CURE FOR A CUCKOLD. A PLEASANT COMEDY, As it hath been several times Acted with great Applause.  
Written by JOHN WEBSTER and WILLIAM ROWLEY.  
Placere Cupio.  
London, Printed by Tho. Johnson, and are to be sold by Francis Kirkman, at his Shop at the Sign of John Fletcher's Head, over against the Angel Inn, on the Backside of St. Clement's, without Temple-Bar. 1661.   

The Stationer, to the Judicious Reader.  
Gentlemen,  
IT was not long 〈◊〉 I was only a Book-Reader, and not a Bookseller, which Quality (my former Employment somewhat failing, and I being unwilling to be idle) I have now lately taken on me. It hath been my fancy and delight (ere since I knew any thing) to converse with Books; and the pleasure I have taken in those of this nature, (viz. Plays) hath been so extraordinary, that it hath been much to my cost; 〈◊〉 I have been (as we term it) a Gatherer of Plays for some years, and I am confident I have more of several sorts than any man in England, Bookseller, or other: I can at any time show 700 in number, which is within a small matter all that were ever printed. Many of these I have several times over, and intent as I sell, to purchase more; All, or any of which, I shall be ready either to sell or lend to you upon reasonable Considerations.  
In order to the increasing of my Store, I have now this Term printed and published three, viz. This called A Cure for a Cuckold, and another called, The Thracian Wonder; and the third called, Gammer Gurton's Needle. Two of these three were never printed, the third, viz. Gammer Gurton's Needle, hath been formerly printed, but it is almost an hundred years since. As for this Play, I need not speak any thing in its Commendation, the Author's names, Webster and Rowley, are (to knowing men) sufficient to declare its worth: several persons remember the Acting of it, and say that it then pleased generally well; and let me tell you, in my judgement it is an excellent old Play. The Expedient of Curing a Cuckold (after the manner set down in this Play) hath been tried to my knowledge, and therefore I may say Probatum est. I should, I doubt, be too tedious, or else I would say somewhat in defence of this, and in Commendation of 〈◊〉 in general, but I question not but you have read what abler Pens than mine have writ in their Vindication. Gentlemen, I hope you will so encourage me in my beginnings, that I may be induced to proceed to do you service, and that I may frequently have occasion in this nature, to subscribe myself  
Your Servant, Francis Kirkman.   


Dramatis Personae.  
Woodroff, a Justice of the Peace, Father to Annabel.  
Frankford a Merchant, Brother in Law to Woodroff.  
Lessingham a Gentleman in love with Clare.  
Bonvile a Gentleman, the Bridegroom and Husband to Annabel.  
Raymond,  
Eustace,  
Lyonel, and  
Grover, Gallants invited to the Wedding.  
Rochfield, a young Gentleman, and a Thief.  
Compass, a Seaman.  
Pettifog, and  
Dodge, two Attorneys.  
A Councillor.  
Two Clients.  
Two Boys.  
A Sailor.  
Luce Wife to Frankford, and Sister to Woodroff.  
Annabel the Bride, and Wife to Bonvile.  
Clare, Lessingham's Mistress.  
Urse, Wife to Compass.  
Nurse.  
A Waiting-woman.    

A CURE for a CUCKOLD.  

ACT I. SCENE I  Enter Lessingham and Clare. Lesle. 
THis is a place of feasting and of joy, and as in Triumphs and Ovations here, nothing save state and pleasure.  Clare. 
'Tis confessed.  Lesle. 
A day of Mirth and solemn Jubilee.  Clare. 
For such as can be merry.  Lesle. 
A happy Nuptial, since a like pair of Fortune's suitable, equality in Birth, parity in years, and in affection no way different are this day sweetly coupled.  Clare. 
'Tis a Marriage.  Lesle. 
True Lady, and a noble precedent me thinks for us to follow: why should these outstrip us in our loves, that have not yet outgone us in our time.  
If we thus lose our best, and not to be recovered hours unprofitably spent, we shall be held mere Truants in Love's school.  Clare. 
That's a study in which I never-shall ambition have to become graduate.  Lesle. 
Lady, you are sad: this Jovial Meeting puts me in a spirit to be made such.  
We two are Guests invited, and meet by purpose, not by accident; where's then a place more opportunely fit, in which we may solicit our own Loves, than before this example?  Clare. 
In a word, I purpose not to marry.  Lesle. 
By your favour, for as I ever to this present hour have studied your observance, so from henceforth I now will study plainness, I have loved you beyond myself, mis-spended for your sake many a fair hour, which might have been employed to pleasure, or to profit, have neglected duty to them from whom my being came, my parents; but my hopeful studies most.  
I have stolen time from all my choice delights, and robbed my self, 〈…〉 have told me as fair, as rich, I never thought 'em so, and lost all these in hope to find out you, resolve me then for Christian charity. Think you an Answer of that frozen nature is a sufficient satisfaction for so many more than needful services?  Clare. 
I have said, Sir.  Lesle. 
Whence might this distaste arise? Be at least so kind to perfect me in that: Is it of some dislike lately conceived of this my person, which perhaps may grow from calumny and scandal? if not that, some late received Melancholy in you: if neither, your perverse and peevish will, to which I most i●●ly it.  Clare. 
Be it what it can, or may be, thus it is,  
And with this Answer pray rest satisfied.  
In all these travels, windings, and indents,  
Paths, and by-paths which many have sought out,  
There's but one only road, and that alone  
To my fruition; which who so finds out,  
'Tis like he may enjoy me: but that failing,  
I ever am mine own.  Lesle. 
Oh name it, Sweet. I am already in a Labyrinth until you guide me out.  Clare. 
I'll to my Chamber,  
May you be pleased, unto your misspent time  
To add but some few minutes. By my Maid  
You shall hear further from me.  Exit. Lesle. 
I'll attend you.  
What more can I desire, than be resolved  
Of such a long suspense. Here's now the period  
Of much expectation.  Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lyonel, and Grover, Gallants. Raym. 
What? you alone  
Retired to privacy,  
Of such a goodly confluence, all prepared  
To grace the present Nuptials?  Lesle. 
I have heard some say, men are ne'er less alone, then when alone, such power hath meditation.  Eust. 
Oh these choice Beauties that are this day assembled! But of all, fair Mistress Clare, the Bride excepted still, she bears away the prize.  Lyon. 
And worthily; for, setting off her present melancholy, she is without taxation.  Grov. 
I conceive the cause of her so sudden discontent.  Raym. 
'Tis far out of my way.  Grov. 
I'll speak it then: In all estates, professions, or degrees in Arts or Sciences, there is a kind of Emulation; likewise so in this: There's a Maid this day married, a choice Beauty. Now Mrs. Clare, a Virgin of like Age, and Fortunes correspondent, apprehending time lost in her that's in another gained, may upon this. For who knows women's thoughts grow into this deep sadness?  Raym. 
Like enough.  Lesle. 
You are pleasant, Gentlemen,  
Or else perhaps, though I know many have pursued her Love,  Grov. 
(And you amongst the rest) with pardon Sir,  
Yet she might cast some more peculiar eye  
On some that not respects her,  Enter Waiting-woman. Lesle. 
That's my fear which you now make your sport.  Wom. 
A Letter, Sir.  Lesle. 
From whom?  Wom. 
My Mistress.  Lesle. 
She has kept her promise, and I will read it, though I in the same know my own death included.  Wom. 
Fare you well, Sir.  Exit. Lesle. 

Prove all thy friends, find out the best and nearest,  
Kill for my sake that Friend that loves thee dearest.  
Her servant, nay her hand and character,  
All meeting in my ruin! Read again,   

Prove all thy Friends, find out the best and nearest,  
Kill for my sake that Friend that loves the dearest.  
And what might that one be? 'Tis a strange difficulty,  
And it will ask much council.   Exit Lesle. Raym. 
Lessingham hath left us on the sudden.  Eust. 
Sure the occasion was of that Letter sent him.  Lyon. 
〈…〉 be it was some Challenge.  Grov. 
Challenge, never dream it:  
Are such things sent by women?  Enter Woodroff, A●abel, B●●vile, Frankfore, Luce, and Nurse. Raym. 
'Twere an Heresy  
To conceive but such a thought.  Lyon. 
Tush, all the difference  
Begot this day, must be at night decided  
Betwixt the Bride and Bridegroom. Here both come.  Wood 
What did you call the Gentleman we met But now in some distraction?  Bon. 
Lessingham: A most approved and noble friend of mine, and one of our prime Guests.  Wood 
He seemed to me  
Somewhat in mind distempered. What concern  
Those private humours ours so public Mirth  
In such a time of Revels? Mistress Clare,  
I miss her too. Why Gallants, have you suffered her  
Thus to be lost amongst you?  Anna. 
Dinner done, unknown to any, she retired herself.  Wood 
Sick of the Maid perhaps, because she fees  
You Mistress Bride, her School- and Playfellow  
So suddenly turned Wife.  Franck. 
'Twas shrewdly guessed.  Wood 
Go find her out: Fie Gentlemen, within  
The Music plays unto the silent walls,  
And no man there to grace it: when I was young,  
At such a Meeting I have so bestirred me,  
Till I have made the pale Green-fickness Girls  
Blush like the Ruby, and drop pearls apace  
Down from their Ivory foreheads: In those days  
I have cut Capers thus high. Nay, in Gentlemen,  
And single out the Ladies.  Raym. 
Well advised. Nay Mrs. Bride, you shall along with us; for without you all's nothing.  Anna. 
Willingly, with Mr. Bridegrooms leave.  Bon. 
Oh my best Joy, this day I am your servant.  Wood 
True, this day; she his, her whole life after, so it should be: only this day a Groom to do her service, for which the full remainder of his age he may write Master. I ha●●●●e it yet, and so I hope still shall do. Sister Luce, may I presume my brother Frankford can say as much, and truly?  Luce. 
Sir, he may, I freely give him leave.  Wood 
Observe that brother, she freely gives you leave; But who gives leave, the Master or the servant?  Franck. 
You're pleasant, and it becomes you well, but this day most; that having but one Daughter, have bestowed her to your great hope and comfort.  Wood 
I have one: would you could say so, Sister; but your barrenness hath given your husband freedom, if he please, to seek his pastime elsewhere.  Luce. 
Well, well brother, though you may taunt me that have never yet been blest with issue, spare my husband pray, for he may have a By-blow, or an Heir that you never heard of.  Franck. 
Oh fie wife, make not my fault too public.  Luce. 
Yet himself keep within compass.  Franck. 
If you love me, Sweet.  Luce. 
Nay I have done.  Wood 
But if he have not, Wench, I would he had, the hurt I wish you both. Prithee, thine ear a little.  Nurse. 
Your boy grows up, and 'tis a chopping Lad, A man even in the Cradle.  Fran. 
Softly Nurse:  Nurse. 
One of the forwardst infants, how it will crow And chirrup like a Sparrow! I fear shortly it will breed teeth, you must provide him therefore a Coral, with a Whistle and a Chain.  Fran. 
He shall have any thing.  Nurse. 
He's now quite out of Blankets.  Fran. 
There's a Piece, provide him what he wants, only good Nurse prithee at this time be silent.  Nurse. 
A Charm to bind any Nurse's tongue that's living.  Wood 
Come, we are missed among the younger Fry,  
Gravity ofttimes becomes the sports of youth, especially  
At such Solemnities, and it were sin  
Not in our Age to show what we have been.  Exeunt. Enter Lessingham sad, with a Letter in his hand. Lesle. 
Amicitia nihil dedit natura ma us nec rarius, So saith my Author. If then powerful Nature in all her bounties showered upon mankind, found none more rare and precious than this one we call Friendship, oh to what a Monster would this transshape me, to be made that he to violate such goodness! To kill any had been a sad Injunction, but a Friend! nay, of all Friends the most approved! A Task, hell till this day could never parallel: And yet this woman has a power of me beyond all virtue, virtue, almost grace. What might her hidden purpose be in this? unless she apprehend some fantasy that no such thing has being:— and as kindred and claims to Crowns are worn out of the world, so the name Friend? 'T may be 'twas her conceit. I have tried those that have professed much for coin; nay sometimes slighter courtesies, yet found 'em cold enough,— so perhaps she, which makes her thus opinioned.— If in the former, and therefore better days, 'twas held so rare, who knows but in these last and worse times, it may be now with justice banished th' earth. I'm full of thoughts, and this my troubled breast distempered with a thousand fantasies, something I must resolve. I'll first make proof if such a thing there be; which having found, 'Twixt Love and Friendship 'twill be a brave Fight,  
To prove in man which claims the greatest right.  Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lyonel, and Grover. Raym. 
What, Master Lessingham!  
You that were wont to be composed of mirth,  
All spirit and fire.— Alacrity itself, like the lustre of a late bright shining Sun, now wrapped in clouds and darkness!  Lyon. 
Prithee be merry,  
Thy dulness sads the half part of the house,  
And deads' that spirit which thou wast wont to quicken,  
And half spent to give Life too.  Lesle. 
Gentlemen, such as have cause for sport, I shall wish ever  
To make of it the present benefit  
While it exists.— Content is still short breathed,  
When it was mine I did so. If now yours,  
I pray make your best use on't.  Lyon. 
Riddles and Paradoxes:  
Come, come, some Crotchers come into thy pate,  
And I will know the cause on't.  Grov. 
So will I, or I protest ne'er leave thee.  Eust. 
'Tis a business proper to myself,— one that concerns no second person.  Grov. 
How's that? not a friend?  Lesle. 
