house?

Ver. Pray, lady, 'tis but in jest.

Dor. In jest? Nay, for the jest sake, keep

then on, sweet bird.

Clown. Now to our masque's name: but first,

be it known—a

When I name a city, I only mean Verona.

Those two lines are extempore, I protest, sir; I

brought them in, because here are some of other

cities in the room, that might snuff pepper else.2

1 i.e., Might take offence, or be affronted. To take pepper

in the nose, was formerly a cant phrase for being affronted

or irritated; as in Tariton's 'Newes out of Purgatory,'

1630, p. 10: 'Myles hearing him name the Baker, took

straight pepper in the nose, and starting up, threw off his

cardinals robes.'

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

167

Ven. You have fairly ta'en that fear off ; pray,

proceed.

Lod. Your kindest mèn—

Clown. Your kindest men most cuckolds are,

O pity !

And where have women most their will? i' th'1

city !

Seek 2 for a nightcap, go to cuckolds' luck ;

Who thrives like him who hath the daintiest duck

To deck his stall ? nay, at the time of rapping.

When you may take the watch at corners napping ;

Take it, forsooth—it is a wondrous hap,

If you find master constable without his cap :

So a city nightcap, for whilst he doth roam

And fights abroad, his wife commits at home.

Ven. A Verona constable.

Clown. A constable of Verona ; we will not

meddle with your city of Venice, sir.

Therefore 'tis fit tho city, wise men say,

Should have a cap called Cornucopin.

Lod. To con—

Clown. To conclude our cap, and stretch it on

the tenter,

'Tis known a city is the whole land's centre :

So that a city nightcap ours we call

By a conclusion philosophical.

Heavy bodies tend to th' centre, so (the more the

pity)

The heaviest heads do butt upon the city :

And to our dance this title doth redound,

A city nightcap, alias, cuckolds' round.

Dor. Cuckolds' round ! and my sweet bird leads

the dance !

Ver. Be patient, madam, 'tis but honest mirth :

From good construction pleasure finds full birth.

[Dance.

1 [Old copy, oñ.] 2 [Old copy, Sick]

168 THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

VER. Jaspro, fill some wine.

JAS. 'Tis here, sir.

VER. Count Lodovico!

LOD. Sir.

VER. I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce

The performance of her penance.

LOD. I'll catch occasion by the lock,1 sir.

VER. Here, a health to all; it shall go round.

LOD. 'Tis a general health, and leads the rest

into the field.

CLOWN. Your honour breaks jests as serving-men do glasses—by chance.

VER. As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me,

How fortunate our kind host was to meet with

So chaste a wife. Troth, tell me, good Count

Lodowick,

Admit Heaven had her—

LOD. O good your grace, do not wound me—

Admit Heaven had her! 'las, what should Heaven

do with her?

VER. Your love makes you thus passionate;

but admit so :

Faith, what wife would you choose?

LOD. Were I to choose then, as I would I were,

so this were at Japan,

I would wish, my lord, a wife so like my lady,

That once a week she should go to confession;

And to perform the penance she should run,

Nay, should do nought but dream on't, till 'twere

done.

JAS. A delicate memento to put her in mind of

her penance.

[Aside.]

DOR. Now you talk of dreams, sweetheart, I'll

1 [As we should say, by the forelock.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

162

tell ye a very unhappy one: I was a-dreamed last

night of Francis there.

Lod. Of Frank?

Dor. Nay, I have done with him.

Lod. Now your grace shall see the devil out-

done.

Ver. Pray, let us hear your dream.

Dor. Bless me! I an c'en asham'd to tell it:

but 'tis no matter, chick,

A dream is a dream, and this it was.

Methought, sweet husband, Francis lay with me.

Lod. The best friend still at home, Francisco,

Could the devil, sir, perform a penance neater,

And save his credit better? O, chick; a dream

is but a dream.

Dor. Methought I prov'd with child, sweet-

heart.

Lod. Ay, bird?

Fran. Pox of these dreams!

Dor. Methought I was brought to bed; and

one day sitting

I' th' gallery, where your masquing-suits and vizards hang,

Having the child, methought, upon my knee,

Who should come thither, as to play at foils,

But thou, sweetheart, and Francis?

Lod. Frank and I! Does your grace mark

that?

Ver. I do, and wonder at her neat conveyance

on't.

Dor. Ye had not play'd three veneys,1 but me-

thought

1 i.e. Says Mr Steevens (note to "Merry Wives of Wind-

sor," act i. sc. 1), "three renues, Fr. three different set-to's;

bouts, a technical term." Several instances are there pro-

duced, to which may be added the following:-

168

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

VER. Jaspro, fill some wine.

JAS. 'Tis here, sir.

VER. Count Lodovico !

LOD. Sir.

VER. I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce

The performanco of her penance.

LOD. I'll catch occasion by the lock,1 sir.

VER. Here, a health to all ; it shall go round.

LOD. 'Tis a general health, and leads the rest

into the field.

CLOWN. Your honour breaks jests as serving-

men do glasses—by chance.

VER. As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me,

How fortunate our kind host was to meet with

So chaste a wife. Troth, tell me, good Count

Lodowick,

Admit Heaven had her—

LOD. O good your grace, do not wound me—

Admit Heaven had her ! 'las, what should Heaven

do with her?

VER. Your love makes you thus passionate ;

but admit so :

Faith, what wife would you choose?

LOD. Were I to choose then, as I would I were,

so this were at Japan,

I would wish, my lord, a wife so like my lady,

That once a week she should go to confession ;

And to perform the penance she should run,

Nay, should do nought but dream on't, till 'twere

done.

JAS. A delicate memento to put her in mind of

her penance.

[Aside.]

1 [As we should say, by the forelock.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

162

tell ye a very unhappy one : I was a-dreamed last

night of Francis there.

Lod. Of Frank ?

Don. Nay, I have done with him.

Lod. Now your grace shall see the devil out-

done.

Ver. Pray, let us hear your dream.

Dor. Bless me ! I am e'en asham'd to tell it :

but 'tis no matter, chick,

A dream is a dream, and this it was.

Methought, sweet husband, Francis lay with me.

Lod. The best friend still at home, Francisco.

Could the devil, sir, perform a penance neater,

And save his credit better ? On, chick ; a dream

is but a dream.

Dor. Methought I prov'd with child, sweet-

heart.

Lod. Ay, bird ?

Fran. Pox of these dreams !

Dor. Methought I was brought to bed; and

one day sitting

I' th' gallery, where your masquing-suits and wizards

hang,

Having the child, methought, upon my knee,

Who should come thither, as to play at foils,

But thou, sweetheart, and Francis ?

Lod. Frank and I ! Does your grace mark

that ?

Ver. I do, and wonder at her neat conveyance

on't.

Dor. Ye had not play'd three veneys,1 but me-

thought

1 i.e., Says Mr Steevens (note to "Merry Wives of Wind-

sor," act i. sc. 1), "three veneys, Fr. three different set-to's;

bouts, a technical term." Several instances are there pro-

duced, to which may be added the following :-

170

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

He hit thee such a blow upon the forehead,

It swell'd so, that thou couldst not see.

Lou. See, see !

Dor. At which the child cried, so that I could

not still it ;

Whereat, methought, I pray'd thee to put on

The hat thou wor'st but now before the duke,

thinking thereby

To still the child : but, being frighted with't,

He cried the more.

Lod. He ! Frank, thou gett'st boys.

Fran. In dreams, it seems, sir.

Dor. Whereat I cried, methought, pointing to

thee-

Away, thou naughty man, you are not this child's

father !

Lod. Meaning the child Francisco got.

Dor. The same: and then I wak'd and kiss'd

thee.

Omnes. A pretty merry dream !

Ben Jonson's " Every Man in his Humour," act i. sc. 5-

"Mat But one venue, sir

Iton. Venue / sic, a most gross denomination as ever I heard."

"The Old Law," by Massinger, &c., act iii. sc. 2—

"To give your perfum'd worship three venues

A sound old man puts his trust better home

Than a spic'd young man."

Greene's " Historie of Fryer Bacon and Fryer Bungay,"

Sig. G 4, edit. 1630—

"Why stand't thou, Serlaby, doubt'st thou of thy life."

A veney, man ! faire Margaret craves so much."

Fennor's " Compter's Commonwealth," 1617, p. 21 :

"Thus are my young novices strucke to the heart at the

first venny, and dares come no more for feare of as sharp a

repulse."

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Enter JASPRO.

JAS. Your servant tells me,

Count Lodowick, that one Father Antony,

A holy man, stays without to speak with you.

LOD. With me or my lady?

JAS. Nay, with you, and about earnest business.

LOD. I'll go send up, and he shall interpret my

lady's dream. Hist, Jaspro.

Exeunt.

DOR. Why, husband! my lord!

FRAN. Didst mark? He must interpret.1

CLOWN. I smell wormwood and vinegar. [Aside.

VEN. She changes colour.

DOR. He will not, sure, reveal confession!

VER. We'll rise, and to our lodgings: I think

your highness

Keeps better hours in Venice?

VEN. As all do, sir:

We many times make modest mirth a necessity

To produce ladies' dreams.

FRAN. How they shoot at us! Would I were

in Milan!

These passages fry me.

Enter JASPRO and LODOVICO.2

JAS. Here's strange juggling come to light.

VER. Ha, juggling!

JAS. This friar hath confess'd unto Count Lodowick,

That this lady here, being absolv'd, confess'd

This morning to him here, in her own house,

Her man Francisco here had lain with her.

