Five new plays, VIZ. 

The ENGLISH MOOR, or The MOCK-MARRIAGE.  
The LOVE-SICK COURT, or The AMBITIOUS POLITIQUE.  
COVENT GARDEN Weeded.  
The NEW ACADEMY, or The NEW EXCHANGE.  
The QUEEN and CONCUBINE.    
By RICHARD BROME.  
LONDON, Printed for A. Crook at the Green Dragon in Saint Paul's Churchyard, and for H. Brome at the Gun in Ivy-Lane, 1659.   

Brome's Plays.   

TO THE READERS.  
Or rather to the Spectators, if the Fates so pleased, these Comedies exactly being dressed for the Stage; and the often-tried Author (better than many who can but scribble) understood the Proportions and Beauties of a Scene; But as they are they will not deceive you; for the same hand (which formerly pleased) now held the Pen. We suppose we bring what in these days you scarce could hope for, Five new Plays We call them new, because till now they never were printed. You must not think them posthumous Productions, though they come into the world after the Author's death: they were all begotten and born (and owned by Him before a thousand witnesses) many years since; they then trod the Stage (their proper place) though they passed not the Press. They are all Comedies, for (a man would think) we have had too many Tragedies. But this Book knew them not. The ENGLISH MOOR here( whatever name or face it wears) is older than our Troubles. The LOVE-SICK COURT, and the AMBITIOUS POLITIC are but one Play, though strange those two should dwell together. This NEW ACADEMY concerns not that which eight years since peeped up in Write Friars; and this NEW EXCHANGE knows nothing of that which now is cleaving to the Great Church Wall. This QUEEN is a mere stranger to our Island; Her Scene is Sicily, the Persons and Action taste nothing of England. Thus the whole Book being free and ingenuous, we hope the Author may have the same allowance, especially now since he's gone to the great Wits, that is, dead. And yet there are a sort (one would wonder there should be) who think they lessen this Author's worth when they speak the relation he had to Ben Johnson. We very thankfully embrace the Objection, and desire they would name any other Master that could better teach a man to write a good Play. The materials must flow from all parts of the world; but the Art and Composition come only from Books and such living Masters as that our great Laureate; And for this purpose we have here prefixed Ben Johnson's own testimony to his Servant our Author; we grant it is (according to Ben's own nature and custom) magisterial enough; and who looks for other, since he said to Shakespeare— I shall draw envy on thy name (by writing in his praise) and threw in his face— small Latin and less Greek; but also told Selden himself (as if Ben's conscience checked him for being too good natured in commending others.)  
Your Book (my Selden) I have read—  
Though I confess (as every Muse hath erred,  
And mine not least) I have too oft preferred  
Men past their terms, and praised some names too much,  
But 'twas with purpose to have made them such;  
Since, being deceived, I turn a sharper eye  
Upon myself, and ask to whom, and why,  
And what I write, and vex it many days  
Before men get a Verse, much less a Praise.  
— I first salute thee so, and gratulates,  
With that thy style, thy keeping of thy state.  
— I could take up (and ne'er abuse  
The credit) what would furnish a tenth Muse:  
But here's nor time nor place my wealth to tell;  
You both are modest, so am I. Farewell.  
It seems( whate'er we think) Ben thought it diminution for no man to attend upon his Muse. And were not already the Ancients too much trod on, we could name famous wits who served far meaner Masters than Ben Johnson. For, none versed in Letters but know the wise Aesop was born and bred a wretched slave; Lucian a Stone-cutter, Virgil himself begotten by a Basketmaker, born in a ditch, and then preferred to an under Groom in the stable; nay, (to instance in our Authors own order) Naevius the Comedian a captain's man's man; Plautus servant to a poor Baker, Terence a slave as well as Aesop; and (which for our purpose is most of all) our Authors own Master handled the Trowel before he grew acquainted with Sejanus or Cataline. But enough of this, lest pleading for the Author, make him seem to want an Apology. As for the Stationers, they bring these Poems as they had them from the Author; not suffering any false or busy hand to add or make the least mutilation; having been more watchful over the Printers common negligence, than such work as this hath usually obtained. And if these new Plays fail your expectation, we openly profess we know not how, where, or when we shall fit you.   

To my old Faithful Servant, and (by his continued virtue) my loving Friend, the Author of this work, Mr. Rich. Brome.  
I Had you for a Servant, once, Dick. Brome,  
And you performed a servant's faithful parts:  
Now, you are got into a nearer room  
Of Fellowship, professing my old Arts.  
And you do do them well, with good applause,  
Which you have justly gained from the Stage,  
By observation of those Comic Laws,  
Which I, your Master, first did teach this Age.  
You learned it well, and for it served your Time,  
A Prenticeship, which few do now adays:  
Now each Court. Hobby-Horse, will wince in rhyme.  
Both learned and unlearned, all write Plays:  
It was not so of old; men took up trades  
That knew the Crafts they had been bred in right;  
An honest Bilbo Smith would make good Blades,  
And the Physician teach men spew, and—  
The Cobbler kept him to his awl, But now  
He'll be a Pilot, scarce can guide a Blow.  
Ben Johnson.   

To my most ingenious friend, Mr. ALEX. BROME Upon his setting forth Mr. RICH. Brome's PLAYS:  
THis, Sir, is double Piety, and you  
In this oblige the dead and living too.  
As the last trumpet with one powerful sound  
Raises forgotten Bodies from the ground,  
And betters those that yet remain alive:  
So you an equal happiness do give  
Unto his dust, and us, at once engage  
His sacred Ashes, and the present age.  
Nor can I tell to whom we more are bound,  
Or to his wit, or you that have it found.  
When Thetis Son amongst the maids lay hid,  
And for their softer wars the Trojan fled;  
He that discovered him, did justly claim  
An equal share in th' honour of his name;  
And dared to call Achilles' victories,  
All those exploits, and all those Trophies his:  
So you that have this noble wit revealed  
And made it be (which was before concealed)  
Known and commended, may as well receive  
Part in those Laurels we to him do give.  
He made the oil, but you enlightened it,  
He gave the salt, but you have made it white,  
And dug it from the Pit where it once lay  
Unseen, or by the eyes of men or day:  
He made the branches of this Coral grow,  
Hid in its private Sea untouched; but you  
By drawing it into the open air,  
Have made it turn more precious, and more fair.  
He spoke with such a full and easy strain,  
With such a soft, and such a flowing vein,  
As if 'twere Nature all, yet there was Art,  
Yet there was Skill in every limb and Part.  
So gently came all that he thought or writ,  
As if he made it not, but did repeat.  
His fancy like the blood did always flow,  
Yet full of life and full of spirits too.  
His wit and Angels did in this agree,  
Their motion is most nimble, quick, and free,  
And perfect too. And as the world was made,  
(Which no delays of spring and summer had,  
No ages or increases, but on all  
At first a ripeness, and full growth did fall;  
So all that from his happy Pen did come  
Was ripe and grown at first, and left no room  
For after change, no second hand could give  
More strength to it, or it more strength receive.  
When he doth speak of love, himself he arms  
With such resistless, and such conquering charms,  
Acts such sweet hopes, such innocent fears, and joys,  
That we or love his Mistress, or his voice,  
As echo did. When he would make us smile,  
Thousand Anacreons play about his style.  
When he commands our sorrow, straight our eyes  
Into salt streams, our hearts to sighings rise.  
When he doth laugh again, the clouds are gone,  
Our minds into a sudden calmness run:  
He so disposed our thoughts, as when the hand,  
Or eye of the chief Gen'ral doth command,  
Whole Armies act what his example led,  
Follow his postures with such willing speed,  
Into obedience with such easiness fall,  
As if one soul and spring did move them all.  
When he struck vice, he let the person go,  
Wounded not men but manners; nor did do  
Like him who when he painted heaven & hell,  
Amongst the damned shades and those that fell,  
Did draw his enemy's face, that all might say  
Who there condemned by the Painter lay:  
But as the Surgeon at once hides and cures,  
And bindeth up the limb which most endures  
The sore and pain: so he with gentle hand  
Did heal the wound, and yet conceal the man.  
His Scenes men's Actions, Tempers, Humours show,  
And copy out what the great world doth do.  
His words are like the shapes which Angels take,  
And for themselves of finest air do make,  
That are so much like men, that clearest eyes  
Cannot discern where the small difference lies.   

THE English Moor, OR THE MOCK-MARRIAGE.  
A Comedy as it was often acted with general applause by her Majesty's Servants.  
Innocens permit jocos cur ludere nobis  
Non liceat?—  
LONDON, Printed by J. T. for A. C. and Henry Broom, and are to be sold at the Gun in Ivy-lane, 1658.   

Prologue.  
MOst noble, fair and courteous, to ye all  
Welcome and thanks we give, that you would call  
And visit your poor servants, that have been  
So long and pitiless unheard, unseen.  
Welcome, you'll say your money that does do,  
(Dissembling is a fault) we say so too.  
And your long absence was no fault of your,  
But our sad fate to be so long obscure.  
Jove and the Muses grant, and all good Men,  
We feel not that extremity again:  
The thought of which yet chills us with a fear  
That we have bought our liberty too dear:  
For should we fall into a new restraint,  
Our hearts must break that did before but faint.  
You noble, great and good ones, that vouchsafe  
To see a Comedy, and sometimes laugh  
Or smile at wit and harmless mirth, As thus  
ye have begun to grace and succour us;  
Be further pleased (to hold us still upright,  
For our relief, and for your own delight)  
To move for us to those high powers whom we  
submit unto in all humility,  
For our proceeding, and we'll make it good  
To utter nothing may be understood  
Offensive to the state, manners or time,  
We will as well look to our necks as climb.  
You hear our suit, obtain it if you may;  
Then find us money and we'll find you play.   

Drammatis Personae.  

Meanwell. Two old Gentlemen and friends, supposed to have been killed in a Duel. Rashley.  
Arthur, meanwel's Son, in love with Lucy.  
Theophilus, rashley's Son, in love with Milicent.  
Quicksands, an old Usurer.  
Testy, an old angry Justice.  
Winlose, a decayed Gentleman.  
Vincent. Two gallants undone by Quicksands. Edmund.  
Nath. Banelass, a Wencher.  
Host. Drawer.  
Ralph, meanwel's servant.  
Arnold, rashley's servant.  
buzzard, Quicksands servant.  
Dionysia, meanwel's daughter.  
Lucy, rashley's daughter.  
Milicent, Testy's Niece.  
Phillis, Winlose daughter.  
Madge, Quicksands servant.   
The Scene London.   

THE ENGLISH-MOOR or the Mock-Marriage.  


Act. 1. Scene. 1.  Arthur. Dionysia. Ar. 
DEar Sister, bear with me.  Di. 
I may not, brother.  
What! suffer you to pine, and peak away  
In your unnatural melancholy fits;  
Which have already turned your purer blood  
Into a toad-pool die. I am ashamed  
(Upon my life) almost to call you brother  
But nature has her swing in me. I must.  
Therefore I crave you (as you are my brother)  
To shake this dull and muddy humour off,  
By visiting the streets, and quit your chamber,  
Which is a sickness to you.  Ar. 
O my sister!  Di. 
I can say, O my brother too, to show you  
How it becomes you. I have the same cause  
Equally with yourself, to spend my life  
In solitary mourning; and would do it,  
Could it make good our loss: My honoured Father!  
A tear has scaped me there: But that's by th'by,  
And more of anger 'gainst his enemy,  
And his for ever cursed posterity,  
That robbed us of a Father, then of sorrow  
For what we know is unrecoverable.  
But to sit grieving over his Memory  
In a resolved silence, as you do;  
Killing your own blood while a vein holds any  
Proceeding from the flesh, that drew out his,  
Is merely idle. Mingle then your grief  
With thought of brave revenge: And do it not  
In private Meditation in your Chamber;  
But bear it out till it proceed to Action.  Ar. 
By pouring blood on blood?  Di. 
By quenching fire  
Of high revenge, with base unmanly blood;  
By stopping of our Fathers cureless wounds  
(Which still bleed fresh in our vexed memories)  
With the proud flesh of him that butchered ours.  Ar. 
We know he lives not that has slain our Father:  
Or, if he lives, 'tis where I cannot reach him:  
He ne'er saw English harbour since his sword  
Unfortunately had the better of my father.  Di. 
But his son lives.  Ar. 
Good sister cool thy passion  
With reasonable means  Di. 
O where's the spirit  
That my slain father had. Have you no part of't?  
Must I now play the Man, whilst you inherit  
Only my Mother's puling disposition?  Ar. 
I know thy drift, good sister Dionysia,  
Is not unto revenge, or blood; but to stir up  
Some motion in me, to prevent the danger  
A sad retiredness may bring upon me.  Di. 
Be't as you think it, so you will abroad;  
And make the house no longer dark with sighing.  Ent. Rafe 
Now Sir the news with you?  Ra. 
News worth your hearing,  
Merely to laugh at: Good for nothing else.  Di. 
Is the old Ruffian ta'en, and hanged, that slew  
My Father; or his son Brain-battered; or  
His Daughter made a prostitute to shame?  Ar. 
How merciless are your wishes!  Ra. 
Lady, no.  
But as I was hankering at an ordinary,  
In quest of a new Master (for this, here,  
Will never last to a new livery  
'Less he were merrier) I heard the bravest noise  
Of Laughter at a wicked accident  
Of Marriage, that was chopped up this Morning.  Di. 
What marriage? Quickly.  Ra. 
Who do you think  
Has married fair Mistress Millicent?  Di. 
Theophilus (I can name him, though his father  
Was fatal unto mine) was sure to her.  Ra. 
Yes, but without a Priest. She has slipped his hold,  
And is made fast enough unto another,  
For which fine Mr. The. so whines and chafes,  
And hangs the head! More than he would do  
For's father, were he hanged, as you did wish  
For laughing news e'en now. there's sport for you.  Di. 
It does me good to hear of any cross  
That may torment their family. I wish  
Joy to the man that did beguile him of her  
whate'er he be.  Ar. 
But who has married her?  Ra. 
Thence springs the jest. Old Mr. Quicksands, Sir,  
The bottomless devourer of young Gentlemen;  
He that has lived, till past threescore, a bachelor,  
By threescore i'the hundred; he that has  
Undone by Mortgages and under-buyings  
So many Gentlemen, that they all despaired  
Of means to be revenged.  Ar. 
But where's your Jest?  Ra. 
The Jest is, that they now have found that means  
(As they suppose) by making of him Cuckold.  
They are laying their heads together in every corner,  
Contriving of his horns, and drinking healths  
To the success. And there were sport for you now,  
If you were anybody.  Ar. 
I'll abroad however.  Di. 
That's nobly said. Take courage with you Brother.  Ar. 
And yet methinks I know not how to look  
The wide world in the face, thus on the sudden  
I would fain get abroad, yet be unknown.  Ra. 
For that Sir (look you) I have here, by chance,  
A false beard which I borrowed, with a purpose  
To ha' worn't and put a jest upon your sadness.  Ar. 
Does it do well with me?  Ar. puts on the beard. Ra. 
You'll never have  
One of your own so good: you look like Hector.  Ar. 
Go fetch my sword and follow me.  Di. 
Be sure you carry a strict eye o'er his actions,  
And bring me a true account.  Ra. 
I warrant you Mistress.  Di. 
Do, and I'll love thee everlastingly.  
Why, now you are my brother.  Ar. 
Farewell Sister.  Exit. Ar. Ra. Di. 
I hope he has some stratagem afoot  
In our revenge to make his honour good:  
It is not grief can quit a father's blood.  Exit.  