Why, is there any such?  Grov. 
Do you question that? what do you take me for?  Eust. 
I Sir, or me? 'Tis many months ago since we betwixt us interchanged that name, and of my part ne'er broken.  Lyon. 
Troth, nor mine.  Raym. 
If you make question of a Friend, I pray  
Number not me the last in your accompany,  
That would be crowned in your opinion first.  Lesle. 
You all speak nobly. But amongst you all  
Can such a one be found?  Raym. 
Not one amongst us, but would be proud to wear the character of noble Friendship. In the name of which, and of all us here present, I entreat, expose to us the grief that troubles you.  Lesle. 
I shall, and briefly: If ever Gentleman sunk beneath scandal, or his reputation never to be recovered, suffered, and for want of one whom I may call a Friend, then mine is now in danger.  Raym. 
I'll redeem't, though with my life's dear hazard.  Eust. 
I pray Sir, be to us open breasted.  Lesle. 
Then 'tis thus: There is to be performed a Monamachy-Combat, or Duel, Time, Place, and Weapon agreed betwixt us. Had it touched myself, and myself only, I had then been happy; but I by composition am engaged to bring with me my Second, and he too, not as the Law of Combat is, to stand aloof and see fair play, bring off his Friend, but to engage his person; both must fight, and either of them dangerous.  Eust. 
Of all things, I do not like this fight.  Lesle. 
Now Gentlemen, of this so great a courtesy  
I am at this instant merely destitute.  Raym. 
The time.  Lesle. 
By eight a clock to morrow.  Raym. 
How unhappily things may fall out, I am just at that hour upon some late conceived Discontents, to atone me to my father, otherwise of all the rest you had commanded me your Second, and your Servant.  Lyon. 
Pray the Place?  Lesle. 
Callis-Sands.  Lyon. 
It once was fatal to a friend of mine, and a near kinsman, for which I vowed then, and deeply too, never to see that ground: But if it had been elsewhere, one of them had before mine been wormsmeat.  Grov. 
What's the weapon?  Lesle. 
Single-sword.  Grov. 
Of all that you could na●●, A thing I never practised,— Had it been Rapier— or that, and Poniard, where men use rather slight than force, I had been then your Man; being young, I strained the sinews of my arm, since then to me 'twas never serviceable.  Eust. 
In troth Sir, had it been a money-matter,  
I could have stood your friend, but as for sighting  
I was ever out at that.  Exeunt Gallants. Enter Bonvile. Lesle. 
Well, farewel Gentlemen,  
But where's the Friend in all this? tush, she's wise,  
And knows there's no such thing beneath the moon:  
I now applaud her judgement.  Bon. 
Why how now friend, this Discontent which now  
Is so unseasoned, makes me question what  
I ne'er durst doubt before, your Love to me,  
Doth it proceed from Envy of my Bliss  
Which this day crowns me with? Or have you been  
A secret Rival in my happiness?  
And grieve to see me owner of those Joys,  
Which you could wish your own?  Lesle. 
Banish such thoughts,  
Or you shall wrong the truest faithful Friendship  
Man e'er could boast of, oh mine honour, Sir,  
'Tis that which makes me wear this brow of sorrow:  
Were that free from the power of Calumny.  
But pardon me, that being now a dying  
Which is so near to man, if part we cannot  
With pleasant looks.  Bon. 
Do but speak the burden, and I protest to take it off from you, and lay it on myself.  Lesle. 
'Twere a request, impudence without blushing could not ask, it bears with it such injury.  Bon. 
Yet must I know't.  Lesle. 
Receive it then.— But I entreat you sir, not to imagine that I apprehend a thought to further my intent by you, from you 'tis least suspected.— 'Twas my fortune to entertain a Quarrel with a Gentleman, the Field betwixt us challenged,— place and time, and these to be performed not without Seconds. I have relied on many seeming friends, but cannot bless my memory with one dares venture in my Quarrel.  Bon. 
Is this all?  Lesle. 
It is enough to make all temperature  
Convert to fury.— Sir, my Reputation  
(The life and soul of Honour) is at stake,  
In danger to be lost.— The word of Coward  
Still printed in the name of Lessingham.  Bon. 
Not while there is a Bonvile.— May I live poor,  
And die despised, not having one sad friend  
To wait upon my Hearse, if I survive  
The ruin of that Honor.— Sir, the time?  Lesle. 
Above all spare me— for that once known,  
You'll cancel this your promise, and unsay  
Your friendly proffer.— Neither can I blame you,  
Had you confirmed it with a thousand Oaths,  
The Heavens would look with mercy, not with justice  
On your offence, should you infringe 'em all.  
Soon after Sun-rise upon Callis-sands,  
To morrow we should meet— now to defer  
Time one half hour, I should but forfeit all.  
But Sir, of all men living, this alas  
Concerns you least;— For shall I be the man  
To rob you of this night's felicity,  
And make your Bride a Widow,— her soft bed  
No witness of those joys this night expects?  Bon. 
I still prefer my friend before my pleasure,  
Which is not lost for ever— but adjourned  
For more mature employment.  Lesle. 
Will you go then?  Bon. 
I am resolved I will.  Lesle. 
And instantly?  Bon. 
With all thespeed celerity can make.  Lesle. 
You do not weigh those inconveniences this Action meets with.— Your departure hence will breed a strange distraction in your friends, distrust of Love in your fair virtuous Bride, whose eyes perhaps may never more be blest with your dear sight: since you may meet a grave, and that not amongst your noble Ancestors, but amongst strangers, almost enemies.  Bon, 
This were enough to shake a weak resolve,  
It moves not me. Take horse as secretly  
As you well may: my Groom shall make mine ready▪  
With all speed possible, unknown to any.  Enter Annabel. Lesle. 
But Sir, the Bride.  An. 
Did you not see the Key that's to unlock my Carkanet and Bracelets? Now in troth I am afraid 'tis lost.  Bon. 
No Sweet, I have't: I found it lie at random in your Chamber, and knowing you would miss it, laid it by: 'tis safe I warrant you.  An. 
Then my fear's past: but till you give it back, my Neck and Arms are still your Prisoners.  Bon. 
But you shall find they have a gentle Jailor.  An. 
So I hope. Within y'are much enquired of.  Bon. 
Sweet, I follow. Dover?  Lesle. 
Yes, that's the place.  Bon. 
If you be there before me, hire a Bark, I shall not fail to meet you.  Exeunt. Lesle. 
Was ever known a man so miserably blest as I? I have have no sooner found the greatest good, man in this pilgrimage of Life can meet, but I must make the womb where 'twas conceived, the Tomb to bury it, and the first hour it lives,  
The last it must breathe? Yet there's a Fate  
That sways and governs above woman's hate.  Exit. 
Explicit. Act. 1.   

Actus secundus. Seena prima.  Enter Rochfield a young Gentleman. Roch. 
A Younger Brother? 'tis a poor Calling (though not unlawful) very hard to live on; the elder fool inherits all the Lands, and we that follow Legacies of Wit, and get 'em when we can too. Why should Law (if we be lawful and legitimate) leave us without an equal dividend? Or why compels it not our Fathers else to cease from getting, when they want to give? No sure, our Mothers will ne'er agree to that, they love to groan, although the Gallows echo and groan together for us. From the first we travel forth, tother's our journey's end. I must forward, to beg is out of my way, and borrowing is out of date: The old road, the old highway ' ● must be, and I am in't, the place will serve for a young beginner, for this is the first day I set open shop; success then sweet L●●●rna, I have heard that Thiefs adore thee for a Deity.  Enter Annabel and a servant. 
I would not purchase by thee, but to eat,  
And 'tis too churlish to deny me meat.  
Soft, here may be a booty.  An. 
Horsed, sayest thou?  Ser. 
Yes Mistress, with Lessingham.  An. 
Alack, I know not what to doubt or fear, I know not well whether't be well or ill: but sure it is no custom for the Groom to leave his Bride upon the Nuptial day. I am so young and ignorant a Scholar, yes, and it proves so: I talk away perhaps that might be yet recovered. Prithee run, the fore-path may advantage thee to meet 'em, or the Ferry which is not two miles before, may trouble 'em until thou comest in ken, and if thou dost, prithee enforce thy voice to overtake thine eyes, cry out, and crave for me but one word 'fore his departure. I will not stay him, say, beyond his pleasure; nor rudely ask the cause, if he be willing to keep it from me. Charge him by all the love. But I stay thee too long. Run, run.  Ser. 
If I had wings I would spread 'em now, Mistress.  Exit. An. 
I'll make the best speed after that I can,  
Yet I am not well acquainted with the path:  
My fears I fear me will misguide me too.  Exit. Roch. 
There's good moveables I perceive, what ere the ready Coin be, who ever owns her, she's mine now: the next ground has a most pregnant hollow for the purpose.  Exit Enter servant running over. Enter Annabel, after her Rochfield. An. 
I'm at a doubt already where I am.  Roch. 
I'll help you, Mistress, well overtaken.  An. 
Defend me goodness. What are you?  Roch. A man. An. 
An honest man, I hope.  Roch. 
In some degrees hot, not altogether cold,  
So far as rank poison, yet dangerous  
As I may be dressed: I am an honest thief.  An. 
Honest and Thief hold small affinity, I never heard they were a kin before, pray Heaven I find it now.  Roch. 
I tell you my name.  An. 
Then honest thief, since you have taught me so, for I'll inquire no other, use me honestly.  Roch. 
Thus then I'll use you: First then to prove me honest, I will not violate your Chastity, (that's no part yet of my profession) be you Wife or Virgin.  An. 
I am both, Sir.  Roch. 
This than it seems should be your Wedding-day, and these the hours of interim to keep you in that double state. Come then, I'll be brief, for I'll not hinder your desired Hymen: You have about you some superfluous Toys, which my lank hungry pockets would contrive with much more profit, and more privacy; you have an idle Chain which keeps your Neck a Prisoner, a Mannacle I take it, about your wrist too. If these prove Emblems of the combined Hemp to halter mine, the Fates take their pleasure, these are set down to be your Ransom, and there the Thief is proved.  An. 
I will confess both, and the last forget; you shall be only honest in this deed. Pray you take it, I entreat you to it, and then you steal 'em not.  Roch. 
You may deliver 'em.  An. 
Indeed I cannot: if you observe, Sir, they are both locked about me, and the Key I have not; happily you are furnished with some instrument, that may unloose 'em.  Roch. 
No in troth, Lady, I am but a Freshman,  
I never read further than this Book you see,  
And this very day is my beginning too:  
These picking Laws I am to study yet.  An. 
Oh, do not show me that, Sir, 'tis too frightful:  
Good, hurt me not, for I do yield 'em freely:  
Use but your hands, perhaps their strength will serve  
To tear 'em from me without much detriment,  
Somewhat I will endure.  Roch. 
Well, sweet Lady, ye are the best Patient for a young Physician, that I think e'er was practised on. I'll use you as gently as I can, as I'm an honest Thief. No? wilt not do? do I hurt you, Lady?  An. 
Not much, Sir.  Roch. 
I'd be loath at all, I cannot do't.  She draws his sword An. 
Nay then you shall not, Sir. You a Thief,  
And guard yourself no better? No further read?  
Yet out in your own book? A bad Clerk, are you not?  Roch. 
I by Saint Nicholas, Lady, sweet Lady.  An. 
Sir, I have now a Masculine vigour, and will redeem myself with purchase too. What money have you?  Roch. 
Not a cross, by this foolish hand of mine.  An. 
No money. 'Twere pity then to take this from thee: I know thou'lt use me ne'er the worse for this, take it again, I know not how to use it: A frown had taken't from me, which thou hadst not. And now hear and believe me, on my knees I make the Protestation, Forbear to take what violence and danger must dissolve, if I forgo 'em now, I do assure you would not strike my head off for my Chain, nor my hand for this, how to deliver 'em otherwise I know not; Accompany me back unto my house, 'tis not far off, by all the Vows which this day I have tied unto my wedded husband, the honour yet equal with my Cradle purity (if you will tax me) to the hoped joys the blessings of the bed, posterity, or what ought else by woman may be pledged, I will deliver you in ready Coin, the full and dearest esteem of what you crave.  Roch. 
Ha, ready money is the prize I look for, it walks without suspicion any where, when Chains and Jewels may be stayed and called before the Constable: But,  An. 
But? Can you doubt? You saw I gave you my advantage up: Did you ere think a woman to be true?  Roch. 
Thought 's free. I have heard of some few, Lady, Very few indeed.  An. 
Will you add one more to your belief?  Roch 
They were fewer than the Articles of my Belief; therefore I have room for you, and will believe you. Stay: you'll ransom your Jewels with ready Coin, so may you do, and then discover me.  An. 
Shall I reiterate the Vows I made  
To this injunction, or new ones coin?  Roch. 
Neither, I'll trust you: if you do destroy a Thief that never yet did Robbery, then farewel I, and mercy fall upon me. I knew one once fifteen years' Courtier, owled, and he was buried ere he took a Bribe● it may be my case in the worse way. Come, you know your path back.  An. 
Yes, I shall guide you.  Roch. 
Your arm, I'll lead with greater dread than will.  
Nor do you fear, though in thief's handling still.  Exeunt. Enter two Boys, one with a child in his arms. 1 Boy. 
I say 'twas fair play.  2 Boy. 
To snatch up stakes: I say you should not say so, if the child were out of mine arms.  1 Boy. 
I then thou'dst lay about like a man, but the child will not be out of thine arms this five years, and then thou hast a prenticeship to serve to a boy afterwards.  Enter Compass. 2 Boy. 
