A PLEASANT conceited Comedy, Wherein is showed how a man may choose a good Wife from a bad. As it hath been sundry times Acted by the Earl of Worcester's Servants.  
 
LONDON Printed for Mathew Law, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, near unto S. Augustine's gate, at the sign of the Fox. 1602.   

A pleasant conceited Comedy, wherein is showed how a man may choose a good Wife from a bad.  Enter as upon the Exchange, young Master Arthur, and Master Lusam. Arthur. 
I Tell you true Sir, but to every man  
I would not be so lavish of my speech,  
Only to you my dear and private friend,  
Although my wife in every eye, be held  
Of beauty and of grace sufficient,  
Of honest birth and good behaviour,  
Able to win the strongest thoughts to her,  
Yet in my mind I hold her the most hated  
And loathed object that the world can yield.  Lusam. 
Oh M. Arthur, bear a better thought  
Of your chaste wife, whose modesty hath won  
The good opinion and report of all:  
By heaven you wrong her beauty, she is fair.  Ar. 
Not in mine eye.  Lu. 
O you are cloyed with dainties M. Arthur  
And too much sweetness glutted hath your taste,  
And makes you loathe them: At the first  
You did admire her beauty, praised her face,  
Were proud to have her follow at your heels  
Through the broad streets, when all censuring tongues  
Found themselves busied as she passed along,  
To extol her in the hearing of you both,  
Tell me I pray you and dissemble not,  
Have you not in the time of your first love,  
hugged such new popular and vulgar talk,  
And glorified still to see her bravely decked?  
But now a kind of loathing hath quite changed  
Your shape of love into a form of hate,  
But on what reason ground you this hate?  Ar. 
My reason is my mind, my ground my will,  
I will not love her: If you ask me why  
I cannot love her, let that answer you.  Lu. 
Be judge all eyes, her face deserves it not,  
Then on what root grows this high branch of hate  
Is she not loyal, constant, loving, chaste,  
Obedient, apt to please, loath to displease,  
Careful to live, chary of her good name,  
And jealous of your reputation?  
Is she not virtuous, wise, religious?  
How should you wrong her to deny all this?  
Good M. Arthur let me argue with you.  They walk and talk Enter walking and talking, M. Anselme, and Master Futter. Ful. 
Oh M. Anselm, grown a Lover, fie,  
What might she be, on whom your hopes rely?  An. 
What fools they are that seem most wise in love,  
How wise they are, that are but fools in love:  
Before I was a Lover, I had reason  
To judge of matters, censure of all sorts,  
Nay I had wit to call a Lover fool,  
And look into his folly with bright eyes,  
But now intruding Love dwells in my brain,  
And frantically hath shouldered reason thence,  
I am not old, and yet alas I dote:  
I have not lost my sight, and yet am blind,  
No bondman, yet have lost my liberty,  
No natural fool, and yet I want my wit.  
What am I then, let me define myself,  
A dotard young, a blind man that can see,  
A witty fool, a bondman that is free.  Ful. 
Good aged youth, blind seer, & wise fool,  
Lose your free bonds, and set your thoughts to school.  Enter old M. Arthur, and old M. Lusam. Old Ar. 
'tis told me M. Lusam, that my son  
And your chaste daughter whom we matched together,  
Wrangle and fall at odds, and brawl, and chide.  Old Lu. 
Nay I think so, I never looked for better;  
This 'tis to marry children when they are young,  
I said as much at first, that such young brats  
Would 'gree together, even like dogs and cats.  Old Ar. 
Nay pray you M. Lusam say not so,  
There was great hope, though they were matched but young  
Their virtues would have made then sympathize,  
And live together like two quiet Saints,  Old Lu. 
You say true, there was great hope indeed  
They would have lived like Saints, but where's the fault?  Old Ar. 
If fame be true, the most fault's in my son.  Old. Lu. 
You say true M. Arthur, 'tis so indeed.  Old Ar. 
Nay sir, I do not altogether excuse  
Your daughter, many lay the blame on her,  Old Lu. 
Ha say you so, bithmasse 'tis like enough,  
For from her childhood she hath been a shrew.  Old Ar 
A shrew, you wrong her, all the town admires her,  
For mildness, chasteness, and humility.  Old Lu. 
Fore God you say well, she is so indeed.  
The City doth admire her for these virtues.  Old Ar. 
O sir, you praise your child too palpably,  
she's mild and chaste, but not admired so much.  Old Lu. 
I so I say, I did not mean admired.  Old Ar. 
Yes if a man do well consider her,  
Your daughter is the wonder of her sex.  Old Lu. 
Are you advised of that, I cannot tell  
What 'tis you call the wonder of her sex,  
But she is, is she, I indeed she is.  Old Ar. 
What is she?  Old Lu. 
even what you will, you know best what she is.  Anselm. 
Yond is her husband, let us leave this walk,  
How full are bad thoughts of suspicion;  
I love, but loathe myself for loving so,  
Yet cannot change my disposition.  Fuller. 
Medice cure teipsum.  Ansel. 
Hei mihi quod mellis amor est medicabilis herbis.  Young Ar. 
All your persuasions are to no effect,  
Never allege her virtues nor her beauty,  
My settled unkindness hath begot  
A resolution to be unkind still,  
My ranging pleasures love variety.  Yon. Lu. 
Oh too unkind unto so kind a wife,  
Too virtueless to one so virtuous,  
And too unchaste unto so chaste a matron.  Yon. Ar. 
But soft sir, see where my two fathers are  
Busily talking, let us shrink aside,  
For if they see me, they are bent to chide.  Exeunt. Old Ar. 
I think 'tis best to go straight to the house  
And make them friends again: what think you sir?  Old Lu. 
I think so too.  Old Arth. 
Now I remember too, that's not so good,  
For divers reasons I think best stay here,  
And leave them to their wrangling, what think you?  Old Lu. 
I think so too.  Old Arth. 
Nay we will go that's certain.  Old Lu. 
I 'tis best, 'tis best in sooth: there's no way but to go.  Old Arth. 
Yet if our going should breed more unrest,  
More discord, more dissension, more debate,  
More wrangling where there is enough already,  
'twere better stay then go.  Old Lu. 
Fore God 'tis true,  
Our going may perhaps breed more debate,  
And then we may too late wish we had stayed:  
And therefore if you will be ruled by me,  
We will not go that's flat: Nay if we love  
Our credits, or our quiets, let's not go.  Old Ar. 
But if we love their credits or their quiets we must go  
And reconcile them to their former love:  
Where there is strife betwixt a man and wife 'tis hell,  
And mutual love may be compared to heaven:  
For then their souls and spirits are at peace.  
Come M. Lusam, now 'tis dinner time,  
When we have dined, the first work we will make,  
Is to decide their jars for pity sake.  Old Lu. 
Welfare a good heart, yet are you advise,  
Go said you M. Arthur, I will run,  
To end these broils that discord hath begun.  Exeunt. Enter Mistress Arthur, and her man Pipkin. Mist. Ar. 
Come hither Pipkin, how chance you tread so softly?  Pip. 
For fear of breaking Mistress.  Mist. Ar. 
Art thou afraid of breaking, how so?  Pip. 
Can you blame me Mistress, I am cracked already.  Mist. 
Cracked Pipkin, how, hath any cracked your crown?  Pip. 
No Mistress, I thank God my crown is currant, but.  Mis. Ar. 
But what?  Pip. 
The maid gave me not my supper yesternight, so that indeed my belly wambled; and standing near the great sea-coal fire in the hall, and not being full, on the sudden I cracked, and you know Mistress a Pipkin is soon broken.  Mis. Ar. 
Sirrah run to the Exchange, and if you there  
Can find my husband, pray him to come home.  
Tell him I will not eat a bit of bread  
Until I see him: prithee Pipkin run.  Pip. 
But Lady Mistress, if I should tell him so, it may be he would not come, were it for no other cause but to save charges, I'll rather tell him, if he come not quickly, you will eat up all the meat in the house, and then if he be of my stomach he will run every foot, and make the more hast to dinner.  Mis. Ar. 
I thou mayst jest, my heart is not so light,  
It can digest the least conceit of joy:  
Entreat him fairly, though I think he loves  
All places worse that he beholds me in,  
Wilt thou be gone?  Pip. 
Whither Mistress, to the Change?  Mis Ar. 
I to the Change.  Pip. 
I will Mistress, hoping my M. will go so oft to the Change, that at length he will change his mind, and use you more kindly, o it were brave if my Master could meet with a Merchant of ill ventures to bargain with him for all his bad conditions, and he sell them outright, you should have a quieter heart, and we all a quieter house: but hoping Mistress you will pass over all these Jars and squabbles in good health, as my Master was at the making the thereof I commit you.  Mis. Ar. 
Make haste again I prithee, till I see him  
My heart will never be at rest within me:  
My husband hath of late so much estranged  
His words, his deeds, his heart from me,  
That I can seldom have his company:  
And even that seldom with such discontent,  
Such frowns, such chidings, such impatience,  
That did not truth & virtue arm my thoughts,  
They would confound me with despair & hate,  
And make me run into extremities.  
Had I deserved the least bad look from him,  
I should account myself too bad to live,  
But honouring him in love and chastity,  
All judgements censure freely of my wrongs.  Enter young Arthur, Master Lusam, Pipkin. Yon. Ar. 
Pipkin what said she when she sent for me?  Pip. 
Faith master she said little, but she thought more,  
For she was very melancholy.  Yon. Ar. 
Did I not tell you she was melancholy?  
For nothing else but that she sent for me,  
And fearing I would come to dine with her.  Yon. Lus. 
O you mistake her even upon my soul,  
I durst affirm you wrong her chastity.  
See where she doth attend your coming home.  Mis. Ar. 
Come master Arthur, shall we in to dinner?  
Sirrah be gone, and see it served in.  Yon. Lus. 
Will you not speak unto her?  Yon. Ar. 
No not I, will you go in sir?  Mis. Ar. 
Not speak to me, nor once look towards me?  
It is my duty to begin I know,  
And I will break this Ice of courtesy.  
You are welcome home sir.  Yon. Ar. 
Hark master Lusam, if she mock me not,  
You are welcome home sir, am I welcome home,  
Good faith I care not if I be or no.  Yon. Lu. 
Thus you misconstrue all things M. Arthur,  
Look if her true love melt not into tears.  Yon. Ar. 
She weeps, but why? that I am come so soon  
To hinder her of some appointed guests,  
That in my absence revels in my house:  
She weeps to see me in her company,  
And were I absent, she would laugh with joy.  
She weeps to make me weary of the house,  
Knowing my heart cannot away with grief.  Mist. Ar. 
Knew I that mirth would make you love my bed,  
I would enforce my heart to be more merry.  Yon. Ar. 
Do you not hear, she would enforce her heart,  
All mirth is forced that she can make with me.  Young Lu. 
O misconceit, how bitter is thy taste?  
Sweet M. Arthur, Mistress Arthur too,  
Let me entreat you reconcile these jars,  
Odious to heaven, and most abhorred of men.  Mist. Ar. 
You are a stranger sir, but by your words  
You do appear an honest Gentleman:  
If you profess to be my husband's friend,  
Persist in these persuasions: and be judge  
With all indifference in these discontents.  
Sweet husband, if I be not fair enough  
To please your eye, range where you list abroad,  
Only at coming home speak me but fair:  
If you delight to change, change when you please,  
So that you will not change your love to me.  
If you delight to see me drudge and toil,  
I'll be your drudge, because 'tis your delight.  
Or if you think me unworthy of the name  
Of your chaste wife, I will become your maid,  
Your slave, your servant, any thing you will,  
If for that name of servant, and of slave,  
You will but smile upon me now and then.  
Or if as I well think you cannot love me,  
Love where you list, only say but you love me:  
I'll feed on shadows let the substance go.  
Will you deny me such a small request?  
What will you neither love nor flatter me?  
O then I see your hate here doth but wound me,  
And with that hate it is your frowns confound me.  Yon. Lu. 
Wonder of women: why hark you M. Arthur,  
What is your wife a woman or a Saint?  
A wife, or some bright Angel come from heaven?  
Are you not moved at this strange spectacle?  
This day I have beheld a miracle.  
When I attempt this sacred nuptial life,  
I beg of heaven to find me such a wife.  Yon. Ar. 
Ha, ha, a miracle, a prodigy,  
To see a woman weep is as much pity  
As to see Foxes digged out of their holes:  
If thou wilt pleasure me, let me see thee less,  
Grieve much: they say grief often shortens life,  
Come not too near me, till I call he wife.  
And that will be but seldom, I will tell thee  
How thou shalt win my heart, die suddenly,  
And I'll become a lusty widower:  
The longer thy life lasts the more my hate,  
And loathing still increaseth towards thee.  
When I come home & find thee cold as earth,  
Then will I love thee: thus thou know'st my mind.  
Come M. Lusam, let us in to dine.  (Exeunt. Yon. Lu. 
O sir, you too much affect this evil,  
Poor Saint, why wert thou yoked thus with a devil.  Exit. Mis. Ar. 
If thou wilt win my heart, die suddenly,  
But that my soul was bought at such a rate,  
At such a high price as my saviours blood,  
I would not stick to lose it with a stab.  
But virtue banish all such fantasies.  
He is my husband, and I love him well,  
Next to my own soul's health I tender him:  
And would give all the pleasures of the world,  
To buy his love if I might purchase it.  
I'll follow him, and like a servant wait,  
And strive by all means to prevent his hate.  Exit. Enter old Arthur, and old Lusam. Old Ar. 
This is my sons house, were it best go in,  
How say you master Lusam?  Old Lus. 
How go in, how say you sir?  Old Ar. 
I say 'tis best.  Old Lus. 
ay sir, say you so, so say I too.  Old Ar. 
Nay, nay, it is not best, I'll tell you why,  
Happily the fire of hate is quite extinct  
From the dead embers, now to rake them up,  
Should the least spark of discontent appear,  
To make the flame of hatred burn afresh,  
The heat of this dissension might scorch us,  
Which in his own cold ashes smothered up,  
May die in silence, and revive no more:  
And therefore tell me, is it best or no?  Old Lus. 
How say you sir?  Old Ar. 
I say it is not best.  Old. Lus. 
Mass you say well sir, & so say I too.  Old Ar. 
But shall we lose our labour to come hither,  
And without sight of our two children?  
Go back again, nay we will in that's certain.  Old Lu. 
In quotha, do you make a doubt of that?  
Shall we come thus far, and in such post haste,  
And have our children here and both within,  
And not behold them ere our back return?  
It were unfriendly, and unfatherly:  
Come M. Arthur, pray you follow me.  Old Ar. 
Nay but hark you sir, will you not knock?  Old Lu. 
Is't best to knock?  Old. Ar. 
I knock in any case.  Old Lu. 
'twas well you put it in mind to knock,  
I had forgotten it else I promise you.  Old Ar. 
Tush, be't not my sons and your daughter's door,  
And shall we two stand knocking? Lead the way.  Old Lu. 
