The Wedding.  
As it was lately Acted by her Majesty's Servants, at the Phoenix in Drury Lane.  
WRITTEN By JAMES SHIRLEY, Gent.  Horat. 
— Multaque pars mei  
Vitabit Libitinam—  
LONDON. Printed for john Grove, and are to be sold at his shop at Furnivalls Inn Gate in Holborn. 1629.   

The Actors names.  
Sir john Belfare. 
Richard Perkins.  Beauford, a passionate lover of Gratiana. 
Michael Bowyer.  Marwood friend to Beauford. 
john Sumpner.  Rawbone a thin Citizen. 
William Robins.  Lodam a fat Gentleman. 
William Sherlock.  justice Landby. 
Anthony Turner.  Captain Landby. 
William Allin.  Isaac, Sir John's man. 
William Wilbraham.  Haver a young Gentleman, lover of Mistress jane. 
john Young.  Chameleon, Rawbone's man. 
john Dobson.  Physician. 
 Keeper. 
 Surgeon. 
 servants. 
  
Gratiana, Sir John's Daughter. 
Hugh Clarke.  jane, justice Landbys daughter. 
john Page.  Milisent, Cardona's daughter. 
Edward Rogers.  Cardona. 
Tymothy Read.    

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful William Gowre, Esquire.  
SIR, I know you, and in that your worth, which I honour more than greatness in a Patron: This Comedy coming forth to take the air in Summer, desireth to walk under your shadow. The World oweth a perpetual remembrance to your name, for excellency in the Musical Art of Poesy, and your singular judgement and affection to it, have encouraged me to this Dedication, in which I cannot transgress beyond your Candour. It hath passed the Stage; and I doubt not but from you, it shall receive a kind welcome, since you have been pleased to acknowledge the Author.  
Yours. JAMES SHIRLEY.   


To his learned and much respected friend, Mr. james Shirley, upon his Wedding.  
AN enforced rapture, and high swelling phrase  
Doth only gaudy ignorance amaze;  
Conceits that yield judicious Writers glory,  
every the beauty of thy Comic Story:  
love's passion in smooth numbers is descried,  
Such as becomes the softness of a Bride.  
I want a poet's aery soul, to give  
Due praises to thy lines, which shall outlive  
The critic's spleen, the Atheists impious jest;  
A modest pen becomes the Muses best,  
And such is thine, as thy fair Wedding shows,  
Who Crowns thee not, a debt to knowledge owes.  
Edmond Colles.   

To his worthy Friend Mr. Shirley, upon his Nuptial Comedy.  
IS Beaumont dead? or slept he all this while,  
To teach the World the want of his smooth style?  
If he be dead, that part of him Divine  
By transmigration of his soul is thine:  
High is thy fancy, yet thy strain so sweet,  
Death would be loved in such a winding sheet:  
This Wedding needs no Offering, and thy worth  
Is above flattery, to set thee forth:  
From whose rich Muse thus Wedded, we shall see  
Many fair Children borne to poesy.  
Robert Harvey.   

In Hymeneum Ingeniosissimi Iacobi Shirley.  

Dies fugaci de siliunt pede  
Nec urna cviquam parcit, at improbae  
Vivit superstes fama morti,  
Nec gelidum metuit sepulchrum.  
O qui ingales flaws Hymen toros  
Ambis, coruscâ iam nitidus togâ  
Incede, Shirleiana laurus,  
Perpetuos tibi dat triumphos.  
Phoebus sacrata vellit ab arbore  
Ramum, modestas quo decoret comas  
Additque vatem Laureatis  
Sideribus, numerumque claudit.   

SPread fair thou growing Tree, with which in vain  
The winds do wrest: blemished with the stain  
Of impure life, some by atheistic rhymes,  
And witty surfeits, force these ruder times  
To fond amazement; but thy fair defence  
Rests in clear Art, and secure Innocence.  
As thou, thy Muse is chaste, on which no Rape  
Was ere by thee committed, learning's Ape  
Is frantic imitation; and the Bough  
That Crowns such Writers, withers on their brow:  
I gratulate thy Wedding; Love doth guide  
My friendly Muse, thus to salute thy Bride.   
William Habington.   

To my deserving friend Mr. james Shirley, upon his Comedy, the Wedding.  
THou needest not, friend, that any man for thee,  
Should to the World put in security.  
Thy Comedy is good; 'twill pass alone,  
And fair enough, without this ribbons shown  
Upon the forehead on't: if high raised passion  
Tempered with harmless mirth, in such sweet fashion,  
And with such harmony, as may invite  
Two faculties of soul, and both delight  
Deserve an approbation, in mine eye,  
Such in just value is this Comedy.  
Tho. May.   

Of this Ingenious Comedy the Wedding. To Mr. james Shirley the Author.  
THE Bonds are equal, and the Marriage fit,  
Where judgement is the Bride, the Husband wit;  
Wit hath begot, and judgement hath brought forth  
A noble issue, of delight, and worth,  
Grown in this Comedy to such a strength  
Of sweet perfection, as that not the length  
Of days, nor rage of malice, can have force  
To sue a nullity, or work divorce  
Between this well trimmed Wedding, and loud Fame,  
Which shall in every age, renew thy Name.  
john Ford.    

The Wedding.  