So sir, you know you have the advantage of me.  1 Boy. 
I'm sure you have the odds of me, you are two to one. But soft Jack who comes here? if a Point will make us friends, we'll not fall out.  2 Boy. 
Oh the pity, 'tis Gaffer Compass! They said he was dead three years ago.  1 Boy. 
Did not he dance the Hobby-horse in Hackney-Morrice once?  2 Boy. 
Yes, yes, at Green-goose Fair, as honest and as poor a man.  Comp. 
Blackwall, sweet Black-wall, do I see thy white cheeks again? I have brought some Brine from sea for thee: tears that might be tied in a True-love Knot, for they're fresh salt indeed. Oh beautiful Black-wall! if Urfe my wife be living to this day, though she die to morrow, sweet Fates!  2 Boy. 
Alas, let's put him out of his dumps for pity sake:  
Welcome home, Gaffer Compass, welcome home, Gaffer.  Compass. 
My pretty youths, I thank you. Honest Jack! what a little man art thou grown since I saw thee? Thou hast got a child since, methinks.  2 Boy. 
I am fain to keep it, you see, whosoever got it, Gaffer: it may be another man's case as well as mine.  Comp. 
Sayest true, Jack: and whose pretty knave is it?  2 Boy. 
One that I mean to make a younger brother if he live to't, Gaffer. But I can tell you news: You have a brave Boy of your own wives: oh▪ is a shot to this ●ig.  Comp. 
Have I Jack? I'll on thee a dozen of Points for this news  2 Boy. 
Oh 'tis a chopping Boy! it cannot choose you know, Gaffer, it was so long a breeding.  Comp. 
How long, Jack?  2 Boy. 
You know 'tis four year ago since you went to sea, and your child is but a Quarter old yet.  Comp. 
What plaguy boys are bred now adays?  1 Boy 
Pray Gaffer, how long may a child be breeding before 'tis born?  Comp. 
That is as things are and prove, child; the soil has a great hand in't too, the Horizon, and the Cilme; these things you'll understand when you go to sea. In some parts of London hard by, you shall have a Bride married to day, and brought to Bed within a month after, sometimes within three weeks, a fortnight.  1 Boy. 
Oh horrible.  Comp. 
True as I tell you Lads: in another place you shall have a couple of Drones, do what they ean, shift Lodgings, Beds, Bedfellows, yet not a child in ten years.  2 Boy. 
Oh pitiful.  Comp. 
Now it varies again by that time you come at Wapping, Radcliff, Lymehouse, and here with us at Black-wall, our children come uncertainly, as the wind serves: sometimes here we are supposed to be away three or four year together, 'tis nothing so; we are at home and gone again, when no body knows on't: if you'll believe me, I have been at Surrat as this day, I have taken the Longboat (a fair Gale with me) been here a bed with my wife by twelve a Clock at night, up and gone again i'th' morning and no man the wiser, if you'll believe me.  2 Boy. 
Yes, yes Gaffer, I have thought so many times that you or somebody else have been at home, I lie at next wall, and I have heard a noise in your chamber all night long.  Comp. 
Right, why that was I, yet thou never saw'st me.  2 Boy. 
No indeed, Gaffer.  Comp. 
No, I warrant thee, I was a thousand leagues off e'er thou wert up. But Jack, I have been loath to ask all this while for discomforting myself, how does my wife? is she living?  2 Boy. 
Oh never better, Gaffer, never so lusty, and truly she wears better clothes than she was wont in your days, especially on Holidays, fair Gowns, brave Petticoats, and fine Smocks, they say that have seen 'em; and some of the neighbour's reports that they were taken up at London.  Comp. 
Like enough: they must be paid for, Jack:  2 Boy. 
And good reason, Gaffer.  Comp. 
Well Jack, thou shalt have the honour on't, go tell my wife the joyful tidings of my return.  2 Boy. 
That I will, for she heard you were dead long ago.  Exit 1 Boy. 
Nay sir, I'll be as forward as you, by your leave.  Exit. Comp. 
Well wife, if I be one of the Livery, I thank thee,  
The Hornets are a great Company, there may be  
An Alderman amongst us one day, 'tis but changing  
Our Copy, and then we are no more to be called  
By our old Brotherhood.  Enter Compass his wife. Wife. 
Oh my sweet Compass, art thou come again?  Comp. 
Oh Urse, give me leave to shed, the fountain of Love  
Will have their course; though I cannot sing at first sight,  
Yet I can cry before I see. I am new come into the world,  
And children cry before they laugh a fair while.  Wife. 
And so thou art, sweet Compass, new born indeed; for Rumour laid thee out for dead long since, I never thought to see this face again. I heard thou wert dived to th' bottom of the sea, and taken up a Lodging in the Sands, never to come to Black-wall again.  Comp. 
I was going indeed wife, but I turned back: I heard an ill report of my neighbours, Sharks and Sword-fish, and the like, whose companies I did not like: come kiss my tears now sweet Urse, sorrow begins to ebb.  Wife. 
A thousand times welcome home, sweet Compass.  Comp. 
An Ocean of thanks, and that will hold 'em: and Urse, how goes all at home? or cannot all go yet? Lank still? will 't never be full Sea at our Wharf?  Wife. 
Alas, husband.  Comp. 
A lass or a lad, wench, I should be glad of both: I did look for a pair of Compasses before this day.  Wife. 
And you from home?  Comp. 
I from home? why though I be from home, and other of our neighbours from home, it is not fit all should be from home, so the town might be left desolate, and our neighbours of Bow might come further from the Itacus, and inhabit here.  Wife. 
I'm glad y'are merry, sweet husband.  Comp. 
Merry? nay, I'll be merrier yet, why should I be sorry? I hope my boy 's well, is he not? I looked for another by this time.  Wife. 
What boy, husband?  Comp. 
What boy? why the boy I got when I came home in the Cockboat one night, about a year ago? you have not forgottened, I hope? I think I left behind for a boy, and a boy I must be answered: I'm sure I was not drunk, it could be no girl.  Wife. 
Nay then I do perceive my fault is known. Dear man, your pardon.  Comp. 
Pardon. Why thou hast not made away my boy, hast thou? I'll hang thee if there were ne'er a whore in London more, if thou hast hurt but his little toe.  Wife. 
Your long absence, with rumour of your death,  
After long bettery I was surprised.  Comp. 
Surprised? I cannot blame thee: Blackwall, if it were double black-walled, can't hold out always, no more than Lymehouse, or Chadwell, or the strongest Suburbs about London, and when it comes to that, woe be to the City too.  Wife. 
Pursued by gifts and promises I yielded: Consider husband, I am a woman, neither the first nor last of such Offenders, 'tis true, I have a child.  Comp. 
Ha, you? and what shall I have then I pray? will not you labour for me as I shall do for you? Because I was out o'th' way when 'twas gotten, shall I lose my share? There's better Law amongst the Players yet; for a fellow shall have his share though he do not play that day: if you look for any part of my fours Years wages, I will have half the boy.  Wife. 
If you can forgive me, I shall be joyed at it.  Comp. 
Forgive thee, for what? for doing me a pleasure? and what is he that would seem to father my child?  Wife. 
A man sir, whom in better courtesies we have been beholding too: the Merchant, Mr. Frankford.  Comp. 
I'll acknowledge no other courtesies: for this I am beholding to him, and I would requite it if his wife were young enough. Though he be one of our Merchants at Sea, he shall give me leave to be Owner at home. And where 's my boy? shall I see him?  Wife. 
He's nurst at Bed●al-green: 'tis now too late,  
To morrow I'll bring you to it, if you please.  Comp. 
I would thou couldst bring me another by to morrow.  
Come, we'll eat and to bed, and if a fair Gale come,  
We'll hoist sheets, and set forwards.  
Let fainting fools sie sick upon their scorns,  
I'll teach a Cuckold how to hide his horns.  Exeunt. Enter Woodroff, Frankford, Raymond, Eustace, Grover, Lyonel, Clare, Luce. Wood 
This wants a precedent, that a Bridegroom should so discreet and decently observe his Forms, Postures, all customary Rites belonging to the Table, and then hide himself from his expected wages in the bed.  Franck. 
Let this be forgotten too, that it remains not a first example.  Raym. 
Keep it amongst us, lest it beget too much unfruitful sorrow: most likely 'tis that love to Lessingham hath fastened on him, we all denied.  Eust. 
'Tis more certain than likely. I know 'tis so.  Grov. 
Conceal then: the event may be well enough.  Wood 
The Bride my daughter, she's hidden too:  
This las● hour she hath not been seen with us.  Raym. 
Perhaps they are together.  Eust. 
And then we make too strict an inquisition, under correction of fair modesty, should they be stolen away to bed together, what would you say to that?  Wood 
I would say, Speed 'em well,  Enter Nurse. 
And if no worse news comes, I'll never weep for't.  
How now, hast thou any tidings?  Nurse. 
Yes forsooth, I have tidings.  Wood 
Of any one that's lost?  Nurse. 
Of one that's found again, forsooth.  Wood 
Oh, he was lost, it seems then?  Franck. 
This tidings comes to me, I guess Sir.  Nurse. 
Yes truly does it, sir.  Raym. 
ay, has old Lads work for young Nurses?  Eust. 
Yes, when they groan towards their second infancy.  Clare. 
I fear myself most guilty for the absence of the Bridegroom: what our wills will do 〈…〉 he adi●●● peevishness, to bring out 〈◊〉 discre●●●●●●● 〈◊〉? Lessingham's mistaken, quite out o'th' way of my purpose too.  Franck. 
Returned?  Nurse. 
And all discovered.  Franck. 
A fool rid him further off. Let him nor Come near the child.  Nurse. 
Nor see't, if it be your charge.  Franck. 
It is, and strictly.  Nurse. 
To morrow morning, as I hear, he purposeth to come to ●ed●al-green, his wi●e with him.  Franck. 
He shall be met there; yet if he fore-stage my co●ing, keep the child safe.  Nurse. 
If he be the earlier up, he shall arrive at the proverb.  Exit Nurse. Enter ●●●hfield and Annabel. Wood 
So, so, there's some good luck yet,  
The Bride 's in sight again.  Anna. 
Father, and Gentlemen all, beseech you entr●●● this Gentleman with all courresie, he is a loving kinsman of my ●●●viles, that kindly came to 〈◊〉 our Wedding; but a● the day falls out, you see 〈◊〉▪ I person●●● both Groom and Bride; only your help to make this welcome better.  Wood 
Most dearly.  Raym. 
To all, assure you sir.  Wood 
But where's the Bridegroom, Girl? We are all at a nonplus here, at a stand, quite out, the Music ceased, and dancing ●●●bated, not a light beel amongst us; my Cousin 〈◊〉 as cloudy here as on a washing-day.  Clare. 
It is because you will not dance with me,  
I should then shake it off.  Anna. 
'Tis I have cause to be the sad one now, if any be: but I have questioned with my meditations, and they have ●end'red well and comfortably to the worst fear I found: Suppose this day he had long since appointed to his foe to meet, and fetch a Reputation from him (which is the dearest Jewel unto man) Say he do fight, I know his goodness such, that all those Powers that love it are his guard, and ill cannot beride him.  Wood 
Prithee peace, thou'lt make us all Cowards to ●●ar a woman instruct so valiantly. Come, the Music, I'll dance ●●y self rather than thus put down, what, I am ri●e a little yet.  Anna. 
Only this Gentleman, pray you be free in welcome too, I tell you I was in a fear when first I saw him.  Roch. 
Ha? she'll tell.  Anna. 
I had quite lost my way in my first amazement, but he so fairly came to my recovery, in his kind conduct, gave me such loving comforts to my fears: ('twas he instructed me in what I spoke) and many better than I have told you yet, you shall hear more anon.  Roch. 
So, she will out with 't.  Anna. 
I must, I see, supply both places still: Come, when I have seen you back to your pleasure, I will return to you, Sir: we must discourse more of my Bonvile yet.  Omnes. 
A noble Bride ' faith.  Clare. 
You have your wishes, and you may be merry, Mine have over-gone me.  Exeunt. Manent Rochfield solus. Roch. 
It is the tremblingst trade to be a Thief, he'd need have all the world bound to the peace, besides the bushes, and the phanes of houses; every thing that moves he goes in fear of is life on. A furr-gowned Cat, and meet her in the night, she stairs with a Constable's eye upon him; and every Dog, a Watchman; a black Cow and a Calf with a white face after her, shows like a surly Justice and his Clerk; and if the Baby go but to the bag, 'tis ink and paper for a Mittimus: Sure I shall never thrive on't, and it may be I shall need take no care, I may be now at my journey's end, or but the Goals distance, and so to ' th' t' other place: I trust a woman with a secret worth a hanging, is that well? I could find in my heart to run away yet. And that were base too, to run from a woman; I can lay claim to nothing but her Vows, and they shall strengthen me.  Enter Annabel. Anna. 
See sir, my promise, there's twenty Pieces, the full value I vow, of what they cost.  Roch. 
Lady, do not trap me like a Sumpter-horse, and then spurgall me till I break my wind: if the Constable be at the door, let his fair staff appear, perhaps I may corrupt him with this Gold.  Anna. 
Nay? then if you-mistrust me: Father, gentlemans, Mr. Raymond, Eustnce.  Enter all as before, and a Sailor- Wood 
How now, what's the matter, Girl?  Anna. 