ACT 1. SCENE 2.  Nathaniel. Phillis. Nat. 
Prithee be and answered, and hang off o'me,  
I ha' no more to say to you in the way  
You wot on Phillis.  Phi. 
Nor do I seek to you  
In that way which you wot on, wanton Sir,  
But to be honest, and to marry me.  
You have done too much the t'other way already.  Nat. 
I wish you were more thankful, Mrs. Phillis,  
To one has taught you a trade to live upon:  
You are not th'first by twenty I have taught it  
That thrive well i'the world.  Phi. 
There are so many  
Such teachers in the world; and so few  
Reformers, that the world is grown so full  
Of female frailties, the poor Harlotries  
Can scarce already live by one another,  
And yet you would have me thrust in among'em.  Nat. 
I do not urge you. Take what course you please,  
But look not after me: I am not marked  
For Matrimony, I thank my stars.  Phi. 
Should I run evil courses, you are the cause;  
And may in time, curse your own act in it:  
You'll find th'undoing of an honest Maid  
Your heaviest sin upon your bed of sickness;  
'twill cost your soul the deepest groan it fetches;  
And in that hope I leave you.  Exit. Nat. 
Farewell wagtail.  
Marry thee quoth 'a! That's wise work indeed!  
If we should marry every Wench we lie with,  
'T were after six a week with some of us.  
(Marry love forbid) when two is enough to hang one.  Vin. 
not, we have sought diligently, for fear  Enter Vincent and Edmond. 
The news that is abroad should fly before us.  Nat. 
What news? What flying fame do you labour with?  Ed. 
News that makes all the Gallants i'the Town  
Fly out o'their little wits: They are so eager,  
Upon the joy. I mean such youthful Gallants  
As have, or sold, or mortgaged; or been cheated  
By the grave patron of Arch-cozenage,  
Whose sad misfortune we are come to sing:  
Shall I need to name him to thee?  Nat. 
Who, the old Rascal Quicksands? speak good Vince,  
What! has he hanged himself? speak quickly prithee.  Vin. 
Worse, worse by half man. Durst thou hear a news  
Whose mirth will hazard cracking of a rib?  Nat. 
ay, an't be two. Here's hoops enough besides  
To hold my drink in. Pray thee speak; what mischief  
Is come upon him.  Ed. 
I pray thee guess again.  Nat. 
Has somebody overreached him in his way  
Of damnable extortion; and he cut his throat,  
Or swallowed poison?  Vin. 
Ten times worse than that too.  Nat. 
Is he then hoist into the Star-Chamber  
For his notorious practises? or into  
The high Commission for his blacker arts?  Ed. 
Worse than all this.  Nat. 
Pax, keep it to yourself then,  
If you can think it be too good for me.  
Why did you set me a longing? you cry worse  
And ten times worse; and know as well as I,  
The worse it is to him, the better welcome  
Ever to me: And yet you tell me nothing.  Vin. 
He has married a young wife.  Nat. 
Has he Cadzooks?  Ed. 
We bring you no comfort, we.  Nat. 
ne'er go fine sport, Ha, ha, ha. What is she?  
Would he had my wench, was here e'en now,  
What is she he has married? quickly prithee.  Vin. 
One much too good for him.  Ed. 
The beauteous Millicent.  
Driven by the tempest of her uncle's will,  
Is like a pinnace forced against the Rock.  Nat. 
But he will never split her, that's the best on't.  
I hope she'll break his heart first. Gentlemen,  
I thank you for your news; and know what I  
Will presently go do.  Vin. 
Pray stay a little.  Ed. 
And take us with you. What will you go do?  Nat. 
That which we can all at once, Do not hold me.  Vin. 
We came to cast a plot w'ye.  Nat. 
Cast a pudding— How long ha' they been married?  Ed. 
But this morning.  Nat. 
You'll ha'me come too late.  
ne'er go 'tis a shame he was not Cuckolded  
'Fore Dinner.  Vin. 
That had been a fine first course  
At a wedding feast indeed. A little patience.  Nat. 
Pray let me take my course 'fore supper yet.  Ed. 
The business belongs to us as much as you,  
He has wronged us all alike. He has cozened us  
As much as you.  Nat. 
He has made me so poor  
That my poor whore e'en now claimed marriage of me.  Vin. 
The case is ours. His wrongs are common to us,  
So shall his wife be, can we purchase her:  
Did we bring you the news for you to run  
And prevent us do you think?  Nat. 
Pardon my zeal good Gentlemen; which only  
Considered but the fitness of the Act,  
And that 'tis more than time 'twere done i'faith.  Enter Theophilus & Arnold. Ed. 
And see here comes a fourth man that has lost  
More on her part, than we upon the Bridegrooms.  Vin. 
He's very sour and sad. 'Tis crept upon him  
By this untoward accident.  Nat. 
'Twould anger any man to be nosed of such a match;  
But I'll remove his sorrow—  
Gentle Theophilus, you are well met,  
Your sorrow is familiar with us all  
In the large loss of your betrothed love;  
But, sir, be comforted: you have our pity  
And our revenge to ease you. 'tis decreed  
Her husband shall be instantly a Cuckold.  The. 
Most sinfully thou liest; and all that give  
Breath to that foul opinion.  Draw and fight. Nat. 
What do you mean.  The. 
Give me that thought from you; nay, from you all,  
Or I will rip you for't.  Nat: 
Zooks what mean you.  Vin. 
Hold, Sir, forbear.  The. 
I'll have that thought out first.  Nat. 
I say he does deserve to be a Cuckold;  
Let him be what he will, a pox upon him.  Ed. Vin. 
So we say all.  The. 
What's that too ill in her?  
I stand upon that point. Man's evil merit's  
No warrant for a woman's dishonesty.  
I say had she a man forty degrees  
Beneath his undeservings, 'twere more possible  
For him to deceive her with a good Life,  
Than she him with a wicked.  Nat. 
I say so too.  
But then I say again, The more's the pity.  The. 
Do and undo.  He hurts him. Nat. 
zooks now your bitch has bit me,  
I say he will be one, he shall be one;  
I'll make him one myself.  Ent. Ar. in his false beard he sides with Theoph. Ext. Nat. Vin. Ed. Ed. Vin. 
And we'll both help him.  Arn. 
Why here's trim stuff. Help ho, Murder, Murder.  Art. 
This is oppression gentlemen; an unmanly one.  Nat. 
What devils this raised? fall off, 'tis an ill business.  Arn. 
Have you no hurt Sir.  The. 
No I'm confident.  Arn. 
By your favour, I will see.  Arnold searches Theoph. Art. 
What fortune's this,  
I fought 'gainst friends to save mine enemy,  
But I hope neither know me. I desire  
To rest hid to my friends for my offence to them,  
And to mine enemy, till I make him dearer.  Exit. The. 
I told thee there was none.  Arn. 
I'm glad it proves so.  The. 
But where's the Gentleman?  Arn. 
Do you not know him sir?  The. 
Not I, 'tis the first time that ere I saw him;  
To my remembrance; yet he fought for me.  
Beshrew thy idler care that made me lose him,  
What should he be that so could fight for me,  
Yet care not for my company? beshrew thy heart.  
Why should he use me thus? I shall be sick to think on't.  
I'm made beholding now to I know not whom;  
And I'm the worst to sue or seek to a man—  Arn. 
That scurvy, between proud and bashful quality,  
You are famous for, as t'other toy that haunts you.  The. 
What's that?  Arn. 
Why, to be deadly angry, sir,  
On least occasion, and friends as quickly.  
Hot and cold in a breath: you are angry now  
With him that fought for you I warrant you.  The. 
In troth I am, and friends with them I fought with;  
He used me peevishly to leave me so,  
Ere I could thank him.  Arn. 
So 'tis that I told you.  The. 
But did you mark th'humanity of my Gentlemen,  
Cause she's disposed by herself willed uncle  
On that unworthy Quick sands (Devil take him)  
They thought 'twould sound like music in my ears  
To hear her disgrace sung; when her fair honour  
Is all I have to love, now she's took from me:  
And that they'd go about to rob me of.  
Heaven grant me patience. O my slaughtered father!  
I am thy son, and know by thy infirmity.  Arn. 
methinks, Sir, his example should allay you:  
Impatience was his ruin.  The. 
Push, we see  
Thieves daily hanged for Robberies; yet some  
Go on still in the practice! What a fine  
Is set upon the head of foul Adultery,  
And yet our neighbours Wives can hardly scape us!  
There's Laws against extortion, and sad penalties  
Set upon Bribes,  
Yet great men's hands ha' their forefather's itch!  
Prisons are filled with Bankrupts; yet we see  
How crafty Merchants often wrong their credits,  
And Londoners fly to live at Amsterdam!  
Nothing can banish Nature: That's the Moral.  Arn. 
It was indeed your Fathers known infirmity,  
And ever incident to the noblest Natures.  
But of your Father, is there yet no hope  
Of better news?  The. 
No, certainly he's slain.  Arn. 
I have not heard a story of more wonder;  
That two such men, of such estates and years,  
Having lived always friends and neighbours nearly,  
Should at the last fall out so mortally  
On a poor cast at bowls! Where waste they sought?  The. 
It is uncertain. All we heard of'em  
Was, they rode forth ('tis now a whole year passed)  
Singly to end their quarrel: But to what  
Part of the kingdom, or the world they took,  
We can by no inquiry find or hear  
Of either of them. Sure they crossed the Seas,  
And both are slain.  Arn. 
You speak poor comfort Sir.  The. 
I speak as my heart finds. She's gone for ever too;  
Her hearts desire be with her.  Arn. 
Now he's there again.  The. 
Then my poor sister's sickness; that torments me,  
Never in health since our dear Father left us.  Arn. 
And now there.  The. 
How shall I do to see these men again?  
I shall not be at rest till I be friends with'em.  Arn. 
Why here's the noble nature still. 'Twill show itself.  The. 
I'll seek'em out. Nathaniel always loved me.  Exit. Arn. 
Here's an unsettled humour. In these fits  
he'll ne'er be mad, nor ever well in's wits.  Exit.  

ACT 1. SCENE 3.  Testy. Quicksands. Millicent. Tes. 
Go to I say, go to; as you're my Niece,  
And hope t'inherit any thing that's mine:  
Shake off this Maiden peevishness. Do you whimper  
Upon your wedding day? Or, do you think  
You are not married yet? Did you not say  
I Millicent take Mandevill? A ha!  
Was it not so? Did not I give you too?  
I that have bred you from the cradle up  
To a fit growth to match with his fair years;  
And far more fair estate.  Mil. 
ay, there's the Match—  Tes. 
Love him I charge you.  Mil. 
I'll endeavour't Sir.  Tes. 
You will endeavour't! Is't no further yet?  
Stand from her, Nephew! I'll so swinge her. Ha!  Quick. 
Let me entreat your patience. She's my wife Sir.  Tes. 
Dandle her in her humour, do; and spoil her.  Quick. 
'Tis but her modesty.  Tes. 
Her sullen doggedness,  
I'll baste it out of her. You do not know her  
As I do, Nephew.  Quick. 
I shall, Sir, before morning  
Better I doubt not. Come we shall agree.  Tes. 
You will endeavour't! Come I'll see it done.  
Marry a man first, and then endeavour  
To love him will you? Ha! Is it but so?  
I'll see you love him presently. So to bed.  Mil. 
What before Supper?  Tes. 
A posset and to bed,  
I'll see it done. And cause you are so nice  
(To bed I say) there I will see more done  
Then I will speak. Tell me of your endeavour!  Quick. 
Be not so rough and stiff with her, good Uncle,  
I know my supple tender dealing will  
Get more upon her love then all your chidings.  Tes. 
Such tender dealers spoil young Brides; and get  
Nothing of stubborness. Down with her I say  
Now in her wedding sheets: She will be nought else.  Mil. 
Construe more charitably, I beseech you,  
My Virgin blushes.  Tes. 
'Tis your sullenness;  
Would you have bribed it so lumpishly  
With your spruce younker, that fine silken beggar,  
Whose Land lies in your husband's counting house;  
Or the most part.  Mil. 
O my Theophilus.  Quick. 
Indeed the better half; not without hope  
To have the rest as he may want my money.  Tes. 
Would you have whined and pulled, had you had him,  
To bedward think you? yet to speak the truth,  
And that wherein she has vexed me a thousand times,  
I never saw her laugh, nor heard her sing  
In all my life: yet she could both, I have heard,  
In company she liked.  Mil. 
It has been 'mong Maidens then.  
But honoured Sir (I know what I will do)  
To let you see and hear, since you desire  
To have me show a cheerfulness unto  
My reverend Husband: Look you Sir, I'll kiss him,  
Clap him, and stroke him: Ha, my Joe, ha, ha, ha, &c.  Tes. 
Hey day.  Quick. 
She'll make me blush anon I think.  Mil. 
I'll sing him songs too.  Tes. 
Whoop, how's this?  Mil. 
That I will chick, old songs and over old ones,  
Old as thy reverend self, my Chick a bird.  Quic. 
She calls me chick and bird: The common names  
With wives that Cuckold their old craven husbands.  Mil. (She sings) 
She made him a bed of the thistle down soft,  
She laid herself under to bear him aloft,  
And ever she sung sweet turn thee to me,  
we'll make the new bed cry Jiggy Joggy.  Tes. 
What impudence is this.  Quic. 
she's gone as far  
Beyond it now as it was to't.  Mil. 
Now may you answer.  (She sings) 
Go to bed sweet heart I'll come to thee,  
Make thy bed fine and soft I'll lig with thee. Ha, ha, ha.  Quic. 
Is this your bashful Niece.  Tes. 
What canst thou mean by this? does this become thee?  Mil. 
Pray do not beat me o'my wedding might, but tell me  
How this and half a dozen chopping Children may  
Become an old man's wife some five years hence.  Quic. 
O intolerable!  Tes. 
Is't possible thou canst do thus?  Mil. 
Let women judge. 'tis very possible  
That a young lusty wife may have six Children  
By one at once in five years, Sir, and by  
One Father too. I'll make him young enough  
To Father mine.  Quic. 
she'll make a youth of me.  Mil. (She sings.) 
There was a Lady loved a swine.  Honey, quoth she, 
And wilt thou be true love mine.  Hoogh, quoth he. Tes. 
Do you hear gentlewoman; are you i' your wits?  Mil. 
Yes, and my own house I hope. I pray be civil.  
Shall we to bed, Sir, supperless? you need  
No stirring meats, it seems. I'm glad on't.  
Come, biddy, come away, will you see Uncle  
How I will love him i'bed? come away.  Quic. 
My edge is taken off. this impudence  
Of hers, has outfaced my concupiscence.  
Dashed all quite out o' Countenance! what a beast  
Was I to marry? Rather, what a beast  
Am I to be?* How now! O horrible.  A sowgelders horn blown. Tes. 
What hideous noise is this.  Buz. 
I cannot help it.  Ent. Buzzard. 
While I went forth for the half pint of Sack  
To make your prodigal posset; and the maid  
(Watching the Milk, for running o'er) forgot  
To shut the door, they all rushed in.  Quic. 
What they, what all?  Buz. 
Vizarded people, Sir, and oddly shaped.  
You'll see anon. Their tuning o'their pipes,  
And swear they'll gi'ye a willy-nilly dance  
Before you go to bed, tho'you stole your Marriage.  Quic. 
Outrageous Roisters.  Tes. 
Call and raise the street.  Mil. 
That were to let in violence indeed.  
These are some merry harmless friends I warrant.  
I knew I could not be so ill beloved  
Among the bachelors, but some would find  
Way to congratulate our honoured Marriage.  Quic. 
What, with horn music?  Tes. 
A new kind of flourish.  Quic. 
'tis a flat conspiracy.  
This is your bashful modest whimpering Niece.  Tes. 
Then let'em in. If they wrong us tonight,  
The Law tomorrow shall afford us right.  
Pray let's resolve to see't. Here comes their Prologue.  flourish, Mer 
At a late Parliament held by the Gods,  Ent. Mercury. 
Cupid and Hymen fell at bitter odds  
Upon an argument; wherein each did try  
T'advance his own 'bove tother's deity,  
Out of this question, which might happier prove  
Love without Marriage, or Marriage without love.  
By the effects the trial must be made:  
So each from others Office drew his aid;  
Cupid no more of Hymen's matches framed;  
Nor Hymen married those that love inflamed.  
Now mark, the sad effects this strife begot,  
Cupid his fiery darts and arrows shot  
As thick as ere he did; and equal hearts  
He wounds with equal love. But Hymen parts  
Their forward hands (alas!) and joineth none  
But those which his new match-Maker brings on,  
(Old greedy Avarice) who by his spells,  
In breasts of Parents and of guardians dwells,  
That force their tenderlings to loathed beds;  
Which uncouth Policy to sorrow leads  
Thousands a thousand ways, of which the least  
Is this with which we celebrate your feast.  Tes. 
A special drove of horn beasts.  Enter four Masquers with horns on their heads: a Stag, a Ram, and Goat, an Ox followed by four persons, a Courtier, a Captain, a Scholar and a Butcher. Mer. 
These few are thought enough to show how more  
Would appear horrible, the town hath store.  
The first's a Lawyer, who by strife prevailed  
To wed a wife, that was by love entailed  
Unto that Courtier, who had the hap  
Soon after to adorn him with that cap.  
The next a country cormorant, whose great wealth,  
By a bad father's will, obtained by stealth  
That valiant soldier's Mistress: for which matter  
The engineer his sconce with Rams did batter.  
This an old Goatish Usure, that must  
Needs buy a wretch's daughter to his lust;  
Doted, and married her without a groat,  
That Herald gave this crest unto his coat.  
And that's the Citizen, so broadly pated,  
Which this mad Butcher, cuckold antedated.  
Now by this dance let husband that doth wed  
Bride from her proper love to loathed bed  
Observe his fortune. Music strike aloud  
The Cuckold's joy, with merry pipe & crowd.  They dance to music of Cornets & Violins. The Dance. Exit, Masquers. Tes. 
How now! all vanished! The devil take the hindmost.  Qui. 
The foremost I say; and lay him a block  
For all the rest to break their necks upon.  Tes. 
Who are they? Can you guess.  Mil. 
Truly, not I Sir.  
Some of my husband's friends perhaps, that came  
To warn him of his fortune.  Qui. 
Well considered.  Mil. 
Lock the doors after 'em, and let us to bed;  
And lock ourselves up, chick, safe from all danger.  Qui. 
We will to bed chick, since you'll have it so.  
This key shall be your guard: And here's another  
Shall secure me. My house has store of beds in't.  
I bring you not to an unfurnished dwelling.  Mil. 
Be not afraid to lie with me, good man,  
I'll so restore thee 'gain with caudles and Cock-broths,  
So cuckle thee up tomorrow, thou shalt see—  Quic. 
O immodesty.  Mil. 
Thou hast good store of gold, and shalt not want it  
In Cullises: in every broth I'll boil  
An angel at the least.  Qui. 
I'll hang first.  Tes. 
I am quite out of wits; and yet I'll counsel  
Thee, Nephew. Hark thee.  They whisper. Buz. 
'tis like to be mad counsel.  Mil. 
But will you not lie with me then?  Tes. 
No marry shall he not.  
Nephew, You shall not, till she bride it modestly.  
'tis now too late, but I'll so rattle her up tomorrow.  Buz. 
'tis too late now, & yet he'll do't tomorrow! good!  Tes. 
Will you to your lodging?  Mil. 
Where be my bridemaids?  Tes. 
They wait you in your chamber.  Buz. 
The devil o'maid's i' but my fellow Madge the Kitchen maid, and Malkin the Cat, or bachelor but myself, and an old Fox, that my master has kept a prenticeship to palliate his palsy.  Mil. 
Where be the maids, I say; and Bachelors  
To disappoint my husband.  Qui. 
Mark you that?  Mil. 
I mean, to take your points. But you have none.  
O thrifty age! My Bridegroom is so wise,  
In stead of points, to hazard hooks and eyes.  Buz. 
she means the eyes in's head, I'll hang else.  
My Master is like to make a blind match here.  Tes. 
Take up the lights, sirrah.  Qui. 
I hope she talks so idly, but for want  
Of sleep; and sleep she shall for me tonight.  Tes. 
And well said Nephew. Will you to your chamber, Mistress?—  Mil. 
hay ho, to bed, to bed, to bed.  
No Bride so glad— to keep her Maidenhead.  Exeunt omnes.   