Knock at our children's doors, that were a jest,  
Are we such fools to make ourselves so strange  
Where we should still be boldest? In for shame.  
We will not stand upon such ceremonies.  (Exeunt. Enter Anselm and Fuller. Ful. 
Speak in what cue sir do you find your heart,  
Now thou hast slept a little on thy love?  Ans. 
Like one that strives to shun a little plash  
Of shallow water, and avoiding it,  
Plunges into a River past his depth.  
Like one that from a small spark steps aside,  
And falls in headlong to a greater flame:  Ful. 
But in such fires scorch not thyself for shame.  
If she be fire, thou art so far from burning,  
That thou hast scarce yet warmed thee at her face  
But list to me, I'll turn thy heart from love,  
And make thee loathe all of the feminine sex.  
They that have known me, knew me once of name  
To be a perfect wencher: I have tried  
All sorts, all sects, all states, and find them still  
Inconstant, fickle, always variable.  
Attend me man, I will prescribe a method  
How thou shalt win her without all peradventure,  Ansel. 
That would I gladly hear.  Ful. 
I was once like thee,  
A fighter, melancholy, humorist,  
Crosser of arms, a goer without garters,  
A hatband-hater, and a busk-point wearer,  
One that did use much bracelets made of hair,  
Rings on my fingers, jewels in mine ears,  
And now and then a wench's carcanet,  
That had two letters for her name in Pearl:  
scarves, garters, bands, wrought waistcoats, gold, stitched caps,  
A thousand of those female fooleries,  
But when I looked into the glass of Reason, straight I began  
To loathe that female bravery, and henceforth  
Study to cry peccavi to the world.  Ans. 
I pray you to your former argument,  
Prescribe a means to win my best beloved.  Ful. 
First be not bashful, bar all blushing tricks,  
Be not too apish female, do not come  
With foolish Sonnets to present her with,  
With legs, with courtesies, congees, and such like:  
Nor with penned speeches, or too far fetched sighs,  
I hate such antic quaint formality.  Ans. 
Oh but I cannot watch occasion,  
She dashes every proffer with a frown.  Ful. 
A frown, a fool art thou afraid of frowns?  
He that will leave occasion for a frown,  
Were I his judge (all you his case bemoan)  
His doom should be, ever to lie alone.  Ans. 
I cannot choose but when a wench says nay,  
To take her at her word and leave my suit.  Ful. 
Continue that opinion, and be sure  
To die a virgin chaste, a maiden pure.  
It was my chance once in my wanton days  
To Court a wench, hark and I'll tell thee how:  
I came unto my Love, and she looked coy,  
I spoke unto my Love, she turned aside,  
I touched my Love, and 'gan with her to toy,  
But she sat mute for anger, or for pride:  
I strived and kissed my Love, she cried away:  
Thou wouldst have left her thus, I made her stay.  
I catched my Love, and wrung her by the hand,  
I took my Love and set her on my knee,  
And pulled her to me, o you spoil my band,  
You hurt me sir, pray let me go quoth she.  
I am glad quoth I, that you have found your tongue,  
And still my Love I by the finger wrong.  
I asked her if she loved me, she said no,  
I bade her swear, she straight calls for a book:  
Nay then thought I, 'tis time to let her go,  
I eased my knee, and from her cast a look,  
She leaves me wondering at these strange affairs,  
And like the wind she trips me up the stairs.  
I left the room below and up I went,  
Finding her thrown upon her wanton bed:  
I asked the cause of her sad discontent,  
Further she lies, and making room she said,  
Now sweeting kiss me, having time and place:  
So clings me too her with a sweet embrace.  Ans. 
be't possible, I had not thought till now  
That women could dissemble. M. Fuller  
Here dwells the sacred mistress of my heart,  
Before her door I'll frame a frivolous walk,  
And spying her, with her devise some talk.  Enter as out of the house, M. Arthur, Mistress Arthur, old Arthur, old Lusam, young Lusan, Pipkin, and the rest. Ful. 
What stir is this, let's step but out the way  
And hear the utmost what these people say.  Old Ar. 
Thou art a knave, although thou be my son,  
Have I with care and trouble brought thee up,  
To be a staff and comfort to my age,  
A Pillar to support me, and a Crutch  
To lean on in my second infancy,  
And dost thou use me thus? thou art a knave.  Old Lu. 
A knave, I mary, and an arrant knave:  
And sirrah, by old M. Arthur's leave,  
Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one.  Young Ar. 
Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus  
To wrong me with the scorned name of knave,  
I will not have you so familiar,  
Nor so presume upon my patience.  Old Lu. 
Speak M. Arthur, is he not a knave?  Old Ar. 
I say he is a knave.  Old Lu. 
Then so say I.  Young Ar. 
My Father may command my patience,  
But you sir that are but my Father in law,  
Shall not so mock my reputation,  
Sir you shall find I am an honest man.  Old Lu. 
An honest man.  Young Ar. 
ay sir, so I say.  Old Lu. 
Nay if you say so, I'll not be against it;  
But sir you might have used my daughter better,  
Than to have beat her, spurned her, railed at her  
Before our faces.  Old Ar. 
I therein son Arthur,  
Thou show'dst thyself no better than a knave.  Old Lu. 
I mary did he, I will stand to it,  
To use my honest daughter in such sort,  
He showed himself no better than a knave.  Young Ar. 
I say again I am an honest man,  
He wrongs me that shall say the contrary.  Old Lu. 
I grant sir that you are an honest man,  
Nor will I say unto the contrary.  
But wherefore do you use my daughter thus?  
Can you accuse her of inchastity,  
Of loose demeanour, disobedience, or disloyalty?  
Speak what thou canst thou object against my daughter.  Old Ar. 
Accuse her, here she stands, spit in her face  
If she be guilty in the least of these.  Mis. Ar. 
O Father be more patient, if you wrong  
My honest husband, all the blame be mine,  
Because you do it only for my sake.  
I am his handmaid, since it is his pleasure  
To use me thus, I am content therewith,  
And bear his checks and crosses patiently.  Young Ar. 
If in mine own house I can have no place,  
I'll seek it elsewhere, and frequent it less,  
Father I am now past one and twenty years,  
I am past my Father's pampering, I suck not:  
Nor am I dandled on my mother's knee:  
Then if you were my Father twenty times,  
You shall not choose but let me be myself.  
Do I come home so seldom, and that seldom  
Am I thus baited? Wife remember this.  
Father farewell, and Father in law adieu:  
Your son had rather fast, than feast with you.  (Exit. Old Ar. 
Well go too wild oats, spend thrift, prodigal,  
I'll cross thy name quite from my reckoning book:  
For these accounts, faith it shall scathe thee somewhat,  
I will not say what somewhat it shall be.  Old Lu. 
And it shall scathe him somewhat of my purse,  
And daughter I will take thee home again,  
Since thus he hates thy fellowship,  
Be such an eyesore to his sight no more,  
I tell thee thou no more shalt trouble him.  Mis. Ar. 
will you divorce whom God hath tied together?  
Or break that knot the sacred hand of heaven  
Made fast betwixt us? Have you never read  
What a great curse was laid upon his head  
That breaks the holy band of marriage,  
divorcing husbands from their chosen wives?  
Father I will not leave my Arthur so,  
Not all my friends can make me prove his foe.  Old Ar. 
I could say somewhat in my sons reproof,  Old Lu. 
Faith so could I.  Old Ar. 
But till I meet him I will let it pass.  Old Lu. 
Faith so will I.  Old Ar. 
Daughter farewell, with weeping eyes I part,  
Witness these tears, thy grief sus near my heart.  Old Lu. 
Weeps M. Arthur, nay then let me cry:  
His cheeks shall not be wet, and mine be dry.  (Exeunt. Mist. Ar. 
Fathers farewell, spend not a tear for me:  
But for my husband's sake let these woes be.  
For when I weep, 'tis not for my own care,  
But fear least folly bring him to despair.  Yon. Lu. 
Sweet Saint continue still this patience,  
For time will bring him to true penitence.  
Mirror of virtue, thanks for my good cheer,  
A thousand thanks.  Mist. Ar. 
It is so much too dear,  
But you are welcome for my husband's sake,  
His guests shall have best welcome I can make.  Yon. Lu. 
Then marriage, nothing in the world more common,  
Nothing more rare than such a virtuous woman.  (Exit. Mis. Ar. 
My husband in this humour, well I know  
Plays but the unthrift, therefore it behoves me  
To be the better housewife here at home,  
To save and get, whilst he doth laugh and spend:  
Though for himself he riots it anlarge,  
My needle shall defray my households charge.  Ful. 
Now M. Anselm to her, step not back,  
busy yourself, see where she sits at work:  
Be not afraid man, she's but a woman,  
And women, the most Cowards seldom fear:  
Think but upon my former principles,  
And twenty pound to a dream you speed.  Ans. 
ay, say you so?  Ful. 
Beware of blushing sirrah,  
Of fear and too much eloquence:  
Rail on her husband his misusing her,  
And make that serve thee as an argument,  
That she may sooner yield to do him wrong:  
Were it my case, my Love and I to plead,  
I have't at singer's ends, who could miss the clout  
Having so fair a white, such steady aim,  
This is the upshot, now bid for the game.  Ans. 
Fair Mistress God save you.  Ful. 
What a circumstance doth he begin with, what an Ass is he  
To tell her at the first that she was fair?  
The only means to make her to be coy:  
He should have rather told her she was foul,  
And brought her out of love quite with herself:  
And being so, she would the less have cared  
Upon whose secrets she had laid her love:  
He hath almost marred all with that word fair.  Ans. 
Mistress God save you.  Ful. 
What a block is that  
To say God save you, is the fellow mad,  
Once to name God in his ungodly suit?  Mis. Ar. 
You are welcome sir. Come you to speak with me,  
Or with my husband, pray you what's your will?  Ful. 
She answers to the purpose, what's your will?  
O 'zounds that I were there to answer her.  Ans. 
Mistress my will is not so soon expressed,  
Without your special favour, and the promise  
of love and pardon if I speak amiss.  Ful. 
O Ass, o Duns, o blockhead that hath left  
The plain broad high way, and the readiest path  
To travel round about by circumstance:  
He might have told his meaning in a word,  
And now hath lost his opportunity:  
Never was such a truant in loves school,  
I am ashamed that ere I was his Tutor.  Mis. Ar. 
Sir you may freely speak whate'er it be,  
So that your speech suiteth with modesty.  Ful. 
To this now could I answer passing well.  Ans. 
Mistress I pitying that so fair a creature.  Ful. 
Still fair, and yet I warned the contrary.  Ans. 
Should by a villain be so foully used as you have been.  Ful. 
I that was well put in,  
If time and place were both convenient.  Ans. 
Have made this bold intrusion to present  
My love and service to your sacred self.  Ful. 
Indifferent, that was not much amiss.  Mis. Ar. 
Sir, what you mean by service and by love  
I will not know: but what you mean by villain  
I fain would know.  Ans. 
That villain is your husband:  
Whose wrongs towards you, are bruited thorough the land.  
O can you suffer at a peasant's hands  
Unworthy once to touch this silken skin,  
To be so rudely beat and buffeted?  
Can you endure from such infectious breath  
Able to blast your beauty, to have names  
Of such empoisoned hate flung in your face?  Ful. 
O that was good, nothing was good but that:  
That was the lesson that I taught him last.  Ans. 
O can you hear your never tainted fame  
Wounded with words of shame and infamy?  
O can you see your pleasures dealt away,  
And you to be debarred all part of them,  
And bury it in deep oblivion?  
Shall your true right be still contributed  
'mongst hungry Bawds, insatiable Courtesans?  
And can you love that villain by whose deed  
Your soul doth sigh, & your distressed heart bleed?  Ful. 
All this as well as I could wish myself.  Mis. Ar. 
Sir I have heard thus long with patience,  
If it be me you term a villains wife,  
Insooth you have mistook me all this while,  
And neither know my husband nor myself,  
Or else you know not man and wife is one:  
If he be called a villain, what is she  
Whose heart, and love, & soul, is one with him?  
'tis pity that so fair a Gentleman  
Should fall into such villains company.  
Oh sir take heed, if you regard your life,  
Meddle not with a villain, or his wife.  Exit. Ful. 
O that same word villain hath marred all.  An. 
Now where is your instruction? where's the wench?  
Where are my hopes? where your directions?  Ful. 
Why man, in that word villain you marred all.  
To come unto an honest wife and call  
Her husband villain, were she near so bad,  
Thou mightst well think she would not brook that name  
For her own credit, though no love to him.  
But leave not thus, but try some other mean,  
Let not one way thy hopes make frustrate clean.  Ans. 
I must persist my Love against my will,  
He that knows all things, knows I prove this ill.  (Exeunt. Enter Aminadab with a rod in his hand, and two or three Boys with their books in their hands. Ami. 
Come boys, come boys, rehearse your parts  
And then ad prandium tamiam incipe.  1. Boy. 
Forsooth my lessons torn out of my book.  Ami. 
Que caceris Chartis deservisse decat,  
Torn from your book, I'll tear it from your breech,  
How say you Mistress Virga, will you suffer  
Hic pver bone indolu, to tear  
His Lessons, eaves and Lectures from his book?  1. Boy. 
Truly forsooth I laid it in my seat  
While Robin Glade and I went into Campis:  
And when I came again my book was torn.  Ami. 
O must a Mouse, was ever heard the like?  1. Boy. 
O domus a house, M. I could not mend it.  2. Boy. 
O pediculus a Louse, I knew not how it came.  Ami. 
All toward boys, good scholars of their times,  
The least of these is past his Accidence,  
Some at Qui mihi, here's not a boy  
But he can construe all the grammar Rules,  
Sed vbi sunt soledes, not yet come:  
Those tarde vementes, shall be whipped.  
ubi est Pikin, where's that lazy knave?  
He plays the Truant every Saturday:  
But Mistress Virga, Lady Willowby  
Shall teach him that Dilucoli surgere,  
Est saluberrimum, here comes the knave.  Enter Pipkin. 1. Boy. 
Tarde, tarde, tarde.  2. Boy. 
Tarde, tarde, tarde.  Ami. 
Huc ades Pipkin, reach a better rod,  
Cur tam tarde vemo, speak, where have you been?  
Is this a time of day to come to school?  
ubi finisti, speak, where hast thou been?  Pip. 
Magister, quomodo vales.  Ami. 
Is that responsio fitting my demand?  Pip. 
Etiam certe, you ask me where I have been, and I say Quomodo vales, as much to say, come out of the alehouse.  Ami. 
Untruss, untruss, nay help him, help him.  Pip. 
Queso preceptor, queso? for God's sake do not whip me:  
Quidest gramatica?  Ami. 
Not whip you, Quidest gramatica, what's that?  Pip. 
Gramatica est, that if I untrust, you must needs whip me upon them, quidest gramatica.  Ami. 
Why then dic mihi, speak, where hast thou been?  Pip. 
