THE SPARAGUS Garden:  
A comedy.  
Acted in the year 1635. by the then Company of Revels, at Salisbury Court.  
The Author Richard Brome.  Hic totus voloride at Libellus. Mart. 
LONDON:  
Printed by I. Okes, for Francis Constable, and are to be sold at his shops in Kings-street at the sign of the Goat, and in Westminster-hall. 1640.   

To the Right Honourable WILLIAM Earl of Newcastle, &c. Governor to the Prince his Highness.  
My LORD!  
YOur favourable Construction of my poor Labours commanded my Service to your Honour, and, in that, betrayed your worth to this Dedication: I am not ignorant how far unworthy my best endeavours are of your least allowance; yet let your Lordship be pleased to know you, in this, share but the inconveniences of the most renowned Princes as you partake of their glories: And I doubt not, but it will more divulge your noble Disposition to the World, when it is known you can freely pardon an Officious trespass against your Goodness. Caesar had never been commended for his Clemency, had there not occasion been offered, wherein he might show, how willingly he could forgive: I shall thank my Fortune, if this weak presentation of mine shall any way increase the Glory of your Name among Good Men, which is the chiefest aim and only study of  
Your honour's devoted servant. Richard Brome.   


To his deserving friend Mr. Richard Brome on his Sparagus Garden, a Comedy.  

whatever walk I in your Garden use,  
Breeds my delight, and makes me love thy Muse  
For the designment; sith I cannot spy  
A prospect, which doth more invite mine eye:  
I'm in a maze, and know not how to find  
A freedom that will more delight my mind,  
Than this imprisonment within thy Bower,  
Where hours seem minutes, and each day an hour,  
Nor, were my stay perpetual, could I grieve,  
Where such rare fruits mine appetite relieve.  
The envious Critic would recant to see  
How much oppressed is every virgin tree  
With her own burthen: Leeks, and acorns here  
Are food for Critics; but the choicer cheer,  
For those, can relish Delicates I might  
In praising of thy worth, be infinite:  
But thou art modest and disdain it to hear  
A tedious, glorious, needless Character  
Of thee and of thy Muse: Yet I could say,  
(Give me but leave) it is no common Play.  
Within thy plot of ground, no Weed doth spring,  
To hurt the growth of any Underling:  
Nor is thy Labyrinth confused, but we  
In that disorder, may proportion see:  
Thy Herbs are physical, and do more good.  
In purging Humours, than some's letting blood.   
C. G.   

To the Author on his Sparagus Garden.  
Friend,  

WHat dost mean, that thus thou dost entice  
Thy Lovers, thus to walk in Paradise?  
Most skilful Artist! that so well dost know  
To plant, for profit, as for outward show  
For on thy Sparagus are throughly pleased  
Our intellects; others scarce hunger eased.  
The wisest of the Age shall hither come,  
And think their time well spent as was their sum.  
The Sqint-eyed Critic that such care does take,  
To look for that he loatheth to partake:  
Now crossing his warped Nature shall be kind,  
And vexing grieve 'cause he no fault can find.  
The ignorant of the times that do delight,  
Not in a Play, but how to waste daylight,  
Shall resort hither, till that you descry,  
With pleasure, smiling April in each eye.  
Alcinous' garden, which each day did spring,  
And her loved fruit unto perfection bring,  
Ought not compare with this: Here Men did grow:  
Such care thy Art and Labour did bestow  
For man's well-being, and anew create,  
And poise them up above a needy Fate.  
Is it not pity aught should hurt this Spring?  
(A Serpent in a Garden's no new thing)  
Yet wisely hath thy goodness took a care,  
He should sting none, but who censorious are.   
R. W.    

The Prologue to the Play.  

HE, that his wonted modesty retains,  
And never set a price upon his Brains  
Above your Judgements; nor did ever strive  
By Arrogance or Ambition to achieve  
More praise unto himself, or more applause  
Unto his Scenes, than such, as know the Laws  
Of Comedy do give; He only those  
Now prays may scan his Verse, and weigh his Prose:  
Yet thus far he thinks meet to let you know  
Before you see't, the Subject is so low,  
That to expect high Language, or much Cost,  
Were a sure way, now, to make all be lost.  
Pray look for none: He'll promise such hereafter,  
To take your graver judgements, now your laughter  
Is all he aims to move. I had more to say-—  
The Title, too, may prejudice the Play.  
It says the Sparagus Garden; if you look  
To feast on that, the Title spoils the Book.  
We have yet a taste of it, which he doth lay  
I'th' midst o'th' journey, like a Bait by th' way:  
Now see with Candour: As our Poet's free,  
Pray let be so your Ingenuity.    

The Epilogue.  

AT first we made no boast, and still we fear,  
We have not answered expectation here,  
Yet give us leave to hope, as hope to live,  
That you will grace, as well as justice give.  
We do not dare your judgements now: for we  
Know lookers on more than the Gamesters see;  
And whate'er Poets write, we Act, or say,  
'tis only in your hands to Crown a Play.    

The Sparagus Garden.  Touch. 
With me gentlemen?  Gil. 
Only a few neighbourly and friendly words sir.  Touch. 
Oh you are most friendly welcome good Mr. Gilbert Gilawire, and Mr. Walter Chamlet I take ye to be.  Ambo. 
The same sir at your service.  Touch. 
Your fathers both were my good neighbours indeed; worthy and well reputed members of the City while they lived: but that may be read upon the Hospital walls, and gates; it is enough for me to say they loved me: Sanson Touchwood! and I were a wretch if I should not honour their memory in their happy succession: Again gentlemen you are welcome.  Gil. 
Yet you may be pleased sir to remember, though our fathers were both loving friends to you, yet they were sometimes at odds one with another.  Touch. 
True, true, ever at odds: They were the common talk of the town for a pair of wranglers; still at strife for one trifle or other: they were at law loggerheads together, in one match that held 'em tugging tone the t'other by the purse-strings a matter of nine years, and all for a matter of nothing. They coursed one another from Court to Court, and through every Court Temporal and Spiritual; and held one another play till they lost a thousand pound a man to the Lawyers, and till it was very sufficiently ad judged that your father was one fool, and your father was another fool. And so again gentlemen you are welcome: now your business.  Walt. 
You may now be pleased sir to remember that our fathers grew friends at last.  Touch. 
Heaven forbid else.  Gil. 
And note the cause, the ground of their reconciliation, which was upon the love, betwixt me and this gentleman's sister. My father's Son married his father's Daughter, and our two fathers grew friends, and wise men again.  Touch. 
To the point good gentlemen, yet you are welcome.  Gil. 
Troth sir the point is this: You know (and the town has ta'en sufficient notice of it) that there has been a long contention betwixt you and old Mr. Striker your neighbour—  Touch. 
Ha?  Gil. 
And the cause or ground of your quarrel (for aught anybody knows but yourselves) may be as trivial, as that which was derided in our fathers.  Touch. 
Are you there with me?  Gil. 
And great hopes there are, and wagers laid by your friends on both sides, that you two will be friends.  Touch. 
I'll hold you an hundred pounds o' that.  Gil. 
Nay, more, that Mr. Striker will be willing to give his Grandchild to your Son, so you'll give your consent.  Touch. 
And your coming is to persuade that, is it not? if it be so, speak; deal plainly with me gentlemen, whilst yet you are welcome.  Walt. 
Insooth it is so, we come to negotiate the match for your son, and your friendship with old Mr. Striker.  Touch. 
You are not welcome.  Gil. 
But when you weigh the reasons, and consider the perfect love of the young pair, and how the world will praise your reconciliation, and bless the providence, that made their loves the means to work their parents charity.  Touch. 
Again you are not welcome.  Gil. 

yourself but now commended the atonement  
Of our two fathers, wrought by the same means:  
I mean my marriage with his sister here  
Against as great an opposition.   Walt. 
But our fathers loved their children.  Touch. 
Your fathers were a couple of doting fools, and you a pair of saucy knaves; now you are not welcome: and more than so, get you out of my doors.  Gil. 
Will you sir, by your wilfulness, cast away your son?  Touch. 
My son? no son of mine, I have cast him off already for casting an eye upon the daughter of mine enemy: let him go, let him pack; let him perish: he comes not within these doors, and you, that are his fine spoken spokesmen, get you off o' my ground I charge you.  Walt. 
We are gone sir: only but wishing you Mr. Touchwood to remember that your son's your son.  Touch. 
indefinitely not sir, until he does not only renounce all interest in the love of that baggage; but do some extraordinary mischief in that family to right me for the trespass he has done; and so win my good opinion, till which be done a daily curse of mine he shall not miss; and so you may inform him.  Exit. Gil. 
What an uncharitable wretch is this?  Walt. 
The touchiest piece of Touchwood that e'er I met withal.  Gil. 
I feared we should inflame him.  Walt. 
All the comfort is, his son may yet outlive him.  

Act 1.  

Scene 2.  

Walter,  
Gilbert,  
Samuel.   Gil. 
BUt the danger is, his father may disinherit him  Walt. 
He cannot be so devilish; here comes his son, a gentleman of so sweet a disposition, and so contrary to his crabbed Sire, that a man who never heard of his mother's virtue might wonder who got him for him.  Gil. 
Not at all I assure you, Same is his father's noun son: for the old man you see, is gentle enough, till he be incensed; and the son being moved, is as fiery as the father.  Walt. 
But he is very seldom and slowly moved; his father often and o' the sudden.  Gil. 
I prithee wouldst thou have green wood take fire as soon as that which is old and sere?  Walt. 
He is deep in thought.  Gil. 
Over head and ears in his Mrs. contemplation.  Sam. 

To disobey a father, is a crime  
In any son unpardonable. Is this rule  
So general that it can bear no exception?  
Or is a father's power so illimitable,  
As to command his son's affections?  
And so control the Conqueror of all men  
Even Love himself? no: he, that enterprises  
So great a work, forgets he is a man;  
And must in that forget he is a father,  
And so if he forgo his nature, I  
By the same Law may leave my Piety.  
But stay, I would not lose myself in following  
This wild conceit   Gil. 
How now Sam, whither away?  Sam. 

I was but casting how to find the way  
Unto myself. Can you direct me gentlemen?   Walt. 
Yes, yes; your father has told us the way.  Sam. 
ha' you had conference with him? ha' ye? speak.  Gil. 
Marry sir ha' we, and I think to purpose.  Sam. 
ha' you won aught upon him to my advantage?  Walt. 

As much as may restore you to acquaintance  
With him again, can you but make good use on't.   Sam. 
Pray do not trifle with me; tell me briefly.  Gil. 

Briefly he says you must not dare to see him;  
Nor hope to receive blessing to the value  
Of a new threepence, till you disclaim your love  
In your fair Annabell; and not only so,  
But you must do some villainous mischievous act  
To vex his adversary, her Grandfather;  
Or walk beneath his curse in banishment.   Sam. 
A most uncharitable and unnatural sentence.  Walt. 

But think withal it is your father, that  
Makes this decree; obey him in the excecution:  
He has a great Estate, you are his only son:  
Do not lose him, your fortune, and yourself  
For a frail piece of beauty: shake her off;  
And do some notable thing against her house,  
To please your father   Sam. 

The Devil speaks it in thee,  
And with this spell I must Conjure him out.   Draw. Gil. 
Oh friend you are too violent.  Sam. 

he's too desperate,  
To urge me to an act of such injustice.  
Can her fair love, to whom my faith is given,  
Be answered with so loud an injury?  
Or can my faith so broken yield a sound  
Less terrible than thunder, to affright  
All love and constancy out of the breast  
Of every Virgin that shall hear the breach  
Of my firm faith?   Gil. 
Be not so passionate.  Sam. 

I have no further power to do an outrage  
Against that Family to whom my heart  
Is linked, than to rip out this troubled heart  
The only ominous cause, indeed, of all.  
My over passionate father's cruelty; and that  
(If I must needs do an injurious Office)  
Alone, shall be my act to calm his fury.   Gil. 

Prithee blow o'er this passion; thou wert wont  
To affect wit, and canst not be a Lover  
Truly without it. Love is wit itself,  
And through a thousand lets will find a way  
To his desired end.   Sam. 
The Ballet taught you that.  Gil. 

Well said, Love will find out the way:  
I see thou art coming to thyself again,  
Can there no shift, no witty slight be found  
(That have been common in all times and ages)  
To blind the eyes of a weak-sighted father,  
And reconcile these dangerous differences  
But by bloodshedding, or outrageous deeds,  
To make the feud the greater? recollect  
thyself good Sam; my house, my purse, my counsel  
Shall all be thine, and What shall be thy friend.   Walt. 
Let me entreat your friendship.  Sam. 
And me your pardon.  Gil. 

So, so, all friends; let's home and there consult  
To lay the tempest of thy father's fury;  
Which cannot long be dangerous, 'tis but like  
A storm in April, spent in swift extremes,  
When straight the Sun shoots forth his cheerful beams.   Ex.  

Act 1. Scene 3.  

Striker,  
Money-lacks.   Stri. 
YOu will not assault me in mine own house? I hope you will not; nor urge me beyond my patience with your borrowing attempts! good sir Hugh Money-lacks I hope you will not.  Mon. 

I hope I moved you not, but in fair language sir;  
Nor spoke a syllable that might offend you.  
I have not used the word of loan, or borrowing;  
Only some private conference I requested.   Stri. 
Private conference! a new coined word for borrowing of money; I tell you, your very face, your countenance (though it be glossed with Knighthood) looks so borrowingly, that the best words you give me are as dreadful as Stand and deliver, and there I think I was w'ye. I am plain w'ye sir, old Will Striker I.  Mon. 
My father Striker, I am bold to call you.  Stri. 
Your father! no, I desire no such near acquaintance with you, good sir Hugh Money-lacks: you are a Knight and a noble gentleman, I am but an Esquire and out of debt; and there I think I was w'ye again.  Mon. 
I shall be with you anon, when you have talked yourself out of breath.  Stri. 
'Tis true, I had the honour to be your worship's father in law when time was, that your Knighthood married and Ladyfied a poor daughter of mine: but yet she had five thousand pounds in her purse if you please to remember it; and as I remember you had then fourteen hundred a year: But where is it now? and where is my daughter now? poor abused Innocent; your riotousness abroad, and her long night watches at home shortened her days, and cast her into her grave— And 'twas not long before all your estate was buried too; and there I was w'ye again I take it: but that could not fetch her again.  Mon. 

No sir, I wish my life might have excused  
Hers, far more precious: never had a man  
A juster cause to mourn.   Stri. 
Nor mourned more justly, it is your only wearing; you have just none other: nor have had means to purchase better any time these seven years as I take it. By which means you have got the name of the mourning Knight; and there I am sure I was w'ye.  Mon. 
Sir, if you will not be pleased to hear my desires to you, let me depart without your derision.  Stri. 
Even when you please, and whither you please good sir Hugh Money-lacks: my house shall be no enchanted Castle to detain your Knight-errandship from your adventures. I hope your errand hither was but for your dinner; and so far forth (and especially at your going forth) you are welcome. Your daughter I do keep, and will for her poor mother's sake; (that was my daughter) peace be with her— she shall be no more a trouble to you; nor be your child any longer: I have made her mine; I will adopt her into mine own name, and make her a Striker; she shall be no more a Money-lack, and if she please me well in matching with a husband, I know what I will do for her.  Mon. 
I thank you sir.  Stri. 
Do you thank me sir, I assure you you need not; for I mean so to order her estate, and bind it up in that trust that you shall never finger a farthing on't: am I w'ye sir?  Mon. 
I cannot choose but thank you though in behalf of my child.  Stri. 
Call her your child again, or let me but hear that you suffer her to ask you a bare blessing, I'll send her after you upon adventures sir Knight: and who shall give a portion with her then? or what can she hope from a father that groans under the weight of a Knighthood for want of means to support it?  Mon. 
I shall find means to live without your trouble hereafter.  Stri. 
You may, you may; you have a wit sir Hugh, and a projective one; what, have you some new project afoot now, to out-go that of the Hand-barrows? what call you 'em the Sedams? oh cry you mercy, cry you mercy; I heard you had put in for a share at the Asparagus Garden: or that at least you have a Pension thence; to be their Gather guest and bring 'em custom, and that you play the fly of the new Inne-there; and sip with all companies: am I w'ye there sir?  Mon. 
You may be when you please sir; I can command the best entertainment there for your money.  Stri. 
In good time sir.  Mon. 
In the mean time sir, I had no mind to beg nor borrow of you, and though you will not give me leave to call you father, nor my daughter my daughter, yet I thought it might become my care to advertise you (that have taken the care of her from me) of a danger that will much afflict you, if it be not carefully prevented.  Stri. 
How's this?  Mon. 
You have an adversary—  Stri. 
But one that I know, the rascal my neighbour Touchwood.  Mon. 
There I am w'ye sir, I am informed that his only son is an earnest Suitor to your Daughter: (I must not call her mine)  Stri. 
How's that?  Mon. 
That there is a deep secret love betwixt 'em; and that they have had many private meetings: and a stolen match very likely to be made if you prevent it not.  Stri. 
Can this be true?  Mon. 
Give me but a piece from you, and if by due examination you find it not so, I'll never see your face again till you send for me.  Stri. 
To be rid of you take it.  Gives it. Mon. 
I am gone sir, and yet I think i'm w'ye.  Exit. Stri. 
Is the Devil become a match-broker? what, who within there: what?  
Annabell? what Friswood?   

Act 1. Scene 4.  