ACT 2. SCENE 1.  Lucy. Phillis. Lu. 
You're the first Maid that ere I entertained  
Upon so small acquaintance. Yet you're welcome,  
I like your hand and carriage.  Phi. 
'Tis your favour.  
But love, they say sweet Mistress, is received  
At the first sight, and why not service then,  
Which often brings more absolute returns  
Of the dear trust imposed, and firmer faith  
By Servants then by lovers?  Lu. 
Stay there Phillis.  
I may, by that, conjecture you have been  
Deceived by some false Lover.  Phi. 
Who, I Mistress?  
I hope I look too merrily for such a one,  
Somewhat too coarsely too, to be beloved;  
If I were sad and handsome, than it might  
Be thought I were a little love sick. Pray  
How long has this disease affected you;  
This melancholy, Mistress? Not ever since  
You lost your father I hope.  Lu. 
For the most part.  
Thou saidst, methought, that love might be ta'en in  
At the first fight  Phi. 
There 'tis. I find her.  
Love, Mistress? yes, a Maid may take in more  
Love at one look, or at a little loophole,  
Than all the Doddy poles in Town can purge  
Out of her while she lives; she smothering it,  
And not make known her passion. There's the mischief!  Lu. 
Suppose she love an enemy to her house.  Phi. 
An enemy! Put case the case were yours.  Lu. 
But 'tis no case of mine; put by I pray thee.  Phi. 
I'll put it to you though I miss your case.  
Suppose it were your house, and Master Arthur,  
Whose father was your father's enemy,  
Were your beloved—  Lu. 
Pray thee no more.  Phi. 
Now I have struck the vein. Suppose I say,  
All this were true; would you confound yourself  
In smothering your love, which, in itself,  
Is pure and innocent, until it grow  
To a pernicious disease within you;  
And hide it in your bosom, till it work  
Your kindled heart to ashes?  Lu. 
Thou hast won  
My patience to attention: Therefore tell me  
If thou canst find or think it honourable  
In me to take such an affection?  Phi. 
Yes, and religious; most commendable,  
Could you but win his love into a marriage,  
To beget peace between your families.  
How many, and what great examples have we,  
From former ages, and of later times,  
Of strong dissensions between furious factions,  
That to their opposite houses have drawn in  
Either's Allies and Friends, whole Provinces,  
Yea, Kingdoms into deadly opposition;  
Till the wide wounds on both sides have sent forth  
Rivers of blood, which only have been stopped  
By the soft bands of love in marriages  
Of equal branches, sprung from the first roots  
Of all those hellbred hatreds!  Lu. 
My good Maid—  Phi. 
Yes, I have been a good one to my grief.  Lu. 
Thou hast given me strength to tell thee, and I hope  
When it is told, I shall have yet more ease.  Phi. 
I warrant you Mistress. Therefore out with it.  Lu. 
I love that worthy Gentleman; and am confident  
That in the time of our two fathers' friendship  
He 'affected me no less: But since that time  
I have not seen him, nor dare mention him  
To wrong my brother's patience, who is so passionate,  
That could he but suspect I bred a thought  
That favoured him, I were for ever lost.  
For this sad cause, as well as for the loss  
Of my dear Father, I have sighed away  
Twelve Moons in silent sorrow; and have heard  
That Arthur too (but for what cause I know not)  
Has not been seen abroad; but spends his time  
In pensive solitude.  Phi. 
Perhaps he grieves  
As much for the supposed loss of you,  
As of his Father too.  Lu. 
The best construction,  
I make of his retiredness, is the blessed  
Prevention (which I daily pray for) of  
A fatal meeting twixt him and my Brother,  
Which would be sure the death of one or both.  
And now that fear invades me, as it does always,  
My Brother being abroad; and such an absence  
Has not been usual: I have not seen him  
Since yesterday—  Phi. 
Fear nothing, Mistress. Now you have eased your mind,  
Let me alone to comfort you. And see your Brother.  The. 
How is it with you Sister?  Enter Theoph. Phi. 
Much better now then when you left me Brother,  
If no ill accident has happened you  
Since your departure; as I fear there has:  
Why look you else so sadly? speak, dear Brother.  
I hope you did not meet the man you hate.  
If you did, speak. If you have fought and slain him,  
I charge you tell, that I may know the worst  
Of fortune can befall me: I shall gain  
Perhaps a death by't.  The. 
You speak as if you loved the man I hate,  
And that you fear I have killed him.  Phi. 
Not for love  
Of him I assure you Sir; but of yourself.  
Her fear in this case, Sir, is that the Law  
May take from her the comfort of her life  
In taking you from her, and so she were  
But a dead woman. We were speaking  
Of such a danger just as you came in;  
And truly, Sir, my heart even tremble-tremble-trembles,  
To think upon it yet. Pray, Sir, resolve her.  The. 
Then 'twas your frivolous fear that wrought in her.  
Good Sister be at peace: for, by my love to you,  
(An oath I will not violate) I neither saw  
Nor sought him, I. But other thoughts perplex me.  Lu. 
What, were you at the wedding, Brother?  The. 
Whose wedding, Sister?  Lu. 
Your lost love Millicent's. Are you now sad  
After your last leave taking?  The. 
What do you mean?  Lu. 
There may be other matches, my good Brother—  The. 
You wrong me shamefully, to think that I  
Can think of other than her memory.  
Though she be lost and dead to me, can you  
Be so unnatural as to desire  
The separation of a thought of mine  
From her dear memory; which is all the comfort  
My heart is married to, or I can live by.  Phi. 
Surely good Sir, in my opinion,  
Sharp, eager stomachs may be better fed  
With airy smell of meat, than the bare thought  
Of the most curious dainties—  The. 
What piece of impudence have you received  
Into my house?  Lu. 
Pray Brother pardon me.  
I took her, as I find her, for my comfort,  
She has by council and discourse wrought much  
Ease and delight into my troubled thoughts.  The. 
Good Maid forgive me; and my gentle Sister,  
I pray thee bear with my distractions.  Phi. 
A good natured Gentleman for all his hasty flashes.  The. 
And now I'll tell you Sister (do not chide me)  
I have a new affliction.  Lu. 
What is it brother?  The. 
I am engaged unto a Gentleman,  
(A noble valiant Gentleman) for my life,  
By hazarding his own, in my behalf.  Lu. 
It was then against Arthur.  
What villain was't durst take your cause in hand  
Against that man?  The. 
You wrong me beyond sufferance,  
And my dear father's blood within yourself,  
In seeming careful of that man's safety—  Phi. 
His safety Sir? Alas! she means, he is  
A villain that would take the honour of  
His death out of your hands, if he must fall  
By sword of man.  The. 
Again, I ask you pardon. But I had  
A quarrel yesterday, that drew strong odds  
Upon my single person; Three to one:  
When, at the instant, that brave Gentleman  
With his sword, sides me, puts'em all to flight—  Lu. 
But how can that afflict you?  The. 
How quick you are!  Lu. 
Good Brother I ha'done.  The. 
My affliction is,  
That I not know the man, to whom I am  
So much engaged, to give him thanks at least.  Enter Nath. 
O Sir you're welcome, though we parted somewhat  
Abruptly yesterday.  Nat. 
I thank you Sir.  The. 
Pray thee Nat. tell me, for I hope thou know'st him;  
What Gentleman was that came in betwixt us?  Nat. 
If the devil know him no better, he will lose  
A part of his due I think. But to the purpose,  
I knew your wonted nature would be friends  
With me before I could come at you. However, I  
Have news for you that might deserve your love,  
Were you my deadly enemy.  The. 
What is't pray thee?  Nat. 
Sweet Mistress Lucy so long unsaluted?  Kiss. Lu. 
My Brother attends your news Sir.  Nat. 
My Wench become her Chambermaid! very pretty!  
How the Jade mumps for fear I should discover her.  The. 
Your news good not? what is it ready made,  
Or are you now but coining it?  Nat. 
No, it was coined last night, o'the right stamp,  
And passes current for your good. Now know,  
That I, and Mun, and Vince, with divers others  
Of our Comrades, were last night at the Bridehouse.  The. 
What mischief did you there?  Nat. 
A Masque, a Masque lad, in which we presented  
The miseries of enforced Marriages  
So lively— Zooks, lay by your captious countenance,  
And hear me handsomely.  Lu. 
Good brother do, it has a fine beginning.  Nat. 
But mark what follows;  
This morning, early up we got again,  
And with our Fiddlers made a fresh assault  
And battery 'gainst the bedrid bridegrooms window,  
With an old song, a very wondrous old one,  
Of all the cares, vexations, fears and torments,  
That a decrepit, nasty, rotten Husband  
Meets in a youthful, beauteous, sprightly wife:  
So as the weak wretch will shortly be afraid,  
That his own feebler shadow makes him Cuckold.  
Our Masque o'er night begat a separation  
between'em before bed time: for we found  
Him at one window, coughing and spitting at us;  
She at another, laughing, and throwing money  
Down to the Fiddlers, while her Uncle Testy,  
From a third Porthole raves, denouncing Law,  
And thundering statutes 'gainst their minstrelsy.  Lucy. 
Would he refuse his bridebed the first night?  Phi. 
Hang him.  Nat. 
Our Horn-masque put him off it, (bless my invention)  
For which, I think, you'll Judge she'll forsake him  
All nights and days hereafter. Here's a blessing  
Prepared now for you, if you have grace to follow it.  The. 
Out of my house, that I may kill thee; Go:  
For here it were inhospitable. Hence,  
Thou busy villain, that with sugard malice  
Hast poisoned all my hopes; ruined my comforts  
In that sweet soul for ever. Go, I say,  
That I may with the safety of my manhood,  
Right me upon that mischievous head of thine.  Nat. 
Is this your way of thanks for courtesies;  
Or is't our luck always to meet good friends,  
And never part so? yet before I go,  
I will demand your reason (if you have any)  
Wherein our friendly care can prejudice you;  
Or poison any hopes of yours in Millicent?  Lu. 
Pray brother tell him.  The. 
Yes: that he may die  
Satisfied, that I did but Justice on him,  
In killing him. That villain, old in mischief,  
(Hell take him) that has married her, conceives  
It was my plot (I know he does) and, for  
A sure revenge, will either work her death  
By poison, or some other cruelty,  
Or keep her locked up in such misery,  
That I shall never see her more.  Nat. 
I answer—  The. 
Not in a word, let me entreat you, go.  Nat. 
Fair Mistress Lucy—  The. 
Neither shall she hear you.  Nat. 
Her Maid shall then: or I'll not out tonight.  Phil. 
On what acquaintance Sir.  He takes her aside. Nat. 
Be not afraid: I take no notice o'thee,  
I like thy course, Wench, and will keep thy council,  
And come sometimes, and bring thee a bit and th'wilt.  Phi. 
I'll see you choked first.  Nat. 
Thou art not the first  
Cast Wench that has made a good Chambermaid.  Phi. 
O you are base, and I could claw your eyes out.  Nat. 
Pray tell your Master now: so fare you well Sir.  Exit. Lu. 
I thank you, Brother, that you promise me  
You will not follow him now, some other time  
Will be more fit. What said he to you, Phillis?  Phi. 
Marry he said (help me good apron strings.)  The. 
What was it that he said?  Phi. 
I have it now.  
It was in answer, Sir, of your objections.  
First, that you feared the old man, wickedly,  
Would make away his wife: to which he says,  
That is not to be feared, while she has so  
Much fear of Heaven before her eyes. And next,  
That he would lock her up from sight of man:  
To which he answers, she is so endued  
With wit of woman, that were she locked up,  
Or had locks hung upon her, locks upon locks;  
Locks of prevention, or security:  
Yet being a woman, she would have her will;  
And break those locks as easily as her Wedlock.  
Lastly, for your access unto her sight;  
If you have Land he says to sell or Mortgage,  
He'll undertake his doors, his wife and all,  
Shall fly wide open to you,  The. 
He could not lay so.  Lu. 
Troth, but 'tis like his wild way of expression.  Phi. 
Yes; I knew that: my wit else had been puzzled.  The. 
And now I find myself instructed by him;  
And friends with him again. Now, Arnold, any tidings.  Ar. 
Not of the gentleman that sought for you. Ent. Arn.  
But I have other news that's worth your knowledge.  
Your enemy, young Arthur, that has not  
Been seen abroad this twelvemonth is got forth  
In a disguise I hear, and weaponed well.  
I have it from most sure intelligence.  
Look to yourself, sir.  Lu. 
My blood chills again.  The. 
Pseugh, I'll not think of him. To dinner sister.   

ACT. 2 SCENE. 2.  Quicksands. Testy. Millicent. Qui. 
Here was a good night, and good morrow to  
Given by a crew of Devils.  Tes. 
'Twas her plot,  
And let her smart for't.  Mil. 
Smart, Sir, did you say?  
I think 'twas smart enough for a young Bride  
To be made lie alone, and gnaw the sheets  
Upon her wedding.  Tes. 
Rare impudence!  Mil. 
But for your satisfaction, as I hope  
To gain your favour as you are my Uncle,  
I know not any actor in this business.  Ent. Buz. with a paper. Quick reads it. Buz. 
Sir, her's a letter thrown into the entry.  Tes. 
It is some villainous libel than I warrant.  
Sawst thou not who conveyed it in?  Buz. 
Not 1. I only found it, Sr.  Qui. 
Pray read it you. Not my own house free from'em!  
The devil owed me a spite; and when he has ploughed  
An old man's lust up, he sits grinning at him.  
Nay, I that have so many gallant enemies  
On fire, to do me mischief, or disgrace;  
That I must provide tinder for their sparks!  
The very thought bears weight enough to sink me.  Mil. 
May I be worthy, Sir, to know your trouble?  Qui. 
Do you know yourself?  Mil. 
Am I your trouble then?  Qui. 
'tis sworn and written in that letter there  
Thou shalt be wicked. Hundreds have ta'en oaths  
To make thee false, and me a horned Monster.  Mil. 
And does that trouble you?  Tes. 
Does it not you?  Mil. 
A dream has done much more. Pray, Sir, your patience,  
And now I will be serious, and endeavour  
To mend your faith in me. Is't in their power  
To destroy virtue, think you; or do you  
Suppose me false already; 'tis perhaps  
Their plot to drive you into that opinion.  
And so to make you cast me out amongst'em:  
You may do so upon the words of strangers;  
And if they tell you all, your gold is counterfeit,  
Throw that out after me.  Tes. 
Now she speaks woman.  Mil. 
But since these men pretend, and you suppose'em  
To be my friends, that carry this presumption  
Over my will, I'll take charge of myself,  
And do fair justice, both on them and you:  
My honour is my own; and i'm no more  
Yours yet, on whom my Uncle has bestowed me,  
Than all the worlds (the ceremony off)  
And will remain so, free from them and you;  
Who, by the false light of their wildfire flashes  
Have slighted and depraved me and your bride bed;  
Till you recant your wilful ignorance,  
And they their petulant folly.  Tes. 
This sounds well.  Mil. 
Both they and you trench on my Peace and Honour;  
Dearer than beauty, pleasure wealth and fortune;  
I would stand under the fall of my estate  
Most cheerfully, and sing: For there be ways  
To raise up fortune's ruins, were her towers  
Shattered in pieces, and the glorious ball  
She stands on cleft asunder: But for Peace  
Once ruined, there's no reparation;  
If Honour fall, which is the soul of life,  
'tis like the damned, it ne'er lifts the head  
Up to the light again.  Tes. 
Niece, thou hast won me;  
And Nephew, she's too good for you. I charge you  
Give her her will: I'll have her home again else.  Qui. 
I know not what I can deny her now.  Mil. 
I ask but this, that you will give me leave  
To keep a vow I made, which was last night  
Because you slighted me.  Tes. 
Stay there a little.  
I'll lay the price of twenty Maidenheads  
Now, as the market goes, you get not hers  
This seven-night.  Mil. 
My vow is for a month; and for so long  
I crave your faithful promise not to attempt me.  
In the mean time because I will be quit  
With my trim, forward Gentlemen, and secure you  
From their assaults; let it be given out,  
That you have sent me down into the country  
Or back unto my Uncles; whither you please.  Quic. 
Or, tarry, tarry— stay, stay here a while.  Mil. 
So I intend, Sir, I'll not leave your house,  
But be locked up in some convenient room  
Not to be seen by any, but yourself:  
Or else to have the liberty of your house  
In some disguise, (if it were possible)  
Free from the least suspicion of your servants.  Tes. 
What needs all this?  
Do we not live in a well governed City?  
And have not I authority? I'll take  
The care and guard of you and of your house  
'Gainst all outrageous attempts; and clap  
Those Goatish Roarers up, fast as they come.  Quic. 
I understand her drift, Sir, and applaud  
Her quaint device. 'twill put 'em to more trouble,  
And more expense in doubtful search of her,  
The best way to undo 'em is to foil'em  
At their own weapons. 'tis not to be thought  
they'll seek, by violence to force her from me,  
But wit; In which we'll overcome'em.  Tes. 
Agree on't twixt yourselves. I see you're friends.  
I'll leave you to yourselves.  
Hark hither Niece— Now I dare trust you with him:  
He is in years, 'tis true. But hear'st thou girl  
Old Foxes are best blades.  Mil. 
I'm sure they stink most.  Tes. 
Good keeping makes him bright and young again.  Mil. 
But for how long.  Tes. 
A year or two perhaps.  
Then, when he dies, his wealth makes thee a Countess.  Mil. 
You speak much comfort, Sir.  Tes. 
That's my good Girl.  
And Nephew, Love her, I find she deserves it;  
Be as benevolent to her as you can;  
Show your good will at least. You do not know  
How the good will of an old man may work  
In a young wife. I must now take my journey  
Down to my country house. At your month's end  
I'll visit you again. No ceremony  
Joy and content be with you.  Quic. Mil. 
And a good journey to you.  Exit Test. Quic. 
You are content you say to be locked up  
Or put in some disguise, and have it said  
You're gone unto your Uncles. I have heard  
Of some Bridegrooms, that shortly after Marriage  
Have gone to see their Uncles, seldom Brides.  
I have thought of another course.  Mil. 
Be't any way.  Quic. 
What if it were given out you're run away  
Out of a detestation of your match?  Mil. 
'T would pull a blot upon my reputation.  Quic. 
When they consider my unworthiness  
'T will give it credit. They'll commend you for it.  Mil. 
You speak well for yourself.  Quic. 
I speak as they'll speak.  Mil. 
Well; let it be so then: I am content.  Quic. 
we'll put this instantly in act. The rest,  
As for disguise, or privacy in my house,  
You'll leave to me.  Mil. 
All, Sir, to your dispose,  
Provided still you urge not to infringe  
My vow concerning my virginity.  Quic. 
'tis the least thing I think on,  
I will not offer at it till your time.  Mil. 
Why here's a happiness in a husband now  exeunt.  