Forsooth my mistress sent me of an errant to fetch my M. from the Exchange, we had strangers at home at dinner, and but for them I had not come tarde queso preceptor.  Ami. 
Construe your lesson, pierce it, ad ungem Et condemnato, to I'll pardon thee.  Pip. 
That I will M. and if you'll give me leave.  Ami. 
Propriaabque; maribus tribuuntur Mascula dicas expone, expone.  Pip. 
Conster it M. I will, Dicas they say, Propria the proper man, que maribus, that loves marrow-bones, mascula, miscalled me.  Ami. 
A pretty quaint & new construction.  Pip. 
I warrant you M. if there be mary bones in my lesson, I am an old dog at them. How construe you this M. Rostra disertus amat?  Ami. 
Disertus a disert, amat doth love, rostra, roast-meat.  Pip. 
A good construction on an empty stomach, M. now I have constered my lesson, my mistress would pray you to let me come home to go of an errand.  Ami. 
Your tres sequntur, and away.  Pip. 
Canis a hog, rana a dog, Porcus a Frog,  
Abeundum est mihi.  Makes a leg and Exit. Ami. 
Yours sirrah to then, and ad prandium.  1. Boy. 
Apis a-bed, genu a knee, Vulcanus Doctor Dee? Figinti minus usus est mihi.  Ami. 
By Iunos lip, and 〈◊〉 thumb  
It was bonus, bona, bonum.  2. Bay. 
Vitrum glass, spica grass, tu es Asinus, you are an Ass, Precor tibi felicem noctem.  Ami. 
Claudite iam libros pueri sat prate bibistis,  
Look when you come again, you tell me ubi fuistis.  
He that minds trish-trash, & will not have care of his rodix,  
He I will be lish lash, and have a fling at his podex.  Enter young Arthur. Young Ar. 
A pretty wench, a passing pretty wench,  
A sweeter duck all London cannot yield,  
She cast a glance on me as I passed by,  
Not Helen had so ravishing an eye.  
Here is the Pedant Sir Aminadab,  
I will inquire of him if he can tell  
By any circumstance whose wife she:  
Such fellows commonly have intercourse  
Without suspicion, where we are debarred.  
God save you gentle Sir Aminadab.  Ami. 
Salve tu quoq., would you speak with me?  
You are I take it, and let me not lie,  
For as you know, Mentirinon est meum,  
Young M. Arthur, quid vis, what will you?  Young Ar. 
You are a man I much rely upon:  
There is a pretty wench dwells in this street,  
That keeps no shop, nor is not public known:  
At the two posts, next turning of the Lane,  
I saw her from a window looking out:  
O could you tell me how to come acquainted  
With that sweet Lass, you should command me sir,  
Even to the utmost of my life and power.  Ami. 
Dij boni, boni, 'tis my Love he means,  
But I will keep it from this Gentleman,  
And so I hope make trial of my Love.  Yon. Ar. 
If I obtain her, thou shalt win thereby,  
More than at this time I will promise thee.  Ami. 
Quando venis aput, I shall have two horns on my Caput.  Yon. Ar. 
What if her husband come & find one there?  Ami. 
Nuncquam, time never fear,  
She is unmarried I swear.  
But if I help you to the deed,  
Tu vis narrare, how you speed.  Young Ar. 
Tell how I speed, I sir I will to you:  
Then presently about it. Many thanks  
For this great kindness Sir Aminadab.  Ami. 
If my Puella prove a drab  
I'll be revenged on both: ambo shall die,  
Shall die by what, for ego I  
Have never handled I thank God,  
Other weapon than a rod:  
I dare not fight for all my speeches,  
Sed cave, if I take him thus  
Ego sum expers at untruss.  (Extunt. Enter justice Reason, old Arthur, old Lusam, Mistress Arthur, young Lusam, and Hugh. Old Ar. 
We Master justice Reason come about  
A serious matter that concerns us near.  Old Lu. 
I mary doth it sir concern us near:  
Would God sir you would take some order for it.  Old Ar. 
Why look ye M. Lusam, you are such another  
You will be talking, what concerns us near,  
And know not why we come to M. justice.  Old Lu. 
How, know not I?  Old Ar. 
No sir not you.  Old Lu. 
Well I know somewhat, though I know not that,  
Then on I pray you.  Just. 
Forward I pray, yet the case is plain.  Old Ar. 
Why sir as yet you do not know the case.  Old Lu. 
Well he knows somewhat, forward M. Arthur.  Old Ar. 
And as I told you, my unruly son  
Once having bid his wife home to my house,  
There took occasion to be much aggrieved  
About some household matters of his own,  
And in plain terms they fell in controversy.  Ol. Lu. 
'tis true sir, I was there the self-same time,  
And I remember many of the words.  Old Ar. 
Lord what a man are you, you were not there  
That time, as I remember you were rid  
Down to the North, to see some friends of yours.  Old Lu. 
Well I was somewhere, forward M. Arthur.  Just. 
All this is well, no fault is to be found  
In either of the parties, pray say on.  Old Ar. 
Why sir I have not named the parties yet,  
Nor touched the fault that is complained upon.  Old Lu. 
Well you touched somewhat: forward M. Arthur.  Old Ar. 
And as I said, they fell in controversy:  
My son not like a husband gave her words  
Of great reproof, despite, and contumely.  
Which she poor soul digested patiently:  
This was the first time of their falling out.  
As I remember at the self same time  
One Thomas the Earl of Surrey's gentleman  
Dined at my table.  Old Lu. 
O I knew him well.  Old Ar. 
You are the strangest man, this gentleman  
That I speak of, I am sure you never saw,  
He came but lately from beyond the sea.  Old Lu. 
I am sure I know one Thomas, forward sir.  Just. 
And is this all? make me a Minimus,  
And fend the offender straightways to the gail.  Old Ar. 
First know the offender, how began the strife  
Betwixt this gentlewoman and my son,  
Since when sir he hath used her not like one  
That should partake his bed, but like a slave.  
My coming was, that you being in office  
And in authority, should call before you  
My unthrift son, to give him some advise,  
Which he will take better from you, then me  
That am his Father. here's the gentlewoman  
Wife to my son, and daughter to this man,  
Whom I perforce compelled to live with us.  Just. 
All this is well, here is your son you say,  
But she that is his wife you cannot find.  Young Lu. 
You do mistake sir, here's the gentlewoman,  
It is her husband that will not be found.  Just. 
Well all is one, for man and wife are one:  
But is this all?  Young Lu. 
I all that you can say,  
And much more than you can well put off.  Just. 
Nay if the case appear thus evident,  
Give me a cup of wine, what man and wife  
To disagree, I prithee fill my cup:  
I could say somewhat, tut, tut, by this wine,  
I promise you, 'tis good Canary Sack.  Mis. Ar. 
Fathers you do me open violence  
To bring my name in question, and produce  
This gentleman and others here to witness  
My husband's shame in open audience:  
What may my husband think when he shall know  
I went unto the justice to complain:  
But M. justice here more wise than you,  
Says little to the matter, knowing well  
His office is no whit concerned herein:  
Therefore with favour I will take my leave.  Just. 
The woman saith but reason M. Arthur,  
And therefore give her licence to depart.  Old Lu. 
Here is dry justice not to bid us drink,  
Hark thee my friend, I prithee lend thy cup:  
Now M. justice hear me but one word,  
You think this woman hath had little wrong?  
But by this wine which I intend to drink.  Just. 
Nay save your oath, I pray you do not swear,  
Or if you swear, take not too deep an oath.  Old Lu. 
Content you, I may take a lawful oath  
Before a justice: therefore by this wine.  Yon. Lu. 
A profound oath, well sworn, & deeply took,  
'tis better thus, then swearing on a book.  Old Lu. 
My daughter hath been wronged exceedingly.  Just. 
O sir, I would have credited these words  
Without this oath: but bring your daughter hither,  
That I may give her counsel ere you go.  Old Lu. 
Mary God's blessing on your heart for that,  
Daughter give ear to justice Reasons words.  Just. 
Good woman, or good wife, or Mistress, if you have done amiss, it should seem you have done a fault; and making a fault, there's no question but you have done amiss: but if you walk uprightly, and neither lead to the right hand nor the left, no question but you have neither led to the right hand nor the left, but as a man should say, walked uprightly: but it should appear by these plaintiffs, that you have had some wrong, If you love your spouse entirely, it should seem you affect him fervently; and if he hate you monstrously, it should seem he loathes you most exceedingly: and there's the point, at which I will leave, for the time passes away: therefore to conclude, this is my best counsel, look that thy husband so fall in, that hereafter you never fall out.  Old Lu. 
Good counsel, passing good instruction,  
Follow it daughter. Now I promise you,  
I have not heard such an Oration  
This many a day: what remains to do?  Yon. Lu. 
Sir I was called as witness to this matter,  
I may be gone for aught that I can see.  Just. 
Nay stay my friend, we must examine you,  
What can you say concerning this debate  
Betwixt young M. Arthur and his wife?  Young Lu. 
Faith just as much I think as you can say  
And that's just nothing.  Just. 
How nothing? come depose him, take his oath,  
Swear him I say, take his confession.  Old Ar. 
What can you say sir in this doubtful case?  Young Lu. 
Why nothing sir.  Just. 
We cannot take him in contrary tales,  
For he says nothing still, and that same nothing  
Is that which we have stood on all this while:  
He hath confessed even all, for all is nothing.  
This is your witness, he hath witnessed nothing.  
Since nothing then so plainly is confessed,  
And we by cunning answers and by wit  
Have wrought him to confess nothing to us,  
Write his confession.  Old Ar. 
Why what should we write?  Just. 
Why nothing: heard you not as well as I  
What he confessed? I say write nothing down.  
Mistress we have dismissed you, love your husband,  
Which whilst you do, you shall not hate your husband.  
Bring him before me, I will urge him with  
This Gentleman's express confession  
Against you: send him to me, I'll not fail  
To keep just nothing in my memory.  
And sir now that we have examined you,  
We likewise here discharge you with good leave.  
Now M. Arthur, and M. Lusam too,  
Come in with me, unless the man were here  
Whom most especially the cause concerns,  
We cannot end this quarrel: but come near,  
And we will taste a glass of our March beer.  (Exeunt. Enter Mistress Mary, Mistress Splay and Brabo. Ma. 
I prithee tell me Brabo, what Planet thinkst thou governed at my conception, that I live thus openly to the world?  Bra. 
Two Planets rained at once, Venus that's you,  
And Mars that's I, were in conjunction.  Splay. 
Prithee, prithee, in faith that conjunction copulative, is that part of speech that I live by.  Bra. 
Ha, ha, to see the world, we swaggerers  
That live by oaths and big-mouthed menaces,  
Are now reputed for the tallest men:  
He that hath now a black muchato  
Reaching from ear to ear, or turning up  
Puncto reverso, bristling towards the eye:  
He that can hang two handsome tools at his side,  
Go in disguised attire, wear Iron enough,  
Is held a tall man and a soldier.  
He that with greatest grace can swear gog's zounds,  
Or in a Tavern make a drunken fray,  
Can cheat at Dice, swagger in bawdy houses,  
Wear velvet on his face, and with a grace  
Can face it out with as I am a soldier.  
He that can clap his sword upon the board  
he's a brave man, and such a man am I.  Ma. 
She that with kisses can both kill & cure,  
That lives by love, that swears by nothing else  
But by a kiss, which is no common oath:  
That lives by lying, and yet oft tells truth;  
That takes most pleasure when she takes most pains:  
she's a good wench my boy, and such am I.  Splay. 
She that is past it, and prays for them that may.  Bra. 
Is an old Bawd as you are Mistress Splay.  Splay. 
O do not name that name, do you not know  
That I could never endure to hear that name.  
But if your man would leave us, I would read  
The lesson that last night I promised you.  Ma. 
I prithee leave us, we would be alone.  Bra. 
And will and must: if you bid me be gone,  
I will withdraw, and draw on any he  
That in the world's wide round dare cope with me.  
Mistress farewell, to none I never speak  
So kind a word. My salvations are,  
Farewell and be hanged, or in the devils name.  
What they have been my many frays can tell,  
You cannot fight therefore to you farewell.  (Exit. Ma. 
O this same swaggerer is the bulwark of my reputation  
But Mistress Splay, now to your lecture that you promised me:  Splay. 
Daughter attend, for I will tell thee now  
What in my young days I myself have tried:  
Be ruled by me and I will make thee rich.  
You God be praised are fair, and as they say  
Full of good parts, you have been often tried  
To be a woman of good carriage,  
Which in my mind is very commendable.  Ma. 
It is indeed. Forward good mother Splay.  Splay. 
And as I told you, being fair, I wish  
Sweet daughter you were as fortunate.  
When any suitor comes to ask thy love,  
Look not into his words, but into his sleeve.  
If thou canst learn what language his purse speaks,  
Be ruled by that, that's golden eloquence.  
Money can make a slavering tongue speak plain.  
If he that loves thee be deformed and rich,  
Accept his love, gold hides deformity.  
Gold can make limping Vulcan walk upright,  
Make squint eyes look straight, a crabbed face look smooth,  
Guilds Copernoses, makes them look like gold.  
fills ages wrinkles up and makes a face  
As old as Nestor's, look as young as Cupid's.  
If thou wilt arm thyself against all shifts,  
Regard all men according to their gifts.  
This if thou practise, thou when I am dead  
Wilt say old mother Splay soft laid thy head.  Enter young Arthur. Ma. 
Soft who comes here? begone good Mistress Splay,  
Of thy rules practise this is my first day.  Splay. 
God for thy passion what a beast am I,  
To scar the bird that to the net would fly.  Exit. Young Ar. 
By your leave Mistress.  Ma. 
What to do Master?  Young Ar. 
To give me leave to love you.  Ma. 
I had rather afford you some love to leave me.  Yon. Ar. 
I would you would assoon love me, as I could leave you.  Ma. 
I pray you what are you sir?  Yon. Ar. 
A man I'll assure you.  Ma. 
How should I know that?  Young Ar. 
Try me by my word, for I say I am a man,  
Or by my deed, I'll prove myself a man.  Ma. 
Are you not Master Arthur?  Yon. Ar. 
Not M. Arthur, but Arthur, and your servant sweet Mistress Mary.  Ma. 
Not Mistress Mary, but Mary and your handmaid, sweet Master Arthur.  Young Ar. 
That I love you, let my face tell you: that I love you more than ordinarily, let this kiss testify: and that I love you fervently and entirely, ask this gift, and see what it will answer you. myself, my purse, and all being wholly at your service.  Ma. 
That I take your love in good part, my thanks shall speak for me: that I am pleased with your kiss, this interest of another shall certify you: and that I accept your gift, my prostrate service and self shall witness with me. My love, my lips, and sweet self, are at your service: wilt please you to come near sir?  Yon. Lu. 
O that my wife were dead, here would I make  
My second choice, would she were buried,  
From out her grave this Marigold should grow,  
Which in my nuptials I would wear with pride.  
Die shall she, I have doomed her destiny.  Ma. 