For shame will you bid your Kinsman welcome: No one but I will lay a hand on him,  
Leave him alone, and all a revelling▪  Wood 
Oh, is that it. Welcome, welcome heartily, I thought the Bridegroom had been returned. But I have news, Annabel: this fellow brought it. Welcome Sir, why you tremble methinks, Sir.  Anna. 
Some agony of anger 'tis, believe it, his entertainment is so cold and feeble.  Raym. 
Pray be cheered, Sir.  Roch. 
I'm wondrous well, sir, 'twas the Gentleman's mistake.  Wood 
'Twas my hand shook belike, than you must pardon Age, I was stiffer once. But as I was saying, I should by promise see the Sea to morrow, 'tis meant for Physic as low as Lee or Marget's: I have a Vessel riding forth, Gentlemen, 'tis called the God-speed too, though I say't, a brave one, well and richly fraughted; and I can tell you she carries a Letter of Mart in her mouth too, and twenty roaring Boys on both sides on her, Starboard and Lar-board. What say you now, to make you all Adventurers? you shall have fair dealing, that I'll promise you.  Raym. 
A very good motion, sir I begin, there's my ten pieces.  Eust. 
I second 'em with these.  Grov. 
My ten in the third place.  Roch. 
And Sir, if you refuse not a proffeted love, take my ten Pieces with you too.  Wood 
Yours; above all the rest, Sir.  Anna. 
Then make 'em above, venture ten more.  Roch. 
Alas Lady, 'tis a younger brothers portion, and all in one Bottom.  Anna. 
At my encouragement, Sir, your credit (if you want Sir) shall not sit down under that sum returned.  Eoch. 
With all my heart, Lady. There Sir: So she has fished for her Gold back, and caught it; I am no thief now.  Wood 
I shall make here a pretty Assurance.  Roch. 
Sir, I shall have a suit to you.  Wood 
You are likely to obtain it then, Sir.  Roch. 
That I may keep you company to Sea, and attend you back; I am a little travelled.  Wood 
And heartily thank you too, sir.  Anna. 
Why, that's well said. Pray you be merry though your Kinsman be absent, I am 〈◊〉, the worst part of him, yet that shall serve to give you welcome: to morrow may show you what this night will not, and be full assured,  
Unless your twenty Pieces be ill sent,  
Nothing shall give you cause of Discontent.  
There's ten more, Sir.  Roch. 
Why should I fear? Fouter o●'t, I'll be merry now spite of the Hangman.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus secundus.   

ACT 3. SCENE. 1.  Enter Lessingham and Bonvile. Bon. 
WE are first i'th' field: I think your Enemy is stayed at Dover, or some other Port, we hear not of his landing.  Lesle. 
I am confident he is come over.  Bon. 
You look methinks fresh coloured.  Lesle. 
Like a red Morning, friend, that still foretells a stormy day to follows: But methinks now I observe your face, that you look pale, there's death in't already.  Bon. 
I could chide your error, do you take me for a Coward? A Coward is not his own friend, much less can he be another man's. Know, Sir, I am come hither to instruct you by my generous example, to kill your enemy, whose name as yet I never questioned.  Lesle. 
Nor dare I name him yet, for d●-heartning you.  Bon. 
I do begin to doubt the goodness of your Quarrel.  Lesle. 
Now you have't; for I protest that I must fight with one from whom in the whole course of our acquaintance, I never did receive the least injury.  Bon. 
It may be the forgetful Wine begot some sudden blow, and thereupon 'tis Challenge, howe'er you are engaged; and for my part I will not, take your course, my unlucky friend, to say your Conscience grows pale and heartless, maintaining a bad Cause: fight as Lawyers plead; who gain the best of reputation when they can fetch a bad Cause smoothly off: you are in, and 〈◊〉 through.  Lesle. 
Oh my friend, the noblest ever man had: when 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 threw me upon this business, I made trr●d of divers had p●●●est to me much love, and found their friendship like the effects that kept our company together, Wine and Riot: giddy and sinking I had found 'em oft, brave Seconds at pluralities of Healths, but when it came toth' proof, my Gentlemen appeared to me as promising and failing as cozening Lotteries; but then I found this Jewel worth a thousand Counterfeits: I did but name my Engagement, and you flew unto my succour with that cheerfulness, as a great General hastes to a Battle, when that the chief of the adverse part is a man glorious, but of ample fame: you left your Bridal-bed to find your Deathbed, and herein you most nobly expressed, that the affection between two loyal friends is far beyond the love of man to woman, and is more near allied to eternity. What better friends part could be showed i'th' world? it transcends all! My father gave me life, but you stand by my honour when 'tis falling, and nobly underpropt it with your sword. But now you have done me all this service, how? how shall I requite this? how return my grateful recompense for all this love? For it am I come hither with full purpose to kill you.  Bon. 
Ha?  Lesle. 
Yes: I have no opposite i'th' would but yourself: There, read the Warrant for your death.  Bon. 
'Tis a woman's hand.  Lesle. 
And 'tis a bad hand too: the most of 'em speak fair, write foul, mean worse.  Bon. 
Kill me! away, you jest.  Lesle. 
Such jest as your sharpwitted Gallants use to utter, and lose their friends; Read there how I am fettered in a woman's proud Command: I do Love madly, and must do madly: deadliest Hellebore or vomit of a toad is qualified poison to the malice of a woman.  Bon. 
And kill that friend? Strange!  Lesle 
You may see, Sir, although the Tenure by which Land was held in Villeinage be quite extinct in England, yet you have women there at this day living, make a number of slays.  Bon. 
And kill that friend? She mocks you upon my life, she does Equivocate: her meaning is; you cherish in your breast either self-love, 〈◊〉 pride, as your best friend, and she wishes you'd kill that.  Lesle. 
Sure her Command is more bloody; for she loathes me, and has put, as she imagines, this impossible task, for ever to be quit and free from me; but such is the violence of my affection, that I must undergo it. Draw your sword, and guard yourself, though I fight in fury, I shall kill you in cold blood, for I protest 'tis done in heart-sorrow.  Bon. 
I'll not fight with you, for I have much advantage; the truth is, I wear a privy Coat.  Lesle. 
Prithee put it off then, if then be'st manly.  Bon. 
The defence I mean, is the justice of my Cause that would guard me, and fly to thy destruction: what confidence thou wearest in a bad cause, I am likely to kill thee if I fight, and then you fail to effect your Mrs. bidding, or to enjoy the fruit of 't; I have ever wished thy happiness, and vow I now so much affect it in compassion of my friend's sorrow, make thy way to it.  Lesle. 
That were a cruel Murder.  Bon. 
Believe't 'tis ne'er intended otherwise, when 'tis a woman's bidding.  Lesle. 
Oh the necessity of my fate.  Bon. 
You shed tears.  Lesle. 
And yet must on in my cruel purpose: a Judge methinks looks loveliest when he weeps, pronouncing of death's Sentence: how I stagger in my resolve! guard thee, for I came hither to do, and not to suffer; wilt not yet be persuaded to defend thee? turn the point, advance it from the ground above thy head, and let it underprop thee otherwise, in a bold resistance.  Bon. 
Stay. Thy injunction was, thou shouldst kill thy friend.  Lesle. 
It was.  Bon. 
Observe me, he wrongs me most, aught to offend me least, and they that study man, say of a friend, there's nothing in the world that's harder found, nor sooner lost: thou camest to kill thy friend, and thou mayest brag thou hast done't; for here for ever all friendship dies between us, and my heart for bringing forth any effects of love, shall be as barren to thee as this sand we tread on; cruel, and inconstant as the Sea that beats upon this Beach. We now are severed: thus hast thou slain thy friend, and satisfied what the Witch thy Mrs. bade thee. Go and report that thou hast slain thy friend.  Lesle. 
I am served right.  Bon. 
And now that I do cease to be thy friend, 〈◊〉 will fight with thee as thine enemy, I came not over idly to do nothing.  Lesle. 
Oh friend!  Bon. 
Friend? The naming of that word shall be the quarrel. What do I know but that thou lovest my wife, and f●ind'st this plot to divide me from her 〈◊〉, and that this Letter here is counterfeit? Will you advance Sir.  Lesle. 
Not a blow; 'twould appear ill in either of us to fight: in you unmanly; for believe it Sir, you have disarmed me already, done away all power of resistance in me, it would show beastly to do wrong to the dead: to me you say, you are dead for ever, lost on Callis-sands, by the cruelty of a woman; yet remember you had a noble friend, whose love to you shall continue after death: shall I go over in the same Bark with you?  Bon. 
Not for you town of Calais, you know 'tis dangerous living at Sea, with a dead body.  Lesle. 
Oh you mock me, may you enjoy all your noble wishes.  Bon. 
And may you find a better friend than I, and better keep him.  Exeunt. Enter Nurse, Compass, and his Wife. Nurse. 
Indeed you must pardon me, Goodman Compass, I have no authority to deliver, no not 〈◊〉 let you see the Child; to tell you true, I have command unto the contrary.  Comp. 
Command. From whom?  Nurse. 
By the father of it.  Comp. 
The father: Who am I?  Nurse. 
Not the father sure. The Civil Law has found it otherwise.  Comp. 
The Civil Law: why then the Uncivil Law shall make it mine again; I'll be as dreadful as a shrove-tuesday to thee, I will tear thy Cottage but I will see my Child.  Nurse. 
Speak but half so much again, I'll call the Constable, and lay Burglary to thy charge.  Wife. 
My good husband, be patient. And prithee Nurse let him see the Child.  Nurse. 
Indeed I dare not: the father first delivered me the Child, he pays me well, and weekly for my pains, and to his use I keep it.  Comp. 
Why thou white Bastard-breeder, is not this the mother?  Nurse. 
Yes, I grant you that.  Comp. 
Dost thou? and I grant it too: And is not the Child mine own then by the wife's Copyhold?  Nurse. 
The Law must try that.  Comp. 
Law? Dost think I'll be but a Father in Law? all the Law betwixt Blackwall and Tuttle-street, and there's a pretty deal, shall not keep it from me mine own flesh and blood? who does use to get my children but myself?  Nurse. 
Nay, you must look to that, I ne'er knew you get any.  Comp. 
Never? put on a clean Bmock and try me, if thou darest, three to one I get a Bastard on thee to morrow morning between one and three.  Nurse. 
I'll see thee hanged first.  Enter Frankford and Luce. Comp. 
So thou shalt too.  Nurse. 
Oh here's the father, now pray talk with him.  Franck. 
Good morrow Neighbour: morrow to you both.  Comp. 
Both? Morrow to you and your wife too.  Franck. 
I would speak calmly with you.  Comp. 
I know what belongs to a Calm and a Storm too. A cold word with you: You have tied your Mare in my ground.  Franck. 
No, 'twas my Nag.  Comp. 
I will cut off your Nag's tail, and make his rump make Hair-buttons, if e'er I take him there again.  Franck. 
Well sir, but to the Main.  Comp. 
Main. Yes, and I'll clip his Main too, and crop his ears too, do you mark? and back gall him, and spur-gaul him, do you note? And slit his Nose, do you smell me now, Sir? Unbritch his Barrel, and discharge his Bullets: I'll gird him till he stinks, you smell me now I'm sure.  Franck. 
You are too rough neighbour, to maintain.  Comp. 
Maintain? you shall not maintain no child of mine, my wife does not bestow her labour to that purpose,  Franck. 
You are too speedy: I will not maintain  Comp. 
No marry shall you not.  Franck. 
The deed to be lawful: I have repent it, and to the Law given satisfaction, my purse has paid for't.  Bemp. 
Your purse: 'twas my wife's purse. You brought in the Coin indeed, but it was found base and counterfeit.  Franck. 
I would treat colder with you, if you be pleased.  Comp. 
Pleased? yes I am pleased well enough, s●●ve me so still: I am going again to sea one of these days, you know where I dwell, yet you'll but lose your labour, get as many children as you can, you shall keep none of them, Franck. You are mad.  Comp. 
If I be hornmad, what's that to you?  Franck. 
I leave off milder phrase, and then tell you plain you are a  Comp. 
A what? what am I?  Fr. 
A Coxcomb.  Comp. 
A Coxcomb? I knew 'twould begin with a C.  Franck. 
The child is mine, I am the father of it; As it is passed the deed, 'tis past the shame, I do acknowledge, and will enjoy it.  Comp. 
Yes, when you can get it again, is it not my wife's labour? I'm sure she's the mother, you may be as far off the father as I am; for my wife's acquainted with more Whoremasters besides yourself, and crafty Merchants too.  Wife. 
No indeed husband, to make my offence both least and most, I knew no other man, he's the begetter, but the child is mine, I bred and bore it, and I will not lo●●● it.  Luce. 
The child's my husbands, Dame, and he must have it: I do allow my sufferance to the deed, in sien I never yet was fruitful to him, and in my barrenness excuse my wrong.  Comp. 
Let him dung his own ground better at home, then if he plant his Reddish roots in my garden, I'll eat 'em with bread and Salt, though I get no Mutt on to 'em; what though your husband lent my wife your distaff, shall not the yarn be mine▪ I'll have the head, let him carry the spindle home again.  Fr. 
Forebear more words, then let the Law try it: mean time Nurse keep the child, and to keep it better here take more pay beforehand. There's money for thee.  Comp. 
There's money for me too, keep it for me, Nurse: give him both thy dugs at once: I pay for thy right dug.  Nurse. 
I have two hands you see, Gentlemen this does but show how the law will hamper you: even thus you must be used.  Fr. 
The law shall show which is the worthier Gender: a Schoolboy can do't.  Comp. 
