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7^ 
 
 THE 
 
 MERCHiiNT'S TV^DDIISTG; 
 
 OR; 
 
 LONDON FROLICS IN 1638 : 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 PaiNCIPiLLLY FOtJNDED ON JA5PER MAYNE's ** CITY MATdn/*' 
 AATO W. ^OWXEY's;"jtATCH AT midnight/' 
 
 By j?^f planch :t. 
 
 rrBSr perfokmed at 
 
 THE THEATRE IlpYAX;, COVENT.GAJIDEN, 
 
 TUESDAY/FEBRlTARY 5,-1828. 
 
 LONDON, ms 
 
 PRINTED %dR JOHN CUMBERIi AND, 
 
 * 19, LUDGAI^ HILL. 'v 
 
 Price Three ShtUin^M and Sixpence. 
 

 w 
 
 PRJNTF.D BY <i. H. DAVIDSON, 
 IR^L^ND YARD, HOCTORS* COMMONS. 
 
 -^^WiP? 
 
 / 
 
TO 
 HIS ROYAL HIGHN^ESS 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY, 
 DUKE OF CLARENCE, 
 
 THIS COMEDY 
 
 IS, 
 WITH PERMISSION/ 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS'S 
 
 MOST OBLIGED 
 AND VERY DEVOTED SERVANT, 
 
 J, R. PLANCHE, 
 
 BromptoH Crescent, 
 Feb. 19, 18?8. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Warehouse, an Old Merchant and Usurer Mr. W. Farren. 
 
 Frank Plotwell, his Nephew Mr. C. Kemble. 
 
 Seathrift, another Merchant Mr. Blanchard. 
 
 Timothy Seathrift, his Son . Mr. Keeley. 
 
 Lieutenant Valentine Mr. Diddear. 
 
 Briffht ■> ^ , i Mr. Serle. 
 
 ^^ ^ Uwo Templars -? n/r tt 
 
 Newcut^ I Mr. Horrebow. 
 
 Captain Quartfield Mr. Bartley. 
 
 Salewit Mr. Meadows. 
 
 Scoreup, the Keeper of an Ordinary . . Mr. Turnour. 
 
 Cipher, Warehouse's Factor Mr. Isaacs. 
 
 Banswright Mr. Evans. 
 
 Peter ") ^ 7 Mr. Henry. 
 
 ^ ytwo Footmen > ii/r u/r 
 
 Gregory^ y Mr. Mears. 
 
 Penelope's Footman Mr. Heath. 
 
 Page Master Harvey. 
 
 Aurelia Miss Chester. 
 
 Penelope Plotwell Mrs.Chatterley 
 
 DoTc&s, Aurelia' s Waiting' Woman. . . Mrs. J. Hughes. 
 
 Mrs. Seathrift Mrs. Weston. 
 
 Mrs. Holland Mrs. Hudson. 
 
 Millicent, Scoreup's Wife Mrs. Wilson. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Jasper Mayne was born at Hatherlagh, or Hatherleigh, in Devon- 
 shire, A. D. 1604; educated at Westminster, and took up his degree 
 of master of arts at Christ Church, Oxford, June 18, 1631. He after- 
 wards entered into holy orders, and was preferred to the vicarages of 
 Cassington, near Woodstock, and Ryston, near Wathington. In 1639, 
 he produced his comedy of the City Match,* which was acted by com- 
 mand of the king, both at Whitehall and at the Blackfriars Theatre. — 
 At the breaking-out of the civil war, he sided with the royal party, to 
 which he remained, in spite of persecution, firmly attached. By the 
 creatures of Oliver Cromwell he was ejected from his college, and de- 
 prived of both his livings ; at the Restoration, however, he returned 
 to them, and was appointed chaplain in ordinary to Charles II., pro- 
 moted to a canon's stall at Christ Church, and raised to the dignity of 
 archdeacon of Chichester. He died December 6, 1 672, and lies buried 
 on the north side of the choir of Christ Church. " Dr. Mayne," say 
 the editors of the Biographia Dramatica, " was held in very high es- 
 teem, both for his natural parts and his acquired accomplishments. 
 He was an orthodox preacher, and a man of severe virtue and exem- 
 plary behaviour, yet of a ready and facetious wit, and a very singular 
 turn of humour. From some stories that are related of him, he seems 
 to have borne a degree of resemblance in his manner to the celebrated 
 Dr. Swift; but, if he did not possess those very brilliant parts that dis- 
 tinguished the Dean, he probably was less subject to that caprice and 
 those unaccountable whimsies, which at times so greatly eclipsed the 
 abilities of the latter. Yet there is one anecdote related of him, which, 
 although we cannot be of opinion that it reflects any great honour on 
 his memory, as it seems to carry some degree of cruelty with it, yet 
 
 * "In the year 1755, a gentleman, still living, of great eminence in 
 his profession, made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to 
 the governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Comer, who ob- 
 tained a representation of it at Drury Lane, for the benefit of that charity. 
 It was at the same time printed in 8vo., under the title of ' The Schemer, 
 or the City Match.' "—Selection of Old Plays, London, 1825, Vol.9, 
 page 236. The gentleman was Mr. Bromfield, the surgeon. I have 
 never seen his alteration. 
 
