The Old Couple. A COMEDY. BY Thomas May, Esq  
LONDON, Printed by J. Cottrel, for Samuel Speed, at the sign of the Printing-press in S. Paul's churchyard. 1658.   

Actor's Names.  

Sr. Argent Scrape, An old covetous rich Knight.  
Earthworm, An old miserly niggard.  
Mr. Freeman.  
Eugeny, Sr. Argent Scrapes nephew.  
Euphues, freeman's nephew, Scudmore's friend.  
Theodore, Earthworms virtuous son.  
Scudmore, supposed to be slain by Eugeny.  
Fruitful, The Lady Covets Chaplain, Scudmore disguised.  
Barnet.  
Dotterel, A Gull, married to the Lady whimsy.  
Trusty, The Lady Covets Steward.  
Jasper, Earthworms servant.  
3. Neighbours of Earthworms.  
Officers.   

Women Actors.  
The Lady Covet, Betrothed to Sr. Argent Scrape.  
Matilda, Earthworms niece, Scudmore's Love.  
Arremia, freeman's daughter, Eugeny's Love.  
The Lady whimsy, Married to Dotterel.    

Incipit Actus Primus.  Eugeny solus. Eug. 
THis is the hour which fair Artemia  
Promised to borrow from all company,  
And bless me only with it, to deny  
Her beauteous presence to all else, and shine  
On me, poor me! within this garden here,  
This happy garden, once while I was happy,  
And wanted not a free access unto it,  
Before my fatal and accursed crime  
Had shut these gates of paradise against me,  
When I without control alone might spend  
With sweet Artemia in these fragrant walks  
The days short-seeming hours, and ravished, hear  
Her sweet discourses of the lilies whiteness,  
The blushing rose, blue-mantled violet,  
Pale daffodil, and purple hyacinth,  
With all the various sweets, and painted glories  
Of nature's wardrobe, which were all eclipsed  
By her diviner beauty; but alas!  
What boots the former happiness I had,  
But to increase my sorrow? my sad crime  
Has left me now no entrance but by stealth,  
When death and danger dog my venturous steps.  
But welcome danger, since thou findest so fair  
A recompense, as my Artemiaes' sight.  Artemia. Eugeny. 
And art thou come, my dearest Eugeny?  
Has thy true love broke through so many hazards  
To visit me? I prithee chide my fondness  
That did command thee such a dangerous task.  
I did repent it since, and was in hope  
Thou wouldst not come.  Eug. 
Why hoped Artemia so?  
Wouldst thou not see me then? or can the hazard  
Of ten such lives as mine is, counter vail  
One glance of favour from thy beauteous eyes?  Art. 
Why dost thou use that language to a heart  
Which is thy captive, Eugeny, and lives  
In nothing happy but in thee?  Eug. 
Ah! love,  
There lies my greatest sorrow, that the storms  
Of spiteful fortune which orewhelm my state,  
Should draw thy constant goodness to a suffering,  
A goodness worthy of the happiest man  Art. 
Those storms of fortune will be soon oreblown  
When once thy cause shall be but truly known,  
That chance, not malice wrought it; and thy pardon  
Will be with ease obtained  Eug. 
It may be, love,  
If old Sr. Argent do deal truly in it.  Art. 
But keep thyself concealed, do not rashly  
Venture two lives in one, or when thou com'st  
Let it be still in silence of the night.  
No visitation then, or other strange  
Unlooked for accident can bar our joys.  
The Moon is now in her full orb, and lends  
Seemer light to lovers than the Sun.  
Then only come, but prithee tell me love,  
How dost thou spend thy melancholy time?  Eug. 
Within the covert of yond shady wood  
Which clothes the mountains rough and craggy top,  
A little hovel built of boughs and reeds  
Is my abode, from whence the spreading trees  
Keep out the Sun, and do bestow in lieu  
A greater benefit, a safe concealment.  
In that secure and solitary place,  
I give my pleased imagination leave  
To feast itself with thy supposed presence,  
Whose only shadow brings more joy to me  
Then all the substance of the world beside.  Art. 
Just so alone am I, nay want the presence  
Of mine own heart, which strays to find out thee.  
But who comes to thee to supply thy wants?  Eug. 
There Artemia names my happiness,  
A happiness, which next thy love, I hold  
To be the greatest that the world can give,  
And I am proud to name it. I do there  
Enjoy a friend, whose sweet society.  
Makes that dark wood a palace of delight;  
One stored with all that can commend a man,  
In whom refined knowledge and pure art  
Mixing with true and sound morality  
Is crowned with piety.  Art. 
What wonder's this  
Whom thou describ'st?  Eug. 
But I in vain, alas!  
Do strive to make with my imperfect skill  
A true dissection of his noble parts:  
He loses, Love, by all that I can say,  
For praise can come no nearer to his worth,  
Then can a Painter with his mimic Sun,  
Express the beauty of Hyperion.  Art. 
What is his name?  Eug. 
His name is Theodore,  
Rich Earthworms son, lately come home from travel.  Art. 
Oh heavens! his son! Can such a caitif wretch  
Hated and cursed by all, have such a son?  
The miser lives alone, abhorred by all  
Like a disease, yet cannot so be scaped,  
But cankerlike, eats through the poor men's hearts  
That live about him, never has commerce  
With any but to ruin them; his house  
Inhospitable as the wilderness,  
And never looked upon but with a curse:  
He hoards in secret place of the earth  
Not only bags of treasure, but his corn,  
Whose every grain he prizes 'bove a life,  
And never prays at all, but for dear years.  Eug. 
For his son's sake tread gently on his fame.  Art. 
Oh! Love, his fame cannot be redeemed  
From obloquy; but thee I trust so far  
As highly to esteem his worthy son.  Eug. 
That man is all, and more than I have said:  
His wondrous virtues will hereafter make  
The people all forgive his father's ill.  
I was acquainted with him long ago  
In foreign parts. And now I think on't, Love,  
He'll be the fittest man to be acquainted  
With all our secrecies, and be a means  
To further us; and think I trust his truth,  
That dare so much commend his worth to thee.  Art. 
He is my neighbour here, that house is Earthworms,  
That stands alone beside you grove of trees:  
And fear not, dearest Love, I'll find a means  
To send for him, do you acquaint him first.  Exeunt. Euphues, Dotterel, Barnet. Euph. 
Then shall I tell my cozen that you are  
A younger brother, Mr. Dotterel?  Dot. 
Oh yes, by any means Sir.  Euph. 
What's your reason?  Dot. 
A crotchet Sir, a crotchet that I have.  
Here's one can tell you I have twenty of 'em,  Bar. 
Euphues dissuade him not, he is resolved  
To keep his birth and fortunes both concealed,  
Yet win her so or no way: he would know  
Whether himself be truly loved or no,  
And not his fortunes only.  Euph. 
Well, access  
You have already sound, pursue it Sir;  
But give me leave to wonder at your way.  
Another wooer to obtain his love  
Would put on all his colours, stretch r'appear  
At his full height, or a degree beyond it;  
Belie his fortunes, borrow what he wanted,  
Not make himself less than he truly is.  
What reason is there that a man possessed  
Of fortunes large enough, that may come boldly  
A welcome suitor to herself and friends,  
And ten to one, speed in his suit the fair  
And usual way, should play the fool and lose  
His precious time in such a hopeless wooing!  Dot. 
Alas Sir, what is a gentleman's time?  Bar. 
Euphues he tells you true, there are some brains  
Can never lose their time what ere they do:  
Yet I can tell you, he has read some books.  Dot. 
Do not disparage me.  Bar. 
I warrant thee,  
And in those books he says he finds examples  
Of greatest beauties that have so been won.  Euph. 
Oh! in Parismus, and the Knight o'th' Sun.  
Are those your Authors?  Dot. 
Yes, and those are good ones:  
Why should a man of worth, though but a shepherd,  
Despair to get the love of a King's daughter?  Euph 
I prithee Barnet how hast thou skrewed up  
This fool to such a monstrous confidence?  Bar. 
He needs no screwing up; but let him have  
His swing a little.  Euph 
He shall have it freely.  
But you have seen your Mistress, Mr Dotterel,  
How do you find her? coming?  Dot. 
That's all one,  
I know what I know.  Bar. 
He has already got  
Some footing in her favour.  Euph. 
But I doubt  
he'll play the tyrant, make her dote too long,  
Wear the green sickness as his livery,  
And pine a year or two  Dot. 
she's not the first  
That has done so for me.  Euph. 
But if you use  
My Cozen so, I shall not take it well.  Dot. 
Oh, I protest I have no such meaning Sir,  
See, here she comes, the Lady whimsy too.  nter Lady Whimsy, Artemia. Lad. 
I thought sweet heart, thou'dsthad'st wanted company.  Art. 
Why so I did yours, Madam.  Lad. 
Had I known  
Your house had been so full of gallants now,  
I would have spared my visit. But 'tis all one,  
I have met a friend here.  Euph. 
Your poor servant, Madam.  Lad. 
I was confessing of your cozen here  
About th'affairs of love.  Euph. 
Your ladyship  
I hope will shrieve her gently.  Lad. 
But I tell her  
She shall not thank me now for seeing her,  
For I have business hard by. I am going  
A suitor to your old rich neighbour here,  
Earthworm.  Euph. 
A suitor? he is very hard  
In granting any thing, especially  
If it be money.  Lad 
Yes, my suit's for money,  
Nay all his money, and I himself to boot.  Bar. 
His money would do well without himself.  Lad. 
And with himself.  Bar. 
Alas! your ladyship  
Should too much wrong your beauty to bestow it  
Upon one that cannot use it, and debar  
More able men their wishes.  Euph. 
That's true, Barnet,  
If she should bar all other men, but that  
Would be too great a cruelty.  Art. 
Do you hear  
My cozen Madam?  Lad. 
Yes, he will be heard:  
Rather than fail, he'll give himself the hearing.  
But prithee Euphues tell me plainly now  
What thou dost think of me. I love thy freeness  
Better than any flattery in the world  Euph. 
I think you won drous wise.  Lad. 
In what?  Euph. 
In that  
That makes or mars a woman, I mean love.  Lad. 
Why prithee?  Euph. 
I think you understand so well  
What the true use of man is, that you'll ne'er  
Trouble your thoughts with care, or spoil your beauty  
With the green sickness, to obtain a thing  
Which you can purchase a discreeter way.  Art. 
How do you like this, Madam?  Lad. 
Wondrous well,  
'Tis that I looked for. But what entertainment  
Would old rich Earthworm give us, do you think?  Bar. 
Unless your presence, Madam, could infuse  
A nobler soul into him, 'tis much feared  
'Twould be but mean.  Lad. 
Because( you'll say) he's covetous:  
Tut, I can work a change in any man:  
If I were married to him, you should see  
What I would make him.  Euph. 
I believe we should,  aside 
If cuckolds horns were visible.  Art. 
But could  
Your Ladyship be pleased with such a husband?  Lad. 
Who could not well be pleased with such a fortune?  Art. 
Wealth cannot make a man  Lad. 
But his wealth, Lady,  
Can make a woman.  Euph. 
Yet I doubt old Earthworm  
Would prove too subtle to be governed so:  
You'll find him, Madam, an old crabbed piece.  
Some gentle fool were better for a husband.  Art. 
Fie, cozen, how thou talk'st.  Lad. 
he's in the right:  
Fools are the only husbands, one may rule'um.  
Why should not we desire to use men so  
As they would us? I have heard men protest  
They would have their wives silly, and not studied  
In any thing but to dress themselves,  
And not so much as able to write letters.  
Just such a husband would I wish to have,  
So qualified, and not a jot beyond it,  
He should not have the skill to write or read.  Art. 
What could you get by that?  Lad. 
I should be sure  
He could not read my letters; and for bonds,  
When I should have occasion to use money,  
His mark would serve.  Art. 
I am not of your mind,  
I would not have a fool for all the world.  Bar. 
No, fairest Lady, your perfections  
None but the wisest and the best of men  
Can truly find and value.  Dot. 
And I protest, Lady,  
I honour you for not loving a fool.  Lad. 
You would love a wife it seems that loves not you.  Euph 
A tart jest, Barnet.  Bar. 
But he feels it not.  Euph. 
Fie, Mr. Dotterel, 'tis not nobly done  
In you to hate a fool: a generous spirit  
Would take the weakest parts, and fools you know  
Are weakest still.  Dot. 
Faith, Mr. Euphues,  
I must confess I have a generous spirit,  
And do a little sympathize with fools.  
I learned that word from a good honest man.  