Actus Primi. Scoena Prima.  Enter Sir john Belfare, and Isaac his man, servants bringing in Provision. Belfare. 
WEll done my Masters, ye bestir yourselves, I see we shall feast tomorrow.  Ser. 
Your worship shall want no Woodcocks at the Wedding.  Isa. 
Thou hast as many as thou canst carry, and thirteen to the last dozen.  Bel. 
Isaac.  Isa. 
Sir.  Bel. 
Have you been careful, to invite those friends, you had direction for?  Isa. 
Yes sir, I have been a continual motion ever since I rise. I have not said my prayers today.  Bel. 
We shall want no guests then.  Isa. 
I have commanded most on'em.  Bel. 
How sir?  Isa. 
I ha' bid 'em sir, there's two in my list, will not fail to dine w'ee.  Bel. 
Who are they?  Isa. 
Master Rawbone, the young usurer.  Bel. 
Oh he's reported a good Trencherman,  
He has a tall stomach, he shall be welcome.  Isa. 
They say, he has made on Obligation to the Devil, if ever he eat a good meal at his own charge, his soul is forfeit.  Bel. 
How does he live live?  Isa. 
Upon his money sir.  Bel. 
He does not eat it.  Isa. 
No the Devil choke him, it were a golden age, if all the Usurers in London should ha' no other diet; he has a thin-gut waits upon him, I think, one of his bastards, be got upon a spider, I hope to live, to see 'em both drawn through a ring.  Bel. 
Who is the other?  Isa. 
The other may be known too, the barrel at Heidelberg was the pattern of his belly, Master Lodam sir.  Bel. 
he's a great man indeed.  Isa. 
Something given to the waste, for he lives within no reasonable compass I'm sure.  Bel. 
They will be well met.  Isa. 
But very ill matched to draw a Coach, yet at provender, there willbe scarce an Oat between the lean jade, and the fat Gelding.  Bel. 
How lives he?  Isa. 
Religiously sir; for he that seeds well, must by consequence live well, he holds none can be damned but lean men, for fat men he says must needs be saved by the faith of their body.  Enter Mr Beauford, and Captain Landby. Bel. 
Mr. Beauford and Captain Landby: Isaac, call forth my Daughter.  Beau. 
Sir john, I hope you make no stranger of me,  
Tomorrow, I shall change my title for  
Your son, soon as the holy rites shall make me  
The happy husband to your daughter, in the mean time  
It will become me wait on her.  Bel. 
I possess nothing but in trust for thee,  
Gratiana makes all thine.  Cap. 
I shall presume to follow.  Bel. 
Your friendship noble Captain to Mr. Beauford,  
Makes your person most welcome,  
Had you no other merit, pray enter. Exe. Bea. & Cap.  
Heaven hath already crowned my grey hairs!  
I live to see my daughter married  
To a noble husband, the envy of our time,  
And exact pattern of a Gentleman,  
As hopeful as the Spring, I am grown proud,  
Even in my age. Exit.  Enter Marwood. Mar. 
Dost hear sirrah?  Isa. 
I sirrah.  Mar. 
Is Master Beauford within?  Isa. 
No sir.  Mar. 
I was informed he came hither, is he not here?  Isa. 
Yes sir.  Mar. 
Thou sayst he's not within.  Is. 
No sir, but 'tis very like he willbe tomorrow night sir.  Mar. 
How is this?  Is. 
Would you have him be within before he is married.  Mar. 
Witty Groom, prithee invite him forth; say here's a friend  Is. 
Now you talk of inviting, I have two or three guests to invite yet: let me see.  Mar. 
Why dost not move?  Is. 
And you make much ado, I'll invite you: pray come to the. Wedding tomorrow. Exit.  Enter Sir john Belfare, Beauford, and Captain. Bel. 
'tis he.  Bea. 
You were my happy prospect from the window, coz you are a most welcome guest.  Bel. 
Mr. Marwood, you have been a great stranger to the City, or my house for the course entertainment you received, hath been unworthy of your visit.  Mar. 
'twas much above my desert sir: Captain.  Cap. 
I congratulate your return.  Bel. 
Beauford, Gentlemen enter my house,  
And perfect your embraces there: I lead the way. Exit.  Bea. 
Pray follow.  Mar. 
Your pardon.  Cap. 
We know you have other habit,  
You were not wont to affect ceremony. Mar. & Bea whisper.  Bea. 
How?  Cap. 
I do not like his present countenance,  
It does threaten somewhat; I would not prophesy.  Bea. 
Good Captain,  
Excuse my absence to our friends within,  
I have affairs concerns me with my kinsman,  
Which done, we both return to wait on 'em.  Cap. 
I shall sir.  Bea. 
Now proceed.  Mar. 
We are kinsmen.  Bea. 
More we are friends.  Mar. 
And shall I doubt to speak to Beauford any thing,  
My love directs me to?  Bea. 
What needs this circumstance?  
we were not wont to talk at such a distance,  
You appear wild.  Ma. 
I have been wild indeed  
In my ungoverned youth, but ha' reclaimed it,  
And am to laden with the memory of former errors,  
That I desire to be confessed.  Bea. 
Confessed? I am no Ghostly father.  Ma. 
But you must hear, you may absolve me too:  Bea. 
If thou hast any discontentments prithee take other time  
For their discourse, I am in expectation of Marriage,  
I would not interrupt my joys.  Ma. 
I must require your present hearing,  
'a concerns us both, as near as fame, or life.  Bea. 
Ha! what is it?  Ma. 
we shall have opportunity at your lodging,  
The streets are populous and full noise,  
So please you walk, I'll wait one you.  Bea. 
I'm your servant. Exeunt.  Enter justice Landby, and Milisent. Iust. 
Milisent. Where's my daughter?  Mil. 
In compliment with Mr. Rawbone, who is newly entered sir.  Iust. 
O there's a piece of folly.  
A thing made up of parchment and his bonds  
Are of more value than his soul and body,  
Were any man the purchaser, only wise  
In his hereditary trade of usury,  
Understands nothing but a scrivener,  
As if he were created for no use  
But to grow rich with interest, to his ignorance,  
He has the gift, of being impudent,  
What will he grow to, if he live, that is  
So young a monster?  Mil. 
With your favour sir  
If you hold no better opinion of this Citizen  
It puzzles, me why you invite him, to your house  
And entertainment, he pretending affection to your daughter,  
Pardon me sir if I seem bold.  Iust. 
As some men Milisent  
Do suffer spiders in their Chamber, while  
They count them profitable vermin.  Mil. 
But he's most like to scatter poison sir,  
Your fame is precious, and your family  
Not mingling with corrupted streams, hath like  
An entire River, still maintained his current  
Chaste, and delightful.  Iust. 
Shalt receive my bosom,  
I'll sooner match her with an Aethiop,  
Then give consent, she should disgrace our blood;  
And herein I but try her strength of judgement  
In giving him access; if she have lost  
Remembrance of her birth, and generous thoughts,  
She sucked from her dead mother, with my care  
I'll strive to reinforce her native goodness,  
Or quite divorce her from my blood: and Milisent  
I'll use your vigilance.  Mil. 
Sir command.  Iust. 
I will,  
Not urge how I received you first a stranger,  
Nor the condition of your life, with me,  
Above the nature of a servant, to  
Oblige your faith: I have observed thee honest.  Mil. 
You are full of noble thoughts.  Iust. 
Though I suspect not  
The obedience of my daughter, yet her youth  
Is apt to err, let me employ your eye  
Upon her still, and receive knowledge from you,  
How she dispenceth favours, you shall bind  
My love the stronger to you.  Mil. 
Sir, I shall be ambitions to deserve your favour  
Withal the duties of a servant, and  
I doubt not, but your Daughter is so full  
Of conscience, and care in the conformity  
Of her desires to your will, I shall  
Enrich my sight with observation,  
And make my intelligence happy.  Enter Cameleon. Iust. 
How now: what's he?  Mil. 
'tis Mr. Rawbone's squire.  Cam. 
Pray is not my Master's worship here?  Iust. 
Your Master's worship!  
What's that, his Spaniel?  Cam. 
No sir, but a thing that does follow him.  Iust. 
In what likeness,  
I hope he does not converse with spirits.  Cam. 
he'll not entertain an Angel,  
But he will weigh him first, indeed  
I am all the spirits that belong to him.  Mil. 
So I think, but none of his familiar.  Iust. 
What's thy name?  Cam. 
Chameleon.  Iust. 
Good; didst ever eat?  Cam. 
Yes once.  Iust. 
And than thou caught'st a surfeit,  
thou couldst ne'er endure meat since: were't ever christened.  Cam. 
Yes twice, first in my infancy,  
And the last time about a year ago,  
When I should have been prentice to an Anabaptist.  Iust. 
Does thy Master love thee?  Cam. 
Yes, for, and I would gold I might have it,  
But my stomach would better digest beef, or mutton,  
If there be any such things in nature.  Mil. 
Here is his Master sir, and Mistress jane.  Enter Rawbone, and jane. Raw. 
How now Chameleon, hast dined?  Cam. 
Yes sir,  
I had a delicate fresh air to dinner.  Raw. 
And yet thou look'st as thou hadst eat nothing this se'night, here provide me a Capon, and half a dozen of Pigeons to supper, and when will your worship come home, and taste my Hospitality.  Ian. 
When you please sir,  Raw. 
Yet now I think on't,  
I must feed more sparingly.  Ian. 
More liberally in my opinion.  Raw. 
Would not anybody in the world think so? did you ever see two such earwigs as my man and I: do we not look like.  Ian. 
I think the picture of either o'your faces in a ring, with a Memento mors, would be as sufficient a mortification, as lying with an Anatomy.  Raw. 
The reason why we are so lean and consumed, is nothing, but eating too much: Chameleon now I think on't, let the pigeons alone, the Capon will be enough for thee and I.  Cam. 
The rump would last us a se'night.  Raw. 
I tell you forsooth, I ha' brought myself so low, with a great diet, that I must be temperate, or the Doctor says there's no way but one wi'me.  Cam. 
That's not the way of all flesh I'm sure.  Raw. 
It is a shame to say, what we eat every day.  Ian. 
I think so.  Cam. 
By this hand: if it would bear an oath: we have had nothing this two days but half a Lark; which by a mischance the Cat had killed too, the Cage being open: I will provide my belly another Master.  Iust. 
Now I'll interrupt 'em Master Rawbone.  Raw. 
I hope your Worship will repinie my boldness,  
'tis out of love to your daughter.  Iust. 
Sir, I have a business to you, a friend of mine upon some necessity would take up a hundred pounds.  Raw. 
I'll pawn some ounces to pleasure him.  Iust. 
It is more friendly said than I expected.  Raw. 
So he bring me good security, some three or  
four, or five sufficient and able Citizens, for  
Mortality's sake, I'll lend it him.  Iust. 
Will you not take an honest man's word.  Raw. 
Few words to the wise, I will take any man's word to owe me a hundred pound, but not a lord's to pay me fifty.  Iust. 
Well: 'tis courtesy.  Raw. 
He shall pay nothing to me but lawful consideration from time to time, beside the charges of th'ensealing, because he is your friend.  Iust. 
This is extremity, can you require more?  Raw. 
More? what's eight in the hundred to me? my Scriveners knows, I have taken forty and fifty in the hundred vijs and modis of my own kinsmen, when they were in necessity.  Iust. 
I apprehend the favour.  Enter Isaac. 
How now Isaac?  Is. 
My master commends his love to you sir, and does desire your presence together with your Daughter and Nephew, at the arraignment of my young mistress tomorrow.  Iust. 
How knave?  Is. 
she is to be married or arraigned, i'th' morning, and at night to suffer execution and lose her head.  Iust. 
Return our thanks, and say we'll wait upon the Bride jane. Exeunt justice and jane.  Is. 
Dear Master Rawbone, I do beseech you be at these Sessions.  Raw. 
Thou didst invite me before.  Is. 
I know it, but our Cock has a great mind, that sentence should likewise pass upon the roast, the boiled, and the baked, and he fears unless you be a Commissioner, the meat will hardly be condemned tomorrow, so that I can never often enough desire your stomach to remember, you will come.  Raw. 
Dost think I won't keep my word?  Is. 
Alas, we have nothing, but good cheer to entertain you, I beseech you sir howsoever to feast with us, though you go away after dinner.  Raw. 
There's my hand—  Isa. 
I thank you.  Raw. 
Is master justice gone, and mistress jane too? follow me Chameleon. I'll take my leave when I come again.  Mil. 
Isaac.  Isa. 
My little wit, thou wilt come with thy master tomorrow, I'll reserve a bottle of wine to warm thy sconce.  Mil. 
I cannot promise.  Isa. 
If I durst stay three minutes, I would venture a cup with thee i'th' buttery, but 'tis a busy time at home: 
Farewell Milisent. Exit.   Mil. 
Marriage as much joy wait upon the Bride,  
As the remembrance of it brings me sorrow,  
A woman has undone me, when I die  
A Coffin will enclose this misery. Exit.  Enter Beauford and Marwood. Beau. 
You prepare me for some wonder.  Mar. 
I do:  
And ere I come to the period of my Story,  
Your understanding will admire.  Beau. 
Teach my soul the way.  Mar. 
I am not coz i'th' number of those friends  
Come to congratulate your present marriage.  Beau. 
Ha?  Mar. 
I am no flatterer, the blood you carry  
Doth warm my veins, yet could nature be  
Forgetful and remove itself, the love  
I owe your merit, doth oblige me, to  
Relation of a truth which else would fire  
My bosom with concealment. I am come  
To divide your soul, ravish all your pleasures,  
Poison the very air maintains your breathing,  
You must not marry.  Beau. 
Must not? though as I  
Am mortal I may be compelled within  
A pair of minutes to turn ashes, yet  
My soul already Bridegroom to her virtue,  
Shall laugh at Death that would unmarry us,  
And call her mine eternally.  Mar. 
Death is  
A mockery to that divorce I bring,  
Come you must not love her.  Beau, 
Did I hope thou couldst  
Give me a reason, I would ask one.  Mar. 
Do not,  
I will too soon arrive, and make you curse  
Your knowledge, couldst exchange thy temper for  
An angels, at the hearing of this reason,  
'Twould make you passionate, and turn man again.  Beau. 
Can there be reason for a sin so great,  
As changing my affection from Gratiana?  
Name it, and reach me how to be a monster,  
For I must lose humanity, oh Marwood,  
Thou lead'st me into a Wilderness, she is—  Mar. 
False, sinful, a black soul she has.  Bea. 
Thou hast a hell about thee, and thy language  
Speaks thee a Devil, that to blast her innocence  
Dost belch these vapours: to say thou liest,  
Were to admit, thou hast but made in this  
A humane error, when thy sin hath aimed  
The fall of goodness. Gratiana false?  
The snow shall turn a Salamander first  
And dwell in fire; the air retreat, and leave  
An emptiness in nature, angels be  
Corrupt, and bribed by mortals sell their charity  
Her innocence is such, that wert thou Marwood  
For this offence condemned to lodge in flames,  
It would for ever cure thy burning fever,  
If with thy sorrow thou procure her shed  
One tear upon thee, now, thou art lost for ever,  
And armed thus, though with thousand furies guarded,  
I reach thy heart. Draws:  Mar 
Stay Beauford,  
Since you dare be so confident of her chastity  
Hear me conclude, I bring no idle fable  
Patched up between suspicion, and report  
Of scandalous tongues, my ears were no assurance  
To convince me without my eyes.  Bea. 
What horror!  
Be more particular:  Mar. 
I did prophesy,  
That it would come to this, for I have had  
A tedious struggling with my nature, but  
The name of friend o'erbalanced the exception:  
Forgive me Ladies, that my love to man  
Hath power to make me guilty of such language,  
As with it, must betray a woman's honour:  Bea. 
You torture me, be brief.  Mar. 
Then, though it carry shame to the reporters,  
Forgive me heaven, and witness an unwelcome truth.  Bea. 
Stay, I am too hasty for the knowledge  
Of something thou preparest for my destruction,  
May I not think what 'tis, and kill myself?  
Or at least by degrees, with apprehending  
Some strange thing done, infect my fancy with  
Opinion first, and so dispose myself  
To death? I cannot, when I think of Gratiana  
I entertain a heaven: the worst, I'll hear it.  Mar. 
It will enlarge itself too soon, receive it;  
I have enjoyed her.  Bea. 
Whom?  Mar. 
Gratiana sinfully, before your love  
Made she and you acquainted.  Bea. 
Ha? thoust kept thy word thou canst so poison all  
My comfort.  Mar. 
Your friendship I ha' preferred  
To my own fame, and but to save you from  
A lasting shipwreck, noble Beauford, think  
It should have rotted here, she that will part  
With Virgin honour, ne'er should wed the heart.  Bea. 
Was ever woman good, and Gratiana  
Vicious? lost to honour? at the instant  
When I expected all my Harvest ripe.  
The golden Summer tempting me to reap  
The well grown ears, comes an impetuous storm  
Destroys an ages hope in a short minute,  
And lets me live, the copy of man's frailty:  
Surely, some one of all the female sex,  
Engrossed the virtues, and fled hence to Heaven,  
Left womankind dissemblers.  Mar. 
Sir, make use  
Of reason, 'tis a knowledge should rejoice you,  
Since it does teach you to preserve yourself.  Bea. 
Enjoyed Gratiana sinfully, 'tis a sound  
Able to kill with horror; it infects  
The very air, I see it like a mist  
Dwell round about, that I could uncreate  
myself, or be forgotten, no remembrance  
That ever I loved woman: I have no  
Genius left to instruct me— it grows late:  
Within—  
Wait o'my kinsman to his Chamber,  
I shall desire your rest, pray give me leave  
To think a little—  Mar. 
x: I repent  
I have been so open breasted, since you make  
This severe use on't, and afflict your mind  
With womanish sorrow, I have but cautioned you  
Against a danger, out of my true friendship:  
Prosper me goodness as my ends are noble:  
Goodnight, collect yourself, and be a man. Exit.  Bea. 
And why may not a kinsman be a villain?  
Perhaps he loves Gratiana, and envying  
My happiness, doth now traduce her chastity  
To find this out, time will allow but narrow  
Limits: His last words bade me be a man.  
A man? yes I have my soul, t'does not become  
A manly resolution to be tame thus,  
And give up the opinion of his mistress  
For one man's accusat on;— ha: i'th' morning?  
Proper. Yes Marwood I will be a man:  
His sword, shall either make past the sense  
Of this affliction. or mine enforce  
A truth from him, if thou beest wronged Gratiana  
I'll ye thy Martyr, but if false, in this  
I gain to die, not live a sacrifice. Exit.   

Actus Secundi. Scena Prima.  Enter Cardona, and Isaac. Car. 
To the tailor's man, run.  Isa. 
To the tailor's man,  
Why not to his master?  Car. 
The Wedding clothes not brought  
Home yet, fie, fie.  Isa. 
who would trust of woman's tailor, take measure so long before of a Gentlewoman, and not bring home his commodity, there's no conscience in't.  Car. 
The arrant Shoemaker too.  Isa. 
Master Hide, is not he, come yet I called upon him yesterday, to make haste of my Mistress's shoes, and he told me, he was about the upper leather, he would be at her heels presently, I left his foot in the stirrup, I thought he would have rid post after me.  Car. 
Prithee Isaac, make haste, how tedious thouart, hast not thou been there yet.  Isa. 
Oh yes, and here again, d'ye not see me, you are so light yourself.  Car. 
As thou goest, call upon Cod the Perfumer, tell him he uses us sweetly, has not brought home the gloves yet.— and dost hear? when thouart at the Peacock remember to call for the sprig, by the same token I left my fan to be mended:— and dost hear? when thouart there, 'tis but a little out of the way, to run to the Devil, and bid the Vintner make haste with the runlets of Claret, we shall ha' no time to burn it.  Isa. 
You need not if it come from Devil, methinks that Wine should burn itself.  Car. 
Run I prithee.  Isa. 
tailors, Shoemakers, Perfumers, Feather-makers, and the Devil and all, what a many occupations does a woman run through, before she is married. Exit.  Car. 
Fie upon't what a perplexity is about a Wedding, I might have been thus troubled for a child of my own, if good luck had served.  