1 [Old copy reads,] I must interpret. Francisco seems to allude to Lodovico's last words.—Pegge.

2 Lodovico is disguised like a friar, as is evident from the rest of the scene.—Collier.

172

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

At which her lord runs up-and down the garden

Like one distracted, crying, Ware horns, ho !

Dor. Art mad ? Deny it yet ; I am undone

else.

Clown. Father Tony !

Lod. I confess it, I deny it—ay, anything. I do

everything ; I do nothing.

Ver. The friar's fallen frantic ; and being mad,

Depraves a lady of so chaste a breast,

A bad thought never bred there.

Dor. 'Tis may misfortune still to suffer, sir.

Lod. Did you not see one slip out of a cloak-bag

i' th' fashion of a flitch of bacon, and run under the

table amongst the hogs ?

Ver. He's mad, he's mad.

Clown. Ay, ay, a tithe-pig : 'twas overlaid

last night, and he speaks nonsense all the day

after—

Dor. Shall I, sir, suffer this—in mine own house

too ?

Clown. I'd scratch out his eyes first.

Ver. Since, lady, you and your man Francisco

Are the two injur'd persons, here disrobe

This irregular son of his religious mother,

Expose him to th' apparent blush of shame,

And tear those holy weeds off.

Fran. Now you, my frantic brother,

Had you not been better spar'd your breath ?

Dor. And ye keep counsel, sir, no better,

We'll ease you of your orders.

Clown. Nay, let me have a hand in't : I'll tear

the coat with more zeal than a puritan would tear

a surplice.

Fran. See what 'tis to accuse when you're

mad.

Dor. I confess again to you now, sir, this man

did lie with me.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

173

Clown. And I brought him to her chamber,

too : but come, turn out here.

Duke. Who's this ?

Omnes. 'Tis Count Lodowick.

Lod. How dreams, sweet wife, do fall out

true !

Clown. I was a-dream'd, now I remember, I

was whipped through Verona.

Lod. I was your confessor :

Did not I enjoin your chaste nice ladyship

A dainty penance ?

Jas. And she perform'd it

As daintily, sir, we'll be sworn for that.

Dor. O good sir, I crave your pardon !

Lod. And what say you, Francis ?

Fran. You have run best, sir : vain 'tis to de-

fend;

Craft sets forth swift, but still fails in the end.

Lod. You brought him to her chamber, Pambo.

Clown. Good my lord, I was merely inveigled

to't.

Lod. I have nothing to do with ye; I take no

notice of ye; I have played my part off to th' life,

and your grace promised to perform yours.

Ver. And publicly we will still raise their

fame :

Who e'er knew private sin 'scape public shame ?

You, sir, that do appear a gentleman,

Yet are within slave to dishonest passions,

You shall through Verona ride upon an ass

With your face towards his back-part, and in

Your hand his tail 'stead of a bridle.

Clown. Snails ! upon an ass ? an't 'ad been upon

a horse, it had been worthy, gramercy.

Ver. Peace, sirrah :

After that, you shall be branded in the forehead,

And after banish'd. Away with him !

174 THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

FRAN. Lust is still

Like a midnight meal : after our violent drinkings,

'Tis swallow'd greedily ; but, the course being kept,

We are sicker when we wake than ere we slept.

CLOWN. He must be branded ! if the whore-

master be burnt, what shall become of the procurer ?

VER. You, madam, in that you have cosen'd

sanctity,

To promise her the vows you never paid,

You shall unto the monastery of matrons,

And spend your days reclusive : for we conceive it

Her greatest plague, who her days in lust hath

pass'd

And soil'd, against 1 her will to be kept cha-te.

DOR. Your doom is just : no sentence can be

given

Too hard for her plays fast and loose 2 with Heaven.

LOD. I will buss thee, and bid fair weather after

thee. But for you, sirrah—

CLOWN. Nay, sir, 'tis but crede quod habes, et

habes, at most ; believe I have a halter, and I have

one.

1 [Old copy, is against.]

2 "Fast and loose." says Sir John Hawkins (note to

"Antony and Cleopatra." act iv. sc. 10), "is a term to signify

a cheating game, of which the following is a description. A

leathern belt is made up into a number of intricate folds, and

placed edgewise upon a table. One of the fulds is made to

represent the middle of the girdle, so that whoever should

th ust a skewer into it would think he held it fast to the

table : whereas, when he has so done, the person with whom

he plays may take hold of both ends and draw it away. The

trick is now known to the common people by the name of

pricking at the belt or girdle." The Gipsies, so early as the

reign of Queen Elizabeth, were great adepts in these practices.

See Scot's "Discoverie of witchcraft," 1584, p. 336: where in

the 29th chapter is described the manner of playing at fast

and loose with handkerchiefs, &c.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP:

175

Ver. You, sirrah, we are possess'd, were their pander.

Clown. I brought but flesh to flesh, sir, and your grace does as much when you bring your meat to your mouth

Ver. You, sirrah, at a cart's tail shall be whipped through the city.

Clown. There's my dream out already! but, since there is no remedy but that whipping-cheer must close up my stomach, I would request a note from your grace to the carman, to entreat him to drive apace; I shall never endure it else.

Ver. I hope, Count Lodowick, we have satisfied ye.

Lod. To th' full; and I think the cuckold catch'd the cuckold-makers.

Ver. 'Twas a neat penance; but, O the art of woman in the performance!

Lod. Pshaw, sir, 'tis nothing: had she been in her gran'am's place—

Had not the devil first begun the sin, And cheated her, she would have cheated him.

Ver. Let all to rest: and, noble sir, i' th' morn-

ing With a small private train we are for Milan.

Vice for a time may shine, and virtue sigh; But truth, like heaven's sun, plainly doth reveal, And scourge or crown, what darkness did conceal.

ACT V.

Enter Antonio, and a Slave, one in the other's habit

Slave. But faith, sir, what's your device in this? This change insinuates some project.

176

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ant Shall I tell thee ?

Thou art my slave; I took thee (then a Turk)

In the fight thou know'st we made before Palermo :

Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me

Than I am unto Cupid.

Slave. O. then you are going, sir,

To your old rendezvous; there are brave rogues

there :

But the duke observes you narrowly. and sets spies

To watch if you step that way.

Ant. Why therefore, man,

Thus many times I have chang'd habits with thee,

To cheat suspirion : and prejudicate Nature

(Mistress of inclinations). sure, intended

To knit thee up so like me for this purpose ;

For th' hast been taken in my habit for me.

Slave. Yes, and have had many a French

cringe.

As I have walk'd i' th' park ; and, for fear of dis-

covery,

I have crown'd it only with a nod.

Enter a Lord.

Ant. Th' art a mad villain.

But, sirrah. I am wondrously taken

With a sweet face I saw yonder ; thou know'st

where.

Slave. At Venus College, the court bawdy-

house.

Ant. But this maid, howsoever she came there,

Is acquainted so with Heaven, that when I thought

To have quench'd my frantic blood, and to have

pluck'd

The fruit a king would leap at : even then

She beat me with such brave thunder off, as if

Heaven had lent her the artillery of angels.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Slave. She was coy then ?

Ant. Coy, man ! she was honest—left coyness

to court ladies :

She spake the language of the saints, methought.

Holy spectators sat on silver clouds,

And clapp'd their white wings at her well-plac'd

words.

She piecemeal pull'd the frame of my intentions,

And so join'd it again, that all the tempest

Of blood can never move it.

Slave. Some rare phœnix ! what's her name ?

Ant. 'Tis Millicenta, and wondrous aptly,

For she is mistress of a hundred thousand holy

heavenly thoughts.

Chastely I love her now, and she must know it :

Such wondrous wealth is virtue, it makes the woman

Wears it about her worthy of a king,

Since kings can be but virtuous : farewell.

A crown is but the care of deceiv'd life ;

He's king of men is crown'd with such a wife.

[Exit Antonio, and the Lord after him.

Slave. Are your thoughts levell'd at that white,

then ?1

1 To levell at, or to hit the white, were phrases taken fiom

archery, and often used by our ancient writers. The white

was the mark at which archers practised when they learned to

shoot. So in Massinger's "Emperor of the East," act. iv. sc. 3—

"The immortality of my fame is the white I shoot at;"

in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Four [Plays in One]" (Dyce's

edit.), ii. 512]—"And let your thoughts fie higher ; nim them right,

Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white:"

in Lyly's "Euphues and his England," 1582—"Vertue is

the white we shoot at, not vanitie" (p. 11.) Again, "He

glaunced from the marke Euphues shot at, and hit at last the

white which Philautus set up" (p. 18).

Vol. XIII.

M

178

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

This shall to th' duke your dad, sir. He can never

talk with me,1

But he twits me still with, I took thee at that fight

We mute before Palermo! I did command

Men as he did there, Turks and valiant men:

And though to wind myself up for his ruin,

That J may fall and crush him, I appear

To renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian,

'Tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,

Or any way confound him, and 'scape cleanly.

Ere2 one expects the deed : to hasten it,

This letter came even now. which likewife certifies

He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight

Of a Turkish captain, commander of a galley.

He keeps me as his slave, because indeed

I play'd the devil at sea with him ; but having

Thus wrought myself into him, I intend

To give him but this day to take his leave

Of the whole world. He will come back by twi-

light :

I'll wait him with a pistol. O sweet revenge ! .

Laugh, our great prophet, he shall understand, .

When we think death farthest off, he's nearest

hand.

Enter Philippo.

