THE CONSTANT MAID  
A Comedy.  
Written by james Shirley.  
LONDON, Printed by I. Raworth, for R. Whitaker. 1640.   

The names of the Persons.  

Hornet, a rich Usurer.  
Hartwell, a young Gentleman, Lover of Mistress Frances.  
Playfair, a Gallant.  
A Gentleman, x to Playfair.  
Sir Clement, a justice.  
Startup, a foolish Gentleman.  
A Countryman.  
Close, Servant to Hartwell.  
Three Servants, disguised sometimes as Lords, one of them once disguised as a Pursuivant.  
A Constable.  
Three Watchmen.  
Masquers.  
Officers.  
Servants and Attendants.   

Bellamy, a Widow.  
Frances, her Daughter.  
Nurse, their Servant.  
niece to Hornet.   
The Scene, London.   

THE CONSTANT MAID.  

Act. I.  Enter Hartwell, Close, Servants. Hartwell. 
NAy, let's not part so heavily.  Clo. 
For mine own part  
It does not trouble me so much, that you  
Have broke up house; for hospitality  
Went out of fashion with crop-doublets  
And codpieces: but I that have worn out  
So many liveries under the worshipful  
Old Gentleman your father.  Hart. 
My father had an office, which brought in  
A fair revenue; I inherit but  
His little land, whose annual profits won't  
Encourage me to live at the same height:  
Ye may meet better fortunes, there's enough  
Preferment in the world; my love and best  
Assistance promise to yourselves.  Clo. 
I do not  
Stand upon wages, Sir, I will not leave you.  Hart. 
How wilt thou live?  Clo. 
As other mortals do; yet I'll not play  
The thief, that is a course by which a man  
May soon ascend the ladder of preferment:  
But I ne'er loved these climbing trees. I cannot  
Cheat, though I have heard there is an art,  
A devilish deal of knowledge in the dice;  
And if men won't part with money, some  
Will fetch it out o'th' bones: but the best casting  
Is in a Tavern, when the wine and reckoning  
Come up together; some do spin a living by't:  
And there are many secret ways for Serving-men  
To live, it is not wages does maintain  
All of our Tribe, Sir; and especially  
Those that have Mistresses.  Hart. 
But I am a Bachelor.  Clo. 
I pray let me be one of your buttons still then,  
I am not half worn out; you know what mould  
I'm made off, I did ever honest service;  
And though my fellow Vermin can forsake  
Your falling house, I do not fear the rafters;  
By this hand, Sir, I'll wait upon you, though  
Like great men's servants, I do live on nothing  
But looks, and the air of commendations.  Hart. 
Well, since you are so resolute, attend me,  
The rest I here discharge, there's somewhat more,  
Not worth the name of bounty, I wish all  
A happier entertainment.  2 Serv. 
And there be  
No remedy, heaven bless you, Sir.  Clo. 
Pray give me leave to wet my lips with these  
My fellows, sorrow has made but a dry proverb,  
I must toth' Tavern, and condole a quart.  Hart. 
Meet me at Mistress Bellamy's then. Exit.  Clo. 
I shall, Sir. Enter Playfare.  Play. 
How now Masters.  Clo. 
You speak not  
To me, Sir, I am a servant still indeed;  
With them the case is altered, they are masters,  
For they want services.  1 Ser. 
Oh, Master Playfare.  2 
It is not now as when Andrea lived,  3 
This place was made for pleasure, not for death.  1 
There was a time when mortals whetted knives.  2 
In time of yore, when men killed brutish beasts.  3 
Oh cruel Butcher, whosoever thou wert.  Clo. 
Do not you know what all this signifies?  Play. 
Not I.  Clo. 
My master has given over housekeeping.  1 
He has committed Burglary, broke up the cellar,  
And thrown the kitchen out at the hall window.  Clo. 
His house, Sir, has a superscription,  
And is directed to his loving friend  
Will pay the rent, you'll hardly know me now,  
I have no fellow.  Play. 
You are very merry, Sir.  2 
He has some cause, we are discharged.  Clo: 
For certain, my master only  
Belongs to me, if you would speak with him,  
He's gone to Mistress Bellamy's, Sir;  
In the mean time, please you to understand,  
I Close follow my master, and shall feed still,  
Although my fellows here are become blanks,  
And do want filling.  Play. 
Lads, I have known you long:  
Although you be at loss, in confidence  
Of all your future honesties, I'll employ ye  
In a device, which if it hit, may  
Reward your pains.  Clo. 
All?  Play. 
Your Master only, Sir, belongs to you,  
Follow him still, and if there be occasion,  
I shall inquire for you; you will be faithful.  Ser. omnes. 
Doubt not, M. Playfair.  Play. 
I have a project,  
Follow me for instructions; farewell Close,  
Commend me to your master.  2 
Buoy Close, buoy honest Close, we are blanks, blanks.  Clo. 
Roll up yourselves in paper-liveries, and  
Be drawn at the next Lottery; I won't  
Forsake my certainty for all your projects,  
If it should fail I shall find some of you  
Sneaking in Paul's behind a pillar, with  
A zealous prayer, some Gentleman would read  
The beadroll of your commendation,  
And pity a very serviceable fellow,  
That would fain wait on him, but wants a cloak:  
Go, prosper with your project. Exeunt.  Enter Hornet, Mistress Bellamy. Horn. 
Widow, be ruled by me, I know the world,  
And I have studied it these fifty years:  
There's no man to be trusted.  Bell. 
Without good.  
Security, you mean.  Horn. 
No young man, widow,  
That talks, and says he loves you, writes you verses,  
And swears he shall go hang himself, unless  
You pity him; take me an old man.  Bell. 
So, take you an old man.  Horn. 
Seasoned with care and thrift, not led away  
By vicious conversation, nor corrupted  
With pride and surfeit, one that knows the use  
Of money; Do ye mark the use?  Bell. 
Yes, Sir:  
Use upon use, you mean.  Hor. 
And dares not spend it prodigally, knowing  
The principal end it was ordained to, was  
To relieve our necessity, and lay up  
What is above.  Bell. 
To help the poor.  Horn. 
You may,  
If you be so disposed, but 'tis as commendable  
To give it in your will, to build an Hospital,  
And so our charity comes altogether:  
I would not have your state be eaten up  
By Caterpillars, but preserved and made  
Greater, by marrying some discreet old man.  Bell. 
And such an one you show yourself.  Horn. 
You happily  
Interpret me.  Bell. 
I would not tell you, Sir,  
Till our next meeting, how much you have won,  
By your good counsel, on me.  Horn. 
She inclines.  
'Tis your good nature, I am plain, and have  
No tricks, I'll tell you all my fault, I am  
Addicted very much to gather wealth;  
I have no children to devour my state,  
Nor kindred, only a Niece left to my trust,  
One that is never like to marry.  Bell. 
Why?  Horn. 
She never thrived since she came to me.  Bell. 
I easily believe it.  Horn. 
Melancholy  
Will kill her, and yet I pursue all ways  
That promise her delight: I spare no cost  
Of Physic, what her Doctor says, is done.  Bell. 
'Tis lovingly performed.  Enter Hartwell and Mistress Frances. Horn. 
What's he?  Bell. 
A Gentleman that bears my daughter much  
Affection.  Horn. 
Sure I have seen him.  Bell. 
Master Hartwell.  Horn. 
Oh, he's a beggar, or must be very shortly.  Bell. 
Have you his lands in mortgage?  Horn. 
Not yet, not yet; but he'll want money, widow.  Bell. 
He has had good breeding.  Horn. 
Hang breeding, 'tis unlucky,  
They never keep their state that have too much on't,  
Counsel your daughter, Mistress Bellamy,  
To throw him off betime.  Bell. 
You direct well.  Horn. 
When we are married, I'll provide a match for her.  Bell. 
You have care on's.  Horn. 
It will become me.  Hart. 
Is he Suitor to your mother, Lady?  Fra. 
He would be such a thing: Were not I blessed  
In such a jolly father in law?  Hart. 
He looks like some cast moneybag, that had given up  
The stuffing, and for want of use grown mouldy:  
He dares not keep much fire in's kitchen, lest  
Warming his hands, which rather look like gloves,  
So tanned and thin, he let 'em scorch, and gather  
Into a heap. I do not think he ever  
Put off his clothes, he would run-mad to see  
His own anatomy, that such a wretch  
Should have so vast a wealth.  Fran. 
I would not be his  
Niece for all his fortune.  Hart. 
I presume  
Your mother is more noble, than to encourage him  
In his pretence, and her estate would mix  
But ill with his ill-gotten wealth, extorted  
From widows and from orphans, nor will all  
His plenty keep his soul one day from famine:  
'Tis time ill spent to mention him, let's talk  
Of something else.  Fran. 
Of what?  Hart. 
Of love again,  
Whose flame we equally divide.  Horn. 
Your table  
Is a devourer, and they shut up doors  
First, that keep open house and entertainments:  
This Lord is feasted, and that young lady's  
Sweet tooth must have a banquet; tother old  
Madam with ne'er a tooth must have some marchpane  
Coral to rub her gums withal; these are  
Ridiculous expenses.  Bell. 
Far from thrift.  Horn. 
This room has too rich furniture, and worse  
Hangings would serve the turn; if I may be  
Worthy to counsel, costly pictures are  
Superfluous, though of this, or tother masters  
Doing: Hang Michael Angelo and his oils.  
If they be given, you're the more excused  
To let 'em show; but have a care you let not  
Appear, either in Arras, or in picture,  
The story of the Prodigal, 'twill fright  
Young Gentlemen that come to visit you  
From spending o'their portions, whose riot  
May enrich you with their forfeited estates;  
I have a thousand precepts more.  Bell. 
But do not  
Think all this while of heaven.  Horn. 
'Tis in my chest,  
And multiplied in every bag.  Bell. 
Or hell.  Horn. 
A fable to fright fools, or children; but  
I cannot stay, my Scrivener doth expect me,  
I'll visit you another time, sweet widow,  
And give you more instructions.  Bell. 
Spare your travel,  
I sha'not practise these in haste, and must  
Declare these precepts make not for your welcome:  
My patience was a virtue all this while,  
If you but think you have a soul; repent;  
Your rules I am not covetous to follow,  
Good master Hornet.  Horn. 
Live and be undone then:  
You'll tell me another tale hereafter widow. Exit.  Enter Nurse and Close. Nur. 
Letters from Master Startup, the country Gentleman.  Har. 
What's he?  Fran. 
A Suitor of my Nurse's commendations.  Clo. 
Now heaven deliver me, what have I seen?  
This monster once was shown i'th' fair, or such  
Another furred Baboon for all the world,  
Dost know him? Why do I ask such a question?  
He's such a thing the Devil would not own's  
Acquaintance.  Nur. 
Master Hornet, the great Usurer.  Clo. 
Hornet? Nay then, my wonder's over, and the  
Devil be but such another, they  
May be sworn brothers; yes, and divide hell  
Betwixt 'em.  Hart. 
Who is that you talk on, Sir?  Clo. 
The beast, that Heaven be thanked, has left you,  
Hornet; but I ha' news for you.  Bell. 
Frances.  Hart. 
I'll hear it in the garden. Exit Hart. Close.  Bell. 
Do you love  
That Master Hartwell? do not blush, but answer.  Fran. 
I hope you move not this, as if you doubted;  
I took him first, upon your character,  
Into my good opinion.  Bell. 
But things alter:  
What then I thought, I delivered ye;  
Nor since hath he deserved a less esteem  
In his own person, but the circumstance  
Is not the same, his fortune I have examined,  
Which rises not to such a value, I  
Did apprehend; and it becomes my care,  
Being at one gift to depart with thee  
And my estate, to look for one whose purse  
May carry a proportion.  Fran. 
Make me not  
Imagine you would wed me to a heap  
Of shining dust, a golden bondage.  Bell. 
Nor  
To penury; his birth, and education  
Are not unworthy, he's a handsome man too;  
But be not governed by your eye too much:  
Children and age pursue, and many storms  
Hover about our frail conditions:  
All these must be provided for, they are not  
Kisses will arm you against winter, therefore  
Confident of your obedience, I propound  
Another to your best thoughts,  Fran. 