But hark you, cozen Barnet, this same Lady  
Is a brave woman.  Bar. 
Are you taken with her?  Dot. 
I love a wit with all my heart.  Bar. 
'Tis well,  
He is already taken off, I see;  Aside 
From fair Artemia, or may be soon;  
Upon this t'other I may build a fortune.  Euph. 
But, Madam, if your Ladyship would marry  
Upon those terms, 'twere better that you took  
Old Earthworms son.  Lad. 
Has he a son, I prithee?  Euph 
Yes, lately come from travel, as they say,  
We have not seen him yet, he has kept close  
Since his arrival; people give him out  
To be his father's own.  Lad. 
Nay, than I swear  
I'll none of him, if he be covetous  
And young, I shall be troubled too long with him:  
I had rather have the old one.  Art. 
Here's my father.  Enter Mr. Freeman. Free. 
Health to this good society; I am sorry  
That my poor house must not to day enjoy  
The happiness to entertain you all.  
We are invited to th'old Lady Covets,  
And thither must our company remove.  Lad. 
Sir, I'll be governed by you. I was bold  
To come and see Mrs. Artemia.  Free. 
she's much beholding to your Ladyship  
For doing her that honour.  Euph. 
Tell me, Uncle,  
I hear Sir Argent Scrape is at her house.  Free. 
Nephew, 'tis true, and which thou'lt wonder at,  
That marriage, which we talked of as a jest,  
In earnest now's concluded of, and shall  
To morrow morning be solemnised  Euph. 
Betwixt Sr. Argent and the Lady Covet?  
I do not think it strange; there's but one hedge  
Has a long time divided them, I mean  
Their large estates, and 'tis th'estate that marries.  Free. 
But is't not strange? nay, most unnatural?  
And I may say ridiculous, for those years  
To marry, and abuse the ordinance?  
My Lady Covet is at least fourscore,  
And he this year is fourscore and fifteen:  
Besides, he has been bedrid long, and lame  
Of both his feet.  Euph. 
Uncle, he's not too old  
To love, I mean her money, and in that  
The chiefest end of marriage is fulfilled,  
He will increase and multiply his fortunes;  
Increase you know, is the true end of marriage.  Free. 
They have already almost the whole country.  Euph. 
But you shall see how now they'll propagate  Free. 
Is such a marriage lawful?  Euph. 
Ah! good Uncle,  
Dispute not that, the Church has nought in this;  
Their Lawyer is the Priest that marries them,  
The banes of matrimony are the indentures,  
The bounds and landmarks are the ring that joins them.  Art. 
But there's no love at all.  Euph. 
Yes, pretty cozen,  
If thou art read in amorous books, thou'lt find  
That Cupid's arrow has a golden head,  
And 'twas a golden shaft that wounded them.  Free. 
Well, thither we must go; but prithee nephew  
Forbear thy jesting there.  Euph. 
I warrant you,  
I'll flatter the old Lady, and persuade her  
How well she looks: but when they go to bed  
I'll write their epitaph.  Free. 
How man? their epitaph?  
Their epithalamion thou meanest.  Euph. 
No Sirs  
Over their marriage bed I'll write their ages,  
And only say, Here lies Sir Argent Scrape  
Together with his wife the Lady Covet;  
And whosoever reads it, will suppose  
The place to be a Tomb, no marriage bed.  Lad. 
How strangely thou art taken with this weddig  
Before thou seest it!  Euph. 
And then let me see,  
To fit them for an Hymenaean song,  
In stead of those so high and spirited strains  
Which the old Grecian Lovers used to sing  
When lusty Bridgrooms rifled maidenheads,  
I'll sing a quiet dirge, and bid them sleep  
In peaceful rest; and bid the clothes, instead  
Of earth, lie gently on their aged bones—  Free. 
Thou'lt ne'er have done. Well, gallants, 'tis almost  
The time that calls us, I must needs be gone.  Lad. 
We'll wait upon you Sir.  Free. 
Your servant, Madam. Exeunt.  Manent Artemia, Euphues. Art. 
Stay, cozen, I have a request to thee.  Euph. 
Thou canst not fear that I'll deny it thee:  
Speak it, 'tis done.  Art. 
Why then in short 'tis this:  
Old Earthworm, cozen, has a son they say  
Lately come home; his name, as I have heard  
Is Theodore.  Euph. 
Yes, I have heard of him.  Art. 
I would entreat you by some means or other  
To draw him hither, I'd faith speak with him:  
Ask not the cause, but do what I request:  
You may hereafter know.  Euph. 
Well, I'll not questioned,  
But bring him hither, though I know him not.  Art. 
Cozen, farewel, I shall be looked for straight.  Exit Artemia. Manet Euphues. Euph. 
Rich Earthworm's son? why in the name of wonder  
Should it be her desire to speak with him?  
She knows him not: well, let it be a riddle,  
I have not so much wit as to expound it;  
Nor yet so little, as to lose my thoughts,  
Or study to find our, what the no reason  
Of a young wenches will is: should I guess.  
I know not what to think; may she have heard  
That he's a proper man, and so desire  
To satisfy herself? What reason then  
Can she allege to him? Tut, that's not it;  
Her beauty, and large dower, need not to seek  
Out any fuitors, and the odious name  
Of his old wretched father would quite choke it:  
Or have some tattling gossips, or the maids  
Told her perchance that he's a conjurer?  
He goes in black; they say he is a scholar,  
Has been beyond sea too, there it may lie;  
And he must satisfy her longing thought,  
What, or how many husbands she shall have,  
Of what degree, upon what night she shall  
Dream of the man, when she shall fast and walk  
In the churchyard to see him passing by  
Just in those clothes that first he comes a suitor:  
These things may be; but why should she make me  
To be her instrument? some of the men  
Or maids might do't as well: well, since you have  
Used me, fair cozen, I will sound your drifts,  
Or't shall go hard. The fellow may abuse her:  
Therefore I'll watch him too, and straight about it;  
But now I think on't, I'll solicit him  
By letter first, and meet him afterward.  Exit.  

Actus Secundus.  Earthworm, Theodore. Earth. 
I Do not more rejoice in all my stores,  
My wealthy bags, filled garners, crowded chests,  
And all the envied heaps that I have gleaned  
With so long care and labour, than I do  
In thy most frugal nature, Theodore,  
Concurring just with mine; in thee, my son,  
I see, methinks, a perpetuity  
Of all the projects which my soul has hatched,  
And their rich fruits, I see my happiness  
When I consider what great hoards of wealth  
With long care raked together, I have seen  
Even in a moment scattered; when I view  
The gaudy heirs of thriving Aldermen  
Fleeting like short-lived bubbles into air,  
And all that fire expiring in one blaze  
That was so long a kindling. But do thou,  
Do thou my son, go on, and grow in thrift,  
It is a virtue that rewards itself:  
'Tis matterless in goodness who excels:  
He that hath coin, hath all perfections else  Theod, 
Sir, I am wholly yours, and never can  
Dege nerate from your frugality:  
Or if my nature did a little stray,  
Your good example would direct it still,  
Till it were grown in me habitual.  Ear. 
'Twill be a greater patrimony to thee  
Then all my wealth: strive to be perfect in't,  
Study the rules; one rule is general,  
And that is this, Give away nothing, son,  
For thrift is like a journey, every gift  
Though ne'er so small, is a step back again.  
He that would rise to riches or renown,  
Must not regar, though he pull millions down.  The. 
That lesson, Sir, is easy to be learned.  Ear. 
Laugh at those fools that are ambitious  
Of empty air, to be styled liberal;  
That sell their substance for the breath of others,  
And with the flattering thanks of idle drones  
Are swelled, while their more solid parts decay.  
What clothes to wear, the first occasion  
Of wearing clothes will reach a wise man best:  The. 
True, Sir, It reacheth us how vain a thing  
It is for men to take a pride in that  
Which was at first the emblem of their shame.  Ear. 
Thou hitt'st it right, but canst thou be content  
With my poor diet too?  The. 
Oh, wondrous well!  
'Twas such a diet which that happy age  
That Poets style the golden, first did use.  Ear. 
And such a diet to our chests will bring  
The golden age again.  The. 
Beside the gain  
That flows upon us, health and liberty  
Attend on these bare meals; if all were blessed  
With such a temperance, what man would fawn,  
Or to his belly fell his liberty?  
There would be then no slaves, no sycophants  
At great men's tables; if the base Samentus,  
Or that vile Galba had been thus content,  
They had not born the scoffs of Caesar's board.  
He whose cheap thirst the springs and brooks can quench,  
How many cares is he exempted from?  
he's not indebted to the merchant's toil,  
Nor fears that pirates force, or storms should rob him  
Of rich Canatyes, or sweet Candyan wines:  
He smells nor seeks no feasts, but in his own  
True strength contracted lives, and there enjoys  
A greater freedom than the Parthian King.  Ear. 
Thou mak'st me more in love with my blessed life.  The 
Besides, pure cheerful health ever attends it,  
Which made the former ages live so long.  
With riotous banquets sicknesses came in,  
When death begin muster all his dismal band  
Of pale diseases, such as Poets fain  
Keep sentinel before the gates of hell,  
And bade them wait about the glutton's tables;  
Whom they, like venomed pills, in sweetest wines  
Deceive! swallow down, and hasten on  
What most they would eschew, untimely death.  
But from our tables here no painful surfeits,  
No fed diseases grow, to strangle nature,  
And suffocate the active brain; no fevers,  
No apoplexies, palsies or catarrhs  
Are here, where nature not enticed at all  
With such a dangerous bait as pleafant cates  
Takes in no more than she can govern well.  Ear. 
But that which is the greatest comfort, son,  
Is to observe, with pleasure our rich hoards  
Daily increase, and stuff the swelling bags:  
Come, thou art mine, I see; here take these keys,  Keys. 
These keys can show thee such amazing plenty,  
Whose very sight would feed a famished country.  
I durst not trust my servants.  The. 
Me you may,  
Who equal with my life do prize your profit  Ear. 
Well, I'll go in, I feel myself half sleepy  
After the drink I took.  The. 
'Twill do you good, Sir.  Exit. 
Work sweetly, gentle cordial, and restore  
Those spirits again, which pining avarice  
Has' rest him of; ay me! how wondrous thin,  
How lean and wan he looks! how much alas!  
Has he defrauded his poor Genius,  
In raking wealth? while the pale grisly sighs  
Of famine dwell upon his aged cheeks.  
Oh avarice! then thee a greater plague  
Did ne'er infest the life of wretched man.  
Heaven aid my work; that rare extraction  
Which he has drunk, beside the nourishment,  
Will cast him in a safe and gentle sleep,  
While I have liberty to work my ends,  
And with his body's cure, a means I'll find  
To cure his fame, and which is more, his mind.  Enter Jasper. Jasper? 
Jasp. Sir.  Theod. 
Are those disguises ready  
Which, I bespoke?  Jasp. 
They are all fitted Sir.  Theod. 
Then at the hour which I appointed thee,  
Invite those people Jasper, but be true  
And secret to me.  Jasp. 
As your own heart Sir.  The 
Take this, I will reward thy service better,  Counters. 
Assoon as these occasions are dispatched,  Jasp. 
I thank you Sir. I have a letter for you  Letter. 
Left here but now from Mr. Euphues,  
Old Mr Freeman's nephew.  The. 
Give it me,  
I will anon peruse it, but my haste  
Permits not now, Eugeny waits my coming.  Exit Theod. Jasp. 
I like this well yet, if I should prove false  
To my old master for my young Master's sake,  
Who can accuse me? for the reason's plain  
And very palpable, I feel it here:  
This will buy ale, so will not all the hoards  
Which my old master has: his money serves  
For nothing but to look upon; but this  
Knows what the common use of money is:  
Well, for my own part, I'm resolved to do  
Whatever he commands me, he's too honest  
To wrong his father in it; if he should,  
The worst would be his own another day.  Exit. Eugeny solus. Eug. 
Just thus in woods and solitary caves  
The ancient hermits lived, but they lived happy.  
And in their quiet contemplations found  
More real comforts, than society  
Of men could yield, than cities could afford,  
Or all the lustres of a court could give;  
But I have no such sweet preservatives  
Against the sadness of this desert place.  
I am myself a greater wilderness  
Than are these woods, where honour and dismay  Make 
Make their abodes, while different passions  
By turns do reign in my distracted foul.  
Fortune makes this conclusion general,  
All things shall help th'unfortunate man to fall.  