Friswood,  
Striker.   Fris. 
Here sir, I am here forsooth.  Stri. 
Are you so forsooth? but where's your Mistress forsooth?  Fris. 
Listening is good sometimes; I heard their talk, and am glad on't.  Stri. 
Where is your Mrs. I say?  Fris. 
My Mrs. Annabell, forsooth, my young Mrs?  Stri. 
What other Mrs. hast thou but the devil's Dam herself, your old Mrs.? and her I ask not for; good Mrs. Flibber de'Jibb with the French fly-flap o' your coxcomb.  Fris. 
Is the old man mad trow?  Stri. 
I ask for Annabell.  Fris. 
Bless me! how do you look?  Stri. 
Where's Annabell I say? fetch her me quickly, lest I baste her out of your old Whitleather hide.  Fris. 
How youthful you are grown? she is not far to fetch sir; you know you commanded her to her chamber, and not to appear in sight, till her debauched father was gone out o'the house.  Stri. 
And is not he gone now forsooth? why call you her not?  Fris. 
I warrant he has told you some tale on her. That lewd Knight, now he has undone himself by his unthrifty practises, begins to practise the undoing of his daughter too! is it not so forsooth? has he not put some wickedness into your head to set you against her?  Stri. 
I never knew thee a Witch till now.  Fris. 
Ha, ha, ha; I warrant he told you that your adversary touchwood's son, and my Mistress Annabell are in love league together.  Stri. 
Marry did he; and I will know the truth.  Fris. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Stri. 
Dar'st thou laugh at me?  Fris. 
No, no; but I laugh at the poor knight's officiousness, in hope of some great reward for the gullery that I put upon him: ha, ha, ha. Good sir a little patience, and I will tell! you. Ha, ha, ha— 'twas I that devised it for a lie, and told it him in hope that his telling of it to you, would provoke you to beat him out o'the house; for reporting a thing that had no probability or resemblance of a truth in it.  Stri. 
Is it but so?  Fris. 
Sir I have been your creature this thirty years, down lying and uprising; (as you know) and you should believe me, you had me in my old Mistress's days——  Stri. 
ay, thou wast a handsome young wench then; now thou art old.  Fris. 
Yet not so wondrous old as to be sung in a Ballet for't, or to have been able ere Adam wore beard to have crept into Eves bed, as I did into my Mistresses. (Heaven pardon you, as I do with all my heart.)  Weep. Stri. 
What in thy fooleries now?  Fris. 
Nor so old neither but you are content to make a sorry shift with me still; as your abilities will serve you—  Weep. Stri. 
Come, come; thou art not old.  Fris. 
Nay that's not it that troubles me: but that I, that served you before your daughter was borne; I mean your daughter that was mother to this daughter which now you have made your daughter; that I that saw the birth, the marriage, and the death of your daughter; and have had the governance of this her daughter ever since, till now she is marriageable; and have all this while been as pliant as a twig about you, and as true as the sheath to your steel as we say, that I should now be mistrusted to connive at an ill match for her, for whom my chiefest care has been from the Cradle? there's the unkindness.  Weep. Stri. 
Enough, enough; Fid. I believe there is no such matter.  Fris. 
I thought you had known me—  Weep. Stri. 
I do, I do; I prithee good Fid be quiet, it was a witty trick of thee to mock the poor Knight withal: but a pox on him, he cost me a piece for his news; there's another for thee: but the best is he hath tied himself by it, never to trouble me more; I have that into my bargain.  Fris. 
And you would tie me so too; would you?  Stri. 
Not so Fid, not so: but look to my Girl, and thus far mark me. If ever I find that young Touchwood, the son of that miscreant, whose hatred I would not lose for all the good neighbourhood in the Parish; if ever I say, he and your charge do but look upon one another, I'll turn her and you both out o' doors: there I will be w'ye, look to't.  Fris. 
Agreed sir; agreed.  Stri. 
Look to't I say, I must abroad, my anger is not over yet: I would I could meet my adversary to scold it out; I shall be sick else.  Exit. Fris. 
'Twas well I overheard 'em, my young lovers had been spoiled else: had not I crossed the old angry man's purpose before he had met with the young timorous Virgin, she had confessed all; and and all had been dashed now.   

Act 1. Scene 5.  

Annabell,  
Friswood,  
Sam.   An. 
HOw now Fris. is my Grandfather gone out of door?  Fris. 
if he were as safe out o'the world, it were well for you.  An. 
Nay say not so good Fris.  Fris. 
Your unlucky father has destroyed all your hopes in Mr. Same Touchwood; in discovering your loves (what Devil soever gave him the intelligence) and you must resolve never to see your sweet Sam again.  An. 
I must resolve to die first: oh.  Sinkes. Fris. 
Ods pity! how now! why Mrs. why Annabell, why Mrs. Annabell; look up, look up I say, and you shall have him spite of your Grandfather and all his works: what do you think I am an Infidel, to take Mr. samuel's forty pieces? and a rundlet of old Muskadine for nothing? come be well, and indeed you shall have him.  An. 
Oh Sam, sweet Sam—  Fris. 
These love-sick maids seldom call upon other Saints then their sweethearts; look up I say, your sweet Sam is coming.  An. 
Ha, where? where is he; why do you abuse me?  Scene. Enter Sam. Fris. 
I say he will come presently; look up I say, forgive me! he comes indeed: my Mr. thought I was a witch, and I now suspect myself for one. Oh Mr. Samuel, how came you hither? here he is Mrs. what mean you to come now to undo her and yourself too? yet she had died and you had not come as you did. Why do you not look upon him and be well? get you gone, we are all undone if my Mr. come back and find you: speak to her quickly, then kiss her and part, you will be parted for ever else.  Sam. 
How fares my love?  An. 

Better then when I was in earthly being,  
This bosom is a heaven to me; through death  
I am arrived at bliss, most happily  
To be so well revived thou mad'st me die.   Fris. 
I made you not die, as you will die, if you stand prattling till my Mr. return and take you: for Mr. Samuel, I must tell you Mr. Samuel, he knows all Mr. Samuel.  Sam 

My father knows as much, and that's the cause  
Of my adventuring hither to instruct you  
In a strange practice; here it is in writing, A paper.  
'Tis such a secret that I durst not trust  
My tongue with the conveyance of't; nor have I  
The confidence to hear it read: take it,  
And in my absence join your best advices,  
To give it life and action; 'tis rule  
Which (though both hard and grievous to pursue)  
Is all that can our hopes in love renew.   Fris. 
What horrible thing must we do trow? pray let me see the paper, I hope there is no pistolling nor poisoning in it: though my old Striker come short of the man he was to be with me, I would be loath to shorten his days with the danger of my neck; or making a Bonfire in Smithfield: pray let me see the paper.  Sam. 
Not until my departure gentle Friswood.  Fris. 
Is there such horror in it, that you dare not stand the opening of the paper?  Sam. 

Consider sweet our love is Fever sick,  
Even desperately to death;  
And nothing but a desperate remedy  
Is left us: for our bodily health, what sour  
Unsavoury loathsome medicines we will take  
But to remove an Ague?  
What sharp incisions, searings, and cruel Corrosives  
Are daily suffered, and what limbs dissevered  
To keep a Gangrene from the vital parts,  
That a dismembred body yet may live!  
We in like case must to preserve our love,  
(If we dare say we love) adventure life,  
Fame, Honour, which are all but love's attendants  
To maintain it.   An. 

I understand you, sweet,  
And do before I read your strong injunction,  
Resolve to give it faithful execution  
whate'er it be. I ha' got courage now,  
And (with a constant boldness let me tell you)  
You dare not lay that on me I'll not bear:  
And Love, predominant o'er all other passions,  
Shall bear me out in't.   Sam. 
Oh you have made me happy.  Fris. 

As I live my Master—  
Kiss and away; whip quickly through the Garden—  
Run you up to your Chamber; I'll see you out myself.   Sam. 
Thus let us breathe that till we meet again.  Fris. 
Whoop what d''ee mean?  Sam. 

We leave for truce at raising of the siege,  
Our interchanged hearts each others pledge.   Fris. 
Go fools, this sets you both but more on edge.  An. 
Farewell,  Sam. 
Farewell.  Ex.   

Act 2.  

Scene 1.  

Brittle ware,  
Rebecca.   Brit. 
SWeet wife content thyself.  Reb. 
Yes content myself! shall I so? with what, you john Bopeep? you must be my husband, and I must content myself, must I? no sir, 'tis you that must content me, or 'tis your heart must smart for't.  Brit. 
If you could be content with all that I have, or all that I can do, and expect no further, I then might hope to pacify you.  Reb. 
All has not done it yet you see, nor have you yet found out the way. Five years practise one would think were sufficient, so long you have had me; and too long it is unless I had got a better name by't, to be accounted barren—— oh me.  Brit. 
Now 'tis out; zonnes what would you have me do? where's the defect think you? is it not probable that you may be defective as well as I?  Reb. 
That I may be defective! I defy thee, Lubber; I defy thee and all that say so, thou fribling fumbler thou; I would some honest sufficient man might be Judge betwixt us whether I be defective.   

Act 2. Scene 2.  

Money-lack,  
Rebecca,  
Brittleware.   Mon. 
How now, always wrangling?  Reb. 
Defective quoth a—  Mon. 
What's the matter Landlord?  Reb. 
Do I look like a thing defective?  Mon. 
Land-Lady—  Reb. 
Oh fearful!  Mon. 
Mrs. Brittleware what's the matter?  Reb. 
You shall be Judge Sir Hugh, whether I be defective; you have lain here Sir Hugh these three years, have been our constant lodger off and on as we say; and can you think me defective?  Brit. 
You will not be impudent?  Mon. 
Good Mr. Brittleware what's the matter?  Brit. 
The matter is sir she will be content with nothing.  Mon. 
The best wife i'the world! and if you cannot afford her that to content her, you are a most hard-hearted husband.  Reb. 
What nothing? would you wish him to afford me nothing to content me? I must have something to content me; and something he must find me, or I will make him look out for't.  Mon. 
Come, come, I know the quarrel; and I know you will never get a child by falling out.  Reb. 
Nor any way else so long as he is such a jealous beast as he is.  Mon. 
Oh you must leave your jealousy Mr. Brittleware; that's a main hindrance  Brit. 
I am not jealous I.  Reb. 
Not, and stare like a mad Ox upon every man that looks upon me?  Mon. 
Fie upon him, is he such a beast, to be jealous of his own wife? if every man were so, it would spoil the getting of some children in a year.  Reb. 
And denies me all things that I have a mind to.  Brit. 
The best is, the loss of your longings will not hurt you; unless you were with child.  Reb. 

I must have my longings first; I am not every woman I,  
I must have my longings before I can be with child I.   Brit. 
You must not long for every strange thing you see or hear of then.  Reb. 
As true as I live he fribbles with me sir Hugh; I do but now long for two or three idle things scarce worth the speaking of; and do you think he will grant me one of 'em?  Mon. 
What may they be? he shall grant 'em.  Reb. 
One of my longings is to have a couple of lusty able bodied men, to take me up, one before and another behind, as the new fashion is, and carry me in a Man-litter into the great bed at Ware.  Mon. 
There's one, and will you deny her this to hinder a child getting?  Reb. 
Then I do long to see the new ship, and to be on the top of Paul's Steeple when it is new built, but that must not be yet; nor am I so unreasonable but I can stay the time: in the mean time I long to see a play, and above all plays, The Knight of the burning— whatye call't.  Mon. 
The Knight of the burning Pestle.  Reb. 
Pestle is it? I thought of another thing, but I would fain see it. They say there's a grocer's boy kills a Giant in it, and another little boy that does a citizen's wife thy dainty—— but I would fain see their best Actor do me; I would so put him too't, they should find another thing in handling of me I warrant 'em.  Brit. 
Heyday! so last frost she longed to ride on one of the Dromedaries over the Thames, when great men were pleased to go over it a foot.  Mon. 
Well, shall I make a convenient motion for you both?  Reb. 
Quickly sweet sir Hugh, I long for that before you name it.  Mon. 
Have you this Spring eaten any Asparagus yet?  Reb. 
Why is that good for a woman that longs to be with Child?  Mon. 
Of all the Plants, herbs, roots, or fruits that grow, it is the most provocative, operative and effective.  Reb. 
Indeed Sir Hugh?  Mon. 
All your best (especially your modern) Herbalists conclude, that your Asparagus is the only sweet stirrer that the earth sends forth, beyond your wild carrots, Corn-flag, or Gladial. Your roots of standergrass, or of Satyrion boiled in goat's milk are held good; your Clary or Horminum in divers ways good, and Dill (especially boiled in Oil) is also good: but none of these, nor Saffron boiled in wine, your Nuts of Artichokes, Rocket, or seeds of Ash-tree (which we call the Kite keys) nor thousand such, though all are good, may stand up for perfection with Asparagus.  Reb. 
Do you say so sir Hugh?  Mon. 
I have it from the opinion of most learned Doctors, rare Physicians, and one that dares call himself so.  Brit. 
What Doctor is he, a fool on horseback?  Mon. 
Doctor Thou-Lord, you know him well enough.  Reb. 
Yes, we know Doctor Thou-Lord, though he knows none but Lords and Ladies, or their companions. And a fine conceited Doctor he is, and as humorous I warrant ye; and will Thou and Thee the best Lords that dares be acquainted with him: calls Knights, Jack, Will, and Tom familiarly; and great Ladies, Gills, and Sluts too, and they cross him. And for his opinion's sake, and your good report sir Hugh, I will have Sparagus every meal all the year long, or I'll make all fly for't; and do you look to't Fribble, for it will be for your commodity as well as mine.  Brit. 
And sure it is a rare commodity when a Knight is become a Broker for to cry it up so.  Reb. 
And let me have some presently for my next meal, or you cannot imagine how sick I will be.  Mon. 
But mistake not me, nor the commodity we speak of Mrs. Brittleware; where would you have it? here in our own house? fie! the virtue of it is mortified, if it pass the threshold from the ground it grows on. No, you must thither, to the Garden of delight, where you may have it dressed and eaten in the due kind; and there it is so provocative, and so quick in the hot operation, that none dare eat it, but those that carry their coolers with 'em, presently to delay, or take off the delightful fury it fills 'em with.  Reb. 
Is there conveniency for that too?  Mon. 
Yes, yes; the house affords you as convenient Couches to retire to, as the garden has beds for the precious plants to grow in: that makes the place a palace of pleasure, and daily resorted and filled with Lords and Knights, and their Ladies; Gentlemen and gallants with their Mistresses—  Reb. 
But do not honest men go thither with their wives too?  Mon. 
None other; some to their own costs, and some at other men's.  Reb. 
Why do we not go then? or what stay we for, can you tell fumbler?  Mon. 
Nay Mrs. Brittleware, not so suddenly; towards the evening will be the fittest season of the day: meanwhile go in and fit yourself for the walk, your husband and I are first for another business.  Reb. 
Noble Knight I thank you, I hope my next longing shall be to bespeak you for a Godfather.  Mon. 
You shall not long long for that.  Reb. 
I take your noble word.  Exit. Brit. 
She's gone, and now sir Hugh let me tell you, you have not dealt well with me, to put this fagary into her foolish fancy.  Mon. 
Wilt thou be an Ass now? do not I know how to fetch it out on her again think'st thou? she shall not go, and yet be contented too.  Brit. 
ay you tell me so  Mon. 
Why thou wilt not be jealous of me now, that has lain in thy house these three years, wilt thou? nor think me so foolish to provoke thee with an injury; that know'st me and my ways so well.  Brit. 
I know something by your worship worth the price of a new Pillory.  Mon. 
Why so then; and will I wrong thee jack think'st thou, ha? no nor mistrust thee neither: for though thou art a jealous coxcomb over thy wife, and she a touchy thing under thee, yet thou and I Jack have been always confident of each other, and have wrought friendly and closely together, as ever Subtle and his Lungs did; and shared the profit betwixt us, han't we Jack: ha?  Brit. 
I think we have; and that you have some new device, some stratagem in hand now. ud's me, I now remember, is the party come to town?  Mon. 
Yes; and my Spring has seized him upon the way: and here I expect him instantly.  Brit. 
And will he be made a gentleman?  Mon. 
That's his ambition Jack; and though you now keep a China-shop, and deal in brittle commodities (pots, glasses, Purslane Dishes, and more trinkets than an Antiquaries study is furnished withal) you must not forget your old trade of Barber Surgeon, 'tis that must stead us now in our new project.  Brit. 
I warrant you, is he a trim youth?  Mon. 
We must make him one Jack, 'tis such a squab as thou never sawest; such a lump, we may make what we will of him.  Brit. 
Then sure we will make money of him.  Mon. 
Well said Jack, Spring has writ me here his full description.   

Act 2. Scene 3.  