Phil. You and I must meet no more, sir : there's

your kick again.

[Kicks him.

Again. " An archer say you, is to be known by his aime,

not by his anowe : but your aime is so ill, that if you knewe

howe fawe wide from the white your shaft sticketh, you would

hereafter rather break your bowe then bend it. "—Ibid. 57.

1 In this speech are to be found the outlines of the char-

acter of Zanga, so admirably drawn by Dr Young. The plot

of the Revenge is, however, said to have been taken from Mrs

Behn's play of " Abdelazar," which was borrowed from

" Lust's Dominion ; or, The Lascivious Queen."

2 [Old copy, and.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP:

179

Slave. Hold, hold! what mean you, sir?

Phil. I have brought your kick back, sir—

[Shoots him.

Slave. Hold, man, I am not—

[Falls.

Phil. Thou hast spoken true, thou art not

What art thou?

But I am for Verona.

[Exit.

Slave. Mine own words catch me : 'tis I now understand,

When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.

[Dies.

Enter Lorenzo.

Lor. She lives not, sure, in Milan! report but wore

Her usual habit when she told in Verona

She met Abstemio here. O Abstemio,

How lovely thou look'st now! now thou appearest

Chaster than is the morning's modesty,

That rises with a blush, over whose bosom

The western wind creeps softly. Now I remember,

How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye

Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well,

Unless it look'd where I look'd. O, how proud

She was, when she could cross herself to please me!

But where now is this fair soul? like a silver cloud,

She hath wept herself, I fear, into th' dead sea,

And will be found no more: this makes me mad,

To rave and call on death; but the slave shrinks,

And is as far to find as she. Abstemio,

If thou not answer or appear to knowledge,

1 So in "Cymbeline," act v. sc. 3—

"I in mine own woe charm'd,

Could not find death, where I did hear him groan :

Nor feel him, where he struck : being an ugly monster,

"Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,

Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we

That draw his knives i' th' war."

180

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

That here with shame I sought thee in this wood,

I'll leave the blushing witness of my blood. [Exit.

Enter the DUKE of MILAN, SEBASTIANO, SANCHO,

and the LORD.

MIL. Followed you him thus far?

LORD. Just to this place, sir :

The slave he loves left him; here they parted.

MIL. Certain, he has some private haunt this way.

SEB. Ha ! private indeed, sir : O, behold and see

Where he lies full of wounds !

LORDS. My lord.

MIL. My son Antonio! who hath done this deed?

SAN. My Lord Antonio!

MIL. He's gone, he's gone ! warm yet? bleeds fresh?

and whilst

We here hold passion play, we but advantage

The flying murderer. Bear his body gently

Unto the lodge. O, what hand hath so hid

That sunlike face behind a crimson cloud !

Use all means possible for life : but I fear

Charity will arrive too late. To horse !

Disperse through the wood: run, ride, make way,

The sun in Milan is eclips'd this day !

OIVES. To horse, and raise more pursuit !

[Exeunt.

Enter LORENZO with his sword drawn.

LOR. Abstemia! O, take her name, you winds,

upon your wings,

And through the wanton region of the air

Softly convey it to her. There's no sweet suffer-

ance,

Which bravely she pass'd through, but is a thorn

Now to my sides : my will the centre stood

To all her chaste endeavours : all her actions,

With a perfection perpendicular,

Pointed upon it. She is lost ! O she,

The well-built fort of virtue's victory !

For still she conquer'd : since she is lost, then,

My friendly sword, find thou my heart.

With. Follow, follow !

Enter Duke of Milan, Sanchio, and Sebastinc.

Mil. This way. What's he ? lay hands on him.

Seb. The murd'rer, on my life, my lord, here in

the wood

Was close beset ; he would have slain himself

Mil. Speak, villain, art thou the bloody

murderer ?

Lor. Of whom ?

San. His dissembled ignorance speaks him the

man.

Seb. Of the duke's son, the Prince Antonio, sir :

'Twas your hand that kill'd him.

Lor. Your lordship lies ; it was my sword.

Mil. Out, slave !

Ravens shall feed upon thee : speak, what cause

Hadst thou with one unhappy wound to cloud

That star of Milan ?

Lor. Because he was an erring star,

Not fix'd nor regular. I will resolve nothing :

I did it, do not repent it ; and were it

To do again, I'd do't.

Omnes. Bloodthirsty villain !

Mil. Lead 1 him to swift destruction, tortures,

and death.

1 [Mr Collier's correction, Old copy, leave.]

182

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

O my Antonio! how did thy youth stray,

To meet wild winter in the midst of May?

LOR. O my Abstemial who cast thy fate so bad,

To clip affliction, like a husband clad? [Exeunt.

Enter ANTONIO and ABSTEMIA.

Abs. Good sir, the prince makes known his

wisdom,

To make you speaker in his cause.

ANT. Me know, mistress,

I have felt love's passions equal with himself,

And can discourse of love's cause: had you seen

him

When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;

And when your name slipp'd through his trembling

lips,

A lover's lovely paleness straight possess'd him.

Abs. Fie, fie!

ANT. Go, says he, to that something more than

woman—

And he look'd as if by something he meant saint;

Tell her I saw heaven's army in her eyes,

And that from her chaste heart such excellent

goodness

Came, like full rivers flowing, that there wants

nothing

But her soft yielding will to make her wife

Unto the Prince Antonio. O, will you fly

A fortune, which great ladies would pursue

Upon their knees with prayers?

Abs. No, Lorenzo,

Had law to this new love made no denial:

A chaste wife's truth shines through the greatest

trial.

1 Embrace.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

183

Enter Morbo.

Mor. How now, what make you i' th' wood

here?

Where's my old lady?

Abs. I know not.

Mor. All the country's in an uproar yonder :

the Prince Antonio's slain.

Ambo. How !

Mor. Nay, no man can tell how ; but the

murd'rer with's sword in's hand is taken.

Ant. Is he of Milan ?

Mor. No, of Verona : I heard his name, and I

have forgot it.

Ant. I am all wonder ; 'tis the slave, sure !

Mor. Lor—Lor—Lorenzo.

Abs. Ha, Lorenzo ! What, I pray ?

Mor. Lorenzo Me—Medico has run him in the

eye, some thirty-three inches, two barleycorns :

they could scarce know him for the blood, but by

his apparel. I must find out my lady ; he used

our house ; intelligence has been given of his

pilgrimage thither. I am afraid I shall be singed

to death with torches, and my lady stewed between

two dishes.

Ant. Why hath this thus amazed you, mistress ?

Abs. O, leave me, leave me : I am all distraction ;

Struck to the soul with sorrow.

Enter Milan, Lords, and Lorenzo guarded.

Ant. See where they come !

My father full of tears, too. I'll stand by :

Strange changes must have strange discovery.

Abs. 'Tis he : heart, how thou leap'st ! O ye

deluded,

And full of false rash judgment ! why do ye lead

184

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Innocence like a sacrifice to slaughter?

Get garlands rather : let palm and laurel round1

Those temples, where such wedlock-truth is found.

Lor. Ha!

Omnes. Wedlock!

Abs. O Lorenzo! thou hast suffer'd bravely,

And wondrous far : look on me, here I come,

Hurried by conscience to confess the deed.

Thy innocent blood will be two great a burthen

Upon the judge's soul.

Lor. Abstemia!

Abs. Look, look,

How he will blind ye! by and by, he'll tell ye

We saw not one another many a day;

In love's cause we dare make our lives away.

He would redeem mine: 'tis my husband, sir;

Dearly we love together; but I, being often

By the dead prince, your son, solicited

To wrong my husband's bed, and still resisting,

Where you found him dead he met me, and the place

Presenting opportunity, he would there

Have forc'd me to his will; but prizing honesty

Far above proffer'd honour, with my knife,

In my resistance, most unfortunately

I struck him in the eye. He fell, was found,

The pursuit rais'd, and ere I could get home

My husband met me; I confess'd all to him.

He, excellent in love as the sea-inhabitant,

Of whom 'tis writ that, when the flatt'ring hook

Has struck his female, he will help her off,

Although he desperately put on himself,

But if he fail, and see her leave his eye,

He swims to land, will languish, and there die—

Such is his love to me; for, pursu'd closely,

1 [i.e., Surround, crown.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

185

He bid me save myself, and he would stay

With his drawn sword there about the place, on

purpose

To requite my loyalty, though with his death.

Fear forc'd my acceptance then; but conscience

Hath brought me back to preserve innocence.

Seb. The circumstances produce probability.

Lor. By truth herself she slanders truth: she

and I

Have not met these many months. O my

Abstemia!

Thou wouldst be now too excellent.

Ant. These are strange turns.

Mil. Let not love strangle justice. Speak: on

thy soul,

Was it her hand that slew the prince?

Lor. Not, on my life;

'Tis I have deserv'd death.

Abs. Love makes him desperate,

Conscience is my accuser. O Lorenzo!

[The Duke and Lords whisper.

Live thou, and feed on my remembrance;

When thou shalt think how ardently I love thee,

Drop but a pair of tears from those fair eyes,

Thou offer'st truth a wealthy sacrifice.

Lor. Did ye hear, sir?

Mil. No, what said she?

Lor. She ask'd me, why I would cast myself

away thus,

When she in love devis'd this trick to save me.

San. There may be juggling, sir, in this: it may

be

They have both hands i' th' deed, and one in love

Would suffer for't.

Enter a Lord.

Mil. What news?