ACT 2. SCENE 3.  Dionysia. Rafe. Dio. 
Thou tell'st me things, that truth never came near.  Ra. 
'tis perfect truth: you may believe it. Lady.  Dio. 
Maintained but in one syllable more, I'll tear  
Thy mischievous tongue out.  Ra. 
Fit reward for Tell-truths.  
But that's not the reward you promised me  
For watching of your brother's actions;  
You said forsooth (if't please you to remember)  
That you would love me for it.  Dio. 
Arrogant Rascal.  
I bade thee bring account of what he did  
Against his enemy; and thou reportest.  
He took his enemy's danger on himself,  
And helped to rescue him whose bloody father  
Killed ours. Can truth or common reason claim  
A part in this report? My brother do't!  
Or draw a sword to help Theophilus.  Ra. 
'tis not for any spite I owe my Master,  
But for my itch at her that I do this.  
I am strangely taken. Such brave spirited women  
Have cherished strong backed serving-men ere now.  Dio. 
Why dost not get thee from my sight, false fellow?  Ra. 
I'll be believed first. Therefore pray have patience  
To peruse that.  gives her a paper. Dio. 
My brother's character!  
Theophilus sister's name— The brighter Lucy  
So often written? nothing but her name—  
But change of attributes— one serves not twice.  
Blessed, divine, Illustrious, all perfection;  
And (so heaven bless me) powerful in one place.  
The worst thing I read yet, heap of all virtues—  
Bright shining, and all these ascribed to Lucy.  
O I could curse thee now for being so just  
Would thou hadst belied him still.  Ra. 
I ne'er belied him, I.  Dio. 
O mischief of affection! Monstrous! horrid.  
It shall not pass so quietly. Nay stay.  Ra. 
she'll cut my throat I fear.  Dio. 
Thou art a faithful servant.  Ra. 
It may do yet:  
To you I am sweet Lady, and to my master  
In true construction: he is his friend I think  
That finds his follies out to have them cured,  
Which you have only the true spirit to do.  Dio. 
How I do love thee now!  Ra. 
And your love Mistress,  
(Brave sprightly Mistress) is the steeple top  
Or rather Weathercock o'top of that  
To which aspires my life's ambition.  Dio. 
How didst thou get this paper.  Ra. 
Amongst many  
Of his rare twelvemonths melancholy works,  
That lie in's study. Mistress 'tis apparent  
His melancholy all this while has been  
More for her Love, then for his father's death.  Dio. 
Thou hast my love for ever.  Ra. 
Some small token  
In earnest of it. Mistress, would be felt,  He offers to kiss her, she strikes him. Dio. 
Take that in earnest then.  Ra. 
It is a sure one.  
And the most feeling pledge she could have given:  
For she is a virago. And I have read  
That your virago's use to strike all those  
They mean to lie with: And from thence 'tis taken  
That your brave active women are called strikers.  Dio. 
Set me that chair.  Ra. 
The warm touch of my flesh  
Already works in her. I shall be set  
To better work immediately. I am prevented.  
A way and be not seen. Be sure I love thee.  Enter Arthur. Ra. 
A ha! This clinches. Another time I'm, sure on't.  Exit. Ar. 
Sister! where are you? How now! not well or  (She sits. Dio. 
Sick brother— sick at heart, oh— (sleepy.  Ar. 
Passion of heart! where are our servants now  
To run for doctors? ho—  Dio. 
Pray stay and hear me.  
Her's no work for them. They'll find a master here  
Too powerful for the strength of all their knowledge.  Ar. 
What at thy heart?  Dio. 
Yes, brother, at my heart.  
Too scornful to be dispossessed by them.  Ar. 
What may that proud grief be? good sister name it.  Dio. 
It grieves me more to name it, than to suffer't.  
Since I have endured the worst on't, and proved constant  
To sufferance and silence, 'twere a weakness  
Now to betray a sorrow, by a name,  
More fit to be severely felt then known.  Ar. 
Indeed I'll know it.  Dio. 
Rather let me die,  
Then so afflict your understanding, Sir.  Ar. 
It shall not afflict me.  Dio. 
I know you'll chide me for't.  Ar. 
Indeed you wrong me now. Can I chide you?  Dio. 
If you be true and honest you must do't,  
And heartily.  Ar. 
You tax me nearly there.  Dio. 
And that's the physic must help me or nothing:  Ar. 
With grief I go about to cure a grief then.  
Now speak it boldly, Sister.  Dio. 
Noble Physician— It is—  Ar. 
It is! what is it? If you love me, speak.  Dio. 
'tis— love and I beseech thee spare me not.  Ar. 
Alas dear sister, canst thou think that love  
Deserves a chiding in a gentle breast?  Dio. 
Do you pity me already. O faint man  
That tremblest but at opening of a wound!  
What hope is there of thee to search and dress it?  
But I am in thy hands, and forced to try thee.  
I love— Theophilus—  Ar. 
Ha!  Dio. 
Theophilus, brother;  
His son that slew our father. there's a love!  
O more than time 'twere looked, for fear it festers.  Ar. 
She has put me to't indeed. What must I do?  
She has a violent spirit; so has he;  
And though I wish most seriously the match,  
Whereby to work mine own with his fair Sister,  
The danger yet, in the negotiation  
May quite destroy my course; spoil all my hopes.  
I'll therefore put her off on't if I can.  Dio. 
Can you be tender now?  Ar. 
What! To undo you?  
I love you not so slightly. Pardon me.  
A rough hand must be used: For here's a wound  
Must not be gently touched; you perish then,  
Under a Brother's pity. Pray sit quiet;  
For you must suffer all.  Dio. 
I'll strive to do it.  Ar. 
To love the Son of him that slew your Father!  
To say it shows unlovingness of nature;  
Forgetfulness in blood, were all but shallow  
To the great depth of danger your fault stands in.  
It rather justifies the act itself,  
And commends that down to posterity  
By your blood-cherishing embraces. Children,  
Born of your body, will, instead of tears,  
By your example, offer a thankful joy  
To the sad memory of their grandsire's slaughter.  
Quite contrary! How fearful 'tis to think on't!  
What may the world say too? There goes a daughter,  
Whose strange desire leapt from her Father's ruin;  
Death gave her to the Bridegroom; and the marriage  
Knit fast and cemented with blood. O Sister—  Dio. 
O Brother.  Ar. 
How! Well? And so quickly cured?  Dio. 
Dissembler; foul dissembler.  Ar. 
This is plain.  Dio. 
Thou'st played with fire; and like a cunning fellow  
Bit in thy pain o'purpose to deceive  
Another's tender touch. I know thy heart weeps  
For what't has spoke against. Thou that dar'st love  
The daughter of that Fiend that slew thy father,  
And plead against thy cause! unfeeling man,  
Can not thy own words melt thee? To that end  
I wrought and raised'em: 'T was to win thy health,  
That I was sick; I played thy disease to thee,  
That thou mightst see the loathed complexion on't,  
Far truer in another then ones self.  
And, if thou canst, after all this, tread wickedly,  
Thou art a Rebel to all natural love,  
And filial duty; dead to all just council:  
And every word thou mockedst with vehemence  
Will rise a wounded father in thy conscience,  
To scourge thy Judgement. There's thy Saint crossed out,  
And all thy memory with her. I'll ne'er trust  She tears & throws the paper to him. 
Revenge again with thee (so false is manhood)  
But take it now into mine own powerfully,  
And see what I can do with my life's hazard;  
Your purpose shall ne'er thrive. There I'll make sure work.  Exit. Ar. 
How wise and cunning is a woman's malice;  
I never was so cozened.  Exit.   


ACT 3. SCENE 1.  Quicksands. Buzzard. Madge. Quic. 
Out of my doors pernicious knave and harlot;  
Avaunt I say.  Buz. 
Good Master.  Mad. 
Pray you worship.  Quic. 
You have all the wages you are like to have.  Buz. 
Nay, I dare take your word for that: you'll keep  
All moneys fast enough whose ere it be,  
If you but gripe it once.  quicksands! 
I am undone,  
And shamed for ever by your negligence,  
Or malice rather: for how can it be  
She could depart my house without your knowledge.  Buz. 
That cursed Mistress that ever she came here!  
If I know of her flight, Sir, may these hands  
Never be held up, but to curse you only,  
If you cashier me thus: because you have lost  
your wife before she was well found, must we  
Poor innocents be guilty?  Mad. 
For my part,  
Or ought I know she may as well be gone  
Out o'the the chimney top as out o'door.  Quic. 
The door must be your way; and find her out,  
Or never find my door again. Be gone.  Buz. 
Mad. O, you are a cruel Master.  Exit. Quic. 
So, so, so.  
These cries are laughter to me: Ha, ha, ha.  
I will be Master of my invention once,  
And now be bold to see how rich I am  
In my concealed wealth. Come, precious mark  
Of beauty and perfection, at which envy  Enter Milicent. 
And lust aim all their rankling poisonous arrows.  
But I'll provide they ne'er shall touch thy blood.  Mil. 
What, are your servants gone?  Quic. 
Turned, turned away  
With blame enough for thy supposed escape:  
Which they will rumor so to my disgrace  
Abroad, that all my envious adversaries  
Will, betwixt joy of my conceived misfortune  
In thy dear loss, and their vain hopes to find thee,  
Run frantic thorough the streets, while we at home  
Sit safe, and laugh at their defeated malice.  Mil. 
But now for my disguise.  Quic. 
ay, that, that, that.  
Be but so good and gentle to thyself,  
To hear me and be ruled by me in that,  
A Queen's felicity falls short of thine.  
I'll make thee Mistress of a Mine of treasure,  
Give me but peace the way that I desire it—  Mil. 
Some horrible shape sure that he conjures so.  Quic. 
That I may fool iniquity, and Triumph  
Over the lustful stallions of our time;  
Bed-bounders, and leap-Ladies (as they term'em)  
Mount-Mistresses, diseases shackle'em,  
And spitals pick their bones.  Mil. 
Come to the point. What's the disguise, I pray you.  Qui. 
First know, my sweet, it was the quaint device  
Of a Venetian Merchant, which I learned  
In my young factorship.  Mil. 
That of the Moor?  
The Blackamoor you spoke of? Would you make  
An Negro of me.  Qui. 
You have passed your word,  
That if I urge not to infringe your vow  
(For keeping this month your virginity)  
You'll wear what shape I please. Now this shall both  
Kill vain attempts in me, and guard you safe  
From all that seek subversion of your honour.  
I'll fear no powdered spirits to haunt my house,  
Rose-footed fiends, or fumigated Goblins  
After this tincture's laid upon thy face,  
'Twill cool their kidneys and allay their heats.  A box of black painting. Mil. 
Bless me! you fright me, Sir. Can jealousy  
Creep into such a shape? Would you blot out  
heaven's workmanship?  Qui. 
Why think'st thou, fearful Beauty,  
Has heaven no part in Egypt? Pray thee tell me,  
Is not an Ethiopes face his workmanship  
As well as the fairest Ladies? nay, more too.  
Then hers, that daubs and makes adulterate beauty?  
Some can be pleased to lie in oils and paste,  
At sins appointment, which is thrice more wicked.  
This (which is sacred) is for sins prevention.  
Illustrious persons, nay, even Queens themselves  
Have, for the glory of a night's presentment,  
To grace the work, suffered as much as this.  Mil. 
Enough Sir, I am obedient.  Quic. 
Now I thank thee.  
Be fearless love; this altars not thy beauty,  
Though, for a time obscures it from our eyes.  
Thou mayst be, while at pleasure, like the Sun;  
Thou dost but case thy splendour in a cloud,  
To make the beam more precious in it shines.  
In stormy troubled weather no Sun's seen  
Sometimes a month together: 'Tis thy case now.  
But let the roaring tempest once be over,  
Shine out again and spare not.  Mil. 
There's some comfort.  Quic. 
Take pleasure in the scent first; smell to't fearlessly,  
And taste my care in that, how comfortable  He begins to paint her. 
'Tis to the nostril, and no foe to feature.  
Now red and white those two united houses,  
Whence beauty takes her fair name and descent,  
Like peaceful Sisters under one Roof dwelling  
For a small time; farewell. Oh let me kiss ye  
Before I part with you— Now Jewels up  
Into your Ebon Casket. And those eyes,  
Those sparkling eyes, that send forth modest anger  
To singe the hand of so unkind a Painter,  
And make me pull't away and spoil my work,  
They will look straight like Diamonds, set in lead,  
That yet retain their virtue and their value.  
What murder have I done upon a cheek there!  
But there's no pitying: 'Tis for peace and honour;  
And pleasure must give way. Hold, take the Tincture,  
And perfect what's amiss now by your glass.  Mil. 
Some humbler habit must be thought on too.  Quic. 
Please your own fancy. Take my keys of all;  
In my pawn Wardrobe you shall find to fit you.  Mil. 
And though I outwardly appear your Drudge,  
'Tis fit I have a Maid for private service:  
My breeding has not been to serve myself.  Exit. Mil. Quic. 
Trust to my care for that. One knock. In; in.  
Is it to me your business?  Enter Phillis like a Cookmaid. Phi. 
Yea, if you  
Be Master Quicksands Sir; the Master's worship  
Here o'the house.  Quic. 
I am so. What's your business?  Phi. 
'Tis upon that, Sir, I would speak Sir, hoping  
That you will pardon my presumptuousness,  
I am a Mother that do lack a service.  Quic. 
You have said enough. I'll entertain no Mothers.  
A good Maid servant, knew I where to find one.  Phi. 
He is a knave, and like your worship, that  
Dares say I am no Maid; and for a servant  
(It ill becomes poor folks to praise themselves,  
But) I were held a tidy one at home.  Quic. 
O thouart a Norfolk woman (cry thee mercy)  
Where Maids are Mothers, and Mothers are Maids.  Phi. 
I have friends i'th' City that will pass their words  
For my good bearing.  Quic. 
Hast thou?  Phi. 
Yes indeed, Sir.  
I have a x that is a Retorney  
Of Lyons-Inn, that will not see me wronged;  
And an old Aunt in Muggle-street, a Midwife,  
That knows what's what as well's another woman.  Qui. 
But where about in Norfolk wert thou bred?  Phi. 
At Thripperstown Sir, near the City of Norwich.  Quick. 
where they live much by spinning with the Rocks?  Phi. 
Thripping they call it, Sir.  Quic. 
Dost thou not know one Hulverhead that keeps  
An Innocent in's house.  Phi. 
There are but few innocents i'the country Sr.  
They are given too much to law for that: what should  
That Hulverhead be a councillor, Sir.  Quic. 
No a husband man.  Phi. 
Truly I know none.  Quic. 
I am glad she does not. How knew'st thou I wanted  
A servant.  Phi. 
At an old wife's house in Bowlane  
That places servants, where a maid came in  
You put away today.  Quic. 
All, and what said she?  Phi. 
Truly to speak the best and worst, forsooth,  
She said her fault deserved her punishment  
For letting of her Mistress run away.  Quic. 
The news goes current. I am glad o''at.  Phi. 
And that you were a very strict hard man,  
But very just in all your promises.  
And such a master would I serve to choose.  Quic. 
This innocent country Mother takes me.  
Her looks speak Wholesomeness; and that old woman  
That Bow lane purveyor hath fitted me  
With serviceable ware these dozen years.  
I'll keep her at the least this Gander month,  
While my fair wife lies in of her black face,  
And virgin vow; in hope she's for my turn.  
Lust, when it is restrained, the more 'twil burn.  Phi. 
May I make bold to crave your answer, Sir?  Quic. 
Come in, I'll talk with you.  Exit. Phi. 
Prosper now my plot,  
And hulk, thou art twixt wind and water shot.  Exit.  