Money-lacks,  
Spring,  
Hoydon,  
Coulter,  
Brittleware.   Mon. 
SLid he's come already: now Mr. Spring?  Spri. 
I come to present a gentleman to you sir.  Mon. 
How a gentleman? will you abuse me?  Spri. 
He finds your defect already; but be bold sir, he desires to be a Gentleman sir; and (tho' he be but course mettle, yet) he has that about him which with your help may quickly make him a clear Gentleman.  Hoy. 
I have four hundred pounds sir; and I brought it up to town on purpose to make myself a clear gentleman of it.  Mon. 
It was well brought up; it appears also that you have had some breeding, though but a yeoman's son.  Hoy. 
'Tis true, I have a little learning sir, and a little wit, though last night I met with some upon the way at Hammersmith that had more: yet I had enough to perceive I was cheated of a matter of seven pound (almost all the odd money I had about me) at my Card afore thy Card; a pox take the whole pack on 'em. 'sdaggers if ever man that had but a mind to be a Gentleman was so noddy pooped! oh how I could chafe to think on't.  Spr. 
Oh but you must not, it becomes not the temper of a Gentleman.  Hoy. 
So you told me; then I thank you friend.  Spr. 
Your small acquaintance sir.  Hoy. 
I have had more acquaintance where I have found less love, and I thank you again good small acquaintance: you told me indeed it became not a gentleman to cry for losing his money; and I told you then, that I should, or would be a gentleman: Whereupon Small acquaintance (because I was resolved to play no more) you advised me to give over; and you told me you would upon our coming to the City, here bring me to a Knight, that was a Gentleman-maker, whom I conceive this to be, and here am I, and here's my four hundred pound, which my man has here drawn up to Town, and here I mean to quarter it.  Coul. 
But I will see what pennyworths you bargain for first, by your mastership's leave.  Mon. 
Drawn and quartered! you have a wit Sir, I find that already.  Hoy, 
Yes sir, I have a down right Country wit, and was counted a pretty spark at home. Did you never hear of little Tim of Tanton? But I now mean to have a finical City wit, and a superfinical Court wit too, before I see mine Uncle.  Mon. 
You may sir.  Hoy. 
And be able to jest and jeer among men of judgement: I have a many small jests, petty Johns, as I call 'em: But I will have a clubbing wit, and a drinking wit; and be able to hold play with the great Poets I: and with dry jests to maul the mallipart'st lesser ones (that hold themselves better than the biggest) out o'the pit of wit I, before I see mine uncle.  Mon. 
You may have all sir, if you quarter your four hundred pound discreetly: but who is your uncle I pray?  Hoy. 
For that you shall pardon me, till I am a Gentleman: But I assure you he is a great gentleman in the City here; and I neither must nor dare see him, till I am one at least: and I will tell you presently how I mean to quarter my money.  Coul. 
They'll quarter that and you too, if I zee not the better to the matter.  Mon. 
Dost thou know the uncle he speaks of?  Spr. 
No, nor cannot learn who it is for my life.  Brit. 
Some great man sure that's ashamed of his kindred: perhaps some Suburb Justice, that sits o'the skirts o'the City, and lives by't.  Mon. 
Well said jack.  Hoy. 
Look you sir, thus had I cast it: Small acquaintance pray do you note it too: I love your advice, that at first sight of me (which was but last night) could relieve me from Cheaters.  Brit. 
From some of his own companions to cheat, you more himself.  Hoy. 
The first hundred pound to be for the making of me a gentleman: the second hundred shall be for apparel.  Spr. 
He speaks half like a gentleman already.  Brit. 
Right, there's half disposed of.  Hoy. 
The third hundred I'll spend in pleasure: hark Small acquaintance, we'll have wenches.  Whisper. Spr. 
What wants he of a gentleman, and go no further, but save the last hundred.  Hoy. 
Oh Small acquaintance, that must walk too: but all for profit to support my gentility hereafter.  Spr. 
As how?  Hoy. 
I will be cheated of it.  Mon. 
How?  Hoy. 
Nor in gross, but by retail, to try men's several wits, and so learn to shift for myself in time and need be.  Brit. 
Do you hear this?  Coul. 
There's a plot now!  Mon. 
I protest I admire him: I never found like Craft in a yeoman's son before.  Hoy. 
No words on't I beseech you sir; nor name that foolish word yeoman's son any more: I came to change my Copy, and write Gentleman: and to go the nighest way to work, my Small acquaintance here tells me, to go by the Heralds is the farthest way about.  Mon. 
Well sir, we will take the speediest course for you that may be possible.  Brit. 

The season of the year serves most aptly too,  
Both for purging and bleeding:  
Give your name into this book sir.   Hoy. 
Timothy Hoyden, sir.  Brit. 
Timothy Hoyden.  Write. Hoy. 
But must I bleed sir?  Mon. 

Yes, you must bleed: your father's blood must out,  
He was but a yeoman, was he?   Hoy. 
As rank a Clown, none dispraised, as any in Somersetshire.  Mon. 
His foul rank blood of Bacon and Peas-porridge must out of you to the last dram.  Hoy. 
You will leave me none in my body then, I shall bleed to death, and you go that way to work.  Spr. 
Fear nothing sir: your blood shallbe taken out by degrees, and your veins replenished with pure blood still, as you lose the puddle.  Hoy. 
How must that be done?  Coul. 
I that ich I would hear.  Mon. 
I commend you that you seek reason: it must be done by meats and drinks of costly price; Muscadel caudles, jellies, and cock-broths. You shall eat nothing but shrimp porridge for a fortnight; and now and then a pheasant's egg sopped with a peacock's feather. I that must be the diet.  Hoy. 
Delicate!  Coul. 
This stands to reason indeed.  Mon. 
Then at your going abroad, the first air you take shallbe of the Asparagus Garden, and you shall feed plentifully of that.  Hoy 
Of the air do you mean?  Mon. 
No of th'Asparagus. And that with a Concoction of goat's milk, shall set you an end, and your blood as high as any Gentleman's lineally descended from the loins of King Cadwalader.  Hoy. 
Excellent, I like all excellently well, but this bleeding. I could never endure the sight of blood.  Mon. 
That shows the malignant baseness of your father's blood within you.  Hoy. 
I was bewitched I think before I was begot, to have a Clown to my father: yet sit my mother said she was a Gentlewoman.  Spr. 
Said? What will not Women say?  Hoy. 
Nay, small acquaintance, she professed it upon her Deathbed to the Curate and divers others, that she was sister to a Gentleman here in this City; and commanded me in her Will, and upon her blessing, first to make myself a Gentleman of good fashion, and then to go to the gentleman my uncle.  Spr. 
What gentleman is that?  Hoy. 
I must not, nor I won't tell you that, till I am a gentleman myself: would you ha' me wrong the will o' the dead? Small acquaintance, I will rather die a Clown as I am first.  Mon. 
Be content sir; here's half a labour saved; you shall bleed but o' one side: the Father's side only.  Hoy. 
Say you so?  Mon. 
The Mother vain shall not be pricked.  Hoy. 

I thank you sir:  
I would 'twere done once.   Mon. 
But when this is done, and your new blood infused into you, you shall most easily learn the manners and behaviour.  Spr. 
The Look, the garb, the congee—  Brit. 
And all the Compliments of an absolute gentleman.  Hoy. 
O brave!  Mon. 

For which you shall have best instructions;  
You'll run a chargeable course in't, that I'll tell you:  
And may yet if you please retain your money;  
Cross your mother's will and die a Clown.   Hoy. 
By no means sir.  Coult. 
I begin to believe honestly of the Knight.  Mon 
Do you note this skin of his here?  Brit. 
Skin, 'tis a hide sir.  Hoy. 
'Tis somewhat thick and foul indeed sir.  Mon. 
He must have a bath, and that will be more charge.  Spr. 
'tis pity he should be flayed.  Hoy. 
I thank you small acquaintance; pray let me have a bath, whate'er it cost me, rather than flay me.  Mon. 
Well sir, this house shall be your lodging, and this the Mr. of it, an excellent Chirurgeon, and expert in these affairs, shall be your attendant.  Hoy. 
My man may attend me too, may he not?  Spr. 
Yes, by all means, and see the laying out of your money.  Coul. 
I like that best: sure they are honest men.  Mon. 
Is that your man? what does he wear a Coulter by his side?  Coul. 
No sir, my name is Coulter; I myself am a Coulter. and this is but my Hanger on, as I am my Masters.  Mon. 
Thou mayst make a Country gentleman in time, I see that by thy wit.  Coul. 
All my friends will be glad on't.  Mon. 
Come gentlemen, I'll lead you the way.  Ex.  

Act 2. Scene 4.  

Touchwood,  
Walter,  
Gilbert, Samuel.   Touch. 
But how can you assure me gentlemen that this is true?  Gil. 

We saw't not acted sir, nor had reported it,  
But on those terms of honour you have sworn to;  
In which you are engaged first to forgive  
Your son: then never to reveal to friend,  
Or foe, the knowledge of the fact.   Wat. 

You cannot now but receive  
Your son into your favour, that did urge him  
To do some outrage, some villainous shame or mischief  
Upon that Family as he would shun your curse.   Touch. 

This is a mischief with a witness to it:  
He has done it home it seems.   Gil. 

Sir, can a son  
Do his father's will too fully?   Touch. 

You may be pleased to call him. Exit Wat.  
I would now put on anger, but I fear  
My inward joy's too great, to be dissembled:  
Now for a rigid brow that might enable  
A man to stand competitor for the seat  
Of austere justice— Are you come to boast Enter Sam, Wat.  
The bravery of your fact, with a dissembled  
Show of obedience; as if you had merited  
Forgiveness and a blessing; when my shame  
For thy lewd action makes me turn and hide  
My face— for fear my laughter be descried.   aside and laugh. Gil. 
Pray turn not from him sir.  Touch. 

I have heard sir of your workmanship; but may  
A man receive it on your word for truth?   Sam. 

It is too true, unless you please in mercy  
To pardon, and preserve me from the rigour  
Of Justice, and the sharper censure  
That I shall suffer in all good opinion.   Touch. 

I mean you shall out o'the noise on't presently:  
So— there's a hundred pieces, get you gone;  
Provide you for a journey into France,  
Bear yourself well, and look you come not home  
A verier coxcomb than you went abroad:  
Pray wear no falling bands and cuffs above  
The price of suits and cloaks, lest you become  
The better half undone in about at Buffets.   Sam. 
I hope you shall hear well of me.  Touch. 
Amen.  Sam. 
Pray bless me sir.  Touch. 

My blessing be upon thee,  
Go get thee gone, my tenderness will show  
itself too womanish else.   Gil. 
Goodness of nature.  Wat. 
We'll help to set you forward.  Ex. Touch. 

Thank ye gentlemen:  
Be but my son, thou shalt not want a father,  
Though somebody must seek one: ha, ha, ha—  
I'd give another hundred Pieces now  
With all my heart, that I might be untongue-tied,  
And triumph o'er my adversary now,  
And dash this business in his angry teeth:  
Strike Strikers teeth out with his own abuse:  
Perhaps he knows't already, if he does;  
I may take notice, and make bold to jeer him:  
This is his usual walk.    

Act 2. Scene 5.  

Striker,  
Touchwood.   Stri. 

I was too blame  
To give it so much credit at the first,  
As to be troubled at it.   Touch. 
'Tis the Rascal.  Stri. 

That he, the son of my despite and scorn,  
Should gain of Fate a lot to see my Niece,  
Much less a face to ask her for his wife.   Touch. 
Perhaps he's casting of his will.  Stri. 

Yet the vexation that I was but told so,  
Lies gnawing in my stomach, that until  
I vomit it upon that Dunghill wretch;  
I cannot eat nor sleep to do me good.  
And I thank Chance he's here.   Touch. 
He comes, and so have at him.  Stri. 
Hum, hum, hum, humh.  Touch. 
And ha, ha, ha to thee old puppy.  Stri. 
Sirrah, sirrah, how dar'st thou keep a son that dares but look upon my Niece? there I am wi'ye sir.  Touch. 
Sirrah, and sirrah to thy withered jaws, and down that wrinkled throat of thine: how dar'st thou think a son of mine dares for displeasing me, look but with foul contempt upon thy loathed issue?  Stri. 
Impudent villain, I have heard he has seen her.  Touch. 
Has he but seen her? ha, ha, ha, I fear I shall out with it: I would not be forsworn: I'll keep't in if I can.  Stri. 
Yes malapert Jack, I have heard that he has seen her, but better hadst thou pissed him 'gainst the wall, than he presume to love her: and there I am wi'ye sir.  Touch. 
Hast thou but heard he has seen her: I tell thee thou old booby thou; if he had seen, felt, heard, and understood her: nay had he got her with child, and then left her, he were my son, and I would cherish him.  Stri. 
dar'st thou speak so, thou old Reprobate.  Touch. 
Thou dost not hear me say it is so, though I could wish it were with all my heart, because I think it would break thine.  Stri. 
Hugh, hugh, hugh.  Cough. Touch. 
I hope I shall keep it within the compass of mine oath; yet there was a touch for him.  Stri. 
Oh thou hellbred Rascal thou; hugh, hugh,  Cough and spit. Touch. 
So, so, up with it, Lungs, Lights, Liver, and all: choke up in a churl's name.  Stri. 
Hugh, hugh.  Touch. 
I have put him into these fits forty times at least, and not without hope it will throttle him at last—— if you do break a gut, or a rib or two, with straining, a rope will be your only remedy: and so I leave you: by the way you have not heard me say that I know any thing by your Niece: But what I know I'll keep to myself.  Stri. 
And hang thyself, I care not what thou know'st, yet thus far take me wi'ye sir.  Touch. 
Not a step, unless I were sure I were going to the devil, huh, huh: no sir, you shall not trip me: you shall not fetch it out of me: tush, my son's my son, and keep your niece to yourself, huh, and if she has any thing of his you may keep that too huh; and so choke up again with all my heart, and much good do it you.  Exit. Stri. 
Huh, huh— hum! so he's gone, the villain's gone in hope that he has killed me, when my comfort is he has recovered me:  

I was heartsick with a conceit which lay so mingled with my  
phlegm that I had perished, if I had not broke it, and made me  
spit it out; hemh, 'tis gone, and I'll home merrily.  
I would not that he should know the good he has done me  
For half my estate; nor would I be at peace with him  
To save it all: His malice works upon me,  
Past all the drugs and all the Doctors Counsels,  
That ere I coped with: he has been my vexation  
These thirty years; nor have I had another  
Ere since my wife died; if the Rascal knew't,  
He would be friends, and I were instantly  
But a dead man, I could not get another  
To anger me so handsomely.    

Act 2. Scene 6.  

Friswood,  
Striker.   Fris. 
YOu are welcome home sir.  Stri. 

And merrily too Fid. Hemh light at heart,  
I met with my Physician, Dog-leech, Touchwood;  
And cleared my stomach, and now I am light at heart.  
And thou shalt hear on't Fid anon perhaps.   Fris. 

You are the better able than to hear  
And bear what I must tell you.   Stri. 

Where's my Niece?  
How does she, ha?   Fris. 

As well as a young woman  
In her case may do sir.   Stri. 
Ha! how's that?  Fris. 
'twill out, and I as fit to tell't you as another.  Stri. 
Out with it then.  Fris. 

'tis true, I faced you down there was no league  
Between young touchwood, and your Niece, in hope  
To turn her heart from him before the knowledge  
Of any thing that passed should be a grief to you:  
But since I have discovered 'tis too late;  
And she can be fit bride for no man else.   Stri. 
He has not lain with her, has he?  Fris. 
You speak as just as Gorman's lips.  Stri. 

I hope he has not lipped her so:  
Prithee what canst thou mean?   Fris. 
Sir, if you think  
The knowledge of a truth of this sad nature  
May prejudice your health, by drawing a Choleric fit into you, you were best to send for your Physician, your dog-leech Touchwood, as you called him, to break your bed of phlegm, by laughing at you.  Stri. 
What dost thou mean now, I have asked thee twice.  Fris. 

I say young touchwood has touched, and clapped your niece;  
And (which is worse) with scorn and foul disdain  
Has left and quite forsaken; and is gone:  
(They say) sent by his father to travail.   Stri. 

'twas this the villain hammered on today,  
When he spoke mystically, doubtful words,  
Reflecting on this mischievous sense: Hell, hell, hell.   Fris. 

'twere good you would forsake the thought of hell sir,  
And think upon some timely course to save  
Her credit, and the honour of your house by marriage.   Stri. 

You counsel very well;  
But were you privy in their love's affair?   Fris. 
Indeed I knew too much on't: think of a course good sir.  Stri. 

I know no course for her and you but one,  
Young whore and bawd, and that is instantly  
To pack you out of doors to seek your living,  
And there I will be wi'ye.   Fris. 
Sir that you must not.  Stri. 
Sprecious dost thou must me in mine own house?  Fris. 

In your own house sir, kill us if you please,  
And take the sin upon you; but out of it  
You must not dare to thrust us with your shame:  
Which I will so divulge, as you shall find  
Your house to be no sanctuary for yourself;  
And there I'll be with you.   Stri. 
This is lusty.  Fris. 

Consider wisely that I know you sir,  
And can make foul relation of some passages  
That you will shame to hear.   Stri. 
Hold your peace.  Fris. 

Remember sir, near thirty years ago,  
You had a sister, whose great marriage portion  
Was in your hands: good gentlewoman, she  
Unfortunately loving a false Squire,  
Just as your Niece hath now, did get a clap:  
You know sir what I mean.   Stri. 
You'll hold your peace?  Fris. 

I'll speak it though I die for't; better here  
Than in a worse place: So clapped I say she was,  
I know not yet by whom you do, and bear  
An inward grudge against somebody to this hour for't.  
But to my story, good gentlewoman she  
Was by your most unbrotherly cruel usage  
Thrust out a doors, as now you threaten us:  
And miserably big-bellied as she was  
Leaving her most unjustly detained her portion  
In your false hands, forsook you and the town,  
To fly the air, where her disgrace was spread:  
Some jewels and some gold she had concealed:  
But to what part o'th' world she took we know not,  
Nor did you ever care, but wished her out on't,  
By any desperate end, after her flight  
From portion, blood and name; and so perhaps  
Immediately she was: for which, this judgement  
Is justly fall'n upon you.   Stri. 
Yet hold thy peace.  Fris. 

Neither by threats, nor bribes, nor all persuasion,  
Until you take your Niece into your care:  
What will the world say when it hears this story  
Of your own natural sister, and your cruelty,  
When you shall second it with your Niece's shame?   Stri. 
I never was so mated, so astonished.  Fris. 

Nay, more than this, old Striker, I'll impeach  
You for foul incontinence; and shaking your  
Old Bullion Trunks over my Trucklebed.   Stri. 
Thou art not desperate! wilt thou shame thyself?  Fris. 

I value neither shame, nor name, nor fame;  
And wealth I have none to lose; you have enough  
To pay for all I take it.   Stri. 
Oh I am sick.  Fris. 
Be of good cheer, I'll send for your Physician.  Stri. 
Sick, sick at heart; let me be had to bed.  Exit. Fris. 

I hope I have laid the heat of his severity,  
So sometimes great offences pass for none,  
When severe judges dare not hear their own.   Ex.   

Act 3.  