'tis news M. Arthur to see you in such a place,  
How doth your wife?  Young Ar. 
Faith Mistress Mary at the point of death,  
And long she cannot live, she shall not live  
To trouble me in this my second choice.  Enter Aminadab with a bill and headpiece. Ma. 
I pray forbear sir, for here comes my Love,  
Good sir for this time leave me: by this kiss  
You cannot ask the question at my hands  
I will deny you: pray you get you gone.  Young Ar. 
Farewell sweet Mistress Mary.  (Exit. Ma. 
Sweet adieu:  Ami. 
Stand to me bill, and headpiece sit thou close,  
I hear my Love, my wench, my duck, my dear,  
Is sought by many suitors, but with this  
I'll keep the door, and enter he that dare.  
Virga be gone, thy twigs I'll turn to steel,  
These fingers that were expert in the jerk,  
In steed of lashing of the trembling podes,  
Must learn pash and knock, and beat and maul,  
Cleave pates, and caputs he that enters here  
Comes on his death, mors mort, is he shall taste.  Ma. 
Alas poor fool, the Pedants mad for love,  
Thinks me more mad that I would marry him:  
he's come to watch me with a rusty bill,  
To keep my friends away by force of arms,  
I will not see him but stand still aside,  
And here observe him what he means to do.  Ami. 
O utinam, that he that loves her best  
Durst offer but to touch her in this place.  
Per jehovah, & junonem hoc,  
Shall pash his Coxcomb such a knock,  
As that his soul his course shall take  
To Limbo, and avernus lake.  
In vain I watch in this dark hole,  
Would any living durst my manhood try,  
And offer to come up the stairs this way.  Ma. 
O we should see you make a goodly fray.  Ami. 
The wench I here watch with my bill,  
Amo, amas, amavi still.  
Qui audet let him come that dare,  
Death, hell, and Limbo be his share.  Enter Brabo. Bra. 
Where's mistress Mary, never a post here,  
A bar of Iron 'gainst which to try my sword?  
Now by my beard a dainty piece of steel.  Ami. 
O jove what a qualm is this I feel?  Bra. 
Come hither Mall, is none here but we two?  
When didst thou see the starveling Schoolmaster?  
That Rat, that shrimp, that spindleshank, that Wren, that sheep-biter, that lean chittiface, that famine, that lean Envy, that all bones, that bare Anatomy, that jack a Lent, that ghost, that shadow, that Moon in the wain.  Ami. 
I wail in woe, I plunge in pain.  Bra. 
When next I find him here I'll hang him up  
Like a dried sausage, in the chimneys top:  
That Stockfish, that poor john, that gut of men.  Ami. 
O that I were at home again.  Bra. 
When he comes next turn him into the streets,  
Now come let's dance the shaking of the sheets.  Exeunt. Ami. 
Qui que quod, hence boisterous bill, come gentle Rod.  
Had not grim Malkin stamped and stared,  
Aminadab had little cared:  
Or if in stead of this brown bill,  
I had kept my mistress Virga still,  
And he upon another's back,  
His points untrust, his breeches slack:  
My countenance he should not dash,  
For I am expert in the lash.  
But my sweet Lass my love doth fly,  
Which shall make me by poison die.  
Perfidem, I will rid my life,  
Either by poison, sword, or knife.  Exit. Enter Mistress Arthur, and Pipkin. Mis. Ar. 
Sirrah when saw you your Master?  Pip. 
Faith Mistress when I last looked upon him.  Mis. Ar. 
And when was that?  Pip. 
When I beheld him.  Mist. Ar. 
And when was that?  Pip. 
Mary when he was in my sight, and that was yesterday, since when I saw not my master, nor looked on my M. nor beheld my master, nor had any sight of my M.  Mis. Ar. 
Was he not at my father in laws?  Pip. 
Yes mary was he.  Mis. Ar. 
Didst thou not entreat him to come home?  Pip. 
How should I mistress, he came not there today.  Mis. Ar. 
Didst not thou say he was there?  Pip. 
True mistress he was there, but I did not tell ye when,  
He hath been there divers times, but not of late.  Mis. Ar. 
About your business, here I'll sit and wait  
His coming home, though it be near so late.  
Now once again go look him at the Change,  
Or at the Church with Sir Aminadab,  
'tis told me they use often conference:  
When that is done, get you to school again.  Pip. 
I had rather play the truant at home, then go seek my M. at school: let me see what age am I, some four & twenty, and how have I profited, I was five year learning to criss Cross from great A. and five year longer coming to F. I there I stuck some three year before I could come to q. and so in process of time I came to e pierce e, and comperce, and tittle, than I got to a. e. i. o. u. after to our Father, and in the sixteenth year of my age, and the fifteenth of my going to school, I am in good time gotten to a Noun, by the same token there my hose went down: than I got to a Verb, there I began first to have a beard: then I came to Iste, ista, istud, there my M. whipped me till he fetched the blood, and so forth: so that now I am come the greatest scholar in the school: for I am bigger than two or three of them. But I am gone, farewell mistress.  Exit. Enter Anselm and Euller. Ful. 
Love none at all, they will forswear themselves,  
And when you urge them with it, their replies  
Are, that jove laughs at lovers perjuries.  Ans. 
You told me of a jest concerning that,  
I prithee let me hear it.  Ful. 
That thou shalt.  
My mistress in an humour had protested,  
That above all the world she loved me best,  
Saying with suitors she was oft molested,  
And she had lodged her heart within my breast:  
And swore (but me) both by her mask & fan,  
She never would so much as name a man.  
Not name a man quoth I, yet be advised,  
Not love a man but me, let it be so:  
You shall not think quoth she my thoughts disguised,  
In flattering language, or dissembling show:  
I say again, and I know what I do,  
I will not name a man alive but you.  
Into her house I came at unaware,  
Her back was to me and I was not seen,  
I stole behind her till I had her fair,  
Then with my hands I closed both her eyen,  
She blinded thus, beginneth to bethink her  
Which of her Loves it was that did hoodwink her,  
First she begins to guess & name a man  
That I well knew, but she had known far better.  
The next I never did suspect till than:  
Still of my name I could not hear a letter,  
Then mad, she did name Robin, and then james,  
Till she had reckoned up some twenty names,  
At length when she had counted up her score,  
As one among the rest she hit on me:  
I asked her if she could not reckon more,  
And plucked away my hands to let her see.  
But when she looked back and saw me behind her  
She blushed, and asked if it were I did blind her?  
And since I swore both by her mask and fan,  
To trust no she tongue, that can name a man.  Ans. 
Your great oath hath some exceptions:  
But to our former purpose, you is Mistress Arthur,  
We will attempt another kind of wooing,  
And make her hate her husband if we can.  Ful. 
But not a word of passion or of love.  
Have at her now to try her patience,  
God save you mistress.  Mis. Ar. 
You are welcome sir.  Ful. 
I pray you where's your husband?  Yon. Ar. 
Not within.  Ans. 
Who M. Arthur? him I saw even now  
At mistress Mary's the brave Courtesans.  Mis. Ar. 
Wrong not my husband's reputation so,  
I neither can nor will believe you sir.  Ful. 
Poor gentlewoman how much I pity you,  
Your husband is become her only guest:  
He lodges there, and daily diets there,  
He riots, revels, and doth all things,  
Nay he is held the M. of misrule,  
'mongst a most loathed and abhorred Crew:  
And can you being a woman suffer this?  Mis. Ar. 
Sir, sir, I understand you well enough,  
Admit my husband doth frequent that house  
Of such dishonest usage, I suppose  
He doth it but in zeal to bring them home  
By his good counsel, from that course of sin:  
And like a Christian, seeing them astray  
In the broad path that to damnation leads,  
He useth thither to direct their feet  
Into the narrow way that guides to heaven.  Ans. 
Was ever woman gulled so palpably?  
But Mistress Arthur think you as you say?  Mis. Ar. 
Sir what I think I think, and what I say  
I would I could enjoin you to believe.  Ans. 
Faith mistress Arthur I am sorry for you,  
And in good sooth, I wish it lay in me  
To remedy the least part of these wrongs  
Your unkind husband daily proffers you.  Mis. Ar. 
You are deceived he is not unkind,  
Although he bear an outward face of hate,  
His heart and soul are both assured mine.  Ans. 
Fie mistress Arthur, take a better spirit,  
Be not so timorous to rehearse your wrongs,  
I say your husband haunts bad company,  
Swaggerers, cheaters, wanton Courtesans.  
There he defiles his body, stains his soul,  
Consumes his wealth, undoes himself and you,  
In danger of diseases, whose wild names  
Are not for any honest mouths to speak,  
Nor any chaste ears to receive and hear.  
O he will bring that face admired for beauty,  
To be more loathed than a leprous skin:  
Divorce yourself now whilst the clouds grow black,  
Prepare yourself a shelter for the storm,  
Abandon his most loathed fellowship:  
You are young mistress, will you lose your youth?  Mis. Ar. 
Tempt no more devil, thy deformity  
Hath changed itself into an angel's shape,  
But yet I know thee by thy course of speech:  
Thou gets an apple to betray poor eve,  
Whose outside bears a show of pleasant fruit,  
But the wild branch on which this apple grew,  
Was that which drew poor eve from Paradise.  
Thy siren's song could make me drown myself,  
But I am tied unto the mast of truth.  
Admit my husband be inclined to vice,  
My virtues may in time recall him home,  
But if we both should desperate run to sin,  
We should abide certain destruction.  
But he's like one that over a sweet face  
Puts a deformed vizard for his soul,  
Is free from any such intents of ill:  
Only to try my patience, he puts on  
An ugly shape of black intemperance.  
Therefore this blot of shame which he now wears,  
I with my prayers will purge, wash with tears.  Exit. Ans. 
Fuller.  Ful. 
Anselm.  Ans. 
How lik'st thou this?  Ful. 
As Schoolboys jerks, Apes whips, as Lions Cocks,  
As Furies do fasting days, and devils crosses,  
As maids to have their marriage days put off:  
I like it as the thing I most do loath,  
What wilt thou do? for shame persist no more  
In this extremity of frivolous love.  
I see my doctrine moves no precise ears,  
But such as are professed inamoratos.  Ans. 
O I shall die.  Ful. 
Tush live to laugh a little,  
Here's the best subject that thy love affords,  
Listen a while and hear this: hoboy speak.  Ami. 
As in presenti, thou loathest the gift I sent thee,  
Nolo plus tarry but die, for the beauteous marry,  
Fain would I die by a sword, but what sword shall I die by?  
Or by a stone, what stone? nullus lapis jacet ibi.  
Knife I have none to sheathe in my breast, or empty my full veins,  
Here is no wall or post which I can soil within my bruised brains.  
First will I therefore say 2. or 3. Creeds and ave-maries,  
And after go buy a poison at the Apothecaries.  Ful. 
I prithee Anselm but observe this fellow,  
Dost not hear him? he would die for love,  
That mishaped love thou wouldst condemn in him,  
I see in thee, I prithee note him well.  Ans. 
Were I assured that I were such a Lover,  
I should be with myself quite out of love:  
I prithee let's persuade him still to live.  Ful. 
That were a dangerous case, perhaps the fellow  
In desperation would to soothe us up,  
Promise repentant recantation,  
And after fall into that desperate course,  
Both which I will prevent with policy.  Ami. 
O death come with thy dart, come death when I bthe  
Mors vem veni mors, and from this misery rid me.  
She whom I loved, whom I loved, even she my sweet pret Mar  
Doth but flout & mock, & jest, and dissimulary.  Ful. 
I'll fit him finely: in this paper is  
The juice of Mandrake, by a Doctor made  
To cast a man whose leg should be cut off,  
Into a deep, a cold and senseless sleep,  
Of such approved operation,  
That who so takes it, is for twice twelve hours  
Breathless, and to all men's judgements past all sense:  
This will I give the pedant but in sport,  
For when 'tis known to take effect in him,  
The world will but esteem it as a jest:  
Besides it may be a means to save his life,  
For being perfect poison as it seems,  
His meaning is, some covetous slave for coin  
Will sell it him, though it be held by law  
To be no better than flat felony.  Ans. 
Uphold the jest, but he hath spied us, peace.  Ami. 
Gentiles God save you,  
Here is a man I have noted oft, most learned in Physic,  
One man he helped of the Cough, another he healed of the tisick:  
And I will board him thus: Salve o Salve Magister.  Ful. 
Gratus mihi aduenis quid me cum vis.  Ami. 
Optatum venis paucis to volo.  Ful. 
Si quid industria nostra tibi faciet dic queso.  Ami. 
Attend me sir, I have a simple house,  
But as the learned Diogenes saith  
In his Epistle to Tertullian,  
It is extremely troubled with great Rats,  
I have no muss puss nor grey eyed Cat  
To hunt them out. O could your learned Art  
Show me a means how I might poison them:  
Tutus dum suus, sir Aminadab.  Ful. 
With all my heart, I am no Rat-catcher,  
But if you need a poison, here is that  
Will pepper both your Dogs & Rats and Cats:  
Nay spare your purse, I give this in good will,  
And as it proves I pray you send to me,  
And let me know, would you ought else with me?  Ami. 
Minime quidem, here's that you say will take them?  
A thousand thanks sweet sir, I say to you  
As Tully in his Aesop's Fables said,  
Age tibi gratias, so farewell, vale.  Exit. Ful. 
A diew. Come let us go, I long to see  
What the event of this new jest will be.  Enter young Arthur. Young Ar. 
Good morrow gentlemen, saw you not this way  
As you were walking, Sir Aminadab?  Ans. 
M. Arthur as I take it.  Yon. Ar. 
Sir the same.  Ans. 
Sir I desire you more familiar love,  
Would I could bid myself unto your house,  
For I have wished for your acquaintance long.  Yon. Ar. 
Sweet M. Anselm I desire yours too:  
Will you come dine with me at home to morrow,  
You shall be welcome I assure you sir.  Ans. 
I fear sir I shall prove too bold a guest.  Yon. Ar. 
You shall be welcome if you bring your friend.  Ful. 
O Lord sir, we shall be too troublesome.  Young Ar. 
Nay now I will enforce a promise from you,  
Shall I expect you?  Ful. 
Yes with all my heart.  Ans. 
A thousand thanks. Yonder's the schoolmaster.  
So till tomorrow twenty times farewell.  Young Ar. 
I double all your farewells twenty fold.  Ans. 
O this acquaintance was well scraped of me,  
By this my Love tomorrow I shall see.  Exit. Ami. 
This poison shall by force expel,  
Amorem love, Infernum hell.  
Per hoc venenum ego I,  
For my sweet lovely Lass will die.  Yon. Ar. 
What do I hear of poison, which sweet means  
Must make me a brave frolic widower?  
It seems the doting fool being forlorn  
Hath got some compound mixture, in despair  
To end his desperate fortunes and his life:  
I'll get it from him, and with this make way  
To my wives night, and to my loves fair day.  Ami. 
In nomine domine, friends farewell:  
I know death comes here's such a smell.  