ACT 3. SCENE 2.  Nathaniel. Vincent. Edmond. Buzzard. Boy. 
You're welcome Gentlemen.  Nat. 
Let's ha' good wine, Boy, that must be our welcome.  Boy. 
You shall, you shall Sir.  
Within. Ambrose, Ambrose;  Boy. 
Here, here, anon, anon, by and by, I come, I come.  Ex. 
Jerom, Jerom, draw a quart of the best Canary into the Apollo.  Buz. 
This is a language that I have not heard.  
You understand it, Gentlemen.  Vin. 
So shall you anon master Buzzard.  Buz. 
Your friend and Jonathan Buzzard kind gentlemen.  Nat. 
What excellent luck had we, friend Buzzard, to  
meet with thee, just as thy Master cast thee off.  Buz. 
Just Sir, as I was going I know not whither:  
And now I am arrived at just I know not where. 'tis a  
rich room, this. Is it not Goldsmiths hall.  Nat. 
It is a Tavern man— And here comes the wine.  
Fill boy— and her's to thee friend, a hearty draft to  
cheer thee— fill again boy— There, drink it off.  Ed. 
Off with it man— hang sorrow, cheer thy heart.  Buz. 
And truly t's the best cheer that ere I tasted.  Vin. 
Come taste it better, her's another to thee.  Buz. 
— And truly this was better than the first.  Ed. 
Then try a third. That may be best of all.  Buz. 
— And truly, so it is— how many sorts of wine  
May a vintner bring in one pot together?  Nat. 
By Bacchus' Mr. Buzzard, that's a subtle question.  Buz. 
Bacchus! whose's that I pray?  Vin. 
A great friend of the vintners, and master of their company indeed.  Buz. 
I was never in all my life so far in a tavern before.  
What comforts have I lost.  Ed. 
Now he begins to talk.  Buz. 
Nor ever was in all my two and twenty years under that Babylonian Tyrant Quicksands, so far as a vintner's bar but thrice.  Nat. 
But thrice in all that time?  Buz. 
Truly but thrice Sir. And the first time was to fetch a jill of sack for my Master, to make a friend of his drink, that joined with him in a purchase of sixteen thousand pound.  Vin. 
ay, there was thirst. More wine boy. A pottle and a beer bowl.  Buz. 
The second time was for a penny pot of Muscadine, which he drank all himself with an egg upon his wedding morning.  Nat. 
And to much purpose, it seemed by his wives running away.  Buz. 
The third and last time was for half a pint of sack upon his wedding night, of later memory; and I shall ne'er forget it, that riotous wedding night: when Hell broke loose, and all the devils danced at our house, which made my Master mad, whose raving made my mistress run away, whose running away was the cause of my turning away. O me, poor masterless wretch that I am.— O—  Na. 
Hang thy master, here's a full bowl to his confusion.  Buz. 
I thank you. Let it come Sir, ha, ha, ha.  Vin. 
Think no more of Masters, friends are better than Masters.  Buz. 
And you are all my friends kind gentlemen, I found it before in your money when my Master (whose confusion I have drunk) took your Mortgages; And now I find it in your wine. I thank you kind gentlemen still. O how I love kind Gentlemen.  Nat. 
That shows thou art of gentle blood thyself, friend Buzzard.  Buz. 
Yes friend— Shall I call you friend?  All. 
By all means, all of us.  Buz. 
Why then, all friends, I am a gentleman, though spoilt i'the breeding. The Buzzards are all gentlemen, We came in with the Conqueror. Our name (as the French has it) is Beau desert; which signifies— Friends, what does it signify?  Vin. 
It signifies, that you deserved fairly at your master's hands, like a Gentleman, and a Buzzard as you were, and he turned you away most beastly like a swine, as he is. And now here is a health to him, that first finds his wife, and sends her home with a bouncing boy in her belly for him to father.  Buz. 
Ha, ha, ha. I'll pledge that: and then I'll tell you a secret.  Nat. 
Well said friend; up with that, and then out with thy secret.  Buz. 
I will friend. And t'other two friends, here's upon the same.  Ed. 
I hope he will show us a way, out of the bottom of his bowl to find his Mistress.  Vin. 
This fellow was happily found.  Buz. 
This was an excellent draught.  Nat. 
But the secret, friend, out with that, you must keep no secrets amongst friends.  Buz. 
It might prove a shrewd matter against my mischievous Master as it may be handled.  Nat. 
Hang him cullion, that would turn thee away.  
we'll help thee to handle it, fear it not.  Buz. 
Hark you then all friends. Shall I out with it?  Vin. 
What else.  Buz. 
I'll first take t'other cup, and then out with't altogether— And now it comes— If my Mistress do bring him home a bastard, she's but even with him.  Nat. 
He has one I warrant. Has he cadzooks?  Buz. 
That he has by this most delicate drink. But it is the Arsivarsiest Aufe that ever crept into the world. Sure some Goblin got it for him; or changed it in the nest, that's certain.  Nat. 
I vow thou utterest brave things. Is't a boy?  Buz. 
It has gone for a boy in short coats and long coats this seven and twenty years.  Ed. 
An Idiot is it.  Buz. 
Yes: A very natural; and goes a thissen; and looks as old as I do too. And I think if my beard were off, I could be like him: I have taken great pains to practise his speech and action to make myself merry with him in the country.  Nat. 
Where is he kept, friend, where is he kept.  Buz. 
In the further side of Norfolk, where you must never see him. 'tis now a dozen years since his father saw him, and then he compounded for a sum of money with an old man, one Hulverhead, to keep him for his life time; and he never to hear of him. But I saw him within these three months. We harken after him, as land-sick heirs do after their fathers, in hope to hear of his end at last.  Vin. 
But hark you, friend, if your beard were off, could you be like him think you? What if you cut it off, and to him for a father.  Nat. 
Pray thee hold thy peace.  Buz. 
My beard, friend, no: My beard's my honour.  
Hair is an ornament of honour upon man or woman.  Nat. 
Come, come; I know what we will do with him. Mun, knock him down with the other cup. We'll lay him to sleep; but yet watch and keep him betwixt hawk and buzzard as he is, till we make excellent sport with him.  Buz. 
hay ho. I am very sleepy.  Nat. 
See he jokes already. Boy show us a private room.  Boy. 
This way, Gentlemen.  Buz. 
Down, Plummpton-park, &c.  They lead Buz. out, and he sings.  

ACT. 3. SCENE. 3.  Lucy. Theophilus. Lu. 
Indeed you were unkind to turn away  
My maid (poor harmless maid) whose innocent mirth  
Was the best cheer your house afforded me.  The. 
I am sorry sister, trust me, truly sorry,  
And knew I which way to recover her  
With my best care I would. Yet, give me leave,  
I saw her overbold; and overheard her  
Say, she foresaw that Arthur my sole enemy  
Should be your husband. I'll marry you to death first.  Lu. 
Now you fly out again.  The. 
Your pardon again your sister,  
And for your satisfaction I will strive  
To oversway my passion. How now Arnold,  Ent. Arn. 
methinks I read good news upon thy face.  Ar. 
The best, Sir, I can tell is, the old Jew  
Quicksands has lost his wife.  The. 
She is not dead,  Ar. 
'tis not so well for him: for if she were  
He then might overtake her though she were  
Gone to the devil. But she's run away:  
But to what corner of the earth, or under  
Whose bed to find her is not to be thought.  
It has raised such a laughter in the town  
Among the Gallants—!  The. 
And do you laugh too?  Ar. 
Yes; and if you do not out-laugh all men  
That hear the joyful news, 'tis too good for you.  The. 
I am too merciful, I kill thee not.  
Out of my doors, thou villain, reprobate.  He beats Arnold. Ar. 
Hold, Pray Sir, hold.  The. 
Never while I have power to lift a hand  
Against thee, mischievous Villain.  Lucy 
Is not this passion, brother?  The. 
Forbear, sister.  
This is a cause turns patience into fury.  Lu. 
Arnold, forbear his sight.  The. 
And my house too.  
Or villain, look to die, oft as I see thee.  Exit, The. Lu. Arn. 
Turned out o' doors! A dainty frantic humour  
In a young Master! Good enough for me though;  
Because 'tis proper to old serving-men  
To be so served. What course now must I take?  
I am too old to seek out a new Master.  
I will not beg, because I'll cross the proverb  
That runs upon old serving creatures; stealing  
I have no mind to: 'tis a hanging matter.  
Wit and invention help me with some shift  He kneels. 
To help a cast-off now at a dead lift.  
Sweet fortune hear my suit.  Ent. Nat. Vin. Edm. Nat. 
Why how now, Arnold! What, at thy devotion?  Ar. 
I'll tell you in your ear, sir, I dare trust you.  Nat & Arnold whisper. Vi. 
Could earthly man have dreamt this rascal  Quick sands. 
Whose Lechery, to all our thinking, was  
Nothing but greedy Avarice and cozenage,  
Could have been all this while a concealed whoremaster,  
To have a Bastard of so many years  
Nursled i'th' Country?  Ed. 
Note the punishments  
That haunt the Miscreant for his black misdeeds;  
That his base offspring proves a natural Idiot;  
Next that his wife, by whom he might had comfort  
In progeny, though of some others getting,  
Should with her light heels make him heavy-headed  
By running of her Country! And lastly that  
The blinded wretch should cast his servant off,  
Who was the cover of his villainy,  
To show us (that can have no mercy on him)  
The way to plague him.  Vin. 
Ha, ha, ha—  Ed. 
What dost laugh at?  Vin. 
To think how nimble the poor uzzard is  
To be revenged on's Master; How he has Shaped himself;  
Cut off his beard, and practised all the postures  
To act the Changeling bastard.  Ed. 
Could we light  
Upon some quaint old fellow now, could match him  
To play the clown that brings him up to town,  
Our company were full, and we were ready  
To put our project into present action.  Nat. 
Gentlemen, we are fitted: take this man w'ye  
He is the only man I would have sought,  
To give our project life. I'll trust thee Arnold,  
And trust thou me, thou shalt get pieces by't;  
Besides, I'll piece thee to thy Master again.  Ar. 
That clinches Sir.  Nat. 
Go follow your directions.  Vin. 
Come away then.  Ex. Vin. Ed. Arn. Nat. 
Sweet mirth thou art my Mistress. I could serve thee.  
And shake the thought off of all woman kind  
But that old wonts are hardly left. A man  
That's entered in his youth, and throughly salted  
In documents of women, hardly leaves  
While reins or brains will last him: 'tis my case.  
Yet mirth, when women fail, brings sweet encounters  
That tickle up a man above their sphere:  
They dull, but mirth revives a man: who's here,  En. Art. 
The solitary musing man, called Arthur,  
Possessed with serious vanity; Mirth to me!  
The world is full: I cannot peep my head forth  
But I meet mirth in every corner: Ha!  
Sure some old runt with a splay-foot has crossed him!  
Hold up thy head man; what dost seek? thy grave?  
I would scarce trust you with a piece of earth  
You would choose to lie in though; if some plump Mistress  
Or a deft Lass were set before your search.  Ar. 
How vainly this man talks!  Nat. 
Gid ye good den forsooth.  
How vainly this man talks! speak but truth now,  
Does not thy thought now run upon a Wench?  
I never looked so but mine stood that way.  Ar. 
'Tis all your glory that; and to make boast  
Of the variety that serves your lust:  
Yet not to know what woman you love best.  Nat. 
Not I cadzooks, but all alike to me,  
Since I put off my Wench I kept at Livery:  
But of their use I think I have had my share,  
And have loved every one best of living women;  
A dead one I ne'er coveted, that's my comfort:  
But of all ages that are pressable;  
From sixteen unto sixty; and of all complexions  
From the white flaxen to the tawny-moor;  
And of all statures between Dwarf and Giants;  
Of all conditions, from the Doxy to the Dowsabel.  
Of all opinions, I will not say Religious:  
(For what make they with any?) and of all  
Features and shapes, from the huckle-backed Bum-creeper,  
To the straight spiny Shop-maid in St. Martin's.  
Briefly, all sorts and sizes I have tasted.  Ar. 
And thinkst thou hast done well in't!  Nat. 
As well as I could with the worst of'em tho'l say't.  
Few men come after me that mend my work.  Ar. 
But thou ne'er thinkst of punishments to come;  
Thou dreamest not of diseases, poverty,  
The loss of sense or member, or the cross  
(Common to such loose livers) an ill marriage;  
A hell on earth to scourge thy conscience.  Nat. 
Yes, when I marry, let me have a wife  
To have no mercy on me; let the fate  
Of a stale doubting Bachelor fall upon me;  
Let me have Quicksands curse, to take a Wife  
Will run away next day, and prostitute  
herself to all the world before her Husband.  Ar. 
Nay, that will be too good: If I foresee  
Any thing in thy marriage destiny,  
'Twill be to take a thing that has been common  
To th'world before, and live with thee perforce  
To thy perpetual torment.  Nat. 
Close that point.  
I cannot marry. Will you be merry, Arthur?  
I have such things to tell thee.  Ar. 
No, I cannot.  Nat. 
Pray thee come closer to me. What has crossed thee?  
Is thy supposed slain father come again,  
To dispossess thee for another life time?  
Or has thy valiant sister beaten thee? Tell me.  
It shall go no further.  Ar. 
Let your valiant wit  
And jocund humour be supposed no warrant  
For you t'abuse your friends by.  Nat. 
Why didst tell me of marrying then? But I  
Have done. And now pray speak what troubles you.  Ar. 
I care not if I do: For 'twill be Town talk.  
My Sister on a private discontent  
Betwixt herself and me hath left my house.  Nat. 
Gone quite away?  Ar. 
Yes, And I know not whither.  Nat. 
Beyond Sea sure to sight with th'Air, that took  
Her father's last breath into't. Went she alone?  Ar. 
No, No; My man's gone with her.  Nat. 
Who, the fellow  
That brags on's back so; the stiff strong chined Rascal?  Ar. 
Even he.  Nat. 
The devil is in these young Tits,  
And wildfire in their Cruppers.  Ar. 
Let me charm you,  
By all our friendship, you nor speak nor hear  
An ill construction of her act in this,  
I know her thoughts are noble; and my woe  
Is swollen unto that fullness, that th' addition  
But of word in scorn would blow me up  
Into a cloud of wild distempered fury  
Over the heads of all whose looser breath  
Dare raise a wind to break me. Then I fall  
A sudden storm of ruin on you all.  Exit. Nat. 
I know not how to laugh at this: It comes  
So near my pity. But I'll to my grigs  
Again; And there will find new mirth to stretch  
And laugh, like tickled wenches, hand o'er head.  Exit.   


ACT. 4. SCENE 1.  Dionysia in man's habit, Rafe. Dio. 
How does my habit and my arms become me?  Ra. 
Too well to be a woman, manly Mistress.  Dio. 
where's the pistol you provided for me.  Ra. 
Here Mistress and a good one.  Dio. 
'tis too long.  Ra. 
No Lady would wish a shorter. If it were  
'T would bear no charge, or carry nothing hotne.  Dio. 
I'll try what I can do. Thou think'st me valiant.  
I'm sure I have often felt it.  Ra. 
All the viragoes that are found in story,  
Penthesilea and Symaramis  
Were no such handy strikers as yourself:  
But they had another stroke, could you but find it,  
Than you were excellent. I could teach it you.  Dio. 
I dare not understand thee yet. Be sure  
As you respect my honour, or your life  
That you continue constant to my trust,  
And so thou canst not know how much I'll love thee.  Ra. 
There is a hope as good, now, as a promise.  Dio. 
Here at this Inn abide, and wait my coming  
Be careful of my guildings: Be not seen  
Abroad for fear my brother may surprise you.  
there's money for you; and ere that be spent  
'tis like I shall return.  Exit. Ra. 
Best stars attend you,  
Mars arm thee all the day; and Venus light  
Thee home into these amorous arms at night.  Exit.  