Scene 1.  Enter Gardner, and Martha his wife. Gar. 
PRay let's agree upon't good wife, you are my wife I take it, and I should have the command, yet I entreat, and am content you see.  Mat. 
And so would any man I think that has such a help and comings in by his wife as you have: 'tis not your dirty Sparagus, your Artichokes, your Carps, your Tulips, your Strawberries, can bring you in five hundred pound a year, if my helping hand, and brain too were not in the business?  Gar. 
Let us agree upon't: and two or three years' toil more, while our trade is in request and fashion, will make us purchasers. I had once a hope to have bought this Manor of Marshland for the resemblance it has to the Low Country soil you came from, to ha' made you a Bankside Lady. we may in time be somewhat. But what did you take yesterday Mat in all, what had you, ha?  Mat. 
Poor piddling doings; some four and twenty pound.  Gar. 
What did the rich old Merchant spend upon the poor young gentleman's wife in the yellow bedchamber?  Mat. 
But eight and twenty shillings, and kept the room almost two hours, I had no more of him.  Gar. 
And what the Knight with the broken Citizens wife (that goes so Lady like) in the blue bedchamber.  Mat. 
Almost four pound.  Gar. 
That was pretty well for two.  Mat. 
But her husband, and a couple of serving-men had a dish of Sparagus, and three bottles of wine, besides the broken meat into one o'the Arbours.  Gar. 
Every thing would live Mat: but here will be great Courtiers and Ladies today you say.  Mat. 
Yes they sent last night to bespeak a ten pound dinner, but I half fear their coming will keep out some of our more constant, and more profitable customers.  Gar. 
'twill make them the more eager to come another time then Mat. Ha' they paid their reckoning in the Parlour?  Mat. 
Yes, but hutchingly, and are now going away.   

Act 3. Scene 2.  Gentleman and Gentlewoman to them. Gar. 
O here they are going.  Gent. 
I protest Mr. Gardner your wife is too dear: sixteen shillings for a dish of Sparagus, two bottles of wine, and a little Sugar, I wonder how you can reckon it.  Mat. 
That was your reckoning in all sir; we make no account of particulars, but all to Mall, as they do in the Netherlands.  Gent. 
Your Dutch account Mrs. is too high for us to trouble you any more.  Mat. 
That's as you please sir, a fair day after you:  Ex. Gen. 
Who would be troubled with such pinching guests?  Gar. 
ay, 'tis good to misreckon such to be rid of 'em.  Mat. 
They are e'en as welcome as the Knight that comes hither alone always, and walks about the garden here half a day together, to feed upon Lady's looks, as they pass to and fro; the peeping Knight, whát do you call him?  Gar. 
O Sir Arnold Cautious.  Mat. 
You may call him Cautious, I never saw five shillings of his money yet.  Gar. 
No, he comes but to feed his eye, as you say, with leering at good faces, and peeping at pretty insteps.  Mat. 
Sir Hugh-Money-lacke, our gather-guest as we call him, sends us no such dull customers: O that good Gentleman I never did any tavern, Inn, or new Ordinary give tribute to a more deserving gentleman— oh here come gallants.   

Act 3. Scene 3.  Enter Gilbert, Wat, and Same (disguised) to them. 
Three, and ne'er a woman! strange! these are not the Courtiers we look for.  Gil. 
This is his daily haunt: I warrant thee we find him.  Wat. 
And it shall take, ne'er fear it Sam.  Gil. 
By your leave Mr. and Mrs. or rather Lord and Lady of the new plantation here.  Wat 
Nay Prince and Princess of the Province of Asparagus.  Sam. 
The Island of two Acres here, more profitable than twice two thousand in the Fens, till the drainers have done there.  Mat. 
You are pleasant gentlemen: what is your pleasure?  Gil. 
Saw you Sir Arnold Cautious here today?  Mat. 
Not yet sir.  Gil. 
Ha' you a room i' your house for us?  Mat. 
Have you any more company to come to you?  Wat. 
Yes, we expect some gentlemen.  Mat. 
Gentlemen did you say?  Gil. 
Yes indeed gentlemen, no gentlewomen I assure you.  Mat. 
Intruth sir all the rooms within are gone.  Gil. 
What they are not gone abroad, are they?  Mat. 
You are always pleasant sir: I mean they are all taken up.  Gil. 
There are some taken up in 'em, is't not so?  Mat. 
Still you are pleasant sir: they are indeed bespoken for great Courtiers, and Ladies that are to dine here.  Gar. 
If you will bestow yourselves in the garden, and make choice of your Arbour: you shall have the best cheer the house can afford ye, and you are welcome.  Gil. 
Be it so then; let's walk about gentlemen. Pray send us some wine.  Wat. 
And a dish of your Sparagus.  Mat. 
You shall have it gentlemen.  Exit. Gil. 
Did you note the wit o'the woman?  Wat. 
ay, because we had no wenches we must have no chamber-room, for fear she disappoint some that may bring 'em.  Sam. 
she spoke of great Courtiers and Ladies that are to come.  Wat. 
Some good stuff perhaps.  Gil. 
Why I assure you, right noble, and right virtuous persons, and of both sexes do frequent the place.  Sam. 
And I assure you, as ignoble and vicious do pester it too much; and these that respect profit merely have not the wit, and less the virtue to distinguish betwixt the best and the worst, but by their purses.  Wat. 
'Tis enough for them to weed their garden, not their guests: O here comes our collation.   

Act 3. Scene 4.  Enter two boys, they cover a Table, two bottles of wine, Dishes of Sugar, and a dish of Sparagus. Gil. 
ANd what's the price of this feast boy?  Boy. 
playst ill Monsieur.  Gil. 
What art thou a Frenchman?  Boy. 
No, I took you for one sir, to bargain for your meat before you eat it, that is not the generous English fashion, you shall know anon sir.  Gil. 
Go get you gone with your wit, and tell your prodigal fools so.  Wat. 
Go, we'll call when we want attendance.  Ex. Boy. Gil. 
Sam you are too sad; let not your disguise alter you with us: Come here's a health to the Hans in Kelder, and the mother of the boy, if it prove so.  Sam. 
I'll pledge it.  Wat. 
We want Sir Hugh money-lack here to discourse the virtues of this precious plant Asparagus, and what wonders it hath wrought in Burgundy, Almaino, Italy, and Languedoc before the herborists had found the skill to plant it here.  Sam. 
What's he to whom we seek?  Wat. 
Who mine Uncle, Sir Arnold Cautious; he'll come, ne'er doubt him; he seldom misses a day to pry and pier upon the beauties that come to walk here.  Gil. 
'tis such a Knightling, I'll but give ye his Character, and and he comes I warrant thee; he is an infinite admirer of beauty, and dares not touch a woman: he is aged about fifty, and a bachelor: he defies wed lock, because he thinks there is not a maidenhead- in any marriageable beauty to be found among Women.  Sam. 
Yet you say he is an admirer and hunter after the sight of beauty.  Gil. 
He gets a crick in his neck ofttimes with squinting up at windows and Balconies; and as he walks the streets, he peeps on both sides at fair breasts and faces, as he were seeking Birds-nests; and follows pretty feet and insteps like a hare tracker.  Wat. 
This is still mine Uncle.  Gil. 
And when he sees a Coach of Ladies about to alight, he makes a stand, in hope to see a delicate leg slip through a laced smock, which if he chance to discover he drivels.  Sam. 
Well, how your plot may hold to my purpose I cannot see: he is the unlikeliest man to have a wench put upon that you can mention.  Gil. 
I grant the attempt is hard, but the higher will be the achievement: trust my experience Sam: for as in every instrument are all tunes to him that has the skill to find out the stops, so in every man there are all humours to him that can find their faucets, and draw 'em out to his purpose.  Wat. 
Fear not the plot, as we have cast it, nor the performance in the Comedy, though against mine own Natural Uncle.  Gil. 
Thy unnatural uncle thou wouldst say; he ne'er did thee good in's life: Act but thine own part, and be not out Sam, and fear nothing.  Wat. 
He's somewhat too young to act a roarer: but what lads have we seen pass for soldiers?   

Act 3. Scene 5.  Enter three Courtiers and Ladies: Cautious aloof. Sam. 
O here come the great guests.  Gil. 
And these are noble ones indeed; these are Courtiers Clinquant, and no counterfeit stuff upon 'em: I know 'em all, every Lady with her own husband too: what a virtuous 'honest age is this: and see if thine Uncle be not at his old game, bopeep i'the tail of 'em. He shall follow 'em no further: Sir Arnold Cautious, Noble Knight you are well encountered.  Ex. Court. Caut. 
Good Master Gold wire, do you know these Ladies; or be they Ladies, ha?  Gil. 
Yes, and noble ones, the three Graces of the Court, the Lady Stately, the Lady Handsome, and the Lady peerless, do not you know 'em?  Caut. 
No not I.  Gil. 
How the slave twitters; you look not up at greatness, you mind too much the worldly things that are beneath you: if you had such a Lady under you, (of your own I mean) you would mind her.  Caut. 
Oh fie, fie, fie.  Gil. 
Look no more after 'em, they are gone: besides they are virtuous, and too too great for you: when will you get a convenient wife of your own, to work out the dry itch of a stale Bachelor?  Caut. 
Go, go, you are a wag, I itch not that way.  Gil. 
Will you go this way with me then, and hear what I will say to you?  Caut. 
With all my heart, I am free from business.  Gil. 
You have a Nephew, whose sister I married, a virtuous wife she is, and I love him the better for't; he is a younger brother, and borne to no great fortune: now you are very rich, a Bachelor, and therefore I think child less—  Caut. 
Introth Mr. gold-wire you must pardon me, I may not stay with you: I had almost forgot a most important business.  Sam. 
e'en now he had none.  Gil. 
Nay good Sir Arnold Cautious, you know not what I'll say.  Caut. 
I say he is an unthrift, a Squanderer, and must not expect supplies from me.  Gil. 
He does not, shall not, not to the value of a token: pray stay, and hear me sir; 'tis no ill air to stay in.  Caut. 
I with all my heart good Mr. gold-wire; I like the air well, and your motion hitherto.  Gil. 
Will you be pleased to do your kinsman the favour to further him in a match; I mean an honest lawful marriage match— but with your countenance, and a good word at most.  Caut. 
The most unthankful office in the world: pray use some other friend in't: indeed I stay too long.  Gil. 
Hear but who it is that he loves, how likely he is to obtain, what abundant profit the match may bring him, and the desperate undoing danger he falls into if he be not matched, and then do your pleasure.  Caut. 
Why what new danger is he towards, more than the old ill company he was wont to keep?  Gil. 
Oh sir, he is now in league with a companion more dreadful than 'em all, a fellow that is in part a Poet, and in part a Soldier.  Caut. 
Bounce, bounce.  Gil. 
You have hit upon his name: his name is Bounce, do you know him sir?  Caut. 
Not I, nor desire acquaintance with either of his qualities.  Gil. 
He is a gentleman sir, that has been upon some unfortunate late services, that have not answered his merit.  Caut. 
And now he is come home to right himself, by writing his own meritorious acts, is he?  Gil. 
Good introth, I wish you would see 'em, to come over 'em with a jeer or two; I know you are good at it: They are in an Arbour here close by, drinking to their Muses, and glorifying one another for either's excellency in the art most Poetically.  Caut. 
Glorify do you say? I have heard Poets the most envious detractors of one another of all Creatures, next to the very Beggars.  Gil. 
Abroad perhaps and asunder, but together there's no such amity: You never saw 'em drink; pray see 'em sir, it may take your Nephew off of his Ningle, who hath infected him with Poetry already: and twenty to one, if he fail in the match, which I was about to mention; he will win him away to the wars too, and then he may be lost for ever.  Caut. 
Good Mr. gold-wire go you to your company, I am not a man of reckoning amongst such; besides, I seldom drink betwixt meals.  Wat. 
At his own cost he means.  Gil. 
I commend your temper: you shall not be in the reckoning; but I beseech you let me prevail with you: See, we are upon hem: save you Gentlemen: I have brought you a noble friend, your uncle; I know he is welcome to you brother Wat; and you I am sure will make him so Mr. Bounce: when you shall hear he is an admirer of Poetry and war.  Caut. 
Even afar off I assure ye: I never durst approach near the fury of either of the fiery qualities.  Sam. 
It is your modesty, not fear that keeps you at distance I imagine.  Caut. 
Poets may imagine any thing: imagination is their wealth, some of 'em would be but poor else: are you turned Poet Nephew?  Wat. 
For my private recreation sir.  Caut. 
What by writing Verses to win some Mistresses to your private recreation: mean you so?  Sam. 

You dare not sir blaspheme the virtuous use  
Of sacred Poetry, nor the fame traduce  
Of Poets, who not alone immortal be,  
But can give others immortality.  
Poets that can men into stars translate,  
And hurl men down under the feet of Fate:  
'twas not Achilles sword, but Homer's pen,  
That made brave Hector die the best of men:  
And if that powerful Homer likewise would,  
Helen had been a hag, and Troy had stood.   Gil. 
Well said Poet, thou tumblest out old ends as well as the best of 'em.  Sam. 

Poets they are the life and death of things,  
Queens give them honour, for the greatest Kings  
Have been their subjects.   Caut. 
Enough, enough; you are the first good Poet that e'er I saw wear so good a Countenance: leave it, I would not have a gentleman meddle with Poetry for spoiling of his face: you seldom see a Poet look out at a good Visnomy.  Sam. 
Think you so sir?  Caut. 
Yes, and that it is a Poetical Policy, where the face is naturally good without spot or blemish, to deface it by drinking, or wenching, to get a name by't.  Sam. 
A death deserving scandal.  Gil. 
Hold, hold.  They scuffle, and What throws. Sam, and offers to stab him. Gil. holds his Dagger. Sam. 

Thy malice, and thy ignorance  
Have doomed thee.   Gil. 
Gentlemen what mean ye?  Wat. 
My blood must not endure it.  Gil. 
You have wronged us all, and me the most.  Wat. 

The wrong is chiefly mine; yet you add to it  
By hindering my just vengeance.   Sam. 
I'll find a time to right you, or myself.  Exit. Wat. 

My next sight of thee is thy death:  
I fear you are hurt sir; are you, pray sir tell me?   Caut. 

Let me first admire thy goodness and thy pity:  
My own true natural Nephew.   Gil. 
Now it works.  Caut. 

I now consider, and will answer thee  
In a full measure of true gratitude.   Wat. 
But good sir are you not hurt? if you bleed, I bleed with you.  Caut. 

Oh sincere Nephew, good boy I am not hurt,  
Nor can I think of hurt, my thoughts are bent  
Upon thy good; you were speaking of a choice sir,  
My Nephew would be matched to, let me know the party.   Gil. 
Will you sir stand his friend?  Caut. 

Let me but know the party and her friend,  
And instantly about it.   Gil. 
He is catched.  Wat. 
How am I bound to you!  Caut. 
Nephew I am yet bound to thee, and shall not rest till I am disengaged by doing this office for thee: what is she, let me know?  Gil. 
Sir, as we walk you shall know all: I'll pay the reckoning within as we pass.  Caut. 
But by the way Nephew, I must bind you from Poetry.  Wat. 
For a Wife you shall sir.  Gil. 
Poetry, though it be of a quite contrary nature, is as pretty a jewel as plain dealing, but they that use it forget the Proverb.  Ex.  

Act 3. Scene 6.  Enter Courtiers and Ladies. 1 Cour. 

COme Madams, now if you please after your garden Feast,  
To exercise your numerous feet, and tread  
A curious knot upon this grassy square;  
You shall fresh vigour add unto the spring,  
And double the increase, sweetness and beauty  
Of every plant and flower throughout the garden.   1 Lad. 

If I thought so my Lord, we would not do  
Such precious work for nothing; we would be  
Much better huswives, and compound for shares  
O'th' gardener's profit.   2 La. 

Or at least hedge in  
Our Sparagus dinner reckoning.   2 Cour. 

I commend your worldly providence:  
Madam, such good Ladies will never dance  
Away their husbands Lands.   1 Cour. 
But Madams will ye dance?  1 La. 

Not to improve the garden good my Lord,  
A little for digestion if you please.   1 Cour. 
Music, play.  The Dance. 1 Cour. 

You have done Nobly Ladies, and much honoured  
This piece of earth here, with your graceful footing.   1 La. 
By your fair imitation, good my Lords.  1 Cour. 

May the example of our harmless mirth  
And Civil recreation purge the place  
Of all foul purposes.   1 La. 

'tis an honest wish:  
But wishes weed no gardens; hither come  
Some wicked ones they say.   1 Cour. 

We seek not to abridge their privilege;  
Nor can their ill hurt us; we are safe.   1 La. 
But let us walk, the time of day calls hence.  1 Cour. 
Agreed.  Exeunt.  

Act 3. Scene 7.  