Oh my unhappiness.  Bell. 
A Country Gentleman of spreading fortunes,  
Young too, and not uncomely; for his breeding,  
It was not spun the finest, but his wealth,  
Able to guild deformity, and make  
Even want of wit a virtue, when your life  
Renders itself more sweet by your command;  
His name is Master Startup, whom I expect  
Our guest tomorrow, that's his letter, read it.  
This may seem strange at the first coming toward you;  
But when discretion comes to examine what  
A fruitful consequence attends it, you  
Will thank me for't.  Fran. 
But with your pardon, mother,  
Although I could dispense with my own thoughts,  
And frame them to obedience, will this change  
Be for my honour, or my fame? when such  
A noble Gentleman shall boast he had,  
With your consent, my love? or pray admit  
That which we gain by riches of the second,  
Seem to authorise, and may justify  
The act with some; how can it cure the wound,  
Which the poor heart, which loves, shall find too soon,  
When 'tis neglected, and so cruelly,  
Where it did hope for cherishing? Oh think  
How you did love my father first, and be  
More gentle to your daughter, your estate  
Is above needy providence, or grafting  
Into a new stock; it doth grow already  
Fair from his own root, and doth want no piecing:  
Nor are the means of Hartwell so contemptible.  Bell. 
No more: you've considered well, you'll shape  
Another answer; i'th' mean time dispose  
Your countenance to entertain this new  
And able Lover: leave the satisfaction  
Of Hartwell to my care:  
He's here, to your chamber.  Enter Hartwell, Close. Clo. 
I know not what's the trick on't, nor themselves yet;  
But he has a project to employ 'em all.  Hart. 
I wish it well; but do you work yourself  
Into the opinion of her Nurse, she is  
The Major Domo, and has all the intelligence.  Clo. 
Let me alone, I'll work her Sir like wax,  
To print what form you please upon her, 'tis  
A Loving Crone already to me, I  
Will speak her fair, and in my drink may marry her.  Bell. 
Master Hartwell.  Hart. 
About your business. Exit Close.  Bell. 
There is a matter, Sir, which I must open,  
And you perhaps will wonder at.  Hart. 
You prepare my attention.  Bell. 
You do love my daughter,  
At least I think so.  Hart. 
If you knew my heart,  
You might be confident, in her I sum  
All my desires on earth.  Bell. 
Be not so fixed.  Hart. 
How Lady?  Bell. 
When you have heard me out, you'll find  
Your consent easy to call back a promise  
Made to your disadvantage.  Hart. 
I acknowledge;  
This makes me wonder, pray interpret Lady,  
And speak the dialect I understand:  
I love your daughter.  Bell. 
But must never glory  
In the reward which you expect should be,  
Her marriage.  Hart. 
In the number of my actions  
There is not one that's guilty of so much  
Offence to you, that I should be so soon  
Lost to your favour.  Bell. 
Have no thought so poor  
You can deserve less, my opinion  
Is richer laden with your merit.  Hart. 
Now I fear again, this violent turn of praise  
Makes me suspect my state; if I be fall'n,  
Teach me to know my trespass.  Bell. 
I ne'er looked  
With such clear eyes into your worth, and 'twere  
A sin to general goodness, to delay  
The free resign of that your worth may challenge.  Hart. 
If this be meant, pray pardon my mistake  
Of something went before, love made me fear;  
You said I never should enjoy your daughter  
In marriage, which yourself so late inclined to.  Bell. 
And must again repeat, you cannot call  
Her Bride.  Hart. 
Can you forbid this happiness,  
And love me?  Bell. 
Yes, so dearly, Hartwell, I  
Present myself to thy affection.  Hart. 
You fright my understanding.  Bell. 
Does the name  
Of widow sound displeasing, I have learned  
Already to obey; my years are not  
So many, with the thought, to freeze your blood,  
I wear no print of time deep in my brow:  
Have my hairs the innocence of age,  
To speak me twice a child? Gentlemen active,  
And of great birth, have courted my affection,  
And if they flatter not, commend my person.  
Add unto this my wealth, no narrow fortune,  
And without competition, my daughter,  
Depending on my love, whose portion must  
Flow from my bounty, or be nothing; make  
A sober apprehension of this tender,  
And think I was not able to suppress  
My silent flame, increased still by your virtues:  
This minute give all hopes up for my daughter,  
I can admit no Rival; 'tis within  
Your election to be happy, Sir:  
My love accepted comes with fair attendance,  
Denied, you hasten your own exile, think on't,  
I will expect your answer. Exit.  Hart. 
I am destroyed:  
Was it her mother that spoke all this while?  
As pilgrims, by mistake of some small path,  
Having told many weary steps, at night,  
When their hopes flatter 'em, they are not far  
From some kind entertainment, find themselves  
Lost in a wilderness; so am I miserable:  
Thus love delights to wound, and see us bleed,  
He were a gentle god to kill indeed. Exit.   

Act. II.  Enter Close and Nurse. Clo. 
A word of thy mouth does it, I am weary  
Of these indentures, like a fool, I was  
In hope he should have married Mistress Frances.  Nur. 
A beggar, she his wife; no, Master Startup,  
Whom I preferred, must carry her, he's a man  
Of lands and money; I must tell you by  
The way, he is little better than a fool.  Clo. 
The fitter for her husband, and my master.  Nur. 
You're in the right, he's innocent to your hands,  
You may soon come to manage his estate.  Clo. 
Which if I do, thou shalt have all.  Nur. 
All what?  Clo. 
Why all that I can beg, borrow, or steal  
From him; what should he do with so much riches?  
I'll prompt my mistress, after the first year,  
To put him to his pension; he should pay  
For's very diet, and after a month or two,  
For every time he comes all oft.  Nur. 
Nay, I would wish her to begin betimes,  
If she do mean to rule the roost, I can  
Give her some documents; and be you sure  
To stick close to your Mistress, there is something  
To be got that way.  Enter Hartwell, Playfaire. Clo. 
My most exquisite Varges,  
How I do love thy documents; but he's here,  
I'll not be seen with thee, farewell, we'll talk  
The rest at night over a Sack-posset. Exit Close.  Nur. 
I will use this advantage to o'erhear 'em.  Play. 
You tell me strange things; Is it possible  
The widow herself loves you?  Hart. 
Would I had  
But reason to suspect.  Play. 
Possible!  
Turned Colt again? This love will kill us all:  
And can she make no choice, but where her daughter  
Has the same longing? not her dancing days  
Done yet? why there's no remedy, you must love her.  Hart. 
And violate my faith made to her daughter.  Play. 
Thou wot not be so much an Infidel,  
To think I mean thou shouldst forsake the wench;  
Tell me the mother a fine tale of love,  
Print kisses on her paper-lip, and hug  
Her reverend body; any thing but lie with her:  
Write sonnets on the ivory tooth afore,  
Swear she does cough distinctly, get a rhyme  
To bless her when she sneezes, and cry up  
The method of her nose, which sweats and falls  
So perpendicular upon her face:  
Admire the wart upon her chin, and motion  
Of her blue eyes, that look three ways at once:  
Praise her above thy reason, or her daughter;  
And than she will believe thou mayst be mad for her.  Hart. 
Is this the way to do me good? she comes  
Too fast on me already.  Play. 
Let her fly to thee,  
Thou mayst clip her wings the sooner, this secures thee;  
should you hold off, and play the modest creature;  
Nay, but deny as Maids do when they love it,  
And bending of your hams, cry, No forsooth;  
Profess with Coxcomb-like civility,  
You are not worthy of her carnal favours:  
She may believe it, and in very spite  
Marry her daughter to a Citizen:  
Or should you be so mad, to think to win her  
To your first choice, with howling out your passion  
For Mistress Frances, plaining how Don Cupid  
Hath scarified your heart, you may go hang yourself:  
Go to the Barbers, let him firk your hair up,  
Or get a periwig; wash your sullen face,  
And starch your infant upper lip, to look  
Like one that would run desperate on a widow.  Nur. 
Precious conspiracy.  Play. 
This is the way:  
At leisure you may tell your Maiden Mistress,  
Like jove you have put another shape on,  
To cheat the Beldame juno.  Nur. 
Foul mouthed Rascal.  Hart. 
I apprehend: thoust given me good counsel,  
I'll watch the first occasion, to assure  
I have preferred her in my heart already.  Nur. 
I'll conjure up a cross plot, and that quickly,  
Shall mar your mirth, and pay your fine dissembling  
As it deserves, my confident Love-gamester. Exit Nurse.  Play. 
I'll take my leave then, you've no other service  
To use my stay? I have a project, Hartwell,  
That must not be neglected.  Hart. 
May not I communicate?  Play. 
Thou art engaged to wait  
Upon thine own affairs, or I should trouble thee  
To be an Actor in't; thou knowest old Hornet?  Hart. 
He is a suitor to the widow,  
And after the rate we cast the plot, my Rival.  Play. 
I'll rival him; he smothers a poor Gentlewoman  
At home with seacoal, and allows her no  
More light than serves to read in painted cloth  
The exposition of the harlot's story:  
Hartwell, I love her, and before her father  
Died we interchanged our hearts; 'tis here,  
To free her from that slavery she lives in  
Under the iron-hearted jailor, else  
I shall repent my aim, he broods upon  
Her portion still; but I have a trick may spoil  
His hatching of young bags, thou shalt know all  
Hereafter; to the Widow, Hartwell, I am  
For state affairs, be faithful and pray for me;  
We must be bold, farewell, if something hit  
we'll laugh in spite of Dives and the Devil. Exit.  Enter Startup, Mistress Bellamy, Mistress Frances, Close, Nurse, Hartwell. Clo. 
This is the thing, Sir, that must carry away  
The garland, they have given him a cup  
Or two of Sack, and has the prettiest humour,  
He does so whistle out his compliment:  
He wears his feather like the Captain of  
A Country team, and would become a horse-collar  
Rarely; I do not think, but were he put to 't,  
With little switching, he would draw the cart well.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, I'm your humble servant, 'tis  
Well known what I am, where I live, my father  
Died since I was of age; and left me, thank him,  
A younger brother's portion:  Bell. 
A younger brother.  Star. 
I know, sweet Lady, what you'd say, My father  
Had no more children, but I must speak modestly  
Of my estate, I have land I know enough  
For two or three wives; I have a horse in town,  
Your daughter, if we please, shall ride behind me,  
Sweet Lady, did you ever see the Country?  Fran. 
What Country, Sir?  Star. 
Why any Country living,  
Sweet Lady, I am your humble servant, if  
You affect hawking, hunting, or drinking,  
There be good fellows will bear you company; but you have  
better Sack, sweet Lady, is there good Tobacco in London?  Clo. 
Virginia Tobacco grows here, Sir.  Star. 
Sweet Sir, I am your humble servant, you  
Seem to be a Gentleman, will you fetch me a pipe?  
There's half a piece, and I be not troublesome:  
Perhaps, sweet Lady, 'twill offend you, then  
Let it alone.  Clo. 
A very precious widgeon: Gramercy Sack.  Star. 
Ta la la la lero, etc.  Fran. 
You dance well, Sir.  Nur. 
He has a strong back, I warrant him.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, is this your daughter?  Clo. 
Ask that now?  Bell. 
I was her mother, Sir.  Star. 
That may be too: what Gentleman is that?  
Sweet Sir, I am your humble servant likewise.  Hart. 
You are too humble, Sir, to stoop so low,  
It would become my duty.  Star. 
Sweet Sir, 'tis all one,  
A leg or an arm is not cast away  
Among friends, I am a Country Gentleman  
All the world knows, sweet Sir, I ha' no business  
In town.  Bell. 
I thought you came to see my daughter.  Star. 
That may be too, sweet Lady, pray uncase me,  
I honour your fair daughter; for I know,  
As well as another, what belongs to a Gentlewoman:  
She's not the first, sweet Lady, I'have loved  
I'th' way of matrimony.  Hart. 
Were you ever married?  Star. 
Sweet Sir, no; all men are not alike.  Hart. 
For some are fools.  Star. 