Vm PREFACE. 
 
 it is a strong mark of his resemblance to the Dean, and a proof that 
 his propensity for drollery and joke did not quit him even in his 
 latest moments. The story is this : — The Doctor had an. old servant, 
 who had lived with him some years, to whom he bequeathed an old 
 trunk, in which he told him he would ^nd something that would make 
 him drink, after his death. The servant, full of expectation that his 
 master, under this familiar expression, had left him something that 
 would be a reward for the assiduity of his past services, as soon as 
 decency would permit, flew to the trunk ; when, behold ! to his great 
 disappointment, the boasted legacy proved to be — a red herring." — 
 Biog. Dram. Vol. I. p. 504. 
 
 The comedy of the Merchant's Wedding, as stated in the title, is 
 principally founded on the *' City Match," above mentioned, and 
 Rowley's " Match at Midnight;" * but several passages have been in- 
 troduced from other cotemporary writers, as the compiler was un- 
 willing to mix his chaff with their grain, when he could by any pos- 
 sibility avoid it. To John Cook's comedy, known by the name of 
 ** Green's Tu-quoque, or the City Gallant," and to Chapman's " Wi- 
 dow's Tears," the present drama is indebted for some smart and cha- 
 racteristic dialogue J and a few lines of great poetical beauty have 
 been placed in the mouth of Plotwell, from Habington's " Queen of 
 Arragon." In the little that he has been compelled to add from his 
 own pen, the adapter has endeavoured to imitate the phraseology and 
 style of his authors ; to approach their wit and fancy, he neither hoped 
 nor attempted. Having thus confessed his obligations to the dead, 
 he begs to acknowledge those he is under to the living. To the ma- 
 nagers, performers, and artists, in every department of the theatre, his 
 warmest thanks are most justly due, and most sincerely paid. He is 
 free to declare, that during the ten years he has had the pleasure to be 
 connected with the stage, he has never witnessed talent more cheer- 
 fully applied, or more successfully exerted. 
 
 To the Illustrious Personage under whose auspices this Co- 
 medy has the honour of being now presented to the public, the adapter's 
 gratitude is doubly due ; the distinguished favour conferred upon him- 
 self being enhanced by the high sanction therewith given to his fa- 
 vourite pursuit, the restoration of the Ancient English Drama, 
 
 J. R. P. 
 
 * For the biography of W. Rowley, vide Preface to the Comedy of 
 " A Woman Never Vext," in Cumberland's edition of the British Theatre. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Counting-House, — Chair, and office- 
 table, with papers and books upon it. 
 
 .^ 
 
 Enter Warehouse and Seathrift 
 
 Sea, I promise you, 'twill be a most rare plot. 
 
 War, The city, Mr. Seathrift, never yet "^ 
 
 Brought forth the like. I would have them that have V 
 
 ^^Fin'd twice for sheriff mend it ! \ 
 
 (/^ Sea, Mend it !— Why, y 
 
 'Tis past the wit of the Court of Aldermen. ^, 
 
 Next merchant tailor, that writes chronicles, ^ 
 
 w:Will put us in. S 
 
 ^^ . Wor. Ay, sir; for, though my nephew. 
 
 Since I have taken him home, seems quite trans- 
 figured, — ^ 
 Be dutiful as a new 'prentice, and declaims 
 'Gainst revelling companions, — be as hard 
 To be entic'd from home as my own door-posts, — 
 This reformation may but be his part. 
 And he may act these virtues. I have not 
 Forgot his riots in the Temple. You know, sir 
 
 Sea. You told me, Mr. Warehouse. 
 
 War. Not the sea. 
 When it devoured my ships, cost me so much 
 As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies 
 Has been lost in a night. His daily suits 
 Were worth more than the stock that set me up. 
 He had his loves, too, and his mistresses — I hear 
 Kept one of them in pension. 
 
10 THE merchant's WEDDING. [acT I. 
 
 Sea. My son, too. 
 Hath had his errors. I could tell the time 
 When all the wine which I put off by wholesale 
 He took again in quarts, and at the day 
 Vintners have paid my bills with his large scores ! 
 But he's reformed, too — grown a virtuous boy. 
 