186

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

LORD. The Dukes of Venice and Verona,

With some small train of gentlemen, are privately

This hour come to the court.

MIL. Bear them to prison,

Until we have given such entertainment sorow

Will give us leave to show : until that time,

The satisfaction of my lost son's life

Must hover 'twixt a husband and a wife.

[Exeunt. Manct Antonio.

ANT. How strangely chance to-day runs ! the slave kill'd

In my apparel, and this fellow taken for't,

Whom to my knowledge I never saw. She loves him

Past all expression dearly. I have a trick,

In that so infinitely dear she loves him,

Has seal'd her mine already ; and I'll put

This wondrous love of woman to such a nonplus,

Time hath produc'd none stranger. I will set

Honour and Love to fight for life and death.

Beauty (as castles built of cards) with a breath

Is levell'd and laid flat.

Enter PHILIPRO, putting on a disguise, lays down a pistol.

PHIL. Misery of ignorance !

It was the Prince Antonio I have slain.

ANT. Ha ! the clue of all this error is unravell'd,

This is the valiant gentleman so threaten'd me :

He met the slave, doubtless, in my habit,

And seal'd upon him his mistaken spleen.

If it be so, there hangs some strange intent

In those accuse themselves for't.

PHIL. It seems some other had laid the plot to kill him.

This paper I found with him speaks as much,

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

187

And, sent to the intended murderer,

Happen'd (it seems) to his hands. It concurs;

For they say, there is one taken for the fact,

And will do me the courtesy to be hang'd for

me.

There's comfort yet in that. So, so : I am fittel;

And 'will set forward.

[ANTONIO takes up the pistol.

ANT. Goose, there's a fox in your way.

PHIL. Betrayed !

ANT. Come, I have another business afoot : I

have no time to discover 'em now, sir. See, I can

enforce you ; but by this hand, go but with me,

and keep your own counsel. Garden-houses1 are

not truer havens to cuckold-making, than I will be

to thee and thy stratagem.

PHIL. Th' art a mad knave : art serious ?

ANT. As a usurer when he's telling interest-

money.

PHIL. Whate'er thou art, thy bluntness begets

belief. Go on, I trust thee.

ANT. But I have more wit than to trust you be-

hind me, sir ; pray, get you before. I have a

friend shall keep you in custody till I have passed

a project ; and if you can keep your own counsel,

I will not injure you. And this for your comfort—

the prince lives.

PHIL. Living ! Thou mak'st my blood dance

But prythee, let's be honest one to another.

ANT. O sir, as the justices' clerk and the con-

stable, when they share the crowns that drunkards

pay to the poor. Pray, keep fair distance, and

take no great strides.

[Exeunt.

1 See note to "The Miseries of Enforœd Marriage" [ix.

538.]

188

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Enter LORENZO and ABSTEMIA, as in prison.

Lor. Can then Abstemia forgive Lorenzo ?

Abs. Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemla,

She can hang thus upon his neck, and call

This prison true love's palace.

Lor. O, let kings

Forget their crowns that know what 'tis to enjoy

The wondrous wealth of one so good.

Now

Thou art lovely as young spring, and comely

As is the well-spread cedar ; the fair fruit,

Kiss'd by the sun so daily, that it wears

The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock

Thy soul's integrity.

Here let me fall,

And with pleading sighs beg pardon.

Enter ANTONIO.

Abs. Sir, it meets you,

Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye

Longs for the long-wish'd altar of his vow.

But you are far too prodigal in praise,

And crown me with the garlands of your merit.

As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale

(Being best friends to us), our own swift motion

Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows :

Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.

Lor. Sorrow hath bravely sweeten'd thee !

What are you ?

Ant. A displeasing black cloud ! though I ap-

pear dismal,

I am wondrous fruitful.

What cause soever

Mov'd you to take this murder on yourself,

Or you to strike yourself into the hazard

For his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger !

But I conceive you are both innocent.

1 [Old copy, a young.]

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

189

LOR. As newborn virtue, I did accuse

My innocence, to rid me of a life

Look'd uglier than death upon an injury

I had done this virtuous wife.

ABS. And I accus'd

My innocence, to save the belov'd life

Of my most noble husband.

ANT. Why, then, now 'twould grieve you

Death should unkindly part ye.

LOR. O, but that, sir,

We have no sorrow. Now to part from her,

Since Heaven hath new-married and new-made us,

I had rather leap into a den of lions,

Snatch from a hungry bear her bleeding prey :

I would attempt desperate impossibilities

With hope, rather than now to leave her.

ANT. This makes for me. [Aside.]

ABS. And rather than leave you, sir, I would eat

Hot coals with Portia, or attempt a terror

Nature would, snail-like, shrink her head in at,

And tremble but to think on.

ANT. Better and better. [Aside.]

If you so love him, what can you conceive

The greatest kindness can express that love ?

ABS. To save his life, since there is no hope,

Seeing he so strongly has confess'd the murder,

We shall meet the happiness to die together.

ANT. Fire casts the bravest heat in coldest weather :

I'll try how ardently you burn ; for know,

Upon my faith, and as I am a gentleman,

I have in the next room, and in the custody

Of a true friend, the man that did the deed

You stand accus'd for.

ABS. Hark there, Lorenzo !

LOR. Will you not let him go, sir ?

190

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ant. That's in suspense. But, mistress, you

did say,

You durst eat coals with Portia, to redeem

The infinitely lov'd life of your husband.

Abs. And still [do] strongly protest it.

Lor. O my Abstemial

Ant. You shall redeem him at an easier rate :

I have the murderer, you see, in hold.

Lor. And we are bless'd in your discovery of him.

Ant. If you will give consent that I shall taste

That sense-bereaving pleasure so familiar

Unto your happy husband—

Abs. How ?

Ant. Pray, hear me :

Then I will give this fellow up to the law.

If you deny, horses stand ready for us,

A bark for transportation ; where we will live,

Till law by death hath sever'd ye.

Lor. But we will call for present witness.

Ant. Look ye— [Shows the pistol.

Experienc'd navigators still are fittorl

For every weather. 'Tis almost past call

To reach the nimblest car ; yet but offer it,

I part ye presently for ever. Consider it :

The enjoying him thou so entirely lov'st

All thy life after ; that when mirth-spent time

Hath crown'd your heads with honour, you may sit

And tell delightful stories of your loves ;

And when ye come to that poor minute's 'scape

Crowns my desire, ye may let that slip by,

Like water that ne'er meets the miller's eye.

Compare but this to th' soon-forgotten pleasure

Of a pair of wealthy minutes. The thriftiest

Japidary

Knows the most curious jewel takes no harm

1 Old copy reads thirftiest.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

191

For one day's wearing. Could you, sir (did your eye

Nor see it worn), your wife having lent your cloak

(If secretly return'd and folded up)—

Could you conceive, when you next look'd upon't,

It had neatly furnish'd out a poor friend's want?

Be charitable, and think on't.

Lor. Dost hear, Abstemio?

O, shall we part for ever, when a price

So poor might be our freedom?

Abs. Now, gooduess guard ye!

Where learn't you, sir, this language?

Lor. Of true love.

You did but now profess that you would die

To save my life; and now, like a forward chapman,

Catch'd at thy word, thou givest back, asham'd

To stand this easy proffer.

Abs. Could you live,

And know yourself a cuckold?

Ant. What a question's that!

Many men cannot live without the knowledge.

How can ye tell

Whether she seems thus to respect your honour,

But to stay till the law has chok'd you?

It may be then she will do't with less entreaty.

Lor. Ay, there, there 'tis.

Ads. 'Tis your old fit of jealousy so judges.

A foul devil talks within him.

Lor. O, the art,

The wondrous art of woman! ye would do it

daintily;

You would juggle me to death; you would persuade me

I should die nobly to preserve your honour;

That (dead) ignobly you might prove dishonour-

able,

Forget me in a day, and wed another.

192

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Abs. Why then would I have died for you?

Ant. That was but a proffer,

That, dying, you might idolise her love :

'Twould have put her off the better.

Lor. O, you have builded

A golden palace, strew'd with palm and roses,

To let me bleed to death in ! How sweetly

You would have lost me. Abstemiu, you have

learn'd

The cunning fowler's art, who pleasantly

Whistles the bird into the snare. Good Heaven !

How you had strew'd the enticing top o' th' cup

With Arabian spices ! But you had laid i' th'

bottom

Ephesian aconite. You are love's hypocrite ;

A rotten stick, in the night's darkness born,

And a fair poppy in a field of corn.

Abs. O sir ! hear me—

[Kneels.

Lor. Away ! I will no more

Look pearl in mud. O sly hypocrisy ! Durst ye

But now die for me? Good Heaven ! die for

me !

The greatest act of pain, and dare not buy me

With a poor minute's pleasure ?

Abs. No, sir, I dare not : there is little pain in

death ;

But a great death in very little pleasure.

I had rather, trust me, bear your death with

honour,

Than buy your life with baseness. As I am ex-

pos'd

To th' greatest battery beauty ever fought,

O, blame me not if I be covetous

To come off with greatest honour. If I do this

To let you live, I kill your name, and give

My soul a wound ; I crush her from sweet grace,

And change her angel's to a fury's face.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

193

Try me no more, then; but, if you must bleed,

To preserve honour, life is nobly lost.

Lor. Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms!