First, sorrow comes, and tells me I have done  
A crime, whose foulness must deserve a sea  
Of penitent tears to wash me clean again;  
Then fear steps in, and tells me if surprised,  
My wretched life is forfeit to the Law;  
When these have done, enters the Tyrant Love,  
And sets before me the fair Artemia,  
Displays her virtues and perfections,  
Tells me, that all those graces, all those beauties  
Suffer for me, for my unhappiness,  
And wounds me more in her then in myself.  
Ah Theodore! would I could ever sleep.  
But when thou com'st; for in myself I find  
No drop of comfort, welcome deatest friend.  Enter Theodore. The. 
Pardon the slowness of my visit, friend,  
For such occasions have detained me hence,  
As if thou knewest, I know thou wouldst excuse.  Eug. 
I must confess, I thought the hours too long,  
But the fruition of thy presence now  
Makes me forget it all.  The. 
Collect thyself,  
Thou droopest too much, my dearest Eugeny,  
And art too harsh and sour a censurer  
Of that unhappy crime, which thou were forced  
Lately to act; I did allow in thee  
That lawful sorrow that was fit, but let  
Well grounded comforts cure thee; nought extreme  
Is safe in man.  Eug. 
'Tis time must work that cure.  The. 
But why thy pardon is not yet obtained,  
Let me be free in my conjectures to thee.  Eug. 
Speak, friend, as to thyself.  The. Sir Argent Scrape 
Your old rich kinsman, who to morrow morning  
Is to be married to the Lady Covet.  Eug. 
Is that match come about? oh avarice!  
What monsters thou begett'st in this vile age!  The. Sr. Argent Scrape, 
I say, is next heir male  
On whom thy whole estate was long ago  
Entailed.  Eug. 
'Tis true.  The. 
He must inherit it  
Should thy life fail.  Eug. 
'Tis granted.  The. 
Then, friend, hear,  
What not a bare conjecture, but strong grounds  
Move me to utter; think upon that word  
Thou spokest so lately, think what avarice  
Can make her bondmen do, that such a price  
As sifteen hundred pounds a year, will make  
Him labour not thy pardon, but thy death.  Eug. 
Can there be such a miscreant in nature?  The. 
I should not think so, if I weighed him only  
As he's thy kinsman, I have been informed  
He labours under hand to apprehend thee  
Just at the assizes now, and has laid plots  
To stop all pardons, which in that short time  
Might be procured; and than what bribes may do  
In hastening execution, do but consider:  
If this be false, some Courtiers have abused  
His fame. And pardon me, my dearest friend,  
If I suspect the worst for fear of thee.  Eug. 
When I consider what accursed effects  
Proceed from wretched avarice, I begin  
To feel a fear.  The. 
This very age hath given  
Horrid examples lately, brothers have been  
Betrayed by brothers in that very kind:  
When pardons have been got by the next heirs,  
They have arrived too late. No tie so near,  
No band so sacred, but the cursed hunger  
Of gold has brokened, and made wretched men  
To fly from nature, mock religion,  
And trample under feet the holiest Laws.  Eug. 
He has been ever noted for that vice,  
Which with his age, has still grown stronger in him.  The. 
Ah Eugeny! how happy were that last  
Age of a man, when long experience  
Has taught him knowledge, taught him temperance,  
And freed him from so many loose desires  
In which rash youth is plunged, were not this vice:  
But hark, hark friend, what ravishing sound is that?  Eug. 
Ha! wondrous sweet! 'tis from th'adjoining thicket.  

Song.  

This is not the Elysian Grove,  
Nor can I meet my slaughtered Love  
Within these shades; come death, and be  
At last as merciful to me,  
As in my dearest Scudmore's fall,  
Thou showd'st thyself tyrannical.  
Then did I die, when he was slain:  
But kill me now, I live again;  
And shall go meet him in a grove,  
Fairer than any here, above.   

Oh! let this woeful breath expire:  
Why should I wish Evadue's fire,  
Sad Portia's coals, or Lucrece knife,  
To rid me of a loathed life?  
'Tis shame enough that grief alone,  
Kills me not now, when thou art gone.  
But life, since thou art slow to go,  
I'll punish thee for lasting so,  
And make thee piecemeal every day,  
Dissolve to tears and melt away.    The. 
Ah Eugeny! some heavenly nymph descends  
To make thee music in these desert woods,  
To quench or feed thy baleful melancholy:  
It is so sweet, I could almost believe,  
But that 'tis sad, it were an Angel's voice.  Eug. 
What in the name of miracle is this?  The. 
Remove not thou; I'll make discovery  
Within this thicket.  Eug. 
Ha! what means thy wonder?  
What dost thou see?  The. 
I know not how to tell thee;  
Now I could wish myself to be all eyes,  
As erst all ears. I see a shape as fair  
And as divine as was the voice it sent;  
But clouded all with sorrow: a fair woman,  
If by a name so mortal I may term her.  
In such a sorrow sat the queen of Love,  
When in the woods she wailed Adonis' death,  
And from her crystal-dropping eyes did pay  
A lover's obsequy.  Eug. 
Let me come near.  The. 
Sure, black is Cupid's colour; death and he  
Have changed their liveries now, as in the fable  
They did their quivers once.  Eug. 
Ah! woe is me!  The. 
What means that woe?  Eug. 
Ah Theodore!  
my guilt  
Pursues me to the woods, no place can keep  
The monuments of my misdeeds away.  The. 
I understand you not.  Eug. 
It is Matilda  
The slaughtered Scudmore's Love, his virtuous Love.  
Whose life by me unhappily was spilt.  
The sad melodious ditty, which so late  
Did pierce our ravished ears, was but the note  
Of this fair turtle, for her slaughtered mate:  
In which( perchance) amidst her woes, she sends  
Black curses up against my spotted self.  
But I with prayers and blessings will repay  
What ere thou ven'st'gainst me. Oh! do not wish  
More wretchedness to my distracted soul  
Then I already feel. Sad sighs and tears  
Are all the satisfaction that is left  
For me to make to thy dead Love and thee.  The. 
Those lips can vent no curses; 'twould take off  
Much from the sweetness of her virtuous sorrow.  
Where lives this lovely maid?  Eug. 
In the next village.  The. 
Has she a father living?  Eug. 
No friend, he died  
When she was in her infancy; her mother  
Two years ago deceased, and left her all  
The substance that she had, which was not great,  
But does maintain her: in that little house  
Ere since this fatal accident, she lives  
A miracle of truth and constancy,  
Wailing her Loves, and now it seems was come  
To vent her woeful passions to the woods.  The. 
How happy had he been in such a Love,  
If fate had spared his life! but he is dead,  Aside. 
And time at last may wear this sorrow off,  
And make her relish the true joys of love.  
But why do I thus wander in my thoughts?  
This passion must be cubed in the beginning,  
'Twill prove too stubborn for me if it grow.  Eug. 
Come, let us to my cave, as we intended,  
Ere this sad object stayed us.  The. 
Sad indeed,  
Believe me friend, I suffer with thee in it.  
But we were wounded in two different kinds.  
Come, let's be gone, though I could still dwell here.  Exeunt. Enter Matilda. Mat. 
Methought I heard a noise within the wood,  
As if men talked together not far off,  
But could discover none. The time has been  
In such a solitary place as this  
I should have trembled at each moving leaf;  
But sorrow and my miserable state  
Have made me bold. If there be savages  
That live by rapine in such woods as these,  
As I have heard in ancient times there were,  
My wretched state would move their pity rather  
Than violence. I'll confidently go,  
Guarded with nothing but my innocence.  Exit. Enter Fruitful, Trusty. Fru. 
Come, master Steward, you have had a time  
Of sweeting for this wedding.  Tru. 
I have ta'en  
A little pains to day, yours Mr. Fruitful  
Is yet to come, I mean your sermon  Fru. 
Yes, but the pains are past, and that's the study.  
But to our business that more concerns us:  
Is the deed realy written that my Lady  
Must seal to day?  Tru. 
Do you believe she'll seal it?  Fru. 
I warrant you, I have so followed her,  
And laid it to her conscience, that I dare  
Hazard my life 'tis done.  Tru. 
Well, here's the deed,  
'Tis plainly written  Fru. 
I'll peruse't anon.  
I know the other feoffees are as true  
And honest men as any are i'th' world.  Exit Trusty. Enter Freeman, Euphues, Barnet, Dotterel, Lady whimsy. Free. 
Save you, Mr. Fruitful.  Fru. 
Worthy Mr. Freeman.  Free. 
How does my Lady Sir? I have made bold  
To bring her company.  Fru. 
Please you draw near Sir,  
I will go up and signify unto my Lady  Exit Fruit. 
That you are here  Bar. 
What's he? her Chaplain, Euphues?  Eup. 
Oh, yes,  Lad. 
She uses praying then it seems  Eup. 
Yes, Madam, and fasting too, but gives no alms.  Lad. 
Cannot he teach her that?  Eup. 
'Tis to be doubted:  
But he has other ways which are far safer,  
To speak against the fashion, against painting,  
Or fornication; if he were your Chaplain,  
He would inveigh as much 'gainst covetousness.  Lad. 
He would hurt me little in that: but has he learning?  Euph. 
No surely, Madam, he is full of knowledge  
But has no learning at all; he can expound,  
But understands nothing: One thing in him  
Is excellent, though he do hate the Bishops,  
He would not make them guilty of one sin,  
Which was to give him orders, for he hates  
Orders as much as them.  Free. 
Well, I have heard  
Though he came lately to her, he has got  
A great hand over her, and sways her conscience  
Which way he list.  Eup. 
Uncle, 'tis very easy  
To rule a thing so weak as is her conscience,  
I'll undertake that a twined thread would do it  
As well as a strong cable; if he could  
Rule her estate too, he would have a place on't.  Free. 
Why that will follow t'other.  Euph. 
I think not,  
Rather her conscience follows her estate;  
Oppression had not else increased it so  
She wronged a worthy of mine, young Scudmore,  
And by mere fraud and bribery took away  
His whole estate, five hundred pound a year.  Free. 
I must confess, 'twas a foul cause indeed,  
And he poor man lacked means to prosecute  
The cause against her. But he feels it not  
At this time, nephew.  Bar. 
Was't that Scudmore, Sir,  
Whom Eugeny Sir Argent Scrapes young kinsman  
Unfortunately killed?  Free 
The same. Well, let  
All these things pass, we come now to be merry.  Lad. 
Let's eat up her good cheer; a niggards feast,  
Is best they say.  Dot. 
Shall we have wine good store?  Bar. 
Oh! fear not that.  Dot 
Hold belly, hold, i'faith?  Bar. 
Yes, and brain too.  Dot. 
Nay, for my brain  
Let me alone, I fear not that, no wine  
Can hurt my brain.  Lad. 
Say you so, Mr. Dotterel?  
Why such a brain I love  Dot. 
Madam, I am glad  
I had it for you,  Lad. 
For me, Sir?  Dot. 
Yes, Lady,  
'Tis at your service, so is the whole body.  
Did I not tickle her there, old Lad?  Bar. 
Yes, rarely.  Lad. 
Shall I presume to call you servant then?  Dot. 
Oh Lord! Madam! if I were worthy to be!  Lad. 
Nay, I know you have good courtship, servant,  
Wear this for my sake.  Dot. 
'Tis your livery, Madam.  Sca●●. Bar. 
Well, thou'rt a happy man, if thou knewest all.  Euph. 
Madam, I see your Ladyship can tell  
How to make choice in dealing of your favors.  Dot. 
It pleases you to say so, good Mr. Euphues.  Euph. 
Why Sir, I speak but of the Lady's judgement.  Dot. 
'Twas more of her courtesy then my desert.  Enter Lady Covet on crutches. Euph. 
Here comes the Lady bride.  Free. 
Joy to your Ladyship.  Lad. Cov. 
I thank you Sir, you're very welcome all.  Free. 
I have made bold to bring my friends along  
As you commanded Lady.  Lad. Cov. 
They are most welcome.  Euph. 
Me thinks your Ladyship looks fresh to day,  
And like a bride indeed.  Lad. Cov. 
Ah Mr. Euphues!  
You I perceive can flatter.  Euph. 
Does your glass  
Tell you I flatter Madam?  Lad. Cov. 
Bestow this  
Upon young maids, but let me tell you, Sir,  
Old folks may marry too, it was ordained  
At first be as well a stay to age,  
As to please youth; we have our comforts too,  
Though we be old.  Euph. 
Madam, I doubt it not:  
You are not yet so old, but you may have  
Your comfort well, and if Sir Ar●nt Scrape  
Were but one threescore years younger than he's  Bar. 