— Within. Cardona.   Car. 
I come Ladybird. Exit.  Enter Beauford and Marwood. Mar. 
Was this your purpose.  Bea, 
This place of all the Park affords most privacy.  
Nature has placed the trees to imitate  
A Roman Amphitheatre.  Mar. 
We must be the sword-players.  Bea. 
Draw, imagine all  
These trees were Cypress, the companions of  
Our funeral, for one or both must go  
To a dark habitation, methinks  
We two, are like to some unguided men,  
That having wandered all the day in a  
Wild unknown path, at night walk down into  
A hollow grot, a cave which never Star  
Durst look into, made in contempt of light  
By nature, which the Moon did never yet  
Befriend with any melancholy beam:  
Oh x thou hast led me, where I never  
Shall see day move.  Mar. 
This is the way to make it  
A night indeed, but if you recollect  
yourself, I brought you beams to let you see  
The horror of that darkness you are going to,  
By marrying with Gratiana.  Bea. 
That name  
Awakes my resolution, consume not  
Thy breath too idly, thoust but a small time  
For th'use on't, either employ it in the unsaying  
Thy wrong to Gratiana, or thou hastens  
Thy last minute.  Mar. 
I must tell Beauford them,  
He is ungrateful to return so ill  
My friendship, have I undervalued  
My shame in the relation of a truth,  
To make the man I wooed preserve, my enemy:  
Why dost thou tempt thy destiny with so  
Much sin? dost think I were a sword I dare  
Not manage? or that I can be enforced  
To a revolt? I am no Rebel Beauford:  
again I must confirm Gratiana's honour  
Stained, the treasures of her chastity  
Rifled, and lost, 'twas my unhappiness  
To have added that, unto my other sins  
i'th' wildness of my blood, which thou mayst punish.  Bea. 
Thou hast repeated, but the same in  
Substance touching Gratiana.  Mar. 
Truth is ever constant  
reimains upon her square, firm, and unshaken.  Beau. 
If what thou hast affirmed be true, why should  
We fight, be cruel to ourselves, endanger  
Our eternity, for the error of  
One frail woman? let our swords expect  
A nobler cause. What man hath such assurance  
In any woman's faith, that he should run  
A desperate hazard of his soul? I know  
Women are not borne angels, but created  
With passion and temper like to us,  
And men are apt to err, and louse themselves  
Caught with the soul of wanton beauty, fettered  
Even with their mistress's hair  Mar. 
I like this well. aside.  Beau. 
He has a handsome presence and discourse,  
Two subtle charms to tempt a woman's frailty,  
Who must be governed by their eye or ear  
To love, beside my kinsman hath been taxed.  
For being too prompt in wantonness, this confirms it  
Then farewell woman kind.  Mar. 
This does become you.  Bea. 
Why should we fight, our letting blood wo'not  
Cure her, and make her honour white again:  
We are friends, repent thy sin, and marry her.  Mar. 
Whom?  Beau. 
Gratiana.  Mar. 
How Sir, marry her?  Bea. 
Why canst tho add to it another crime,  
By a refusing to repair the ruins  
Of that chaste temple, thou hadst violated?  
Her Virgin tapers are by thee extinct,  
No odour of her chastity, which once  
Gave a perfume to Heaven, and and did refresh  
Her innocent soul, they that have spoilt virginity,  
Do half restore the treasures they took thence  
By sacred marriage.  Mar. 
Marriage, with whom?  Bea. 
Gratiana.  Mar. 
Should I marry a whore?  Bea. 
Thou liest, and with a guilt upon thy soul,  
Able to sink thee to damnation, draws again.  
I'll send thee hence; a whore? what woman  
Was ever bad enough to deserve that name?  
Salute some native fury, or a wretch  
Condemned already to hell's tortures by it,  
Not Gratiana; thoust awakened justice,  
And given it eyes to see thy treachery,  
The depth of thy malicious heart, that word, hath  
Disenchanted me.  Mar. 
Are you serious?  Bea. 
How have I fined in my credulity  
'Gainst virtue, all this while? what charm bound up  
My understanding part, I should admit  
A possibility, for her to carry  
So black a soul; though all her sex beside  
Had fallen from their creation? thou hast  
Not life enough to forfeit, what an advantage  
To fame and goodness had been lost.  Mar. 
Will you fight?  Beau. 
Wert thou defenced with circular fire, more  
Subtle than the lightning, that I knew would ravish  
My heart, and marrow from me, yet I should  
Neglect the danger, and but singly armed,  
Fly to revenge thy calumny: a whore— come on sir.  
thouart wounded: ha? Fight.  Mar. 
Mortally, fly Beauford, save thyself, I hasten to the dead.  Beau. 
Oh stay a while, or thou wilt lose us both,  
Thy wound I cannot call back, now there is  
No dallying with heaven, but thou pull'st on thee  
Double confusion, leave a truth behind thee,  
As thou wouldst hope rest to thy parting soul,  
Hast thou not wronged Gratiana?  Mar. 
Yes, in my lust, but not in my report,  
Take my last breath, I sinfully enjoyed her, One hollows within.  
Gratiana is a blotted piece of alabaster:  
Farewell lest some betray thee, heaven forgive  
My offence, as I do freely pardon thine.  Beau. 
I cannot long survive,—  
Is there no hope thou mayst recover?  Mar. 
Oh!  Beau. 
Farewell for ever then, with thy short breath  
May all thy ills conclude, mine but begin  
To muster, life and I shall quickly part,  
I feel a sorrow will break Beauford's heart. Exit.  Enter Keeper and Servant. Ser. 
There are coney-stealers abroad sir.  Keeper. 
These whoreson rabbit suckers  
Will ne'er leave the ground.  Ser. 
In my walk last night, I frighted some on 'em.  
Pox a these vermin, would they were all destroyed.  Keeper. 
So we may chance to keep no deer.  Ser. 
Why so?  Kee. 
An old coney stops a knave's mouth sometimes.  
That else would be gaping for Venison.  Mar. 
Oh.  Keeper. 
whose's that?  Servant. 
Here's a Gentleman wounded.  Keeper. 
Ha?  Servant. 
He has bled much.  Keeper. 
How came you hurt sir? no,  
Not speak? if he be not past hope, let us  
Carry him to my lodge, my wife is a  
Piece of a Surgeon, has been fortunate  
In some cures: tear a piece of thy shirt Raph,  
To bind his wound quickly:— so, so, alas  
Poor Gentleman, he may hue to be dressed, and tell  
Who has done this misfortune: gently Exe. carry him in.  
Honest Raph, he has some breath yet:  
Would I had my bloodhound here.  Enter Sir john Belfare justice Landby, and his daughter jane, Isaac waiting. Bel. 
You're welcome Mr Landby, and mistress jane.  
Where's the young Captain sir your Nephew?  Justice 
He went betimes to wait upon the bridegroom.  Bel. 
They are inseparable friends, as they had  
Divided hearts, they both are glad, when either  
Meet a good fortune.  jane. 
I'll be bold to see your daughter.  Bel. 
Do mistress jane, she has  
Her maids blush yet, she'll make you amends for this,  
And ere't be long I hope 'dance at your wedding. Exit jane.  Iust. 
I wish you many joy's sir by this marriage:  
Your daughter ha' made discreet election,  
She'll have a hopeful Gentleman.  Bel. 
Master Landby,  
It would refresh my age to see her fruitful to him,  
I should find a blessing for a young  
Beauford, and be glad to dandle him, the  
First news of a boy borne by my daughter  
Would set me back seven years: O Master Landby,  
Old men do never truly dote, until  
Their children bring 'em babies.  Enter Mr. Rawbone, and Haver as his servant. Isa. 
Master Rawbone, I'll be bold to present you  
With a piece of Rosemary, we ha' such cheer.  Raw. 
Honest Isaac.  Isa. 
Pray do you belong to Master Rawbone?  Hau 
Yes sir.  Isa. 
You have eat something in your days.  Hau. 
Why prithee?  Isa 
Nothing, nothing,  
D''ee understand nothing, you shall eat nothing:  
Unless some Benefactors like my master,  
In pity of your bellies once a year  
Do warm it with a dinner, you must never  
Hope to see roast, of sod; he has within  
This twelvemonth to my knowledge  
Made seven men immortal.  Hau. 
How?  Isa. 
Yes, he has made spirits on 'em,  
And they haunt such men's houses as my masters,  
Spirits o'th' buttery, let me counsel ye  
To cram your corpses today, for by his Almanac  
There's a long Lent a coming.  Bel. 
Never see me,  
But when you are invited.  Raw. 
'Las I had  
Rather eat a piece of cold Capon at home,  
Than be troublesome abroad. I hope forsooth  
Mistress jane is as she should be.  Justice 
She is in health:  Bel. 
Y'ave a fresh servant master Rawbone,  
A proper fellow, and maintains himself  
Handsomely.  Raw. 
And he would not ha' maintained  
Himself, I had never entertained him.  Isa. 
Where's Chameleon?  Raw. 
I ha' preferred him Isaac.  Isa. 
How?  Raw. 
Turned him away last night,  
And took this stripling.  Enter Captain. Cap. 
Morrow sir john, where is the early Bridegroom?  Iust. 
Came not you from him?  Bel. 
We expect him sir, every minute.  Cap. 
Not yet come? his servants told me  
He went abroad before the morning blushed.  Rel. 
We ha' not seen him, pray heaven  
He be in health.  Cap. 
I wonder at his absence.  Raw. 
Captain Landby, young man of war, I do  
Salute thee with a broadside.  Cap. 
D''ee hear, they  
Say you come a-wooing to my x,  
That day you marry her, I'll cut your throat,  
Keep't to yourself.  Hau. 
Thou art a noble fellow; things may prosper.  Cap. 
You come hither to wish God give 'em joy now.  Raw. 
Yes marry do I.  Cap. 
You do lie, you come to  
Scour your dirty maw with the good cheer,  
Which will be damned in your lean Barathrum,  
That kitchen-stuff devourer.  Raw. 
Why should you  
Say so Captain? my belly did ne'er think  
You any harm.  Cap. 
When it does vomit up thy heart  
I'll praise it, in the mean time would  
Every bit thou eatst today, were steeped  
In Aqua fortis.  Raw. 
What is that jasper?  Hau. 
It is strong water.  Raw. 
Noble Captain, thanks i'faith heartily:  
I was afraid you had been angry.  Cap. 
I'll ha' thee sowed up in a  
Moneybag, and boiled to jelly.  Raw. 
You shall ha' me at your service,  
And my bags too, upon good security:  
Is not this better than quarrelling, jasper,—  Enter Cardona. Car. 
Is not the Bridegroom come yet, sure he has over slept himself, there is nothing but wondering within, all the maids are in uproar, one says he is a slow thing, another says, she knows not what to say, but they all conclude, if ever they marry, they'll make it in their bargain to be sure of all things before matrimony, fie upon him, if I were to be his wife, I'd show him a trick for't, ere a year came about, or it should cost me a fall, I warrant him. Exit.  Iust. 
Sir john you're troubled.  Bel. 
Can you blame me sir:  
I would not have our morning's expectation  
Frustrate— I know not what to think.  Iust. 
Sir, fear not.  Bel. 
The morn grows old.  Iust. 
Hymen has long tapers.  Bel. 
What should procure his absence; he departed  
But oddly yesterday.  Cap. 
Marwood had engaged him,  
They promised to return.  Bel. 
But we see neither.  Iust. 
They'll come together, make it not your fear,  
Beauford's a Gentleman, and cannot be  
Guilty of doing such affront, unless  
Some misfortune—  Bel. 
That's another jealousy.  Enter Lodam, Cameleon waiting upon him. Lod. 
Where is Sir john Belfare?  Bel. 
Ha? Master Lodam,  
Welcome.  Lod. 
I congratulate.—  Bel. 
Saw you master Beauford sir.  Lod. 
Yes I saw him, but—  Iust. 
But what?  Lod. 
I know not how he does,  
Where is the Lady that must be undone tonight,  
Your daughter?  Bel. 
My daughter undone, name what unhappiness,  
My heart already doth begin to prophesy  
How unkind fate, name what disaster, give it  
Expression pray, what is the news?  Lod. 
The news?  
Why would ye know the news? 'tis none a'ch best.  Iust. 
Be temperate then in your relation.  Bel. 
What is't?  Lod. 
They say for certain,  
There were four and twenty Colliers cast away,  
Coming from Newcastle 'tis cold news i'th' City,  
But there is worse news abroad.  Bel. 
Doth it concern my knowledge? trifle not.  Lod. 
They say that Canary sack, must dance  
Again to the Apothecaries, and be sold for  
Physic, in hum-glasses, and thimbles, that the  
Spaw-water must be transported hither, and  
Be drunk instead of French wines:  
For my part, I am but one.  Hau. 
Big enough for two.  Lod. 
This citadel may endure as long a siege  
As another, if the pride of my flesh must be  
Pulled down, farewell it 'thas done me  
Service this forty year: let it go.  Bel. 
Saw you master Beauford?  Lod. 
Yes Sir john,  
I saw him but— 'twas three days ago.  Cap. 
He is ridiculous.  Iust. 
Do not afflict yourself,  
He will give a fair account at his return.  Bel. 
Pray heaven he may:  Enter Gratiana, jane, and Cardona. 
My daughter.  Raw. 
Sir, I desire to be acquainted with you.  Lod. 
I have no stomach sir to your acquaintance,  
You are a thought too lean.  Raw. 
And you a bit too fat.  Bel. 
Dost not wonder girl at Beauford's absence?  Grats. 
Not at all sir, I am not now to learn  
Opinion of his nobleness; and I hope  
Your judgements will not permit you sin so much  
To censure him for this stay. Fair morning  
To master Landby, noble Captain, master  
Lodam, and the rest.  Raw. 
I am so little  
She cannot see me, give you joy forsooth,  
I hope it is your destiny to be married.  Cap. 
And yours to be hanged.  Raw. 
How sir.  Hau. 
No harm,  
He wishes you long life.  Raw. 
A long halter he does,  
What to be hanged.  Hau. 
'las sir he knows you ha' no flesh to burden you,  
Light at a feather, hanging will ne'er kill you,  
If he had wished sir master Lodam hanged.  Raw. 
Then, I'll to him and thank him;  
But here's mistress jane.  Cap. 
You shall command me as your servant.— sirrah. Exit. As he goes out, he sees Rawb. court jane.  Raw. 
I did but ask her how she did, I said  
Never a word to her: Pox upon his bouncing  
I am as fearful of him as of a Gun,  
He does so powder me.  Grati. 
We have not seen  
You sir, this great while, you fall away methinks.  Lod 
Losing Lodam I.  Grati. 
You are not the least welcome sir.  Lod. 
I do give you great thank, and do mean to dance at your Wedding for't, I do marvel Master Beauford is not earlier, I should ha' been here with music Lady, and have fiddled you too, before you were up, these lean Lovers, ha' nothing in 'em, slow men of London.  Bel. 
Gratiana. Lod spies jane.  Lod. 
Who's this? she has a mortal eye.  Isa. 
Chameleon? How now turned away your master.  Cam. 
No, I sold my place; as I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offered me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my Master for him, I took him at his word, and resigned my Office, and turned over my hunger to him immediately; now I serve a man, Isaac.  Bel. 
Isaac.— Exit Isaac as sent off.  Lod. 
I do foresee a fall of this tower already,  
Love begins to undermine it.  
Mistress, a word in private.  Raw. 
jasper hast a sword.  Hau. 
Yes sir.  Raw. 
That's well, let it alone:  
Didst see this paunch affront me?  Hau. 
He did it in love to the Gentlewoman.  Raw. 
In love? let me see the sword again. Draws.  
would 'twere in his belly— put it up,  
Thou deservest a good blade, 'tis so well kept.  Enter Isaac. Isa. 
Master Beauford, master Beauford.  Bel. 
Where?  Isa. 
Hard by, within a stone's cast a my  
Mistress, here sit here. Enter Beauford.  Grat. 
My dearest Beauford, where hast been so long?  Bea. 
Oh Gratiana.  Grat. 
Are you not in health?  Bel. 
Not well, 'tis then no time to chide:  
How fare you sir?  Bea. 
I have a trouble at my heart: pardon  
The trespass o' your patience Gentlemen,  
He publish the occasion of my absence,  
So first, you give me leave, to unlade it here;  
But with your favour, I desire I may  
Exempt all ears, but Gratiana's, till  
A short time ripen it for your knowledge.  Bel. 
Ha?  Iust. 
Let's leave 'em then a while.  Bel. 
Into the Garden Gentlemen.  Raw. 
With all my heart:  
In my conscience the 'I'll be honest together.  Bel. 
This begets my wonder, master Lodam.  Lod. 
Good sir john, I'll wait upon you,  
It is dinner time. Exeunt.  Bea. 
I have not time to dwell on circumstance,  
I come to take my last leave, you and I  
Must never meet again.  Grat. 
What language do I hear,  
If Beauford it should strike me dead?  Bea. 
This day, I had designed for marriage, but I must  
Pronounce we are eternally divorced:  
Oh Gratiana, thou hast made a wound  
Beyond the cure of Surgery, why did nature  
Empty her treasure in thy face, and leave thee  
A black prodigious soul?  Grat. 
Defend me goodness!  Bea. 
Call upon darkness, to obscure thee rather,  
That never more thou mayst be seen by mortal,  
Get thee some dwelling in a mist, or in  
A wild forsaken earth, a Wilderness,  
Where thou mayst hide thyself, and die forgotten.  Grat. 
Where was I lost name what offence provoked  
This heavy doom, dear Beauford, be not so  
Injust, to sentence me, before I know  
What is my crime, or if you will not tell  
What sin it is, I have committed, great,  
And horrid, as your anger; let me study,  
I'll count 'em all before you, never did  
Penitent, in confession, strip the soul  
More naked, I'll unclasp my book of conscience,  
You shall read over my heart, and if you find  
In that great Volume, but one single thought  
Which concerned you, and did not end with some  
Good prayer for you: Oh be just and kill me.  Bea. 
Be just, and tell thy conscience, thoust abused it  
False woman, why dost thou increase thy horror?  
By the obscuring a misdeed, which would  
Were all thy other sins forgiven, undo thee  
Oh Gratiana, thou art.—  Grat. 
What am I?  Bea. 
A thing I would not name, it sound so fearfully,  
'Twould make a Devil blush, to be saluted  
By that, which thou must answer to.  Grat. 
I fear—  Bea. 
That fear betrays thy guilt, tell me Gratiana  
What didst thou see in me to make thee think  
I was not worthy of thee, at thy best  
And richest value, when thou were as white  
In soul, as beauty? for sure, once thou wert so:  
Hadst thou so cheap opinion of my birth,  
My breeding, or my fortunes, that none else  
Could serve for property of your lust, but I?  Grat. 
Dear Beauford hear me.  Bea. 
A common father to thy sin-got issue,  
A patron of thy rifled, unchaste womb?  
Oh thou wert cruel, to reward so ill  
The heart that truly honoured thee: thy name  
Which sweetened once the breath of him that spoke it,  
And musically charmed the gentle ear;  
Shall sound hereafter like a screech-owl's note,  
And fright the hearer; Virgins shall lament  
That thou hast shamed their chaste society,  
And oft as Hymen lights his tapers up,  
At the remembrance of thy name, shed tears,  
And blush for thy dishonour: from this minute,  
Thy friends shall count thee desperately sick,  
And whensoe'er thou goest abroad, that day  
The maids and matrons, thinking thou art dead,  
And going to the grave, shall all come forth  
And wait like mourners on thee.  Grat. 
ha' ye done?  
Then hear me a few syllables, you have  
Suspicion that I am dishonoured.  Bea. 
No,  
By heaven I have not, I have too much knowledge  
To suspect thee sinful, but in the assurance  
Of it, I must disclaim thy heart for ever:  
Gratiana my opinion of thy whiteness  
Hath made my soul, as black as thine already;  
Weep till thou wash away thy stain, and then,  
i'th' other world, we two, may meet again. Exit.  Grat. 
Weep inward eyes, hither your streams impart,  
For sure, I have tears enough, to drown my heart. Exit.   