ACT. 4. SCENE. 2.  Quicksands. Millicent, her face black. Quic. 
Be cheered my love; help to bear up the joy,  
That I conceive by thy concealed Beauty,  
Thy rich imprisoned beauty, whose enfranchisement  
Is now at hand, and shall shine forth again  
In its admired glory. I am rapt  
Above the sphere of common joy and wonder  
In the effects of this our quaint complot.  Mil. 
In the mean time, though you take pleasure in't,  
My name has dearly suffered.  Quic. 
But thine honour  
Shall, in the vindication of thy name,  
When envy and detraction are struck dumb  
Gain an eternal memory with virtue;  
When the discountenanced wits of all my jeerers  
Shall hang their heads, and fall like leaves in Autumn.  
O how I laugh to hear the cozened people  
As I pass on the streets abuse themselves  
By idle questions and false reports.  
As thus: good morrow Master Quicksands; pray  
How fares your beauteous bedfellow? says another  
I hear she's not at home. A third says no:  
He saw her yesterday at the still-yard  
With such a Gallant, sousing their dried tongues  
In Rhenish, Deal, and Back-rag: Then a fourth  
Says he knows all her haunts and Meetings  
At Bridgfoot, Bear, the Tons, the Cats, the Squirrels;  
Where, when, and in what company to find her,  
But that he scorns to do poor me the favour:  
Because a light piece is too good for me.  
While a fifth youth with counterfeit show of pity,  
Meets, and bewails my case, and says he knows  
A Lord that must be nameless keeps my wife  
In an enchanted Castle two miles West  
Upon the riverside: but all conclude—  Mil. 
That you are a monstrous cuckold, and deserve it.  Quic. 
Knowing my safety, then, and their foul errors,  
Have I not cause to laugh? Yes, in abundance.  
Now note my plot, the height of my invention  
I have already given out to some,  
That I have certain knowledge you are dead,  
And have had private burial in the country;  
At which my shame, not grief, forbade my presence:  
Yet some way to make known unto the world  
A husband's duty, I resolve to make  
A certain kind of feast, which shall advance  
My joy above the reach of spite or chance.  Mil. 
May I partake, Sir, of your rich conceit?  Quic. 
Tomorrow night expires your limited month  
Of vowed virginity; It shall be such a night;  
In which I mean thy beauty shall break forth  
And dazzle with amazement even to death  
Those my malicious enemies, that rejoiced  
In thy supposed escape, and my vexation.  
I will invite 'em all to such a feast  
As shall fetch blushes from the boldest guest;  
I have the first course ready—  Mil. 
And if I  aside, one knocks. 
Fail in the second, blame my housewifery.  Qui. 
Away, somebody comes; I guess of them  
That have jeered me, whom I must jeer again.  Ex. Mil. 
Gallants you're welcome. I was sending for ye.  En. Nat. Nat. 
To give us that we come for?  Vin. Ed. Qui. 
What may that be?  Vin. 
Trifles you have of ours.  Qui. 
Of yours, my Masters?  Ed. 
Yes, you have in mortgage  
threescore pound Land of mine inheritance.  Vin. 
And my Annuity of a hundred Marks.  Nat. 
And Jewels, Watches, Plate, and clothes of mine,  
Pawned for four hundred pound. Will you restore all?  Qui. 
You know all these were forfeited long since,  
Yet I'll come roundly to you, Gentlemen.  
Ha'you brought my moneys, and my interest?  Nat. 
No surely. But we'll come as roundly to you  
As moneyless Gentlemen can. You know  
Good Offices are ready money Sir.  Qui. 
But have you Offices to sell, good Sirs.  Nat. 
We mean to do you Offices worth your money.  Qui. 
As how, I pray you.  Nat. 
Marry, Sir, as thus;  
We'll help you to a man that has a friend—  Vin. 
That knows a party, that can go to the house—  Ed. 
Where a Gentleman dwelled, that knew a Scholar  Nat. 
That was exceeding well acquainted with a Traveler  Vi. 
That made report of a great Magician beyond the Seas.  Ed. 
That might ha' been as likely as any man in all the world.  Nat. 
To have helped you to your wife again.  Qui. 
You are the merriest mates that ere I coped withal.  
But to be serious Gentlemen, I am satisfied  
Concerning my lost Wife. She has made even  
With me and all the World.  Nat. 
What is she dead?  Qui. 
Dead, Dead: And therefore as men use to mourn  
For kind and loving wives, and call their friends  
Their choicest friends unto a solemn banquet  
Served out with sighs and sadness, while the widowers  
Blubber, and bathe in tears (which they do seem  
To wring out of their fingers ends and noses)  
And after all the demure ceremony.  
Are subject to be thought dissemblers, I  
(To avoid the scandal of Hypocrisy,  
Because 'tis plain she loved me not) invite  
You and your like that loved her and not me,  
To see me in the pride of my rejoicings,  
You shall find entertainment worth your company,  
And that let me entreat tomorrow night.  Nat. 
You shall ha' mine.  Vin. 
Tomorrow night say you.  Quic. 
Yes gallants: fail not, as you wish to view  
Your mortgages and pawns again. Adieu.  Exit. Nat. 
We came to jeer the Jew, and he jeers us.  Vin. 
How glad the rascal is for his wife's death.  Nat. 
An honest man could not have had such luck.  Ed. 
He has some further end in't, could we guess it,  
Than a mere merriment for his dead wife's riddance.  Vin. 
Perhaps he has got a new Wife, and intends  
To make a funeral and a Marriage feast  
In one to hedge in charges.  Ed. 
He'll be hanged rather than marry again.  Nat. 
Zooks would he had some devilish jealous hilding,  
'Twould be a rare addition to his mirth,  
For us to bring our antic in between'em  
Of his changeling Bastard.  Vin. 
howe'er we'll grace his feast with our presentment.  Nat. 
When's the Buzzard?  Vin. 
We left him with his foster father, Arnold,  
Busy at rehearsal practising their parts.  Ed. 
They shall be perfect by tomorrow night.  Nat. 
If not unto our profit, our delight.  Exeunt omnes.  

ACT 4. SCENE 3.  Theophilus. Lucy. Lu. 
Brother be comforted.  The. 
Let not the name  
Or empty sound of comfort mix with th'air  
That must invade these ears: They are not capable,  
Or, if they be, they dare not, for themselves,  
Give the conveyance of a syllable  
Into my heart, that speak not grief or sorrow.  Lu. 
Be grieved then, I'll grieve with you: For each sigh  
You waste for Millicent's untimely death  
I'll spend a tear for your as fruitless sorrow.  The. 
That's most unsuitable; you're no company  
For me to grieve with if you grieve for me;  
Take the same cause with me; you are no friend  
Or sister else of mine. It is enough  
To set the world a weeping!  Lu. 
So it is;  
All but the stony part of't.  The. 
Now you are right. Her husband's of that part;  
He cannot weep by nature: But I'll find  
A way by art in Chemistry to melt him.  
At least extract some drops. But do you weep  
Indeed for Millicent? What, all these tears?  Lu. 
All for your love.  The. 
She is my love indeed; and was my wife.  
But for the empty name of marriage only,  
But now she's yours for ever. You enjoy her.  
In her fair blessed memory; in her goodness,  
And all that has prepared her way for glory.  The. 
Let me embrace thee sister. How I reverence  
Any fair honour that is done to her,  
Now thou shalt weep no more: Thou hast given me comfort  
In showing me how she's mine. And tears indeed  
Are all too weak a sacrifice for her  
But such as the heart weeps.  Enter Page. Lu. 
Sit down brother.  
Sing boy the mournful song I bade you practise.  Song. The. 
Call you this mournful. 'tis a wanton air.  
Go you're a naughty child indeed, I'll whip you  
If you give voice unto such notes,  Lu. 
I know not brother how you like the air,  
But in my mind the words are sad, Pray read'em.  The. 
They are sad indeed. How now my boy, dost weep?  
I am not angry now.  Pa. 
I do not weep,  
Sir, for myself. But there's a youth without  
(A handsome youth) whose sorrow works in me:  
He says he wants a service, and seeks yours.  The. 
Dost thou not know him.  Pa. 
No: but I pity him.  The. 
O, good boy, that canst weep for a stranger's misery!  
The sweetness of thy dear compassion  
Even melts me too. What does he say he is.  Pa. 
'tis that Sir, that will grieve you when you hear it.  
He is a poor kinsman to the gentlewoman  
Lately deceased that you so loved and mourn for.  The. 
And dost thou let him stay without so long?  
Merciless Villain! run and fetch him quickly.  Lu. 
O brother—  The. 
Sister, can I be too zealous  
In such a cause as this? For hark you, sister,  Enter Dionisia Dio. 
There was no way like this to get within'em,  
Now courage keep true touch with me. I'll vex  
Your cunning and unnatural purpose, brother,  
If I do nothing else.  Pa. 
Sir, here's the youth?  The. 
A lovely one he is, and wondrous like her,  
O let me run and clasp him; hang about him,  
And yoke him to me with a thousand kisses!  
I shall be troublesome and heavy to thee,  
With the pleased weight of my incessant love.  
Youth of a happy kindred, which foreruns  
A happy fortune ever. Pray thee, sister,  
Is he not very like her?  Lu. 
If I durst  
I would now say, this were the better beauty,  
For it resembles Arthur's.  The, 
is't not her face? you do not mind me sister:  Lu. 
Hers was a good one once, and this is now.  The. 
Why sister, you were wont to take delight  
In any comfort that belonged to me;  
And help to carry my joys sweetly: now  
You keep no constant course with me.  Dio. 
This man  
Melts me— alas, Sir, I am a poor boy.  The. 
What, and allied to her? impossible!  
Where ere thou liv'st her name's a fortune to thee.  
Her memory amongst good men sets thee up;  
It is a word that commands all in this house.  Dio. 
This snare was not well laid. I fear myself.  The. 
Live my companion; my especial sweet one,  
My brother and my bedfellow thou shalt be.  Dio. 
By lakin but I must not, though I find  
But weak matter against it.— This my courage!  The. 
She took from earth, how kind is heaven, how good  
To send me yet, a joy so near in blood!  
Good noble youth, if there be any more  
Distressed of you, that claims alliance with her  
Though afar off; deal freely; let me know it,  
Give me their sad names; I'll seek'em out,  
And like a good great man, in memory humble  
ne'er cease until I plant'em all in fortunes,  
And see'em grow about me.  Dio. 
I hear of none, myself excepted, Sir.  The. 
Thou shalt have all my care then, all my love.  Dio. 
What make I here? I shall undo myself.  The. 
Yet note him sister.  Dio. 
I there's the mark my malice chiefly aims at;  
But then, he stands so near, I wound him too.  
I feel that must not be. Art must be shown here.  The. 
Come, you shall kiss him for me, and bid him welcome.  Lu. 
You are most welcome, Sir, and were her name  
To which you are allied, a stranger here,  
Yet, Sir, believe me, you in those fair eyes  
Bring your own welcome with you.  Dio. 
Never came Malice 'mong so sweet a people.  
It knows not how to look, nor I on them.  Lu. 
Let not your gentle modesty make you seem  
Ungentle to us, by turning so away.  The. 
That's well said sister, but he will and shall  
Be bolder with us, ere we part.  Dio. 
I shall too much I fear.—  The. 
Come gentle blessing,  
Let not a misery be thought on here,  
(If ever any were so rude to touch thee)  
Between us we'll divide the comfort of thee.  Exeunt Omnes.  

ACT. 4. SCENE. 4.  Millicent. Phillis. Mil. 
I have heard thy story often, and with pity  
As often thought upon't, and that the father,  
Of my best loved Theophilus, together with  
His, then, friend Master Meanwell (who have since  
Become each other's deathsman as 'tis thought)  
By suits in Law wrought the sad overthrow  
Of thy poor Father's fortune; by which means,  
Poor Gentleman he was enforced to leave  
His native Country to seek foreign means  
To maintain life.  Phi. 
Or rather to meet death.  
For since his travail, which is now six years,  
I never heard of him.  Mil. 
Much pitiful!  Phi. 
So is your story, Mistress unto me.  
But let us dry our eyes; and know we must not  
Stick in the mire of pity; but with labour  
Work our delivery: yours is now at hand  
If you set will and brain to't. But my honour  
(If a poor wench may speak so) is so cracked  
Within the ring, as 'twill be hardly soldered  
By any art. If on that wicked fellow,  
That struck me into such a desperate hazard.  Mil. 
He will be here tonight, and all the crew  
And this must be the night of my delivery,  
I am prevented else for ever, wench.  Phi. 
Be sure, among the guests, that you make choice  
Of the most civil one to be your convoy,  
And then let me alone to act your Moors part.  Mil. 
Peace, he comes.  Enter Quic. Phi. 
I'll to my shift then.  Exit. Phi. Quic. 
where's my hidden beauty?  
That shall this night be glorious.  Mil. 
ay but wait the good hour  
For my deliverance out of this obscurity.  Quic. 
'tis at hand.  
So are my guests. See some of'em are entered.  Enter Nat. 
O my blithe friend, Master Nathaniel, welcome.  Arthur. 
And Master Arthur Meanwell as I take it.  Nat. 
Yes, Sir, a Gentleman late possessed with sadness,  
Whom I had much ado to draw along  
To be partaker more of your mirth then cheer.  
You say here shall be mirth. How now, what's that?  
Ha' you a black coney berry in your house?  Quic. 
Stay Catelina. Nay, she may be seen.  
For know, Sirs, I am mortified to beauty  
Since my wife's death. I will not keep a face  
Better than this under my roof I ha' sworn.  Ar. 
You were too rash, Sir, in that oath, if I  
May be allowed to speak.  Quic. 
'tis done and passed, Sir.  Nat. 
If I be not taken with yond funeral face,  
And her two eyes the scutcheons, would I were whipped now.  Art. 
Suppose your friends should wish you to a match  
Prosperous in wealth and honour.  Quic. 
I'll hear of none, nor you if you speak so.  Art. 
Sir, I ha'done.  Nat. 
It is the handsom'st Rogue  
I have ere seen yet of a deed of darkness;  
Tawny and russet faces I have dealt with,  
But never came so deep in blackness yet.  Quic. 
Come hither Catelyna. You shall see, Sir,  
What a brave wench she shall be made anon  
And when she dances how you shall admire her.  Art. 
Will you have dancing here tonight.  Quic. 
Yes I have borrowed other Moors of Merchants  
That trade in Barbary, whence I had mine own here,  
And you shall see their way and skill in dancing.  Nat. 
He keeps this Rye-loaf for his own white white tooth  
With confidence none will cheat him of a bit;  
I'll have a sliver though I lose my whittle.  Quic. 
Here take this key, 'twill lead thee to those ornaments  
That decked thy mistress lately. Use her casket,  
And with the sparklingst of her jewels shine;  
Flame like a midnight beacon with that face,  
Or a pitched ship afire; the streamers glowing  
And the keel mourning, (how I shall rejoice  
At these preposterous splendours) get thee glorious;  
Be like a running firework in my house.  Nat. 
He sets me more afire at her. Well old stick breech  
If I do chance to clap your Barbary buttock  
In all her bravery, and get a snatch  
In an odd corner, or the dark tonight  
To mend your cheer, and you hereafter hear on't,  
Say there are as good stomachs as your own,  
Hist, Negro, hist.  Mil. 
No fee, O no, I darea notta.  Nat. 
Why, why— pish— pox I love thee,  Mil. 
O no de fine white Zentilmanna  
Cannot a love o' the black a thing a.  Nat. 
Cadzooks the best of all wench.  Mill. 
O take— a heed— a my mastra see— a.  Nat. 
When we are alone, then wilt thou.  Mil. 
Then I shall speak a more a.  Nat. 
And I'll not lose the Moor-a for more than I  
Will speak-a.  Quic. 
I muse the rest of my invited Gallants  
Come not away.  Nat. 
Zooks the old angry justice.  Enter Testy. Tes. 
How comes it Sir, to pass, that such a news  
Is spread about the town? is my Niece dead,  
And you prepared to mirth Sir, hah?  
Is this the entertainment I must find  
To welcome me to town?  Quic. 
She is not dead, Sir. But take you no notice  
You shall have instantly an entertainment, that  
Shall fill you all with wonder.  Tes. 
Sure he is mad;  
Or do you understand his meaning sirs?  
Or how or where his wife died?  Nat. 
I know nothing;  
But give me leave to fear, by his wild humour,  
He's guilty of her death; therefore I hope  
he'll hang himself anon before us all  
To raise the mirth he speaks of.  Art. 
Fie upon you.  
Yet trust me, sir, there have been large constructions,  
And strong presumptions, that the ill made match  
Betwixt her youthful beauty and his covetous age;  
Between her sweetness and his frowardness  
Was the unhappy means of her destruction;  
And you that gave strength to that ill tied knot  
Do suffer sharply in the world's opinion,  
While she, sweet virgin, has its general pity.  Tes. 
Pray what have you been to her? I ne'er found you  
Appear a suitor to her.  Art. 
I ne'er saw her,  
Nor ever should have sought her, Sir; For she  
Was only love to my sworn enemy,  
On whom yet (were she living and in my gift  
Rather a thousand times I would bestow her  
Then on that man that had, and could not know her.  Tes. 
I have done ill; and wish I could redeem  
This act with half my estate.  Nat. 
This devil's bird,  
This Moor runs more and more still in my mind.  Enter Vin. & Edm. 
O are you come? And ha'you brought your scene  
Of Mirth along with you?  Vin. 
Yes, and our actors  
Are here at hand: But we perceive much business  
First to be set afoot. Here's Revels towards.  Ed. 
A dance of furies or of Blackamoors  
Is practising within;  Vin. 
But first there is to be some odd collation  
In stead of supper.  Nat. 
Cheap enough I warrant,  
But saw you not a Moorhen there amongst'em.  Ed. 
A pretty little Rogue, most richly decked  
With pearls, chains and jewels. She is queen  
Of the night's triumph.  Nat. 
If you chance to spy me  
Take her aside, say nothing.  Ed. 
Thou wilt filch  
Some of her jewels perhaps.  Nat. 
I'll draw a lot  Enter Quicksands. 
For the best jewel she wears. But mum my Masters.  Quic. 
Enter the house pray Gentlemen: I am ready  
Now with your entertainment.  Exit. Tes. 
we'll follow you.  Nat. 
Now for six penny custards, a pipkin of baked  
Pears, three saucers of stewed prunes, a groat's worth  
Of strong ale, and two pennyworth of Gingerbread.  Ext. 3. Tes. 
If she does live (as he bears me in hand  
She is not dead) I'll tell you briefly, Sir,  
If all the law bodily and ghostly,  
And all the conscience too, that I can purchase  
With all the wealth I have can take her from him,  
I will recover her, and then bestow her  
(If you refuse her) on your so you speak of,  
(whose right she is indeed) rather than he  
Shall hold her longer. Now mine eyes are opened.  
Will you walk in.  Ar. 
I pray excuse me, Sir,  Exit, Enter Mili. white. faced & in her own habit. 
I cannot fit myself to mirth.  Tes. 
Your pleasure.  
Mil. Have I with patience waited for this hour,  
And does fear check me now? I'll break through all,  
And trust myself with yond mild Gentleman.  
He cannot but be noble.  Art. 
A goodly creature!  
The Rooms illumined with her; yet her look  
Sad, and cheek pale, as if a sorrow sucked it.  
How came she in? What is she? I am fear-struck.  
'tis some unresting shadow. Or, if not,  
What makes a thing so glorious in this house,  
The master being an enemy to beauty?  
She modestly makes to me.  Mil. 
Noble Sir,—  Art. 
Speaks too.  Mil. 
If ever you durst own a goodness,  
Now crown it by an act of honour and mercy.  Art. 
Speak quickly; lose no time then: say, what are you?  
You look like one that should not be delayed.  Mil. 
I am th'unfortunate woman of this house,  
To all men's thoughts at rest. This is the face  
On which the Hell of jealousy abused  
The hand of Heaven, to fright the world withal.  Ar. 
Were you the seeming Moor was here?  Mil. 
The same;  
And only to your secrecy and pity  
I have ventured to appear myself again.  Ar. 
What's to be done? Pray speak, and 'tis performed.  Mil. 
In trust and Manhood Sir, I would commit  
A great charge to you, even my life and honour  
To free me from this den of misery.  Art. 
A blessed task! But when you are freed Lady—  Mil. 
I would desire Sir, than to be conveyed.—  Ar. 
Whither? to whom? speak quickly: why do you stoop?  Mil. 
Pray let that rest. I will relieve your trouble  
When I am freed from hence, and use some others.  Art. 
Nay, that were cruelty. As you love goodness tell me.  Mil. 
Why dare you bear me Sir, to one you hate.  Art. 
What's that, if you love? 'tis your peace I wait on.  
I look upon your service, not mine own.  
Were he the mortalest enemy flesh bred up  
To you I must be noble.  Mil. 
You profess—  Ar. 
By all that's good and gracious, I will die  
Ere I forsake you, and not set you safe  
Within those walls you seek.  Mil. 
Then, as we pass  
I'll tell you where they stand, Sir.  Ar. 
You shall grace me.  Exit.  