Sweet Sir, I do confess it:  
But wit is never goodwill it be bought.  
They say there are good wits in town,  
I ha' brought money a purpose wi' me for it;  
If any will sell me a pennyworth, I'll  
Give him a hundred pieces, 'cause I would carry  
A little down into the Country.  Hart. 
Is there  
A dearth, Sir, in your Country?  Star. 
Sweet Sir, no;  
There's plenty.  Clo. 
Of wild oats; I heard you had much  
To sow still.  Star. 
My servants have, sweet Sir; but 'tis all one;  
This Lady shall be Lord o' the Soil: I won't  
Give any man six pence for a bushel o' money;  
I am a Gentleman, my father was  
A Yeoman; but sweet Lady, howsoever  
I'm yours, and every limb is at your service;  
My hands shall walk, my feet shall run.  Fran. 
Away, away.  Star. 
By this gold they shall.  Clo. 
He keeps his oath.  Star. 
Not run? my Grandfather was a Nobleman Footman, and indeed he run his country; my father did out run the Constable.  Clo. 
And he, sweet Lady, being his father's issue, must run naturally.  Star. 
If I live.  Clo. 
He'll run himself out of all.  Star. 
Not run, sweet Lady?  
If you have occasion to use me, I won't stand upon my feet.  Fran. 
No, Sir.  Star. 
Nay, I won't stand upon my head, sweet Lady, to do you courtesy.  Fran. 
That were the clean contrary way.  Bell. 
Please you, a sorry dinner stays for you.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, I am your servant: will this Gentleman dine with us?  Bell. 
I'll prevail with Master Hartwell.  Clo. 
Do ye know what you ha' done? he's you rival, invite him?  Star. 
Sweet Sir, I invite nobody, if you love anybody here?  Hart. 
What then?  Star. 
Sweet Sir, I sha'not take it kindly, I do not use to quarrel.  Clo. 
But when you're beaten: lay him o'er the face, he sha'not wrong you.  Star. 
Sweet Sir, 'tis dinner time: fair Lady: Exeunt.  Clo. 
I had a great mind to have him beaten;  
But he's not valiant, but at meals; would I  
Were hired to beat him handsomely after dinner,  
And make him thank me for't; I'll have a plot  
Upon your precious body, my sweet Sir. Exit.  Enter Hornet, Playfaires x like a Doctor. Horn. 
You tell me wonders, Sir.  Doct. 
I tell you truth:  
Alas, you know I have no ends of profit,  
I practise not for wealth.  Horn. 
You're virtuous;  
For that you were commended, Sir, to me:  
You have a conscience, and won't take  
Fees for a compliment, nor make poor your friends,  
To enrich Apothecaries.  Doct. 
I have cured her melancholy; but she's a tother side  
Now extreme merry, dance and sing, all air.  Horn. 
'Tis strange, methinks, nothing but extremities:  
Good Master Doctors could you not ha' pared  
Her tother leaden humour.  Doct. 
Sir, I could not  
Kill the malignity of her melancholy  
Another way; extremities must be cured  
With extreme applications: my next work  
Shall be to abate this levity of her brain,  
And qualify her spleen, Sir, by degrees;  
So state her body in that modest temper  
She was possessed of.  Horn. 
I complained before  
Of quietness, now she's all noise and madness,  
By your description.  Doct. 
You must have patience  
A month or so, she is not mad, but merry,  
Some few vagaries; you must understand  
I have opened, Sir, her fancy, wherein lay  
All her imaginations confused,  
And on a heap, smothered for want of vent;  
And now the spirits that were imprisoned  
Rush out, which causes all her faculties,  
Before oppressed, to exercise so strangely,  
As the agitation of her tongue will manifest:  
she's here.  Enter Niece. Niece. 
Uncle, how does your body? you appear  
As lean as Lent, I've a great mind to dance  
About a Maypole, shall we?  Horn. 
She is mad.  Niece. 
This Doctor has for tick led me,  
I cannot choose but laugh, ha, ha.  
Uncle, if you'll procure a dispensation  
To marry me yourself, deduct the charge  
Out of my portion, I could love an old man  
Rarely, An old man with a bed full of bones etc. Sings.  
Uncle, when did you put on a clean shirt?  
D'ye hear, I dreamed o'th' Devil last night,  
They say 'tis good luck; do you know him, Uncle.  Horn. 
I know the Devil?  Niece. 
He's a fine old Gentleman,  
And something like you, no such Bugbear as  
The world imagines, you an he'll keep house  
Together one day; but you'll burn Sea- coal  
To save charges, and stink the poor souls so.  
Uncle, you are not merry, I pray laugh  
A little: imagine you'd undone a widow,  
Or turned an Orphan begging; ha, ha, etc.  
Faith how many Churches do you mean to build  
Before you die? six bells in every steeple,  
And let'em all go to the City tune,  
Turn again Whittington; who, they say,  
Grew rich, and let his land out for nine lives,  
'Cause all came in by a Cat: but let me counsel you  
To die at all adventures, great men do't in policy.  Horn. 
Why does she talk of dying? she's stark mad.  
Could you not put into the next receipt  
Something to make her sleep well? Opium  
In a good quantity, they say, will do't.  Doct. 
I'll so proportion it, she shall never wake:  
I did it for a Merchant's wife last week,  
Which loved a Knight: a great man, not long since  
Was weary of his Countess, and I cured him  
So artificially of his disease.  Horn. 
She hears.  Doct. 
But collects nothing; all her senses are scattered.  Niece. 
Stay, you shall give towards the building of a Church  
Nothing, see the money first laid out,  
That's given already; it were sin and pity  
To abuse the dead: but 'tis no matter, Uncle,  
You'll be as famous for pulling down the parish,  
The Church will fall of itself, With ding dung bell. Sings.  
Why did they put the poor fellow in prison?  Horn. 
Whom? what fellow?  Niece. 
Why the Corn-cutter:  
Poor Gentleman, he meant no hurt to the City,  
His feet were very weary, and that made him  
In every street cry out; ha' ye any corns  
In your head or toes? that head spoiled all.  Enter Pursuivant. Purs. 
Which is Master Hornet?  Horn. 
Ha, with me?  Purs. 
A word, Sir.  Niece. 
Prithee, what's he? he comes to borrow money  
On his wife's wedding-ring, or his child's whistle:  
You may see by his nose he has no laud, he looks  
As a Hawk; what do you dream on?  
What lady's timpany is your next cure?  
Or whose stale body must be rectified  
Next with a glister?  Purs. 
There is no disputing, I must attend you.  Horn. 
I am sent for by a Pursuivant to his Highness;  
Alas, I am undone, I never saw him,  
How should he know me, a poor wretch?  Doct. 
Is't not some complaint, think you?  Horn. 
That's my fear, there be  
Too many knaves i'th' world, and a man cannot  
Grow rich; but one State-Surgeon or other  
Must practise on his purse; before this Judge  
A vein is opened in the other Court,  
So many ounces he must bleed again:  
Let me see, all the treason I committed  
Is that I shifted houses; for I took  
Delight to cozen him of his subsidies;  
I always live obscurely, to avoid  
Taxations, I never pay the Church  
Her superstitious tithes, nor come to trouble  
Sermons, for fear of homilies before,  
That beg for burning.  Niece. 
Why how now, Uncle, is your Scrivener broke,  
You talk such lamentation?  Horn. 
I am sent for the King, Niece, & shall be made a beggar  
As I was borne; I see my chattel ceased,  
This chest is ransacked, and that bag deflowered,  
My door sealed up, and with this hungry Messenger,  
I am already marching to the Fleet.  Niece. 
Nay, and you be at that ward, I must leave you,  
Fare well, pray do not lift my Uncle too hard;  
And so I leave you both to the mercy of the Bear-garden.  Doct. 
Best make fast her Chamber.  Horn. 
ay, ay, cursed dog.  Doct. 
Wo' not some money qualify your haste?  Purs. 
Deal in your own affairs; Will you go sit?  Horn. 
Go, I must go.  Doct. 
I'll take my leave;  
Have comfort, sir, this cloud may soon blow over. Exit.  Horn. 
Yes, when I am blown up;  
I read imprisonment in his very looks,  
And all my gold confiscate. Exeunt.  Enter Nurse and Startup. Nurs. 
I heard her say she would walk up to her chamber,  
The trick was but to teach him whither he  
Should follow; who as nimbly apprehended,  
To acquaint her with his new affections:  
I do this for your good, that Mistress Frances,  
Whom I'll send to you presently, may be  
Convinced in Hartwell's falsehood, and transplant  
Her love on you.  Start. 
This will be excellent;  
So we shall strangle him in his own noose,  
And he ne'er know who hurt him.  Nurs. 
I'll lose no time, you know my instructions.  Start. 
I had almost forgot, there is a cast of angels more.  Nurs. 
They are not cast away.  Star. 
If thou dost fear they'll drown, Nurse, I can give thee  
Lighter, I have some want weight.  Nurs. 
If you have an evil angel about you,  
Your business will thrive better when 'tis departed.  Star. 
There.  Nurs. 
Now all the good ones wait upon your worship. Exit.  Start. 
These things that go to and again, must have  
Their fees, they'll never speak in cause else.  
Save you sweet Lady. Enter Frances  Fran. 
Kind Mr. Startup.  Start. 
Yes, I am kind if you knew all, but you are  
Deceived in somebody; love, and love your heart out,  
The party does not care a button for you.  Fran. 
What party?  Start. 
No, I am a fool, a country clod, sweet Lady,  
Not worth one of your Shoe-ties, no not I;  
I do not know who makes an ass of you.  Fran. 
How sir?  Start. 
A gull, a coxcomb, I am ashamed you have  
So little wit; Tell me, and tell me truly,  
Who loves this face of yours besides myself.  Fran. 
Although it were immodest to commend it,  
I must thus far, in gratitude to nature,  
Acknowledge it no monster, I have seen  
One more deformed.  Start. 
Sweet Lady I know that;  
A worse face would become the Country, nay,  
There are but fifteen women in the parish  
I live in, of which, twelve are counted witches,  
And wear beards: But it troubles me, sweet Lady,  
You should be such an owl.  Fran. 
This is course language.  Start. 
Not to see who abuses you; Oh I could  
Now find in my heart to baste you, baste you soundly:  
You think Mr. Hartwell loves you.  Fran. 
I  
Believe he hates me not.  Start. 
You lie.  Fran. 
Good words.  Start. 
You lie most basely, he affects your mother.  Fran. 
My mother? this fool's mad.  Ztart. 
I would it were  
The fashion for women to wear swords.  Fran. 
What then?  Start. 
I'd breathe you into a little understanding,  
I say again, and she is the son of darkness  
Denies it; Mr. Hartwell loves your mother.  Fran. 
I hope he does.  Start. 
Oh I could kick your ignorance:  
He does love her in the way of Matrimony,  
And makes a property of you; I'll justify it.  Fran. 
It is impossible.  Start. 
D''ee know that couple? Enter Hartwell and Bellamy.  
Step behind the hangings, and you may  
Both hear and see: I say no more, sweet Lady,  
I am a rustic puppy, and know nothing.  Hart. 
I have considered perfectly, and if  
You will vouchsafe me hearing, dare pour forth  
My heart, which, full of love, tenders itself  
To your acceptance; I acknowledge Lady,  
My passions are but young, for could I hope  
You should with so much favour look upon me?  Bell. 
But may I credit this?  Hart. 
But suspect were an injustice to my faith, which looks  
Upon your virtue with as much religion  
As love is able to receive; your age  
Hath struck a reverence into my eye;  
And what you want of youth and spring upon you,  
Your wisdom richly satisfies: Those characters  
Which time hath writ upon your careful forehead,  
Are but his virtue and your ornament,  
When it shall come to pass by your example,  
That youth shall be esteemed an infancy,  
And women never ripe for love or Marriage  
Without your age upon 'em; 'tis a fault,  
That men not guided by the tract of reason,  
But heat and wantonness of blood, run giddy  
To seal such weighty Covenants, better 'twere  
The world should end in our virginities,  
Than spin itself more length by inconsiderate  
And hasty marriages.  Bell. 