I'll whip that Schoolboy that declines the child from my wife and her heirs: do not I know my wife's case the Genetive Case, and that's Huju● as great a case as can be.  Fr. 
Well, fare you well, we shall meet in another place. Come Luce  Exit. Comp. 
Meet her in the same place again if you dare, and do your worst: must we go to 〈◊〉 our Childrennow a days? No marvel if the Lawyers grow rich; but e'er the Law shall have a Lymb, a Leg, a Joint, a Nail,  
I will spend more than a whole child in getting,  
Some win by play, and others by, by betting.  Exeunt. Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lyonel, Grover, Annabel, Clare. Lyon. 
Whence was that Letter sent?  Ann. 
From Dover▪ Si●  Lyon. 
And does that satisfy you what was the cause of his going over?  Ann. 
It does: yet had he only sent this it had been sufficient.  Ray. 
Why, what's that?  Ann. 
His Will, wherein he has estated me in all his land.  Eust. 
He's gone to fight.  Lyon. 
Lessinghams' second certain.  Ann. 
And I am lost, lost in't for ever.  Clare. 
Oh fool Lessingham, thou hast mistake my injunction utterly, utterly mistook it, and I am mad, stark mad with my own thoughts, not knowing what event their going o'er will come too; 'tis too late now for my tongue to cry my heart mercy, would I could be senseless till I hear of their return: I fear me both are lost.  Ray. 
Who should it be Lessinghams' gone to fight with?  Eust. 
Faith I cannot possibly conjecture.  Ann. 
Miserable creature! a Maid, a Wife, and Widow in the compass of two days.  Ray. 
Are you sad too?  Clare. 
I am not very well, Sir.  Ray. 
I must put life in you.  Clare. 
Let me go, Sir.  Ray. 
I do love you in spite of your heart.  Clare. 
Believe it there was never a fitter time to express it; for my heart has a great deal of spite in't.  Ray. 
I will discourse to you fine fancies.  Clare. 
Fine fooleries, will you not?  Ray. 
By this hand I love you, and will court you.  Clare. 
Fie, you can command your tongue, and I my ears to hear you no further.  Ray. 
On my reputation, she's off o'th' hinges strangely▪  Ent. Woodroff. Rochfeild▪ and a sailor. Wood 
Daughter, good news.  An. 
What is my husband heard of?  Wood 
That's not the business; but you have here a Cousin you may be mainly proud of, an I am sorry 'tis by you● h●●●●nds kindred, not your own, that we mig●● boast to have so brave a man in our Alliance.  Ann. 
What so soon returned? you have made but a short voyage howsoever you are to me most welcome.  Roch. 
Lady thanks, 'tis you have made me your own creature, of all my being fortunes and poor fame, if I have purchased any, and of which I no way boast, next the high providence, you have been the sole creatress.  Ann. 
Oh dear Cousin, you are grateful above merit, what occasion drew you so soon from Sea?.  Wood 
Such an occasion, as I may bless Heaven for, you thank their bounty, and all of us be joyful.  Ann. 
Tell us how.  Wood 
Nay daughter, the discourse will best appear in his relation, where he fails, I'll help.  Roch. 
Not to molest your patience with recital of every vain, and needless Circumstance, 'twas briefly thus: Scarce having reached to Marget's, bound on our voyage, suddenly in view appeared to us three Spanish men of War, these having spied the English Cross advance, salute us with a piece to have us strike, ours better spirited and no way daunted, at their unequal odds, though but one bottom, returned 'em fire for fire: the fight begins, and dreadful on the sudden, still they proffered to board us, still we bravely beat 'em off.  Wood 
But daughter, mark the Event.  Roch. 
Sea room we got, our ship being swift of sail, it helped us much, yet two unfortunate shot, one struck the Captain's head off, and the other with an unlucky splinter laid the Master dead on the hatches; all our spirits then failed us.  Wood 
Not all, you shall hear further, daughter.  Roch. 
For none was left to manage, nothing now was talked of but to yield up ship and goods, and mediate for our peace.  Wood 
Nay Cous. proceed.  Roch. 
Excuse me, I entreat you, for what's more, hath already past my memory.  Wood 
But mine it never can: Then he stood up, and with his oratory made us again to recollect our spirits so late dejected.  Roch. 
Pray Sir.  Wood 
I'll speak't out; by unite consent then the command was his, and 'twas his place now to bestir him, down he went below, and put the Linstocks in the Gunner's hands, they ply their ordinance bravely, then again up to the decks; courage is there renewed, fear now not found amongst us: within less than four hours fight two of their ships were sunk, both foundered, and soon swallowed: not long after the three begins to wallow, lies on the Lee to stop her leaks, then boldly we come on, boarded and took her, and she's now our prize.  Sayl. 
Of this we were eye witness.  Wood 
And many more brave boys of us, besides myself for one; never was, Gentlemen, a Sea fight better managed.  Roch. 
Thanks to Heaven we have saved our own, dammaged the enemy, and to our Nation's glory, we bring home honour and profit.  Wood 
In which Cousin Rochfeild, you as a venturer have a double share, besides the name of Captain, and in that a second benefit, but most of all, weigh to more great employment.  Roch. 
Thus your bounty hath been to me a blessing.  Ray. 
Sir, we are all indebted to your valour, this beginning may make us of small ventures, to become hereafter wealthy Merchants.  Wood 
Daughter and Gentlemen, this is the man was born to to make us all, come enter, enter; we will in and feast, he's in the Bridegroom's absence my chief guest.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Tertii.   

ACT. 4. SCENE 1.  Enter Compass, Wife, Lyonel, and Pettifog the Attorney, and one Boy. Comp. 
THree Tuns do you call this Tavern? it has a good neighbour of Guildhall, Mr. Pettifog. Show a room boy.  Boy. 
Welcome Gentlemen.  Comp. 
What? art thou here Hodge!  Boy. 
I am glad you are in health, sir.  Comp. 
This was the honest Crack-roap first gave me tidings of my wife's fruitfulness. Art bound Apprentice?  Boy. 
Yes, Sir.  Comp. 
Mayest thou long jumble Bastard most artificially, to the profit of thy Master, and pleasure of thy Mistress.  Boy. 
What Wine drink ye, Gentlemen?  Lyon. 
What Wine relishes your palate, good Mr. P●ttifog?  Pet. 
Nay, ask the woman.  Comp. 
Ellegant for her, I know her Di●t.  Pet. 
Believe me, I ●●n her thank for't, I am of her side.  Comp. 
Marry, and reason, sir, we have entertained you for our Atorney.  Boy. 
A Cup of neat Allegant?  Comp. 
Yes, but do not make it speak Welsh, boy.  Boy. 
How mean you?  Comp. 
Put no Metheglin in't, ye rogue.  They sit down, Pettifog pulls ou●●●p●rs. Boy. 
Not a drop, as I am crew Britain.  Enter Frankford, Eustace, Luce, and Mr. Dodge a Lawyer to another Table, and a Drawer. Fr. 
Show a private room, Drawer.  Dr. 
Welcome Gentlemen.  Eust. 
As far as you can from noise, boy.  Dr. 
Further this way then, sir; for in the next room there are three or four Fishwives taking up a brabbling business.  Fr. 
Let's not sit near them by any means.  Dodge. 
Fill Canary, sirrah.  Fr. 
And what do you think of my Cause, Mr. Dodge?  Dodge. 
Oh we shall carry it most indubitably: you have money to go through with the business, and ne'ro fear it but we'll trounce 'em, you are the true Father.  Luce. 
The mother will confess as much.  Dodge. 
Yes Mistress, we have taken her Affidavit. Look you sir, here's the Answer to his Declaration.  Fr. 
You may think strange, sir, that I am at charge to call a Charge upon me: but 'tis truth, I made a Purchase lately, and in that I did estate the Child, 'bout which I'm sued, Joynt-purchaser in all the Land I bought: now that's one reason that I should have care, besides the ●ye of blood, to keep the Child under my wing, and see it carefully instructed in those fair Abilities may make it worthy hereafter to be mine, and enjoy the Land I have provided for't.  Luce. 
Right, and I counseled you to make that Purchase; and therefore I'll not have the Child brought up by such a Coxcomb as now sues for him, he'd bring him up only to be a Swabber: he was born a Merchant and a Gentleman, and he shall live and die so.  Dodge. 
Worthy Mistress, I drink to you: you are a good woman, and but few of so noble a patience.  Enter 2 Boy. Enter boy. 
Score a quart of Allegant t'oth' Woodcock.  Enter 1 Boy like a Musician. 1 Boy. 
Will you have any music, Gentlemen?  Comp. 
Music amongst Lawyers? here's nothing but discord. What, Rafe! here's another of my young Cuckoos I heard last April, before I heard the Nightingale: no music, good Rafe: here boy, your father was a Tailor, and methinks by your leering eye you should take after him. A good boy, make a leg handsomely, scrape yourself out of our company. And what do you think of my Suit, sir?  Pet. 
Why, look you, sir: The Defendant was arrested first by Latitate in an Action of Trespass.  Comp. 
And a Lawyer told me it should have been an Action of the Case, should it not wife?  Wife. 
I have no skill in Law, sir: but you heard a Lawyer say so.  Pet. 
ay, but your Action of the Case is in that point too ticklish.  Comp. 
But what do you think, shall I overthrow my adversary?  Pet. 
Sans question: The child is none of yours: what of that? I marry a widow is possessed of a Ward, shall not I have the tuition of that Ward? Now sir, you lie at a stronger Ward; for partus sequitur ventrem, says the Civil Law: and if you were within compass of the four Seas, as the common Law goes, the child shall be yours certain.  Comp. 
There's some comfort in that yet. Oh your Atorneys in Guildhall have a fine time on't.  Lyon. 
You are in effect both Judge and Jury yourselves.  Comp. 
And how you will laugh at your Clients when you sit in a Tavern, and call them Coxcombs, and whip up a Cause, as a Barber trims his Customers on a Christmas Eve, a snip, a wipe, and away.  Pet. 
That's ordinary, sir: you shall have the like at a Nisi Prius. Oh you are welcome, Sir.  Enter 1 Client. 1 Client. 
Sir, you'll be mindful of my Suit.  Pet. 
As I am religious, I'll drink to you.  1 Client. 
I thank you. By your favour, Mistress. I have much business and cannot stay; but there's money for a quart of Wine.  Comp. 
By no means.  1 Client. 
I have said, Sir.  Exit. Enter 2 Client. Pet. 
He's my Client sir, and he must pay; this is my tribute. Custom is not more truly paid in the Sound of Denmark.  2 Client. 
Good sir, be careful of my business.  Pet. 
Your Declaration's drawn, sir: I'll drink to you.  2 Client. 
I cannot drink this morning; but there's money for a pottle of Wine.  Pet. 
Oh good sir.  2 Client. 
I have done, sir. Morrow, Gentlemen.  Exit. Comp. 
We shall drink good cheap, Mr. Pettifog.  Pet. 
And we sat here long you'd say so. I have sare here in this Tavern but one half hour, drunk but three pin●● of wine, and what with the offering of my Clients in that short time, I have got nine shillings clear, and paid all the Reckoning.  Lyon. 
Almost a Councillors Fee.  Pet. 
And a great one as the world goes in Guildhall; for now our young Clerks share with 'em, to help 'em to Clients.  Comp. 
I don't think but that the Cucking-stool is an enemy to a number of brabbles, that would else be determined by Law.  Pet. 
'Tis so indeed, sir: My Client that came in now, sues his neighbour for kicking his Dog, and using the defamatory speeches, Come out Cuckold's cur.  Lyon. 
And what shall you recover upon this speech?  Pet. 
In Guildhall I assure you, the other that came in was an Informer, a precious knaye.  Comp. 
Will not the Ballad of Flood that was pressed, make them leave their knavery?  Pet. 
I'll tell you how he was served: This Informer comes into Turnball-street to a Victualling-house, and there falls in league with a Wench.  Comp. 
A Tweak, or Bronstrops, I learned that name in a Play.  Pet. 
Had belike some private dealings with her, and there got a Goose.  Comp. 
I would he had got two, I cannot away with an Informer  Pet. 
Now sir, this fellow in revenge of this, informs against the Bawd that kept the house, that she used Cans in her house; 〈◊〉 the cunning Jade comes me into ' th' Court, and there deposes that she gave him true Winchester measure.  Comp. 
Marry, I th●nk her with all my heart for't.  Ent. Drawer Draw. 
Here's a Gentleman, one Justice Woodroff inquires for Mr. Frankford. Fr. Oh, my brother and the other Compremiser come to take up the business.  Enter Councillor and Woodroff. Wood 
We have conferred and laboured for your peace, unless your stubborness prohibit it; and be assured, as we can determine it, the Law will end, for we have sought the Cases.  Comp. 
If the Child fall to my share, I am content to end upon any conditions, the Law shall run on headlong else.  Fr. 
Your purse must run by like a Footman then.  Comp. 
〈◊〉 purse shall run open mouthed at thee.  Coun. 
My friend, be calm, you shall hear the reasons: I have stood up for you, pleaded your Cause, but am overthrown, yet no further yielded than your own pleasure; you may go on in Law if you refuse our Censure.  Comp. 
I will yield to nothing but my Child.  Coun. 