What a strange but thou mak'st? Eup You would perceive it.  Lad. Whi. 
Servant, could you find in your heart to marry  
Such an old bride?  Dot. 
No mistress, I protest  
I had rather have none.  Lad. Whi. 
What age would you desire  
To choose your wife of?  Dot. 
Just as old as you are.  Lad. Whim. 
Well, servant, I believe you can dissemble.  Lad. Cov. 
wil't please you to draw near? Sir Argent stays  
Expecting within.  Free. 
we'll wait upon you.  Exeunt Manent Barnet, Dotterel. Bar. 
To what strange fortune, friend, are some men born?  
I mean by thee; surely when thou wert young,  
The fairies dandled thee.  Dot. 
Why prithee Barnet?  Bar. 
That Ladies thus should dote upon thy person:  
Dost thou not see how soon the Lady whimsy  
Is caught in love with thee?  Dot 
But is she think'st thou?  Bar. 
Is she? Come, thou perceivest it well enough;  
What else should make her court thee, and bestow  
Her favors openly? and such a Lady  
So full of wit as she is too, would she  
Betray the secrets of her heart so far,  
But that Love plays the Tyrant in her breast,  
And forces her?  Dot. 
True, and as thou sayest, Barnet,  
she's a brave witty Lady, and I love  
A wit with all my heart. What would she say  
If she should know me truly, that thus loves,  
And thinks I am but a poor younger brother?  Bar. 
Why still the greater is thy happiness,  
Thou Mayest be sure she loves thee truly now,  
And not thy fortunes.  Dot. 
Has she found me out  
For all I sought to hide myself?  Bar. 
The more  
Thy worth appears, the more her judgement's seen.  
Oh! 'tis a gallant Lady! Well, she might  
Have cast her eye on me, of Euphues,  
But 'twas not our good fortune.  Dot. 
Do not despair,  
Some other woman may love thee as well,  
Come, thou hast worth, Barnet, as well as I.  Bar. 
Nay, nay, abuse not your poor friends, but tell me  
What dost thou think of young Artemia now?  Dot. 
Of her! a foolish girl, a simple thing,  
she'd make a pretty wife for me: I confess  
I courted her, but she had not the wit  
To find out what I was for all my talk.  Bar. 
And that was strange she should not, but 'tis fate  
That governs marriages  Dot. 
Let her repent,  
And know what she hath lost, when 'tis too late.  
But dost thou think this gallant Lady whimsy  
Will marry me?  Bar. 
Mak'st thou a doubt of that?  
'Tis thy own fault boy, if thou hast her not.  Dot. 
That I protest it shall not be; but tell me,  
Shall I express my love to her in verse  
Or prose?  Bar. 
In which you will.  Dot. 
I am alike  
At both of them indeed.  Bar. 
I know thou art.  Dot. 
Come, let's go in.  Bar. 
Thou longest to see thy mistress.  Dot. 
we'll drink her health in a crowned cup, my Lad. exevat.   

Actus Tertius.  Theodore, Neighbours. Sacks. The. 
COme neighbours, pray draw near; my fellow Jasper  
Has told you wherefore you were sent for hither.  1. Nei. 
Ay, I thank you friend.  2. Nei. 
And my good master too.  The. 
My master touched with sorrow and remorse  
For that unhappy error of his life,  
That fault( alas!) which by too true a name  
Is termed misery, determines now  
By deeds of tender charity, to make  
The wronged poor amends, and to the world  
Declare the fruits of a reformed life.  
An I first your pardon, neighbours, he would beg,  
And next to Heaven, be reconciled to you.  1. Nei. 
Now blessing on his heart.  2. Nei. 
Good tender soul!  3. Neig. 
I ever thought him a right honest man.  The. 
He that before did churlishly engross  
And lock those blessings up, which from the hand  
Of Heaven were show●'d upon him, has at last  
Found their true use, and will hencesorth redeem  
The former misspent time. His wealthy stores  
Shall be no longer shut against the poor;  
His bags sealed up no longer, to debar  
The course of fitting bounty. To you all  
Of corn and money, weekly he'll allow  
In recompense a greater quantity  
By far, than men of greater rank shall do:  
Nor will he come himself to take your thanks,  
Till, as he says, he has deserved them better.  
Mean time by me, he pours his bounty forth,  
Which he desires with greatest secrecy  
May be performed; for all vainglorious shows  
And ostentation does his soul abhor:  
He sounds no trumpet to bestow his alms,  
Nor in the streets proclaims his charity;  
Which makes the virtue vice, not would he have  
The world take notice of you at his doors.  1. Nei. 
See, see, religious man!  2. Neig. 
Ah neighbour!  
Some in the world have been mistaken in him  The. 
Nor would he have you blaze his bounty forth,  
And praise him openly. Forbear it, neighbours;  
Your private prayers only he desires,  
And hearty wishes: for true charity  
Though ne'er so secret, finds a just reward.  
I am his servant newly entertained,  
But one to whom he does commit the trust  
Of his desires in this, and I should wrong  
His goodness strangely, if I should keep back  
The least of what his bounty doth intend.  
Come in with me, I'll fill your sacks with corn,  
And let you see what money he bestows.  Omnes Neig. 
We'll pray to Heaven to reward his goodness. Exeutn.  Euphues, Barnet. Euph. 
Our Dotterel then is caught?  Bar. 
He is, and just  
As Dotterels use to be: the Lady first  
Advanced toward him, stretched forth her wing, and he  
Met her with all expressions, and is caught  
As fast in her lime-twigs as he can be  
Until the Church confirm it.  Euph. 
There will be  
Another brave estate for her to spend.  Bar. 
Others will be the better for't, and if  
None but a Dotterel suffer for't, what loss  
Of his can countervail the least good fortune  
That may from thence blow to another man?  Euph. 
She spent her t'other husband a great fortune.  Bar. 
Dotterel's estate will find her work again  
For a great while; two thousand pounds a year  
Cannot be melted suddenly; when 'tis,  
Men can but say, her prodigality  
Has done an act of justice, and translated  
That wealth which fortunes blindness had misplaced  
On such a fellow; what should he do with it?  Euph. 
And thou sayst right, some men were made to be  
The conduit pipes of an estate, or rather  
The sives of fortune, through whose leaking holes  
She means to scatter a large flood of wealth,  
Besprinkling many with refreshing showers:  
So usurers, so dying Aldermen  
Pour out at once upon their sieve-like heirs  
Whole gusts of envied wealth; which they together  
Through many holes let out again in showers,  
And with their ruin water a whole country.  
But will it surely be a match?  Bar. 
As sure  
As the two old death's-heads to morrow morning  
Are to be joined together.  Euph. 
Who, Sir Argent  
And his Lady?  Bar. 
Yes, if she keep touch  
In what she promised me, I'll undertake  
Her Dotterel shall be sure, and given to her  
In matrimony.  Euph. 
Given to his wife?  
I see thou meanest in Dotterel to bring back  
The ancient Spanish custom, where the women  
Inherited the land, ruled the estates:  
The men were given in marriage to the women  
With portions, and had jointures made to them:  
Just so will be his case, he will be married  
Unto a brave subjection: How the fool  
Is caught in his own noose! what confidence  
Had he, that he would never marry any  
But such forsooth, as must first fall in love  
With him, not knowing of his wealth at all?  Bar. 
Well, now he's fitted: he begun at first  
With fair Artemia.  Euph. 
He might have told  
Her of his wealth, and missed her too, or else  
I am deceived in her; true virtuous love  
Cannot be bought so basely: she besides  
Has been in love, I'm sure, and may be still,  
Though he be fled the land. But now I think on't.  
I must go see whether old Earthworms son  
Have yet performed what she desired; she stays  
At home  Bar. 
He in, and see how Dotterel  
Counts his brave mistress: I left him composing  
A sonnet to her. There are the old couple  
Within too.  Euph. 
If a man could get to hear  
Their way of courting, 'twould be full as strange  
As Dotterel's is ridiculous: but stay.  Sir Argent Scrape, Lady Covet, brought in chairs. 
Here comes the lovely Bride and Bridegroom forth:  
Prithee let's venture to stay here a little  
Behind the hangings man; we shall be sure  
To hear their love; they are both somewhat deaf,  
And must speak loud.  Bar. 
Content, He stay with thee.  S. Arg. 
Leave us a while; now, Madam, you have seen  
So have your learned counsel, that I deal  
Squarely with you; my personal estate  
Is no less worth than I professed, when first  
I moved my loving suit.  Bar. 
I marry, Sir,  
A loving suit indeed.  Euph. 
Let 'em go on  
In their own proper dialect.  La. Co. 
I find it,  
And should be loath but to require your truth  
In the same kind; you seemed at first to question  
How strong my title was in that estate  
Which was young Scudmore's once; 'tis a fair manor.  Euph. 
'Tis true, old rottenness, too good for you.  La. Co. 
My counsel can inform you that I kept it,  
And did enjoy possession while he lived;  
And now he's dead, who should recover it?  
The heirs are poor and beggarly. S. Arg. Nay, I think  
We need not fear their suing against us.  La. Co. 
If they should stir, a little piece of money  
Would stop their mouths.  Euph. 
A little piece of dirt  
Will stop your mouth ere long, and then the suit  
Will go against thee, mischief.  Bar. 
Prithee peace;  
Thou art not merry now, but choleric.  Euph. 
I think of my wronged friend.  La Co. 
But you were saying  
You made no doubt but shortly to enjoy  
Your kinsman Eugeny's estate; that were  
A fair addition to your land; they say  
It goes at fifteen hundred pound a year.  S. Arg. 
'Tis true, and 'tis well worth it.  La. Co. 
But what hopes  
Have you to gain it shortly?  S. Arg. 
He, you know  
By Scudmore's death has forfeited his life  
Unto the law; and the estate's entailed  
On me as the next heir.  La. Co. 
But he is fled.  S. Arg. 
No, no, I know he lurks not far from hence,  
And I shall shortly learn the very place  
By some intelligence: I have provided  
My secret scouts; and than you know th'assizes  
Are now at hand; the time will be too short  
To get a pardon, specially as I  
Have laid some friends to stall it underhand.  Euph. 
Here's a new mischief Barnet.  Bar. 
And a strange one.  Lad. Cov. 
And then you must not spare a little money  
To hasten execution at an hour  
Unusual; those things may well be done,  
Else what were money good for?  Sir. Arg. 
You say right.  
If 'twere once come to that, I fear it not.  Lad. Cov. 
Well, Sir, I see all's right and straight between us;  
You understand how welcome you are hither,  
I need not tell it over again.  Sir Arg. 
No, Lady,  
I will be bold to say, I do not come  
Now as a stranger, but to take possession  
Both of your house and you.  Euph. 
He cannot speak  
Out of that thriving language in his love.  Lad. Cov. 
Will you go in again? our guests perhaps  
Think the time long.  Sir Arg. 
With all my heart:  
A cup of sack would not do much amiss.  Lad. Cov. 
We'll have it with a toast. Who's near there, ho!  Enter Servant, and carry them out. Bar. 
What a strange kind of pageant have we seen?  Euph. Barnet, 
I cannot tell, whether such strange  
Unsatiable desires in these old folks  
That are half earth already, should be thought  
More impious, or more ridiculous.  Bar. 
They are both alike.  Euph. 
But a monstrous  
Unnatural plot as his, to apprehend  
His kinsman, I ne'er heard of; If I knew  
Where Eugeny remained, though 'twere his fortune  
To kill a friend of mine, I'd rescue him  
From this unnatural and wolvish man.  Bar. 
That would betray his life to satisfy  
His avarice, not justice of the Law.  Enter Dotterel, Lady whimsy. 
Here comes another piece of matrimony  
That may be shortly.  Euph. 
'Tis better far than t'other;  
They are the last couple in hell.  Dot. 
Save you gallants.  Bar. 
You are the gallant, Sir, that on your arm  
Do wear the trophies of a conquered Lady.  Euph. 
Madam, I had almost mistaken my salutation,  
And bid, God give you joy.  Lad. Whim. 
Of what I prithee?  Euph. 
Of this young gallant, call him by what name  
Or title you are pleased, husband or servant.  Bar. 
He may be both, Sir, he is not the first  
Has been a husband and a servant too.  Dot. 
I am her servant, Sir, and I confess  
Have an ambition, and so forth.  Lad. Whim. 
How now servant?  Euph. 
I tell you truly, Madam, 'tis reported  
( And those reports are fatal still you know)  
That Mr. Dotterel and you are purposed  
To bear th'old Knight and Lady company  
Tomorrow to the Church.  Lad. Whim. 