Actus Tertij. Scena Prima.  Enter Beauford and Captain. Cap. 
You amaze me Beauford, Gratiana false?  
I shall suspect the truth of my conception,  
And think all women monsters, though I never  
Loved with that nearness of affection  
To marry any, yet I mourn they should  
Fall from their virtue, why may not Marwood  
Injure her goodness?  Beau. 
What, and dam his soul?  
Shall I think any with his dying breath  
Would shipwreck his last hope? he mixed it with  
His prayers, when in the stream of his own blood,  
His soul was launching forth.  Cap. 
That circumstance takes away all suspicion again,  
Where left you Marwood?  Bea. 
I'the Park.  Cap. 
Quite dead?  Beau. 
Hopeless, his weapon might have proved so happy,  
To have released me of a burden too;  
And but that manhood, and the care of my  
Eternity forbids, I would force out  
That which but wearies me to carry it,  
Unwelcome life?  Cap. 
Would he were buried,  
My fears perplex me for you; though none see  
You fight, the circumstance must needs  
Betray you: what's he. Enter a Surgeon.  Sur. 
I would borrow your ear in private.  Beau. 
We are but one to hear, his love hath  
Made him? to great a part of my affliction:  
Speak it.  Sur. 
The body is taken thence.  Beau. 
Ha.  Sur. 
I cannot be deceived sir: I beheld  
Too plain a demonstration of the place;  
But he that suffered such a loss of blood,  
Had not enough to maintain life till this time,  
Which way soe'er his body was conveyed:  
I must conclude it short lived, I am sorry  
I could not serve you.  Beau. 
Sir,— I thank you,  
You deserve I should be grateful: gives him money.  
It must be so— Exit Surgeon.  Cap. 
What fellow's this?  Beau. 
A Surgeon.  Cap. 
Dare you trust him?  Beau. 
Yes, with my life.  Cap. 
You have done that already in your discovery.  
Pray heaven he prove your friend.  
You must resolve for flight, ye shall take ship—  Beau. 
Never.  Cap. 
Will you ruin yourself? there's no security—  Beau. 
There is not Captain,  
Therefore I'll not change my air.  Cap. 
How?  Beau. 
Unless thou canst instruct me how to fly from  
myself, for wheresoever else I wander,  
I shall but carry my accuser with me.  Captain 
Are you mad?  Beau. 
I have heard in Afric, is a tree, which tasted  
By travellers, it breeds forgetfulness  
Of their Country, canst direct me thither?  
Yet 'twere in vain, unless it can extinguish,  
And drown the remembrance I am Beauford:  
No— I'll not move, let those poor things that dare not  
Die, obey their fears, I will expect my fate here.  Cap. 
This is wildness,  
A desperate folly, pray be sensible:—  
whose's this, 'tis Gratiana.  Enter Gratiana with a Cabinet of jewels. Bea. 
Ha, farewell.  Cam. 
You shall stay now a little.  Bea. 
I will not hear an accent, I shall lose  
My memory, be charmed into belief  
That she is honest with her voice, I dare not  
Trust my frailty with her.  Cam. 
She speaks nothing,  
Is all a weeping Niobe, a statue,  
Or in this posture, doth she not present  
A water Nymph, placed in the midst of some  
Fair Garden, like a Fountain to dispense  
Her Crystal streams upon the flowers? which cannot  
But so refreshed, look up, and seem to smile  
Upon the eyes that feed 'em:  
Will she speak?  Grat. 
Though by the effusion of my tears, you may  
Conclude, I bring nothing but sorrow with me,  
Yet hear me speak, I come not to disturb  
Your thoughts, or with one bold and daring language  
Say how unjust you make my sufferings:  
I know not what  
Hath raised this mighty storm to my destruction,  
But I obey your doom, and after this,  
Will never see you more. First I release  
And give you back your vows; with them, your heart,  
Which I had locked up in my own, and cherished  
Better, mine I'm sure does bleed to part with't,  
All that is left of yours, this Cabinet  
Delivers back to your possession,  
There's every jewel you bestowed upon me,  
The pledges once of love.  Bea. 
Pray keep 'em.  Grat. 
They are not mine, since I have lost the opinion  
Of what I was, indeed I have nothing else,  
I would not keep the kisses, once you gave me,  
If you would let me pay them back again.  Beau. 
All women is a labyrinth, we can,  
Measure the height of any star, point out  
All the dimensions of the earth, examine  
The Seas large womb, and sounds its subtle depth,  
But art will ne'er be able to find out,  
A demonstration of a woman's heart,  
Thou hast enough undone me, make me not  
More miserable, to believe thou canst be virtuous:  
Farewell, enjoy you this, I shall find out  
Another room to weep in. Exit.  Cap. 
Lady I would ask you a rude question:  
Are you a maid?  Grat. 
Do I appear so Monstrous? no man will  
Believe my injury: has heaven forgot  
To protect innocence, that all this while  
It hath vouchsafed no miracle, to confirm  
A virgin's honour?  Cap. 
I am answered:  
I do believe she's honest; Oh that I could  
But speak with Marwood's ghost now, and thou be'st  
In hell, I'd meet thee half way, to converse  
One quarter of an hour with thee, to know  
The truth of all things, thy Devil jailer  
May trust thee without a waiter, he has security  
For thy damnation in this sin alone,  
I me full of pity now, and spite of manhood  
Cannot forbear, come Lady, I am confident,  
I know not which way— that you're virtuous—  
Pray walk with me, I'll tell you the whole story;  
For yet you know not your accuser.  Grat. 
I am an exile hence, and cannot walk  
Out of my way, Beauford farewell, may Angels  
Dwell round about thee, live until thou find,  
When I am dead, thou hast been too unkind. Exeunt.  Enter Milisent and Mistress jane. jane. 
May I believe thee Milisent, that my father  
Though he give such respect to him I hate,  
intends no marriage? thou hast released  
My heart of many fears, that I was destined  
To be a sacrifice.  Mil. 
It had been sin  
That Milisent should suffer you perplex  
Your noble soul, when it did consist in  
His discovery, to give a freedom  
To your labouring thoughts, 'tis now no more a secret,  
Your father makes a trial of your nature,  
By giving him such countenance.  jane. 
What thanks shall I give?  Mil. 
Your virtue hath both unsealed  
My bosom, and rewarded me.  jane 
Oh Milisent:  
Thou hast deserved my gratitude; and I cannot  
But in exchange of thy discovery  
Give to thy knowledge, what I should tremble  
To let another hear; for I dare trust thee with it.  Mil. 
If I have any skill  
In my own nature, shall ne'er deceive  
Your confidence, and think myself much honoured,  
So to be made your treasurer.  jane. 
'tis a treasure,  
And all the wealth I have, my life, the sum  
Of all my joys on earth, and the expectation  
Of future blessings too depend upon it.  Mil. 
Can I be worthy of so great a trust?  Iane. 
Thou art, and shalt receive it, for my heart  
Is willing to discharge itself into thee:  
Oh Milisent! though my father would ha' been  
So cruel to his own, to have wished me marry  
Him, 'twas not in the power of me obedience  
To give consent to't, for my love already  
Is dedicate to one, whose worth hath made  
Me, but his steward of it, and although  
His present fortune doth eclipse his lustre,  
With seeming condition of a servant,  
He has a mind derived from honour, and  
May boast himself a Gentleman: is not  
Thy understanding guilty of the person  
I point at? sure thou canst not choose but know him.  Mil. 
Not I.  Enter Haver. jane. 
Then look upon him Milisent.  Mil. 
Ha?  Hau. 
My master, mistress Jane sent me before,  
To say, be comes to visit you.  jane. 
But thou art before him in acceptance, nay  
You stand discovered here, in Milisent you may  
Repose safe trust.  Hau. 
Her language makes me confident,  
You are a friend.  Mil. 
To both a servant.  Hau. 
I shall desire your love.  jane. 
But where's this man of mortgages?  
We shall be troubled now  Hau. 
I left him chawing the cud, ruminating  
Some speech or other, with which, he means to  
Arrest you.  Mil. 
He is entered.  Enter Rawbone. Hau. 
I have prepared her.  Raw. 
Fortune be my guide then.  Hau. 
And she's a blind one.  Raw. 
Mistress jane, I would talk with you in private, I have fancied a business, I know you are witty, and love invention, 'tis my own, and nobody else must hear it— 
Be it known to all men by these presents.   Ian. 
This is like to be a secret.  Raw. 
That I jasper Rawbone Citizen, and Housekeeper of London.  Hau. 
A very poor one I'm sure.  Raw. 
Do owe to mistress jane, Lady of my thoughts, late of London Gentlewoman.  Hau. 
Is she not still a Gentlewoman?  Raw. 
Still a Gentlewoman goodman Coxcomb? did I not say she was Lady of my thoughts? where was I now?  Hau. 
At goodman Coxcomb sir.  Raw. 
— Do owe to mistress jane, Lady of my thoughts, late of London Gentlewoman, my true and lawful heart of England— to be paid to his said mistress, her executors, or assigns.  Hau. 
To her executors? what will you pay your heart, when she is dead?  Raw. 
'tis none of my fault, and she will die, who can help it? thou dost nothing but interrupt me: I say to be paid, to his said mistress, her executors, or assigns, whensoever she demand it, at the font-stone of the Temple—  Hau. 
Put it, the top of Paul's and please you; your conceit willbe the higher.  Raw. 
Which payment to be truly made and performed, I bind, not my heirs, but my body and soul for ever.  Hau. 
How your soul sir?  Raw. 
Peace fool, my soul will shift for itself, when I am dead that willbe sure enough:— In witness whereof, I have hereunto put my hand and seal, which is a handsome spiny youth, with a bag of money in one hand, a bond in the tother, an Indenture between his legs, the last of the first merry month, and in the second year of the reign of King Cupid.  Hau. 
Excellent! but in my opinion, you had better give her possession of your heart, I do not like this owing: faith pluck it out, and deliver it in the presence of us.  Raw. 
Thou talk'st like a puisne, I can give her possession of it, by delivery of twopence wrapped up in the wax, 'twill hold in Law man;— and how, and how d''ee like it? I could have come over you with Verse, but hang Ballads, give me Poetical prose, every mountebank can time, and make his lines cry twang, though there be no reason in 'em.  Ian. 
What Music have I heard?  Raw. 
Music? Oh rare!  Ian. 
He has Medusa's noble countenance,  
His hairs do curl like soft and gentle Snakes:  
Did ever puppy smile so? or the Ass  
Better become his ears? oh generous beast  
Of sober carriage, sure he's valiant too,  
Those bloodshot eyes betray him, but his nose  
Fishes for commendation.  Raw. 
What does she mean jasper?  Hau. 
D''ee not see her love sir? why she does dote upon you, Which makes her talk so madly.  Raw. 
Forsooth I know you are taken with me, alas these things are natural with me, when shall we be married forsooth?  Ian. 
With your licence sir—  Hau. 
D''ee not observe her? you must first procure a Licence.  Raw. 
You shall hear more from me, when I come again— jasper— Exit Rawbone hastily.  Hau. 
My heart doth breathe itself upon your hand— Exit.  Mil. 
Your father and Master Lodam—  Enter Lodam, justice, Cameleon. Lod. 
Sir I do love your daughter:— I thought it necessary to acquaint you first, because I would go about the business judicially.  Iust. 
You oblige us both.  Lod. 
I'll promise you one thing.  Iust. 
What's that?  Lod. 
I'll bring your daughter no wealth.  Iust. 
Say you so: what then you promise her nothing.  Lod. 
But I will bring her that which is greater than wealth.  Iust. 
What's that?  Lod. 
myself.  Iust. 
A fair jointure.  Lod. 
Nay, I'll bring her more.  Iust. 
It shan't need, no woman can desire more of a man.  Lod. 
I can bring her good qualities, if she want any: I ha' travailed for 'em.  Iust. 
What are they?  Lod. 
The Languages.  Iust. 
You suspect she will want tongue:— let me see— Parlez franzois monsieur.  Lod. 
Diggon a camrag.  Iust. 
That's Welch.  Lod. 
Pocas palabras.  Iust. 
That's Spanish.  Lod. 
Troth I have such a confusion of languages in my head, you must e'en take 'em as they come.  Iust. 
You may speak that more exactly— Havelar spagniel Signior?  Lod. 