'Tis then as vain in us to seek your peace, yet take the reasons with you: This Gentleman first speaks, a Justice to me, and observe it, A child that's base and illegitimate born, the father found, who (if the need require it) secures the charge and damage of the Parish but the father? who charged with education but the father? then by clear consequence he ought for what he pays for, to enjoy. Come to the strength of reason, upon which the Law is grounded: the earth brings forth, this ground or that, her Crop of Wheat or Rye, whether shall the Seedsman enjoy the sheaf, or leave it to the earth that brought it forth? The summer tree brings forth her natural fruit, spreads her large arms, who but the lord of it shall pluck Apples, or command the lops? or shall they sink into the root again? 'tis still most clear upon the Father's part.  Comp. 
All this Law I deny, and will be mine own Lawyer. Is not the earth our Mother? And shall not the earth have all her children again? I would see that Law durst keep any of us back, she'll have Lawyers and all first, though they be none of her best children. My wife is the mother, and so much for the Civil-law. Now I come again, and ye are gone at the Common-law: suppose this is my ground, I keep a Sow upon it, as it might be my wife, you keep a Boar, as it might be my adversary here; your 〈◊〉 comes fo●ming into my ground, jumbles with my Sow, and ●●llowes in her mire, my Sow cries week▪ as if she had Pigs in her belly, who shall keep these Pigs? he the Boar, or she the Sow?  Wood 
Past other alteration, I am changed, the Law is on the Mother's part.  Coun. 
For me, I am strong in your opi●●●n, I never knew my judgement err so far, I was confirmed upon the other part, and now am flat against it.  Wood 
Sir you must yield, believe it there's no Law can relieve you.  Fr. 
I found it in myself: well sir, the child 's your wives, I'll strive no further in it, and being so near unto agreement, let us go quite through to't; forgive my fault, and I forgive my charges, nor will I take back the inheritance I made unto it.  Comp. 
Nay, there you shall find me kind too, I have a pottle of Claret, and a Capon to supper for you; but no more Mutton for you, not a bit.  Ray. 
Yes a shoulder, and we'll be there too, or a leg opened with Venison sauce.  Comp. 
No legs opened by your leave; not no such fawce.  Wood 
Well brother, and neighbour, I am glad you are friends.  Omnes. 
All, all joy at it.  Exeunt Wood Fr. and 〈◊〉. Comp. 
Urse, come kiss Urse, all friends.  Ray. 
Stay sir, one thing I would advise you, 'tis Council worth; Fee, though I be no Lawyer, 'tis Physic indeed, & cures Cuckoldry, to keep that ●ightful brand out of your forehead, that it shall not dare to meet or look out at any window to you, 'tis better than an Onion to a green wound i'th' left hand made by fire, it takes out scar and all.  Comp. 
This were a rare receipt, I'll content you for your skill.  Ray. 
Make here a flat divorce between yourselves, be you no husband, not let her be no wife, within two hours you may s●lute again, woo, and wed afresh, and then the Cuckold's blotted. This medicine is approved.  Comp. 
Excellent, and I thank you: Urse, I renounce thee, and I renounce myself from thee; thou art a Widow, Urse, I will go hang myself two hours, and so long thou shalt drown thyself, then will we meet again in the Pease-field by Bishops-Hall, and as the Swads and the Cod shall instruct us, we'll talk of a new matter.  Wife. 
I will be ruled, fare you well sir.  Exit wife. Comp. 
Farewell widow, remember time and place, change your Clothes too, do ye hear, widow? Sir, I am beholding to your good Council.  Ray. 
But you'll not follow your own so far I hope? you said you'd hang yourself.  Comp. 
No I have devised a better way, I will go drink myself dead for an hour, then when I awake ●gen, I am a fresh new man, and so I go a wo●ing.  Ray. 
That's handsome, and I'll lend thee a dagger.  Comp. 
For the long Weapon let me alone then.  Exeunt. Enter Lessingham and Clare. Clare. 
Oh sir, are you returned? I do expect to hear strange news now.  Lesle. 
I have none to tell you, I am only to relate I have done ill at a woman's bidding, that's I hope no news: yet wherefore do I call that ill, beggars my absolute happiness? you now are mine, I must enjoy you solely.  Clare. 
By what warrant?  Lesle. 
By your own condition, I have been at Calais, performed your will, drawn my revengful sword, and slain my nearest and best friend i'th' world I had, for your sake.  Clare. 
Slain your friend for my sake?  Lesle. 
A most sad truth.  Clare. 
And your best friend?  Lesle. 
My chiefest.  Clare. 
Then of all men you are most miserable, nor have you aught furthered your suit in this, though I enjoined you to't, for I had thought that I had been the best esteemed friend you had i'th' world.  Lesle. 
Ye did not wish I hope, that I should have murdered you?  Clare. 
You shall perceive more of that hereafter: But I pray fit tell me, for I do freeze with expectation of it, it chills my heart with horror till I know what friends blood you have sacrificed to your fury and to my fatal sport, this bloody Riddle? who is it you have slain?  Lesle. 
Bonvile the Bridegroom.  Clare. 
Say? Oh you have struck him dead through my heart, in being true to me, you have proved in this the falsest Traitor: oh I am lost for ever: yet wherefore am I lost? rather recovered from a deadly witchcraft, and upon his grave I will not gather Rue, but Violets to bless my wedding strew; good sir tell'me, are you certain he is dead?  Lesle. 
Never, never to be recovered.  Clare. 
Why now sir, I do love you, with an entire heart, I could dance methinks, never did wine or mu●●ch stir in woman, a sweerer touch of Mirth, I will marry you, instantly r●arry you.  Lesle. 
This woman has strange changes, you are takne strangely with his death.  Clare. 
I'll give the reason I have to be thus ecstasied with joy: know 〈◊〉, that you have slain my dearest friend, and faralest enemy.  Lesle. 
Most strange!  Clare. 
'Tis true, you have ta'en a mass of Lead from off my heart, for ever would have sunk it in despair; when you beheld me yesterday, I stood as if a Merchant walking on the Downs, should see some goodly Vessel of his own sunk 'fore his face i'th' Harbour, and my heart retained no more heat than a man that toils, and vain'y labours to put out the flames that burns his house toth' bottom. I will tell you a strange concealment, sir, and till this minute never revealed, and I will tell it now, smiling and not blushing; I did love that Bonvyle, (not as I ought, but as a woman might that's beyond reason,) I did do●t upon him, though he near knew of't, and beholding him before my face wedded unto another, and all my interest in him forfeited, I fell into despair, 〈◊〉 that instant you urging your Suit to me, and I thinking 〈◊〉 I had been your only friend i'th' world, I heartily did wish you would have killed that friend yourself, to have ended all my sorrow, and had prepared it, that unwittingly you should have done't by poison.  Lesle. 
Strange amazement!  Clare. 
The effects of a strange Love.  Lesle. 
'Tis a dream sure.  Clare. 
No 'tis real sir, believe it.  Lesle. 
Would it were not.  Clare. 
●hat sir, you have done bravely, 'tis your Mistress that tells you, you have done so.  Lesle. 
But my Conscience▪  
Is of Council 'gainst you, and pleads otherwise:  
Virtue in her past actions glories still,  
But vice throws loathed looks on former ill.  
But did you love this Bonvile?  Clare. 
Strangely sir, almost to a degree of madness.  Lesle. 
Trust a woman? never henceforward, I will rather trust the winds which Lapland Witches sell to men, all that they have is feigned, their teeth, their hair, their blushes, nay their conscience too is feigned, let 'em paint, load themselves with Clo●h of Tissue, they cannot yet hide woman, that will appear and disgrace all. The necessity of my fate! certain this woman has bewitched me here, for I cannot choose but love her. Oh how faral this might have proved, I would it had for me, it would not grieve me, though my sword had split his heart in sunder, I had then destroyed o●e that may prove my Rival; oh but than what had my horror been, my guilt of conscience? I know some do ill at women's bidding i'th' Dog-days, and repent all the Winter after: no, I account it treble happiness that Bonvile lives, but 'tis my chiefest glory that our friendship is divided.  Clare. 
Noble friend, why do you talk to yourself?  Lesle. 
Should you do so, you'd talk to an ill woman, fare you well, for ever fare you well; I will do somewhat to make as fatal breach and difference in Bonviles' love as mine, I am fixed in't, my melancholy and the devil shall fashioned.  Clare. 
You will not leave me thus?  Lesle. 
Leave you for ever, and may my friend's blood whom you loved so dear, for ever lie impostumed in your breast, and i'th' end choke you. Woman's cruelty  
This black and fatal thread hath ever spun,  
It must undo, or else it is undone.  Exit. Clare. 
I am every way lost, and no means to 〈◊〉 ●●e, but blessed repentance: what two unvalued Jewels am I at once deprived of? now I suffer deservedly, there's no prosperity settled, Fortune plays ever with our good or ill,  
Like Cross and Pile, and turns up which she will.  Enter Bonvile. 
Friend?  Clare. 
Oh you are the welcomest under heaven: ●essingham did but fright me, yet I fear that you are hurt to danger.  Bon. 
Not a scratch.  Clare. 
Indeed you look exceeding well, methinks.  Bon. 
I have been Sea-sick lately, and we count that excellent Physic. How does my Annabel●  Clare. 
As well sir, as the fear of such a loss as your esteemed self, will suffer her.  Bon. 
Have you seen Lessingham since he returned?  Clare. 
He departed hence but now, and left with me a report had almost killed me.  Bon. 
What was that?  Clare. 
That he had killed you.  Bon. 
So he has.  Clare. 
You mock me.  Bon. 
He has killed me for a friend, for ever silenced all 〈◊〉 between us; you may now go and embrace him, for he has fulfilled the purpose of that Letter.  Gives her a Letter▪ Clare. 
Oh I know't.  She gives him an●ther 
And had you known this which I meant to have sent you an hour 'fore you mere married to your wife, the Riddle had been construed.  Bon. 
Strange! this expresses that you did love me.  Clare. 
With a violent affection.  Bon. 
Violent indeed; for it seems it was your purpose to have ended it in violence on your friend: the unfortunate Lessingham unwittingly should have been the Executioner.  Clare. 
'Tis true.  Bon. 
And do you love me still?  Clare. 
I may easily confess it, since my extremity is such that I must needs speak or die,  Bon. 
And you would enjoy me though I am married?  Clare. 
No indeed not I sir: you are to sleep with a sweet Bed-fellow would knit the brow at that.  Bon. 
Come, come, a woman's telling truth makes amends for her playing false. You would en●oy me▪  Clare. 
If you were a Bachelor or Widower,  
Afore all the great Ones living.  Bon. 
But 'tis impossible to give you present satisfaction, for my Wife is young and healthful; and I like the summer and the harvest of our Love, which yet I have not tasted of, so well, that and you'll credit me, for me her days shall ne'er be shortened: let your reason therefore turn you another way, and call to mind with best observance, the accomplished graces of that brave Gentleman whom late you sent to his destruction: A man so every way deserving, no one action of his in all his life time e'er degraded him from the honour he was born too; think 〈◊〉 observant he'll prove to you in nobler request, that so obeyed you in a bad one:  
And remember that afore you engaged him to an act  
Of horror, to the kill of his friend,  
He bore his steerage true in every part,  
Led by the Compass of a noble heart.  Clare. 
Why do you praise him thus? You said but now he was utterly lost to you▪ now 't appears you are friends, else you ' d not deliver of him such a worthy commendation.  Bon. 
You mistake, utterly mistake that I am friends with him, in speaking this good of him: To what purpose do I praise him? only to this fatal end, that you might fall in love and league with him. And what worse office can I do i'th' world unto my enemy, than to endeavour by all means possible to marry him unto a Whore? and there I think she stands.  Clare. 
Is Whore a name to be beloved? If not, what reason have I ever to love that man puts it upon me falsely? You have wrought a strange alteration in me: were I a man, I would drive you with my sword into the field, and there put my wrong to silence. Go, y'are not worthy to be a woman's friend in the least part that concerns honourable reputation; for you are a Liar.  Bon. 
I will love you now with a noble observance, if you will continue this hate unto me: gather all those graces from whence you have fallen yonder, where you have left 'em in Lessingham, he that must be your husband; And though henceforth I cease to be his friend, I will appear his noblest enemy, and work reconcilement between you.  Clare. 
No, you shall not, you shall not marry him to a Strumpet; for that word I shall ever hate you.  Lesle. 
And for that one deed,  
I shall ever love you. Come, convert your thoughts  
To him that best deserves 'em, Lessingham.  
It's most certain you have done him wrong,  
But your repentance and compassion now  
May make amends: disperse this melancholy,  
And on that turn of Fortune's Wheel depend,  
When all Calamities will mend, or end.  Exeunt. Enter Compass, Raymond, Eustaco, Lyonel, Grover. Comp. 
Gentlemen, as you have been witness to our Divorce,  
You shall now be ●●●dence to our next meeting,  
Which I look for every minute, if you please Gentlemen.  Ray. 
We came for the same purpose, man.  Comp. 
I do think you'll see me come off with as smooth  
A forehead, make my Wife as honest a woman once more,  
As a man sometimes would desire, I mean of her 〈◊〉,  
And a teeming woman as she has been. Nay surely I  
Do think to make the Child as lawful a child too,  
As a couple of unmarried people can beget; and let  
It be begotten when the father is beyond Sea, as this  
Was: do but note.  Enter Wife. Eust. 
'Tis that we 〈◊〉 for.  Comp. 
You have wai●●d the good hour: see, she comes, a little room I beseech you, silence and observation.  Ray. 
All your own, sir.  Comp. 
Good morrow fair Maid.  Wife. 
Mistaken in both sir, neither fair, nor Maid.  Comp. 
No? a married woman.  Wife. 
That's it I was sir, a poor widow now.  Comp. 