ACT 4. SCENE 5.  Quick sands. Testy. Nath. Vincent. Edmond. Qui. 
Now to our Revels. Sit ye, sit ye gallants  
Whilst, Uncle, you shall see how I'll requite  
The mask they lent me on my wedding night.  
'twas but lent Gentlemen, your mask of horns,  
And all the private jeers and public scorns  
You've cast upon me since. Now you shall see  
How I'll return them; and remarried be.  Vin. 
I hope he'll marry his Moor to anger us.  Nat. 
I'll give her something with her, if I catch her,  
an't be but in the coal-house.  Flourish enter Inductor like a Moor leading Phillis (black and) gorgeously decked with jewels. Tes. 
Attend Gentleman.  Ind. 
The Queen of Aethiop dreamt upon a night  
Her black womb should bring forth a virgin white.  Ind. 
She told her king; he told thereof his Peers.  
Till this white dream filled their black heads with fears:  Nat. 
A whoreson blockheads.  Ind. 
Blackheads I said. I'll come to you anon  Tes. 
He puts the blockheads on'em grossly.  Quic. 
Brave impudent rogue. He made the speeches last year  
Before my Lord Marquis of Fleet Conduit.  Ind. 
Till this white dream filled their blackheads with fear,  
For 'tis no better than a Prodigy  
To have white children in a black country.  
So 'twas decreed that if the child proved white,  
It should be made away. O cruel spite!  
The Queen cried out, and was delivered  
Of child black as you see: Yet Wizards said  
That if this damsel lived married to be  
To a white man, she should be white as he.  Vin. 
The moral is, If Quicksands marry her,  
Her face shall be white as his conscience.  Ind. 
The careful Queen, conclusion for to try,  
Sent her to merry England charily  
(The fairest Nation man yet ever saw)  
To take a husband; such as I shall draw,  
Being an Egyptian Prophet.  Ed. 
Draw me, and I'll hang thee.  Ind. 
Now I come to you, Gentlemen.  He looks in edmond's hand. Qui. 
Now mark my Jeers.  Ind. 
You must not have her: For I find by your hand  
You have forfeited the mortgage of your land.  Ed. 
Pox o'your Palmistry.  Ven. 
Now me.  Ind. 
Nor you: For here I plainly see  In Vin his hand. 
You have sold and spent your life's Annuity.  Vin. 
The devil take him, made thee a soothsayer.  Nat. 
I find from whence your skill comes. Yet take me  
For thy little Princess of darkness, and if  
I rub her not as white as another can  
Let me be hung up with her for a new  
Sign of the labour in vain.  Ind. 
Nor you, sir: For  In null hand. 
The only suit you wear smells of the chest  
That holds in Limbo Lavender all your rest.  Nat. 
Would his brains were in thy belly that keeps the key on't.  Ind. 
This is the worthy man, whose wealth and wit,  
To make a white one, must the black mark hit.  In Quic. hand Qui. 
Your jeers are answered, gallants. Now your dance.  Enter the rest of the Moors. They Dance an Antique in which they use action of Mockery and derision to the three Gentlemen. Nat. 
We applaud your device, and you'll give me leave  
To take your black bride here, forth in a dance.  Quic. 
With all my heart, sir.  Nat. 
Music, play a Galliard,  
You know what you promised me, Bullis.  Phi. 
But howa can ita be donea.  Nat. 
How I am taken with the elevation of her nostrils.  Nat. 
Play a little quicker— Hark you— if I lead you  
A dance to a couch or a bed side, will you follow me?  Phi. 
I will doa my besta.  Nat. dances vily. Quicks. & Tes. laughs & looks off. Nat. 
So, so; quick Music, quick.  Qui. 
O ugly! call you this dancing; ha, ha, ha.  Nat. 
Do you laugh at me.  Enter Arnold like a Country man, and Buz. like a changeling, and as they enter, exit Nat. with Phil. the Music still playing. Arn. 
By your leave Gentlefolks.  Buz. 
O brave, o brave.  Quic. 
How now.  Tes. 
What are these?  Buz. 
Hack ye there, hack ye there,  
O brave pipes. Hack ye there.  He sings and dances and spins with a Rock & spindle. 
Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.  Qui. 
What are you men or devils?  Arn. 
You are advised enough: Sir, if you please  
But to be short, I'll show you I am a Norfolk man,  
And my name is John Hulverhead.  Quic. 
Hold thy peace.  Softly. Arn. 
You cannot hear o'chat side it seems.  Qui. 
I know thee not, not I.  Arn. 
But you know my brother Matthew Hulverhead  
Deceased, with whom you placed this simple child of yours.  Qui. 
I placed no child in Norfolk nor Suffolk nor any  
Folk I— say thou mistookst me: I'll reward thee. Go.  Arn. 
I cannot hear o''at ear neither, sir.  Vin. 
What's the matter, Mr. Quicksands?  Ed. 
Ha'you any more jeers to put upon us? what are these?  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.  Qui. 
Get you out of my house.  Arn. 
I may not till I be righted. I come for right, and  
I will have right, or the best of the City shall  
Hear on't.  Vin. 
I swear the rascal's act it handsomely.  Tes. 
What art thou fellow? What dost thou seek?  Vin. 
Tell that Gentleman: He is an upright magistrate  
And will see thee righted.  Arn. 
I am a poor Norfolk man, sir. And I come to ease myself of a charge, by putting off a child natural to the natural father here.  Quic. 
My child! Am I his father? dar'st thou speak it.  Arn. 
Be not ashamed on't, sir: You are not the first grave and wise Citizen that has got an idiot.  Tes. 
Here's good stuff towards.  Buz. 
Ha, ha, ha— with a Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.  Qui. 
How should I get him. I was never married till this month.  Arn. 
How does other bawdy Bachelors get children?  Buz 
With a hay toodle loodle loodle loo, &c.  Tes. 
Have you been a bastard-getter and marry my Niece.  Vin. 
Now it works.  Tes. 
I'll teach you to get a bastard, sirrah.  Arn. 
He needs none o'your skill it seems.  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Qui. 
Well, Gentlemen, to take your wonder off,  
I will lay truth before you.  
For a poor servant that I had, I undertook and paid  
For keeping of an idiot.  Ed. 
Who, your man Buzzard?  Qui. 
Even he.  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Qui. 
'Tis like this is the child. But for a certain sum  
Which I did pay, 'twas articled, that I should ne'er be  
Troubled with it more.  Tes. 
Now what say you to that Sir?  Arn. 
'Tis not denied Sir, There was such agreement,  
But now he is another kind of charge.  Vin. 
Why, he gets something towards his living methinks.  Buzzard spinns. Ar. 
Yes, he has learned to thrip among the Mothers;  
But Sir, withal, to do more harm than good by't,  
And that's the charge I speak of: we are not bound  
To keep your child, and your child's children too.  Tes. 
How's that?  Arn. 
Sir, by his cunning at the Rock,  
And twirling of his spindle on the Thrip-skins,  
He has fetched up the bellies of sixteen  
Of his Thrip-sisters.  Buz. 
Hay toodle, loodle, loodle, &c.  Tes. 
Is't possible.  Arn. 
So well he takes after his father here it seems.  Ed. 
Take heed o''at friend: you heard him say it was his man's child.  Arn. 
He sha'not fright me with that, though it be  
A great man's part to turn over his bastards  
To his servants. I am none of his hirelings, nor  
His Tenants I. But I know what I say; and I know  
What I come about; and not without advise; And you  
May know, that Norfolk is not without as knavish  
Council, as another County may be. Let his man Buz.  
Be brought forth, and see what he will say to't.  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Qui. 
Wretch that I was to put away that fellow!  
But stay! where is my wife? my wife, my wife—  Vin. 
What say you, Sir?  Qui. 
My Moor I would say. Which way went my Moor?  Vin. 
Your Ethiopian Princess.  Nat. 
is gone to dance with her in private, because you laughed him out of countenance here.  Qui. 
Mischief on mischief! worse and worse I fear.  Tes. 
What do you fear, why stare you? Are you frantic?  Qui. 
I must have wits and fits, my fancies and fegaries.  Ed. 
Your jeers upon poor Gallants.  Vin. 
How do you feel yourself.  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Arn. 
Ask your father blessing Timsy.  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Arn. 
Upon your knees man.  Buz. 
Upon all my knees. A— ah. Hay toodle loodle.  Nat. 
What was't to you, you slaves?  Enter Nat. & Phillis pulled in by the Moors. 
Must you be peeping.  Tes. 
What's the matter now?  Nat. 
What was't to you, ye Rascals?  Moor. 
It is to us Sir, We were hired to dance and to speak speeches; and to do the Gentleman true service in his house: And we will not see his house made a bawdy house, and make no speech o''at.  Tes. 
What is the business?  Moor. 
Marry Sir a naughty business. This Gentleman has committed a deed of darkness with your Moor, Sir; We all saw it.  Tes. 
What deed of darkness? speak it plainly.  Moor. 
Darkness or lightness; call it which you will.  
They have lain together; made this same a bawdy house;  
How will you have it?  Qui. 
Undone, most wretched. O, I am confounded.  
I see no art can keep a woman honest.  Nat. 
I love her, and will justify my Act.  Phi. 
And I the best of any man on earth.  Nat. 
Thou speakest good English now.  Qui. 
O Ruin, ruin, ruin—  Buz. 
Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Vin. 
Why take you on so, for an ugly fiend?  Qui. 
She is my wife, Gentlemen.  All. 
How Sir, your wife.  Ed. 
In conceit you mean.  Qui. 
I say my lawful wife; your Niece; and so disguised  
By me on purpose.  Tes. 
I said he was mad before, ha, ha, ha.  Nat. 
Now I applaud my act, 'twas sweet and brave.  Qui. 
I'll be divorced before a Court in public.  Tes. 
Now will I use Authority and skill.  
Friends, guard the doors. None shall depart the house.  Nat. 
Mun. Vin. Content, content.  Arn. 
Shall I, Sir, and my charge stay too?  Qui. 
Oh—  Tes. 
Marry Sir, shall you.  Buz. 
I fear we shall be smoked then.  Arn. 
No, no, fear nothing.  Tes. 
You know your Chamber housewife. I'll wait o'your Master  
tonight. We will not part until tomorrow day,  
Justice and Law lights every one his way.  Vin. 
Is this your merry night, Sir?  Qui. 
Oh— oh— oh— o—  Ed. 
Why roar you so?  Nat. 
It is the Cuckold's howl. A common cry about the City.  Qui. 
Oh o— Buz. Hay toodle loodle, &c.  Exeunt omnes.   


ACT. 5. SCENE. 1.  Meanwell. Rashly. Winlosse. Host. Mea. 
Now my good Host, since you have been our friend  
And only council keeper in our absence,  
To you, before we visit our own houses  
We'll render a relation of our journey,  
And what the motive was that drew us forth.  
'Tis true, we did pretend a deadly quarrel  
At a great bowling match upon Black-heath;  
Went off; took horse; and several ways, forecast  
To meet at Dover, where we met good friends,  
And in one Bark passed over into France:  
Here 'twas supposed to fight, like fashion followers  
That thither fly, as if no sand but theirs  
Could dry up English blood.  Host. 
Now, by the way,  
Suppose that supposition had been true,  
And the supposed deaths of you, and you  
Had moved your sons to combat in earnest,  
And both been killed indeed, as you in jest,  
Where had been then your witty subtlety,  
My noble Meanwell, and my brave Rashly?  
Ha! have I twight ye there?  Rash. 
Thou keep'st thy humour still my running Host.  Host. 
My humour was, nor is, nor must be lost:  
But, to the question, was it wisely done,  
When each of you might so have lost a son?  Rash. 

We had no fear of that Sir, by the Rule,  
The common Rule o'th' world. Where do you find  
Sons that have lives and Lands, will venture both  
For their dead Fathers that are gone and cared for?   