Pater & matter, father and mother,  
Frater & soror, sister and brother,  
And my sweet Mary, not these drugs,  
Do send me to the Infernal bugs,  
But thy unkindness, so adieu,  
Hobgoblins now I come to you.  Yon. Ar. 
Hold man I say, what will the mad mad do?  
I have I got thee, thou shalt go with me:  
No more of that, fie Sir Minadab  
Destroy yourself: If I but hear hereafter  
You practise such revenge upon yourself,  
All your friends shall know that for a wench,  
A paltry wench, you would have killed yourself.  Ami. 
O tace queso, do not name  
This frantic deed of mine for shame:  
My sweet magister not a word,  
I'll neither drown me in a ford  
Nor give my neck such a scope,  
To embrace it with a hempen rope;  
I'll die no way till nature will me,  
And death come with his dart and kill me.  
If what is past you will conceal,  
And nothing to the world reveal,  
Nay as Quintilian said of yore,  
I'll strive to kill myself no more.  Young Ar. 
On that condition I'll conceal this deed,  
To morrow pray come and dine with me:  
For I have many strangers, 'mongst the rest,  
Some are desirous of your company.  
You will not fail me?  Ami. 
No in sooth, I'll try the sharpness of my tooth,  
In steed of poison, I will eat  
rabbits, Capons, and such meat:  
And so as Pythagoras says,  
With wholesome fare prolong my days.  
But Sir will Mistress Mall be there?  Yon. Ar. 
She shall, she shall man never fear.  Ami. 
Then my spirit becomes stronger,  
And I will live and stretch longer:  
For Ovid said, and did not lie,  
That poisoned men do often die.  
But poison henceforth I'll not eat,  
Whilst I can other victuals get:  
To morrow if you make a feast,  
Be sure sir I will be your guest.  
But keep my counsel, vale tu,  
And till to morrow sir adieu:  
At your Table I will prove  
If I can eat away my love.  Exit. Yon. Ar. 
O I am glad I have thee, now devise  
A way how to bestow it cunningly:  
It shall be thus: to morrow I'll pretend  
A reconcilement twixt my wife and me,  
And to that end I will invite thus many:  
First justice Reason, as the chief man there.  
My Father Arthur, old Lusam, young Lusam, M. Fuller,  
And M. Anselm I have bid already.  
Then will I have my lovely Mary too,  
Be it but to spite my wife before she die:  
For die she shall before tomorrow night.  
The operation of this poison is  
Not suddenly to kill, they that take it  
Fall in a sleep, and then 'tis past recure,  
And this will I put in her Cup tomorrow.  Enter Pipkin running. Pip. 
This 'tis to have such a Master, I have sought him at the Change, at the school, at every place, but I cannot find him nowhere. O cry mercy, my Mistress would entreat you to come home.  Yon. Ar. 
I cannot come tonight, some urgent business  
Will all this night employ me otherwise.  Pip. 
I believe my Mistress would con you as much thank to do that business at home as abroad.  Yon. Ar. 
Here take my purse, and bid my wife provide  
Good cheer against tomorrow, there will be  
Two or three strangers of my late acquaintance.  
Sirrah go you to justice reason's house,  
Invite him first with all solemnity.  
Go to my Fathers, and my Father in laws,  
Here take this note.  
The rest that come I will invite myself,  
About it with what quick dispatch thou canst.  Pip. 
I warrant you Master I'll dispatch this business with more honesty, than you'll dispatch yours. But Master will the gentlewoman be there?  Young Ar. 
What gentlewoman?  Pip. 
The gentlewoman of the old house, that is as well known by the colour she lays of her cheese, as an Alehouse by the painting is laid of his lettuce: she that is like Homo, Common to all men: she that is beholding to no Trade, but lives of herself.  Yon. Ar. 
Sirrah be gone, or I will send you hence.  Pip. 
I'll go, but by this hand I'll tell my Mistress as soon as I come home, that Mistress Lightheels comes to dinner tomorrow.  Yon. Ar. 
Sweet Mistress Mary I'll invite myself:  
And there I'll frolic, sup, and spend the night.  
My Plot is currant, here 'tis in my hand  
Will make me happy in my second choice,  
And I may freely challenge as mine own,  
What I am how enforced to seek by stealth.  
Love is not much unlike Ambition,  
For in them both all lets must be removed  
Twixt every Crown & him that would aspire,  
And he that will attempt to win the same,  
Must plunge up to the depth o'er head & ears,  
And hazard drowning in that purple sea.  
So he that loves, must needs through blood and fire,  
And do all things to compass his desire.  Enter Mistress Arthur and her Maid. Mis. Ar. 
Come spread the Table: Is the hall well rubbed,  
The cushions in the windows neatly laid,  
The Cupboard of plate set out, the Casements stuck  
With Rosemary and Flowers, the Carpets brushed?  Maid. 
I forsooth Mistress.  Mis. 
Look to the kitchen Maid, and bid the Cook take down the Oven stone, the pies be burnt: here take my keys and give him out more spice.  Maid. 
Yes forsooth Mistress.  Mis. Ar. 
Where's that knave Pipkin, bid him spread the cloth,  
Fetch the clean diaper napkins from my chest,  
Set out the guilded salt, and bid the fellow  
Make himself handsome, get him a clean band.  Maid. 
Indeed forsooth Mistress he is such a sloven  
That nothing will sit handsome about him,  
He had a pound of soap to scour his face,  
And yet his brow looks like the chimney stock.  Mis. Ar. 
he'll be a sloven still: Maid take this Apron,  
And bring me one of Linen, quickly Maid.  Maid. 
I go forsooth.  Exit Maid. Mis. Ar. 
There was a curtsy, let me see't again.  
I that was well. I fear my guests will come  
Ere we be ready, what a spite is this.  Within. 
Mistress.  Mis. Ar. 
What's the matter?  Within. 
Mistress I pray take Pipkin from the fire,  
We cannot keep his fingers from the roast.  Mis. Ar. 
Bid him come hither, what a knave is that.  
Fie, fie, never out of the kitchen,  
Still broiling by the fire.  Enter Pipkin. Pip. 
I hope you will not take Pipkin from the fire  
Till the broth be enough.  Enter Maid with an Apron. Mis. Ar. 
Well sirrah get a Napkin and a Trencher  
And wait today. So let me see my Apron.  Pip. 
Mistress I can tell ye one thing, my M. wench  
Will come home today to dinner.  Enter justice Reason and his man. Mis. Ar. 
She shall be welcome if she be his guest.  
But here's some of our guests are come already,  
A Chair for justice Reason sirrah.  Just. 
Good morrow Mistress Arthur, you are like a good housewife,  
At your request I am come home, what a Chair!  
Thus age seeks ease: where is your husband Mistress?  
What a cushion too!  Pip. 
I pray you ease your tail Sir.  Just. 
Mary and will good fellow, twenty thanks.  Pip. 
M. Hue as welcome as heart can tell, or tongue can think.  Hu. 
I thank you M. Pipkin, I have got many a good dish of broth by your means.  Pip. 
According to the ancient Courtesy you are welcome: according to the time and place, you are heartily welcome: when they are busied at the board, we will find ourselves busied in the Buttery: and so sweet Hugh according to our scholars phrase, Gratulor aduentum tuum.  Hu. 
I will answer you with the like sweet Pipkin, gratias.  Pip. 
As much grace as you will, but as little of it as you can good Hugh. But here comes more guests.  Enter old Arthur, and old Lusam. Mis. Ar. 
More stools & cushions for these gentlemen.  Old Ar. 
What M. justice Reason, are you here?  
Who would have thought to have met you in this place?  Old Lu. 
What say mine eyes, is justice Reason here?  
mountains may meet, and so I see may we.  Just. 
Well when men meet they meet,  
And when they part, they oft leave one another's company:  
So we being met, are met.  Old Lu. 
Truly you say true:  
And M. justice Reason speaks but reason.  
To hear how wisely men of law will speak.  Enter Anselm and Fuller. Ans. 
Good morrow gentlemen.  Mis. Ar. 
What are you there?  An. 
Good morrow Mistress, and good morrow all.  Just. 
If I may be so bold in a strange place,  
I say good morrow, and as much to you.  
I pray gentlemen will you sit down?  
We have been young like you, and if you live  
Unto our age, you will be old like us.  Ful. 
Be ruled by reason, but whose's here?  Enter Aminadab. Ami. 
Salvete omnes, and good day  
To all at once, as I may say,  
First Master justice, next old Arthur,  
That gives me pension by the quarter:  
To my good Mistress, and the rest,  
That are the founders of this feast.  
In brief I speak to omnes all,  
That to their meat intend to fall.  Just. 
Welcome Sir Aminadab, o my son  
Hath profited exceeding well with you,  
Sit down, sit down, by Mistress Arthur's leave.  Enter young Arthur, young Lusam, and Mistress mary. Yon. Ar. 
Gentlemen, welcome all, whilst I deliver  
Their private welcomes, Wife be it your charge,  
To give this Gentlewoman entertainment.  Mis. Ar. 
Husband, I will: o this is she usurps  
The precious interest of my husband's love:  
Though as I am a woman, I could well  
Thrust such a lewd companion out of doors,  
Yet as I am a true obedient Wife,  
I'd kiss her feet to do my Husbands will.  
You are entirely welcome Gentlewoman,  
Indeed you are, pray do not doubt of it.  Mary. 
I thank you Mistress Arthur, now by my little honesty,  
It much repents me to wrong so chaste a woman.  Yon. Ar. 
Gentles, put over your legs, first M. justice,  
Here you shall sit.  Just. 
And here shall mistress Arthur sit by me.  Yon. Ar. 
Pardon me sir, she shall have my wife's place.  Mis. Ar. 
Indeed you shall, for he will have it so.  Mary. 
If you will needs, but I shall do you wrong to take your place.  Old Lu. 
I by my faith you should.  Mis. Ar. 
That is no wrong which we impute no wrong, I pray you sit.  Young Ar. 
Gentlemen all, I pray you seat yourselves:  
What sir Aminadab, I know where your heart is.  Ami. 
Mum not a word, Pax vobis, peace:  
Come gentiles I'll be of this mess.  Young Ar. 
So, who gives thanks?  Ami. 
Sir that will I.  Young Ar. 
I pray you too it by and by, where's Pipkin,  
Wait at the board, let M. reason's man  
Be had into the buttery, but first give him  
A napkin and a trencher. Well said Hugh,  
Wait at your masters elbow, now say grace.  Ami. 
Gloria deo, sirs proface,  
Attend me now whilst I say grace.  
For bread and salt, for grapes and malt,  
For flesh and fish, and every dish:  
Mutton and beef, of all meats chief:  
For Cow-heels, chitterlings, tripes and sowse,  
And other meat that's in the house:  
For racks, for breasts, for legs, for loins,  
For pies with raisins, and with prunes:  
For fritters, pancakes, and for frays,  
For venison pasties and minced pies:  
Sheepshead and garlic, brawn and mustard,  
Wafers, spiced cakes, tart and custard,  
For capons, rabbits, pigs and geese,  
For apples, caraways and cheese:  
For all these and many more,  
Benidicanus domino.  All. 
Amen.  Just. 
I con you thanks, but sir Aminadab,  
Is that your scholar? now I promise you  
He is a toward stripling of his age.  Pip. 
Who I forsooth, yes indeed forsooth I am his scholar, I would you should well think I have profited under him too, you shall hear if he will pose me.  Old Ar. 
I pray you let's hear him.  Ami. 
Huc ades Pipkin.  
Adsum.  Ami. 
Quot Casus sunt, how many Cases are there?  Pip. 
Mary a great many:  Ami. 
Well answered a great many, there are six,  
six a great many, 'tis well answered,  
And which be they?  Pip. 
A Bow-case, a Capcase, a Comb-case, a lute-case, a Fiddle-case, and a Candle-case.  just: 
I know them all, again well answered:  
Pray God my youngest boy profit no worse.  An. 
How many parsons are there?  Pip. 
I'll tell you as many as I know, if you'll give me leave to reckon them.  Ansel. 
I prithee do.  Pip. 
The Parson of Fanchurch, the Parson of Pancridge, and the Parson of.  Young Ar. 
Well sir about your business: now will I  
Temper the Cup my loathed wife shall drink:  Exit. Old Ar. 
Daughter methinks you are exceeding sad:  Old Lu. 
Faith daughter so thou art exceeding sad:  Mis: Ar: 
'tis but my countenance, for my heart is merry,  
Mistress were you as merry as you are welcome,  
You should not sit so sadly as you do.  Ma: 
'tis but because I am seated in your place,  
Which is frequented seldom with true mirth.  Mis: Ar. 
The fault is neither in the place nor me.  Ami. 
How say you Lady to him you last did lie by?  
All this is no more prebibo tibi.  Mary. 
I thank you sir, Mistress this draft shall be  
To him that loves both you and me.  Mist. Ar. 
I know your meaning.  Ans. 
Now to me;  
If she have either love or charity.  Mis. Ar. 
Hear M. justice, this to your grave years,  
A mournful draft God wot, half wine, half tears.  Just. 
Let come my wench, here youngsters, to you all,  
You are silent, here's that will make you talk.  
Wenches, methink you sit like Puritans,  
Never a jest abroad to make them laugh?  Ful. 
Sir, since you move speech of a Puritan,  
If you will give me audience I will tell ye  
As good a jest as ever you did hear.  Old Ar. 
A jest, that's excellent.  Just. 
Before hand let's prepare ourselves to laugh,  
A jest is nothing if it be not graced:  
Now, now, I pray you when begins this jest?  Ful. 
I came unto a Puritan to woo her,  
And roughly did salute her with a kiss:  
Away quoth she, and rudely pushed me from her,  
Brother, by yea and nay I like not this,  
And still with amorous talk she was saluted,  
My artless speech with scripture was confuted.  Old Lu. 
Good, good indeed, the best that ere I heard.  Old Ar. 
I promise you it was exceeding good.  Ful. 
Oft I frequented her abroad by night,  
And courted her, and spoke her wondrous fair,  
But ever somewhat did offend her sight,  
Either my double ruff, or my long hair:  
My scarf was vain, my garments hung too low,  
My Spanish shoe was cut too broad at toe.  All. 
Ha, ha, the best that ever I heard.  Ful. 
I parted for that time, and came again,  
Seeming to be conformed in look and speech,  
My shoes were sharp toed, and my band was plain,  
Close to my thigh my metamorphized breech:  
My cloak was narrow caped, my hair cut shorter,  
Off went my Scarf, thus marched I to the Porter.  All. 
Ha, ha, was ever heard the like?  Ful. 
The Porter spying me, did lead me in,  
Where his fair mistress sat reading on a chapter:  
Peace to this house quoth I, and those within,  
Which holy speech with admiration wrapped her,  
And ever as I spoke, and came her nigh,  
Seeming divine, turned up the white of eye.  Inst. 
So, so, what then, what then?  Old Lu. 
Forward, I pray forward sir.  Ful. 