Have you already  
Retrieved the affection that pursued my daughter?  
Shall I believe no seed of love remains,  
Which may grow up and ripen, with repentance  
For this exchange; I do allow you, sir,  
The consideration of my fortune, which  
Might of itself, incline you to accept me.  Hart. 
That is but an attendant, as you use it,  
I must confess a welcome one; although  
The mind is the first beauty, which true love  
Aspires to, when 'tis waited on with person  
And estate, it comes with greater privilege  
To win upon's; I do not wish you, Lady,  
Rashly believe what I profess, but measure  
My service by the trial; I'll expect  
And write your smiles a competent reward,  
Till time and your command, demonstrate me;  
Although not equal to your full deservings,  
Yet one that has ambition to bethought  
Not too unworthy.  Bell. 
And I guess ere long,  
Such an occasion will present itself.  Hart. 
Till then, have Hartwell in your loving memory,  
Who wishes no more happiness of life,  
Than to be called yours. Exit.  Fran. 
What have I understood?  Start. 
Will you believe me another time, sweet Lady?  
If I loved you not, what would become on you?  Fran. 
It is not he, some devil does but cozen us,  
And mock our sense with these fantastic bodies,  
Hartwell.  Star. 
Nay 'tis the man; I hope you'll be converted,  
And think a Country Gentleman worth favour,  
That brought you to this knowledge; I deserve—  Fran. 
My curses for this black discovery,  
whenas before 'twas not impossible,  
In time I might be brought to pity thee;  
Henceforth I'll look upon thee as my sins,  
And beg as much forgiveness that I knew thee.  Start. 
Nay d''ee but hear.  Fran. 
Die quickly, and be forgotten.  Start. 
This is very fine i'faith, sweet Lady.  Fran. 
My mother, oh my fate, see me no more,  
And I'll forgive thee.  Start. 
Thank you, most sweet Lady,  
Is my discovery come to this? I'd better  
Ha' been tongue-tied; Curse me, and call me her sins,  
And see her no more? why this is worse and worse;  
I must suck better counsel from the Nurse. Exeunt.   

ACT. III.  Enter Nurse and Startup. Nurs. 
Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you, a Gentleman  
Of your high promising, and be put off  
So slightly?  Start. 
Why Nurse, what would you ha' me do?  Nurs. 
Do? I would have you do something; a man  
Of your ability, and cannot turn  
And wind a woman?  Star. 
You would not ha' wished me  
To ha' put her to't behind the hangings?  Nurs. 
You should ha' been round with her.  Start. 
I was round with her, I called her ass and coxcomb,  
And twenty more names, unless I should  
Ha' called her whore, I could not be more round with her.  Nurs. 
I do not mean that way.  Start. 
And she called me,  
I thank her.  Nurs. 
What?  Start. 
Why no worse than her sins, heaven forgive her,  
She has the more to answer; nay she did  
Not stick to bid me die too, in that desperate  
Estate.  Nurs. 
Come, you shall take another course.  Enter Close. Clo. 
What ails my Masters sweet-heart, she frighted?  
I met and asked her for my Master, and  
She turned tail like a hound had lost the scent;  
There's something in the wind, my three piled worship  
Are you there with my Lady o'th' Larder,  
Now in that posture? do not they two look like  
A fine Brick house and a thatched barn in the Country,  
Laying their heads together? they ha' spied me.  Nurs. 
Come hither Close, nay he's faithful, and one that  
Has a desire to serve you; you may trust him.  Clo. 
Your worship may trust me a-bed with— I  
Have had a itch this great while, sir, a kind  
Of longing to be one of your appurtenances:  
I have some faults, and I'll confess 'em; I have  
A humour now and then, when I am asked  
A question, to tell true, though I be chid for't;  
And I do not love blows; you may sooner beat  
My brains out, than a word of flattery:  
I cannot batten upon commendation,  
Without my wages, nor be valiant  
Upon small Beer; I am not overmuch  
Given to be drunk, but I've a trick o'th' Dutchman,  
To do your business as well drunk as sober:  
I have not impudence enough to pimp  
For you, but I have a gift I can say nothing:  
I was borne upon Shrove-Tuesday, and shall be  
Now and then given to rebellion:  
My flesh will once a year rise at a Chambermaid;  
If none such take me down, I shall in malice  
And deep revenge, fling out upon May-day,  
Among the Prentices, without fear or wit.  Star. 
I like this humour.  Nurs. 
Nay he has a scence,  
And shall be of our counsel: Look you Close,  
There is a plot to help this Gentleman;  
At night when they're a-bed, and if you went  
To bed betimes, to avoid suspicion,  
'Twere ne'er the worse; I'll say you are not well:  
D''ee mark? this honest, honest Gentleman shall be  
Let into Mistress Francis Bedchamber.  Clos. 
Without her knowledge?  Nurs. 
You shall only attend,  
To give him notice from me when to come,  
And watch about the house, he may get off  
Without discovery; this is all.  Clos. 
So, so, I sha' not keep the door.  Nurs. 
I can do that.  Clos. 
Let me alone to give you notice who  
Stirs about house. Enter Hartwell.  Nurs. 
Away, 'tis Mr. Hartwell;  
We'll not be seen together.  Clos. 
Go your ways,  
A foolish Knave and Bawd, that do want nothing  
But carting; I would sooner see that triumph,  
Than all the Pageants, a day after Simon  
And jude, when the fine City goes a feasting.  
Oh Sir, I have news; yes, they are gone, brave news;  
Your Gentlewoman can hold out no longer;  
This night there will be a stratagem:  
Old Madam Hump a pomp, the Nurse, has promised  
To admit the Country Gentleman, when all  
Are a-bed, into her chamber; yes, your Mistress:  
I'm o'th' plot, to lie Perdue, and give  
The word, if any Firelock approach  
The rest; imagine if he have not art to  
Persuade her to the feat with him, yet there  
Be tricks, and he may be surprised in the Chamber,  
And she may be compelled to marry him in  
Her own defence; there have been such devices.  Hart. 
Does he consent?  Clos. 
She is betrayed to't, sir.  Hart. 
Then thou wilt be so base?  Clos. 
And I had meant it,  
I ne'er had told you this: can you make use  
Of this intelligence?  Hart. 
Thou art my honest servant.  Clos. 
I promised to be his.  Hart. 
I have it; Canst  
By any means procure me but his clothes?  Clos. 
With ease, he'll go to bed betimes, to avoid  
Suspicion; that's a part of our design.  Hart. 
I could not wish a happy opportunity,  
To try how she affects this gaudy fool,  
And clear my faith to her, which her mother's watch  
Will not permit; she has, I fear, perceived  
My new familiarity with her mother,  
Which I am compelled too, and must clear this way:  
Fail me not, Close, and propound thy own  
Reward.  Clos. 
Tell me your purpose, and let my wit  
Dispose of him.  Hart. 
Prosper me love in this.  Clos. 
And you fall to prayers  
With good love, look about us, I shall suspect  
You won't thrive; you should go to a wench,  
As Gentlemen to Oysters, without ceremony  
Or saying grace; devotion will spoil all.  Exeunt. Enter Playfaire and his x. Cous. 
Right as an Arrow coz.  Play. 
Witty engineer;  
But was she taken with the plot?  Cous. 
I was compelled to frame the outside of a reason,  
Lest our own mirth should play the Traitor with us,  
Her spleen was so dilated, he believed  
I have made her mad, which change makes for us.  Play. 
Excellent.  Cous. 
And he that we employed, the Pursuivant,  
Showed such a fiery Rascal, the poor Usurer  
Trembled, as Bawds beneath the lash.  Play. 
He comes then?  Cous. 
With as much joy, as to receive a hanging:  
He would be whipped, and say his prayers i'th' Church  
In a white sheet.  Play. 
That were no penance to him.  Cous. 
Nay, he would pay as much as he should fine  
For Alderman, though half his soul went with it,  
For his quietness; he doth apprehend  
Nothing but earthquakes.  Enter three Lords. Play. 
How am I rampant  
With the imagination? bid the music  
Be ready, they know all their flourishes;  
But shift you quickly for your other part,  
My honourable Lords;  
How they do look like Statesman, where's your toothpick?  
Excellent; bear your staff handsomely, contract  
The brow, and look more superciliously.  1. 
I warrant you for my part.  2. 
We came now  
From practice.  Play. 
Can ye do't with confidence?  3. 
These very clothes have made me proud already,  
It was some Lords cast suit, I'll lay my life. Enter one with perfume.  1. 
And mine, it smells of honour.  Play. 
So, so, how now man?  2. 
He looks pale: My Lord, how d''ee?  1. 
Well, well, I hope 'tis but conceit it.  3. 
Of what?  1. 
Will the pox lie in clothes? I can not tell,  
I find some alteration in my body,  
Sin be I shifted.  Play. 
'Tis a mere conceit,  
They were an honest man's, upon my knowledge,  
A Captain of the train Band in the Country,  
They were brought against the general Muster last;  
He were 'em that day, and to Church the Sunday  
Following, and most carefully seen 'em up,  
To taste our London Lavender.  1. 
Sir, you have satisfied me.  Play. 
Be sprightly; where's this Prince?  
See and attend him in fit state.  Enter x for the King, and Lords, Sir Clement. Flourish. 2. 
He's here.  Play. 
Now by that sprig, a pretty Majesty;  
But wilt thou not be out of thy king's part?  
And when the Wine is wanting at the Banquet,  
Call upon drawers, quarrel with your Nobles,  
Or when we shall present our man of mortgages,  
Take him aside, and borrow half a crown,  
To give your whore benevolence, which trifled  
For you last tilting, or be drunk too soon,  
And leave our project in the dirt.  Cous. 
My Lords,  
This fellow's insolence must be corrected;  
Dispose him in what prison you think fit.  Lo. 
He's mad, I think.  Cous. 
To Bedlam with him then,  
Is this a place for fools or madmen, who  
Admitted him? take him, see you  
He be well whipped, and let him thank our mercy,  
Bandog.  Play. 
I quake already, excellent Warbucks,  
Cool, cool thy lungs, and whisper with some Lord,  
Thou wilt be a key too high else, good Sr. Clement,  
Master of the house, at whose cost we are entertained.  Sr. Cle. 
My part is rotten  
In my head, doubt not.  Enter Pursuivant. Play. 
Is he come?  Purs. 
He waits in the first chamber.  Play. 
Let the Lutes  
Begin, and their best voice, and then admit him. Soft Music.  Enter Hornet. Horn. 
Here's revelling, my purse must be squeezed for't:  
That's the King, the rest are bare; how supple they are  
I'th' hams, that Courtier has Oiled his joints,  
He looks this way, they point at me; a rot  
of'at knave's finger.  1 Lo. 
What fellow's this? who waits?  Purs. 
It was his grace's pleasure, he was sent for,  
My good Lord.  1. 
Mr. Hornet?  
Let me have the honour to present him.  War. 
Is this the man whom all so much commend  
For his ability.  Horn. 
I smell no good from that word, ability.  War. 
Discreet and read i'th' Commonwealth, a man  
Fit for employment in the State.  2. 
The very same.  War. 
His countenance is promising.  Sr. Clem. 
If the King of Spain  
Had but his head, that politic head,  
I know who might go fish for the Low-Countreyes.  War. 
His garments are but course.  Sr. Cle. 
His mind is rich.  Hor. 
They praise me, I am a thousand pound the worse for't.  3. 
willt please your Majesty?  War. 
Kneel down; Thy name?  Horn. 
Giles Hornet, your poor creature.  War. 
Rise up, Sir Giles Hornet.  Horn. 
But am I Knighted?  Lords. 
We congratulate your honour.  Horn. 
What must I pay for it?  
I'll sell it any friend of yours again,  
For half the money.  War. 
Some have care to give  
His body more becoming ornaments;  
He shall be like himself, and then we will confer  
More honours on him. Exit Pursuivant.  1 Lo. 
Do you make haste, his Grace  
Will have you new thatched; you must have clothes  
Fitting your State and honourable title.  Horn. 
These will be good enough for me, 'las I am not able.  1 Lo. 