Serge-dubois,— Calli-mancho, et Perpetuana.  Iust. 
There's stuff indeed, since you are so perfect, I'll trust you for the rest. I must refer you sir unto my daughter, if you can win her fair opinion, my consent my happily follow: so She is in presence—  Lod. 
Mercy madam— Salutes jane.  Iust. 
This fellow looks like the principal in Usury, and this Rat follows him like a pitiful eight in the hundred:— come hither sirrah, your name is Chameleon.  Cam. 
It is too true sir.  Iust. 
You did live with master Rawbone.  Car. 
No sir, I did starve with him, and please you:  
I could not live with him.  Iust. 
How do you like your change?  Cam. 
Never worse.  Iust. 
Master Lodam wants no flesh.  Cam. 
But I do:— I ha' no justice sir, my lean master would eat no meat, and my fat master eats up all— is your worship's house troubled with Vermin?  Iust. 
Something at this time.  Cam. 
Peace and I'll catch a mouse then.— lies down.  Enter Captain and Gratiana. Iust. 
My nephew turned Gentleman Usher.  Cap. 
Sir john Belfare's daughter.  Iust. 
'Las poor Gentlewoman,  
I compassionate her unkind destiny.  Cap. 
Let us entreat a word in private sir—  Lod. 
I cannot tell how you stand affected, but if you can love a man, I know not what is wanting, greatness is a thing that your wisest Ladies have an itch after: for my own part I was never in love before, and if you have me not, never willbe again. Think on't between this and after dinner, I will stay o'purpose for your answer.  Ian. 
You're very short.  Lod. 
I would not be kept in expectation above an hour, for love is worse than a Lent to me, and fasting is a thing my flesh abhors, if my doublet be not filled, I know who fares the worse for't. I would keep my flesh to swear by, and if you and I cannot agree upon the matter, I would lose nothing by you.  jane. 
You're very resolute.  Lod. 
Ever while you live, a fat man, and a man of resolution go together: I do not commend myself, but there are no such fiery things in nature.  jane. 
Fiery?  Lod. 
'tis proved, put 'em to my action, and see, if they do not smoke it, they are men of mettle, and the greatest melters in the World, one hot service makes 'em roast, and they have enough in 'em to baste a hundred— you may take a lean man, marry yourself to famine, and beg for a great belly, you see what became of sir John's daughter:— come I would wish you be well advised, there are more commodities in me, than you are aware of, if you and I couple, you shall fare like an Empress.  jane. 
That will be somewhat costly.  Lod. 
Not a token. I have a privilege:— I was at the Tavern other day, i'the next room I smelled hot Venison, I sent but a Drawer to tell the Company, one in the house with a great belly, longed for a corner, and I had half a pasty sent me immediately: I will hold intelligence with all the Cooks i'the Town, and what dainty, but I have greatness enough to command?  Iust. 
I like it well:— be as welcome here, as at your Fathers. Milisent— make it your care to wait upon this Gentlewoman, but conceal she is our guest. I should rejoice to see this storm blown over.— Nephew attend her to her Chamber. Exeunt Gratiana, Captain, Milisent.  Enter Rawbone and Haver hastily. Raw. 
I ha' been about it— justles Lodam, and falls down.  Lod 
Next time you ride post, wind your horn, that one may get out a'the way.  Iust. 
What's the matter jane.  Raw. 
'tis guts, if I durst, my teeth waters to strike him.  Iust. 
What ha' you done?  Lod. 
Let him take heed another time.  Hau. 
Take such an affront before your mistress.  Raw. 
I have a good stomach—  Hau. 
That's well said.  Raw. 
I could eat him.  Hau. 
Oh is it that?  Lod. 
Let me alone, nobody hold me.  Raw. 
I'll have an action of battery.  Lod. 
Whoreson mole-catcher—  
Come not near me weasel.  Raw. 
Prithee jasper do not thrust me upon him—  
I do not fear you sit.  Lod. 
Again shall I kick thee to pieces.  Hau. 
Let him baffle ye— to him— Haver thrusts him upon him.  Raw. 
I do not fear you.  Iust. 
jane remove yourself.  jane. 
Master Rawbone, I am sorry for your hurt. Exit.  Hau. 
She jeers you.  Lod. 
For this time I am content with kicking of thee.  As Lodam offers to go out, Haver pulls him back. Hau. 
My master desires another word w'ee sir.—  
You must fight with him— To Rawbone.  Raw. 
Who I fight?  Lod. 
You spider catcher, ha' you not enough? you see I do not draw.  Iust. 
Very well.  Hau. 
By this hand, you shall challenge him then, if he dare accept it, I'll meet him in your clothes.  Raw. 
Will ye. Hum— I do not fear you— satisfaction—  Hau. 
That's the word.  Raw. 
That's the word— you'll meet me guts.  Lod. 
Meet thee by this flesh, if thou dost but provoke me:— you do not challenge me— do not— d''ee long to be minced?  Hau. 
At Finsbury—  Raw. 
At Finsbury.  Hau. 
Tomorrow morning—  Raw. 
Tomorrow morning— you shall find I dare fight.  Lod 
Say but such another word.  Raw. 
Finsbury, tomorrow morning, there 'tis again—  Iust. 
I cannot contain my laughter, ha, ha, ha. Exit  Raw. 
So, let's begone quickly, before he threaten me, you made me challenge him, look to't.  Hau. 
Fear not, I warrant you. Exeunt Raw & Haver.  Lod. 
Sirrah Noverint, if I can but prove, thou dost come with in three furlongs of a windmill, I'll set one atop of Paul's to watch thee— shalt forfeit thy soul, and I'll cancel thy body worse than any debtor of thine did his obligation— he's gone— and now I think upon the matter, I have somewhat the worst on't, for if I should kill him, I shall never be able to fly, and he has left a piece of his scull, I think, in my shoulder— whither am I bound to meet him, or no? I will consult some o'the sword men, and know whether it be a competent challenge— Chameleon.  Cam. 
Sir.  Lod. 
Has the Rat, your master that was, any spirit in him?  Cam. 
Spirit? the last time he was in the field, a boy of seven years old, beat him with a Trapstick.  Lod. 
sayst thou so? I will meet him then, and hew him to pieces.  Cap. 
I have an humble suit— if it be so, that you kill him, let me beg his body for an Anatomy, I have a great mind to eat a piece on him.  Lod. 
'tis granted, follow me, I'll cut him up I warrant thee. Exe.  Enter Beauford, and Captain. Cap. 
I have a letter.  Beau. 
From whom?  Cap. 
Gratiana.  Bea. 
I would forget that name, speak it no more.  Cap. 
She is abused, and if you had not been  
Transported from us, with your passion,  
You would ha' changed opinion, to have heard  
How well she pleaded.  Bea. 
For herself.  Cap. 
You might,  
With little trouble gather from her tears  
How clear she was, which more transparent, than  
The morning dew, or crystal, fell neglected  
Upon the ground: some cunning jeweller  
To ha' seen 'em scattered, would ha' thought some Princess  
Dropped 'em, and covetous to enrich himself,  
Gathered them up for Diamonds.  Beau. 
You are then converted.  Cap. 
Oh you were too credulous.  
Marwood has played the villain, and is damned for't:  
Could but his soul be brought to hear her answer  
The accusation, she would make that blush,  
And force it to confess a treason, to  
Her honour, and your love.  Beau. 
You did believe her.  Cap. 
I did, and promised her to do this service,  
She begged of me at parting, if she sent  
A letter, to convey it to your hand,  
Pray read, you know not what this paper carries.  Beau. 
Has she acquainted you?  Cap. 
Not me, I guess,  
It is some secret, was not fit for my  
Relation, it may be, worth your knowledge;  
Do her that justice, since you would not hear  
What she could say in person, to peruse  
Her paper.  Rea. 
It can bring nothing to take off  
Th' offence committed.  Cap. 
Sir you knew not  
What satisfaction it contains;  
Or what she may confess in't: for my sake— Reads.  Beau. 
To him that was— what?  
Confident of her Virtue  
Once an admirer, now a mourner for  
Her absent goodness: she has made the change.  
From her that was, would ha' become this paper  
Had she conserved her first immaculate whiteness,  
It had been half profane, not to salute  
Her letter with a kiss, and touch it, with  
More veneration than a Sybil's leaf;  
But now all Ceremony must be held  
A superstition, to the blotted scroll,  
O a more stained writer— I'll not read:  
If unprepared, she win with her Discourse,  
What must she do, when she has time, and study,  
To apparel her defence?  Cap. 
Deny her this.  Beau. 
Well, I will read it.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Here's Sir john Belfare.  Beau. 
Say any thing t'excuse me, be't your care  
That none approach the Chamber.  Cap. 
So, so, now unrip the seal.  Enter Sir john Belfare, Isaac. Bel. 
Not speak with him, he must have stronger guard  
To keep me out: where's Beauford?  Beau. 
Here.  Bel. 
Then there's a Villain.  Beau. 
That's course language.  Bel. 
I must not spin it finer, till you make me  
Understand better, why my daughter, and  
In her, my family is abused.  Beau. 
She has not then accused herself— I'll tell you,  
I did expect your daughter would have been  
My Virgin bride; but she reserved for me  
The ruins of her honour, I would not speak  
I'the rude dialect, you may sooner collect,  
An English.  Bel. 
Is she not honest, will you  
Make her then a whore?  Beau. 
Not I, her own sin made her.  Bel. 
Thou liest, nor can my age make me appear  
Unworthy a satisfaction from thy sword.  Isa. 
Does not he call my young mistress whore?  Bel. 
Keep me not from him Captain he has in this  
Given a fresh wound, I came t'expostulate,  
The reason of a former suffering,  
Which unto this was charity, as thou art  
A Gentleman, I dare thee to the Combat:  
Contemn not Beauford my grey hairs, if thouhast  
A Noble soul, keep not this distance; meet me,  
Thou art a Soldier: for heaven's sake, permit me  
Chastise the most uncharitable slander  
Of this bad man.  Beau. 
I never injured you.  Bel. 
Not injured me? what is there then in nature,  
Left, to be called an injury? didst not mock  
Me, and my poor fond girl with marriage?  
Till all things were designed, the very day  
When Hymen should have worn his saffron robe:  
My friends invited, and prepared to call  
Her Bride; and yet, as if all this could not  
(Summed up together) make an injury:  
Does thy corrupted soul at last conspire  
To take her white name from her?— give me leave  
To express a Father, in a tear, or two,  
For my wronged child. O Beauford! thou hast robbed  
A father, and a daughter— but I woe not  
Usurp heaven's justice, which shall punish thee  
'bove my weak arm; mayst thou live, to have  
Thy heart as ill rewarded, to be a father  
At my years, have one daughter, and no more  
Beloved as mine, so mocked, and then called Whore.  Cap. 
'Las good old man. Exit Bel. Isaac.  Bea. 
My afflictions  
Are not yet numbered in my fate, nor I  
Held ripe for Death.  Cap. 
Now read the Letter.  Beau. 
Yes, it cannot make me know more misery. Reads.  
Beauford, I dare not call thee mine, though I could not hope, (while I was living,) thou wouldst believe my innocence, deny me not this favour after Death, to say I once loved thee— Ha death? Captain is she dead?  Cap. 
I hope she employed not me, to bring this news.  Beau. 
Yes, Death— ha?  
Prithee read the rest: there's something  
In my eyes, I cannot well distinguish  
Her small Characters.  Cap. 
My Accuser by this time, knows the reward of my injury Farewell, I am carrying my Prayers for thee to another World— her own Martyr, drowned Gratiana.  Beau. 
Read all.  Cap. 
I have.  Beau. 
It cannot be, for when thou mak'st an end,  
My heart should give a tragic period,  
And with a loud sigh break: drowned  
'twas no sin above heaven's pardon,  
Though thou hadst been false,  
To thy first vow, and me, I would not had  
Thee died so soon: or if thou hadst affected  
That death, I could ha' drowned thee with my tears,  
Now they shall never find thee, but be lost  
Within thy watery Sepulchre.  Cap. 
Take comfort.  Beau. 
Art dead?  
Then here I'll Coffin up myself, until  
The Law unbury me for Marwood's death,  
I won't hope for life, mercy sha' not save  
Him, that hath now a patent for his Grave. Exeunt.   