A widow? Nay then I must make a little bold with you, ' 〈◊〉 a kin to mine own case, I am a wiveless husband too, how long have you been a widow pray? nay, do not weep.  Wife. 
I cannot choose to think the loss I had.  Comp. 
He was an honest man to thee it seems.  Wife. 
Honest quoth, a, oh.  Comp. 
By my feek, and those are great losses, an honest man is not to be found in every hole, nor every street, if I took a whole parish in sometimes I might say true, for stinking Mackarel may be cried for new.  Ray. 
Some what sententious.  Eust. 
Oh, silence was an Article enjoined.  Comp. 
And how long is it since you lost your honest husband?  Wife. 
Oh the memory is too fresh, and your sight makes my sorrow double.  Comp. 
My sight? why was he like me?  Wife. 
Your left hand to your right, is not more like.  Comp. 
Nay then I cannot blame thee to weep, an honest man I warrant him, and thou hadst a great loss of him; such a proportion, so limbed, so coloured, so fed.  Ray. 
Yes faith, and so taught too.  Eust. 
Nay, will you break the Law?  Wife. 
Twins were never liker.  Comp. 
Well, I love him the better, whatsoever is become of him, and how many children did he leave thee at his departure?  Wife. 
Only one sir.  Comp. 
A Boy, or a Girl?  Wife. 
A Boy, Sir.  Comp. 
Just ●i●e one ease still ● my wife, rest ●er soul, left ●e a Boy too, a chopping Boy I warrant.  Wife. 
Yes if you call 'em so.  Comp. 
ay, mine is a chopping Boy, I mean to make either a Cook or a Butcher of him for those are your chopping Boys. And what profession was your husband of▪  Wife. 
He went to Sea, sir, and there 〈◊〉 his living.  Comp. 
Mine own faculty too, and you can like a man of that profession well?  Wife. 
For his sweet sake whom I so dear loved, more deeply lost, I must think well of it.  Comp. 
Must you? I do think than thou must venture to Sea once again, if thoured be ruled by me.  Wife. 
Oh Sir, but there's one thing more burdensome to us, than most of others wives, which moves me a little to distaste it, long time we endure the 〈◊〉 of our husbands, sometimes many years, and then if any slip in woman be, as long vacations may make Lawyers hungry, and Tradesmen cheaper pennyworths afford, (than otherwise they would for ready coin) scandals fly out, and we poor souls branded with want on living, and incontinency, when alas (consider) can we do withal?  Comp. 
They are fools, and not say 〈◊〉 that do not consider that, I'm sure your husband was not of that mind, if he were like me.  Wife. 
No indeed, he would bear kind and honestly.  Comp. 
He was the wiser, alack your land and freshwater men  
Never understand what wonders are done at Sea; yet  
They may observe a shore, that a Hen having tasted  
The Cock, kill him, and she shall lay Eggs afterwards.  Wife. 
That's very true indeed.  Comp. 
And so may women, why not? may not a man get two or three children at once? One must be born before another, you know.  Wife. 
Even this discretion my sweet husband had: You more and more resemble him.  Comp. 
Then if they knew what things are done at sea, where  
The Winds themselves do copulate, and bring forth issue,  
As thus: In the old wo●ld there were▪ but ●our in all,  
As Nor, East, Sou, and West these dwelled far from ●●e another,  
Yet by meeting they have engendered Nor-East, Sou-East,  
Sou-West, Nor-West, than they were eight▪ Of them▪  
Were begotten Nor-Nor-East, Nor-Nor-West, Sou-Sou-East,  
Sou-Sou-West, and those two So us were Sou-East and Sou▪ West  
Daughters, and indeed there is a family now of 32 of 'em,  
That they have filled every corner of the wo●ld, and yet for  
All this, you see these bawdy Bellows-menders when they  
Come ashore, will be offering to take up women's coats  
In the street.  Wife. 
Still my husband's discretion!  Comp. 
So I say, if your Land-men did understand that we send Winds from Sea, to do our commendations to our wives, they would not blame you as they do.  Wife. 
We cannot help it.  Comp. 
But you shall help it. Can you love me, widow?  Wife. 
If I durst confess what I do think, sir,  
I know what I would say.  Comp. 
Dared confess? Why whom do you fear? here's none but honest Gentlemen my friends; let them hear, and Never blush for't.  Wife. 
I shall be thought too weak to yield at first.  Ray. 
Tush, that's niceness; come, we heard all the rest,  
The first true stroke of love sinks thee deepest,  
If you love him, say so.  Comp. 
I have a Boy of mine own, I tell you that afore hand,  
You shall not need to fear me that way.  Wife. 
Then I do love him.  Comp. 
So here will be man and wife to morrow then, what though  
We meet strangers, we may love one another  
Ne'er the worse for that. Gentlemen, I invite  
You all to my Wedding.  Omnes. 
We'll all attend it.  Comp. 
Did not I tell you, I would fetch it off fair, let any  
Man lay a Cuckold to my charge, if he dares now.  Ray. 
'Tis slander who ever does it.  Comp. 
Nay, it will come to P●●ty Lassery at least, and without  
Compass of the general pardon too, or I'll bring him to a  
Foul sheet, if he has ne'er a clean one, or let me  
Hear him that will say I am not father to the child I begot.  Eust. 
None will adventure any of those.  Comp. 
Or that my wife that shall be, is not as honest a woman, as some other men's wives are?  Ray. 
No question of that.  Comp. 
How fine and sleek my brows are now?  Eust. 
I when you are married, they I come to themselves again.  Comp. 
You may call me Bridegroom if you please now,  
For the Guests are bidden.  Omnes. 
Good Master Bridegroom.  Comp. 
Come Widow then, ere the next Ebb and Tide,  
If I be Bridegroom, thou shalt be the Bride.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus quartii.   

ACT. 5. SCENE 1.  Enter Rochfield and Annabel. Roch. 
BElieve me, I was never more ambitious, or covetous, if I may call it so, of any fortune greater than this one, but to behold his face.  Ann. 
And now's the time; for from a much feared danger as  
I heard, he's late come over.  Roch. 
And not seen you yet? 'tis some unkindness.  Ann. 
You may think it so; but for my part, sir, I account it none: what know I but some business of import and weighty consequence, more near to him then any formal Compliment to me, may for a time detain him: I presume no jealousy can be aspersed on him, for which he cannor well ●●ology.  Roch. 
You are a Creature every way complete,  
As good a Wife, as Woman; so whose sake  
As I in duty am endeared to you,  
So shall I owe him service.  Enter Lessingham. Lesle. 
The ways to Love, and Crowns, lie both through blood, for in 'em both all Lets must be removed, it could be styled no true ambition else. I am grown big with pro●ect: Project, said I? Rather with sudden mischief; which without  
A speedy birth fills me with painful throws,  
And I am now in labour. Th●●●s occasion  
That givest me a fit ground to work upon,  
It should be Rochfield, one since our departure  
It seems engrafted in this Family:  
Indeed the Houses Minion, since from the Lord  
To the lowest Groom, all with unite consent  
Speak him so largely. Nor as it appears  
By this their private Conference, is he grown  
Lest in the Bride's ●●inion. A foundation  
On which I will erect ●●rave Revenge.  Ann. 
Sir,- What kind Offices lies in your way  
To do for him, I shall be thankful for,  
And reckon them mine own.  Roch. 
In acknowledgement I kiss your hand, so with a gratitude never to be forgot, I take my leave.  Ann. 
I mine of you, with hourly expectation  
Of a long-looked for husband.  Exit. Roch. 
May it thrive according to your wishes.  Lesle. 
Now's my turn. Without offence, Sir, may I beg your name?  Roch. 
'Tis that I never yet denied to any, nor will to you that seem a Gentleman: 'tis Rochfield.  Lesle. 
Rochfield? You are then the man whose nobleness, virtue, valour, and good parts, have voiceed you loud. Dover and Sandwich, Margot, and all the Coast is full of you: but more, as an Eye-witness of all these, and with most truth, the Master of this house hath given them large expressions.  Roch. 
Therein his love exceeded much my merit.  Lesle. 
That's your modesty:  
Now I as one that goodness love in all men,  
And honouring that which is but found in few,  
Desire to know you better.  Roch. 
Pray your name?  Lesle. 
Lessingham.  Roch. 
A friend to Mr. Bonvile?  Lesle. 
In the number of those which he esteems most dear to him, he reckons me not last.  Roch. 
So I have heard.  Lesle. 
Sir, you have cause ●oble●s the lucky Plainer  
Beneath which you were 〈◊〉 ●was a bright star  
And then shined cle●● upon you for as you  
Are every way well par●ed, so I ●old you.  
In all designs marked to be fortunate.  Roch. 
Pray do 〈◊〉 str●●●h your love to flattery,  
'T may call it then in question; grow I pray you  
To some particulars.  Lesle. 
I have observed but late your parting with the Virgin  
Bride, and therein some affection  Roch. 
How?  Lesle. 
With pardon, in this I still app●●●d your happiness, and praise the blessed influence of your stars: for how can it be possible that she, unkindly left upon the B●ide-day, and disappointed of those Nuptial sweets that night expected, but should take the occasion so fairly offered? Nay, and stand excused aswell in detestation of a scorn, scarce in a husband heard of, as selecting a Gentleman in all things so complete, to do her those neglected offices, her youth and beauty justly challengeth.  Roch. 
Some plot to wrong the Bride, and I now  
Will marry Craft with Cunning, if he'll bite,  
I'll give him line to play on: were't your case  
You being young as I am, would you intermit  
So fair and sweet occasion?  Lesle. 
Yet mis-conceive me not, I do entreat you;  
To think I can be of that easy wit,  
Or of that malice to defame a Lady,  
Were she so kind so to expose herself,  
Nor is she such a creature.  Lesle. 
On this foundation I can build higher still, (sir I believed)  
I hear you two call Cousins; comes your kindred  
By the Woodreffs, o● the Bonviles?  Roch. 
From neither, 'tis a word of courtesy  
Late interchanged betwixt us, otherwise  
We are foreign as two strangers.  Lesle. 
Better still.  Roch. 
I would not have you grow too inward with me  
Upon so small a knowledge; yet to satisfy you,  
And in some kind too to delight myself,  
Those Bracelets and the Carkanet she wears,  
She gave me once.  Lesle. 
They were the first, and special Tokens passed betwixt her and her husband.  Roch. 
'Tis confessed: what I have said, I have said: Sir, you have power perhaps to wrong m●●or to in ●re her; this you may do, but as you are a Gentleman I hope you will do neither.  Lesle. 
‛ Trust upon't.  Exit Rochfi●ld. 
If I drown I'll sink some along withme;  Enter Woodroff. 
For of all miseries I hold that chief,  
Wretched to be, when none co-pa●●s our grief.  
Here's another Anvil to work on: I must now  
Make this my Masterpiece; for your old Foxes  
Are seldom ta'en in Springs.  Wood 
What, my Friend!  
You are happily returned; and yet I 〈◊〉  
Somewhat to make it perfect. Where's your Friend,  
My Son in Law?  Lesle. 
Oh sir!  Wood 
I pray sir resolve me; for I do suffer strangely till I know if he be in safety.  Lesle. 
Fare you well: 'Tis not fit  
I should relate his danger.  Wood 
I must know't. I have a Quarrel to you already, for enticing my Son in Law to go over: Tell me quickly, or I shall make it grea●er.  Lesle. 
Then truth is, he's dangerously wounded.  Wood 
But he's not dead I hope?  Lesle. 
No sir, not dead; yet sure your daughter may take liberty to choose another.  Wood 
Why that gives him dead.  Lesle. 
Upon my life Sir, no; your son's in health  
As well as I am.  Wood 
Strange! you deliver Riddles.  Lesle. 
I told you he was wounded, and 'tis true,  
He is wounded in his Reputation.  
I told you likewise, which I am lo●h to repeat,  
That your fair-Daughter might take liberty  
To embrace another. That's the consequence  
That makes my best Friend wounded in his Fame.  
This is all I can deliver.  Wood 
I must have more of't;  
For I do sweat already, and I'll sweat more;  
'Tis good they say to c●●e Aches, and o'th' sudden  
I am sore from head to foot, let me taste the worst.  Lesle. 
Know Sir, if ever there 〈◊〉 truth in falsehood,  
Then 'tis most true, your Daug●●●● plays most false  
With Bonvile, and hath chose for her Favourite  
The man that now past by me, Rochfield.  Wood 
Say? I would thou hadst spoke this on Callis-sands,  
And I within my Sword and Poniards length  
Of that false throat of thine. I pray sir, tell me  
Of what Kin or Alliance do you take me  
To the Gentlewoman you late mentioned?  Lesle. 
You are her Father.  Wood 
Why then of all men living, do you address  
This Report to me, that aught of all men b●●thing  
To have been the haft o'th' Rowl, except the husband,  
That should have heard of't?  Lesle. 
For her honour Sir, and yours;  
That your good Council may reclaim her.  Wood 
I thank you.  Lesle. 
She has departed sir, upon my knowledge,  
With Jewels, and with Bracelets, the first Pledges,  
And confirmation of th'unhappy Contract  
Between herself and husband.  Wood 
To whom?  Lesle. 
To Rochfield.  Wood 
Be not abused: but now,  
Even now I saw her wear 'em.  Lesle. 
Very likely; 'tis fit, hearing her husband is returned,  
That she should redeliver 'em.  Wood 
But pray sir tell me,  
How is it likely she could part with 'em,  
When they are locked about her Neck and Wrists,  
And the Key with her husband?  Lesle. 