I spoke divinely, and I called her sister,  
And by this means we were acquainted well:  
By yea and nay, I will quoth I and kissed her,  
She blushed & said that long tongued men would tell,  
I seemed to be as secret as the night,  
And said, on sooth I would put out the light.  Old Ar. 
In sooth he would, a passing passing jest.  Ful. 
O do not swear quoth she, yet put it out,  
Because I would not have you break your oath.  
I felt a bed there as I groped about,  
In troth quoth I, here will we rest us both.  
Swear you in troth quoth she, had you not sworn  
I had not done't, but took it in foul scorn,  
Than you will come quoth I; though I be loath,  
I'll come quoth she, be it but to keep your oath.  Just. 
'tis very pretty, but now whence the jest?  Old Ar. 
O forward to the jest in any case.  Old Lu 
I would not for angel lose the jest.  Ful. 
Here's right the dunghill Cock that finds a pearl,  
To talk of wit to these, is as a man  
Should cast out jewels to a herd of swine,  
Why in the last words did consist the jest.  Old Lus. 
ay, in the last words? ha, ha, ha,  
It was an excellent admired jest,  
To them that understood it.  Enter young Arthur, with a Cup of Wine. Just. 
It was indeed, I must for fashion's sake  
Say as they say, but otherwise, o God.  
Good M. Arthur thanks for our good cheer.  Yon. Ar. 
Gentlemen, welcome all, now hear me speak;  
One special cause that moved me lead you hither,  
Is for ancient grudge that hath long since  
Continued twixt my modest wife and me,  
The wrongs that I have done her, I recant.  
In either hand I hold a several Cup,  
This in the right hand, Wife I drink to thee,  
This in the left hand pledge me in this draft,  
Burying all former hatred, so have to thee.  He drinks. Mis. Ar. 
The welcom'st pledge that yet I ever took:  
Were this wine poison, or did taste like gall,  
The honey sweet condition of your draft,  
Would make it drink like Nectar, I will pledge you,  
Were it the last that I should ever drink.  Yon. Ar. 
Make that account; thus Gentlemen you see,  
Our late discord brought to a unity.  Ami. 
Ecce quam bonum & quam jucundum,  
Est habitare featres in unum.  Old Ar. 
My heart doth taste the sweetness of your pledge,  
And I am glad to see this sweet accord.  Old Lus. 
Glad quotha, there's not one amongst us,  
But may be exceeding glad.  Just. 
I am, I marry am I, that I am.  Yon. Lus. 
The best accord that could betide their loves.  Ans. 
The worst accord that could betide my love.  All about to rise. Ami. 
What rising Gentles, keep your places,  
I'll close up your stomachs with a grace.  
O Domine & Chare puter,  
That giv'st us wine in stead of water,  
And from the Pond and River clear,  
Makest nappy Ale and good March Beer,  
That send'st us sundry sorts of meat,  
And every thing we drink or eat,  
To maids, to wives, to boys, to men,  
Laus Deo sancte Amen.  Yon. Ar. 
So much good do ye all, and Gentlemen,  
Accept your welcomes better than your cheer.  Old Lus. 
Nay so we do, I'll give you thanks for all.  
Come M. justice, you do walk our way,  
And M. Arthur, and old Hugh your man,  
we'll be the first will strain courtesy.  Just. 
God be with you all.  Exeunt old Arthur, Lusam, & justice. Ami. 
Propimus ego sum, I'll be the next,  
And man you home, how say you Lady?  Yon. Ar. 
I pray you do, good sir Aminadab.  Mary. 
Sir, if it be not too much trouble to you,  
Let me entreat that kindness at your hands.  Amina. 
Entreat; fie, no sweet Lass command.  
Sic so nunc, now take the upper hand.  He man's her away. Yon. Ar. 
Come wife, this meeting was all for our sakes,  
I long to see the force my poison takes.  Mis. Ar. 
My dear, dear husband, in exchange of hate,  
My love and heart shall on your service wait.  Exeunt Arthur his Wife. Ans. 
So doth my love on thee, but long no more,  
To her rich love, thy service is too poor.  Ful. 
For shame no more, you had best expostulate  
Your love with every stranger, leave these sighs,  
And change them to familiar conference.  Yon. Lus. 
Trust me the virtues of young Arthur's wife,  
Her constancy, modest humility,  
Her patience, and admired temperance,  
Have made me love all women kind the better.  Enter Pipkin. Pip. 
O my mistress, my mistress, she's dead, she's gone, she's dead, she's gone.  Ans. 
What's that he says?  Pip. 
Out of my way, stand back I say, all joy from earth is fled,  
She is this day as cold as clay, my Mistress she is dead:  
O Lord, my mistress, my mistress.  Exit. Ans. 
What mistress Arthur dead? my soul is vanished,  
And the world's wonder from the world quite banished:  
O I am sick, my pain grows worse and worse,  
I am quite struck thorough with this late discourse.  Ful. 
What faints thou man? I'll lead thee hence for shame,  
Sound at the tidings of a woman's death?  
Intolerable, and beyond all thought,  
Come my loves fool, give me thy hand to lead,  
This day one body and two hearts are dead.  Exeunt. Young Lus. 
But now she was as well as well might be,  
And on the sudden dead; joy in excess  
Hath overrun her poor disturbed soul.  
I'll after and see how Master Arthur takes it.  
His former hate far more suspicious makes it.  Exit. Enter Hugh. Hu. 
My M. hath left his gloves behind where he sat in his chair, and hath sent me to fetch them, it is such an old snudge, he will not lose the dropping of his nose.  Enter Pipkin. Pip. 
O Mistress, o Hugh, o Hugh, o Mistress, Hugh I must needs beat thee, I am mad, I am lunatic, I must fall upon thee, my Mistress is dead.  Hu. 
O M. Pipkin, what do you mean, what do you mean M. Pipkin?  Pip. 
O Hue, o Mistress, o Mistress, o Hue.  Hu. 
O Pipkin, o God, o God, o Pipkin.  Pip. 
O Hue, I am mad, bear with me, I cannot choose, o death, o Mistress, o Mistress, o death.  Exit. Hu. 
Death quotha, he hath almost made me dead with beating.  Enter Reason, old Arthur, and old Lusam. Just. 
I wonder why the knave my man stays thus,  
And comes not back, see where the villain loiters.  Enter Pipkin. Bra. 
O M. justice, M. Arthur, M. Lusam, wonder not why I thus blow and bluster, my Mistress is dead, dead is my Mistress, and therefore hang yourselves, ō my Mistress, my Mistress.  Exit. Old Ar. 
My sons wife dead?  Old Lus. 
My daughter.  Enter young Arthur mourning. Just. 
Mistress Arthur, here comes her husband.  Young Ar. 
O here the woefulst husband comes alive,  
No husband now, the wight that did uphold  
That name of husband is now quite o'erthrown,  
And I am left a hapless Widower.  Old Ar. 
fain would I speak, if grief would suffer me.  Old Lus. 
As Master Arthur says, so say I,  
If grief would let me, I would weeping die,  
To be thus hapless in my aged years,  
O I would speak, but my words melt to tears.  Young Ar. 
Go in, go in, and view the sweetest Course  
That ere was laid upon a mournful room,  
You cannot speak for weeping sorrows doom.  
Bad news are rife, good tidings seldom come.  Exeunt. Enter Anselm. An. 
What frantic humour doth thus haunt my sense,  
Striving to breed destruction in my spirit?  
When I would sleep, the ghost of my sweet love,  
Appears unto me in an angel's shape,  
When I am wake, my fantasy presents  
As in a glass, the shadow of my love:  
When I would speak, her name intrudes itself  
Into the perfect echoes of my speech.  
And though my thought beget some other word,  
Yet will my tongue speak nothing but her name:  
If I do meditate it is on her,  
If dream on her, or if discourse on her,  
I think her ghost doth haunt me, as in times  
Of former darkness old wives tales report,  Enter Fuller. 
Here comes my bitter Genius, whose advice  
Directs me still in all my actions.  
How now, from whence come you?  Ful. 
Faith from the street, in which as I passed by,  
I met the modest Mistress Arthur's Course:  
And after her as mourners, first her husband,  
Next justice Reason, then old M. Arthur,  
Old M. Lusam, and young Lusam too,  
With many other kinsfolks, neighbours, friends,  
And others that lament her Funeral,  
Her body is by this laid in the vault.  Ans. 
And in that vault my body I will lay,  
I prithee leave me, thither is my way.  Ful. 
I am sure you jest, you mean not as you say.  Ans. 
No, no, I'll but go to the Church and pray.  Ful. 
Nay then we shall be troubled with your humour.  Ans. 
As ever thou didst love me, or as ever  
Thou didst delight in my society,  
By all the rights of friendship, and of love,  
Let me entreat thy absence but one hour,  
And at the hours end I will come to thee.  Ful. 
Nay if you will be foolish, and past reason,  
I'll wash my hands like Pilate, from thy folly,  
And suffer thee in these extremities.  Exit. Ans. 
Now it is night, & the bright lamps of heaven  
Are half burnt out, now bright Adelbora  
Welcomes the cheerful Daystar to the Fast,  
And harmless stillness hath possessed the world.  
This is the Church, this hollow is the Vault,  
Where the dead body of my Saint remains,  
And this the Coffin that enshrines her body,  
For her bright soul is now in paradise.  
My coming is with no intent of sin,  
Or to defile the body of the dead,  
But rather take my last farewell of her,  
Or languishing and dying by her side.  
My airy soul post after hers to heaven,  
First with this latest kiss I seal my love.  
Her lips are warm, and I am much deceived  
If that she stir not: & this Golgotha,  
This place of dead men's bones is terrible,  
Presenting fearful apparitions.  Mistress Arthur in the Tomb. 
It is some spirit that in the Coffin lies,  
And makes my hair start up an end with fear,  
Come to thyself faint heart, she sits upright,  
O I would hide me, but I know not where;  
Tush if it be a spirit, 'tis a good spirit,  
For with her body living, ill she knew not,  
And with her body dead, ill cannot meddle.  Mis. Ar. 
Who am I? or where am I?  Ans. 
O she speaks, and by her language now I know she lives.  Mi. Ar. 
O who can tell me where I am become?  
For in this darkness I have lost myself,  
I am not dead, for I have sense and life,  
How come I then in this Coffin buried?  Ans. 
Anselm be bold she lives, and Destiny  
Hath trained thee hither to redeem her life.  Mis. Ar. 
Lives any 'mongst these dead? none but myself.  Ans. 
O yes, a man whose heart till now was dead,  
Lives and survives at your return to life:  
Nay start not, I am Anselm, one who long  
Hath doted on your fair perfection,  
And loving you more than became me well,  
Was hither sent by some strange providence,  
To bring you from these hollow vaults below,  
To be a liver in the world again.  Mis Ar. 
I understand you, and I thank the heavens,  
That sent you to revive me from this fear,  
And I embrace my safety with good will.  Enter Aminadab with two or three boys. Ami. 
Mane Citus lectum fuge mollem discute somnum,  
Templa pet as supplex & venerarum deum.  
Shake off thy sleep, get up betimes, go to the church and pray,  
And never fear, God will thee hear, & keep thee all the day.  
Good counsel boys, observe it, mark it well,  
This early rising, this diliculo,  
Is good both for your bodies and your minds.  
'tis not yet day, give me my Tinderbox,  
Mean time unloose your satchels & your books,  
Draw, draw, and take you to your lessons boys.  I. Boy. 
O Lord M. what's that in the white sheet?  Ami. 
In the white sheet my boy, Dic vbi, where?  Boy. 
Vide Master, vide illic there.  Ami. 
O Domine, Domine, keep us from evil,  
A charm from flesh, the world, & the devil.  Exeunt running. Mis. Ar. 
O tell me not my husband was ingrate,  
Or that he did attempt to poison me,  
Or that he laid me here, and I was dead,  
These are no means at all to win my love.  Ans. 
Sweet Mistress, he bequath you to the earth,  
You promised him to be his wife till death,  
And you have kept your promise, but now since  
The world, your husband, & your friends suppose  
That you are dead, grant me but one request,  
And I will swear never to solicit more,  
Your sacred thoughts to my dishonest love.  Mis. Ar. 
So your demand may be no prejudice  
To my chaste name, no wrong unto my husband,  
No suit that may concern my Wedlock breach,  
I yield unto it, but to pass the bands of modesty & chastity,  
First will I beaueath myself again  
Unto this grave, and never part from hence,  
Then taint my soul with black impurity.  An. 
Take here my hand & faithful heart to gauge,  
That I will never tempt you more to sin:  
This my request is, since your husband dotes  
Upon a lewd lascivious Courtesan,  
Since he hath broke the bands of your chaste bed,  
And like a murderer sent you to your grave,  
Do but go with me to my mother's house,  
There shall you live in secret for a space,  
Only to see the end of such lewd lust,  
And know the difference of a chaste wife's bed,  
And one whose life is in all looseness led.  Mis Ar. 
Your mother is a virtuous Matron held,  
Her counsel, conference, and company,  
May much avail me, there a space I'll stay,  
Upon condition as you said before,  
You never will move your unchaste suit more.  An. 
My faith is pawned, o never had chaste wife,  
A husband of so lewd and unchaste life.  Exeunt. Enter Marry Brabo, and Splay. Bra. 
Mistress I long have served you, even since  
These bristled hairs upon my grave like chin  
Were all unborn: when I first came to you  
These Infant feathers of these ravens wings,  
Were not once begun.  Spl. 
No indeed they were not.  Bra. 
Now in my two Moustaches for a need,  
Wanting a rope, I well could hang myself:  
I prithee Mistress, for all my long service,  
For all the love that I have borne thee long,  
Do me this favour now to marry me.  Enter young Arthur. Ma. 
Marry come up you blockhead, you great ass,  
What wouldst thou have me mary with a devil,  
But peace, no more, here comes the silly fool  
That we so long have set our lime-twigs for,  
Be gone, and leave me to entangle him.  Young Ar. 
What Mistress Mary!  Ma. 
O good master Arthur, where have you been this week, this month, this year?  
This year said I? where have you been this age?  
Unto a Lover every minute seems time out of mind.  
How should I think you love me,  
That can endure to stay so long from me?  Young Ar. 
In faith sweet heart I saw thee yesternight.  Ma. 
I true, you did, but since you saw me not,  
At twelve o'clock you parted from my house,  
And now 'tis morning, and new strucken seven.  
Seven hours thou staidst from me, why didst thou so?  
They are my seven years Prenticeship of woe.  Young Ar. 
I prithee be patient, I had some occasion  
That did enforce me from thee yesternight.  Ma. 
I you are soon enforced, fool that I am,  
To dote on one that nought respecteth me:  
'tis but my fortune, I am borne to bear it,  
And every one shall have their destiny.  Young Ar. 
Nay weep not wench, thou woundst me with thy tears.  Mary. 