Actus Quarti. Scena Prima.  Enter Milisent and Gratiana. Mil. 
'tis his command to whom I owe all service,  
I should attend you.  Grat. 
thouart too diligent:  
I prithee leave me.  Mil. 
I should be unhappy  
To be offensive in my duty; yet  
Had I no charge upon me, I should much  
Desire to wait.  Grat. 
On me?  Mil. 
I know not why,  
Your sorrow does invite me.  Grat. 
thouart too young,  
To be acquainted wilt.  Mil. 
I know, it would not  
Become my distance, to dispute with you,  
At what age, we are fittest to receive  
Our grief's impression.  Grat. 
Leave me to myself—  Mil. 
I must, if you will have it so. offers to go out.  Grat. 
methought  
I saw him drop a tear, come back again:  
What should he mean by this unwillingness  
To part; he looks, as he would make me leave  
My own misfortune to pity his:  
Thy name?  Mil. 
I am called Milisent.  Grat 
Dost thou put on that countenance to imitate  
Mine? or hast a sorrow of thy own, thou  
Wouldst express by't.  Mil. 
Mine does become my fortune.  
Yet yours does so exactly paint our misery  
That he, that wanted of his own, would mourn  
To see your picture.  Grat. 
Mine is above  
The common level of affliction.  Mil. 
Mine had no example to be drawn by,  
I would they were a kin, so I might make  
Your burden less by mine own suffering.  Grat. 
I thank thy love.  Mil. 
And yet I prophesy,  
There's something would make mine a part of yours,  
Were they examined.  Grat. 
Passion makes thee wild now.  Mil. 
You have encouraged me to boldness, pardon  
My ruder language.  Grat. 
Didst thou ever love?  Mil. 
Too soon, from thence sprung my unhappiness.  Grat. 
And mine.  Mil. 
My affliction riper than my years,  
Hath brought me so much sorrow, I do not think  
That I shall live, to be a man.  Grat. 
I like thy sad expression, we'll converse  
And mingle stories.  Mil. 
I shall be too bold.  Grat. 
we lay aside distinctions, if our fates  
Make us alike in our misfortunes; yet  
Mine will admit no parallel: ha! we are interrupted:  Enter justice reading a Letter. 
Let's withdraw, and I'll begin.  Mil. 
You may command, and when  
Your stories done, mine shall maintain the Scene. Exeunt.  Iust. 
To maintain such bliss I will,  
Wish to be transformed still:  
Nor willt be a shame in love, reads,  
Since I imitate but jove;  
Who from heaven hath strayed, and in  
A thousand figures worse than mine,  
Wooed a Virgin, may not I,  
Then for thee a servant try:  
Yes for such a maid as thee,  
Vary as many shapes as he;  
Rawbone clothes my outward part,  
But thy livery my heart:  
Haver, ha: young Haver?  
This Letter I found in my daughter's prayer Book, is this your Saint? how long ha' they conspired thus? Report gave out, he was gone to travail: It seems he stays here for a Wind, and in the mean time would rig up my Daughter: he is a Gentleman well educated; but his Fortune was consumed by a prodigal father, ere he was ripe, which makes him I suspect; borrow this shape to court my Daughter; little does Rawbone think his servant is his rival: I find the juggling, and will take order they sha'not steal a marriage.  Enter Captain. 
Nephew, I ha' news for you.  Cap. 
For me sir.  Iust. 
You are a Soldier, there's a duel to  
Be fought this morning, will you see't?  Cap. 
It does not sir become a Gentleman  
To be spectator of a fight, in which  
he's not engaged.  Iust. 
You may behold it x,  
Without disparagement to your honour; Rawbone  
Has challenged Mr. Lodam, the place Finsbury—  Cap. 
They fight? a doublet, stuffed with straw, advancing  
A bulrush, were able to fright 'em both  
Out a'their senses, tha' not soul enough  
To skirmish with a fieldmouse; they point a duel?  
At Hogs-don, to show fencing upon Cream  
And cakebread, murder a quaking Custard,  
Or some such daring enemy.  Iust. 
Did not  
Affairs of weight compel me to be absent,  
I would not miss the sight, on't; for the Usurer  
Hath got his man jasper t''appear for him  
In his apparel.  Cap. 
jasper.  Iust. 
For mirth's sake  
You may behold it, and let me entreat,  
At your return, perfect relation  
Of both their valours.  Cap. 
You shall Sir.  Iust. 
And coz—  
If it be possible, procure 'em hither  
Before they shift, I much desire to see 'em.  Cap. 
Promise yourself they shall: I will defer  
My conference with Gratiana, and  
Entertain this recreation.  Iust. 
So: I have a fancy,  
This opportunity will give it birth,  
If all hit right, it may occasion mirth. Exit.  Enter Milisent, and Gratiana. Grat. 
Which part of my discourse compels thee to  
This suffering?  Mil. 
Your pardon Lady, I  
Did prophesy what now I find, our stories  
Have dependence  Grat. 
How prithee?  Mil. 
That Marwood  
Whom you report thus wounded had a near  
Relation to me, and 'twas my fortune  
To come to close his eyes up, and receive  
His last breath.  Grat. 
Ha?  Mil. 
I know more than Beauford,  
And dying he obliged my love to tell t'him  
When ere we met.  Grat. 
You beget wonder in me:  
Did he survive his slander? there is hope  
He did recant the injury he did me.  Mil. 
He did confirm, he had enjoyed your person,  
And bade me tell Beauford he left behind  
A living witness of the truth he died for:  
Naming a Gentlewoman Cardona,  
That bred you in your father's house, whom he  
Affirmed, betrayed your body to his lust.  Grat. 
Cardona?  
Piety has forsaken earth:  
Was ever woman thus betrayed to sin,  
Without her knowledge?  Mil. 
would he had not been  
My kinsman, I begin to fear him:  Grat. 
Wherein had I offended Marwood,  
He should alive, and dead so persecute  
My fame? Cardona too i'the Conspiracy,  
'tis time to die then.  Mil. 
My heart mourns for you  
In the assurance of your innocence,  
And were I worthy to direct you—  Grat. 
Has, malice  
Found out another murderer?  Mil. 
Would you be pleased to hear me, I could point  
You out a path, would bring you no repentance  
To walk in, if (as I am confident)  
Your goodness fears not, what Cardona can  
Accuse your honour with, let her be  
Examined, then her knowledge will quit you,  
Or make your suffering appear just, this is  
An easy trial, and since Marwood had  
A stubborn soul, for though he were my kinsman  
I prefer justice, and held shame to check  
His own report, women have softer natures,  
And things may be so managed, if there be  
A treason, to enforce confession from her:  
Would you please t'imploy me in this service,  
And though unworthy be directed by me,  
I beg it from you, I'll engage my being  
You shall find comfort in't.  Grat. 
Do any thing;  
But I am lost already.  Mil. 
You much honour me. Exeunt.  Enter Lodam, and Cameleon. Lod. 
Come, see and if he be come yet, bring me word hither.  Cam. 
I see one lying o'the ground—  Lod. 
Is there so? let's steal way before we be discovered, I do not like when men lie perdieu, beside, there may be three or four of a heap, for aught we know: let's back I say.  Cam. 
'tis a horse.  Lod. 
Hang him jade, I knew it could be nothing else: is the coast clear Chameleon?  Cam. 
I see nothing but five or six.  Lod. 
Five or six: treachery! an ambush, 'tis valour to run.  Cam. 
They be Windmill.  Lod. 
And yet, thou wod'st persuade me, 'twas an ambush for me.  Cam. 
I?  Lod. 
Come thou wert afraid, and the truth were known; but be valiant: I have a sword; and if I do draw. it shall— be against my will: is he not come yet?  Cam. 
And he were between this and More-gate, you might scent him.  Lod. 
If he come, somebody shall smell ill favouredly, ere he and I part:— ha! by this flesh 'tis he; Cam, go tell him I am sick.  Enter Haver, Rawbone, (having changed clothes) Captain. Hau. 
Master Lodam.  Lod 
A brace of bullets to my hair.  Cap. 
Here can I stand and behold the Champions.  Lod. 
I have expected you this two hours, which is more than I had one to all the men I ha' fought withal, since I slew the high German in Tutle.  Cap. 
Whorson, mole-catcher.  Lod. 
Draw Spider.  Cap. 
Wellslye toad.  Hau. 
Let us confer a little.  Lod. 
Confer me no conferrings: I will have no more mercy on thee, than an Infidel: and thou'dst been wise, thou mightest ha' kept thee at home, with thy melancholy Cat, that keeps thy Study, with whom thou art in Commons, and dost feed on Rats a Sundays; then perhaps a leg or an arm, with thy Jews ears had satisfied me, when I met thee next: draw I say, why dost not draw?  Hau 
I come to give you satisfaction.  Lod. 
What with words?  
Sirrah Tartar, my Fox shall scratch thy guts out, which I will send to the bear-garden: Dost hear usuring dog, I'll tell thee my resolution. I do mean to give thee as many Wounds before I kill thee, as a surgeon's sign has; and when I am weary of scarifying thy flesh, I'll bore thy heart— which done: mark what I say; I will divide thy quarters: observe and tremble; then will I ha' thee put into a tub or Barrel, and powder thee, and after three days in pickle, this thing that was thy servant, this Cacodaemon whom thou didst statue once, Chameleon, shall in revenge of his pitiful famine, eat thee up, devour thee, and grow fat i'the ribs again with thy flesh. Mammon—  Cam. 
I hungrily thank your Worship.  Raw. 
What have I scaped? aside.  Lod. 
Which is more, after thou art dead, I won't leave thy soul quiet, I'll torment thy Ghost: for I will straight to thy house where I will break open thy Chests, lined with white and yellow mettle, which I will cast away on pious uses: then summon all thy debtors by a Drum, and give 'em in, all their Bills, Bonds, Evidences, Indentures, defeasances, Mortgages, Statutes.  Raw. 
I shall be undone.—  Lod. 
And there were a million on 'em.  Raw. 
I'll home, and shut up my doors, for fear he kill jasper and use me so indeed.  Cap. 
If thou dost offer to look home again, till they ha' done, I'll cut thee off at thigh.  Raw. 
Ah—  Lod. 
Draw I say.  Hau. 
Since there is no remedy.  Lod. 
His sword appears Cam.  Cam. 
If he were a coward you were able to conjure a spirit into him, with those threatenings.  Lod. 
Pox a'my dulues: dost hear scoundrel, if I should incline to mercy, what submission? ha? let me see— I, ay, live, thou shalt upon thy knees confess thy rascality, and ask me forgiveness in private, in the presence of mistress jane, and the twelve Companies which at thy charge shallbe feasted that day, in morefield's.  Hau. 
That must not be.  Lod. 
Then say when thou art dead, thou wert offered conditions for thy life: Cam, thou shalt feed, and feed high Chameleon,— let me see;— come 'tis my foolish nature to ha' compassion o'thee, I know thouart sorry, shalt only confess thyself a rascal under thy hand then, and stay my in ended revenge which else would ha' been immortal.  Hau. 
Let me consider.  Lod. 
Oho Cam.—  Cap. 
Both cowards, we shall have no skirmish.  Raw. 
Now I think on't, what if my man jasper, should be valiant and kill Lodam— umh? what pickle were I in: worse-worse, he'll run away, I shall be taken and hanged for the Conspiracy. pulls Have, by the sleeve. r Ah— jasper, rogue that I was, where were my brains to challenge him— he won't hear— a stubborn knave, he looks as if he meant to kill: ah jasper.  Cap. 
I ha' seen a dog look like him, that has drawn a Wicker bottle, rattling about the streets, and leering on both sides, where to get a quiet corner to bite his tail off.  Raw. 
I do imagine myself apprehended already: now the Constable is carrying me to Newgate— now, now. I'm at the session's house, i'the Dock:— now I'm called— not guilty my Lord:— the jury has found the indictment Billa vera— now, now comes my sentence.  Hau. 
I am resolved sir.  Raw. 
Ha.—  Hau. 
You shall have what acknowledgement, this pen of steel will draw out in your flesh, with red ink, and no other, dear master Lodam.  Lod. 
How?  Cap. 
So, so.  Raw. 
Now I'm i'the Cart, riding up Holborn in a two wheeled Chariot, with a guard of Halberdiers: there goes a proper fellow says one: good people pray for me: now I am at the three Wooden stilts.—  Lod. 
Is this Rawbone the Coward?  
Dost hear thing— consider what thou dost, come among friends, thy word shall be as good as a note under thy hand, tempt not my fury— would I were off, with asking him forgiveness.  Raw. 
hay! now I feel my toes hang i'the Cart:  
Now 'tis drawn away, now, now, now,  
I am gone— turns above.  Hau. 
You must show your fencing.  Lod. 
Hold: I demand a parley.  Hau. 
How?  Lod. 
'tis not for your reputation to deal with a  
Gentleman upon unequal terms.  Hau. 
Where lie the odds?  Cap. 
how's this?  Lod 
Examine our bodies:  
I take it I am the fairer mark, 'tis a disadvantage: feed till you be as fat as I, and I'll fight w'ee as I am a Gentleman.  Hau. 
It sha' not serve your turn. Fight.  Lod. 
Hold, murder, murder.  Raw. 
I'm dead, I'm dead.  Cap. 