Money-lack,  
Hoyden,  
Spring,  
Brittleware,  
Rebecca,  
Coulter.   Mon. 
YOu are now welcome to th' Asparagus Garden Landlady.  Reb. 
I have been long a coming for all my longings: but now I hope I shall have my belly full on't.  Mon. 
That you shall, fear not.  Reb. 
Would I were at it once.  Mon. 
Well, because she desires to be private, go in with your wife Mr. Brittleware, take a room, call for a feast, and satisfy your wife, and bid the Mrs: of the house to provide for us.  Brit. 
I will sir.  Ex. Brit. Wife. Mon. 
And how do you feel yourself Mr. Hoyden after your bleeding, purging, and bathing, the killing of your gross humours by your spare diet, and your new infusion of pure blood, by your quaint feeding on delicate meats and drinks? how do you feel yourself?  Hoy. 
Marry I feel that I am hungry, and that my shrimped yet and sippings have almost famished me, and my purse too; slid I dare be sworn, as I am almost a gentleman, that every bit and every spoonful that I have swallowed these ten days, has cost me ten shillings at least.  Spr. 
Is it possible that you can consider this, and be almost a gentleman?  Hoy. 
Small acquaintance I do not lie to you: truth's truth, as well in a Gentleman as a beggar, for I am both almost, and perhaps not the first that can write so.  Spr. 
Do you note how his wit rises?  Hoy. 
There's one of my hundred pounds gone that way, all but these twelve pieces.  Coul. 
You see now what a fine hand you have made of your money, since you got it out of my clutches.  Hoy. 
Then there's my apparel, a hundred pound went all in three suits, of which this is the best.  Spr. 
But what do you think of your wit hundred pound?  Hoy. 
Marry I think that was the best laid out: for by it I have got wit enough to know that I was as clearly cozened of it as heart can wish: o' my soul and conscience, and as I am almost a gentleman, and a man had come to London for nothing else but to be Cheated, he could not be more roundlier rid of his money.  Mon. 
Well sir, if you repine at your expenses now, that you want nothing but your Bellyful of Sparagus to finish my work of a gentleman in you; I will, if you please, in lieu of that stuff up your paunch with Bacon and bag-pudding and put you back again as absolute a Clown as ever you came from plough.  Coult. 
I would he're come to that once.  Sprin. 
Take heed how you cross him.  Hoy. 
Nay pray sir be not angry, (though to the shame of a Gentleman I say it) my teeth do e'en water at the name of the sweet Country dish you spoke of (bacon and bag-pudding) yet I will forbear it: but you say I shall fill my belly with this new Daintrill that you spoke of; these Sparowbills, what do you call 'em.  Mon. 
You shall have your belly full.  Hoy. 
Top full I beseech you.  Coul 
Humh—  Mon. 
You shall: but I must tell you, I must ha' you turn away this grumbling Clown that follows you: he is as dangerous about you, as your father's blood was within you, to cross and hinder your gentility.  Hoy. 
True, you said you would help me to a boy no bigger than a Monkey.  Spr. 
And you shall have him, a pretty little knave, you may put him in your pocket.  Coul. 
Yes wiss, to pick's money out if he had it; shortly 'twill come to that before't be long.  Hoy. 
Coulter you must to the plough again; you are too heavy a clog at the heels of a gentleman.  Coult. 
I with all my heart, and I con you thanks too.  Hoy. 
The Clown, my father's heir, will be glad of you.  Mon. 
Have you an elder brother?  Hoy. 
You do not hear me say he is my brother; but the clown my father had a former son, by a former wife, that was no gentlewoman as my mother was, and he is a Clown all over, and incurable, even get you to him, like to like will agree well: here's a Crown for you, 'twill carry you a foot to Tanton; and so get you gone like a Clown as you are.  Coult. 
'Tis well you allow me some mon ey yet: we shall have you beg all the way home shortly, when your Cheaters have done we 'ye.  Mon. 
How villain!  Spr. 
Why do you not correct him sir?  Coult. 
Nay why do not you, he dares not? though he could spare his Clown blood, he dares not venture his Gentleman blood so, nor you yours, 'tis all too fine I doubt; therefore keep it, & make much on't: I would be loathe a jail should stay my journey, or by my Cursen soul I would see, what colour the best on't were before I go. But if I don't your errand to your brother, and tellen how you do vlout'em behind's back, then say Cut's a Cur: And so a vart vor a varewell to the proudest o'ye; and if you be an angered, take't in your angry teeth.  Exit. Spr. 
Mon. Ha, ha, ha.  Spr. 
What a rude Rascal 'tis? you are happy that he is gone.  Mon. 
And so am I, he hindered half my work; seven years time is too little to make a gentleman of one that can suffer such a Clown within seven mile of him.  Hoy. 
Would he were beyond Brainford on his way then by this time for me. But you forget the way you were in; you said you would fill my belly; and then fall to practise fine compliments and congees to make me a perfect gentleman, and fit to see mine unknown uncle.  Mon. 
All shall be done.   

Act 3. Scene 8.  Enter Brittleware and Rebecca to them. Hoy. 
See if my Surgeon and his wife have not filled themselves, and come wiping their lips already.  Mon. 
So shall you presently: now Landlady are you pleased with your Asparagus?  Reb. 
With the Asparagus I am; and yet but half pleased neither, as my husband shall very well know.  Mon. 
Well, we will leave you to talk with him about it: come sir let us into the house.  Ex. Brit. 
But half pleased sweetheart?  Reb. 
No indeed john Brittleware; the Asparagus has done its part; but you have not done your part john; and if you were an honest man john, you would make sir Hugh's words good of the Asparagus, and be kinder to me: you are not kind to your own wife john in the Asparagus way; you understand me: for ought I see Pompions are as good meat for such a hoggish thing as thou art.  Brit. 
Well, when we come at home Beck, I know what I know.  Reb. 
At home, is't come to that? and I know what I know: I know he cannot love his wife enough at home, that won't be kind to her abroad: but the best is I know what my next longing shall be.  Brit. 
More longings yet! now out of the unsearchable depth of woman's imagination, what may it be?  Reb. 
It begins to possess me already, still more and more: now 'tis an absolute longing, and I shall be sick till I have it.  Brit. 
May I know it forsooth, tell it that you may have it.  Reb. 
I dare tell it you, but you must never know that I have it.  Brit. 
If you dare tell it.  Reb. 
Dare; nay be as jealous as you will: thus it is, I do long to steal out of mine own house, unknown to you as other women do, and their husbands ne'er the wiser, hither to this same Sparagus Garden, and meet some friend that will be kind to me.  Brit. 
How, how!  Reb. 
In private; unknown to you, as I told you; 'tis unpossible I shall ever have a child else, and you so jealous over me as you are?  Brit. 
Art thou a woman and speak this?  Reb. 
Art thou a man, five years married to me; and ask me now if I be a woman?  Brit. 
Art thou so full of the Devil to fly out in this manner?  Reb. 
Why his horns fly not out of me to fright thee, do they?  Bri. 
Oh for a hell that has not a woman in't?   

Act 3. Scene 9.  Enter a Gentleman and a City Wife. Reb. 
Look you there john jealousy, there's an example before your eyes, if nothing hang i'your sight; there you may see the difference between a sour husband and a sweet natured gentleman! good heart! how kindly he kisses her! and how featly she holds up the neb to him! little heart! when will you be so kind to your own wife john.  Brit. 
Is that his wife think you?  Reb. 
No, no, I know her, 'tis Mris. hollyhock the precise draper's wife; oh, how my longing grows stronger in me: I see what shift soever a woman makes with her husband at home, a friend does best abroad.   

Act 3. Scene 10.  Enter Servant to them. Ser. 
indeed my Mris. will not take this money, there wants two shillings.  Wom. 
Why is my piece too light?  Ser. 
Two light for the reckoning Mrs. it comes to two & twenty shillings, and this is but twenty.  Gent. 
Unreasonable; how can she reckon it,  Ser. 
I know what you had sir, and we make no bills:  Gen. 
Well fare the Taverns yet, that though they cozened never so much, would down with it one way or other: and their jacks, go again; now tell your Mris. & that will hinder her somewhat.  Ser. 
Not a jot sir.  Gent. 
Then tell her the Countess of Copt Hall is coming to be her neighbour again, and she may decline her trade very dangerously.  Ser. 
My Mris. scorns your words sir.  Gent. 
You Rogue  Wom.. 
Nay sweet cousing, make no uproar for my reputation's sake; here youth there's two shillings more, commend me to your Mistress.  Ex. Ambo. Brit. 
She pays the reckoning it seems.  Reb. 
It seems then he has been as kind to her another way.  Ex.  

Act 3. Scene 11.  Enter Money-luck, Hayden, Spring, Martha. Mon. 
How is't? I hope you are not wrangling now, but better pleased than so.  Reb. 
No, no, sir Hugh, 'tis not the Sparagus can do't, unless the man were better:  Hoy. 
But may I now be confident that I am almost a gentleman.  Spr. 
Without that confidence you are nothing.  Mon. 
There wants nothing now, but that you learn the rules & rudiments, the principles and instructions for the carriages, congees, & compliments, which we'll quickly put into you by practice.  Hoy. 
And then the spending the little rest of my money, & I am a clear gentleman, & may see my uncle.  Mon. 
Right, right.  Hoy. 
And I will write it, and crowd it into as many Bonds as I can a purpose to write gentleman; Timothy Hoyden of Tanton— no, of London, Gentleman: London is a common place for all gentlemen of my rank, is it not?  Spr. 
Excellent, do you not mark how finely he comes on?  Hoy. 
But as I hope to live and die a gentleman Mrs. what-shi'-call', your reckoning was devilish dear: s'dagger three pound for a few cuckoo pintles, they were no better I think.  Spr. 
Now you fall back again, and derogate from the condition of a gentleman most grossly, to think any thing too dear you eat or drink.  Hoy. 
Pox on't, I had forgot.  Mon. 
When he has his rules and principles, which must be his next study, he will remember.  Hoy. 
Pray let's about it quickly.  Mon. 
Now we'll go; but you forget me Mistress.  Mat. 
No indeed sir Hugh, here's two Piece for last week and this.  Mon. 
'tis well: Landlord and Landlady will you go?  Brit. 
Would you would long to be at home once.  Wif.. 
Wife I do perhaps and to be here again, and there again; and here, and there, and here again; and all at once.  Brit. 
hay kicksy-wincy.  Wif. 
And I do long to go to Windsor too, to know if the prophecy is as true there, as he reported here.  Mat. 
How did you hear it goes forsooth?  Wif. 
That all old women shall die, and many young wives shall have Cuckolds to their husbands.  Mat. 
I heard forsooth that all young wives should die that were pure maids when they were married.  Wif. 
And none other?  Mat 
So report goes forsooth.  Wif. 
You speak very comfortably: It may be a long journey to the world's end yet.  Brit. 
It seems you are not proscribed by the prophecy then?  Wife. 
I thank my destiny.  Hoy. 
My first work when I am complete gentleman shall be to get them a Child, and make 'em friends.  Mon. 
A most gentlemanly resolution.  Wif. 
And truly the City is much bound to such well affected gentlemen.  Exeunt.   

Act 4.  

Scene 1.  

Tom Hoyden,  
Coulter.   Tom. 
IS it possible that half this can be true, that a half brother of mine can be made such an ass all over?  Coul. 
'tis all true, as I am a Cursen fellow Mr. Thomas, every word on't: ● scorn to lie in a syllabub I; what luck had I to meet you? I never thought to zee you at London.  Tom 
S'daggers death, it has as good as veezed me out o'my wits to think on't: was my vathers blood zo quaisome to him, (with a mischief to't) that he must let it out to be a gentleman, because his mother was one (by her own report:) for our own parts we neither know nor care where hence she come, nor whither she's gone, but dead she is) she brought my vather a good purse o' money, and kept another in store it seems, till she could keep't no longer, and then bestowed it well and wisely upon Chitty vace her zonne, to make him a gentleman, and told him what great house he come on by her side; for she was a Striker forsooth, and 'gan directions to find an old Uncle of his here in Cuckold-shire, one Mr. Striker: but virst she bade him put his self into fashion, and be sure to bear's self like a Gentleman; and he has ta'en a wise course to compass it, it zeems: I warrant he ha' made a fool o' his voure hundred pound by this time.  Coult. 
Ay, and o'his self too, as his coney catchers ha' handled him: And you had zeen't, you would ha' bepist your self vor woe, how they blooded him.  Tom. 
Ah.  Coult. 
And then how they spurged his guts out.  Tom. 
Ah.  Colt. 
A Bots light on 'em, 'twould ha' made a dog zick to zeet how like a scalded pig he looked.  Tom. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Coult. 
And then how they did veed'ne with a zort of slipslaps not all worth o' mess o' milk porridge to make him vine vorsooth.  Tom. 
Ah.  Coult. 
You'll zee zuch an altercation in him as never was zeen in a brother.  Tom. 
But I won't zee'n yet as voule a Clown, as I am, and as vine a gentleman, as he is, I have a trick i'my sconce to make a younger brother o'me.  Coul. 
I that would be zeene now.  Tom. 
I ha''t, and 'tis a vine one, I came to London to seek the fool my brother, and ha' the same directions from our Curate, (to whom my mother told all) that Tim had to find his uncle Strikers house, and I ha' quired it out; and this is it, and thou zhalt zee what I chill do now: wh'are within.   

Act 4. Scene 2.  Enter Friswood to them. Fris. 
Who would you speak with.  Tom. 
By your leave vorsooth, I would speak with the Mr. o' the house: I understand his worship's name is Mr. Striker.  Fris. 
He is so sir, but he is not in case to buy any cattle at this time.  Tom. 
Nor do I come to zell'n any; my coming is of a dead body's errand vorsooth.  Fris. 
What strange fellow is this trow?  Tom. 
I pray vorsooth, and you be old enough (as it zeems you be) to remember when my mother was a maid, did you know a zuster of Mr. Strikers that was married into Somersetshire?  Fris. 
What was her name I pray?  Tom. 
Her Cursen name was Audry, she zed, and a Striker she as bevore she was married; but my vather made a Hoyden.  Fris. 
Hoyden.  Tom. 
Yes Hoyden, zo I zay; there be very good vokes o' th' name, as you shall well know; I cham one my self, and she need not be ashamed I wiss o' the kin she come on, to hugger-mugger it as she did to her dying day.  Fris. 
Most wonderful, but is she dead?  Tom. 
Yes vaith she's dead, and as sumptuously buried, though I zay't, as any yeoman's wife within ten mile of Tanton, any time these ten and twenty year.  Fris. 
Pray what were you to her?  Tom. 
I tell you, my vather married her; and I should be her zonne I think.  Fris. 
Good heaven, how things will come about!  Tom. 
Coulter keep thy countenance Coulter, I'll make 'em believe I am her very natural zonne, & zee what will come on't.  Coult. 
I'll keep my countenance, and zet a vace on't too and need be.  Fris. 
Your Uncle Striker at this time is very sick sir, but I will acquaint him with your desire: pray walk into the next room the while sir.  Tom. 
If he should die now Coulter, and make me his heir?  Coult. 
I marry Mr. so you might make a better journey on't then the gentleman your brother.  Ex. Fris.. 
This to me is the greatest wonder of all, that I am presently possessed of my Mrs. sullen sickness, which has e'en drawn him to death's door, and my Mistresses unfortunable condition are nothing to this Country hoyden's relation:   

Act 4. Scene 3.  Enter Touchwood. 
O Mr. Touchwood, you are the welcom'st Gentleman that ever could come into so heavy a house.  Touch. 
A stinking one it is I am sure: that nasty carrion thy Mr. is i'my nose already, I think I were best go no further.  Fris. 
Let not the sadness of this place dismay you.  Touch. 
But is he dead already, ha?  Fris. 
Not altogether dead sir  Touch. 
The worse luck; and how does your Mistress? ha, ha, ha, well well I say nothing.  Fris. 
She is in bodily health sir, but very sad and much disconsolate, poor Damsel.  Touch. 
Not for her Grandsire, is she: if the worst dog he keeps howl for him, I'll worry sheep with mine own teeth, and truss for him; but why is she sad, prithee tell me? ha' ha, ha.  Fris. 
I marvel at your mirth sir.  Touch. 
I would now give her a new Gown, to tell me the true cause that I might save mine oath, and roar out my rejoicings: 'twas a devilish trick of the Rascals to bind me by oath never to speak of it, but to those that should tell me of it first. I have such a coil to keep it in now: Prithee tell me, what has the old Traveller, that is now bound for the Low Countries, gi'n thy Mrs. in his will, canst tell?  Fris. 
Alas he is offended with her, she has displeased him in somewhat, that is the main cause of his mortal sickness.  Touch. 
That's my boy, there boy, there, that was a home blow.  Fris. 
She comes not at him sir, nor dares not see him: do you know any thing by her sir?  Touch. 
No, no, no, not I, not I; 'sbones I bit my tongue too hard.  Fris. 
If you do sir, would you would speak a good word for her, that he may die in charity with her.  Touch. 
The jade jeers me, I'll stay no longer i'the house.  Fris. 
Nay good sir say not so, after so many messages and entreaties, by all the best o'the parish, and an exhortation made to you by the Minister himself: did you vouchsafe to come, and will you now come short to see my Master, now the Doctors have given him over, and he is dying?  Touch. 
I confess 'twas my desire to see that dying that brought me hither: where is he? I'll hold my nose, and have at him.  Fris. 
I hope you will be friends with him now sir; for he's e'en a going.  Touch. 
Friends? I'll rather go with him, and fight it out by the way.   

Act 4. Scene 4.  Enter Striker brought in a Chair, Curate. Fris. 
Look you sir here he is.  Touch, 
What up and in a Chair?  Fris. 
Yes sir; he will not yield by any persuasion to die in his bed.  Touch. 
Then he may live to be hanged yet, for aught I see.  Cur. 
See sir, your neighbour Touchwood comes to be reconciled to you.  Touch. 
You are quite besides the book sir Domine, I have no friends in hell to send to by him: no sir, I come to see him die, as he lived a hateful miscreant.  Cur. 
Let me pray and beseech you to speak more charitably, or else not to offend the dying man with your presence.  Touch. 
Do I come to humour him, or you, or myself, think you: you that take upon you, and do rather go about to soothe him up in his sickness, than to fright him out of his pain, rather encourage him to live then rid the world of him, and his abominations.  Cur. 
Best look into yourself Sir: The worlds a stage, on which you both are Actors, and neither to be his own Judge.  Touch. 
But he has played many vild and beastly parts in it, let him go, I would see his last Exit, and hiss him out of it; hark, the Ravens cry pork for him, and yet he dies not.  Fris. 
O you are a hard-hearted man.  Touch. 
My heart's not hard enough to break his, I would it were: where's your kind hearted Mistress, fetch her, and try what she can do.  Stri. 
Huh, huh, huh,  Cough. Cur. 
What have you done sir?  Touch. 
So, so, so, so it works, it works.  Stri. 
Out snarling Hellhound my curse upon thee, and thy cursed son that has undone my Niece and me: curse upon curse light on ye.  Cur 
Oh fearful.  Touch. 
How heartily he prays; sure he is near his end.  Cur. 
Pray sir depart, you are too uncharitable.  Touch. 
My son undone thy Niece: has he not done her think'st thou? ha, ha, ha.  Stri. 
Huh, huh, huh: Villain thou know'st what he has done; huh, huh.  Touch. 
I know not whether I know or no; tell me, and I'll tell thee.  Fris. 

I'll tell you then that which you know already,  
Although you keep it for a joy within you:  
Your wicked son has by her own confession  
Done that unto her, that unless he play  
The honest man's part and marry her, he will  
Full dearly answer it in Hell.   Stri: 
Huh, huh, huh.  Touch. 
Speak English, has he lain with her?  Fris. 

'tis so:  
She has confessed it to her grandfather,  
To me, and Mr. Pancridge here is made  
Acquainted with it.   Touch. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Cur. 