I am now

Confirm'd past all suspicion, thou art far

Sweeter in thy sincere truth, than a sacrifice

Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian

winds,1

That blow off from the coast, and cheer the sailor

With the sweet savour of their spices, want

The delight flows in thee. Look here, look here,

O man of wild desires! We will die the martyrs

Of marriage; and, 'stead of the loose ditties

With which they stab sweet modesty, and en-

gender

Desires in the hot-room, thy noble story

[To ABSTENIA.]

Shall, laurel-like, crown honest ears with glory.

Ant. Murder, murder, murder!

Enter the three Dukes, with Lords.

Mil. Ha! who cries murder?

Phil. As y' are a gentleman, now be true to me.

Abs. Sir!

Ven. Sister!

Ver. My shame! art thou there?

Ven. O sister, can it be

A prince's blood should stain that white hand?

1 So Milton, in "Paradise Lost," bk. iv. 1. 159—

"As when to them who sail

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past

Mozambique, off at sea north-east winds blow

Sabean odours from the spicy shore

Of Araby the blest: with such delay

Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league

Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles."

VOL. XIII.

N

194

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ambo. Hear us.

Ant. No, no, no, hear me: 'twas I cried mur-

der;

Because I have found them both stain'd with the

deer!

They would have throttled me.

Lor. Hear us: by all---

Mil. Upon your lives, be silent. Speak on.

sir:

Had they both hands in our son's blood?

Ant. Two hands apiece, sir.

I have sifted it: they both have kill'd the prince;

But this is the chief murderer. Please you, give

me audience;

Ye shall wonder at the manner how they kill'd

him.

Mil. Silence!

Ant. He came first to this woman, and (truth's

truth)

He would have lain with her.

Mil. Her own confession.

Ant. Nay, good your grace.

Mil. We are silent.

Ant. Coming to seize upon her, with the first

blow

She struck his base intent so brave a buffet,

That there it bled to death. She said, his horse

Would teach him better manners: there he died

once.

Ver. What does this fellow talk?

Abs. I understand him.

Ant. He met her next i' the wood, where he

was found dead:

Then he came noblier up to her, and told her

Marriage was his intent; but she as nobly

(Belike, to let him know she was married)

Told him, in an intelligible denial,

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

195

A chaste wife's truth shin'd through the greatest

trial :

There the prince died again.

Lod. There's twice ; beware the third time.

Ant. The third time, he came here to them

both in prison,

Brought a pistol with him, would have forc'd her

again ;

But had ye seen how fairly then she slew him,

You would have shot applauses from your eyes :

O, she came up so bravely to that prince

Hot potent Lust (for she slow'd no prince else),

With such a valiant discipline she destroy'd

That debosh'd1 prince, Bad Desire ; and then, by

him

So bravely too fetch'd off, that (to conclude)

Betwixt them they this wonder did contrive,

They kill'd the prince, but kept your son alive.

[Discovers himself.

Mil. Antonio !

Omnes. The prince !

Ven. Come home, my sister, to my heart.

Ver. And now Lorenzo is again my belov'd

kinsman.

Ant. O sir, here dwells virtue epitomis'd,

Eren to an abstract, and yet that so largo

'Twill swell a book in folio.

Lod. She swells beyond my wife then :

A pocket-book, bound in decimo sexto,

Will hold her virtues, and as much spare paper left

As will furnish five tobacco-shops.

Mil. But here's the wonder ; who is it was

slain

In your apparel?

Phil. I will give them all the slip. [Offers to go.

1 [Debauched.]

196

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

Ant. Here's a gentleman of Ferrara—

Phil. As you are noble—

Ant. That saw them fight: it was the slave was slain, sir,

I took before Palermo : he that kill'd him,

Took him but for a gentleman his equal;

And as this eye-witness says, he in my apparel

Did kick the t'other first.

Phil. Nay, upon my life, sir,

He in your apparel gave the first kick : I saw them fight,

And I dare swear the t'other honest gentleman

Little thought he had slain anything like the prince,

For I heard him swear, but half an hour before,

He never saw your grace.

Mil. Then he kill'd him fairly?

Phil. Upon my life, my lord.

Ven. T'other had but his merit then : who dies

And seeks his death, seldom wets others' eyes.

Ant. Let this persuade you : I believe you noble.

I have kept my word with you.

Phil. You have outdone me, sir,

In this brave exercise of honour : but let me,

In mine own person, thank you.

Omnes. Filippo!

Phil. Unwittingly I did an ill—as't happened,

To a good end : that slave I for you kill'd

Wanted but time to kill you : read that paper,

Which I found with him, I thinking by accident

You had intercepted it. We all have happily

Been well deceived ; you are noble, just, and true ;

My hate was at your clothes, my heart at you.

Ver. An accident more strange hath seldom happen'd.

Lor. Philippo, my best friend, 'twixt shame and love,

Here let me lay thee now for ever.

THE CITY NIGHTCAP.

197

Abs. Heaven

Hath now plan'd all our rough woes smooth and

even.

Mil. At court [a] large relation in apt form

Shall tender pass'd proceedings; but to distinguish,

Excellent lady, your unparallel'd praises

From those but seem, let this serve: bad women

Are nature's clouds, eclipsing her fair shine :

The good, all-gracious, saint-like and divine.

[Exeunt Omnes.

THE

CITY-MATCH.

EDITIONS.

The City Match. A Comœdy Presented to the King and Queene, at White-Hall. Acted since at Black-Friers, by his Majesties Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet. Versibus exponi Tragicis res Comica non vult. Oxford, Printed by Leonard Lichfield, Printer to the University. Anno Dom. m.dc.xxxix. Folio.

Two Plaies : The City Match, a Comœdy; and the Amorous Warre, a Traggy Comœdy: both long since written. By J. M. of Ch. Ch. in Oxon. Oxford: Printed by Hen. Hall, for Ric. Davis, 1658. 4°.

The City Match: a Comœdy. Presented to the King and Queene at White-Hall. Acted since at Black Friers, by his Majesties Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet. Versibus exponi Tragicis res Comica non vult. By J. M. St. of Ch. Ch. in Oxon. Oxford: printed by Henry Hall, Printer to the University, for Rich. Davis. 1659. 8°.

INTRODUCTION.

Jasper Mayne was born at Hatherley, in Devonshire, in the year 1604; and being sent to Westminster School, he continued there until the age of nineteen years, without obtaining a King's scholarship. At that time he met with a patron in Dr Bryan Duppa; by whose recommendation, in 1623 he entered himself a servitor of Christ Church, Oxford, and commenced M.A. June 18, 1631. He afterwards took holy orders, and distinguished himself in the pulpit by that quaint manner of preaching which was then in vogue. His first preferment was the vicarage of Cassington, near Woodstock,1 to which was afterwards added the living of Pyrtou, near Watlington, both by the presentation of his college. These preferments lying at a small distance from the university, he continued to reside there, and was much admired for his wit and humour. In 1638 he completed a translation of Lucian's Dialogues;2 and in the next

1 8th of October 1638. Rymer's "Fœd." xx. 317.— Gilchrist.

2 It was not published till 1664, but the title-page expresses that it was "made English from the original in the year 1638." This fact also appears from the dedication to the Marquis of Newcastle, which is a masterpiece of solid reasoning and oritical acumen, where the author mentions

202

INTRODUCTION.

year appeared his comedy of "The City-Match." On

the breaking out of the civil war, he sided with the

royal party, to which he remained ever after firmly

attached. He was appointed in 1642 one of the divines

to preach before the king and Parliament, in that year

proceeded Bachelor of Divinity, and was created D.D.

on June 7, 1646. The decline of the king's affairs caused

a very great alteration in those of our author : he was

ejected from his student's place in 1648, and soon after

deprived of both his vicarages. In the midst of these

sufferings he still preserved a warm zeal for the old

establishment. In September 1652, he held a public

disputation with a noted Anabaptist preacher, in Wat-

lington Church. He afterwards had the good fortune

to meet with a friend in the Earl of Devonshire, who

received him into his family in the character of chaplain,

and with that nobleman he resided until the Restoration.

On that event he returned back to his livings, was ap-

pointed chaplain-in-ordinary to the king, promoted to

a canon's stall at Christ Church, and raised to the dig-

nity of Archdeacon of Chichester.

Thus replaced in his favourite seat of the Muses, he

continued to reside there during the rest of his life,

happy in the full enjoyment of his promotions. He

died December 6, 1672, and his corpse was interred

in the aisle adjoining to the choir of Christ Church,

that "these pieces were translated for your private enter-

tainment above five-and-twenty years since." He adds that

he was then only a student of Christ Church, and that he

should have translated more "if the late barbarous times

had not broke my study." In the course of this preface

(for the epistle is to be so considered) Mayne very severely

lashes the republicans for their ignorance and presumptuous-

ness.—Collier (note altered).

where a monument was erected to his memory at the

charge of Dr Robert South and Dr John Lamphire, the

executors of his will.

Besides the translation of Lucian (before mentioned)

and "The City-Match," he published several sermons

and poems,2 and "The Amorous War :" a tragi-comedy.

40, 1648.

["The City-Match" is an excellent comedy of intrigue

and counter-plot, with many amusing and lively situa-

tions, and frequent illustrations of manners. 'The char-

acter of Dorcas, however, is forced, and her sudden

metamorphosis is wanting in probability.]

1 From the Prologue and Epilogue it appears that this

play was acted by command of the king, both at White-

hall and at the Blackfriars Theatre.—Collier.

2 Among others he has a poem prefixed to Cartwright's

"Plays and Poems," and another "Jonsonius Virbius."—

Gilchrist. [The late Mr Bolton Corney thought that to Mayne

ought to be attibuted the verses before the second folio of

Shakespeare, signed J. M. S., quasi Jasper Mayne, Student.]