Nay, you must have 'em from his Wardrobe, sir,  
They'll cost you nothing; You'll not look in those,  
Like a poor Knight of Windsor.  War. 
When he is ready, give us knowledge.  1 Lo. 
Yes, sir. Exeunt. Flourish.  Horn. 
What will become of me?  1. 
You were best prepare,  
Your clothes will be here presently, the King  
Will send for you before you be ready; Cast  
Your old skin off: Do you not to save sheets  
And trouble, wrap yourselves a night i'th' blankets?  
Or are they ashamed to show the Linings?  Horn. 
Hum? if this be but preparative to a whipping,  
What case am I in? Enter servants with clothes.  1. 
Well said, now they are come;  
Be nimble now, and help to fit Sr. Gyles.  Horn. 
Alas, must I wear this doublet? it would yield  
Heaven knows how much to burn.  1 Lo. 
You may be disparate  
When 'tis on, and burn your body with it, sir,  Horn. 
I sha'not know myself.  1 Lor. 
Be that time we ha' done wi'ye.  Ser. 
Fit as they were made, sir.  Enter Playfaire. Play. 
Which is Sir Gyles?  Horn. 
I am the man you please to call Sir Gyles.  Play. 
Then I congratulate your happy fortune;  
You're like to be exalted, his Grace talks  
Much on you, I'll be proud to be your servant:  
My Lord, a word.  Horn. 
What Gentleman is that?  Ser. 
The Bridegroom, Sir, in great favour, I can tell you,  
And new created by his Highness, Baron  
Of landscape; his living is far off.  Horn. 
My very good Lord, my breeches are almost on.  Ser. 
There be the Keys.  Horn. 
His Grace has pleased to shine upon  
A piece of barren earth.  Play. 
You are too modest;  
The King has been informed, Sir Gyles, you are  
One of the ablest men in his Dominion:  
Should virtue still be clothed in rags? Advance it  
To honour, and regard you waste your brain  
At home, in cheap and low engagements, sweat  
Your soul out, for a poor and paltry living;  
Old houses, let 'em fall to the dull Lord  
O'th' Manner; switch me up a Town together,  
Or meddle not; This or that straggling Acre's  
Not worth your care; Study some Monopoly,  
May sweep the Kingdom at a stake; Despise  
A project won't bring in half the City;  
Find out a way to forfeit all the Charters;  
Have an Exchequer of your own, and keep  
The Princes round about in pension:  
These are becoming businesses, and speak  
An active State-man.  Horn. 
You do talk strange things,  
My Lord.  Play. 
His keys are things very  
Material to our business.  1 Lo. 
And I have 'em.  Play. 
So, so:  
I will account it one of my felicities,  
To be a witness of your Honour, Sir.  Horn. 
Oh, my good Lord of landscape.  Ser. 
How shall we dispose these?  1 Lo. 
The Hangman will not have them, and I fear,  
They will corrupt a well; 'faith give them stable room.  Enter 3 Lord. 3 Lo. 
My Lord, the King asks for you; Good Sir Gyles  
Write me i'th' number of your faithful friends.  Play. 
We must attend.  1 Lo. 
Do not yet say he's ready,  
The Barber has a duty to dispatch,  
He will be hours a rubbing, washing, powdering.  
Then I'll attend him to his Presence.  Play. 
We shall excuse him so long, still your servant.  1 Lo. 
The Barber, sir, attends in the next room.  Horn. 
I won't shave.  1 Lo. 
He fears his throat.  Horn. 
I never give above threepence.  1 Lo. 
Talk not you of charge,  
You have but yet your welcome: do not you  
Think, good sir Gyles, but we can shave you too. Exeunt.  Enter Close, Startup in his shirt. Star. 
Where is he, Close?  Clo. 
I told him, sir,  
You lay in a chamber o'th' tother side,  
The house, whither he is gone with his sword drawn,  
And curses of themselves able to kill you:  
You did affront him once, and now his Mistress  
Has quite neglected him, for your love, he thinks:  
He'll make you an example to all Rivals;  
I'll bring your clothes hereafter, yet your fear  
And running, sir, will keep you warm enough.  Star. 
Honest Close, thou hast saved my life.  Clo. 
Death, is he not behind you? this way, good sir. Exeunt.  Enter Nurse, and Mistress Frances. Nur. 
Ha' you not made a fine choice, I did ever  
Think he was false; your mother did but counterfeit  
The love-sick widow all this while, to try him.  Fran. 
Try him, Nurse.  Nur. 
She told me so herself,  
Assuring him the state was hers, and you  
At her devotion; put him to his choice,  
To take her with the wealth, or you with nothing:  
What followed, you have heard, come be wise yet,  
And love the Country Gentleman that dotes on you;  
He's rich, and half a fool, I'll fetch him to you.  Fran. 
My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwell  
Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger  
And policy, if he refused her love?  
I have observed some sorrow in his gestures,  
As he were willing to deliver something,  
If opportunity would give him leave:  
He cannot be so false, now I suspect  
He does obey some dire necessity:  
'Twould puzzle a wise lover to be so  
Severely put to't.  Nurse brings in Hartwell in Startups clothes. Nur. 
On like a bold Captain,  
Give her a broad side, she's within your shot,  
I'll leave you.  Fran. 
'Tis the fool, Why Nurse?  Hart. 
Nay, fly not before you hear.  Fran. 
'Tis Hartwell.  Hart. 
If my voice  
Betray me not.  Fran. 
Why in this shape? some trick in't,  
He hides his face, I'll put him to't however,  
Although the hour be unseasonable, any time  
We may express our joy: my Nurse once told me  
You were not well, and gone to bed, your health  
Is welcome as my own; I dare not, sir,  
In modesty presume to bid you stay,  
And to requite your pains, kind Mr. Startup.  Hart. 
She knows me not.  Fran. 
Forgive me if I blush,  
I have no other way, but to declare  
My eyes that late frowned on your love shall smile.  Hart. 
On me?  Fran. 
On none but you: I have been too  
Unkindly dealt withal by Hartwell, whom  
How dearly I affected, good Heaven knows:  
But I have read discretion to my fancy,  
And were he here, he should be witness of  
My vows to you, if you accept my heart,  
And can with equal truth embrace it, I  
Will choose my husband here; you, only you,  
This faith be registered in Heaven, shall challenge from me a wife's obedience.  Hart. 
Planet-struck. Enter Nurse.  Nur. 
Away, your mother's up; I would not for  
A thousand pound she find you in this chamber.  Fran. 
I have undone myself. Exit Frances.  Nur. 
Sweet Mr. Startup, to your own lodging,  
Take that close lantern with you:  
Passion of me, what makes her rise?  Hart. 
I will discover yet.  Nur. 
Discover; what?  
Ha, Mr. Hartwell.  Hart. 
You ha' midnight plots.  Nur. 
Oh, we are wretched, miserable, what have I done?  Hart. 
Oh, who shall lead me to a world where are  
No women? Farewell all, I'll be above  
Your charms, and find out death, a cure for love. Exit.   

ACT. IV.  Enter Startup, Close. Start. 
Where are we now? 'tis very cold, why dost not  
Lead me to some house?  Clos. 
What, at this time a night?  
All people are a-bed, the very Owls  
Are in their dead sleep; or if we could  
Be admitted, would you venture a this fashion,  
And publish your disgrace, proclaim yourself  
Coward, and lay some imputation  
Upon the place you came from, where your hopes  
May yet be fair for marriage? This brunt over.  
To meet some Drunkard now were comfortable,  
Whose eyes inflamed might serve for torches,  
Or he might spit flapdragons from his fire  
Of Sack, and light us: But no sober man,  
Considering what case you are in, sir,  
By my consent should see you.  Start. 
Ha, what's that?  Clos. 
Where, where? a fire-drake.  Start. 
Now 'tis gone: 'tis bright  
Again, Is't not a spirit? Oh deliver me.  Clos. 
I have heard some such things use to walk the fields.  Start. 
What shall I do?  Clos. 
Pray, pray with as much strength  
As if you had no land, or were confined  
To my annuity: Now I fear no spirits;  
This riches makes us cowards; Hide yourself,  
I will go nearer.  Star. 
Dost know the devil if thou seest him, Close?  
A pox of love, if this be the reward on't;  
Some call it fire, but I find no such matter;  
I am frozen to the Blanket, and my teeth  
Strike one another, and keep time like hammers  
That beat a Psalm upon the virtuous Anvil;  
I do believe if they were beaten out,  
They would make false Dice, there's quicksilver in 'em,  
I know already by their dancing.  Clos. 
Sir, where are you?  Star. 
Here I am still.  Clos. 
You're a dead man.  Star. 
More terror? what's the matter?  Clos. 
'Tis my Master with a dark  
lantern, that pursues us: By  
This darkness, 'tis his voice, wrap yourself up,  
And roll into some ditch, flight will betray us.  Start. 
I had as good be killed, but yet I'll venture. Exit.  Clos. 
'Tis he indeed, and more than I expected:  
The matters do not fadge well with his Mistress.  Enter Hartwell. Hart. 
What a sweet thing is night? how calm and harmless?  
No whispering, but of leaves, on which the breath  
Of heaven plays Music to the birds that slumber;  
Here are no objects to betray our sense  
To repentance, nor can women, thus  
Advantaged by the Tapers of the night,  
Spread their temptations to undo poor man:  
What a fine book is heaven? which we may read  
Best now, when every Star is a fair letter:  
How much they wrong thee night, which call thee guilty  
Of rapes and murders: 'Tis the day, that like  
A glorious whore, engages men to act 'em,  
And taking then the darkness to obscure 'em:  
We unjustly lay the shame upon thy brows,  
That art so innocent; Thou never sawest them  
Befriended with this silence; I begin  
To wander: There's no wilderness abroad,  
To him that's lost at home.  Clos. 
Sir.  Hart. 
Who's that?  Clos. 
One that has taken pains for you tonight:  
I am Close.  Hart. 
What mak'st thou here?  Clos. 
I wait upon  
My charge; I led your Rival a procession  
In's shirt, persuading him you had resolved  
To cut his throat else; he's hard by at's prayers,  
And thinks you ha' pursued him.  Hart. 
Ha, I'll do't;  
Show me the fool, by all my hopes I'll kill him,  
And send his base heart as a present to her:  
Fate has preserved me with this revenge,  
And I will not delay his death a minute.  Clos. 
You won't kill him basely?  Hart. 
No.  Clos. 
Why then  
There is no fear but he'll live long enough;  
I'll undertake he ne'er shall go provided  
To fight w'ee; and for other satisfaction,  
Name it, and take it; so I'll fetch him to ye.  Hart. 
Stay, I have been too passionate, let him live  
To be her punishment; that's revenge enough,  
While I pursue my own ways.  Clos. 
Whither now?  Hart. 
Whither thou must not follow, by thy honesty,  
I charge thee come not after me.  Clos. 
That binds my attendance, sir.  Hart. 
But not when I command  
The contrary, if thou dost move this way,  
Thou drawest my anger; Mind the preservation  
Of the tame thing you undertook; Farewell,  
If thou dost love me, follow not, nor question  
'Tis in my power to lose thee or myself. Exit.  Clos. 
I cannot see i'th' darke with spectacles,  
And mine own eyes ha' lost him o'the sudden;  
Well, I must hope the best; What shall I do  
With my hen-hearted lover, that would give  
Half his estate his cold fit were well over:  
I shall make work for the Physicians:  
Candles and cullises will ne'er restore him;  
If he but scape with life, I am not sorry,  
He may be a soldier, and endure the trenches;  
I put him first to the becoming sufferance:  
But what are these? an army of horns and Halberds?  
Upon my conscience, the Watch; I thought  
The fields had not been haunted with these goblins:  
I cannot run; If I should squat, and they find me,  
There were no mercy but Bridewell,  
Or some such lovely place; I am resolved  
To cast away a few good words upon 'em,  
A leg and worshipping; the Constable  
That leads the rusty Regiment will quit me,  
I pass the gates wo't often, and so may  
The devil if he pay the Porter; bless you:  Enter Constable and Watchmen. 
My masters what o'clock is't?  1. 
Who's there?  Const. 