That I confess.  
And so will you I think  Euph. 
Nay, but to do  
As they do Madam, tie the lasting knot.  Lad. Whim. 
Do you hear, servant? this it is to have  
So proper a servant, every one supposes  
I must needs be in love.  Dot. 
I would you were  
As deep in Cupid's books as I.  Euph. 
That is  
In Cupid's favour. You are a happy man.  Lad. Whim. 
My servant has been searching Cupid's books  
I think, to find that Sonner that he gave me.  
Are you content that I should show your poetry?  Dot. 
Do Mistress, I am not ashamed on't.  
But you shall give me leave to read it to 'em.  
'Tis but a Sonnet, Gentlemen, that I fitted  
To my fair Mistress here.  Euph. 
Let us be happy  
To hear it Sir.  Dot. 
Take it as it is:  A paper. 
Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong,  He reads. 
In thinking still you are too young.  — Euph. 
How! too young!  Bar. 
Let him alone, I know the song.  Dot. 
The rose and lilies in your cheek  
Flourish, and no more ripeness seek.  
Your cherry-lip red, soft, and sweet,  
Proclaims such fruit for taste most meet.  
Then lose no time, for love has wings,  
And flies away from aged things.  
How do you it like, Gentlemen?  Euph. 
very well.  
The song's a good one.  Bar. 
Oh monstrous!  
Never man stole with so little judgement.  Euph. 
Of all the lovesongs that were ever made,  
He could not have chose out one more unfit,  
More palpably unfit; that must betray  
His most ridiculous theft.  Lad. Whim. 
Who would have thought  
My Servant should suppose, I think myself  
Too young to love, that have already had  
One husband.  Euph. 
Oh excuse him, gentle Madam,  
He found it in the song  Bar. 
And it should seem  
He could get not other song but this.  Lad. Whim. 
Surely, a woman of five and thirty year old,  
Is not too young to love.  Bar. 
Oh spare him, Madam.  Euph. 
Let's raise him up; I think the Sonnet's good,  
There's somewhat in it to th' purpose; read it again.  Euph. 
— For taste most meet.  He reads it. 
Very good; and there he tickled it.  
Marked you that, Madam? the two last of all?  
Then lose no time, for love hath wings  
He gives you fitting counsel.  Lad. Whim. 
Yes, I like it.  Dot. 
I thought when they understood it, they would like it.  
I am sure, I have heard this song praised ere now.  Lad Whim. 
This does deserve a double favour, servant.  Dot. 
Let this be the favour, sweet Mistress,  Kisses. Euph. 
How some men's poetry happens to be rewarded!  Lad. Whim. 
Shall we go in? but prithee Euphues  
What is the reason sweet Artenia  
Thy Cozen is not here?  Euph. 
I know not, Madam,  
But her pretence was business; I am going  
To visit her: if you go in to keep  
Th'old couple company, I'll fetch her to you.  Lad. Whim. 
I prithee do, farewell; come servant,  
Shall we go in?  Dot. 
He wait upon you, Mistress.  Exeunt. Theodore. Artemia. Theod 
I Will acquaint him, Lady, with the hour,  
And to his longing ear deliver all  
Your sweet salutes; which is the only air  
Of life and comfort Eugeny takes in.  
Your constant love and virtues, sweetest Lady,  
Are those preservatives, which from his heart  
Expel the killing fits of melancholy,  
And do in spite of fortune quicken him.  Art. 
Oh would those comforts could arrive at him,  
That from my wishing thoughts are hourly sent.  Theod. 
Such virtuous wishes seldom are in vain.  Art. 
I should be far more sad in the behalf  
Of my dear Eugeny, but that I knew  
He does enjoy your sweet society,  
Which he beyond all value does esteem.  Theod 
His own is recompense enough for mine,  
And I the gainer in it; did not grief  
For his misfortune stain that perfect joy  
Which I could take in his dear company  Art. 
If I should speak, Sir, how he values you,  
I should too much oppress your modesty.  Theod. 
Our friendship fairest Lay, is more old,  
And he more true than that his heart so long  
Should be unknown to me. He not be long.  
Before I visit him, to let him know  
What hour shall make him happy in your sight.  
My longer stay, sweet Lady, might be more  
Observed, and pried into. Let me be bold  
To leave you now, but be your servant ever.  Art. 
All happiness attend you, worthy Sir,  Exit Theodore. 
Would I myself might go as well as send,  
And see that seeming solitary place,  
That place of woe. Sure it would be to me  
No desert wood while Eugeny were there,  
But a delightful palace. Here at home,  
The more that company comes in, the more  
I am alone methinks; wanting that object  
On which my heart is fixed, I cannot be  
Possessed of any thing. Nothing can be  
My comfort, but a hope that these sad clouds  
Of our misfortunes will at last blow over.  
But mischief's like a cockatrices eyes,  
Sees first, and kills; or is seen first, and dies.  Enter Euphues. Euph. 
How dost thou, Couz'? I wrote a letter for thee  
To Earthwormes son; has the young ten i'th' hundred  
Been here?  Art. 
I thank you, Cozen, the Gentleman  
Was with me, and but newly parted hence  Euph. 
He has got a title then by coming hither,  
But he may be a Gentleman; his wealth  
Will make it good.  Art. 
His virtues make it good;  
Believe it Cozen, there's a wealthy mind  
Within that plain outside.  Euph. 
How is this?  
Have your quick-eyes found out his worth already?  Art. 
They must be blind that cannot, when they know him.  
Well Cozen, you may laugh at me.  Euph. 
By no means.  
I know your judgement's good.  Art. 
As good as 'tis,  
It must content a woman. When you know him,  
You will find a man that may deserve your friendship,  
And far above all slighting.  Euph. 
I am sorry  
I came not soon enough; but prithee, Cozen,  
What are the ways have taken thee so soon?  Art. 
What taking do you mean? you promised me  
You would not ask the cause I sent for him.  
Though you shall know hereafter. But I hope.  
You do not think I am in love with him.  Euph. 
I'll look upon the man, and then resolve you.  Arte. 
Well, do; perhaps you'll know him better then.  
He knows you well.  Euph. 
Me? has he told you how?  Art. 
Did you ne'er meet one Theodore at Venice?  Euph. 
Can this be he?  Art. 
Yes, very well: although  
He be old Earthworms son, and make no show  
At home.  Euph. 
And have you found out so much worth  
In him already?  Art. 
How do you esteem him?  
We women well may err.  Euph. 
I smell a rat;  
And if my brain fail not, have found out all  
Your drifts, though ne'er so politickely carried  Art. 
I know your brain Cozen is very good,  
But it may fail.  Euph. 
It comes into my head  
What old Sir Agent Scrape told to his Lady,  Aside. 
His kinsman Eugeny lurked hereabouts;  
He was her sweetheart once, and may be still;  
I think she's constant; though she keep it close.  
This Theodore and he were famed for friendship.  
I have collected, Cozen, and have at you.  Art. 
Let's hear it, pray.  Euph. 
You shall; this Theodore  
I do confess a most deserving man;  
And so perchance your lover Eugeny  
Has told you, Cozen! ha? do you begin  
To blush already? I am sure those two  
Were most entirely friends. And I am sorry  
To hear what I have heard to day, concerning  
Young Eugeny.  Art. 
What, prithee Cozen? tell me.  Euph. 
Now you are moved; but I may err you know  Art. 
Good Cozen tell me what.  Euph. 
Nay, I believe  
I shall worse startle you; though you would make  
Such fools as I believe he is in France.  
Yes, yes, it may be so; and than you know  
He's safe enough.  Art. 
Oh Cozen, I'll confess  
What you would have me, do but tell me this.  Euph. 
Nay, now, I will not thank you; I have found it.  
And though you dealt in riddles so with me,  
I'll plainly tell you all; and teach how  
You may perchance prevent your lover's danger.  Art. 
Oh I shall ever love you;  Euph. 
Well, come in;  
I'll tell you all, and by what means I knew it.  
Finis Actus Tertii.   

Actus Quartus.  Earthworme, Jasper. Earth. 
OUt villain! how could any fire come there  
But by thy negligence? I do not use  
To keep such flies, as should at all endanger  
My house, much less my barn.  Ias. 
I know not Sir,  
But there I'm sure it was, and still continues,  
Though without danger now; for the poor people  
Ere this have quenched it.  Earth. 
There my wonder lies.  
Why should the people come to quench my fire?  
Had it been in a city, where one house  
Might have endangered all, it justly then  
Might have engaged the people's utmost aid,  
And I ne'er bound to give them thanks at all.  
But my house stands alone, and could endanger  
No other building. Why should all the people  
Come running hither so to quench the fire?  
They love not me.  Ias. 
Sure Sir, I cannot tell;  
Perhaps the people knew not what to do,  
And might be glad to see a sight.  Earth. 
Me thought  
As I came by I saw them wondrous busy,  
Nay more, me thought I heard them pray for me,  
As if they loved me. Why should they do so?  
I ne'er deserved it at the people hands.  
Go Jasper, tell me whether it be quenched,  
And all secure; I long to hear the news.  Enter Theodore. Theo. 
The fire is quenched, and little hurt is done.  
I come to bring you happy tidings Sir.  Earth. 
That's well, my son.  Theo. 
But Sir, if you had seen  
How the poor people laboured to effect it,  
And like so many Salamanders rushed  
Into the fire, scorching their clothes and beards,  
You would have wondered justly, and have thought  
That each man toiled to save his father's house,  
Or his own dear estate; but I conceive  
'Twas nothing but an honest charity  
That wrought it in them.  Earth. 
Had a charity?  
Why should that charity be showed to me?  Theod. 
If I mistake not strangely, he begins  
To apprehend it  Earth. 
As I came along,  
I heard them pray for me; but those good prayers  
Can never pierce the skies in my behalf,  
But will return again, and ever lodge  
Within those honest breasts, that sent them forth.  Theod. 
Surely it works.  Earth. 
Oh! all the world but I  
Are honest men.  Theod. 
What is't that troubles you?  
Your goods are safe; there's nothing lost at all.  
You should rejoice methinks. You might have suffered  
A wondrous loss in your estate.  Earth. 
Ah son!  
〈◊〉 not the thought of what I might have lost  
That draws these tears from me.  Theod. 
Does he not weep?  
Or do my flattering hopes deceive my sight?  
He weeps, and fully too; large showers of tears  
Bedew his aged cheeks. Oh happy sorrow  
That makes me weep for joy! never did son  
So justly glory in a father's tears.  
Sir, you are sad methinks.  Earth. 
No sadness, son,  
Can be enough to expiate the crimes  
That my accursed avarice has wrought.  
Where are the poor?  Theod. 
Why, Sir, what would you do?  Earth. 
Ask me not, Theodore; alas, I fear  
Thou art too much my son; my bad example  
Has done thee much more harm than all the large  
Increase of treasure I shall leave behind  
Can recompense. But leave those wreteched thoughts,  
And let me teach thee a new lesson now;  
But thou art learned Theodore, and soon  
Wilt find the reasons of it.  Theod. 
Do you please  
To speak it, Sir, and I will strive to frame  
Myself to follow.  Earth. 
Where are all the poor?  
Jasper, go call them in. Now prithee learn,  
( For this late accident may truly teach  
A man what value he should set on wealth)  
Fire may consume my houses, thieves may steal  
My plate and jewels; all my merchandise  
Is at the mercy of the winds and seas;  
And nothing can be truly termed mine own,  
But what I make mine own by using well.  
Those deeds of charity which we have done,  
Shall stay for ever with us; and that wealth  
Which we have so bestowed, we only keep;  
The other is not ours.  Theod. 
Sir, your have taught me  
Not to give any thing are all away.  Earth. 
When I was blind, my son, and did miscall  
My sordid vice of avarice true thrift.  
But now forget that lesson, I prithee do;  
That consening vice, although it seem to keep  
Our wealth, debars us from possessing it.  
And makes us more than poor.  Theod. 
How far beyond  
All hope, my happy project works upon him!  Enter Neighbours. Earth. 
You're welcome Neighbours, welcome heartily.  
I thank you all, and will hereafter study  
To recompense your undeserved love.  
My house shall stand more open to the poor,  
More hospitable, and my wealth more free  
To feed and clothe the naked hungry souls.  
I will redeem the ill that I have done,  
( If heaven be pleased to spare me life a while)  
With true unfeigned deeds of charity.  1 Neigh. 
We thank your worship.  2 Neigh. 
We know full well  
Your worship has a good heart toward us.  Earth. 