TO THE READER.

The Author of this Poem, knowing how hardly the best things protect themselves from censure, had no ambition to make it this way public, holding works of this light nature to be things which need an apology for being written at all, nor esteeming otherwise of them. whose abilities in this kind are most passable, than of masquers who spangle and glitter for the time, but 'tis th[o]rough tinsel. As it was merely out of obedience that he first wrote it, so when it was made, had it not been commanded from him, it had died upon the place where it took life. Himself being so averse from raising fame from the stage, that at the presentment he was one of the severest spectators there, nor ever showed other sign whereby it might be known to be his but his liberty to despise it. Yet he hath at length consented it should pass the press ; not with an aim to purchase a new reputation, but to keep that which he hath already from growing worse ; for understanding that some at London, without his approbation or allowance, were ready to print a false, imperfect copy, he was loth to be libelled by his own work, or that his play should appear to the world with more than its own faults. Farewell.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.

The Author, royal sir, so dreads this night,

As if for writing he were doom'd to th' sight ;

Or else, unless you do protect his fame,

Y' had sav'd his play, and sentenc'd him to th' flame.

For though your name or power were i' th' re- priere,

Such works, he thinks, are but condem'd to live.

Which for this place, being rescu'd from the fire,

Take ruin from th' advancement, and fall higher.

Though none, he hopes, sit here upon his wit,

As if he poems did, or plays commit ;

Yet he must needs fear censure that fears praise,

Nor would write still, were't to succeed i' th' bays :

For he is not o' th' tribe, nor would excel

In this kind, where 'tis lightness to do well.

Yet, as the gods refin'd base things, and some

Beasts foul i' th' herd grew pure i' th' hecatomb ;

And as tho ox prepar'd and crowned bull

Are offerings, though kept back, and altars full ;

So, mighty sir, this sacrifice being near

The knife at Oxford, which y' have kindled here,

He hopes 'twill from you and the Queen grow clean,

And turn t' oblation, what he meant a scene.

THE PROLOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.

Were it his trade, the Author bid me say,

Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th' play;

And I, to set him up in reputation,

Should hold a basin forth for approbation.

But praise so gain'd, he thinks, were a relief

Able to make his comedy a brief;

For where your pity, must your judgment be,

'Tis not a play, but you fir'd houses see.

Look not his quill, then, should petitions run;

No gatherings here into a Prologue spun.

Whether their sold scenes be dislik'd, or hit,

Are cares for them who eat by th' stage and wit.

He's one whose unbought Muse did never fear

An empty second day or a thin share;

But can make th' actors, though you come not twice,

No losers, since we act now at the king's price,

Who hath made this play public; and the same

Power that makes laws redeem'd this from the

flame:

For th' Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire

To praise from that which he condemn'd to th' fire.

He's thus secure then, that he cannot win

A censure sharper than his own hath been.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Warehouse, an old merchant.

Frank Plotwell, his nephew.

Cypher, his factor.

Bannsbright, old Plotwell disguised.

Aurclia, Penelope Plotwell disguised.

Scathrift, a merchant.

Timothy, his son.

Dorcas, Susan Scathrift disguised.

Bright, }

Newcut, } two Templars

Mistress Scrufil, a Puritan schoolmistress.

Mistress Holland, a sempstress on the Exchange.

Quartfield, a captain.

Salewit, a poet.

Rostclap, one that keeps an ordinary.

Millicln, his wife.

Prentice.

Two Footmen.

Boy that sings.

The Scene, London.

THE CITY-MATCH.1

ACT I, SCENE 1.

WAREHOUSE, SEATHRIFT.

SEA. I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.

WARE. The city, Master Seathrift, never yet

Brought forth the like : I would have them that

have

Fin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.

SEA. Mend it ! why,

'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.

Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,2

Will put us in.

WARE. For, since I took him home,

Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,

1 In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in

his profession made a few alterations in this play, and pre-

sented it to the governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde

Park Corner, who obtained a representation of it at Drury

Lane for the benefit of that charity. It was at the same

time printed in 8°, under the title of "The Sohemere ; or,

The City-Match."

Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it,

told me.—Reed.

2 The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe,

author of the "Chronicles of England," who was of that

cumcompany, and a tailor by profession.

VOL. XIII.

210

THE CITY-MATCH.

Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutiful

As a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim

'Gainst revelling companions, be as hard

To be entic'd from home as my door-posts,

This reformation may but be his part,

And he may act his virtues. I have not

Forgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir—

SEA. You told me, Master Warehouse.

WARE. Not the sea,

When it derour'd my ships, cost me so much

As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies

Has been lost in a night : his daily suits

Were worth more than the stock that set me up;

For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,

And studied that more than the law. He had

His loves, too, and his mistresses ; was enter'd

Among the philosophical madams ; 1 was

As great with them as their concerners ; and, I hear,

Kept one of them in pension.

SEA. My son too

Hath had his errors : I could tell the time

When all the wine which I put off by wholesale

He took again in quarts ; and at the day

Vintners have paid me with his large scores : but

He is reformed too.

WARE. Sir, we now are friends

In a design.

SEA. And hope to be in time

Friends in alliance, sir.

WARE. I'll be free ;

I think well of your son.

SEA. Who? Timothy?

Believe't, a virtuous boy ; and for his sister,

A very saint.

1 See Ben Jonson's " Silent Woman."—Pegge,

THE CITY-MATCH.

211

WARE. Mistake me not, I have

The like opinion of my nephew, sir;

Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor

Doth the church-book say they are past our years.

Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good

To know them well whom we do make our heirs.

SEA. It is most true.

WARE. Well; and how shall we know

How they will use their fortune, or what place

We have in their affection, without trial?

Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,

If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,

Or wear1 long cloaks. This plot will do't.

SEA.'Twill make us

Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,

And take leave of my wife and son.

WARE. And I'll

Come to you at your garden-house.2 Within there.

[Exit Seathrift.

SCENE II.

Enter Cypher.

WARE. Now, Cypher, where's my nephew?

CYPH. In the hall,

Reading a letter which a footman brought

Just now to him from a lady, sir.

WARE. A lady!

CYPH. Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for I

Could overhear the fellow say she must

Sell her coach-horses, and return again

1 All the editions read their.

2 See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.]

212

THE CITY-MATCH.

To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her

With money.

WARE. This is some honourable sempstress.

I am now confirm'd : they say he keeps a lady,

And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too late

To change my project now. Be sure you keep

A diary of his actions ; strictly mark

What company comes to him ; if he stir

Out of my house, observe the place he enters :

Watch him, till he come out : follow him (disguis'd)

To all his haunts.

CYPH. He shall not want a spy, sir.

But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw not

A lattice to your door, and hang a bush out—

WARE. I hope he will not make my house a

tavern.

CYPH. Sir, I am no Sybil's son.

WARE. Peace, here he comes.

SCENE III.

Enter PLOTWELL, in a sad posture. WAREHOUSE,

PLOTWELL, CYPHER.

WARE. Good morrow, nephew. How now ?

sad ? how comes

This melancholy ?

PLOT. Can I choose but wear

Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,

Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,

And not partake your dangers ?

WARE. Fie ! these fears,

Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.

When heard you from your father ?

PLOT. Never since

He made the escape, sir.

THE CITY-MATCH.

213

WARE. I hear he is in Ireland :

Is't true he took your sister with him ?

PLOT. So

Her mistress thinks, sir : one day she left th'

Exchange,

And has not since been heard of.

WARE. And, nephew,

How like you your new course ; which place prefer

you-

The Temple or Exchange ? Where are, think

you,

The wealthier mines-in the Indies or

Westminster Hall ?

PLOT. Sir, my desires take measure

And form from yours.

WARE. Nay, tell me your mind plainly

I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher :

I do not like quaint figures, they do smell

Too much o' th' inns-of-court.

PLOT. Sir, my obedience

Is ready for all impressions which—

WARE. Again !

PLOT. Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.

WARE. 'Tis spoken like my nephew ; now I like you,

Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits

I have bestow'd ; but will forget all errors

[Exit CYPHER.

As mere seducements, and will not only be

An uncle, but a father to you ; but then

You must be constant, nephew.

PLOT. Else I were blind

To my good fortune, sir.

WARE. Think, man, how it may

In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee

To the sword and cap of maintenance.

PLOT. Yes, and make me

214

THE CITY-MATCH.

Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback.

[Aside.

WARE. Have gates and conduits dated from thy year ;

Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.

PLOT. Yes,

Free of your company.

[Aside.

WARE. Have the people vail

As low to his trappings, as if he thrice had find

For that good time's employment.

PLOT. Or as if

He had his rider's wisdom.

[Aside.

WARE. Then the works

And good deerds of the city to go before thee,

Besides a troup of varlets.1

PLOT. Yes, and I

To sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet.

[Aside.

WARE. How say you? Let's hear that !

PLOT. I say, sir, I

To sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.

WARE. 'Tis right ; and be remembered at the

Cross.2

PLOT. And then at sessions, sir, and all times

else,

Master Recorder to save me the trouble,

And understand things for me.

[Aside.

WARE. All this is possible,

And in the stars and winds : therefore, dear nephew,

You shall pursue this course ; and, to enable you,

1 [An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.]

2 At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration sermon.]

THE CITY-MATCH.

215

In this half-year that I shall be away,

Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,

And other tongues of traffic.

Plot. Shall I not learn

Arithmetic too, sir, and shorthand ?