The Virgin says  
She is depusilated by your son.   Touch. 
Depusilated, ha, ha, ha.  Cur. 

It is no laughing matter: therefore send  
Speedily for your son, before the rumour  
Make it ridiculous; as yet none knows it,  
But we a slender few.   Touch. 

Will you direct  
Your Divine Rhetoric there to him; and win him  
But to entreat me in this case, and try  
What I will say to't.   Cur. 
Be persuaded sir.  Stri. 
In this extremity I do entreat you that they may marry.  Touch. 

I have my ends upon thee; quickly die,  
And take thine own, thy base submission  
Has rendered thee more odious, more loathsome  
To me than all thy former villainies.   Stri. 
Huh, huh huh.  Touch. 

And hark thee ere thou diest, for now thouart going:  
Before my son shall wed that whore thy Niece,  
She shall bring all the hands of all the whoremasters  
In City, Court, and Kingdom, (black Coats, and all)  
I will spare none) unto a fair Certificate  
That she is clear of all men but my son,   Stri. 
Huh, huh, huh.  Touch. 

Nay more:  
That she is clear of him too; and that he  
Has never topped her in the way we treat of,  
Before he wed her: for my son shall not ride  
In his old boots upon his wedding night:  
So, now die and sink  
Into thy grave, to rid us of thy stink.   Cure. 
I have not known such want of charity.  Fris. 
Unconscionable wretch, thou hast killed my Mr.  Stri. 

Ugh, ugh, no Fid ugh hem! he has cured me:  
I am light at heart again: he has cured me;  
He has played the good Physician 'gainst his will;  
And a halter be his fee for't.   Touch. 
The Devil I have, and his Dam it shall.  Stri. 
Ah hem! I am light at heart again.  Touch. 
O damned old counterfeit.  Fris. 
Well fare your heart old Master.  Stri. 

Though she prove bastard-bellied, I will own her,  
Cherish, maintain, and keep her from thy son.   Touch. 
Oh I could tear that tongue out.  Stri. 
Keep her child too.  Touch. 
Do, and her next, and fill thy house with bastards.  Stri. 
I'll hold 'em more legitimate than thy brood.  Cur. 
What mean you gentlemen?  Stri. 
For thou, thy son, thy house is all a Bastard.  Touch. 
Bear witness, he calls my house a Bastard.  Fris. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Touch 
I'll make thy house to smoke for't.  Stri. 
Bear witness there, he says he will fire my house.  Cur. 
For neighbourhood and Charity speak lower.  Stri. 
'T'is petty treason; I'll be wi'ye there sir.  Touch. 
And hang thyself old scare Crow.  Fris. 
Will you eat a piece of Gingerbread for your Wind Sir.  Touch. 
Out Witch.  Kicks her. Fris. 
O murder, murder.  Stri. 
I'll lay as many actions on thee as thou hast bones in that Swine's foot of thine.  Fris. 
My Nails shall right me: I'll teach him to kick a woman.  Cur. 
Hold mistress Friswood.  Fris. 
O Villain kick a woman!  Touch. 
Thou laidst this plot to murder me, thou man-killer.  Stri. 
Bloodsucker thou liest.  Cur. 
Help from above, within, or any whence, in the name of sanctity I conjure you. Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.   

Act 4. Scene 5:  Enter Tom and Coulter. Tom. 
What's the matter? by your leave which is my zick Uncle? are you scuffling for's money before he be dead.  Coul. 
we'll part you with a vengeance.  Touch. 
ha' you your Tenants, your Clowns here brought in to butcher me?  Stri. 
Slave they are thine, brought in to spoil and rob me; I know 'hem not.  Cur. 
I fear I have conjured up fiends indeed, how infernally they look?  Tom. 
No sir, we come with no zick intendment on neither neither zide; but an you be Mr. Striker, we are o'your zide, an't be to cut all the rest into Potherbs.  To Touch. Fris. 
No, this is my Mr.  Tom. 
Zay but the word then, and have at 'em.  Touch. 
Had you your ambuscado for me?  Cur. 
They are a pair of the Sedan Mules I take it.  Coul. 
Moils sir, we be no Moils would you should well know.  Tom. 
We be Cursen folk as good as your self, and get you out o'the house by mine Uncle's leave here.  Touch. 
Your Uncle, oh brave.  Tom. 
Or if I baste you not well a fine, and Lambskin your jackets till your bones rattle i'your hides, then zay cha bewrayed the house I come on.  Touch. 
Well sir, I'll go and leave you to your Uncle: rejoice sir with your kind red: I hope you will have more shortly, if your Niece prove fruitful: Come Master Paneridge, will you go?  Cur. 
With joy for your recovery, and manners to your privacy, Right Worshipful I leave you to talk with 'Clown your Nephew.  Touch. 
Tarry, tarry; as sure as a Club, this Clown is sent for out of the Country, to solder up his cracked Niece in Matrimony, and therefore calls him Uncle; I could spoil the Match, but by my oath I dare not; and therefore Clown take thy course: come let us go Mr. Pancridge  Ex. Stri. 
And why you my Nephew sir?  Tom. 
And why not I your Nephew; han't she told you, and ha' not I told you as much as the matter's worth, and do ye mean to vlee from the bargain?  Stri. 
What new afflictions hourly find me out?  Fris. 
And for your health, I hope sir.  Stri. 

Sir, I'll have better testimony than your own;  
'tis true I lost a sister; but till you  
Bring stronger proof she was your mother sir,  
Your clownship must not Uncle me; am I wi'you sir?  
king's Crowns have been pretended to by impostures;  
And knavery is as rife in Russet Wool,  
As in the proudest purple; get you gone,  
There I am wi'you directly.   Tom. 
Is't come to this now?  Coult. 
Your project will not hold Mr. Thomas, best zeek your brother Tim, he has a certification from the parish, and the Priest too, of all your mother's mind, and you could cozen him on't, and come again, and uncle this weese gentleman, whether he wool or no; 'twould be vine i'vaith  Tom. 
Agreed: well sir, vor this time I ha' no more to zay t'ye, since you be so budge: but he that made you save you  Exeunt Amb. Stri. 
Farewell sir, I do begin to think there's something in't.  Fris. 
He made me think he was your sister's son I am sure.  Stri. 

I will not think so, no he was set on  
By some of my maligners to abuse me;  
It had been good to ha' laid him by the heels:  
But let him go; call down my Niece out of  
The melancholy mist she's chambered in, Ex. Fris.  
All makes for her; their vexing me, restores  
Her to my love again; and reason good;  
She's mine own natural Niece: and though  
She has lost the husband, and the name she sought,  
Yet she appears a Striker; and I will cherish her.  
Come you shall grieve no longer, I am friends wi'ye:  
Stand up, stand up I say, and look up too,  
Off with this mourning veil, and dry those tears:  
I have considered that right Noble Parents  
Have pardoned in their Children as great faults;  
But let it be your warning, not your licence.    

Scene 6.  Ent. Annab. and kneels. An. 

For your security I am content,  
And would entreat to live in that retirement,  
Which your fair Justice, and my foul offence  
Of late confined me to, to weep and sigh  
My loathed life away.   Stri. 

No more: you shall  
No longer live reclused in wilful darkness;  
Enjoy your former liberty; see, and be seen:  
And (as you weigh my pardon and my love)  
Let not your blemish dwell upon your face;  
Nor any argument of grief, or shame  
Be legible there, to the most curious eye:  
But let your cheek be cheerful, and your brow  
Crowned with as great a confidence, as may  
Comply with Virgin Modesty: and that  
Add to your beauty with full strength of Art,  
Beyond the eye to take a lover's heart.   An. 
In all I will obey you,  Stri. 

If I make  
Choice of a husband for you then, you'll take him.   An. 
'twill but become my duty.  Stri. 
A good girl.  Fris. 
Sir here's the Knight come again, that has been here in the time of your sickness to have seen you, and my Mistress, but could not: and left a letter for you once: he that looks women through so.  Stri. 
Oh Sir Arnold Cautious: did you tell him I was o' the mending hand.  Fris. 
Yes I told him you were so, so.  Stri. 
Give me my Gown and Cap though, and set me charily in my sickly chair; his letter is a treaty of a match betwixt his Nephew and my Niece: go fetch him up.  Ex. Fris. 
In Niece, and be not seen until I call you: until you hear me call you, do you hear?  Ex. Ann. 
Could I but catch this Cautious coxcomb Knight now— I'll put fair for't.   

Act 4. Scene 7.  Enter Cautious and Friswood. Fris. 
Here is the Knight sir.  Stri. 

Why reach you not a Chair? I hope sir Arnold  
You'll pardon the necessity of my rudeness:  
I cannot rise, nor stoop, to you, uh, uh, uh.   Caut. 

Rather excuse me sir, that press upon you  
Thus in your weakness: but you understand  
My business by my letter if you have read it.   Stri. 

Yes sir, go forth; but be not far I pray you. Ex. Fris.  
I have heard your Nephew is a wild young man.   Caut. 

A very bashful boy I assure you; that's the reason  
That I am won to be a spokesman for him.   Stri 

Oh no dissembling sir; you know he is wild,  
And suffers under your displeasure for't: uh, uh, uh.   Caut. 

A witch could not guess righter: but they say  
That dying men are Prophets oftentimes.  
Suppose he has been wild, let me assure you  
He's now reclaimed, and has my good opinion:  
And is as like in person and behaviour  
To gain the Maid's affection.   Stri, 
Speak to the purpose; pray what's his estate?  Caut. 

ay there's the point indeed: why sir, he has  
A hundred pound a year; and is withal  
A hopeful, and a handsome gentleman.   Stri. 
Hopeful, and handsome! uh, uh, uh.  Caut. 
You sir have wealth enough.  Stri. 

And she has choice enough  
Of greater matches: could I get her  
Into a marriage vain, but she'll not look  
Upon a man not she; but lives retired  
Here in my house, and is a careful Nurse:  
She's fitter sir to be an old man's Nurse,  
Than any young man's bride: uh, uh, uh, uh.   Caut. 

Is she so grave in youth? I have often sought  
A sight of her, but never could obtain it.   Stri. 

Not without my consent I warrant you;  
she's nearer to a mother than a maid.  
I tell you truth sir, and you know deceit  
Becomes not dying men: uh, uh, uh. For virtue and obedience  
She's fitter for yourself then for your Nephew:  
But to the point, a hundred pound a year  
You say he has, and hopes and handsomeness,  
Which may acquire, with your assurance of  
So much for jointure— Yes, a thousand pound  
In portion with her: but sir let me tell you,  
I'd rather give six thousand unto one  
Of mine own choice; which she will not refuse,  
If I but say this is the man, and take him.   Caut. 
Will not your Niece be seen: I fain would see her.  Stri. 

At hand: she will not out of my presence sir,  
Nor ever was by man, not since the clock  
Of her Virginity struck eleven, not she,  
Except at door or window, as men pass:  
And so perhaps your Nephew may have seen her.   Caut. 

Introth no otherwise; and so he told me.  
May not I see her sir?   Stri. 

I tell you true;  
Deceit you know becomes not dying men: uh, uh, uh.  
And therefore hark you sir, I have a purpose,  
(That if she take the man whom I will choose)  
To make her my sole heir; provided that  
She match before I die: uh, uh, I cannot last.   Caut. 
Pray let me see your Niece.  Stri. 
Friswood— why Friswood.  Caut. 
Is that her name?  Stri. 
No sir, I call my maid.  Caut. 
A maid; I took her for an old woman.  Stri. 

A maid upon my virtue: and I fear  
That her frigidity has mortified my Niece:  
Deceit becomes not dying men you know  
Friswood I say, I bade her not be far:  
I dare not strain myself to call her louder.   Caut. 
I'll call her for you sir: Fris—  Stri. 

Hold sir, hold, pray use this whistle for me,  
I dare not strain myself to wind it I,  
The Doctors tell me it will spend my spirits, Caut. whistles.  
So, so, enough sir— Fie, fie upon you:  
Go call my Niece, uh, uh.   Ex. Fris. Caut. 

Be of good cheer sir, and take courage man:  
What you have been a Striker in your days:  
And may be again, I would not have him die.   Stri. 
Uh— alas I cannot last— why comes she not?  Fris. 

I cannot get her from her work; nor to  
Believe me that you sent for her, because  
I told her that a gentleman was with you   Stri. 

There was your fault, than I must call myself.  
Why Anna-bell, ah, ah, ah, An-na-bell.   Ex. Fris. Caut. 

Take heed, strain not yourself too hard, but send again:  
The rarest beauty that I e'er beheld, Act 4. Scene 2.  
Which with a maidenhead of that growth, Enter Annabell.  
Would be an absolute wonder, her sweet modesty,  
And meek obedience, justifies that too, She kneels at striker's feet.  
And makes her up a miracle of nature;  
My former misbelief I do renounce,  
And at first sight, (which is the birth of love)  
A faith grows in me, strengthened by the word  
Of this expiring man, that chastity  
Has not forsaken beauty.   Stri. 
You shall hear him.  Ann. 

What to propound a husband? honoured sir,  
Although I rather wish to die a Virgin;  
Yet my obedience to your grave behests  
Shall sway my will: your choice shall be my liking:  
But let me thus much favour beg, before  
You make that choice, that you will not destroy  
The building you have reared; your care and cost  
Hath built me up by virtuous education,  
Unto that height that I consider heaven;  
And wax so old in that high contemplation,  
That to look down on youthful vanities,  
Were to be at a stand; and to delight in 'em,  
Were to fall back again; and to be linked  
In marriage, to a man whose wild affections  
Are bent to worldly pleasures a main perdition.   Caut. 

I dare not speak to her for my Nephew now:  
Nor (though I love her strangely) for myself.   Ann. 

Do you tell me of his Nephew sir? even he  
The Knight himself, I hold to be too young  
For a well governed man as the world goes.   Caut. 
I ha' not the heart to wrong her; she's too good.  Fris. 

Sir, here's a gentleman presses at my heels  
To speak with you.    

Act. 4. Scene 8  Enter Gilbert with his arm in a scarf. Caut. 
Mr. Goldwire, what's your haste?  Gil 

I come to cry you mercy, and this good gentleman;  
And this sweet Gentlewoman, who I take it  
Is his fair Niece, of whom you are in treaty;  
If it be not already gone too far;  
Let me entreat you not to put your finger  
Further i'the business in behalf of your Nephew.   Caut. 
You first moved me to't.  Gil. 

'tis that repents me:  
Your base unworthy Nephew has abused me;  
I do not speak it for a slight hurt he has gi'n me,  
But for his breach of Faith to another Virgin.   Ann. 
Oh me; and would you speak for such a man?  Gil. 

And the false way, the plot he had upon you,  
To put you on this enterprise, the Quarrel  
In which he rescued you, to endear himself to you,  
Was a mere counterfeit squabble, a very trick  
Contrived betwixt him and his brother Poet  
T'abuse your goodness:  
I leave it to your consideration sir:  
I am in haste; and so I wish you health sir;  
And you much happiness in a husband Lady.   Gives her a letter. Ex. An. 

Has given me here a letter; I want but  
Place fit to peruse it.   Caut. 

Had he a plot upon me, I'll have my plot too;  
And now woe for myself sir if you please.   Stri. 

Sir, let me tell you, I think well of you, uh, uh,  
Deceit becomes not dying men you know,  
She would make e'en too good a wife for you:  
For I have heard sir of your disposition,  
Never to marry without best assurance,  
First, of Virginity, and then of Chastity,  
In her that you would choose; and let me tell you, uh, uh,  
I know not where you can so well be fitted:  
She's right, uh, uh, if you dare take a weak man's word,  
Deceit would ill become me, uh, uh.   Caut. 
I take you at your word, and thank you sir.  Stri. 

Vh, uh, uh, uh— O lay me in my bed:  
You need not leave me yet sir.   Caut. 

No sir, no,  
It shall be a match, or no match ere I go.   Exeunt omnes. They lead Striker forth.  

Act 4. Scene 9.  

Money-lacks,  
Spring,  
Britleware,  
Hoyden.   Mon. 
NOw sir have you your rules by heart?  Hoy. 
Both Rules and Rudiments I have all ad unguem.  Mon. 
Repeat your Principles.  Hoy. 
Principles to be imprinted in the heart of every new made gentleman: To commend none but himself: to like no man's wit but his own: to slight that which he understands not: to send money, & never look for't again: to take up upon obligation, & lend out upon affection: to owe much, but pay little: to sell land, but buy none: to pawn, but never to redeem again: to fight for a whore: to cherish a Bawd, and defy a tradesman.  Mon. 
And can you observe and keep these rules think you?  Hoy. 
I hope I can sir, and have begun pretty well already: you see I have spent and lent all my money; and pawned all my Clothes but these a' my back, as I am a clear gentleman; and for the rest of the rudiments, and the several carriages and deportments by garb, by congee, compliment, &c. which are to be attained by practice when I come abroad and amongst 'em, you shall gain credit by me.  Mon. 
I commend your confidence: now Mr. Spring, and Mr. Brittleware, play you the Complementasters before him a little, for his further instruction: Imagine them a couple of Courtiers scarcely acquainted fall to; and look that you congee in the new French Bum-trick; here Landlord, take his Cloak and hat to appear more generous.  Hoy. 
Bum trick!  Mon. 
Come meet and begin; play but two or three bouts at most at single Rapier compliment, and one or two at Backsword and you ha' done: now observe sir.  Hoy. 
Single Rapier, and Backsword Compliment foil.  Spr. 
Noble Master Fine-wit, the single example of Court-Ceremony, if my apprehension deal fairly with me.  Brit. 
Sir, how auspiciously have I fall'n upon the knowledge of you by virtue of the same apprehension.  Mon. 
So, there's one.   