Whoreson puff-paste, how he winks and barks: How now Gentlemen, master Lodam.  Lod. 
Captain, should ha' come but a little sooner, and ha' seen good sport, by this flesh he came up handsomely to me; a pretty spark faith Captain.  Hau. 
How sir?  Lod. 
But if you be his friend, run for a Surgeon for him, I have hurt him under the short ribs, beside a cut or two i'th' shoulder: would I were in a miller's sack yonder, though I were ground for't, to be quit onem.  Hau. 
You won't use me thus?  Lod. 
I were best deliver my sword ere I be compelled to't— a pretty fellow, and one that will make a soldier, because I see thoust a spirit, and canst use thy Weapon, I'll bestow a dull blade upon thee Squirrel.  Cap. 
Deliver up your Weapon:  Lod. 
In love in love Captain, he's a spark o' my reputation, and worthy your acquaintance.  Hau. 
Thou mully-puff, were it not justice to kick thy guts out.  Lod. 
When I am disarmed.  Hau. 
Take't, again you sponge—  Lod. 
What? when I have geent thee: 'tis at thy service, and it were a whole cutler's shop: be confident.  Raw. 
My Ague has not left me yet, there's a grudging a'the halter still:  Cap. 
Master Rawbone, I repent my opinion of your Cowardice.  
I see you dare fight, and shall report it to my x:  
You shall walk home, she'll take it as an honour,  
And present your prisoner.  Raw. 
jasper, let's go home and shift, do not go— honest jasper.  Hau. 
You will be prattling sirrah— I'll wait upon you Captain: Master Lodam—  Lod. 
I will accompany thee, thouart noble, and fit for my conversation, honest master Rawbone— a pox upon you.  Cap. 
Nay, you shall wait a your master with his leave, good jasper  Hau. 
How now jasper? Exeunt.  Music: A Table set forth with two Tapers: Servants placing Ewe, bays, and Rosemary, &c. Enter Beauford. Beau. 
Are these the herbs you strew at Funerals.  Servant. 
Yes sir.  Beau. 
'tis well, I commend your care,  
And thank ye; ye have expressed more duty  
in not enquiring wherefore I command  
This strange employment, there in the very  
Act of your obedience: my chamber  
Looks like the Spring now? ha' ye not art enough  
To make this Ewe tree grow here, or this bays?  
The emblem of our victory in Death?  
But they present that best when they are withered:  
Have you been careful that no day break in  
At any Window, I would dwell in night,  
And have no other starlight but these tapers:  Ser. 
If any ask to speak with you,  
Shall I say, you are abroad.  Beau. 
No, to all do inquire with busy faces  
Pale or disturbed, give free access. Exit ser.  
What do I differ from the dead? would not  
Some fearful man or woman seeing me,  
Call this a Churchyard, and imagine me  
Some wakeful apparition 'mong the graves;  
That for some treasures buried in my life,  
Walk up and down thus? buried? no 'twas drowned,  
I cannot therefore say, it was a chest,  
Gratiana had ne'er a Coffin, I have one  
Spacious enough for both on's, but the waves  
Will never yield to't, for it may be they  
Soon as the northern Wind blows cold upon 'em,  
Will freeze themselves to marble over her,  
lest she should want a tomb:  Enter Keeper. 
Thy business.  Keeper. 
He died this morning:  
A friend of his and yours did practise on him  
A little Surgery, but in vain; his last  
Breath did forgive you: but you must expect  
No safety from the Law: my service sir.  Beau. 
I have left direction, that it cannot miss me:  
And hadst thou come to apprehend me for't?  
With as much ease thou mightst; I am no statesman  
Officious, servants makes no suitors wait  
My doors unguarded; 'tis no labyrinth  
I dwell in; but I thank thy love, there's something  
To reward it: justice cannot put on  
A shape to fright me.  Keeper. 
I am sorry sir,  
Your resolution carries so much danger. Exit.  Beau. 
What can life bring to me, that I should court it:  
There is a period in nature, is't not  
Better to die and not be sick; worn in  
Our bodies, which in imitation  
Of ghosts, grow lean, as if they wooed at last  
Be immaterial too; our blood turn jelly  
And freeze in their cold channel, let me expire  
While I have heat and strength to tug with death  
For Victory.  Enter Milisent. Mil. 
You may disburden there,  
But gently, 'tis a chest of value, mistress—  
I'll give him notice, where is Beauford?  Beau. 
Here.  Mil. 
What place d''ee call this?  Beau. 
'tis a Bridal chamber.  Mil. 
It presents horror.  Beau. 
ha' you anything  
To say to me?  Mil. 
Yes.  Beau. 
Proceed.  Mil. 
I come to visit you.  Beau. 
You are not welcome then.  Mil. 
I did suspect it, and have therefore brought  
My assurance wi'me, I must require  
Satisfaction for a kinsman's death,  
One Marwood.  Beau. 
Ha?  Mil. 
Your valour was not noble,  
It was a course reward to kill him for  
His friendship: I come not with a guard of  
Officers to attach your person, it  
Were too poor and formal, the instrument  
That sluiced his soul out, I had rather should  
Sacrifice to his ashes, and my sword  
Shall do't, or yours be guilty of another,  
To wait upon his ghost.  Beau. 
Young man be not  
Too rash without the knowledge how our quarrel  
Rise to procure thyself a danger.  Mil. 
Make it  
Not your fear, I have heard the perfect story,  
And ere I fight with thee shalt see thy error;  
Acknowledge thou hast killed a friend, I bring  
A perspective to make those things that lie  
Remote from sense, familiar to thee, nay  
Thou shalt confess thou know'st the truth of what  
Concerns him, or Gratiana.  Beau. 
When my soul  
Throws off this upper Garment, I shall know all.  Mil. 
Thou shalt not number many minutes, know  
'Twas my misfortune to close up the eyes  
Of Marwood, whose body I vowed never  
Should to the earth without revenge; or me  
Companion to his grave: I ha' therefore brought it  
Hither, 'tis in this house.  Beau. 
Ha?  Mil. 
His pale corpses  
Shall witness my affection.  Bea. 
Thou didst promise  
To inform me of Gratiana.  Mil. 
And thus briefly:  
Marwood revealed at death another witness  
Of his truth, for Cardona he corrupted  
To betray Gratiana to him.  Beau. 
Ha Cardona!  
Heaven continue her among the living,  
But half an hour.  Mil. 
I ha' saved ye trouble,  
She waits without, in your name I procured  
Her presence, as you had affairs with her  
She's unprepared, a little terror will  
Enforce her to confess the truth of all things.  Beau. 
Thou dost direct well.  Mil. 
Still remember Beauford  
I am thy enemy, and in this do but  
Prepare thy conscience of misdeed to  
Meet my just anger.  Bea. 
I am all wonder. Milisent bring in Cardona.  Mil. 
He's now at opportunity.  Car. 
Sir you sent  
To speak with me.  Beau. 
Come nearer, I hear say  
You are bawd; tell me how go Virgins  
I'th' sinful market; nay I must know hell-cat  
What was the price you took for Gratiana's:  
Did Marwood come off roundly with his wages:  
Tell me the truth, or by my father's soul  
I'll dig thy heart out.  Car. 
Help.  Beau. 
Let me not hear  
A syllable that has not reference  
To my question— or—  Car. 
I'll tell you sir:  
Marwood—  Beau. 
So.  Car. 
Did viciously affect her:  
Won with his gifts and flatteries, I promised  
My assistance, but I knew her virtue was not  
To be corrupted in a thought.  Beau. 
Ha.  Car. 
Therefore—  Beau. 
What d''ee study—  Car. 
Hold— I would deliver  
The rest into your ear, it is too shameful  
To express it louder than a whisper—  Mil. 
With what unwillingness, we discover things  
we are ashamed to own: Cardona shouldst  
Ha used but half this fear in thy consent.  
And thou hadst ne'er been guilty of a sin  
Thou art so loath to part with though it be  
A burden to thy soul: how boldly would  
Our innocence plead for us; but she's done.  Beau. 
Then was Gratiana's honour saved.  Car. 
Untouched.  Bea. 
Where am I lost: this story is more killing  
Than all my jealousies: Oh Cardona  
Go safe from hence, but when thou com'st at home,  
Lock thyself up and languish, till thou die  
Thou shalt meet Marwood, in a gloomy shade,  
Give back this salary, Exit Cardona.  Mil. 
Have I made good  
My promise, do you find your error.  Beau. 
No I ha' found my horror— has the chaste  
And innocent Gratiana drowned herself?  
What satisfaction can I pay thy ghost?  Mil. 
Now do me right sir.  Beau. 
she's gone for ever,  
And can the earth still dwell a quiet neighbour  
To the rough Sea, and not itself be thawed  
Into a river; let it melt to waves  
From henceforth, that beside th'inhabitants,  
The very Genius of the World may drown,  
And not accuse me for her: Oh Gratiana.  Mil. 
Reserve your passion, and remember what  
I come for.  Beau. 
How shall I punish my unjust suspicion?  
Death is too poor a thing to suffer for her:  
Some spirit guide me where her body lies  
Within her watery urn, although sealed up  
With frost, my tears are warm and can dissolve it,  
To let in me, and my repentance to her.  
I would kiss her cold face into life again  
Renew her breath with mine, on her pale lip  
I do not think, but if some artery  
Of mine were opened, and the crimson flood  
Conveyed into her veins, it would agree  
And with a gentle gliding steal itself  
Into her heart, enliven her dead faculties,  
And with a flattery, 'tice her soul again,  
To dwell in her fair tenement.  Mil. 
You lose  
yourself in these wild fancies; recollect  
And do me justice.  Beau. 
I am lost indeed,  
With fruitless passion: I remember thee  
And thy design again; I must account  
For Marwood's death is't not? alas thou art  
Too young, and canst not fight, I wish thou wert  
A man of tough and active sinews, for  
Thy own revenge' sake, I would praise thee for  
My death, so I might fall but nobly by thee:  
For I am burdened with a weight of life—  
Stay, didst not tell me thou hadst brought hither  
The body of young Marwood—  Mil. 
Yes.  Beau. 
Since a mistake, not malice did procure  
His ill fate, I will but drop one funeral  
Tear upon his wound, and soon finish  
To do thee right.  Mil. 
Ye shall. A coffin brought in.  Beau. 
Does this enclose his corpses? how little room  
Do we take up in death, that living, know  
No bounds? here without murmuring we can  
Be circumscribed, it is the soul, that makes us  
Affect such wanton, and irregular paths;  
When that's gone, we are quiet as the earth,  
And think no more of wandering: oh Marwood  
Forgive my anger, thy confession did  
Invite thy ruin from me, yet upon— Opens.  
My memory forsake me, 'tis Gratiana's  
Spirit, hast thou left thy Heavenly dwelling  
To call me hence? I was now coming to thee:  
Or but command more haste, and I will count it  
No sin to strike myself, and in the stream  
Of my own blood to imitate how thou  
Didst drown thyself.  Grat. 
I am living Beauford.  Beau. 
I know thou art immortal.  Grat. 
Living as thou art.  Beau. 
Good angels do not mock mortality.  Grat. 
And came—  Beau. 
To call me to my answer how I durst  
Suspect thy chastity, I'll accuse myself  
And to thy injured innocence give me up  
A willing sacrifice.  Grat. 
Oh my Beauford, now  
I am overblessed for my late sufferings;  
I have solicited my Death with prayers:  
Now I would live to see my Beauford love me.  
It was thy friend induced me to that letter,  
To find if thy suspicion had destroyed  
All seeds of love.  Beau. 
Art thou not dead indeed,  
May I believe? her hands is warm,— she breathes  
Again— and kisses as she wont to do  
Her Beauford, art Gratiana? Heaven  
Let me dwell here until my soul exhale.  Mil. 
One sorrow's cured Milisent begone,  
Thou hast been too long absent from thy own. Exit.  Bea. 
Oh my joy ravished soul, but where's the youth  
Brought me this blessing? vanished Gratiana  
Where is he? I would hang about his neck  
And kiss his cheek, he we not leave me so:  
Gone? sure it was some angel, was he not,  
Or do I dream this happiness, wot not thou  
Forsake me to?  Grat. 
Oh never.  Beau. 
Within there—  
Bid the young man return, and quickly, lest  
My joy above the strength of nature's sufferance,  
Kill me before I can express my gratitude:  
ha' ye brought him?  Enter Officers. Officer. 
Mr. Beauford, I am sorry we are  
Commanded to apprehend your person.  Grat. 
Officers ha?  Officer. 
You are suspected to have slain a  
Gentleman, one Marwood.  Beau. 
Have I still my essence ha?  
I had a joy was able to make man  
Forget he could be miserable.  Officer. 
Come sir.  Beau. 
If ere extremities did kill, we hath  
Shall die this very minute.  Grat. 
You sha'not go.  Officers. 
Our authority will force him.  Grat. 
You're villains, murderers:  
Oh my Beauford!  Beau. 
Leave me Gratiana.  Grat. 
Never, I'll die with thee.  Beau. 
What can we say unto our misery,  
Saved in a tempest that did threaten most,  
Arrived the harbour, ship, and all are lost.  Officer. 
To the next justice. Exeunt.   