Ware. 'Tis well-remembered ; yes, and navigation.

Enter Cypher.

Cyph. Sir, Master Seathrift says you will lose the

tide ;

The boat stays for you.

Ware. Well, nephew, at my return,

As I hear of your carriage, you do know

What my intentions are ; and, for a token

How much I trust your reformation,

Take this key of my counting-house, and spend

Discreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,

No tears ; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.

Cypher, you know what you have to do.

Cyph. I warrant you, sir. [Exit Warehouse.

Plot. Tears ! yes, my melting eyes shall run ;

but it

Shall be such tears as shall increase the tide

To carry you from hence.

Cyph. Come, Master Plotwell, shall I

Read to you this morning ?

Plot. Read ! what? how the price

Of sugar goes ; how many pints of olives

Go to a jar ; how long wine works at sea ;

What difference is in gain between fresh herrings

And herrings red ?

Cyph. This is fine : ha' you

Forgot your uncle's charge ?

Plot. Prythee, what was't ?

Cyph. To learn the tongues and mathematics.

Plot. Troth,

216

THE CITY-MATCH.

If I have tongue enough to say my prayers

I' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not : otherwise,

I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as will

Give a fine relish to my backrag;1 and for mathe-

matics,

I hate to travel by the map ; methinks

'Tis riding post.

Cyph. I knew 'twould come to this.

Here be his comrades.

[Aside.]

Plot. What, my Fleet Street friends?

[Exit Cypher.

SCENE IV.

Enter Bright and Newcut.

Bright. Save you, merchant Plotwell!

New. Master Plotwell, citizen and merchant,

save you!

Bright. Is thy uncle

Gone the wish'd voyage?

Plot. Yes, he's gone ; and, if

He die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but some

Twelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-

Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels,

bonds,

And desperate debts.

New. And dost not thou fall down,

1 This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in

Germany, as appears from Heywood's " Philo-cothonista,"

1635, p. 48. It is there mentioned along with Rhenish.

Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says : "Next we came

to Baccarach, a walled town on the right hand, having

towers, subject to the Prince Elector Palatine, famous fur

the goodness of its wine, as is also Rhincow, a town not far

from Mentx."—Reed.

THE CITY-MATCH

217

And pray to th’ winds to sacrifice him to

Poor John and mackarel ?

BRIGET. Or invoke some rock

To do thee justice ?

NEW. Or some compendious cannon

To take him off i’ th’ middle ?

PLOT. And why, my tender,

Soft-hearted friends ?

BRIGET. What, to take thee from the Temple,

To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington ?

NEW. To transform thy plush to penny-stone ;

and scarlet

Into a velvet jacket, which hath seen

Aleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,

Hath ‘scap’d three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,

And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map ?

BRIGET. This jacket surely was employed in

finding

The north-east passage out, or the same jacket

That Coriati died in.

PLOT. Very good.

NEW. In Ovid

There is not such a metamorphosis

As thou art now. To be turned into a tree

Or some handsome beast, is courtly to this.

But for thee, Frank, O transmutation !

Of satin chang’d to kersey hose I sing.ii

'Slid, his shoes shine too.iii

1 See note to “The Ordinary” [xii., 227.]

ii [A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid’s

“Metamorphoses.”]

iii The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were

as famous for the brightness of their shoes as some par-

ticular professions at present. In “Every Man in his

Humour,” act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says—

“Whilst they sir, to relieve him in the fable,

Make their loose comments upon every word,

Gesture, or look, I use ; mock me all over,

From my flat cap unto my shining shoes.”

218

THE CITY-MATCH.

Bright. They have the Gresham dye.

Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can see

My face in them hither.

Plot. Very pleasant, gentlemen.

Bright. And faith, for how many years art

thou bound?

Plot. Do you take me for a 'prentice?

New. Why, then, what office

Dost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's

feel:

No batteries1 in thy head, to signify

Th' art a constable?

Bright. No furious jug broke on it

In the king's name!

Plot. Did you contrive this scene

By the way, gentlemen?

New. No; but the news

Thou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,

In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be

damn'd

For an usurer, is comical at the Temple.

We were about to bring in such a fellow

For an apostate in our antimaskque.

Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown

rooms,

For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall I

Give thee for the first day?

Bright. Ay, or second?

For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.

Plot. Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright

offspring

O' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny not

But you look well in your unpaid-for glory;

That in these colours you set out the Strand,

1 [Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults]

THE CITY-MATCH:

219

And adorn Fleet Street ; that you may laugh at me,

Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivals

Escap'd out of the Almanac.

New. Sirrah Bright,

Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate ?

Bright. I thought all wit had ended at Fleet-

bridge ;

But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,

If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.

Plot. Your mercer lives there, does he ?

I war-

rant you,

He has the patience of a burnt heretic.

The very faith that sold to you these silks,

And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enough

To save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.

Bright. W' are most mechanically abused.

New. Let's tear his jacket off.

Bright. A match ! take that side.

Plot. Hold, hold !

Bright. How frail a thing old velvet is ! it parts

With as much case and willingness as two cowards.

[They tear off his jacket.

New. The tend'rest weed that ever fell asunder.

Plot. Ha' you your wits ?

What mean you ?

Bright. Go, put on

One of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,

Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.

Plot. You will not strip me, will you ?

New. By thy visible ears, we will.

Bright. By this two-handed beaver, which is

so thin

And light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make

it

A Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.

Plot. But do you know, to how much danger

You tempt me ?

Should my uncle know I come

Within the air of Fleet Street—

220

THE CITY-MATCH.

NEW. Will you make

Yourself fit for a coach again, and come

Along with us ?

PLOT. Well, my two resolute friends,

You shall prevail. But whither now are your

Lewd motions bent ?

NEW. We'll dine at Roseclap's: there

We shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;

They shall show us another fish.

BRIGHT. But, by the way, we have agreed to see

A lady, you mechanic.

PLOT. What lady ?

NEW. Hast not thou heard of the new-sprung

lady ?

BRIGHT. One

That keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and

spends

A thousand pounds a year by wit.

PLOT. How ? wit !

NEW. That is her patrimony, sir. 'Tis thought

The fortune she is born to will not buy

A bunch of turnips.

PLOT. She is no gamester, is she ? Nor carries

false dice ?

BRIGHT. No, but has a tongue,

Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buy

All young heirs near him.

PLOT. But does no man know from whence she

came ?

BRIGHT. As for her birth, she may

Choose her own pedigree : it is unknown

Whether she be descended of some ditch

Or duchess.

NEW. She's the wonder of the court

And talk o' th' town.

PLOT. Her name ?

NEW. Aurelia.

THE CITY-MATCH.

221

Plot. I've heard of her. They say she does

fight duels,

And answers challenges in wit.

Bright. She has been thrice in the field.

Plot. I' th' field?

New. Yes, in Spring Garden ;

Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,

A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.

Plot. And no drum beat before her ?

New. No, nor colours

Flourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,

'Till she be won by stratagem.

Plot. I long to see her.

Bright. I' th' name of Guildhall, who comes

here ?

SCENE V.

Enter Timothy.

Tim. By your leave, gentlemen.

Plot. Master Timothy !

Welcome from the new world. I look'd you should

Ha' past through half the signs in heaven by this,

And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What ! not

gone

To sea with your father ?

Tim. No, faith, I do not love

To go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays him

In wooden sheets, and lands him a preservative

Against the plague : besides, my mother was

Afraid to venture me.

Plot. Believe't, she's wise

Not to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,

Where you had sail'd within three inches of

Jonas. Besides the tossing, to have

All the fierce blust'ring faces in the map

222

THE CITY-MATCH.

Swell more tempestuously upon you than

Lawyers prefer'd or trumpeters. And whither

Were you bound now ?

TIM. I only came to have

Your judgment of my suit.

PLOT. Surely the tailor

Has done his part.

TIM. And my mother has done hers ;

For she has paid for't. I never durst be seen

Before my father out of duretta1 and serge :

But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,

To make me look like one that lets out money,

Let him say, 'Timothy was born a fool.'

Before he went, he made me do what he list;

Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. What

Are these two ? Gentlemen ?

PLOT. You see they wear

Their heraldry.

TIM. But I mean, can they roar,

Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress ?

I mean forthwith to get a mistress ?

PLOT. But

How comes this, Master Timothy ? you did not

Rise such a gallant this morning.

TIM. All's one for that.

My mother lost her maidenhead that I

Might come first into the world ; and, by God's lid1

I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.

D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequent

Saint Antlins, like my sister ? Gentlemen,

I covet your acquaintance.

BRIGHT. Your servant, sir.

NEW. I shall be proud to know you.

1 [Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.]

Tim. Sir, my knowledge

Is not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;

Some hundred thousand pound, if once my father

Held up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.

What are you? inns-of-court men?

New. The catechism

Were false, should we deny it.

Tim. I shall shortly

Be one myself; I learn to dance already,

And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next

masque

To have a part : I shall take most extremely.

Bright. You will inflame the ladies, sir : they'll

strive,

Who shall most privately convey jewels

Into your hand.

New. This is an excellent fellow.

Who is't?

Plot. Rich Seathrift's son, that's gone to sea

This morning with my uncle.

Bright. Is this he

Whose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench

that brings

Ten thousand pound?

Plot. My uncle would fain have me [marry her;]

But I have cast her off.

Bright. Why?

Plot. Faith, she's handsome,

And had a good wit ; but her schoolmistress

Has made her a rank Puritan.

New. Let's take him

Along with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show

him.