Alas, you do not know it, but have had  
Too sad a cause to know the contrary:  
Pray do not thank me till you truly find  
How much my heart is changed from what it was;  
Till you by real and substantial deeds  
Shall see my peaitence, and be fully taught  
How to forget or pardon all the errors  
Of that my former miserable life.  
Jasper, go in with them; the way  
Into my house.  Ias. 
I think I had need to show 'em;  
No poor folks heretofore have used this way.  Earth. 
And I'll come to you, Neighbours, presently.  1 Neigh. 
Long may you live.  2 Neigh. 
All happiness betide you.  3 Neigh. 
And a reward fourfold in th'other world.  Earth. 
How dost thou like this music, Theodore?  
I mean the hearty prayers of the poor,  
Whose curses pierce more than two-edged swords.  
What comfort like to this, can riches give!  
What joy can be so great, as to be able  
To feed the hungry, clothe the naked man?  Theod. 
Now, Sir, you think aright; for to bestow  
Is greater pleasure far then to receive.  Earth. 
No vice, so much as avariace, deprives  
Our life of sweetest comforts, and debars  
So much the fair society of men.  
I taught thee once fair otherwise; but now  
Study this last and better lesson, son  Thod. 
With more delight than ere I did the former.  
You never yet knew scholar covetous.  Earth. 
And now I think on't, Theodore, I have  
A niece, the daughter of my only sister,  
Her mother died a widow two years since.  
How she has left her orphan daughter there  
I do not know; if she have left her ill,  
I'll be a father to her; prithee, go  
Inquire her out, and bring her to my house,  
How well soe'er the world may go with her.  
Bountie's spice of virtue, whoso can,  
And won't, relieve the poor, he is no man.  Theod. 
Where lives she, Sir?  Earth. 
'Tis not a mile from hence,  
In the next village; thou ne'er sawest her yet;  
But fame has spoke her for a virtuous maid.  
Young Scudmore, while he lived, and was possessed  
Of his estate, thought to have married her;  
Whose death( they say) she takes most heavily,  
And with a wondrous constant sorrow mourns.  The. 
Sure 'tis the same fair maid.  Earth. 
Her name's Matilda.  Theod. 
The very same; I can inquire her out,  
And, if you please, will presently about it.  Earth. 
Do, while I my Neighbours visit: he doth live  
Mighty, that hath the power and will to give.  Theod. 
This is the same fair nightingale that tuned  
Her sweet sad accents lately to the woods,  
And did so far enthrall my heart; but that  
Fond love is vanished. Like a kinsman now  
I'll comfort her, and love her virtuous soul.  
Oh what a blessed change this day has wrought  
In my old father's heart! you powers that gave  
Those thoughts, continue them: this day will I  
Still celebrate as my nativity.  Exit. Lady Covet. Fruitful. La. Cov. 
But is that lawful to convey away  
All my estate before I marry him?  Fruit. 
'Tis more than lawful, Madam, I must tell you  
'Tis necessary, and you Ladyship  
Is bound in conscience so to do, for else  
'Twill be no longer yours, but all is his  
When he has married your. You cannot then  
Dispose of any thing to pious uses;  
You cannot show your charity at all,  
But must be governed by Sir Argent Scrape;  
And can you tell how he'll dispose of it?  La. Cov. 
'Tis true, perchance he'll take my money all,  
And purchase for himself, to give away  
To his own name, and put me while I live  
To a poor stipend.  Fruit. 
There you think aright.  
You can relieve no friends, you can bequeathe  
Nothing at all, if he survive you, Madam,  
As 'tis his hope he shall.  La. Cov. 
That hope may fail him.  
I am not yet so weak, but I may hop  
Over his grave.  Fruit. 
That is not in our knowledge.  
But if you do survive him, as I hope,  
Madam, you will; there is no law at all  
Can bar you of your thirds in all his land,  
And you besides are Mistress of your own.  
And all the charitable deeds which you  
After your death shall do, as building schools  
Or hospitals, shall go in your own name;  
Which otherwise Sir Argent Scrape would have,  
And with your Riches build himself a fame.  La. Cov. 
I grant 'tis true: but will it not seem strange  
That I should serve him so?  Fruit. 
Strange, Madam? no;  
Nothing is now more usual; all your widows  
Of Aldermen, that marry Lords, of late,  
Make over their estates, and by that means  
Retain a power to curb their lordly husbands.  
When they to raise the ruins of their houses  
Do marry so, instead of purchasing  
What was expected, they do more engage  
Their land in thirds for them.  La. Cov. 
Well, I must trust  
The feoffees then; but they are honest men.  Fru. 
You need not fear them, they are zealous men,  
Honest in all their dealings, and well known  
In London, Madam, Will you seal it now?  Enter Trusty. La. Cov. 
Yes, have you it?  Fruit. 
'Tis here: here's Mr. Trusty too  
Your steward, Madam: he and I shall be  
Enough for witnesses.  La. Cov. 
'Tis true, give me  Deed, seal, Ink. Seales and dilvers. 
The seal. So now dispose of it as I  
Intended, My Fruitful.  Fruit. 
I will, Madam.  La. Cov. 
Trusty, come you along with me.  Exeunt. Fruit. 
Now all our ends are wrought; this is the thing  Manet Fruitful. 
Which I so long have laboured to effect.  
Old covetous Lady, I will purge your mind  
Of all this Wealth, that lay so heavy there,  
And by evacuation make a cure  
Of that your golden Dropsy, whose strange thirst  
Could ne'er be satisfied with taking in.  
You once had Wealth. But soft, let me consider;  
If she should marry old Sir Argent Srape,  
We could not keep it; for his money then  
Would make a Suit against us, and perchance  
Recover hers again. Which to prevent,  
I will go spoil the marriage presently.  
The fight of this will soon forbid the Banes,  
And stop his love. Then she wants means to sue us.  
Be sure to keep thine Adversary poor,  
If thou wouldst thrive in Suits. The way to scape  
Revenge for one wrong, is to do another:  
The second injury secures the former.  
I'll presently to old Sir Argent Scrape,  
And tell him this; he's meditating now  
What strange additions to his large Revenue  
Are coming at one happy clap, what heaps  
Of Wealth to morrow he shall be possessed of.  
What purchases to make, how to dispose  
Of her and hers. But soft, the Cards must turn.  
The man must be deceived, and she much more.  
To cozen the deceitful is no fraud.  Exit. Enter Sir Argunet Scrape. Scra. 
Methinks a youthful vigour doth possess  
My late stiff limbs, and like a Snake, I feel  
A second Spring succeed my age of Winter.  
Oh Gold! how cordial, how restorative  
Art thou? What though thou canst not give me legs,  
Nor active hands? Alas, I need them not;  
Possessed of thee, I can command the Legs,  
The Hands, the Tongues, the Brains of other men  
To move for me. What need he Hands or Brains  
That may command the lawyer's subtlety,  
The soldier's valour, the best Poets wit,  
Or any Writers skill? Oh Gold! to thee  
The Sciences are servants, the best Traders  
Are but thy slaves, indeed thy creatures rather;  
For thee they were invented, and by thee  
Are still maintained. 'Tis thou alone that art  
The nevers of War, the cement of the State,  
And guide of human Actions. 'Tis for thee  
Old Argent lives. Oh what a golden shower  
Will rain on me to morrow! Let me see,  
Her personal Estate alone will buy  
Upon good rates a thousand pound a year.  
Where must that lie? Not in our Country here,  
Not all together; no, than my Revenue  
Will have too great a notice taken of it;  
I shall be raised in Subsidies, and sessed  
More to the poor: No, no, that must not be.  
I'll purchase all in parcels, far from home,  
And closely as I can; a piece in Cornwall,  
In Hampshire some, some in Northumberland.  
I'll have my Factors forth in all those parts,  
To know what prodigals there be abroad,  
What pennyworths may be had: so it shall be.  Enter Fruitful. 
Ha, Mr. Fruitful! welcome, how go the squares?  
What do you think of me to make a Bridegroom?  
Do I look young enough?  Fruit. 
Sir, I am come  
To tell you news, such news as will perhaps  
A little trouble you; but if your Worship  
Should not have known it, 'twould have vexed you more.  Scra. 
Vexed me? what's that can vex me now? speak man.  Fruit. 
I thought that I was bound in conscience Sir  
To tell it you; 'tis conscience, and the love  
I bear to Truth, makes me reveal it now.  Scra. 
What is the business?  Fruit. 
Do not suppose  
That I am treacherous to my Lady Covet  
To whom I do belong, in uttering this.  
In such a case I serve not her but Truth,  
And hate dishonest dealing.  Scra. 
Come to'th' purpose.  Fruit. 
Then thus it is; My Lady Covet, Sir,  
Merely to cozen you, has past away  
Her whole Estate; you shall not get a penny  
By marrying her.  Scra. 
How man? is't possible?  Fruit. 
'Tis very certain Sir, I for a need  
Could show you the Conveyance, for my hand  
Is as a Witness there, so is her Stewards.  Scra. 
Oh horrible deceit!  Fruit. 
Ask her herself;  
If she deny it, I can justify it;  
So can her Steward too.  Scra. 
You make me mad.  Fruit. 
I keep you from being so, by a mature  
Prevention of your cozening.  Scra. 
O what hopes  
Am I fallen from? who would believe these false  
Deceitful creatures?  Fruit. 
Sir, I could but wonder  
That she would cheat so honest a Gentleman,  
That came a suitor to her for pure love.  Scra. 
Love? mischief of love.  Fruit. 
Alas, I know  
It was not her Estate that you sought after,  
Your love was honester; and then that after,  
Should cozen you?  Scra. 
She shall not cozen me.  
I'll have my Horse-Litter made ready straight,  
And leave her house.  Fruit. 
But when you see her Sir,  
It may be your affection will return.  
If you should leave her only upon this,  
The world would think that you were covetous;  
And covetousness is such a sin you know.  Scra. 
You do not mock me, do you?  Fruit. 
Who, I Sir?  
I know your Worship does abhor the sin  
Of covetousness; But I confess indeed  
'Twould vex a man to have been cozoned so.  Sir Arg. 
Havel lived all this while to be o' reached  
And cheated by a woman? I'll fotsake her  
Immediately.  Fruit. 
Sir, 'tis a happy thing  
When men can love with such discretion,  
As to forsake, when they shall see just cause.  
Some are so fond in their affections,  
That though provoked by all the injuries  
That can be offered, they can never leave  
The Mistress of their Hearts.  Sir Arg. 
I warrant her  
For any such affection in old Argent.  Fruit. 
I do believe it Sir, you are too wise.  Enter Lady Covet. Lad. Cov. 
How do you Sir?  Arg. 
E'en as I may.  
You do not mean I shall be e'er the better  
For you.  Lad. Cov. 
How's this? I do not understand  
What you should mean  Arg. 
You may, if you consider:  
But if you do not, I'll explain it to you.  
Have I deserved such dealing at your hands?  Cov. 
As what?  Arg. 
As that you should speak one thing to me,  
And mean another; But I'll make it plainer;  
You seemed to love me, and for love it seems,  
Thinking to marry me, have made away  
All you Estate.  Cov. 
How's this?  Arg. 
Nay 'tis too true?  
Or else your Chaplain does you wrong.  Cov. 
Oh Villain!  Arg. 
Nay Villain him no Villains; is it so  
Or not?  Fruit. 
If she deny it to you Sir,  
I can produce her hand, and have the Deed.  Cov. 
On monstrous villainy! Oh impudence!  
Canst thou abuse me thus, that first of all  
Didst counsel me to do it?  Fruit. 
I confess  
I gave you way, and for the time did wink  
At your false dealing; but at last my conscience  
Would not permit me to conceal it longer.  
I have discharged it now, and told the truth.  Arg. 
'Twas well none of you, Sir; well, I'll away.  
Madam, seek out some other men to cheat,  
For me you shall not.  Cov. 
Stay Sir, my Estate  
Shall still be good; the Feoffees will be honest.  Fruit. 
Ay, that they will, to keep what is their own.  Cov. 
Oh monstrous wickedness! was e'er 〈◊〉 like  
Heard of before?  Fruit. 
I know the Feoffee minds.  Enter Freeman, Euphues, Barnet, Dotterel, whimsy. Free 
How fare you Madam? Wherefore look you sadly  
At such a joyful time?  Cov. 
Oh Mr. Freeman  
I am undone, and ruined.  Fruit. 
No, good Madam,  
We'll see you shall not want.  Free. 
How's this?  Fruit. 
You shall have a fair competence allowed you.  Euph. 
What riddle have we here?  Cov. 