I am a fool, and so you make me too,  
These tears were better kept, then spent in waste,  
On one that neither tenders them nor me:  
What remedy, but if I chance to die,  
Or to miscarry with that I go withal,  
I'll take my death that thou art cause thereof.  
You told me, that when your wife was dead,  
You would forsake all others, and take me.  Young Ar. 
I told thee so, & I will keep my word,  
And for that end I came thus early to thee:  
I have procured a licence, and this night:  
We will be married in a lawless Church.  Ma. 
These news revive me, & do somewhat ease  
The thought that was new gotten to my heart.  
But shall it be tonight?  Young Ar. 
I wench, tonight.  
A sennet and odd days since my wife died  
Is passed already, and her timeless death,  
Is but a nine days talk, come go with me,  
And it shall be dispatched presently.  Ma. 
Nay then I see thou lovest me, & I find  
By this last motion, thou art grown more kind.  Young Ar. 
My love and kindness like my age shall grow,  
And with the time increase, and thou shalt see,  
The older I grow, the kinder I will be.  Ma. 
I so I hope it will but as for mine,  
That with my age shall day by day decline.  
Come shall we go?  Young Ar. 
With thee to the world's end.  
Whose beauty most admire, and all commend.  Exeunt. Enter Anselm and Fuller. An. 
'tis true as I relate the circumstance,  
And she is with my mother safe at home,  
But yet for all the hate I can allege  
Against her husband, nor for all the love  
That on my own part I can urge her too,  
Will she be won to gratify my love.  Ful. 
All things are full of ambiguity,  
And I admire this wondrous accident.  
But Anselm, Arthur's about a new wife, a bona raba,  
How will she take it when she hears this news?  An. 
I think even as a virtuous Matron should;  
It may be that report may from thy mouth  
Beget some pity from her flinty heart,  
And I will urge her with it presently.  Ful. 
Unless report be false, they are linked already,  
They are fast as words can tie them: I will tell thee  
How I by chance did meet him the last night.  
One said to me, this Arthur did intend  
To have a wife, and presently to marry:  
Amidst the street I met him as my friend,  
And to his Love a present he did carry.  
It was some ring, some stomacher, or toy,  
I spoke to him, and bad God glue him joy.  
God give me joy quoth he, of what I pray?  
Marry quoth I, your wedding that is toward.  
'tis false quoth he, & would have gone his way.  
Come, come, quoth I, so near it, & so froward:  
I urged him hard by our familiar loves,  
Prayed him withal not to forget my gloves.  
Then he began, your kindness hath been great,  
Your courtesy great, and your love not common,  
Yet so much favour pray let me entreat,  
To be excused from marrying any woman.  
I knew the wench that is become his Bride,  
And smiled to think how deeply he had lied,  
For first he swore he did not court a maid,  
A wife he could not, she was elsewhere tied,  
And as for such as widows were, he said,  
And deeply swore, none such should be his bride,  
Widow, nor wife, nor maid, I asked no more,  
Knowing he was betrothed unto a whore.  Enter Mistress Arthur. Ans. 
Is it not Mistress Mary that you mean,  
She that did dine with us at Arthur's house?  Ful. 
The same, the same, here comes the Gentle woman,  
Oh Mistress Arthur, I am of your counsel,  
Welcome from death to life.  Ans. 
Mistress, this gentleman hath news to tell ye,  
And as you like of it, so think of me.  Ful. 
Your husband hath already got a wife,  
A huffing wench i'faith, whose ruffling silks,  
Make with their motion, music unto love,  
And you are quite forgotten.  Ans. 
I have sworn to move this my unchaste demand no more.  Ful. 
When doth your colour change?  
When doth your eyes Sparkle with fire to revenge these wrongs?  
When doth your tongue break into rage and wrath  
Against that scum of manhood, your vile husband,  
He first misused you.  Ans. 
And yet can you love him?  Ful. 
He left your chaste bed, to defile the bed  
Of sacred marriage with a Courtesan.  Ans. 
Yet can you love him?  Ful. 
And not content with this,  
Abused your honest name with slanderous words,  
And filled your hushed house with unquietness.  Ansel. 
And can you love him yet?  Ful. 
Nay did he not with his rude fingers dash you on the face,  
And double dye your Coral lips with blood?  
Hath he not torn those Gold wires from your head,  
Wherewith Apollo would have strung his Harp,  
And kept them to play music to the Gods?  
Hath he not beat you, and with his rude fists,  
Upon that crimson temperature of your cheeks,  
Laid a lead colour with his boisterous blows.  Ansel. 
And can you love him yet?  Ful. 
Then did he not  
Either by poison, or some other plot,  
Send you to death, where by his Providence,  
God hath preserved you by wondrous miracle?  
Nay after death hath he not scandalized  
Your place, with an immodest Courtesan?  Ans. 
And can you love him yet?  Mis. Ar. 
And yet, and yet, and still, and ever whilst I breath this air:  
Nay after death my unsubstantial soul,  
Like a good Angel shall attend on him,  
And keep him from all harm.  
But is he married, much good do his heart,  
Pray God she may content him better far  
Than I have done: long may they live in peace,  
Till I disturb their solace; but because  
I fear some mischief doth hang his head,  
I'll weep mine eyes dry with my present care,  
And for their healths make hoarse my tongue with prayer.  Exit. Ful. 
Art sure she is a woman? if she be,  
She is created of Nature's purity.  Ans. 
O yes, I too well know she is a woman,  
Henceforth my virtue shall my love withstand,  
And on my striving thoughts get the upper hand.  Ful. 
Then thus resolved, I straight will drink to thee,  
A health thus deep, to drown thy melancholy.  Exeunt. Enter Marry, young Arthur, Brabo, and Splay. Ma. 
Not have my will, yes I will have my will,  
Shall I not go abroad but when you please?  
Can I not now and then meet with my friends,  
But at my coming home you will control me?  
Marry come up.  Young Ar. 
Where are thou patience?  
Nay rather where's become my former spleen?  
I had a wife would not have used me so.  Ma. 
Why you Jack sauce, you Cuckold, you what not,  
What am not I of age sufficient  
To go and come still when my pleasure serves,  
But must I have you sir to question me?  
Not have my will? yes I will have my will.  Young Ar. 
I had a wife would not have used me so,  
But she is dead.  Bra. 
Not have her will, sir she shall have her will,  
She says she will, and sir I say she shall.  
Not have her will? that were a jest indeed.  
Who says she shall not, if I be disposed  
To man her forth, who shall find fault with it?  
What's he that dare say black's her eye?  
Though you be married sir, yet you must know  
That she was ever borne to have her will.  Splay. 
Not have her will, God's passion I say still,  
A woman's nobody that wants her will.  Young Ar. 
Where is my spirit, what shall I maintain  
A strumpet with a Brabo and her bawd,  
To beard me out of my authority.  
What am I from a master made a slave?  Ma. 
A slave? nay worse, dost thou maintain my man,  
And this my maid? 'tis I maintain them both.  
I am thy wife, I will not be dressed so  
While thy Gold lasts, but then most willingly  
I will bequeath thee to flat beggary.  
I do already hate thee, do thy worst,  
Nay touch me if thou darest: what shall he beat me?  Bra. 
I'll make him seek his fingers 'mongst the dogs,  
That dares to touch my Mistress: never fear,  
My sword shall smooth the wrinkles of his brows  
That bends a frown upon my Mistress.  Young Ar. 
I had a wife would not have used me so,  
But God is just.  Ma. 
Now Arthur, if I knew  
What in this world would most torment thy soul,  
That I would do: would all my evil usage  
Could make thee straight despair, and hang thyself.  
Now I remember, where is Arthur's man  
Pipkin, that slave? go turn him out of doors,  
None that loves Arthur, shall have house-room here.  Enter Pipkin. 
Yonder he comes, Brabo discard the fellow.  Young Ar. 
Shall I be overmastered in my own?  
Be thyself Arthur, strumpet he shall stay.  Mary. 
What shall he Brabo, shall he Mistress Splay?  Bra. 
Shall he? he shall not: breathes there any living,  
Dares say he shall, when Brabo says he shall not?  Young Ar. 
Is there no law for this? she is my wife,  
Should I complain, I should be rather mocked:  
I am content, keep by thee whom thou list.  
Discharge whom thou thinkst good, do what thou wilt,  
Rise, go to bed, stay at home, or go abroad  
At thy good pleasure keep all companies:  
So that for all this, I may have but peace.  
Be unto me as I was to my wife,  
Only give me what I denied her then,  
A little love, and some small quietness.  
If he displease thee, turn him out of doors.  Pip. 
Who me? turn me out of doors? is this all the wages I shall have at the years end, to be turned out of doors? you Mistress, you are a.  Splay. 
A what? speak, a what? touch her, and touch me; taint her, and taint me, speak, speak, a what?  Pip. 
Marry a woman that is kin to the frost.  Splay. 
How do you mean that?  Pip. 
And you are a kin to the Latin word, to understand.  Splay. 
And what's that?  Pip. 
Subaudi, subaudi: and sir, do you not use to pink doublets?  Splay. 
And why?  Pip. 
I took you for a cutter, you are of a great kindred; you are a common cozener, everybody calls you x: beside, they say you are a very good Warrener, you have been an old Coney catcher: but if I be turned a-begging, as I know not what I am borne too, and that you ever come to the said Trade, as nothing is unpossible, I'll set all the Commonwealth of beggars on your back, and all the Congregation of vermin shall be put to your keeping, and then if you be not more bitten than all the Company of beggars beside, I'll not have my will: zounds turned out of doors, I'll go and set up my Trade, a dish to drink in that I have within, a wallet that I'll make of an old shirt, than my speech for the lords sake, I beseech your worship, than I must have a lame leg, I'll go to football and break my shins, and I am provided for that.  Bra. 
What stands the villain prating, hence you slave.  Exit Pipkin. Yon. Ar. 
Art thou yet pleased?  Ma. 
When I have had my humour.  Yon. Ar. 
Good friends for manners sake a while withdraw.  Bra. 
It is our pleasure sir to stand aside.  Young Ar. 
Mary what cause hast thou to use me thus?  
From nothing I have raised thee too much wealth,  
'twas more than I did owe thee: many a pound,  
Nay many a hundred pound I spent on thee  
In my wives time, and once but by my means  
Thou hadst been in much danger, but in all things  
My purse and credit ever bore thee out:  
I did not owe thee this, I had a wife  
That would have laid herself beneath my feet  
To do me service, her I set at nought  
For the entire affection I bore thee.  
To show that I have loved thee, have I not  
Above all women made chief choice of thee?  
An argument sufficient of my love,  
What reason then hast thou to wrong me thus?  Ma. 
It is my humour.  Yon. Ar. 
O but such humours honest wives should purge:  
He show thee a far greater instance yet  
Of the true love that I have borne to thee,  
Thou knewest my brother's wife, was she not fair?  Mary. 
So so.  Young Ar. 
But more than fair, was she not virtuous  
Endued with the beauty of the mind?  Yon. Ar. 
Faith so they said.  Young Ar. 
Hark in thine ear, I'll trust thee with my life,  
Than which what greater instance of my love:  
Thou knewest full well how suddenly she died,  
To enjoy thy love even then I poisoned her.  Ma. 
How poisoned her! accursed murderer,  
I'll ring this fatal 'larum in all ears,  
Than which what greater instance of my hate.  Young Ar. 
Wilt thou not keep my counsel?  Ma. 
Villain no, thou'lt poison me as thou hast poisoned her.  Yong. Ar. 
Dost thou reward me thus for all my love?  
Then Arthur fly and seek to save thy life,  
O difference twixt a chaste and unchaste wife.  Exit. Ma. 
Pursue the murderer, apprehend him straight.  Bra. 
Why what's the matter Mistress?  Ma. 
This villain Arthur poisoned his first wife,  
Which he in secret hath confessed to me:  
Go and fetch warrants from the justices  
To attach the murderer, he once hanged and dead,  
His wealth is mine: pursue the slave that's dead.  Bra. 
Mistress I will, he shall not pass this land  
But I will bring him bound with this strong hand.  Exeunt. Enter Mistress Arthur. Mis Ar. 
O what are the vain pleasures of the world,  
That in their actions we affect them so?  
Had I been borne a servant, my low life  
Had steady stood from all these miseries:  
The waving reeds stand free from every gust,  
When the tall oaks are rent up by the roots:  
What is vain beauty but an Idle breath?  
Why are we proud of that which so soon changes?  
But rather wish the beauty of the mind,  
Which neither time can alter, sickness change,  
Violence deface, nor the black hand of envy,  
Smudge & disgrace, or spoil, or make deformed.  
O had my riotous husband borne this mind,  
He had been happy, I had been more blessed,  
And peace had prought our quiet souls to rest.  Enter young Arthur poorly. Young Ar. 
O whither shall I fly to save my life,  
When murder and despair dogs at my heels?  
O misery, thou never foundst a friend,  
All friends forsake men in adversity:  
My brother hath denied to succour me,  
Upbraiding me with name of murderer.  
My uncles double bar their doors against me;  
My father hath denied to shelter me,  
And cursed me worse than Adam did vile eve.  
I that within these two days had more friends  
Than I could number with arithmetic,  
Have now no more than one poor Cipher is,  
And that poor Cipher I supply myself.  
All that I durst commit my fortunes too,  
I have tried, & find none to relieve my wants,  
My sudden flight, and fear of future shame,  
Left me unfurnished of all necessaries,  
And these three days I have not tasted food.  Mis: Ar: 
It is my husband, o how just is heaven!  
Poorly disguised, and almost hunger-starved.  
How comes this change?  Yon. Ar. 
Doth no man follow me?  
O how suspicious guilty murder is,  
I starve for hunger, and I die for thirst:  
Had I a kingdom I would sell my Crown  
For a small bit of bread: I shame to beg,  
And yet perforce I must or beg or starve.  
This house belike longs to some gentlewoman,  
And here's a woman, I will beg of her:  
Good mistress look upon a poor man's wants.  
Whom do I see? tush Arthur she is dead:  
But that I saw her dead and buried,  
I would have sworn it had been Arthur's wife:  
But I will leave her, shame forbids me beg  
On one so much resembles her.  Mis. Ar. 
Come hither fellow, wherefore dost thou turn  
Thy guilty looks and blushing face aside?  
It seems thou hast not been brought up to this.  Young Ar. 
You say true mistress: then for charity,  
And for her sake whom you resemble most,  
Pity my present want and misery.  Mis. Ar. 
It seems thou hast been in some better plight,  
Sit down I prithee, men though they be poor,  
Should not be scorned: to ease thy hunger, first  
Eat these Conserves: and now I prithee tell me,  
What thou hast been, thy fortunes, thy estate,  
And what she was that I resemble most?  Young Ar. 
First look that no man see, or overhear us,  
I think that shape was borne to do me good.  Mis. Ar. 
Hast thou known one that did resemble me?  Yong. Ar. 
I Mistress, I cannot choose but weep  
To call to mind the fortunes of her youth.  Mis. Ar. 
Tell me, of what estate or birth was she?  Young Ar. 