I charge you stand.  Clos. 
Your worship may do much.  Const. 
Where have you been?  Clos. 
At Islington, and please you, about business.  Const. 
Some thief, I warrant him, no honest man,  
I know by his basket hilt, some rogue that watches,  
The fields are pestered with such sturdy robbers.  Clo. 
He is a rogue that watches, for my part.  Con. 
He calls my watchmen rogues.  1. 
How Mr. Constable? you are one yourself.  Const. 
A way with him.  Clo. 
Good Sir.  2. 
We will provide you a lodging.  Clo. 
Where?  Con. 
New prison.  Clo. 
But are you in earnest, Gentlemen?  
If there be no remedy.  2. 
We'll humble you.  Clo. 
I have a companion hereabouts: where are you Sir?  Star. 
Here in the ditch.  Const. 
They seldom go alone:  
We'll find him out; ha sirrah.  Enter Watchmen and Startup. Star. 
I thank you honest men: where art thou Close?  Clo. 
Here; these good men will help us to a lodging.  Star. 
Blessing on their hearts, I am almost starved.  Const. 
Yes, we'll do you that favour; Come away, sir.  Star. 
Whether shall we go now?  Clos. 
To prison.  Star. 
How, Close?  1. 
You shallbe close enough.  Star. 
D''ee hear, sweet Gentlemen?  Clos. 
I follow, Sir, I cannot leave you in adversity;  
All this is for your health, clean straw is warm, sir;  
You have the benefit of being naked:  
I shall have work tomorrow in the woollen.  Const. 
Away, away; bring them away. Exeunt.  Mistress Bellamy and Nurse. Bell. 
I heard some noise; look, call up the servants,  
See if the Gentlemen be a-bed; I'm troubled.  Nur. 
Oh Mistress?  Bell. 
What's the matter?  Nur. 
Mr. Startup is not a-bed, and here is all is left  
Of Mr. Hartwell.  Bell. 
This is very strange.  Nur. 
I dare not tell her of his shift, they're gone,  
The doors I found left open, and no sign  
Which way they are bestowed.  Bell. 
This puzzles me:  
Pray Heaven there be no mischief in this absence:  
Is Frank a-bed?  Nur. 
Yes.  Bell. 
What should move'em  
To leave my house so late, and Mr. Hartwell  
Without his clothes? Some knock there:  
Beshrew me but I trembled.  Nur. 
'Tis a stranger,  
And says he would speak with you.  Bell. 
At this late hour?  
What accidents are these? from whence?  Nur. 
I know not.  Bell. 
Has he no name? what should this mean?  Nur. 
He says he is a Countryman of Mr. Startups.  Bell. 
Admit him, he perhaps does bring some news.  Enter Countryman. Count. 
By your leave Mistress, pardon my importunity  
At so unfit an hour.  Bell. 
You're welcome, sir.  Count. 
I met with fortunate directions,  
Though I came late; I understand you have  
A guest, one Startup of Northamptonshire,  
That comes a-wooing to your daughter.  Bell. 
Such an one there was that supped with us, and went  
To bed; but since, as I have faith, I know not  
Which way he has conveyed himself; another  
Gentleman too is missing, and his Rival.  Count. 
Pray do not mock me, Lady, I ha' rid  
A great way, and the business much concerns him.  Bell. 
You may believe me, he is no such treasure  
I should conceal him. Enter Frances.  Countryman 
Then I see you dally:  
Know, Mistress, you may slack your preparations,  
Your daughter must look out another husband,  
He is contracted.  Bell. 
How?  Count. 
And something more,  
Gotten with child one, that without blushing  
I cannot call my daughter; he shall make  
Her credit straight again, although my fortunes  
Have no equality with his, I shall  
Find Law to force him.  Fran. 
You preferred this suitor,  
This news returns my blood.  Bell. 
Sir, you shall find  
All truth I have delivered, I am not sorry,  
To hear this news, this is no time to seek him:  
Please you accept the lodging that was his,  
My servant shall attend you in the morning,  
To help your search.  Count. 
You seem a noble Gentlewoman,  
I take your courtesy.  Bell. 
Nurse, a light; pray walk, sir.  Fran. 
I was unkind to Hartwell, he not wise;  
But love still apprehends too much, or nothing. Exit Countryman.  Bell. 
Frances, a word: do not you know what is  
Become o' these Gentlemen.  Fran. 
Not I, their absence  
Is strange to me.  Bell. 
Oh, Frank, I am undone.  Fran. 
Good Heaven, forbid.  Bell. 
This Gentleman, Mr. Hartwell,  
Whom we shall never see again, I fear.  Fran. 
How, mother? are you acquainted  
With any cause to fear thus.  Bell. 
'Tis in vain  
To tell thee how I loved him.  Fran. 
Bless my senses! you love him?  Bell. 
'Bove all the world, affectionately placed him  
Too near my heart.  Fran. 
I heard you made pretence  
Of Love, to try him for my sake; and pardon me,  
If yet I dare not believe more.  Bell. 
Oh Frank—  Fran. 
My heart doth thrill, I feel a coldness run  
Through all my veins already.  Bell. 
I had no other thought,  
At first; but wisely to distinguish whether  
His heart was fixed on thee, or my estate;  
With resolution, if I found him more  
A Courtier of thy fortune than thy person,  
To punish him with loss of both: But Love  
Hath changed both scene and title in our Comedy,  
And what I meant should shipwreck all his hopes,  
Hath ruined us, his modest and calm answer:  
To accept my tender, with such force and reason  
Directed to my fancy, turned my purpose,  
And made me his indeed, his perfect Lover:  
But now we ha' both lost him.  Fran. 
All the piety  
That ever taught children to love their mother,  
Will but suffice to keep my heart obedient.  
Was ever Maid so miserable? Was there  
No other, in my fate, to rival me  
I live too long; oh break, break my poor heart;  
For she that gave me life, hath took it from me.  Bell. 
Why do you weep?  Fran. 
I do not weep, or if  
I do, I know not why.  Bell. 
Now I perceive  
Thy duty was but counterfeit, you love him,  
Upon my life you love him still; Have my  
Commands no more respect? My care and love  
So ill rewarded, that my heart desiring  
One comfort in the world, and shall my child  
Rise up to take it from me?  Fran. 
Alas I knew not  
You loved him too, indeed I had rather die  
Than you should call me rebel.  Bell. 
Now I see  
The cause of his departure in this fashion,  
Pray heaven he have not made away himself:  
Did ever child deceive a mother so?  
I have a sad presage, you may to bed,  
And rise without my blessing, yet  
You may stay, wherefore should I despair  
Of his return? You say you could not tell  
That I affected him.  Fran. 
Indeed not I,  
And do believe it now against my will;  
But I am your daughter.  Bell. 
Show it, in confirming  
yourself to my desires, and what is past,  
I can forgive you, if he come again:  
Will you be ruled, and show no favour to him?  
For 'tis in you, I see, to make me happy;  
I will not tie you to affect the other,  
Choose any for your husband but this man,  
My love and prayers shall go along with you;  
Answer.  Fran. 
Indeed I dare not, yet could I  
Put off the knowledge that you are a mother—  Bell. 
What then?  Fran. 
Though in imagination I allow you  
The greatest woman in the earth, whose frown  
Could kill, and eyes at pleasure make alive  
Again; I could say—  Bell. 
Pray let's hear.  Fran. 
I durst tell you,  
In confidence of my cause, that you betray  
Two innocents to sorrow; and though heaven  
Look on, and seem to smile upon your cruelty,  
Yet there is punishment for divorcing those  
Whose hearts that hath conjoined: I durst tell you,  
Though all your terrors were prepared to punish  
My bold defence; you were a tyrant.  Bell. 
How?  Fran. 
A most unjust, a sacrilegious tyrant.  Bell. 
You would not be so violent.  Fran. 
That thus,  
Not only ruin and deface the Altar,  
But steal away the very Sacrifice;  
And I durst add and smile upon your anger.  
Though as you frowned death stood in every wrinkle,  
My soul's above your tyranny, and would  
From torturing flame, receive new fire of love,  
And make your eye faint to behold the brightness  
Of my poor Body's martyrdom; and if ever  
Love showed a miracle, my heart should bear  
The Characters of him you have torn from it,  
With beams about it like a Saint that suffered:  
But as you are my mother, thus I kneel  
And beg a pardon for my innocence,  
If that offend you; Live you happy still,  
And be the Mistress of your vows, live to  
Enjoy whom you affect, may every hour  
Return new blessings on you both; renew  
Your spring, and let him think you young again,  
And let me beg but this for all my duty;  
Against that day you marry him to provide  
My Coffin, for I fear I shall, not have  
Breath many minutes after, to pray for you.  
The herbs that shall adorn your Bridal chamber,  
Will serve my Funeral, and deck my Hearse;  
Beneath which you should say, there lies your daughter  
That dies to show obedience.  Bell. 
Why shouldst thou  
Continue thus to him?  Fran. 
I know he loves me, yet hereafter your affections  
May not.  Bell. 
But never procure thee one sad thought;  
Now I have tried you both; assure my child,  
I loved him but for thee, dispose thyself  
To be his Bride: This news, at his return,  
Will make all well to rest.  Fran. 
Can this be true?  Bell. 
'Twere sin to mock thee any more: To bed.  Fran. 
I'll spend all night  
In prayers for you, mother: Oh my Hartwell Exeunt.  Enter Playfaire and his x. Play. 
I am bound ever to thee.  Cous. 
Does she not become her rich clothes too?  Play. 
The morning never looked  
So fresh, nor Venus with more charms upon her:  
Adon would melt before her eye, and woo her  
Her kisses, at expense of his last breath:  
Cupid himself, could he but see, would fall  
In love with her, and throwing away his shafts,  
Offer the empty quiver to her eyes,  
Ambitious to fill it with her beams;  
The least of which, would wound more hearts, than ail  
His stock of golden Arrows.  Cous. 
No more Raptures.  Play. 
Didst thou not know before, that love is able,  
Without the help of Sack, to make a Poet,  
My nimble Mercury, Jove's Herald in  
Reversion?  Cous. 
I must confess  
I had a trick of Mercury when I picked  
His pocket for the Keys.  Play. 
He never missed 'em?  Cous. 
His eyes were drenched in suds, and I returned 'em  
Ere they recovered light.  Play. 
'Twas excellent;  
He walks in darkness still.  Cous. 
D''ee think he'll know her?  Play. 
His clothes already have  
Made him forget himself, or if he have  
But the remembrance of such a woman;  
The more he sees her now, the more he'll think  
The change impossible.  Cous. 
Where ha' you left him?  Play. 
I'th' Gallery, where with much patience,  
He does expect his highness will send for him.  Cous. 
Then all runs smooth, his wonder still continues.  Play. 
I fed that humour artificially;  
He is half persuaded all's but a dream,  
To which imagination his clothes  
Are a great help, because he paid not for 'em:  
Sometimes he is very merry, then again  
He struts about with such a scurvy pride,  
As some new crept into Nobility;  
When men of their first Livery come to see 'em;  
His honour has so change him, that he now  
Knows not of what Religion he is;  
Or if he chance to think of his first faith,  
He spits o'th' hangings, and excused with,  
I do not like the Story, 'tis apocryphal:  
Sometimes he'll offer at a jest, and talk  
Nonsense with him that has been seven years Lorded;  
Frown upon any man that will presume  
To have more knowledge, in worse clothes; I told him  
It was his grace's pleasure he should be  
Controller of the Masque, and he did sweat,  
As he were studying for some mighty oaths  
To clear the presence: he is here; away. Exit.  Hornet and Sr. Clement. Horn. 
And you are Master of the house, Sir Clement,  
For so I heard you called.  Clem. 
It is my name,  
Sr. Gyles, unworthy of this grace his Highness  
Is deigned to show in honouring of my daughter.  Horn. 
And was she married this morning, say you?  Clem. 
This morn she lost her Virgin name.  Horn. 
I have not seen her yet, nor any of the Ladies,  
You have but little noise methinks in the house.  Clem. 
It would offend his Grace.  Horn. 