Scene 10.  Enter Gil. Sam. Wat. aside. Gil. 
What's here?  Sam 
Peace, let's see a little more.  Hoy. 
As I am a Gentleman, a neat bout and fairly come off o' both sides.  Spr. 
Sir, I shall ever bless the promptness of my memory, in being so fortunate to collect the fallacious acquaintance of so complete a goodness.  Hoy. 
Sweet sir I shall ever bless, &c.  Writes in his tables. Brit. 
Oh you are pleased out of that noble worth which can convert all things to the form and image of its own perfection to make yourself glorious, with that which is miserably impoverished in itself.  Mon. 
Good, there's two.  Hoy, 
Miserably impoverished in itself— oh sweet.  Spr. 
Sir, you have such a conquering way in humility, that he shall be sure to come off vanquished that offers to contend with you.  Brit. 
This is the noblest of all humanity to piece up the defect of your friend with a glory of your own.  Mon. 
A plain hit that: here were three bouts well played.  Hoy. 
Piece up the defect of your friend with a glory of your own: most stately fine, as I am a gentleman.  Mon. 
So much for single Rapier: now for your secret wipe at Backsword.  Hoy. 
I that I would see, like the hackling of the miller's legs: now for a delicate backblow.  Spr. 
See you yond fellow I held compliment with?  Hoy. 
Yes sir, a well-spoken gentleman and a lovely.  Spr. 
The arrantst trifle in a Kingdom.  Hoy. 
What he is not, is he?  Spr. 
Made only to make physic work: a very lump of laughter.  Hoy. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Mon. 
You have done well: now you sir.  Brit. 
Do you note him yonder that passed from you?  Hoy. 
That gallant sir?  Brit. 

The very scorn at Court;  
So empty, not one passable part about him.   Mon. 
Good.  Brit. 
A very tilting stock for young practisers to break their jests on.  Mon. 
Enough.  Hoy. 
Good and enough; do you call this good enough, to abuse one another thus?  Mon. 
Yes, this is quacksword Compliment: this wipes off the false praise which the first thrust on: you must be seen in both, or you are no true garbist else.  Hoy. 
I shall soonest hit o''is; for from a whelp I could give scurvy language.  Gil. 
Now break in upon 'em; save you sir Hugh.  Hoy. 
O course salutation: save you sir Hugh.  Mon. 
How got you hither gentlemen?  Wat. 
Here we are sir, and have seen part of your practice, your Courtly exercise.  Mon. 
Peace: but how got you in, and a stranger with ye?  Gil. 
He shall betray nothing.  Sam. 
We found fair entrance into the house.  Gil. & Wat whisp. with Mon. Brit. 
'Sfoot where's my wife then?  Sam. 
If your wife be the gentlewoman o' the house sir, she's now gone forth in one o' the new Hand-litters: what call ye it, a Sedan.  Brit. 
O Sedana.  Ex. Spr. 
He's run mad with his horns.  Hoy. 
He's run with my Hat and Cloak by your leave.  Spr. 
He'll come again, ne'er doubt him.  Hoy. 
You say so small acquaintance; but I could ne'er see any thing of mine again, since I came amongst you, if it once got out of my sight: what money have I left trow?  Tells. Brit. 
I pray gentlemen which way took she:  Sam. 
Down towards the Strand I tell you, in a new Litter, with the number one and twenty in the breech on't.  Brit. 
A Litter of one and twenty in her breech: High time to run.  Exit. Gil. 
You see we have our plot in action too, sir Hugh, and it runs fairly on.  Mon. 
But what a rogue art thou to put such a slur upon thine own Uncle; first to put him on for thyself, than you with a Counterfeit trick to put him off o' that course, to run desperately headlong to break his own neck in a match: what a Rogue art thou to use thine uncle thus?  Wat. 
Nay what a wretch were you, if you should cross your daughter in such a fortune?  Mon. 
Which if I do, cut my windpipe: what the young rascal Touchwood is gone into France they say?  Wat. 
ay he's safe enough.  Mon. 
Sir Cautious to be catched! if I do not love my daughter the better for her lucky leg stretching, I am a villain, I am taken with such kind of roguery.  Gil. 
Take heed you have not a cross plot in that itching pate of yours to spoil all now.  Mon. 
Then cut my weasand I say.  Gil. 
And I swear I will, or cut these hands off; I thought good to tell you so, because I know what tricks you have done, & what discoveries you have made for small parcels of ready money.  Mon. 
Hoo pox, I want no money; now look there comes Mr. Hoyden, salute these gallants.  Hoy. 
What without a hat or cloak?  Mon. 
The better for a young beginner.  Hoy. 
Sweet sir, I shall ever bless my auspicious stars, that shined me into the fallacious acquaintance of so singular goodness.  Gil. 
Sir you forget yourself.  Hoy. 
Most singular sweet sir, most miserably impoverished in itself.  Gil. 
Good sir forbear, make not an Idol of me.  Hoy. 
You piece up the defect of your friend with a glory of your own.  Sam. 
Can you say this gentleman was a Clown within this fortnight?  Hoy. 
Within this fortnight I assure you sir, as rank a Clown o' one side, as ever held Cow to Bull.  Sam. 
Had it been oF both sides, it had been miraculous.  Hoy. 
Now note me sir: do you see that fellow I left?  Sam. 
Yes, 'tis my friend.  Hoy. 
The arrantest coxcomb in a Country  Sam. 
How sir?  Hoy. 
Made only to make Physic work.  Sam. 
You do not know him sure.  Hoy. 
A tilting stock for young practisers to break jests on: there's a wipe for you at back sword Compliment.  Sam. 
There's another for you sir.  Kicks him. Hoy. 
You knock at the wrong door sir, and I pity your ignorance: go to school as I have done, and learn more wit: kick a gentleman.   

Act 4. Scene 11.  Enter Tom Hoyden and Coulter. Coult. 
Here he is and here be all the crew on 'em, and more.  Tom 
Here? thou mockest he is not here: sure these be all Lords I think.  Wat. 
How now; what's he?  Spr. 
Slid 'tis his Clown brother he spoke of?  Tom. 
Is't possible? icha made a sweet jaunt after you & have I vound a vine fool o'thee: where's thy voure hundred pound? is that made a fool on too trow: where's the zartificate my mother give thee to find thine uncle? gi' me that, Ihill see what I can do wi''it.  Hoy. 
Away Clown I know thee not canst thou compliment?  Tom. 
Compliment lies, I can compliment dagger out o'sheath, an I zet on't.  Coult. 
I hope he'll veeze you, and make your zilken jacket hum: well zed Mr. Thomas to 'em, and to 'em all I'll zide ye.  Gil. Wat. Sam. 
Mr. Thomas does he call him?  Tom. 
Yes, Mr. Thomas, and what zay you to that; and as good a Mr. as the best o'ye, and you go to that; for by uds shall judge me, I think you are all but a company of Cheaterlings; and if you do not give the fool my brother satisfaction for the wrongs you had one him, and me in him, I'll canvas it out o' the carcases o'some o'ye, by uds daggers death will I. Draw Coulter, & amongst 'em.  Mon. 
Hold sir, hold, you shall have satisfaction.  Tom. 
O shall I zoe, put up again Coulter.  Gil. 
This is a stout roaring Clown.  Mon. 
Where's the Mr. o' the house?  Spr. 
He's run mad, after his wife, now he should look to his house.  Tom. 
Cha mich ado to vorbeare beating o'thee yet, my vingers do zo itch at thee.  Hoy. 
I understand thee not, as I am a gentleman.  Tom. 
But now I think on't Coulter, we'll have all again, & by a quieter way; and teach 'em to lick honey, catch birds with Chaff, or go to blow with dogs.  All. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Hoy. 
Ha, ha, ha; who understands the Barbarian trow?  Coul. 
ud's vish Master they do nothing but jeer to you all this while now.  Tom. 
Do they jeer, let 'em jeer & gibe too; I'll fetch ones Warrant shall out jeer 'em all, and he be above ground.  Mon. 
You shall not need sir; go but in till the Mr. of the house comes home, you shall have your desire.  Tom. 
You zay very well sir; zay well is good, but do well is better. Let's zee what you will do now.  Gil. 
Remember we have warned you sir Hugh, we must leave you.  Tom. 
Nay I'll look to you: sirrah come in my hand.  Mon. 

Now for a trick to rid us of this Clown,  
Or our trade sinks, and up our house is blown.   Ex. omnes.   

Act 5.  

Scene 1.  Enter Trampler and Touchwood. Tram. 
'tis as I tell you Mr. Touchwood; your son has lost a fair fortune in the young gentlewoman, and as I conceive by your wilfulness Sir Arnold Cautions licks his lips at her. I assure you; and a sweet lick it is, six thousand pound in present portion.  Touch. 
A sweet lick he has indeed if he knew all.  Tram. 
He does know all sir.  Touch. 
If he did, I know what I know; good oath let me not lose thy virtue.  Tram. 
He knows moreover, that Mr. Striker, her grandfather has covenanted to give her two thousand pound more at the birth of his first Child, lawfully begotten on her body.  Touch. 
Ha, ha, ha; but what if her first child prove illegitimate?  Tram. 
That is not to be thought sir.  Touch. 
Yes, and spoken too, if I durst; but good oath let me not lose thy virtue.  Tram. 
And then he had entered into ten thousand pound bond, to leave her his heir if she survive him.  Touch. 
But he's well recovered you say.  Tram. 
Very lusty, very lively sir.  Touch. 
Then hang him, he'll never die; I am a feared I must be fain to give him over, I shall never vex him to death: no, no, I shall never do't.  Tram. 
No sir, I heard himself say, that your vexing him has been his physic, and the best means to keep him alive.  Touch. 
Did he say so? I'll tear this match in pieces presently: and see how that will work on him; I'll do't, what's an oath to me, in respect of sending him to the Devil, I'll do't.  Tram. 
I would you could sir, and recover her for your son yet.  Touch. 
Umh.  Tram. 
Because I love the young gentleman well  Touch. 
Umh.  Tram. 
Though I assure you the writings are all passed, signed, sealed, and delivered; but I have 'em in my hands yet, and can do you a pleasure.  Touch. 
Humh.  Tram. 
And came purposely to advise you, because I love your son.  Touch. 
umh— what a world of villainy lies in the jobber nole of a Lawyer.  Tram. 
Think of it sir, and be speedy.  Touch. 
Right learned in the Law, and my son's friend Mr. Trampler, Mr. Ambodexter Trampler, you are a most notorious knave, & and you shall hear on't o'both sides, as you take fees.  Tram. 
Nay, and you be so hot Mr Touchwood I am gone.  Ex. Touch. 
I know my course; either I will crack the heartstrings of Striker, in crossing this match, with the cracked credit of his Niece, or else I will be friends with him, and that will kill him out right: But my oath still troubles me— Oh gentlemen you are welcome.   

Act 5. Scene 2.  Enter Gilbert and Wat. Wat. 
ha' you heard sir of your son yet?  Touch. 

Not I, he lacks no money yet it seems:  
Young Travellers make no other use of their fathers.   Gil. 
But ha' you heard the news of his young Mistress?  Touch. 
What of sir Cautious being catched, the wise and wary gentleman, your Uncle, that would not believe there could be a marriageable maid, though she were justified by a jury of midwives, and therefore purposed to have died a Bachelor: that he should now be catched with a pipped Nutshell, and a Maggot in't.  Wat. 
Sure he was strangely wrought to't.  Gil. 

ay you must think  
There have been knavish heads used in the business.   Touch. 
But I will cross it and their knaveries, whate'er they are.  Wat. 
I hope you will not cross mine uncle in such a fortune tho.  Touch. 
What to marry a wench?  Wat. 
No, so much wealth sir.  Touch. 
Pray let me use my Christian Liberty, my Conscience pricks me to't, it must be done.  Enter Servant. 
Now what say you sir?  Whisper. Gil. 
We might ha' spared this labour: he was resolved before we came it seems to spoil the marriage.  Wat. 
We could not be too sure though: we are now sure enough, that our dissuasions will spur him on the faster.  Gil. 
And we are no less sure, that sir Hugh Money-lacks will set his strength to life Sir Cautious off o'the hooks, in hope of a matter of 5. Pound, though he forfeit the obligation of his throat by't.  Wat. 
All the danger is, that Sir Hugh will be with mine Uncle too soon, & prevent the match before he be too deep engaged in't.  Gil. 
For that my letter of instructions, which I have given Annabell shall prevent him; and Striker keeps Sir Cautious in his house so warily, that until the intended wedding hour, Sr. Hugh shall not obtain admittance.  Ex. Ser. Touch. 
Go fetch 'em in, and make the warrant: ha, ha, ha: Gentlemen will you hear a complaint my man tells me of certain Clowns that desire my warrant to apprehend for notorious Cheaters, whom do you think?  Gil. 
I cannot guess.  Wat. 
I know none I hope.  Touch. 
Even Sir Hugh Money-lacks, the mourning Knight, and some of his associates.  Gil. 
O'my life it is the roaring Clown, about the new made Gentleman his brother.   

Act 5. Scene 3.  Enter Tom and Coulter. Touch. 
What is it you sir, Mr. Strikers Nephew, as I take it, you called his great worship's Uncle lately as I take it, and did your best to tore me out of his house.  Tom. 
'zheart Coulter we be vallen into the baker's ditch.  Touch. 
And do you bring your complaints to me sir, ha?  Coul. 
Zet a good vace on't; and veare no colours though.  Tom. 
I am an honest man, and a true man for all that, and I thought you the vittest to make my complaint to because you were the next Justice, to as pestilence a piece of villainy as ever you were Master of in all your life: I come but vor justice, and to pay vor what I take, an't be avore hand, here it is, whether it be vor your clerk or your self, who makes or meddles with it, your man has my complaint in writing, pray let me have your warrant.  Tou. 
You shall, but first tell me, how came it that you called that Striker uncle.  Tom. 
Vor cause that he is uncle to a fool that I ha' to my brother, and I thought I might be so bold wee'n, and he was not against it at virst, till you were gone, and then he bade me go seek better testimony, and so I went and vound my brother Tim, his own zusters zonne I assure ye.  Touch. 
His sister's son?  Tom. 
Where he was made such a Tim, as ne'er was heard on in Tonton, amongst a many Cheaters: by mass here are a couple o'em.  Coul. 
These were o'the crew.  Touch. 
How now my Masters: sure fellow thou art mistaken.  Tom. 
No sir, I am not mistaken I but I take 'em ay, where I find 'em I: And I charge your justiceship with 'em ay, till they bring out my brother I.  Touch. 
Bring out your brother: why what has your brother done?  Tom. 
Done: nay they have done and undone him amongst 'em. And I think devoured him quick too vor he is lost, & nowhere to be vound.  Touch. 
Do you know the meaning of any of this gentlemen?  Gil. 
If he were your brother sir, that you found at Sir Hugh Money-lacks lodging, you know we left him in your hands.  Wat. 
We stepped in but by chance, & such a youth we found there, & there we left him in your and their hands, that had the managing of him.  Tom. 
Zo you did, but what then did me the rest, but plied me, and my man Coulter here with wine, and zack, and something in't, I dare be zwore that laid us a zleep, when we mistrusted nothing but vaire play: oh speak Coulter, oh.  Coul. 
And then when were vast asleep, they all gave us the slip, the Knight was gone, and the Squire was gone, & Mr. Tim was gone, but he was made away, without all peradventure; for all the 'parel that he wore was left behind: and then— speak Master.  Tom. 
And then the Mr o'the house came home, & made a monstrous wonderment for the loss of his wife; he could not find her he zed. and zo he vaire and vlatly thrust us out o'doores, and is gone a hunting after his wife again: speak Coulter.  Gil. 
Alas poor Britleware.  Coult. 
And then we came for your warrant, to vind all these men again.  Tom. 
And to take 'em where we find 'em, & these were zome on 'em, when time was, and pray look to 'em.  Touch. 
I know not what to make o''is but sure there's something in't: And for these gentlemen I'll see them forthcoming.  Wat. 
We thank you sir.  Gil. 
And I will undertake Sir Hugh Money-lacks will be at the Bridehouse.  Touch. 
And thither will I instantly.  Gil. Wat. 
We'll wait upon you sir.  Tom. 
And I chill make bold to wait upon you till I be better certified.  Touch. 
You shall, come on your way, come gentlemen.  Gil. 

Well, here is such a knot now to untie,  
As would turn Oedipus his brain awry.   Ex. omn.  

Act 5. Scene 4  Enter Curate and Britle ware: Cur. 
Be appeased and comforted, good Mr. Britleware, trouble not your head in running after your fate, nor break your weighty brains in seeking ways after your wives heels, which are so light by your own report, they cannot crack an egg.  Brit. 
Her credit yet they may and mine.  Cur. 
Besides your wife is your wife where'er she is abroad as we as at home, yea, lost perhaps as well as found: I am now going to yoke a heifer to a husband, that perhaps will say so shortly: whither away Mr. Trampler?   

Scene 5.  Enter Trampler. Tram. 
To the wedding house: where I think I saw your wife last night Mr. Britleware.  Brit. 
Did you sir, did you?  Tram. 
I cannot say directly; but I think 'twas she: does she not call the gentlewoman Aunt that keeps Mr. Strikers house?  Brit. 
Yes Mistress Friswood, she is her Aunt sir.   

Scene 6.  Cur. 
Come go with us and find her.  Enter the Sedan, Hoy. in it, in woman's clothes. Brit. 
Pray gentleman stay, for I suppose She's here here's number one and twenty; & this is sure the litter.  Litter-man. 
What peep you for; you ought not to do so sir.  Brit. 
By what Commission ought you to carry my wife in a Close stool under my nose  Litter-man. 
'tis a close Chair by your leave: And I pray forbear, you know not who we carry.  Brit. 
I know the clothes she wears, and I will see the party.  Hoy 
I know that voice, & let me see the man; it is my surgeon.  Tram. 
A Surgeon! I took you for a China shopkeeper Master Britleware; these by trades are for some by purposes, and I smell knavery.  Cur. 
And Lawyers commonly are the best upon that sent.  Brit. 
Gentlemen this is a man that lay in my house.  Ho. 
A gentleman you would say, or my cost was ill bestowed there.  Brit. 
These are my goods he wears; that was my mother's Gown, and feloniously he wears it.  Hoy 
'tis all I have to show for four hundred pound I laid out in your house; and Sir Hugh put it upon me, and hired these men to carry me— Whither was it?  Litter-man. 
Up to a lodging in St. Giles's sir.  Hoy. 
Where he promised to finish his work of a gentleman in me, and send me to my Uncle.  Cur. 
O monstrum horrendum; a man in women's clothes.  Tram. 
'tis felony by the Law.  Brit. 
Has sir Hugh gi'en me the slip to finish his work in private? it shall all out, I am resolved, though I bewray myself in't: pray gentlemen assist me with this party to Mr. Justice Strikers, you say my wife is there.  Tram. 
Yes you shall thither.  Brit. 
And there I'll take a course you shall smell knavery enough.  Hoy. 
I find I am abused enough o' conscience: and shall be carried to mine Uncle now before my time and not as a gentleman, but as a gentlewoman, which grieves me worst of all.  Cur. 
Hinc illae lachrimae, the youth is sure abused indeed.  Hoy 
Oh.  Tram. 
Come leave your crying: And you beasts up with your luggage, and along with us; I'll fetch such drivers as shall set you on else.  Litter-man. 
Let us be paid for our labour, and we'll carry him to Bridewell, if you please.  Hoy. 
Oh, oh, that ever I was born in this groaning chair.  Ex.  