Actus Quinti. Scena Prima.  Enter Sir john Belfare. Bel. 
Whether art fled Gratiana? that I can  
Converse with none to tell me thou art still  
A mortal? taken hence by miracle?  
Though angels should entice her hence, to heaven,  
She was so full of piety, to her father,  
She would first take her leave.  Enter Isaac and a Physician. Isa. 
There he is sir, he cannot choose but talk idly,  
For he has not slept since the last great mist.  Phi. 
Mist?  Isa. 
ay sir, his daughter, my young mistress went away in't, and we can hear no tale nor tidings of her, to tell you true, I would not disgrace my old master, but he is little better than mad.  Phi. 
Unhappy Gentleman.  Bel. 
'tis so, he murdered her;  
For he that first would rob her of her honour,  
Would or fear afterwards to kill Gratiana,  
He shall be arranged for't;— but where shall we  
Get honest men enough to make a jury?  
That dare be conscionable, when the judge  
Looks on, and frowns upon the Verdict, men  
That will not be corrupted, to favour  
A great man evidence, but prefer justice  
To ready money? oh this age is barren—  Phy. 
Master Beauford's newly  
Apprehended for some fact, and carried  
Fore justice Landby, in my passage hither  
I met him guarded.  Bel. 
Guarded for what?  Phy. 
Some did whisper he had killed—  Bel. 
Gratiana.  
Oh my girl, my Gratiana,— Isaac, Beauford is taken, 'tis apparent he hath slain my daughter, and sha'not I revenge her Death? I'll prosecute the Law with violence against him, not leave the judge, till he pronounce his sentence, then I'll die, and carry Gratiana the news before him. Follow me— Exeunt.  Enter justice Landby, and jane. Iust. 
I expect jane thou wot reward my care  
With thy obedience, he's young and Wealthy,  
No matter for those idle ceremonies  
Of wit and courtship.  jane. 
Do I hear my father?  Iust. 
He will maintain thee gallant, City wives  
Are fortune's darlings, govern all, their husband's  
Variety of pleasure, and apparel  
When some of higher title are oft fain  
To pawn a Ladyship: thou shalt have Rawbone.  jane. 
Virtue forbid it, you are my father sir,  
And lower than the earth I have a heart  
Prostrates itself, I had my being from you,  
But I beseech you, take it not away  
Again, by your severity.  Iust. 
How's this? I like it well. aside.  Ian. 
You have read many lectures to me, which  
My duty hath received, and practised, as  
Precepts from heaven, but never did I hear  
You preach so ill, you heretofore directed  
My study to be careful of my fame,  
Cherish desert, plant my affection on  
Nobleness, which can only be sufficient  
To make it fruitful, and d'ye counsel now  
To marry a disease?  Iust. 
Good! my own girls—  
What is't you said? ha?  jane. 
For the man himself  
Is such a poor and miserable thing—  Iust. 
But such another word, and I take off  
My blessing: how now jane?  Ian. 
Alas, I fear  
He is in earnest, marry me to my grave,  
to that you shall have my consent, oh do not  
Enforce me to be guilty of a false  
Vow, both to Heaven and Angels; on my knees—  Iust. 
Humble your heart, rise and correct your sullenness,  
I am resolved, would you be sacrificed  
To an unthrift, that will dice away his skin,  
Rather than want to stake at Ordinaries?  
Consume what I have gathered at a breakfast,  
Or morning's draught? and when you ha' teemed for him  
Turn Semptress to find milk and clouts for babies:  
Foot stockings, to maintain him in the Compter?  
Or if this fail, erect a bandy Citadel,  
Well maned, which fortified with demi-canon  
Tobacco pipes, may raise you to a fortune,  
Together with the trail—  jane. 
Oh my cruel stars!  Iust. 
Star me no stars, I'll have my will—  Ian. 
One minute hath ruined all my hope, Milisent  
Was cruel thus to mock me.  Enter Captain, Haver, Lodam, Rawbone, and Cameleon. Cap. 
unde— Cap. and Just, whisper.  Isa. 
You hear, now he talks.  Bel. 
But I ha' found the way, 'tis but procuring  
Acquaintance with the foreman of the jury,  
The session's bell-wether, he leads the rest  
Like sheep when he makes a gap, they follow  
In huddle to his sentence.  Isa. 
Speak to him sir.  Phi. 
God save you sir john Belfare.  Bel. 
I am a little serious— do not trouble me.  Phi. 
D''ee not know me?  Bel. 
I neither know, nor care for you, unless  
You can be silent.  Phi. 
I me your neighbour—  Isa. 
Master Doctor—  Bel. 
Away fool.  Isa. 
No sir, a Physician.  Bel. 
A Physician? can you cure my daughter?  Phi. 
ay sir, where is she?  Bel. 
Cannot you find her out by art? a good  
Physician, should be acquainted with the Stars:  
Prithee erect a figure, grave Astronomer,  
shalt ha' the minute she departed; turn  
Thy Ephemerides a little, I'll lend  
Thee Ptolemy, and a nest of learned rabbis  
To judge by: tell me whither she be a live,  
Or dead, and thou shalt be my Doctor, I'll  
Give thee a round per Annum pension,  
And thou shalt kill me for it.  Phi. 
He has a strange De lyrium.  Isa. 
ay sir.  Phi. 
A Vertigo in's head.  Isa. 
In his head.  Bel. 
What says the Raven?  Isa. 
He says, you have two hard words in your head sir.  Phi. 
Have you forgot me sir, I was but late  
Familiar to your knowledge.  Bael 
Ha'your pardon gentle sir I know you now,  
Impute it to my grief, 'thath almost made me  
Forget myself.  Phi. 
I come to visit you.  
And cannot but be sorry, to behold  
You thus afflicted.  Bel. 
Doctor I am sick,  
I'm very sick at heart loss of my daughter  
I fear, will make me mad, how long d''ee think  
Man's nature able to resist it, can  
Your love or art prescribe your friend a Cordial?  
No, no, you cannot.  Phi. 
Sir, be comforted.  
we have our manly virtue given us,  
To exercise in such extremes as these.  Bel. 
As these? why do you know what 'tis to  
Lose a daughter? you converse with men, that  
Are diseased in body; punished with a gout  
Or fever: yet some of these are held  
The shames of physic, but to th'mind you can  
Apply no salutary medicine:  
My daughter sir, my daughter—  Phi. 
Was too blame  
To leave you so, lose not your wisdom for  
Your daughter's want of piety.  Bel. 
Speak well  
A'th' dead, for living she would not be absent  
Thus from me, she was ever dutiful  
Took pleasure in obedience: oh my child,  
But I have strong suspicion, by whom  
She's made away. Beauford—  Phi. 
How?  Bael 
He that pretended marriage— he gave her  
A wound before.  Raw. 
jasper? what case am I in?  Hau. 
Be wise and keep your counsel, is not all for your honour?  Lod. 
Lady, I hope by this time, you are able to distinguish  
A difference between Rawbone and myself.  Cam. 
I find little.  Cap. 
You shall do noble sir.  Iust. 
Mr. Rawbone, the only man in my wishes:  
My nephew gives you valiant, your merit  
o'erjoys me, and to show how much I value  
Your worth my daughter yours, I'll see you  
Married this morning ere we part, receive him  
Into your bosom Jane, or lose me ever.  Ian. 
I obey sir: will my father cozen himself?  Han. 
Ha, do I dream?  Raw. 
Dream quotha, this is a pretty dream.  Iust. 
Master Lodam, I hope you'll not repine at his fortune.  Raw. 
But Rawbone will pine, and repine if this be not a dream?  Lod. 
I allow it, and will dine with you.  Cam. 
And I.  Raw. 
jasper: no, will nobody know me?  Iust. 
Let's lose no time, I have no quiet tell  
I call him son.  Raw. 
Master justice, do me right,  
You do not know who I am— I am—  Iust. 
An ass sir, Are you not? what make you prattling?  Raw. 
Sir,—  
Noble Captain, a word, I am—  Cap. 
A coxcomb.  
Your man is fancy sir.  Raw. 
Then I am a— sleep.  Cap. 
I forget Gratiana  Iust. 
x, you shall supply my place at Church, while I prepare for your return, some guests we must have— nay, nay haste, the morn grows old, we'll ha''t a Wedding day.  Han. 
Here's a blessing beyond hope.  Raw. 
Sure I am sleep, I will cene walk with 'em till my dream be out.  Enter Beuford, Officers, Marwood disguised, Keeper, Gratiana. Iust. 
Mr. Beauford, welcome and Gratiana—  Beau. 
You will repent your courtesy, I am  
Presented an offender to you.  Offi. 
Yes, and please your worship, he is accused.  Iust. 
How?  Grat. 
Sir, you have charity, believe 'em not,  
They do conspire to take away his life.  Keeper. 
May it please you understand, he has killed  
A Gentleman, one Marwood, in our Park,  
I found him wounded mortally, though before  
He died, he did confess.  Beau. 
Urge it no farther,  
I'll save the trouble of examination,  
And yield myself up guilty.  Grat. 
For heaven's sake  
Believe him not, he is an enemy  
To his own life; dear Beauford, what d''ee mean  
To cast yourself away, you're more unmerciful  
Than those that do accuse you, than the Law  
itself, for at the worst, that can but find  
You guilty at the last, too soon for me  
To be divided from you.  Beau. 
Oh Gratiana, I call heaven to witness,  
Though my misfortune made me think before,  
My life a tedious and painful trouble,  
My very soul a luggage, and too heavy  
For me to carry, now I wish to live,  
To live for thy sake, till my hair were silvered  
With age; to live till thou Wouldst ha' me die,  
And were a weary of me: For I never  
Could by the service of one life, reward  
Enough thy love, nor by the suffering  
The punishment of age and time, do penance  
Sufficient for my injury, but my fate  
Hurries me from thee, then accept my death  
A satisfaction for that sin, I could not  
Redeem alive, I cannot but confess  
The accusation.  Enter Sir john Belfare, and Isaac. Bel. 
justice, justice, I will have justice:  
Ha Gratiana!  Grat. 
Oh my dear father—  Bel. 
Art a live, oh my joy, it grows  
too mighty for me, I must weep a little  
To save my heart—  Isa. 
My young mistress alive.  Exit Grat. 
If ever you loved Gratiana, plead for Beauford,  
H'as been abused, by a villain, all's discovered,  
W'ave renewed hearts, and now I fear, I shall  
Lose him again, accused here for the death  
Of Marwood, that was cause of all our suffering.  Bel. 
I ha' not wept enough for joy Gratiana  
That thouart alive yet— I understand nothing  
Beside this comfort.  Grat. 
Dear sir recollect,  
And second me.  Iust. 
The fact confessed, all hope  
willbe a pardon sir may be procured:  
Sir john— you're come in a sad time.  Grat. 
What is the worst you charge him with?  Keeper. 
He has slain a Gentleman.  Iust. 
No common trespass.  Grat. 
He has done justice.  Iust. 
How?  Grat. 
A public benefit to his Country in't.  Iust. 
Killing a man? her sorrow overthrows  
Her reason.  Grat. 
Hear me, Marwood was a Villain,  
A rebel unto virtue, a profaner  
Of friendships sacred laws, a murderer  
Of virgin chastity, against whose malice  
No innocence could hope protection;  
But like a Bird gripped by an eagle's talon,  
It growing dies.  
What punishment can you inflict on him,  
That in contempt of nature, and religion,  
Enforces breach of love, of holy vows?  
Sets them at war whose hearts were married  
In a full congregation of Angels:  
I know you will not say, but such deserve  
To die yet Marwood being dead, you reach  
Your fury to his heart, that did this benefit.  Beau. 
Oh Gratiana if I may not live  
To enjoy thee here, Il would thou hadst been dead  
Indeed for in a little time, we should  
ha' met each other in a better World?  
But since I go before thee, I will carry  
Thy praise along, and if my soul forget not,  
What it hath loved, when it conversed with men,  
I will so talk of thee among the blessed.  
That they shallbe in love with thee, and descend  
In holy shapes, to woe thee to come thither,  
And be of their society do not veil thy beauty  
With such a shower, keep this soft rain,  
To water some more lost, and barren garden,  
lest thou destroy the spring, which nature made  
To be a wonder in thy cheek  Iust. 
Where is Marwood's body?  Mar. 
Here sir.  Omnes. 
A live!  Mil. 
Ha Marwood?  Mar. 
A live, as glad to see thee, as thou art  
To know thyself acquitted for my death;  
Which I of purpose by this honest friend,  
To whose cure, I owe my life, made you believe,  
I increase our joy at meeting: for you Lady,  
You are a woman,— yet you might ha' been  
Less violent in your pleading, do not  
Engage me past respects of mine, or your own honour.  Grat. 
Mine is above thy malice, I have a breast  
Impenetrable, 'gainst which, thou sound aiming,  
Thy arrows, but recoil into thy bosom,  
And leave a wound.  Beau. 
Friend we have found thy error—  Mar. 
Let it be mine, we have had storms already.  Grat. 
Tell me injurious man for in this presence  
You must acquit the honour you accused,  
Discharge thy poison here, inhuman Traitor—  Beau. 
Thou wilt ask her now forgiveness, she's all chastity.  Mar. 
Why d''ee tempt me thus?  Bel. 
It was ill done sir—  Justice 
Accuse her to her face.  Mar. 
So so, you see, I am silent still.  Gra. 
You are too full of guilt to excuse your treachery.  Mar. 
Then farewell all respect, and hear me tell  
This bold and insolent woman, that so late  
Made triumph in my death.  Mil. 
Oh sir proceed not,  
You do not declare yourself of generous birth,  
Thus openly to accuse a Gentlewoman,  
Were it a truth.  Grat. 
He may throw soil at heaven,  
And as soon stain it.  Mar. 
Sirrah boy, who made you so peremptory  
He would be whipped.  Mil. 
With what? I am not armed  
You see, but your big language would not fright  
My youth, were it be friended with a sword;  
You should find than I would dare to prove it  
A falsehood, on your person.  Iust. 
How now Milisent?  Mar. 
Hath my love made me thus ridiculous?  
Beauford, that you will suffer such a boy  
To affront me? then against all the world  
I rise an enemy, and defy his valour  
Dares justify Gratiana virtuous.  Enter Isaac, and Cardona. Isa. 
Believe your eyes.  Car. 
My daughter alive?  
Oh my dear heart.  Mar. 
You are come opportunely,  
Cardona speak the truth, as thou wouldst not  
Eat my poinard, is not Gratiana  
A sinful woman.  Mar. 
What means Marwood, ha?  Bel. 
I am in a labyrinth?  Car. 
Hold, I confess—  
You never did enjoy Gratiana.  Mar. 
Ha?  Car. 
Let not our shame be public, sir, you shall  
Have the whole truth, oh that my tears were able  
To wash my sin away— won with your promises,  
I did, in hope to mark myself a fortune,  
And get a husband for my child, with much  
Black oratory, woe my daughter to  
Supply Gratiana's bed, whom with what  
Circumstance, you enjoyed, that you believed  
It was the virgin you desired.  Bel. 
Is't possible?  Mar. 
I am at a confasion, where's this daughter?  Car. 
She with the fear (as I conceive) of her  
Dishonour, taking a few jewels with her,  
Went from me, I know not whither, by this time  
Dead if not more unhappy in her fortune.  Mar. 
Into how many sins hath lust engaged me?  
Is there a hope you can forgive, and you,  
And she whom I have most dishonoured  
I never had a conscience till now,  
To be grieved for her, I will hide myself  
From all the World.  Mil. 
Stay sir—  Grat. 
You hear this Beauford, father—  Beau. 
This she confessed to me, though I concealed  
From thee the error, Marwood dead, their shame  
Would not ha' given my life advantage, now  
We have o'ercome the malice of our fate:  
I hope you'll call me son.  Bel. 
Both my loved children.  Iust. 
I congratulate your joy.  Mar. 
Beauford, Gentlemen,  
This is a woman, Lucibol your daughter,  
The too much injured maid: oh pardon me,  
Welcome both to my knowledge, and my heart.  Car 
Oh my child.  Iust. 
My servant prove a woman?  Bel. 
You le marry her.  Mar. 
I shall begin my recompense:  
Lead you to Church we'll find the Priest more work.  Iust. 
He has done some already, for by this time  
I have a daughter married to young Haver.  
That walked in Rawbone's livery,— they're returned.  Enter Captain, Haver, jane, Lodam, and Cameleon. Hau. 
Father your pardon, though you meant me not  
Your son, yet I must call your daughter, wife:  
Here I resign my Citizen.  Bel. 
Young Haver.  Justice 
My blessing on you both,  
I meant it so: a letter took off this  
Disguise before; nay here are more couples,  
Enough to play at barley-break.  Raw. 
Master Lodam, you and I are in Hell,  Lod. 
How?  Hau. 
You and I are friends.  Lod. 
I knew, by instinct, I had no quarrel to thee:  
Art thou Rawbone?  Raw. 
I am not drunk—  Lod. 
No, but thou art disguised shrewdly.  Raw. 
I won't believe, I am awake:  
This is not possible.  Beau. 
Leave off to wonder Captain.  Cap. 
Sure this is a dream.  Raw. 
As sure, as you are there Captain, 'las we do but walk and talk in our sleep, all this while.  Bel. 
Away, away.  Lod. 
I to dinner bullies.  Raw. 
D''ee hear Gentlemen, before you go, does nobody know me? who am I? who am I?  Iust. 
You are master Rawbone fit, that would have married my daughter, that is now wise, I take it, to this Gentleman, your seeming servant.  Raw. 
Dream on, dream on: jasper, make much a'the wench now thoust got her, am not I finely gulled?  Hau. 
I think so.  Raw. 
Dream on together, a good jest i'faith, he thinks all this is true now.  Cap. 
Are not you then, awake fit?  Raw. 
No marry am I not sir.  Cap. 
What d''ee think of'at sir. kicks him.  Raw. 
That sir? now do I dream that I am kicked.  Cap. 
You do not feel it then.  Raw. 
Kick, kick your hearts out.  Lod. 
Say you so, let my foot be in too then.  Raw. 
Sure I shall cry out in my sleep— what a long night 'tis.  Bel. 
Set on.  Lod. 
ay, ay, we may come back, and take him napping.  Beau. 
Come Gratiana,  
My soul best half, let's tie the sacred knot,  
So long deferred, never did two lovers,  
Meet in so little time so many changes;  
Our Wedding day is come, the sorrows past  
Shall give our present joy more heavenly taste. Exeunt.   

Epilogue.  Rawbone. 
gentlemen: Pray he favourable to wake a Fool Dormant I mongst ye; I ha' been kicked, and kick to that purpose, may be, they knocked at the wrong door, my brains are asleep in the Garret. I must appeal from their feet to your hands, there is no way but one, you must clap me, and clap me soonly d''ee hear, I shall hardly come to myself else.  

Oh since my case without you desperate stands,  
Wake me with the loud Music of your hands.   Exit.