Born of good parents, & as well brought up.  
Most fair, but not so fair as virtuous,  
Happy in all things but her marriage.  
Her riotous husband, which I weep to think,  
By his lewd life made them both miscarry.  Mis. Ar. 
Why dost thou grieve at their adversities?  Young Ar. 
O blame me not, that man my kinsman was,  
Nearer to me a kinsman could not be,  
As near allied was that chaste woman too,  
Nearer was never husband to his wife:  
He whom I termed my friend, no friend of mine,  
Proving both mine and his own enemy,  
Poisoned his wife, o the time he did so,  
joyed at her death, inhuman slave to do so,  
Exchanged her love for a base strumpet's lust;  
Foul wretch, accursed villain, to exchange so.  Mis. Ar. 
You are wise, and blessed, and happy to repent so,  
But what became of him and his new wife?  Young Ar. 
O hear the justice of the highest heaven,  
This strumpet in reward of all his love,  
Pursues him for the death of his first wife,  
And now the woeful husband languisheth,  
Flies upon pursued by her fierce hate,  
And now too late he doth repent her sin,  
Ready to perish in his own despair,  
Having no means but death to rid his care.  Mis. Ar. 
I can endure no more but I must weep,  
My blabbing tears cannot my counsel keep.  Young Ar. 
Why weep you Mistress? if you had the heart  
Of her whom you resemble in your face,  
But she is dead, and for her death,  
The sponge of either eye,  
Shall weep red tears till every vain is dry.  Mis. Ar. 
Why weep you friend, your rainy drops keep  
Repentance wipes away the drops of sin.  
Yet tell me friend, he did exceeding ill,  
A wife that loved and honoured him, to kill.  
Yet say one like her, far more chaste than fair,  
Bids him be of good comfort, not despair.  
Her soul's appeased with her repentant tears,  
Wishing he may survive her many years.  
fain would I give him money to supply  
His present wants, but fearing he should fly,  
And getting over to some foreign shore,  
These rainy eyes should never see him more.  
My heart is full, I can no longer stay,  
But what I am my love must needs bewray.  
Farewell good fellow, and take this to spend,  
Say one like her commends her to your friend.  Exit. Young Ar. 
No friend of mine, I was my own soul's foe  
To murder my chaste wife, that loved me so.  
In life she loved me dearer than her life,  
What husband here, but would wish such a wife.  
I hear the Officers with hue and cry,  
She saved my life but now, and now I die.  
And welcome death, I will not stir from hence,  
Death I deserved, I'll die for this offence.  Enter Brabo with Officers, Splay and Hugh. Bra. 
Here is the murderer, and reason's man  
You have the warrant: Sirs lay hands on him,  
Attach the slave, and lead him bound to death.  Hu. 
No by my faith M. Brabo, you have the better heart, at least you should have: I am sure you have more Iron and steel, than I have, do you lay hands upon him, I promise you I dare not.  Bra. 
Constables forward, forward Officers,  
I will not thrust my finger in the fire.  
Lay hands on him I say, why step you back?  
I mean to be the hindmost, least that any  
Should run away and leave the rest in peril:  
Stand forward, are you not ashamed to fear?  Yon. Ar. 
Nay never strive, behold I yield myself,  
I must commend your resolution,  
That being so many and so weaponed,  
Dare not adventure on a man unarmed.  
Now lead me to what prison you think best,  
Yet use me well, I am a Gentleman.  Hue. 
Truly M. Arthur we will use you as well as heart can think, the justices sit today, and my Mistress is chief, you shall command me.  Bra. 
What hath he yielded? if he had withstood us,  
This Curtle-axe of mine had cleft his head:  
Resist he durst not when he once spied me.  
Come lead him hence, how likest thou this sweet witch?  
This fellows death will make our mistress is rich.  Splay. 
I say I care not whose dead or alive,  
So by their lives or deaths, we two may thrive.  Hue. 
Come bear him away.  Enter justice Reason, old Arthur, old Lusam. Just. 
Old M. Arthur and M. Lusam, so it is, that I have heard both your complaints, but understood neither, for you know Legere & non intelligere negligere est.  Old Ar. 
I come for favour, as a father should,  
Pitying the fall and ruin of his son.  Old Lus. 
I come for justice, as a father should,  
That hath by violent murder lost his daughter.  Just. 
You come for favour, and you come for justice,  
justice with favour is not partial,  
And using that, I hope to please you both.  Old Ar. 
Good M. justice think upon my son.  Old Lus. 
Good M. justice think upon my daughter.  Just. 
Why so I do, I think upon them both,  
But can do neither of you good:  
For he that lives must die, and she that's dead,  
Cannot be revived.  Old Ar. 
Lusam, thou seekst to rob me of my son, my only son.  Old Lus. 
He robbed me of my daughter, my only daughter.  Just. 
And robbers are flat felons by the law.  Old Ar. 
Lusam, I say thou art a bloodsucker,  
A tyrant, a remorseless Cannibal:  
Old as I am I'll prove it on thy bones.  Old Lu. 
Am I a bloodsucker or Cannibal?  
Am I a tyrant that do thirst for blood?  Old Ar. 
I if thou seekst the ruin of my son,  
Thou art a tyrant and a bloodsucker.  Old Lu. 
I if I seek the ruin of thy son I am indeed.  Old Ar. 
Nay more thou art a dotard.  
And in the right of my accursed son,  
I challenge thee the field, meet me I say  
Tomorrow morning besides Islington,  
And bring thy sword & buckler if thou darest.  Old Lu. 
Meet thee with my sword & buckler, there's my glove,  
I'll meet thee to revenge my daughter's death.  
Callst thou me dotard, though these threescore years,  
I never handled weapon but a knife  
To cut my meat, yet will I meet thee there.  
God's precious call me dotard.  Old Arthur. 
I have cause,  
Just cause to call thee dotard, have I not?  Old Lu. 
Nay that's another matter have you cause,  
Than God forbid that I should take exceptions  
To be called dotard of one that hath cause.  Just. 
My Masters you must leave this quarreling, for quarrelers are never at peace, and men of peace while they are at quiet are never quarreling; so you whilst you fall into brawls, you cannot choose but jar. Here comes your son accused, & your wife the accuser: stand forth both. Hugh be ready with your pen and Ink to take their examinations and confessions.  Enter Mary, Splay, Brabo, young Arthur, Hue, and Officers. Young Ar. 
It shall not need, I do confess the deed,  
Of which this woman here accuseth me:  
I poisoned my first wife, and for that deed  
I yield me to the mercy of the law.  Old Lus. 
Villain, thou meanst my only daughter,  
And in her death deprivedst me of all joys.  Young Ar. 
I mean her, I do confess the deed,  
And though my body taste the force of Law,  
Like an offender, on my knee I begs,  
Your angry soul will pardon me her death.  Old Lus. 
Nay if he kneeling do confess the deed,  
No reason but I should forgive her death.  Just. 
But so the law must not be satisfied,  
Blood must have blood, and men must have death,  
I think that cannot be dispensed withal.  Ma. 
If all the world else would forgive the deed,  
Yet would I earnestly pursue the law.  Young Ar. 
I had a wife would not have used me so,  
The wealth of Europe could not hire her tongue,  
To be offensive to my patient ears,  
But in exchanging her, I did prefer  
A devil before a Saint, night before day,  
Hell before heaven, and dross before tried gold,  
Never was bargain with such damage sold.  Bra. 
If you want witness to confirm the deed,  
I heard him speak it, and that to his face  
Before this presence I will justify,  
I will not part hence till I see him swing.  Splay. 
I heard him too, pity but he should die,  
And like a murderer be sent to hell,  
To poison her, and make her belly swell.  Ma. 
Why stay you then, give judgement on the slave,  
Whose shameless life deserves a shameful grave.  Young Ar. 
Death's bitter pangs are not so full of grief,  
As this unkindness: every word thou speakst,  
Is a sharp dagger thrust quite through my heart.  
As little I deserve this at thy hands,  
As my kind patient wife deserved of me,  
I was her torment, God hath made thee mine,  
Then wherefore at just plagues should I repine?  Just. 
Where didst thou buy this poison? for such drugs  
Are felony for any man to sell.  Young Ar. 
I had the poison of Aminadab,  
But innocent man, he was not accessary  
To my wife's death, I clear him of the deed.  Just. 
No matter, fetch him, fetch him, bring him  
To answer to this matter at the bar:  
Hue, take these Officers and apprehend him.  Bar. 
I'll aid him too, the schoolmaster I see  
Perhaps may hang with him for company.  Enter Anselm and Fuller. Ans. 
This is the day of Arthur's examination  
And trial for the murder of his wife:  
Let's hear how justice Reason will proceed,  
In censuring of his strict punishment.  Ful. 
Anselm content, let's thrust in among the throng.  Enter Aminadab, brought in with Officers. Ami. 
O Domine, what mean these knaves,  
To lead me thus with bills and glaives?  
O what example would it be,  
To all my pupils for to see,  
To tread their steps all after me:  
If for some fault I hanged be:  
Somewhat surely I shall mar,  
If you bring me to the bar.  
But peace, betake thee to thy wits,  
For yonder justice Reason sits.  Just. 
Sir Dad, Sir Dab, here's one accuseth you  
To give him poison being ill employed,  
Speak how in this case you can clear yourself.  Ami. 
Hei mihi, what should I say, the poison given I denay:  
He took it perforce from my hands, and domine why not I  
Got it of a gentleman, he most freely gave it,  
Ask he knew me, a means was only to have it.  Young Ar. 
'tis true I took it from this man perforce,  
And snatched it from his hand by rude constraint,  
Which proves him in this act not culpable.  Just. 
ay but who sold the poison unto him?  
That must be likewise known, speak schoolmaster.  Ami. 
A man verbosus, that was a fine generosus,  
He was a great guller, his name I take to be Fuller:  
See where he stands that unto my hands conveyed a powder,  
And like a knave sen her to her grave obscurely to shroud her.  Just. 
Lay hands on him, are you a poison seller?  
Bring him before us, sirrah what say you,  
Sold you a poison to this honest man?  Ful. 
I sold no poison, but I gave him one  
To kill his Rats.  Just. 
Ha, ha, I smell a Rat.  
You sold him poison then to kill his Rats?  
The word to kill, argues a murderous mind:  
And you are brought in compass of the murder:  
So set him by we will not hear him speak.  
That Arthur Fuller and the schoolmaster  
Shall by the judges be examined.  Ans. 
Sir if my friend may not speak for himself  
Yet let me his proceedings justify.  Just. 
What's he that will a murder justify?  
Lay hands on him, lay hands on him I say,  
For justifiers are all accessaries,  
And accessaries have deserved to die.  
A way with him, we will not hear him speak,  
They all shall to the high Commissioners.  Enter Mistress Arthur. Mis. Ar. 
Nay stay them, stay them yet a little while,  
I bring a warrant to the contrary,  
And I will please all parties presently.  Young Ar. 
I think my wives ghost haunts me to my death,  
Wretch that I was to shorten her lives breath.  Old Ar. 
Whom do I see my sons wife?  Old Lus. 
What my daughter?  Just. 
Is it not Mistress Arthur that we see,  
That long since buried we supposed to be.  Mis. Ar. 
This man is condemned for poisoning of his wife,  
His poisoned wife yet lives, and I am she:  
And therefore justly I release his bands.  
This man for suffering him these drugs to take,  
Is likewise bound, release him for my sake.  
This gentleman that first the poison gave,  
And this his friend to be released I crave.  
Murder there cannot be where none is killed,  
Her blood is saved whom you supposed was spilled.  
Father in law I give you here your son,  
The act's to do, which you supposed was done.  
And father now joy in your daughter's life,  
Whom heaven hath still kept to be Arthur's wife.  Old Ar. 
O welcome, welcome, daughter now I see,  
God by his power hath preserved thee.  Old Lu. 
And 'tis my wench whom I supposed was dead,  
My joy revives, and my sad woe is fled.  Young Ar. 
I know not what I am, nor where I am,  
My souls transported to an ecstasy,  
For hope and joy confound my memory.  Ma. 
What do I see, lives Arthur's wife again?  
Nay then I labour for his death in vain.  Bra. 
What secret force did in nature lurk;  
That in her soul the poison would not work?  Splay. 
How can it be the poison took no force?  
She lives with that which would have killed a horse.  Mis. Ar. 
Nay shun me not, be not ashamed at all,  
To heaven not me, for grace and pardon fall.  
Look on me Arthur, blush not at my wrongs.  Young Ar. 
Still fear & hope my grief & woe prolongs.  
But tell me by what power thou didst survive?  
with my own hands I tempered that vild draft  
That sent thee breathless to thy grandsires grave,  
If that were poison I received from him.  Ami. 
That ego nescio, but this dram  
Received I of this gentleman.  
The colour was to kill my Rats,  
But 'twas my own life to dispatch.  Ful. 
Is it even so, than this ambiguous doubt  
No man can better than myself decide.  
That compound powder was of Poppy made and Mandrakes,  
Of purpose to cast one into a sleep,  
To ease the deadly pain of him whose leg  
Should be sawed off, that powder gave I to the school master.  Ami. 
And that same powder, even that idem,  
You took from me the same per sidem:  Young Ar. 
And that same powder I commixed with wine,  
Our godly knot of wedlock to untwine.  Old Ar. 
But daughter who did take thee from thy grave?  Old Lu. 
Discourse it daughter.  Ans. 
Nay that labour save.  
Pardon me M. Arthur, I will now  
Confess the former frailty of my love.  
Your modest wife with words I tempted oft,  
But neither ill I could report of you,  
Nor any good I could forge for myself  
Would win her to attend to my request:  
Nay after death I loved her, in so much  
That to the vault where she was buried,  
My constant love did lead me thorough the dark,  
There ready to have ta'en my last farewell,  
The parting kiss I gave her I felt warm,  
Briefly, I bore her to my mother's house,  
Where she hath since lived the most chaste & true,  
That since the world's creation eye did view.  Young Ar. 
My first wife stand you here, my second there,  
And in the midst myself: he that will choose  
A good wife from a bad, come other of me  
That have tried both, in wealth and misery.  
A good wife will be careful of her fame,  
Her husband's credit, and her own good name:  
And such art thou. A bad wife will respect  
Her pride, her lust, and her good name neglect,  
And such art thou. A good wife will be still  
Industrious, apt to do her husband's will.  
But a bad wife, cross, spiteful and madding,  
Never keep home, but always be a gadding:  
And such art thou. A good wife will conceal  
Her husband's dangers, and nothing reveal  
That may procure him harm, and such art thou.  
But a bad wife corrupts chaste wedlock's vow.  
On this hand virtue, and on this hand sin,  
This who would strive to lose, or this to win?  
Here lives perpetual joy, here burning woe,  
Now husbands choose on which hand you will go.  
Seek virtuous wives, all husbands will be blessed,  
Fair wives are good, but virtuous wives are best,  
They that my fortunes will peruse, shall find  
No beauties like the beauty of the mind.  
FINIS.