Act 5. Scene 7.  Friswood and Rebecca. Fris. 
It was well I sent for thee Niece, to help me deck the Bride here; and that the jealous fool thy husband thinks thou art gone astray the while; it will be a means for thee to take thy liberty another night, and pay him home indeed, when he shall not have the power to mistrust thee: it is the common condition of Cuckolds to mistrust so much afore hand, that when they are Dubbed indeed, they have not a glimpse of suspicion left.  Reb. 
Their horns hang in their light then; but truly Aunt, for mine own part, I had rather my husband should be jealous still then be cured in that right kind; though I confess the ends of all my longings, and the vexations I have put him to  

Were but to run his jealousy out of breath,  
And make him pant under the frivolous weight  
He bears; that is, a Cuckold in conceit;  
Which without doubt he labours with by this time:  
And when he finds me clear, 'twill be as well:  
(I hope) and better than if it were done  
By the broad way of foul pollution.   Fris. 

Nay I do not persuade you, take the downright way,  
Nothing against your Conscience Niece; I sent  
For him to ha' come and found you here by chance;  
But he has shut up house, and is run mad  
About the Town I hear to all your haunts.   Reb. 

He shall come hither and renounce his jealousy,  
And then entreat me too before I go.    

Scene 8.  Fris. 
Yes, that's a wise wife's part.  Ent. Strike. & Cautious Stri. 
What's the Bride ready?  Fris. 
Yes sir, she's dressed.  Reb. 

And dressed, and dressed indeed;  
Never was maid so dressed: oh sir you are happy;  
The happiest Knight, and are now in election  
Of the most sweet encounter in a bride,  
That e'er your chivalry could couch a Lance at.   Caut. 
I thank you Mrs. and I'll bring her shortly to bestow money wi'ye in China wares.  Reb. 
She is herself the purest piece of Purslane— that e'er had liquid sweet meats licked out of it.  Caut. 
And purer too I hope.  Stri. 
Go call her down.  Fris. 
She's at her private prayers yet sir, she.  Stri. 
When she has done, then hasten her away.  Ex. Fris. Reb. Reb. 
Such Brides do seldom make their grooms their prey.  Stri. 
Do you now conclude Sir Arnold you are happy?   

Scene 9.  Caut. 
As man can be being so near a wife.  Ent. Money-lacks. Mon. 
By your leave gentlemen.  Stri. 
He come? I fear a mischief.  Mon. 

How comes it Father Striker, and son Cautious in election  
That you huddle up a match here for my child,  
And I not made acquainted, as unworthy,  
Until the very intended marriage hour?   Stri. 

Who sent you hither, I sent not for you now sir:  
And there I am wi' ye sir.   Mon. 

'tis true, I covenanted not to come at you,  
Until you sent for me, unless you found  
Young Touchwood had the love of Annabell,  
You have heard he has touched her has he not?   Stri. 
Hold your peace.  Mon. 
Has he not made her Touchwood too?  Stri. 
Can you say so?  Mon. 
Yes, & struck fire too in her tinderbox.  Stri. 
You will not speak thus.  Mon. 

To you I need not; for you know't already;  
But to my friend Sir Cautious, whom I honour,  
And would not see so shipwrecked, I may speak it.   Stri. 
Will you undo your daughter?  Mon. 

My daughter; no you shall not put her upon me now.  
She is your daughter sir: if I but call her mine,  
Or suffer her to ask me a bare blessing,  
You'll thrust her out: no, you adopted her  
In your own name, and made a Striker of her,  
No more a Money-lacks.   Stri. 

The beggarly Knight is desperate,  
And should he out with it, my shame were endless:  
This is the way or none to stop his mouth:  
'tis but a money matter; stay a little   Mon 
Go not away sir Arnold, I must speak wi' ye.  Caut. 
I am not going sir.  Stri. 

Be not a Madman here, here's forty pieces,  
I know you use to strike for smaller sums:  
But take it for your silence, and withal  
My constant love, and my continual friendship.   Mon. 
Give me your hand o' that; enough. Sir Arnold.  Caut. 
What say you to me sir Hugh?  Stri. 
What does he mean trow?  Mon. 
You must not have my daughter.  Cau. 
No sir Hugh.  Mon. 
Unless you mean to take another's leavings.  Stri. 
Oh devilish reprobate.  Caut. 
How mean you that?  Mon. 

Till she has buried first another husband,  
And he leave her a widow: I am her father,  
And claim a father's interest in her choice;  
And I have promised her to one already,  
This very day, because I was not privy  
To your proceedings; and have taken here  
This fair assumpsit forty pieces sir;  
You might admire how I should have 'em otherwise.   Stri. 
Here's an impudent villain.  Mon. 
For these I give a hundred, if you wed her.  Caut. 
To show my love unto your daughter sir I'll pay't.  Mon. 
Security in hand were good.  Caut. 
Pray lend me sir a hundred Pieces.  Stri. 
I dare not cross this devil, I must fetch 'em.  Ex. Mon. 
'twill ne'er the less be my disparagement.  Caut. 

What, when they know her grandfather disposed her,  
That has the care of her, and gives her portion?  
And then he can ha' but his money, can he?   Mon. 

Oh but the wench, the wench, is such a wench,  
Scarce two such married in a Diocese,  
In twice two twelve months, for right and straight ones.   Caut. 

There said you well; the straight ones I like well:  
But those that men call right, or good ones, suffer  
A by Construction.    

Scene 10.  Mon. 
Amongst the Lewd.  Enter Striker with a purse. Stri. 
Here sir.  Mon. 
But is here weight and number sir?  Stri. 
Now the fiend stretch thee— you may take my word.  Mon. 
Here I am wi' ye sir.   

Scene 11.  Enter Gilbert, Wat, Touchwood, Tom, Sam. Gil. 

Though you are fully bent to cross the marriage,  
Yet let's entreat you not to be too sudden.   Tou. 

Till they come to the word, for better, for worse  
I will not touch at it.   Stri. 
How now, what mates break in upon us here?  Touch. 

I come not as a guest sir, or spectator  
To your great wedding, but o'the king's affairs;  
In which I must crave your assistance sir;  
Deny't me, or my entrance, if you dare.   Stri. 

It is some weighty matter sure then.  
But not to trouble your sconce with too much business  
At once, pursue your own, we will attend a while.   Touch. 
So it is sir,  Caut. 

In that he has said well: I would the Bride  
And Priest were come once; I am content they stand  
For witnesses: what my kind Nephew are you here?  
I thank you for your plot, you see what 'tis come to.   Wat. 

'tis not all finished yet sir.  
All in good time: the Bride is coming now.  
You and your brother Poet are grown friends I see.   Cau. 
But it may be  Touch. 
What's he?  Gil. 
A friend of Wat's he brought for company.  Tom 
He was amongst 'em too at the cheating exercise, and yond's the Knight himself; I know 'em all I trow.  Touch. 

And you'll stand to this, that your lost brother  
Was Strikers Sister audreye's son.   Tom. 
I ha' told you twenty times, and yet because you zay you'll stand my friend, I'll tell you more, she was with child with Tim bevore my vather married her (she brought him in her belly vrom this town here (where they get Children without veare or wit) but vor her money, and's own credit's zake, my vather was well apaid to keep it vor his own; and nobody knew to the Contrary, not Tim himself to this hour.  Touch. 
Then how cam'st thou to know it?  Tom 
My vather told it me upon his deathbed, and charged me on his blessing, never to open my mouth to man, woman, nor child, zo I told nobody but vokes on't.  Touch. 
Well, hold thy peace, 'tis an absolute wonder! Now to the wedding   

Scene 12  Enter Curate, Tramp. Ann. Fris. Reb. Cau. 
How's this? my bride in mourning habit, & her head in willow?  Stri. 
What's the meaning of it?  Reb. 
I said she was dressed as never Bride was dressed.  Touch. 

A solemn show, and suiting well the Scene!  
She seems round bellied, and you mark it too.   Ann. 
My habit and my dressing suits my fortune.  Stri 

Pray sir do your office, her conceit  
We will know afterward.   Cur. 
Hem, hem.  Ann. 
Oh, oh.  sinks. Fris. 
Oh me; why Mistress look up, look up I say.  Reb. 
Clap her cheek, rub her nose.  Fris 
Sprinkle cold water on her face.  Reb. 
Cut her lace, cut her lace, and bow her forward, so, so, so.  Touch. 
I'll lay my life she quickens now with child.  An. 
Oh.  Mon. 
What think you is the matter?  Caut. 
Women how is it with her?  Fris. 
Sir, as with other women in her case.  Caut. 
How's that I pray you. you have been doing something aforehand sir.  Reb. 
'twill out, 'twill out,  Caut. 
Have I?  Reb. 
It seems so by the story.  Caut. 
Is she so dressed?  Tou. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Fris. 
You may leave laughing, it was your son that did it.  Stri. 
I am undone, my house disgraced for ever.  Touch. 

He knew't before hand, now I may declare't,  
Speak o' thy Conscience, did it not?   Stri. 
Oh my heart.  Touch. 
Oh the hangman.  Caut. 

Deceit becomes not dying men you know,  
Into a whirlpool of confusion  
Sink thou and all thy family, accursed miser.   Touch. 

This was a sure way now Sir Cautious,  
To marry a maid, there's one i'the mother's belly.   Stri. 
Vh, uh, uh, uh.  Caut. 
You knew not where I could be so well fitted.  Stri. 
Vh, uh, uh.  Caut. 
A rot o'your dissembling entrails, spit 'em out, you durst not strain yourself to wind your whistle, your Doctor told you it would spend your spirits, so made me whistle for her  Stri. 
Vh, uh, uh.  Touch. 

Cheer up, cheer up, I may be friends wi'ye now:  
Here's one has cause, and knows the way to vex ye,  
To preserve life in you as well as I.   Stri. 

A hem, a hem, I will outlive you both:  
This day's vexation is enough for a life time.   Caut. 
And may it last thee to thy lives last hour.  Touch. 
Now let me talk wi'ye, and come you hither sir.  Tram. 

I tell you true, your writings are so past, that if you go  
Not off by composition, you'll shake your whole estate.   Caut. 

Come hither Nephew,  
I'll give thee a thousand pound, and take her off me.   Wat. 

I cannot with my reputation now:  
But I will do my best to work a friend to 't.   Caut. 
Prithee do, try thy Poetical soldier.  Mon. 
That Clown come hither too: I fear I am trapped.  Touch. 

'tis all as I have told you, and without question,  
The man in question is your sister's son.   Stri. 

Would it might prove so, that I had yet a Nephew,  
For now my Niece is lost.   Touch. 

Here's one shall find him out: or stretch a neck for't.  
Sir Hugh you are charged for making of a gentleman.   Mon. 
Now I am in.  Tou. 
And more than so, for making him away.  Mon. 
What gentleman?  Tom. 
Marry my brother Tim.  Touch. 

Your patience yet a while: now gentlemen all,  
Sir Cautious, and the rest, pray hear a story:  
I have been often urged to yield the cause  
Of the long quarrel twixt this man and me:  
Thirty years' growth it has, he never durst  
Reveal the reason; I being sullen would not.   Stri. 
You will not tell it now?  Touch. 

Indeed I will:  
He had a sister (peace to her memory)  
That in my youth I loved, she me so much,  
That we concluded, we were man and wife;  
And dread less of all marriage lets, we did  
Anticipate the pleasures of the bed.  
Nay it shall out; briefly, she proved with child:  
This covetous man then greedy of her portion,  
(Of which for the most part he was possessed)  
Forces her with her shame to leave his house.  
She makes her moan to me, I then (which since  
I have with tears a thousand times repented)  
Against my heart stood off, in hope to win  
Her Dowry from him: when she gentle soul  
(Whom I must now bewail) when she I say,  
Not knowing my reserved intent, from him and me,  
From friends, and all the world, for aught we knew,  
Suddenly slipped away: after five years  
I took another wife, by whom I had  
The son, that has done that the woman says:  
But where I left, if this man's tale be true,  
She had a son, whom I demand of you.   Tom. 

I shall have a kind of an uncle of you anon,  
And you prove Tim's vather.   Tram. 
The young Gentleman that sir Hugh had in handling, is in the house, and Master Brittleware with him.  Cur. 
Only we kept 'em back, till our more serious office were ended.  Touch. 
Pray 'em in, let's see him.  Exit Tram. Gil. 
Sir, will it please you first to see a match quickly clapped up? This Gentleman whom I know every way deserving, were your Niece now in her prime of Fortune and of Virtue, desires to have her, and she him as much.  Touch. 
He shall not have her.  Stri. 
How can you say so?  Wat. 
He knows his son I fear.  Touch. 
My son shall make his fault good, and restore her honour to her if he lives, in meed for your fair sisters wrong and my misdeed, my son shall marry her; provided that he take her in his Conscience unstained by any other man.  Stri. 
On that condition I'll give her all the worldly good I have.  Sam. Ann. 
We take you at your word.  Touch. 
My son!  Sam. 
I take her not with all faults, but without any least blemish.  Ann. 
My supposed slain: Thus I cast from me.  Tom. 
'snails a Cushion, how warm her belly has made it.  Ann. 
And that all was but a plot twixt him and me, and these gentlemen: This paper may resolve you.  Sam. 
'tis mine own hand by which I instructed her by a dissembled way, to wound her honour.  Ann. 

Which, to preserve my love, again I'd do,  
Hoping that you forgive it in me too.   Caut. 
Now am I cheated both ways.  Wat. 
The plot is finished: now thanks for your thousand pound sir.  Touch. 
You are mine own; welcome into my bosom.   

Act. 5 Scene 13.  Enter Hoyden, Trampler, Brittleware. Tom. 
Whoop, who comes here, my brother Tim dressed like Master mayor's wife of taunton-dean.  Hoy. 
'tis all I could get to scape without of the cozening house; and all I have to show of four hundred pound; but this certificate and this small jewel which my dying mother ga'me; and I had much ado to hide it from the Cheaters, to bring unto mine Uncle; which is he?  Stri. 
Let's see your token Sir.  Touch. 
This is a jewel that I gave my Audrey.  Hoy. 
That was my mother.  Tom. 
And that's your vather he zaies.  Hoy. 
And a gentleman? what a devilish deal of money might I ha' saved! for gentlemen let me tell you, I have been cozened black and blue; back-gulled and belly-gulled; and have nothing left me but a little bare Compliment to live upon, as I am a clear gentleman.  Stri. 
Will you bestow some of it upon me.  Hoy. 
Uncle you shall: First I'll give you a hit at single Rapier compliment: and then a wipe or two with the Backsword Compliment and I ha' done.  Stri. 
Pray begin.  Hoy. 
Noble Mr. Striker the grave Magistrate (if my apprehension deal fairly with me) whose praises reach to Heaven, for the fair distribution of equal justice: the poor man's Sanctuary, the righter of widow's, and the orphan's wrongs.  Stri. 
Enough, enough, you have said very well.  Hoy. 
Note you yond justice sits upon the Bench?  Touch. 
Yes, I do note him.  Hoy. 
The Stocks were fitter for him: the most corrupted fellow about the Suburbs, his conscience is stewed in Bribes, all his poor neighbours curse him; 'tis though the keeps a whore now at three score.  Touch. 
A very Western Soothsayer, thou art mine own.  Hoy. 
His Niece is much suspected.  Touch. 
Nay there you went too far, this is his Niece, and my daughter now.  Hoy. 
I know no Niece he has, I speak but backsword compliment.  Stri. 
You put me well in mind though, here's one, that ere the Parson and we part, I'll make an honest woman.  takes Fris. Touch. 
And for your part sir Hugh, you shall make satisfaction, and bring in your Confederates.  Hoy. 
Here's one that came to complain of me for my Robes here, but I ha' lost my small acquaintance.  Mon. 
I'll answer for him too, & give you all the satisfaction that I can  Touch. 
What you cannot shall be remitted, we have all our faults.  Brit. 
And have I found thee Beck in so good company?  Reb. 
ay Jack, be you jealous no more, and I will long no more to vex thee.  Fris. 
Live lovingly and honestly I charge you, or come not at me when I am married.  Touch. 

This younker I'll take care for,  
And make him a new gentleman by new breeding,  
Without the Diet, bathing, purge, or bleeding.   Hoy. 
Sweet Sir I thank you.  Tom. 
I'll home again then and make Tanton ring on't.  Stri. 
Our quarrel in this piece of folly ends.  Touch. 
He parted us, and he has made us friends.  Caut. 

Nephew, and Gentlemen, I am friends with all,  
You had your plot upon me, I had mine.   Stri. 
Let's in, and end all differences in wine.     

The Epilogue.  

AT first we made no boast, and still we fear,  
We have not answered expectation here,  
Yet give us leave to hope, as hope to live,  
That you will grace, as well as justice give.  
We do not dare your judgements now: for we  
Know lookers on more than the Gamesters see;  
And whate'er Poets write, we Act, or say,  
'tis only in your hands to Crown a Play.   
FINIS.