Nor was it only to make trial of  
What husbands they would be; how spend, or save;  
How manage, or destroy; how one or both  
Might play the Tyrants over their poor Tenants,  
Yet fall by Prodigality into th'Compters:  
And then the dead by pulling off a Beard,  
After a little chiding and some whining,  
To set the living on their legs again,  
And take 'em into favour; pish, old play-plots.  
No Sir, our business runs another course;  
Know you this Gentleman yet?   Host. 
Nor yet, nor yet;  
Best wits may have bad memories; I forget.  Win. 
It is my part to speak. Mine Host, you've known me,  
My name is Winloss; a poor Gentleman,  
Yet richer, by my liberty, than I was  
For six years' space, till these good Gentlemen  
In charity redeemed me.  Host. 
Master Winloss!  
I thought I could as soon forgot my Chriss-Cross,  
Yet (pardon me) you have been six years gone,  
And all of them in prison saving one,  
In Dunkirk as I ween.  Win. 
It is most true;  
And that from thence these Gentlemen redeemed me  
At their own charge, by paying five hundred pound,  
Which was my Ransom.  Host. 
'Tis a rare example.  Win. 
Worthy brass tables, and a pen of steel.  Mea. 
No more good neighbour Winloss. What we did  
Was to discharge our conscience of a burden  
Got (and 'twas all we got) by your undoing,  
In a sad suit at Law.  Host. 
I do remember;  
And, without ruin I'll tell you, That sad cause,  
In which you joined against him, overthrew him  
And all his Family: But this worthy act  
Of yours in his enlargement, crowns your piety,  
And puts him in a way of better Fortune,  
Than his first tottering estate could promise.  Rash. 
Shut up that point. You have heard no ill, you say,  
Among our sons and daughters in our absence.  Host. 
Not any Sir at all. But, Mr. Winloss,  
You that have passed so many sorrows, can  
(I make no doubt) here one with manly patience.  Win. 
'tis of my daughter Phillis! Is she dead?  Host. 
'tis well and't be no worse with her: I fear  
She's gone the t'other way of all flesh, do you hear?  Rash. 
Why dost thou tell him this?  Host. 
To have him right  
His daughters wrong upon that wicked beast  
That has seduced her.  Rash. 
Who is't? canst thou tell?  Host. 
Even the Rank-rider of the town, Sir, one  
Master Nathaniel Banelasse, if you know him.  Mea. 
He has my son's acquaintance.  Rash. 
And mine's too.  Host. 
You may be proud on't, if they scape his doctrine.  Win. 
But does he keep my daughter to his lust?  Host. 
No, Sir, 'tis worse than so. He has cast her off  
To the common, as 'tis feared.  Win. 
O wretchedness!  Rash. 
How cam'st thou by this knowledge.  Host. 
Sir, I'll tell you.  
I have, i'th' house, a guest, was once your man,  
And served your son, since you went o'er I'm sure on't,  
Though now he has got a young spark to his Master,  
That has a brace of geldings in my stable;  
And lusty ones they are. That's by the way.  Rash. 
But to the point, I pray thee.  Host. 
Sir, the young gallant is abroad, the man  
Scults closely i'th' house here, and has done these two days  
Spending his time with me in drink and talk.  
Most of his talk runs upon wenches mainly;  
And who loves who, and who keeps home, and so forth;  
And he told me the tale that I tell you  
Twixt Banelasse and your done and undone daughter.  Ra. 
Mine host— cry mercy Gentlemen—  Enter Rafe. Mea. 
Nay, nay, come on.  Host. 
I told you he was very shy to be seen.  Ra. 
My old master alive again? and he that he killed too?  Mea. 
Whom do you serve? was I so ill a master,  
That, in my absence, you forsook my children?  
Or how have they misused you? Why dost look  
So like an apprehended thief? I fear  
Thou servest some robber, or some murderer,  
Or art become thyself one. If the Devil  
Have so possessed thee, strive to turn him out:  
He add my prayers to help thee. What's the matter?  Ra. 
O honoured master! I'll keep nothing from you.  
There is an act of horror now on foot,  
Upon revenge of your supposed murder,  
Of which to stand and tell the circumstance,  
Would waste the time and hinder the prevention  
Of your son's murder, and your daughter's ruin.  All. 
O fearful!  Ra. 
Let not your amazement drown  
Your reason in delay; your sudden haste  
Was never so required as now. Stay not  
To ask my why, or whither. As ye go  
I shall inform ye.  Rash. 
Go, we follow thee.  Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. 5. SCENE 2.  Dionysia as before in man's habit, sword and pistol. 
What a fierce conflict twixt revenge and love,  
Like an unnatural civil war, now rages  
In my perplexed breast. There, fight it out;  
To it pell-mell my thoughts. The battle's hot.  
Now for the day! revenge begins to stagger,  
And her distracted Army at an instant  
routed and put to flight. All conquering love,  
Thou hast got the victory; and now I sue  
(Like a rent kingdom by self-opposite thoughts)  
Unto thy sovereignty, to be the liege-right.  
Take me to thy protection, kingly love,  
And having captivated my revenge,  
O, play not now the Tyrant. A firm hope  
Persuades me no: But when I shall  
Reveal myself I shall obtain Theophilus' love.  
Which now is ten times sweeter in my thought  
Then my revenge was, when 'twas first begot.  Ent. The. & Lucy. The. 
What, still alone? we have been seeking thee.  Dio. 
O 'tis the service that I owe you Sir.  Lu. 
Indeed you are too pensive: two whole days  
And nights among us, and no more familiar?  Ent. Ar. in his false beard, leading in Mil. veiled. Pages they stand aloof. Pa. 
May I crave your name, Sir?  Ar. 
That's to little purpose,  
My business is the thing— yonder's the star!  
What young Gentleman is that your Mistress arm  
Appears so courteous too?  Pa. 
One she thinks well on Sir,  
No matter for his name, as you said, neither.  Ar. 
He seems some well graced suitor. 'Tis my fear,  
If he should now— I must be just however.  Pa. 
Sir, a Gentleman desires to speak with you.  The. 
Dost thou not know his name?  Pa. 
He will not tell it Sir.  The. 
You treacherous boy, do you bring you know not whom?  
O 'tis the Gentleman I was so bound to, Sister:  
The welcom'st man alive; Thanks my good boy.  
What's she he brings in veiled, and this way leads?  Ar. 
Sir, though I am still a stranger in my visit,  
To works of gentleness, I am partly known.  
There (if you chance t'enquire of me hereafter  
(When I shall more deserve your inquisition)  
I may be found, if not exact in service,  
A least a poor pretender in my wishes:  
And so presenting this white gift, (more modest  
Than the most secret duty of man's friendship  
Can ever be) I take my leave—  The. 
This man  
Would breed, at every time it's seen, a wonder!  
Sir, leave me not thus lost: let me once know you,  
And what this mystery means? This bears a shape  
I may not entertain: I have set my vow  
Against all woman kind, since Heaven was married  
To my first love; and must not willingly  
Discover a temptation with mine own hand.  Ar. 
How shy and nice we are to meet our happiness!  
Like dying wretches, 'fraid to go to rest.  
Because you shall be guilty of no breach  
I'll ope the Casket for you.  He unveils her, & slips away. The. 
Bless me, it is—  
Warm, so Love cherish me and comfortable.  Dio. 
O death, my hopes are blasted.  Lu. 
How is it with you, sir.  The. 
Might a man credit his own senses now  
This were my Millicent. How think you, sister?  Mil. 
Indeed I am so, my Theophilus.  Dio. 
She lives, and he is lost to me for ever,  
I shall be straight discovered too. False Love  
Thou hast dealt loosely with me; And Revenge  
I re-invoke thy nobler spirit: Now  
Possess me wholly; let it not be thought  
I came and went off idly.  Lu. 
Sir, something troubles you. See your kinswoman  
My brother stands entranced too; Brother, brother—  
Noble Lady, speak to him.  Mil. 
I was in my discovery too sudden.  
Strong rapture of his joy transmutes him— Sir,  
Be not so wonder-struck; or, if you be,  
Let me conjure you by the love you bore me,  
return unto yourself again. Let not  
A wandering thought fly from you, to examine  
From whence, or how I came: If I be welcome  
I am your own and Millicent.  The. 
And in that  
So blessed a treasure, that the wealth and strength  
Of all the world shall never purchase from me.  
Heaven may be pleased again to take thee, but  
I'll hold so fast, that we'll go hand in hand;  
Besides, I hope his mercy will not part us.  
But where's the man now more desired then ever  
That brought you hither?  Mil. 
You ask in vain for him.  
I can resolve you all; but for the present  
He will be known to none.  The. 
This is a cruel goodness: To put thankfulness  
Out of all action. Sirrah, how went he?  Pa. 
I know not, Sir, he vanished suddenly.  The. 
Vanished! good Lucy help to hold her fast  
She may not vanish too. Spirits are subtle.  Mil. 
This was my fear. Will you have patience,  
And fit but in this chair while I relate my story.  The. 
I'll be as calm in my extremest deeps  
As is the couch where a sweet conscience sleeps.  Dio. 
'tis now determinate as fate; and so  
At the whole cluster of'em. Bless me ha'!  As Dionisia presents her pistol. Enter. Rash. Mean. Win. Rafe. Arthur. 
My father living! Then the cause is dead  
Of my revenge.  Rash. 
What is he killed out right.  
Or else but hurt? Theophilus! my boy!  
Dead, past recovery. Stay the murderess there.  
Look you, Sir, to her. I suspect your son too  
Is not without a hand in't by the haste  
We met him in.  Lu. 
He is not hurt at all  
My honoured father, as I desire your blessing,  
But stricken with an ecstasy of joy.  Rash. 
Look up my boy. How dost? here's none but friends.  The. 
Sure, sure we're all then in Elysium  
Where all are friends and filled with equal joy.  
Earth can have no felicity like this.  
If this be any thing.  Rash. 
Thou canst not see nothing,  
Look well about thee man.  The. 
I see, I feel, I hear and know ye all:  
But who knows what he knows, sees, feels, or hears?  
'tis not an age for man to know himself in.  Rash. 
He is not mad I know by that.  The. 
If I know any thing, you are my father—  Rash. 
Thou art a wise child.  The. 
And I beseech your blessing.  Rash. 
Thou hast it. Millicent, I have heard your story,  
And Lucy, you betwixt you soothe his fancy,  
He will be well anon. Keep'em company Arthur,  
And Lucy, bid him welcome.  Lu. 
More than life, Sir.  Rash. 
You Dionysia would be chid a little;  
But, Sir, let me entreat her pardon.  Mea. 
Dry your eyes: you have it.  
Go instantly resume your sex's habit,  
And with the rest be ready, if we call ye  
To Quicksands' house. The rumour of our coming  
Already calls us thither to be assistant  
To justice Testy in a ponderous difference.  Kash. 
How does he now?  Ar. 
He's fallen into a slumber.  Rash. 
In with him all I pray.  Ar. &c. 
He shall have all our cares.  Exit with Thee. in the chair. Rash. 
Come my friend Meanwell. Now to Quicksands cause,  
To keep it out of wrangling lawyers jaws.  
The face of danger is almost made clean  
And may conclude all in a comic scene.  Exit.  

ACT. 5. SCENE 3.  Vincent. Edmond. Testy. Rashly. Meanwel. Vin. 
Come, we will hear this cause tried.  Ed. 
See the Judges  
Have ta'en their seats, while we stand here for evidence.  Tes. 
My worthy friends, you're come unto a cause  
As rare, as was your unexpected coming  
From the supposed grave—  Rash. 
To th' point I pray.  Tes. 
How quick you are! Good Mr. Rashly, know  
(Though I craved your assistance) only I  
Supply the chief place in Authority.  Rash. 
And much good do't you. I have other business—  
Your Niece Sir was too good for my poor son.  Tes. 
How's that?  Mea. 
Nay Gentlemen, we came to end  
A business: Pray begin no new one first.  Rash. 
Well Sir, I ha'done.  Mea. 
Pray Sir fall to the question.  Test. 
Bring in the parties.  Ent. Quic. Nat. Phil. 
The first branch of the question rises here  
If Quicksands wife, my Niece, be dead or living  
Speak Gentlemen. What can you say to this?  Vin. 
Quicksands affirmed to us, that she was dead.  Edm. 
Though, since in a distracted passion  
He says she lives.  Qui. 
She lives, and is that strumpet,  
From whom I sue to be divorced.  Mea. 
That Moor, there?  
Did you wed her since your fair wife's decease?  Qui. 
That same is she, and all the wives I had  
That black is but an artificial tincture  
Laid by my jealousy upon her face.  Rash. 
This is most strange.  Nat. 
Braver and braver still,  
I aimed but at a cloud and clasped a June,  
Will you be only mine?  Phi. 
I have sworn it ever.  Nat. 
Then I am made for ever.  Test. 
Remove her, and let instant trial be made  
To take the blackness off.  Qui. 
Then if her shame,  
And my firm truth appear not, punish me.  Tes. 
However, your consent to be divorced  
From Millicent is irrecoverable.  Qui. 
Before you all, I'll forfeit my estate  
If ere I re-accept her.  Rash. 
Then she's free.  Tes. 
Now Mr. Banelass—  Nat. 
Now for the honour of Wenchers.  Tes. 
Your fact is manifested and confessed.  Nat. 
In fewest words it is.  Tes. 
Are you content  
To take this woman now in question,  
If she be found no Moor to be your Wife,  
In holy marriage to restore her honour?  Nat. 
Or else, before you all, let me be torn  
To pieces; having first those dearest members,  
In which I have most delighted, daubed with honey.  Tes. 
This protestation  
Is clear, without respect of portion, now,  
Or that she is my Niece: For you must know  
She is no Niece of mine that could transgress  
In that lean kind: Nor must she ever look  
For favour at my hands.  Nat. 
I am content, to take her as she is,  
Not as your Niece, but as his counterfeit servant,  
Hoping he'll give me with her all about her.  Qui. 
My chains, and Jewels, worth a thousand pounds,  
I'll pay it for my folly.  Nat. 
'Twill be twice  
The price of my pawned goods. I'll put the rest  
Up for your jeers passed on my friends and me.  Mea. 
You are agreed.  Nat. 
To take her with all faults.  Enter Philis white. Phi. 
I take you at your word.  Qui. 
Hah—  Nat. 
Hell and her changes.  Phi. 
Lead by the hope of justice, I am bold  
To fix here fast, here to repair my ruins.  Nat. 
The devil looks ten times worse with a white face,  
Give me it black again.  Phi. 
Are we not one, you know from the beginning?  Nat. 
Get thee from me.  Tes. 
Sirrah you have your suit and your desert,  
'Tis your best part to pass it patiently.  Rash. 
'Tis Winloss daughter; we have found the error.  Qui. 
I am confounded here. Where is my Wife?  Tes. 
ay, that's the point must now be urged. The Law  
Asks her at your hands. Answer me, where is she?  Qui. 
I am at my joys end, and my wits together.  Mea. 
You have brought her fame in question: 'tis revenged  
Now you are in both for her life and honour.  Tes. 
Speak villain, Murderer, where is my Niece?  Qui. 
I have snared myself exceeding cunningly;  
That quean there knows.  Nat. 
Take heed, Sir, what you say,  
If she must be my wife. Hands off I pray,  
These are my goods she wears. Give me'em, Phil.  
For fear he snatch, I'll put'em in my pockets.  Phi. 
Sweet heart, my own will hold'em.  Nat. 
Sweet heart already! we are soon familiar.  Phi. 
You know we are no strangers.  Rash. 
Well Mr. Quicksands: because you cannot answer  
(To put you by the fear of halter-stretching)  
Since you've engaged your word and whole estate  
To be divorced: And you good Mr. Testy,  
If you'll be willing yet that my poor son  
To wed your Niece, as I shall find it lawful,  
I'll undertake her safe recovery.  Tes. 
I have in heart given her your son already.  Rash. 
And he has her already.  Ent. The. Mil. Ar. Lu. Dio. Winloss. 
As for example, see Sir.  Qui. 
See, see, the heaven that I am justly fallen from,  
O may I yet find favour.  Mil. 
Never here.  
Hadst thou not given thy faith to a divorce,  
On forfeiture of thine estate, which thou  
Dost hold more precious; or couldst now redeem  
That great engagement; and then multiply  
Thy past estate into a tenfold sum.  
Make me inheritrix of all; and last assure me  
To die within a week, I'll not remarry thee:  
Adulterate beast, that brokest thy former wedlock  
In thy base lust with that thy servant there.  Nat. 
What a pox no, I trow— My wife that must be?  Phi. 
'Twas your own doing, to put me to my shifts.  Nat. 
The devil shift you, than you will be sure  
Of change enough.  Win. 
O shame unto my blood.  Nat. 
I will henceforward council all my friends  
To wed their whores at first, before they go  
Out o'their hands.  Tes. 
How can you answer this?  Qui. 
I utterly deny't upon my oath.  Phi. 
So do I, and safely for any act.  Nat. 
That's well again.  Phi. 
It was but in attempt, I told my Mistress,  
Had it been done, sure I should ne'er have spoke on't.  Nat. 
Those are the counsels women can only keep.  Phi. 
Nothing in act I assure you.  Mil. 
In him 'twas foul enough though.  Mea. 
O hateful vice in age.  Tes. 
'Tis an old vice grown in him from his youth,  
Of which bring forth for proof his bastard there.  Buz. 
I fear we shall be whipped for counterfeits;  Ent. Buz. Arn. 
My long coats have a grudging of the lash.  Arn. 
I see my old Master's face again, and I will  
Fear nothing.  Buz. 
Then I'll bear up again—  
Hay diddy daddy, come play with the Baby  
Dindle dandle on thy knee, and give him a penny,  
And a new coat, o ho—  Qui. 
My grief and shame is endless.  Vin. 
Let not grief master you, Mr. Quicksands.  Ed. 
We are your friends, and pity your afflictions.  
What will you give us now and we'll release you  
For ever of this changeling charge of yours?  Vin. 
And prove he's not your bastard. Speak now roundly.  Qui. 
I'll cancel both your mortgages.  Vin. 
A match. Now look you Sir, your quandam servant,  
All but the beard he wore; for loss of which  
We'll recompense him.  Qui. 
O Buzzard, Buzzard, Buzzard.  Buz. 
O Master, Master, Master. Your servant and no bastard,  
Nor father of your Idiot in Norfolk,  
He's there, and well Sir, I heard lately of him.  Qui. 
How couldst thou use me thus?  Buz. 
How could you turn me away so?  Tes. 
Ha, ha, ha. Come hither Buzzard. Thou shalt not want a Master.  Arn. 
Nor I, I hope, while my old Master lives. You're welcome home Sir.  Rash. 
And thou to me my good old servant Arnold.  Qui. 
Well fare a misery of a man's own seeking;  
A tough one too will hold him tack to's end,  
This comes with wiving at threescore and three;  
Would doting fools were all served so for me.  Tes. 
To shut up all: Theophilus, take my Niece,  
We'll shortly find a Lawful course to marry ye.  Rash. 
I will take care for't. Arthur, take my daughter well bestowed.  
With a glad father's blessing.  Mea. 
And mine with it, wishing my daughter were as  Dio. 
Sir take no thought for me, till my strict life  
(By making man, and the world mere strangers to me,  
In expiation of my late transgression  
'gainst maiden modesty) shall render me  
Some way deserving th'honour of a husband.  Rash. 
Spoke like a good new woman.  Tes. 
How now! do you look squeamish on your fortune,  
Sir her's a Gentleman shall maintain her blood  
As worthy as your own till you defile it,  
'tis best you cleanse it again.  Nat. 
Cadzooks I will—  
Forgiv'me for swearing, and turn Precisian, and pray  
i'the nose that all my brethren whoremasters spend no worse.  Phi. 
My father—  Win. 
O my child.  Nat. 
Though Mr. Quicksands made a Mock-marriage with his English Moor,  
I'll not mock thee.  Tes. 
Enough, enough. I hope all pleased at last  
But Master Quicksands here.  Qui. 
I yield to fortune with an humble knee,  
If you be pleased, your pleasure shall please me.     

EPILOGUE.  
Now let me be a modest undertaker  
For us the players, the play and the playmaker:  
If we have failed in speech or Action, we  
Must crave a pardon; If the Comedy  
Either in mirth, or matter be not right,  
As 'twas intended unto your delight,  
The Poet in hope of favour doth submit  
Unto your censure both himself and it,  
Wishing that as you're judges in the cause  
You judge but by the ancient Comic Laws.  
Not by their course who in this latter age  
Have sown such pleasing errors on the stage,  
Which he no more will choose to imitate  
Than they to fly from truth, and run the State.  
But whether I avail, you have seen the play,  
And all that in defence the Poet can say  
Is, that he cannot mend it by a jest  
I'th' Epilogue exceeding all the rest;  
To send you off upon a champing bit,  
More than the scenes afforded of his wit:  
Nor studies he the Art to have it said  
He skulks behind the hangings as afraid  
Of a hard censure, or pretend to brag  
Here's all your money again brought in i'th' bag  
If you applaud not, when before the word  
'Twas parcelled out upon the shearing-board.  
Such are fine helps; but are not practised yet  
By our plain Poet who cannot forget  
His wonted modesty, and humble way  
For him and us, and his yet doubtful play,  
Which, if received or but allowed by you,  
We and the play are yours, the Poet too.