Oh sir, that's but practice;  
She has got a trick to use another Key  
Besides her husbands.  Wood 
Sirrah, you do lie;  
And were I to pay down a hundred pounds  
For every Lie given, as men pay Twelve pence,  
And worthily, for Swearing, I would give thee  
The Lie, nay though it were in the Court of Honour  
So oft, till of the Thousands I am worth,  
I had not left a hundred. For is't likely  
So brave a Gentleman as Rochfield is,  
That did so much at Sea to save my life,  
Should now on Land shorten my wretched days,  
In ruining my Daughter? A rank Lie!  
Have you spread this to any but myself?  Lesle. 
I am no Intelligencer.  Wood 
Why then 'tis yet a secret?  
And that it may rest so, Draw; I'll take order  
You shall prate of it no further.  Lesle. 
Oh, my Sword  
Is enchanted, Sir, and will not out o'th' Scabbard:  
I will leave you, sir; yet say not I give ground,  
For 'tis your own you stand on.  Enter Bonvile & Clare. 
Clare here with Bonvile? excellent! on this  
I have more to work. This goes to Annabel,  
And it may increase the Whirlwind.  Exit. Bon. 
How now, Sir? Come, I know this choler bred in you  
For the Voyage which I took at his entreaty;  
But I must reconcile you.  Wood 
On my credit  
There's no such matter. I will tell you Sir,  
And I will tell it in laughter: The Cause of it  
Is so poor, so ridiculous, so impossible  
To be believed! Ha, 〈◊〉 he came even now  
And told me that one Rochfield, now a Guest  
(And most worthy Sir, to be so) in my House,  
Is grown exceedingly familiar with my Daughter.  Bon. 
Ha?  Wood 
Your wife, and that he has had favours from her.  Bon. 
Favours?  
Love-tokens I did call 'em in my youth;  
Lures to which Gallants spread their wings, and stoop  
In Lady's bosoms. Nay, he was so false  
To Truth and all good Manners, that those Jewels  
You locked about her Neck, he did protest  
She had given to Rochfield? Ha! methinks o'th' sudden  
You do change colour. Sir, I would not have you  
Believe this in least part: My Daughter's honest,  
And my Guess is a noble Fellow: And for this  
Slander delivered me by Lessingham,  
I would have cut his throat.  Bon. 
As I your Daughters,  
If I find not the Jewels 'bout her.  Clare. 
Are you returned  
With the Italian Plague upon you, Jealousy?  Wood 
Suppose that Lessingham should love my Daughter,  
And thereupon fashion your going over,  
As now your Jealousy, the stronger way  
So to divide you, there were a fine Crotcher!  
Do you stagger still? If you continue thus,  Enter Rochfield and Annabel 
I vo v you are not worth a welcome home  
Neither from her, nor me. See, here she comes.  Clare. 
I have brought you home a Jewel.  Ann. 
Wear it yourself;  
For these I wear are Fetters, not Favours.  Clare. 
I looked for better welcome.  Roch. 
Noble sir, I must woo your better knowledge?  Bon. 
Oh dear sir,  
My Wife will bespeak it for you.  Roch. 
Ha? your Wife.  Wood 
Bear with him, sir, he's strangely off o'th' hinges.  Bon. 
The Jewels are i'th' right place; but the Jewel  
Of her heart sticks yonder. You are angry with me  
For my going over.  Ann. 
Happily more angry for your coming over.  Bon. 
I sent you my Will from Dover?  Ann. 
Yes Sir.  Bon. 
Fetch it.  Ann. 
I shall Sir, but leave your Self-will with you.  Exit. Wood 
This is fine, the woman will be mad too.  Bon. 
Sir, I would speak with you.  Roch. 
And I with you of all men living.  Bon. 
I must have satisfaction from you.  Roch. 
Sir, it grows upon the time of payment.  Wood 
What's that? what's that? I'll have no whispering.  Enter Annabel with a Will. An. 
Look you, there's the Patent  
Of your deadly affection to me.  Bon. 
'Tis welcome,  
When I gave myself for dead, I then made over  
My Land unto you, now I find your love  
Dead to me, I will altered.  An. 
Use your pleasure,  
A man may make a garment for the Moon,  
Rather than fit your Constancy.  Wood 
How's this? Alter your Will.  Bon. 
'Tis in mine own disposing,  
Certainly I will altered.  Wood 
Will you so my friend?  
Why then I will alter mine too.  
I had estated thee, thou peevish fellow,  
In forty thousand pounds after my death,  
I can find another Executor.  Bon. 
Pray sir, do,  
Mine I'll alter without question.  Wood 
Dost hear me?  
And if I change not mine within this two hours,  
May my Executors cozen all my kindred  
To whom I bequeath Legacies.  Bon. 
I am for a Lawyer, sir.  Wood 
And I will be with one as soon as thyself,  
Though thou ride post toth' devil.  Roch. 
Stay let me follow, and cool him.  Wood 
Oh by no means,  
You'll put a quarrel upon him for the wrong,  
H'as done my Daughter.  Roch. 
No believe it sir, he's my wished friend.  Wood 
Oh come, I know the way of't;  
Carry it like a French quarrel, privately whisper  
Appoint to meet, and cut each others throats  
With Cringes and Embraces, I protest  
I will not suffer you exchange a word  
Without I over hear't.  Roch. 
Use your pleasure.  Exit Woodroff, Rochfield. Clare. 
You are like to make fine work now.  An. 
Nay, you are like to make a finer buissiness of't.  Clare. 
Come, come, I must sowder you together.  An. 
You? why I heard  
A bird sing lately, you are the only cause  
Works the division.  Clare. 
Who? As thou ever lovedst me,  
For I long, though I am a Maid, for't.  An. 
Lessingham.  Clare. 
Why then I do protest myself first cause  
Of the wrong, which he has put upon you both,  
Which please you to walk in, I shall make good  
In a short relation; come I'll be the clew  
To lead you forth this Labyrinth, this toil  
Of a supposed and causeless Jealousy.  
Cankers touch choicest fruit with their infection,  
And Fevers seize those of the best complexion.  Exeunt. Enter Woodroff and Rochfield. Wood 
Sir, have I not said I love you? if I have,  
You may believe't before an Oracle,  
For there's no trick in't, but the honest sense.  Roch. 
Believe it, that I do, sir.  Wood 
Your love must then  
Be as plain with mine, that they may suit together:  
I say you must not fight with my son Bonvile.  Roch. 
Not fight with him, sir?  Wood 
No, Not fight with him, sir.  
I grant you may be wronged, and I dare swear  
So is my child, but he is the husband, you know,  
The woman's lord, and must not always be told  
Of his faults neither, I say you must not fight.  Roch. 
I'll swear it, if you please sir.  Wood 
And forswear I know't  
ere you lay open the secrets of your valour,  
'Tis enough for me I saw you whisper,  
And I know what belongs to't.  Roch. 
To no such end, assure you.  Enter Lessingham. Wood 
I say you cannot fight with him.  
If you be my friend, for I must use you,  
Yonder's my foe, and you must be my Second,  
Prepare the Slanderer, and get another  
Better than thyself too; for here's my Second,  
One that will fetch him up, and fierk him too.  
Get your tools, I know the way to Callis-sands,  
If that be your Fence-school, he'll show you tricks i'faith,  
he'll let blood your Calumny, your best guard  
Will come to a Peccavi I believe.  Lesle. 
Sir, if that be your quarrel,  
He's a party in it, and must maintain  
The side with me, from him I collected  
All those Circumstances concern your Daughter,  
His own tongue's confession.  Wood 
Who from him?  
He will belie to do thee a pleasure then,  
If he speak any ill upon himself,  
I know he ne'er could do an injury.  Roch. 
So please you, I'll relate it, sir.  Enter Bonvile, Annabel, Clare. Wood 
Before her husband then, and here he is  
In friendly posture with my Daughter too;  
I like that well. Son Bridegroom, and Lady Bride,  
If you will hear a man defame himself,  
(For so he must if he say any ill,) then listen.  Bon. 
Sir, I have heard this story, and meet with your opinion in his goodness, the repartition will be needless.  Roch. 
Your father ●as not, Sir. I'll be brief in the delivery.  Wood 
Do, do then, I long to hear it.  Roch. 
The first acquaintance I had with your Daughter,  
Was on the Wedding-Eve.  Wood 
So, 'tis not ended yet, methinks.  Roch. 
I would have robbed her.  Wood 
Ah, thief.  Roch. 
That Chain and Bracelet which she wears upon her, she ransomed with the full esteem in Gold, which was with you my Venture.  Wood 
Ah, thief again.  Roch. 
For any attempt against her honour, I vow I had no Thought on.  Wood 
An honest thief i'faith yet.  Roch. 
Which she as nobly recompensed, brought me home,  
And in her own discretion thought it meet,  
For cover of my shame, to call me Cousin.  Wood 
Call a thief Cousin? Why, and so she might,  
For the Gold she gave thee, she stole from her husband,  
'Twas all his now, yet 'twas a good Girl too.  Roch. 
The rest you know, sir.  Wood 
Which was worth all the rest, thy valour Lad; but I'll have that in Print, because I can no better utter it.  Roch. 
Thus (Jade unto my Wants, and spurred by my Necessities) I was going, but by that Lady's council I was stayed; (for that Discourse was our familiarity.) And this you may take for my Recantation, I am no more a thief.  Wood 
A blessing on thy heart,  
And this was the first time I warrant thee too.  Roch. 
Your charitable Censure is not wronged in that.  Wood 
No, I knew 't could be but the first time at most;  
But for thee (brave Valour) I have in store,  
That thou shalt need to be a thief no more.  Soft Music. 
Ha? What's this Music?  Bon. 
It chimes a Jopaean to your Wedding, sir, if this be your Bride.  Lesle. 
Can you forgive me? some wild distractions had overturned my own condition, and spilt the goodness you once knew in me, but I have carefully recovered it, and overthrown the fury on't.  Clare. 
It was my cause that you were so possessed, and all these troubles have from my peevish will origi●●●: I d●●ep●nt, though you forgive me n●t.  Lesle. 
You have no need for your repentance then which is due to it: all's now as at first it was wisnt to be.  Wood 
Why, that's well said of all sides. But soft, this Music has some other meaning: Another Wedding towards, Good speed, good speed.  Enter Compass and the four Gallants, Bride between Frankford ●●d another, Luce, Nurse, and Child. Comp. 
We thank you, sir.  Wood 
Stay, stay, our neighbour Compass, is't not?  Comp. 
That was, and may be again to morrow, this day Master Bridegroom.  Wood 
Oh! give you joy. But sir, if I be not mistaken, you were married before now; how long is't since your wife died?  Comp. 
Ever since yesterday, sir.  Wood 
Why, she's scarce buried yet then.  Comp. 
No indeed, I mean to dig her grave soon, I had no leisure yet.  Wood 
And was not your fair Bride married before?  Wife. 
Yes indeed, sir.  Wood 
And how long since your husband departed?  Wife. 
Just when my husband's wife died.  Wood 
Bless us Hymen, are not these both the same parties?  Bon. 
Most certain, sir.  Wood 
What Marriage call you this?  Comp. 
This is called Shedding of Horns, sir.  Wood 
How?  Lesle. 
Like enough, but they may grow again next year.  Wood 
This is a new trick.  Comp. 
Yes sir, because we did not like the old trick.  Wood 
Brother, you are a helper in this design too.  Fr. 
The Father to give the Bride, sir.  Comp. 
And I am his son, sir, and all the sons he has; and this is his Grandchild, and my elder brother, you'll think this strange now.  Wood 
Then it seems he begat this before you?  Comp. 
Before me? not so sir, I was far enough off when 'twas done; yet let me see him dares say, this is not my Child; and this my father.  Bon. 
You cannot see him here, I think sir.  Wood 
Twice married! Can it hold?  Comp. 
Hold? It should hold the better, a wise man would think, when 'tis tied of two knots.  Wood 
Methinks it should rather unloose the first,  
And between 'em both make up one Negative.  Eust. 
No sir, for though it hold on the contrary, yet two Affirmatives make no Negative.  Wood 
Cry you mercy, sir.  Comp. 
Make what you will, this little Negative was my wife's laying, and I Affirm it to be mine own.  Wood 
This proves the marriage before substantial, having this issue  Comp. 
'Tis mended now sir; for being double married, I may now have two children at a birth, if I can get 'em. D'ye think I'll be five years about one, as I was before?  Eust. 
The like has been done for the loss of the Wedding-ring, And to settle a new peace before disjointed.  Lyon. 
But this indeed sir, was especially done, to avoid the word of Scandal, that foul word which the fatal Monologist cannot al●er.  Wood 
Cuckoo.  Comp. 
What's that, the Nightingale?  Wood 
A Night-bird, much good may do you, sir.  Comp. 
I'll thank you when I'm at Supper. Come Father, Child, and Bride; and for your part Father, whatsoever he, or he, or t'other says, you shall be as welcome as in my t'other wife's days.  Fr. 
I thank you, sir.  Wood 
Nay, take us with you, Gentlemen:  
One Wedding we have yet to solemnize,  
The first is still imperfect. Such troubles  
Have drowned our Music: but now I hope all's friends.  
Get you to Bed, and there the Wedding ends.  Comp. 
And so good night, my Bride and I'll to bed:  
He that has Horns, thus let him learn to shed.  Exeunt.  
FINIS.   

If any Gentlemen please to repair to my House aforesaid, they may be furnished with all manner of English, or French Histories, Romances, or Poetry; which are to be sold, or read for reasonable Considerations.