Who, as you say, came hither privately, with a small train  
Of Lords; Would I might see his face again;  
I am not sent for yet, I have been ready,  
Sr. Clement, these three hours, and I do wonder  
His Grace forgets himself so much.  Clem. 
That Music speaks him on entrance.  Enter x and Lords. Flourish. Cous. 
ay, that garb becomes him;  
How was his person lost within that shape  
He was first presented to me?  Horn. 
Indeed the case is somewhat a  
Altered, by your highness' bounty  
To your poor subject, Hornet.  Play. 
Now he looks  
As he did scorn the quorum, and were hungry  
To eat a Statesman; 'Las an office in  
The household is too little for a breakfast:  
A Baron, but a morning's draught, he'll gulp it,  
Like a round Egg in Muscadine: methinks  
At every wiping of his mouth, should drop  
A golden saying of Pythagoras;  
A piece of Machiavell; I see already  
Hang on his Beard (which wants but stroking out)  
The Statutes and the Magna Charta have  
Taken a lease at his tongue's end.  Cous. 
I will think on't;  
He shall be— but toth' banquet,  
Then let the mask be ready, there we shall  
Employ your worthy diligence.  Horn. 
Heaven bless your mighty Grace.  Cous. 
You'll follow.  Exit. Horn. 
I attend you presently:  
I know not what to think of these things yet,  
'Tis very strange I should be thus exalted  
Without desert; best known unto myself.  
Princes I see are mortal, and may be  
Deceived in placing of their honours, I  
Am little better than a favourite,  
If this be true: If? 'tis a question,  
Let me consider wisely, it may be  
I am not I. No, no, I am a Knight:  
Are these my clothes? I did not use to wear such  
A pocket in my sleeve and velvet hose,  
Six times translated since they were a midwife's  
Forepart, were things I wore on holidays.  
The price of these would break a camel's back,  
And yet some men walk under 'em like Elephants,  
And have variety, as the Devil were  
Their Tailor, who best knows where all their land lies.  
Then why this cost on me? it is a dream,  
And I am very glad on't, 'tis impossible  
I should be true, it does not hang together,  
I will have patience till i wake again,  
And care not what becomes on't.  Enter Sr. Clement. Clem. 
'Tis his highness'  
Pleasure now the banquet's done.  Horn. 
How, the banquet done? I was coming to't,  
You could hardly say grace by this time.  Clem. 
That's a ceremony grown out of use;  
It was a running banquet.  Horn. 
A running? so it seems, it made great haste:  
I do dream certainly, there's no sense nor reason  
In any thing they say.  Sr. Clem. 
You know your place,  
The mask will straight begin, and his Grace won't  
Have any one admitted, he resolves,  
If the conceit affect him, it shall be  
Performed i'th' Court hereafter, i'th' mean time  
He does command all privacy: There are  
Some set to guard the door; but your care must  
Provide his Highness be not interrupted.  
Back, they are rude already.  Exit. Knocks. Horn. 
Let me alone:  
What turbulent Knave is that?  Within. 
I am a Country Gentlemen, Sr. Gyles;  
And if I may presume upon good clothes,  
You may before his Grace call me your Cousin,  
And not be ashamed; here is a Lady too.  Horn. 
A Lady too? Is she with child? What makes she  
Here, and she be with child already?  
'Tell thee none such shall be admitted, while  
I am in place: More rapping? Keep the doors,  
If I do fall a swearing once, look to't.  Within. 
I beseech you, for my wife's sake.  Horn. 
Thy wives?  
What's he that pleads In forma pauperis?  Within. 
A Citizen, and like you.  Horn. 
Like me? thou liest: I am more like a Lord.  
Thou shalt fare ne'er the better for that word:  
Knock down the women, and there be a hundred.  
And make their husbands drunk; the Guard are lazy:  
These women's insolence will force a Statute,  
I will petition to the King myself,  
They may have liberty but once a year  
To see the Galley foist, then be confined  
To their Chamber, and one Prentice— yet again.  Within. 
Sir Gyles, Sr. Gyles, you know me well enough.  Horn. 
But while I am in office I'll know nobody.  Scri. 
I am your scrivener.  Horn. 
Draw thy purse, wherein  
Thou keep'st thy ears, and leave 'em at the door;  
The Guard trust none without a pawn; they'll serve,  
If they be ne'er redeemed, to seethe in milk  
For a sore throat: jews ears I know they are.  Scri. 
Sir Gyles, here's your Niece.  Horn. 
My Niece? the devil she is.  Neec. 
Within .Pray Uncle let me in.  Horn. 
Her very voice: Ha? open the doors there;  
Where is she?  With. 
Whom?  Horn. 
My Niece that called to me.  With. 
None called: nor was there any woman here.  Horn. 
No, nor my Scrivener bawling out, Sir Gyles,  
Not at any hand your worship.  Horn. 
Then I dream,  
And I am a fool to make a question on't.  With. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Horn. 
The knaves laugh at me, but let 'em, I  
Shall be as merry with this tale tomorrow:  
What fancies men have in their sleep sometimes?  
His Highness.  Enter x, Lords. 
Where be the Ladies?  Clem. 
They are all i'th' Masque.  Horn. 
Nay, 'tis no matter, why do I ask the question?  Clem. 
You'll see 'em, Sir, anon.  1 La. 
willit please your Grace? Gives papers to the King and Sr. Gyles.  
And you Sir Gyles, the subject of the Masque.  Horn. 
What's here, the three Goddesses  
Contention for the golden ball?  Enter Playfaire, dancing, with a Golden Ball in his hand. 
This is Paris; So.  Enter juno, Pallas, Venus. 
These are the three Goddesses;  
juno, Pallas, Venus.  The Goddesses dance, and court Paris for his Ball: To juno enters one like a King; Takes his Crown and Sceptre, offers it to Paris, he refuses. 2 Lo. 
juno doth woo him with her State and Kingdoms.  Horn. 
But he refuses, more fool he.  To Pallas, enter one like a Soldier armed, with a Book in his hand; She presents them to Paris, he neglects. Clem. 
He is not for her service, though she offer  
To make him Scholar and a Soldier:  
A complete man.  Horn. 
No, no, that fairy must win the ball.  To Venus comes Cupid, leading in Hornet's Niece, richly dressed. 
Ha? that's my Niece.  Clem. 
Which, Sr. Gyles?  Horn. 
That whom Dame Venus and her Dandiprat  
Are busy withal.  1 Lo. 
Why that's the Bride.  Horn. 
Bride, quotha?  Clem. 
Married this morning; 'Tis my daughter, sir.  Horn. 
Nay, if she be my Niece, I am sure she was not  
Married this morning.  Paris receives the Niece, and gives Venus the Ball; juno, Pallas, with their Masquers, Exeunt. 
She's safe enough at home,  
And has but half her wits, as I remember:  
The devil cannot juggle her from my custody.  
Ha, ha, I do dream still.  Cupid joins their bands, and sings; Which done, Exeunt Masquers. Cous. 
'Tis time to break off revels: How like you this, Sr. Gyles?  Horn. 
A very fine dream, i'faith.  Cous. 
I see you'd be a-bed; You are not used  
To these late hours.  Clem. 
Lights for his Highness.  Horn. 
I humbly beg your licence  
I may return to my own lodging.  Clos. 
Well, sir, 'tis easily granted.  Exit. 1 Lo. 
Lights for Sir Gyles: One shall attend you home.  Horn. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Clem. 
Why do you laugh?  Horn. 
At a conceit, at a conceit:  
What did I eat last night, to make me dream thus?  Exeunt.  

ACT. V.  Enter Hartwell apprehended, Countryman Officers, Servant. Hart. 
You have done well?  Countr. 
Would you had done no worse.  
These are his clothes, and you must give account  
How you came by 'em, and produce him safe  
Ere you acquit yourself; We may suspect  
You ha' killed him.  Horn. 
Then I obey my destiny;  
Justice I see pursues the guilty person:  
Dispose me where you please.  Officer. 
He does confess.  Hart. 
whate'er you be, you can but have my life  
For his; all your revenge can reach no higher:  
And to the law I yield myself.  Countr. 
My hopes are cold  
As his blood whom thou hast slain: Thou hast  
Been cruel in this act, to me and mine;  
Whose fames in him are miserably wounded:  
But look for the reward.  Hart. 
I must expect it;  
In the mean time I do not beg your mercy:  
Life is a burden, I would fain be rid on't.  
Does he weary me to carry it?  Serv. 
I'll acquaint my Mistress.  Count. 
Do so: To the next Justice; come away  Exeunt. Enter Hornet. Horn. 
She's gone, she's gone, I shall run mad; My Niece,  
robbed of three thousand pound in her escape,  
I find too late, I am awake and gulled,  
Nor know I whom to accuse for my tormentors;  
Devils or men, but sure they were not men,  
But very fiends I revelled with last night.  
That I could meet the prince of devils that knighted me,  
The Poets call him Pluto, god of riches;  
I and my learned Council would undo him  
In Law, in very Law, which he should find  
Hotter ere I had done, than hell itself,  
And call his place of torment, in three Terms,  
But a refreshing to't: Yet let me see,  
I have the portion still, though she be vanished,  
That's better than my Niece, but if she marry,  
I lose it all there; there's the vexation.  Enter x. Cous. 
Save Mr. Hornet.  Horn. 
'Tis too late, away,  
I do not love unnecessary compliment.  Cous. 
This he?  Horn. 
Yes, I am he; am I not very fine?  
What do you think this trim will cost me, ha?  
Three thousand pounds, no more?  Cous. 
The Broker won't  
Lend half the money.  Horn. 
Will you, sir, be gone,  
I ha' no money to lend now, it is not,  
You know, in fashion, with rich clothes.  Cous. 
I came for other purpose, and with news perhaps,  
You would be willing to receive; You have  
A Niece?  Horn. 
No; such a creature was in my possession:  
Do you know where she is?  Cous. 
Faith I imagine.  Horn. 
Ha, good sir? pray forwards:  
You shall have money upon good security.  Cous. 
I thank you, sir, for nothing; I do owe you  
Too much already, on these terms.  Horn. 
My Niece, as you were saying.  Cous. 
Were you knighted lately?  Horn. 
Is that talked abroad?  Cous. 
No general rumour; By a chance I came  
Where such a thing was whispered only whispered;  
Just as he was described: In my opinion  
You're very handsome, and do look as like a reverend—  Horn. 
Ass.  Cous. 
Why, you shall have it, sir.  Horn. 
But touching my Niece, good sir,  
That most ungracious giglet,  
That's run or stolen away, juggled last night  
Out o' my doors.  Cous. 
Did not she leap the casement?  Horn. 
Do not increase my agony; you came—  Cous. 
With civil meaning to discover how  
You may be abused.  Horn. 
What money do you want, sir?  
Your own bond shall suffice.  Cous. 
I ha' sworn never  
To write my name or mark; But I can tell—  Horn. 
Where I may find this girl.  Cous. 
More I can do, if need require;  
'tis in my power to give  
Her back to your possession, and I am willing.  Horn. 
An honest man.  Cous. 
On reasonable conditions, and such  
As shall not trench on borrowing money.  Horn. 
Honester yet.  Cous. 
For you shall give it freely and get by't;  
For you must understand if I do this,  
I shall betray a friend of mine, that has  
Put me in trust, one that intends to marry her,  
(For truth to tell, they are not yet contracted)  
To marry her, d''ee mark? and yet ere morning  
Three thousand pounds upon her, Is't not so much?  
One that has lent me sums too without parchment.  
Or foolish circumstance, to be repaid;  
Which you were never yet so much a Christian,  
As to be guilt of, in your usurer's gallon  
Of conscience melting Sack; This deserves something,  
But cause some expedition is required;  
You have a Bond of mine.  Horn. 
For fifty pound.  Cous. 
I had but forty, and your scrivener paid,  
With whom, perhaps, your worship too divided;  
If you remember, there were precious dinners,  
Ere I could count my Chickens altogether,  
Which was your thrift and my expense; You shall  
First cancel that Bond, nay this won't dot,  
And give, d''ee mark, give me a hundred pieces,  
Perhaps I'll drink your health: This shall retrieve  
Your Niece, and give her into your hands,  
Though for my treachery, I be sung in ballads,  
And have the town curse if ever I marry.  Horn. 