Plot. 'Twill be an excellent comedy ; and after-

wards

I have a project on him.

Tim. Gentlemen,

224

THE CITY-MATCH:

Shall we dine at an ordinary? You

Shall enter me among the wits.

Plot. Sir, I

Will but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,

But first you shall with us, and see a lady

Rich as your father's chests and odd holes,1 and

Fresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'd

Out of her alabaster.

Tim. Lead on :

I long to see a lady, and to salute her. [Exeunt.

ACT II., SCENE 1.

Aurelia, Dorcas.

Aur. Why, we shall have you get in time the

turn-

Up of your eyes, speak in the nose, draw sighs

Of an ell long, and rail at discipline.

Would I could hear from Barnswright! Ere I'll

be tortur'd

With your preciseness thus, I'll get dry palms

With starching, and put on my smocks myself.

Dor. Surely you may, and air 'em too : there

have been

Very devout and holy women that wore

No shift at all.

Aur. Such saints, you mean, as wore

Their congregations, and swarm'd with Christian

vermin.

You'll hold clean linen heresy?

Dor. Surely, yes,

Clean linen in a surplice : that and powders

1 [Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in

a desk or secretary.]

THE CITY-MATCH

225

Do bring dry summers, make the sickness rage,

And the enemy prevail It was reveal'd

To Mistress Scruple and her husband, who

Do veily ascribe the German war

And the late persecutions to cuning,

False teeth, and oile of talc 1

Aur Now she is in,

A lectuier will sooner hold his peace

Than she

Dor And surely, as Master Scruple say s—

Aur That was her schoolmaster, one that

cools a feast

With his long grace, and soonei eats a capon,

Than bl sses it

1 "Talc, in n atui al histoiy, is shining squimous, fissile

pueis (f stic), c isily scpulble into thin, t ansprent

s iles (1 J uics " - Chmbeis y "Diotionaiy" It was

inccntly f mud only in Gl un, but sincc, in seicil puits of

Duiope lsi ud Atic) 'Some chemists,' s ys the b ume

witei, " und othei empincs hive held thit tlic might be

used for m iny impcitnt puiposes, und pictend to di iw

fiom it thit pcciuois oil s much boi sted of by the incents,

1 uticnl nly the A ubs, cilled out of talc whch is supp osed

i wondetful cusmetic, und piesei ed of the complexion, but

the ti uth is, thic woild talc, among them, signified n ) more

th in un eqnal dispotition of the humouis, whch keeps the

hody in 5 id t in1 unment und peifect heilth Von, as

nothing contibutes mic to th in heilth to the pieseiing ot

be uity, thus h is given ocision to the chemists to seatch this

oul of telc, whch is to muntain the body in this disposi-

tion, und to engage the lilies to be at the expense of the

seatch "

"Talc is cheap kind of mineral, whch this county

(Sussex) plentifully iffoids though not so fine as that whch

is fetched from Venice It is white und t ansparent like

ciystal, full of stieks of vein, whch pieitly scuttle

themselves Being culcined, and v uiously prepared, it

mikoth a cuious white wash, whch some justify lwful,

hec use cleaing, not changing, the complexion. '-Tullci's

"Worthies," quoted by Gifoid (Ben Jouson, iv. 94) ]

VOL. XIII.

P

226

THE CITY-MATCH.

Dor. And proves it very well,

Out of a book that suffer'd martyrdom1

By fire in Cheapside; since amulets and bracelets,

And love-locks, were in use, the price of sprats,

Jerusalem artichokes, and Holland cheese,

Is very much increased: so that the brethren—

Botchers I mean, and such poor zealous saints

As earn five groats a week under a stall,

By singing psalms, and drawing up of holes,

Can't live in their vocation, but are fain

To turn—

Aur. Old breeches.

Dor. Surely, teachers and prophets.

SCENE II.

Enter Bannswright.

Aur. O Master Bannswright, are you come!

My woman

Was in her preaching fit; she only wanted

A table's end.

Ban. Why, what's the matter?

Aur. Never

Poor lady had so much unbred holiness

About her person; I am never dress'd

Without a sermon; but am forc'd to prove

The lawfulness of curling-irons, before

She'll crisp me in a morning. I must show

Text for the fashions of my gowns. She'll ask

Where jewels are commanded? or what lady

I' th' primitive times wore ropes of pearl or rubies?

1 This was Prynne's celebrated work, entitled, "Histrio-mastix," &c., which was, by the sentence of the Star Chamber, ordered to be burnt.

THE CITY-MATCH.

227

She will urge councils for her little ruff,

Call'd in Northamptonshire1; and her whole ser-

vice

Is a mere confutation of my clothes.

Ban. Why, madam, I assure you, time hath been,

However she be otherwise, when she had

A good quick wit, and would have made to a lady

A serviceable sinner.

Aur. She can't preserve

The gift, for which I took her; but, as though

She were inspir'd from Ipswich,2 she will make

The Acts and Monuments in sweetmeats, quinces

Arraign'd and burnt at a stake: all my banquets

Are persecutions; Dioclesian's days

Are brought for entertainment, and we eat martyrs.

Ban. Madam, she is far gone.

Aur. Nay, sir, she is a Puritan at her needle too.

Ban. Indeed!

Aur. She works religious petticoats;3 for flowers

She'll make church-histories. Her needle doth

So sanctify my cushionets; besides,

My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries,

1 The county in which the celebrated Robert Browne (who

may be esteemed the head of the Puritans) was beneficed,

and afterwards died in gaol, at a very advanced age.

2 Alluding to the second publication for which Prynne

was prosecuted, and sentenced to lose the remainder of his

ears. It was entitled, "News from Ipswich, and the Divine

Tragedy, recording God's fearful Judgments against Sabbath-

Breakers. 4o, 1636." [He published it under the name

of Matthew White.]

3 It appears to have been the custom at this time to work

religious and other stories in different parts of the dress then

worn. In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Custom of the

Country," ii. 3, [Dyce's edit. iv. 422,] Rutilio says—

"Having a mistress, sure you should not be

Without a neat historical shirt."

228

THE CITY-MATCH.

And are so learned, that I fear in time

All my apparel will be quoted by

Some pure instructor.1 Yesterday I went

To see a lady that has a parrot : my woman,

While I was in discourse, converted the fowl;

And now it can speak nought but Knox's works ;2

So there's a parrot lost.

BAN. Faith, madam, she

Was earnest to come to you. Had I known

Her mistress had so bred her, I would first

Have preferred her to New England.3

DOR. Surely, sir,

You promised me, when you did take my money,

To help me to a faithful service, a lady

That would be saved, not one that loves profane,

Unsanctified fashions.

AUR. Fly my sight,

You goody Hofman,4 and keep your chamber, till

You can provide yourself some cure, or I

Will forthwith excommunicate your zeal,

And make you a silent waiting-woman.

BAN. Mistress Dorcas,

If you'll be usher to that holy, learned woman

That can heal broken shins, scald heads and th' itch,

Your schoolmistress; that can expound, and teaches

To knit in Chaldee, and work Hebrew samplers,

I'll help you back again.

DOR. The motion, sure, is good,

And I will ponder of it. [Exit DORCAS.

1 [This passage is quoted in the editions of Beaumont and

Fletcher, to illustrate a passage in the "Custom of the

Country." (see below) but it is questionable, perhaps, whether

the allusions here are to be taken quite seriously.]

2 See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 300.]

3 See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 316.]

4 [An allusion which I cannot explain. It has no connec-

tion with Chettle's play.]

THE CITY-MATCH.

229

Aur. From thy zeal,

The frantic ladies' judgunents, and Histriomastix,1

Deliver me ! This was of your preferring ;

You must needs help me to another.

Ban. How

Would you desire her qualified ? deformed

And crooked ? like some ladies who do wear

Their women like black patches, to set them off ?

Aur. I need no foil, nor shall I think I'm white

Only between two Moors; or that my nose

Stands wrong, because my woman's doth stand

right.

Ban. But you would have her secret, able to

keep

Strange sights from th' knowledge of your knight,

when you

Are married, madam ; of a quick-feigning head ?

Aur. You wrong me, Banuswright : she whom I

would have

Must to her handsome shape have virtue too.

Ban. Well, madam, I shall fit you. I do know

A choleric lady which, within these three weeks,

Has, for not cutting her corns well, put off

Three women; and is now about to part

With the fourth—just one of your description.

Next change o' th' moon or weather, when her feet

Do ache again, I do believe I shall

Pleasure your ladyship.

Aur. Expect your reward. [Exit Banuswrigut.

SCENE III.

Enter Bright, Newcut, Timothy, Plotwell.

Tim. Lady, let me taste the Elysium of your lips.

1 Prynne's book, mentioned before.

230

THE CITY-MATCH.

Aur. Why, what are you! You will not leap

me, sir?

Pray, know your distance.

Tim. What am I, sweet lady?

My father is an alderman’s fellow; and I

Hope to be one in time.

Aur. Then, sir, in time

You may be remembered at the quenching of

Fird houses, when the bells ring backward,1 by

Your name upon the buckets-

Tim. Nay, ’twas -at

You have a good wit, lady, and I can find it

As soon as another. I in my time have been

O’ th’ university, and I should have been a scholar.

Aur. By the size of you wit, sir, had you kept

To that profession. I can foresee

You would have been a great persecutor of nature

And great consumer of rich raudles,2 with

As small success as if a tortoise should

Day and night practise to run races. Having

Contemplated yourself into ill-lucks,

In pity to so much affliction.