Our thou ungracious  
Dissembling villain.  Fruit. 
An indifferent means  
Will keep your Ladyship; for you are past  
Those vanities which younger Ladies use;  
You need no gaudy clothes, no change of Fashions,  
No Paintings nor Perfumes.  Euph. 
I would fain know  
The bottom of this.  La. why 
Servant, can you discover  
What this should mean?  Dott 
No Mistress, I protest,  
With all the wit I have  Fruit. 
And for you House,  
You shall have leave to stay here, till we have  
Provided for you.  Cov. 
Oh my heart will break!  Euph. 
Here is the finest turn that e'er I saw  Arg. 
I will resolve you Gentlemen; This Lady  
To cozen me in marriage, had it seems  
Past her Estate away; into what hands  
'Tis fallen I know not, nor I care not, I.  Fruit. 
'Tis fallen into the hands of wise men, Sir,  
That know how to make use of what is theirs.  Cov 
This hypocrite persuaded me to do't,  
And then discovered all, as if one purpose  
He sought my ruin.  Fruit. 
No not I, good Madam;  
'Twas for your soul's health; I have done you good,  
And eased you of a burden, and a great one  
So much Estate would have been still a cause  
Of cares unto you; and those cares have hindered  
Your quiet passage to a better life.  Euph. 
Excellent devil! how I love him now.  
Never did knavery play a juster part.  Fru. 
And why should you at such an age as this  
Dream of marriage, a thing so far  
Unfit, nay most unnatural, and profane,  
To stain that holy ordinance, and make it  
But a mere bargain? for two clods of earth  
Might have been joined as well in matrimony.  
'Tis for your soul's health, Madam, I do this.  Euph. 
How much was I mistaken in this chaplain?  
I see he has brains.  Free. 
Though it be dishonesty  
In him, yet justly was it placed on her!  
And I could even applaud it.  Lad. Whim. 
I protest,  
I love this Chaplain.  Dot. 
So do I, sweet Mistress,  
Or I am an errant fool.  Cov. 
But yet I hope,  
The feoffees may prove honest; I'll try them.  Fru. 
I'll go and bring them to your Ladyship.  Exit Fruitful. Arg. 
I'll stay no longer; make my Litter ready.  
Lady farewell; and to you all.  Free. 
Nay, Sir,  
Then let me interpose; let me entreat you  
By all the rites of neighbourhood, Sir Argent,  
Make not so sudden a departure now.  
What though the business have gone so cross?  
You may part fairly yet. Stay till to morrow:  
Let not the country take too great a notice  
Of these proceedings and strange breach; it will be  
Nothing but a dishonour to you both.  
Pray Sir, consent; give me your hand, Sir Argent.  Arg. 
At your entreaty,  Sir, 
I'll stay till morning.  Free. 
Before that time you may consider better.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Quarti.   

Actus Quintus.  Matilda, Theodore. Mat. 
I'Ll not refuse my uncle's courtesy,  
But go and see his House; I should before  
Have done that duty to him, but I thought  
My visits were not welcome, since he lived  
So close and privately.  Theod. 
Sweet Coz', you'll find  
A happy alteration in my Father,  
And that there dwell a kind and honest soul  
Within his breast; though wretched Avarice  
The usual fault of age, have heretofore  
Too much kept back the good expressions  
Of such like thoughts, he now will make a mends  
To all the world, and has begun already  
With his poor Neighbours.  Mat. 
Cozen, I shall be  
Too bad a Guest at this sad time, and bring  
Nothing but sorrow to my uncle's house.  Theod. 
You'll be yourself a welcome Guest to him;  
And I shall think our roof exceeding happy  
If it may mitigate that killing grief  
Which your so solitary life too much  
Has nourished in you Cozen, feed it not;  
'Tis a disease that will in time consume you.  
I have already given the best advice  
That my poor knowledge will afford, to ease  
Your troubled thoughts If time which heaven allows  
To cure all grief, should not have power to do it;  
If death of Father, Mother, Husband, Wife,  
Should be lamented still, the world would wear  
Nothing but black. Sorrow alone would reign  
In every Family that lives, and bring  
Upon poor Mortals a perpetual night.  
You must Forget it, Cozen.  Mat 
Never can I  
Forget my love to him.  Theod. 
Nor do I strive  
To teach you to forget that love you bear  
To his dear memory, but that grief which lies  
Wrapped in amongst it, and turns all to poison;  
Making it mortal to that soul that tastes it.  
'Tis that, sweet Cozen, which I hope that time  
May by degrees extinguish. Will you please  
To walk along? my Father long ere this  
Expects us I am sure, and longs to see you.  Exeunt. Eugeny in the Officers Hands. Eug. 
I blame you not at all, that by the Law  
And virtue of your places, are required  
To apprehend me.  Offi. 
We are sorry, Sir,  
We were enforced to see you.  Eug. 
But I wonder  
What curious eye it was that searched so far  
Into my secret walks, that did discover  
This dark abode of mine, and envied me  
My solitary sorrow; such a life  
As I enjoyed, a man might well afford  
To his most great and mortal Enemy.  Offi 
'Twas a plain fellow, Sir, tha brought us hither,  
In the King's name, and left us when we had you.  
But Sir, we wish you all the good we may  Eug. 
I thank you Friends; I cannot tell at all  
Whom to suspect, nor will I further vex  
My thoughts in search of such a needless thing.  
I call to mind what once my Theodore  
Told me by way of a surmise, but sure  
It cannot be so foul; shall I entreat you  
To carry me to old Sir Argent Scrape  
My Kisman? I would only speak with him  
Before I go to prison; And let one,  
If you can spare a man, go run for me  
To Mr. Earthworm's house, and bid his son  
Meet me with old Sir Argent; he lies now  
At my Lady  Covets 
house: I have about me  
What will reward your pains, and highly too.  Offi. 
It shall be done as would have it, Sir,  Eug. 
I dare not send to fair Artemia:  
The sight of her, and of so dear a sorrow  
As she would show, would but afflict me more.  
Perchance I may come safely off; till than  
I would conceal this accident from her.  
But Fame is swiftest still when she goes laden  
With news of mischief. She too soon will hear,  
And in her sorrow I shall doubly suffer.  
Thus are we Fortunes pastimes, one day live  
Advanced to Heaven by the people's breath,  
‛ The next hurled down into th' Abyss of death.  Enter Euphues, Artemia. Euph. 
But are you sure 'tis hereabouts he lives?  
Ha! who is that? 'tis he, and in the hands  
Of Officers; Cozen, the mischief's done  
Before we come.  Art. 
O my dear Eugeny!  Eug. 
Artemia too? Ay me! she swoons: help, help!  
Look up, my Love; there is no fear at all  
For me; no danger, all is safe, and full  
Of hope and comfort.  Euph. 
She begins to come  
Unto herself again.  Eug. 
But pray Sir, tell,  
How came you hither, Noble Euphues?  Euph. 
I never knew the place; but now by her  
Instructions found it out: I came to bear  
Her company; and her intent of coming  
Was to inform you of a danger near,  
Of such a monstrous mischief, as perchance  
You scarce can credit; old Sir Argent Scrape  
By me, and by another Gentleman,  
Was overheard to say, ●hat he had Scouts,  
And had laid certain plots to apprehend  
His Kinsman Eugeny just before th' Assizes,  
Besides what further means he did intend  
Closely to work your death, he then declared  
To the old covetous Lady, whom he came  
A suitor to.  Eug. 
Prophetic Theodore,  
How right thou wert!  Euph. 
This thing when I had heard,  
I told it her; and we with speed made hither,  
But ere we came, the mischief was fulfilled.  Eug. 
I thank you, Sir, for this discovery:  
How e'er I speed, pray pardon me, if I  
Shall by the Hand of Justice, die your Debtor.  
How soon from virtue, and an honoured Spirit,  
Man may receive what he can never merit!  
Be not thou cruel, may Artemia;  
Do not torment me with thy grief, and make  
Me die before my time; let hope a while  
Suspend thy sorrow; if the worst should fall,  
Thy sorrow would but more enfeeble me,  
And make me suffer faintly for thy sake.  Art. 
If worst should fall, my Love( which Heaven forfend)  
How could I choose but suffer?  Euph. 
I will hope  
Your safety yet may well be wrought, and knowing  
Sir Argent's mind, you know what ways to trust.  Art. 
Good Cozen help us with thy counsel now,  
If thou dost love my life.  Euph. 
Fear it not Coz';  
If I may aid you, Sir, in any thing,  
You shall command it.  Eug. 
Sir, I cannot thank you  
So much as it deserves; this timely favour,  
If not in life, yet shall at least in death  
Endear me to you.  Art. 
Do not name that word,  
My dearest love.  Euph. 
You must be speedy, Sir,  
In all your courses now.  Eug. 
Then let me beg  
That you would meet me at my Lady Covets.  
I'll ring Sir Argent Scrape so loud a peal,  
As shall perchance awake his beddered soul,  
And rouse it, though so deeply sunk in dross,  
Drowned and o'erwhelmed with muck. Go you together,  
And leave me to my way.  Art. 
Farewell dear love.  Exeunt. Enter Barnet. Lady whimsy. Bar. 
Madam, 'tis sure; I know your Ladyship  
Is so possessed.  La. Whim 
I think he loves me well,  
And will not now start bacl from marrying me.  Bar. 
That is the happy hour he only longs for.  
But if so strange a thing should come to pass,  
( Which yet I think impossible) that this  
Your marriage should break off; I will give bacl  
Into your hand this bond which I received;  
And 'tis worth nothing, Madam, as you know  
By the condition.  La. Whim 
True, I fear it not;  
But I durst you if 'twere otherwise.  Bar. 
He waits the hour when you will please to tie  
The happy knot with him.  La. Whim. 
He shall no longer  
Wait for it now; I'll go confirm him.  Bar. 
But think not, Gentle-Madam, that I shark,  
O● cheat him in it; I have to a sum  
Greater than this from him as good a title  
As right can give; though my unhappy fortunes  
Made me forbear the trial of my title  
Whiles his old crafty father was alive;  
He held from me a farm of greater value,  
As all the Neighbours know; I then forbore it,  
And will do still, since by an easier way  
I may have satisfaction. But here comes  Enter Trusty. Lady Covet. 
One that has lost a marriage.  La Cov. 
Tell me, Trusty,  
What say the feoffees?  Tru. 
They'll say nothing, Madam,  
Make me no answer, but that they know how  
To manage their own fortunes.  La. Cov. 
All the world  
Conspires against me; I am quite undone.  Tru. 
I promise you truly, Madam, I believe  
They mean little better than plain knavery.  La. Cov. 
Ay, 'tis too true.  La. Whim. 
How does your Ladyship?  
I was in hope to day we should have seen you  
A joyful Bride.  Cov. 
Ah Madam, 'twas my folly  
To dream of such a thing; 'tis that has brought me  
To all this sorrow, and undone me quite.  Whim. 
I hope not so. But, Madam, I confess,  
The marriage could have done you little good;  
One of your years, and then a man so old.  Cov. 
Oh do not mention it; I am justly punished.  Whim. 
Pardon me, Madam, I must make so bold  
As leave you for a while. Come Mr. Barnet,  
Shall we go see the party? I wait you, Madam.  Exeunt. Cov. 
My sorrow will not leave me. But, alas!  
'Tis a deserved punishment I suffer  
For my unjust oppressions; I detained  
Scudmore's estate injuriously, and had  
No conscience to restore what was not mine:  
And now all's ta'en away; what than I would nor,  
I cannot now perform, though I desire.  Enter Freeman. Artemia. Free. 
Fear not, Artemia, there shall no means  
Be left untried to save the Gentleman.  
I did approve thy choice, and still will do,  
If fortune will consent. My Lady Covet,  
Are you sad still?  Cov. 
Never had any woman  
A greater cause of sorrow, Mr. Freeman,  
For I protest it does not trouble me  
So much, that by this cheat I lose the power  
Of my estate, as that I lose all means  
Of charity, or restitution,  
To any person whom I wronged before.  Free. 
Why then you make a true and perfect use  
Of such a cross, and may hereafter take  
True comfort from it.  Cov. 
If my conscience  
Were satisfied, I could forsake the rest.  Enter Euphues. Euph. 
My Cozen I perceive has made more haste  
Hither then I; but I have seen a pageant  
That in the saddest time would make one laugh.  Free. 
What, prithee?  Euph. 
I have seen you neighbour Earthworm  
In such a mood as you would wonder at,  
And all that ever knew him heretofore.  