'Tis too much for no more labour, sir.  Cous. 
If I consider,  
Three hundred will not bring me to't again;  
Thus fair I'll deal with you; I'll not touch your money  
Till I ha' done't, but then I will be sure:  
Fetch, fetch the business.  Horn. 
The Bond is ready.  Cous. 
I will have ready money too: You have  
Bags of all sizes and denominations.  
ay, these things promise well; now I'll attend you.  Horn. 
Do this fear for me, and 'tis all thine own.  Exeunt. Enter justice, Playfaire and niece. Iust. 
Now we may wish you say, the Priest has tied  
That knot no subtlety nor malice can  
Dissolve; And repent not I have been  
An actor in your Comedy, though I should not  
Be tempted easily to such another  
Engagement; For your sake I have dispensed with  
My person and my place.  Play. 
You always were  
My loving Uncle.  Neec. 
Sir, you have, in this,  
Deserved our lives and fortunes.  Play. 
It was good mirth  
To hear him confident all our device  
Was but a dream.  Iust. 
He is awake by this time;  
Should your x fail, we'll have another way  
To invite him; And if honesty prevail not,  
Force him till he consent.  Enter Servant. Serv. 
Some offenders are brought to be examined.  Iust. 
Nephew, withdraw, and you, fair Bride; These troubles  
Are incident to my place, I'll soon dispatch 'em.  Enter Countryman, Hartwell, and Officers. 
How now my Masters? Mr. Hartwell? ha!  Hart. 
Look on me; Sir, as a delinquent; These  
Are able to accuse me.  Iust. 
What offence?  Const. 
Nothing, but for killing of a man.  Iust. 
What proof?  Countr. 
He has confessed it, Sir.  Enter Mistria Bellamy and Frances. Iust. 
Mistress Bellamy,  
You are come in a sad time: Here's Mr. Hartwell  
Accused for killing.  Bell. 
'Tis not possible.  
Good sir believe it not.  Iust. 
He does confess.  Horn. 
I am not worth your prey, gentle lady  
In vain I should extenuate my fact,  
To have the troubles of examinations;  
Here I confess again, my hand is guilty  
Of killing him whose feeble arm durst not  
Lift up a weapon to defend himself.  Iust. 
That was not manly.  Hart. 
ay but slew a coward  
Startup, and could I call his life again,  
As soon I should destroy it; you perhaps  
Know not my provocation: He has  
My Rival, sir, pardon me: Mistress Bellamy,  
To whom I only seemed a Proselyte  
In love, I had no heart to give from her:  
And in my study to decline your anger;  
I fell upon her scorn, which in few minutes,  
Engaged me to this Fate; Not am I troubled  
That I must die, when she upon whose faith  
I durst have laid the hopes of my eternity,  
Hath violated all the trust of woman.  Count. 
willt please you, sir—  Iust. 
Forbear a little.  Hart. 
Tell me, most unkind, if thou didst love  
At all? How couldst thou think I should be such  
A desperate Atheist, that thou so soon,  
And with a strange Apostasy shouldst revenge it?  
These swelling drops which in thy innocence  
Might ha' prevailed to ha' restored the dead,  
Heaven now doth look on, and despise: And though  
Thou shed moist tribute on this Tomb, 't shall slide,  
Neglected o'er the Marble, and be lost,  
As if the stone had sense to punish thy  
Disdain of me: I can behold that weeping,  
And not be moved to wish I were not guilty  
Of killing him whose love had been thy triumph;  
And I dare boldly, still in the contempt  
Of what I am to suffer, and the justice  
Of my own truth, challenge thy soul to answer  
In what I was beneath that gaudy fool,  
Excepting that he had more earth than I  
To help his scale, which yet he may be indebt for  
To his father's sins: Alive, he could not merit  
One cold disdain from thee; And dead, how comes it  
He should be worth thy tears? But let thy eyes  
Chide this unruly sorrow; dress thy cheeks  
With their fresh blood again, and let thy face  
Open a book of smiles, in the assurance  
I have not long to live; When I have numbered  
A few sad minutes, thou shalt be revenged,  
And I shall never trouble thee: If this  
Be not enough, extend thy malice further:  
And if thou find'st one man that loved me living,  
Will honour this cold body with a grave,  
Be cruel, and corrupt his charity.  
So fare ye well.  Fran. 
Yet you must stay and hear me:  
He sha'not suffer, if my friends or state  
Can purchase him a pardon: Where's the body  
Of him that's slain?  Countr. 
We know not; But you hear  
His free confession of the fact.  Iust. 
This may  
Proceed from discontents; Life to some man  
Is but their torment in whose pain they will,  
As on the Wrack, confess what never  
Was in their thought.  Hart. 
Speak it again, and I  
Dare promise thee to live.  Fran. 
My heart was ever  
Constant, my mother's love was but thy trial,  
As mine a seeming change in thy disguise,  
Which was not able to secure thee from me;  
The words were, I would choose my husband here:  
But what will this avail us?  Hart. 
Mr. justice, I here discharge you.  Iust. 
How?  Hart. 
My joys obeys  
No limits; I accused my false unjustly,  
The fool's alive.  Countr. 
Startup, Where?  Hart. 
I know not that,  
My servant's with him, but if he ha' played  
The hangman, starved or smothered him in a ditch,  
I ha' made fair work.  Omnes. 
This were a welcome truth.  Enter servant. Serv. 
Sir, the Constable.  Iust. 
I had rather it had been my Kinsman and the Usurer;  
But wait and give me knowledge when they come.  Enter Constable, Startup, Close, Officers. Const. 
Where's Mr. Justice?  Hart. 
It is he and Close;  
Then I am secure, your pardon, and thy love.  Bell. 
You have it freely, and a mother's prayers  
For both your happiness.  Const. 
Please your worship, these  
We took last night i'th' fields suspiciously,  
And by my own authority I condemned 'em.  Star. 
Shall we be hanged, Close, we are condemned already.  Iust. 
This is the Gentleman was killed.  Start. 
Sweet sir, no;  
Not killed out right, but I was almost starved  
With cold: These Gentlewoman know me,  
And I should know that Hose and Doublet too;  
Those garments which you wear, I have oft seen, sweet sir.  Clos. 
Well said jerovinte.  Start. 
I was fain to borrow  
These of a prisoner that lies in, upon  
My Diamond Ring.  Iust. 
You are discharged.  Start. 
And we too?  Iust. 
Yes, and joy in every bosom.  Start. 
Close, you must know this your Mistress: Sweet Lady.  Fran. 
How?  Clos. 
'Tis enough for you to know her, sir,  
And me to acknowledge.  Countr. 
Do you know me, sir?  Start. 
Hum; yes, who brought you to town? And your daughter too, sweet sir?  Countr. 
And you shall right her.  Start. 
Is she grown crooked? I knew her too well.  
Peace, not a word more, I know your meaning,  
Do not discredit me, sweet sir, and we'll steal down  
And marry her ere any be aware on't;  
I won't stay to shift me, take no leave;  
The jest will be when I am in the Country,  
How like an ass he'll look in my apparel. Exeunt Startup Countryman,  Enter servant. Serv. 
Sir, Mr. Playfair's x and the t'other Gallant.  Iust. 
I must entreat your patience a little,  
You'll meet with friends in the next room.  Enter x, Hornet. Cous. 
Excuse my boldness, sir, this Gentleman.  Iust. 
Mr. Hornet, you are very welcome.  Horn. 
Good sir no ceremony; We are come  
'Bout business: I have lost my Niece, and would  
Know where she is.  Iust. 
D''ee take me for a wizard?  Cous. 
Sir, our desires are modest; That you would  
Be witness to a bargain, and receive  
Some trifles, sir, in trust to be delivered  
To me, If I restore his Kinswoman.  Horn. 
Not else; On that condition I deposit  
These hundred pieces, and a bond, if he  
Deliver me my Niece, they are his fraught,  
If not, they call me owner.  Cous. 
Pardon, sir,  
That I presume to bring this trouble to you.  Iust. 
'Tis none at all.  Cous. 
You sha'not long expect: So rest you merry.  Iust. 
How fare you, sir?  Horn. 
As you see, fall'n away an inch since morning,  
But this will physic me; If I possess  
This harlotry again, I'll make her sure:  
Trust not a woman, they have found the herb  
To open locks; not brazen Towers can hold'em.  
Or if they get not lose, they have the virtue  
Of Loadstones; Shut up in a box, they'll draw  
Customers to them; Nay, being dead and buried,  
There is a suspicion they will break the grave,  
Which puts so many husbands to the charge  
Of heavy stones to keep their bad wires under.  Iust. 
You are moved?  Horn. 
Oh Mr. Justice you are honest,  
I ha' been abused, so miserably cheated,  
I am ashamed to think on't, Stay, what, musicke?  Enter x, leading the Niece. 
Ha, 'tis my Niece; the very same.  Cous. 
There, sir, you have her, and I must ha' these.  Horn. 
Take'em: But you shall go with me; have I found you?  Neec. 
How Uncle? a reveller? you'll lead meam coranto.  Horn. 
You shall dance homewards.  Enter Playfaire. Play. 
What make you so familiar with my wife?  Horn. 
How, wife? is she married?  Cous. 
'Tis upon record,  
I'll bring a Parson that shall take his oath on't  Horn. 
Give me my hand and money, Mr. Justice.  Hart. 
Where? where?  Cous. 
Here, here, but not to be recovered  
By law: I have a judgement, sir, against you.  Horn. 
You have conspired to rob, cheat, and undo me;  
I'll have you all Star-chambered.  Play. 
Sir, be calm, and hear us.  Horn. 
I'll hear nothing.  Play. 
Yes, you shall;  
It will be necessary, I am bold,  
Presuming on her favour, to demand  
A parcel of three thousand pound, the sum  
belongs to me, by virtue of a marriage's  
And I must have it.  Horn. 
Tell me of a marriage?  Cous. 
I saw the Priest conjoin'em:  
He will deserve your love.  Play. 
Perhaps you may continue  
A thousand, or two thousand, for six months,  
Upon security.  Horn. 
Persecution.  Iust. 
Faith sir consider,  
It is more safe to see her thus bestowed,  
Than trust a jury; If the Doctor had  
Given her too much Opium, or purged  
Her soul away, things might so worse; But I  
Keep counsel.  Horn. 
Ha' ye mortified me yet?  Cous. 
For your own sake, and as you are true Knight.  Enter Mistress Bellamy, Hartwell, Frances, and Close. Horn. 
Now, ha' ye done? The widow;  
Not a word more, take her, I'll pay you sir,  
Three thousand pounds tomorrow: Noble widow  
You were in the first list to be invited;  
My Niece I told you of, is married to  
This worthy Gentleman.  Bell. 
You look like a Bridegroom.  Horn. 
'Tis in your power to make it good; What say you,  
Shall we have issue? Now the word of comfort.  Bell. 
I will never marry.  Horn. 
You are resolved why, so: Come hither Nephew,  
Shalt be my heir, I love thee for thy wit;  
But charm thy friends, they do not laugh at me:  
I'll be a Knight too, if I live, and build  
An Hospital for twenty more o'th' Order,  
Which I'll reduce myself out of the Suburbs;  
It is a shame such men should lose their spurs  
In women's Petticoats, and turn Squires again  
To Whores, or Parasites to Noble men,  
For want of fit provision.  Iust. 
An excellent foundation.  
But where's Startup?  Clos. 
Sunk, I think.  Hart. 
ne'er conjure for him; we are ingrateful to  
Our bliss: But wasting of these precious minutes,  
Which are so many ages, till the Church  
Hath made us perfect.  Horn. 
Is there any more  
Work for the Priest? Then give you joy before hand,  
And let us celebrate the day together.  Play. 
I'm glad of your conversion; Ye are the first  
Jew that in my remembrance has turned Christian.  Iust. 
Walk on to joys.  Hart. 
'Twixt Love and Fortune, now the accounts are even:  
A chain of hearts, and the first link in heaven.   
FINIS.