He is inveighing 'gainst Sir Argent Scrape  
For being so basely covetous, as thus  
For hope of lucre to betray his kinsman;  
A thing that he himself would scorn as much,  
He does protest, as can be.  Free. 
I have known  
It otherwise; what may not come to pass  
When Earthworm is a foe to avarice?  Euph. 
But he they say has made it good in deeds.  Free. 
He has been so exceeding bountiful  
Now to our poor, and vows to be so still,  
That we may well believe he is quite changed,  
And strives to make amends for what is past.  
He has they say a brave and virtuous son  
Lately come home, that has been cause of all.  Euph. 
It well may be; I know young Theodore;  
Uncle, he is of strange abilities,  
And to convert his father was an act  
Worthy of him.  Enter servant, and Sir Argent in his chair. Serv. 
Madam, Sir Argent Scrape would take his leave  
Of you.  Cov. 
When it please him.  Arg. 
Get me my litter  
Ready presently, I will be gone, Madam,  
I now am come to give you loving thanks  
For my good cheer, and so bid you farewell:  
But let me tell you this before we part,  
Things might have been carried another way  
For your own good; but you may thank yourself  
For what has happened now.  Cov. 
If you suppose  
It had been for my good to marry you,  
You are deceived, for that in my esteem  
( Though once I was so foolish to give way  
To that ridiculous motion) had brought with it  
As great a misery as that which now  
Is fallen upon me  Arg. 
How, as great a misery  
As to be beggared?  Cov. 
Yes Sir, I'll assure you  
I am of that opinion, and still shall be:  
But know, Sir Argent, though I now want power  
To give you that which you still gaped for, wealth,  
I can be charitable, and bestow  
Somewhat upon you that is better far.  Arg. 
Better than wealth? what's that?  Cov. 
Honest counsel:  
Let my calamity admonish you  
To make a better use of your large wealth,  
While you may call it yours: things may be changed:  
For know, that hand that has afflicted me,  
Can fin out you: you do not stand above it.  Arg. 
I hope I shall know how to keep mine own.  Euph. 
I do begin to pity the poor Lady.  Free. 
This has wrought goodness in her. Who are these?  Enter Earthworm and Theodore. 
My neighbour Earthworm? Lord! how he is changed.  Earth. 
'Twas basely done, and like a covetous wretch,  
I'll tell him to his face: what care I for him?  
I have a purse, as well as he.  Euph. 
How's this?  Earth. 
Betray a kinsman's life to purchase wealth?  
Oh detestable!  Euph. 
Oh miraculous change!  
Do you not hear him Uncle?  Earth. 
Mr. Freeman,  
Happily met.  Free. 
Sir I am glad to see you.  Earth. 
I have been long your neighbour Sir, but lived  
In such a fashion as I must endeavour  
To make a mends hereafter for, and strive  
To recempence with better neighbourhood.  Free. 
It joys me much to see this change in you.  Earth. 
Pardon my boldness, Madam, that I make  
This intrusion.  Cov. 
You're welcome, Mr. Earthworm.  Euph. 
Let me be bold then, noble Theodore,  
To claim our old acquaintance.  Theod. 
I shall think it  
My honour, worthy Sir, to hold that name.  Earth. 
Is that Sir Argent Scrape in the chair yonder?  Free. 
Yes, Sir.  Earth. 
Oh fie upon him: but soft,  Eugeny brought in. 
He will be told on't now.  Arg. 
Ha! Eugeny,  
Why have they brought him hither?  Eug. 
I am come:  
Me thinks these looks of mine, inhuman wretch,  
Though I were silent, should have power to pierce  
That treacherous breast, and wound thy conscience  
Though it be hard, and senseless, as the idol  
Which thou ador'st, thy gold.  Arg. 
Is this to me,  
Kinsman, you speak?  Eug. 
Kinsman? do not wrong  
That honest name, with thy unhallowed lips.  
To find a name for thee, and thy soul guilt,  
Has so far posed me, as I cannot make  
Choice of a language fit, to tell thee of it:  
Treacherous bloody man, that hast betrayed  
And sold my life to thy base avarice.  Arg. 
Who, I betray you?  Eug. 
Yes, can you deny it?  Cov. 
I'll witness it against him, if he do.  
'Twas his intent I know.  Euph. 
And so do I,  
I overheard his counsels.  Earth. 
Out upon him,  
Unworthy man.  Euph. 
I could e'en laugh to hear  
Old Earthworm child.  Eug. 
But think upon the deed,  
Think on your own decrepit age, and know,  
That day by nature's possibility  
Cannot be far from hence, when you must leave  
Those wealthy hoards that you so basely loved,  
And carry nothing with thee, but the guilt  
Of impious getting; then if you would glve  
To pious uses what you cannot keep,  
Think what a wretched Charity it is;  
And know, this Act shall leave a greater stain  
On your detested memory, than all  
Those seeming deeds of Charity can have  
A power to wash away; when men shall say,  
In the next age, This goodly Hospital,  
This house of Alms, this School, though seeming fair,  
Was the foul issue of a cursed murder,  
And took foundation in a kinsman's Blood.  
The privilege that rich men have in evil,  
Is, that they go unpunished to the Devil.  Arg 
Oh! I could wish the deed undone again:  
Ah me! What means are left to help it now?  Free. 
Sure the old man begins to melt indeed.  Eug. 
Now let me turn to you, my truer Friends,  Enter Fruitful & Trusty. 
And take my last farewell.  Euph. 
My noble Chaplain,  
What pranks comes he to play now? I had thought  
His business had been done.  Fruit. 
Health to you Madam.  Cov 
How can you wish me health, that have so laboured  
To ruin me in all things?  Fruit. 
No, good Madam,  
'Twas not your ruin, but your good I sought.  
Nor was it to deprive you of your means,  
But only rectify your conscience.  Free. 
How's this?  Euph. 
Another fetch; this may be worth  
The hearing.  Fruit. 
Madam, you conveyed away  
To three good Honest men, your whole Estate.  Cov. 
The have not proved so honest; I had thought  
I might have trusted them.  Fruit. 
Then give me hearing:  
They by the virtue of that Deed possessed,  
Have back again conveyed it all to you.  Cov. 
Ha?  Fruit. 
Madam, 'twas done before good Witnesses,  
Of which your Steward here, was one.  Trust. 
Most true.  Fruit. 
And all the other are well known to you;  
Here is the Deed.  Free. 
Let me peruse it Madam.  Cov. 
Good Mr Freeman do.  Euph. 
What plot is this?  Freeman reads it to himself Fruit. 
One manor only they except from hence,  
Which they suppose you did unjustly hold  
From the crew Heir; his name was Scudmore, Madam,  Cov. 
I do confess I did unjustly hold it,  
And since have grieved much, that while I might,  
I made not restitution.  Fruit. 
He was poor,  
And by the Law could not recover it,  
Therefore this means was taken; by this Deed  
They have conveyed it hither, where it ought  
Of right to be: are you content with this?  
And all the rest of your Estate is yours.  Cov. 
With all my heart.  Free. 
Madam, the Deed is good.  Cov. 
For that Estate which justly is passed over  
To Scudmore's Heir, I am so well content,  
As that, before these Gentlemen, I promise  
To pay him back all the Arrearages  
Of whatsoever profits I have made.  Fruit. 
I thank your Ladyship; Now know your Chaplain  
That wanted Orders,  Cov. 
Mr. Scudmore living! discovers himself.  Euph. 
My Friend, how couldst thou keep concealed so long  
From me?  Scud. 
Excuse it, noble Euphues.  Arte. 
Oh happiness! beyond what could be hoped!  
My Eugeny is safe, and all his griefs  
At quiet now.  Eug. 
Is this a vision,  
A mere fantastic show? or do I see  
Scudmore himself alive? then let me beg  
Pardon from him.  Scud. 
Long ago 'twas granted;  
Thy love I now shall seek: but though a while  
For these my ends I have concealed myself,  
I ever meant to secure thee from danger.  Eug. 
What strange unlooked for happiness this day  
Has brought forth with it!  Scud. 
To tell you by what means  
I was most strangely cured, and found a way  
How to conceal my life, will be too long  
Now to discourse of here, I will anon  
Relare at large; but one thing much has grieved me,  
That my too long concealment has been cause  
Of so much sorrow to my constant Love,  
The fair Matilda. Sir, she is your niece,  
Let me entreat my pardon, next to her,  
From you.  Earthw. 
You have it: Go, good Theodore,  
And bring her hither, but prepare her first:  
Too sudden apprehension of a joy  
Is sometimes fatal.  Theod. 
I'll about it gladly.  Exit. Euph. 
Dear Cozen Eugeny, if I yet may be  
Thought worthy of that name, pardon my crime,  
And my whole life, how short soe'er it be,  
Shall testify my love to be unfeigned.  Eug. 
I do forgive you freely Now to you  
Grave Sir, in whose rich bounty it must lie,  
To make me happy, in conferring on me  
So bright a Jewel as Artemia,  
'Tis your consent I beg.  Free. 
You have it freely;  
Her heart I know, she gave you long ago,  
And here I give her hand.  Eug. 
A richer gift  
than any Monarch of the world can give.  
Blessed happiness! gently my joys distil,  
I est you do break the vessel you should fill.  Enter Barnet, Dotterel, whimsy. Euph. 
Here comes another couple to make up  
The day's festivity, Joy to you, Madam.  Whim. 
Thanks noble Euphues.  Dot. 
We have tied the knot  
That cannot be undone: this Gentleman  
Is witness of it.  Bar. 
Yes, I saw it finished.  Whim. 
Mrs. Artemia, as I suppose,  
I may pronounce as much to you.  Art. 
You may  
As much as I shall wish your Ladyship.  Enter Theodore and Matilda. Scud. 
Here comes the dearest object of my soul,  
In whom too much I see my cruelty,  
And chide myself; Oh pardon me, dear Love,  
That I too long a time have tyrannised  
Over thy constant sorrow.  Mat. 
Dearest Scudmore,  
But that my worthy Cozen has prepared  
My heart for this, I should not have believed  
My flattering eyes.  Scud. 
To know brave Theodore,  
Next to enjoying thee, was my ambition;  
Which now affinity hath blessed me with.  Eug. 
His friendship, worthy Scudmore, is a treasure.  Theod. 
I shall endeavour to deserve your loves.  Earth. 
Come, leave your compliments, at all hands now,  
And hear an old man speak; I must entreat  
This favour from all this noble company,  
Especially from you good Mr. Freeman,  
Although this be your daughter's wedding day,  
That you would all be pleased to be my Guests,  
And keep with me your marriage-festivals.  
Grant my request.  Free. 
'Tis granted, Sir, from me.  Eug. 
And so I think from all the company.  Earth. 
Then let's be merry, earthwormes jovial now,  
And that's as much as he desires from you.  
FINIS.   

An advertisement of Books worth buying to be sold by S. Speed at the Printing-Pressin Paul's churchyard.  
MR. Caryl his Exposition with practical observations, on the fifteenth, sixteenth seventeenth Chapters of the Book of Iob. In Qarto.  
The Valley of Vision, being twenty one Sermons, delivered by that Learned and Reverend Divine, Richard Holsworth, Doctor in Divinity. In Quarto.  
Mr. Greenhil his Exposition on the first nineteen Chapters of the Prophet Ezekiel, with useful observations thereupon. In Quarto.  
The work of Mr. Nicholas Luckyer, M. A digested into one Volume. In Quarto.  
Gospel Liberty, by Mr. Walter Cradock. In Quarto.  
Paracelsus of Metals and Minerals. In Octav.  
The Life of Guzman the Rogue, a piece of most are contexture, in Octa.  
Mr. John Simpson O justification. In 8.  
Mr. Ainsworth's Communion of saints. In 8.  
— Arrow against idolatry. In 8.  
Dr. Sadlers Enchiridion of the art of physic. In 8.  
The first Exhortation of H. N. to his children, and to the family of love. Likewise H. N. on the Beatitudes, and the seven deadly sins. In 8.  
Mrs. Sarah Wights wonderful and comfortable letter to a friend. In 8.  
A pattern of Catechistical Doctrine, by the reverend Father in God, Lancelot Andrews, Lord Bishop of Winchester. In 12.  
The New Testament in Welsh. In 12.  
Mr. Samuel richardson's Divine consolations. In 12.  
Several Romans, Poems and plays.  
With variety of books 

Astrological.  
Astronomical.  
Mathematical.   Likewise,  
There will be suddenly extant an excellent work, entitled Astrological institutions, written in Latin by Guido Bonatus, and translated into English by a skilful Student. In 8.  
FINIS.