 War. I have the like opinion of my nephew ; 
 Yet he is young — so is your son ; nor doth 
 The church-book say that they are past our fears. 
 Our presence is their bridle now — *tis good 
 To know them well whom we do make our heirs. 
 
 Sea. It is most true. 
 
 War. And how, pray, shall we know 
 How they will use their fortunes, or what place 
 We have in their affection, without trial! 
 Some wise men build their own tombs ; let us try. 
 If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry? 
 
 Sea. 'Twill make us famous, on th'Exchange, for 
 ever. w;? 
 
 I'll home, and take leave of my wife and ^on. )Q/^J^ 
 
 War. I'll meet you at your garden-house. ^ ^ 
 
 n • \FiXit Seatlirift. U^ 
 
 Within, there !o-2^fc^5>^V fi-o-^c^^^' -£,^ ^^L^iyO ^^^ 
 
 J^ Enter cM^^^^^'^^^^-f^M. 
 
 War. Now, Cipher, where's my nephew ? 
 
 Cip. In the hall, 
 Reading a letter, which a footman brought 
 To him, just now, from a lady, sir. 
 
 War. A lady ! 
 
 Cip. Yes, sir, a lady in distress : for I 
 Could overhear the fellow say she must sell 
 Her coach-horses, and return again 
 To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her 
 With money. ^ 
 
 War. So, some honourable seamstress ! "o 
 
 I'm now confirm'd--they say he keeps a lady. 
 And this is she. Well, Cipher, 'tis too late 
 To change my projects now. Be sure you keep 
 A diary of his actions ; strictly mark 
 What company comes to him. If he stir 
 
 ^V 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 11 
 
 Out of my house, observe the place he enters : 
 Watch him 'til he comes out. Follow, disguised, 
 Tgo all his haunts. ^/? 
 
 ^c^^Cip, He shall not want a spy, sir. [Looks out. <a^ 
 
 feut look, sir ! — look ! know you the man comes yon- 
 der? 
 
 War, Who is he, Cipher ? 
 
 Cip. Master Valentine, 
 The young lieutenant, w^ho mortgaged his estate six 
 months ago, for a small sum he needed . I'm deceived 
 if he come not a day after the fair. 
 
 War. Mine almanack !—fluick ! — mine almanack J/ /^ 
 
 Cip. 'Tis here, sir. Ja^^i^^J^t^-'^^ :^^-0^-1^a./>i^. 
 
 War. Let me see! let me see! — six months — 'tis 
 excellent ! — Four days too late. Cipher ! — He comes 
 four days too late ! ^ 
 
 £?i?6r Valentine. ^-.Z^ 
 
 ^.^^VaL Master Warehouse, your servant. 
 ^ War. Your servant, vsir ; what may be your plea- 
 sure — but stay — you are a stranger, sir — you shall 
 bear me witness. I shall be railed at else. I pray 
 you, how many months, from the first of May to the 
 sixth of November following. 
 
 Val. Six months and four days, sir, just. 
 
 War. Good, very good, as I say ; I ask you, sir, 
 because, the first of Slay last, a brave young gentle- 
 man, one Lieutenant Valentine 
 
 VaL I am the man, sir. Have you forgotten me ? 
 
 War. My spectacles. Cipher !/J^ ay — hold — here 
 — [Warehouse applies the glasses mhas hanging to his 
 7ieck to his eyes, and looks Valentine earnestly/ in the 
 face.] Look, Cipher ! Is this Master Valentine ? 
 
 Cip. 'Twas Master Valentine, sir. 
 
 War. Oh, Cipher ! a chair ! [Cipher brings down 
 the chair.] I know him now, but sliall not live to tell 
 him. [Falls into the chair, 
 
 VaL What is the matter? 
 
 War. Sick! sick! exceeding sick! 
 
 VaL O'the sudden? — strange! 
 
 War, That you ! beloved you ! who, of all men in 
 
 ^ 
 
 
12 THE MEItCHANT^S WEDOING. [aCT h 
 
 the world, my poor heart doated on,— whom I loved 
 better than father, mother, brother, uncles, or aunts ! 
 that you should stay four days too late ! 
 
 VaL *Tis tnost true, sir, I come four days past my 
 time ; but 1 have the money ready, and I hope your 
 old love to my father— 
 
 War, Nay, there it is— that's it that pains me. I 
 am a very rock of friendship ! But, alack ! I had a 
 bouse burned to the ground since you were here. 
 
 VaL How! 
 
 War* How burned ? Ask Cipher. 
 
 Cip, By fire, sir— by fire. 
 
 War, Yes, burnt by fire, sir. To build up which, 
 for I'm a poor man— a poor man, whatever folks think 
 to the contrary, I was forced by course of law to 
 enter on your land, and so, for less money than you 
 had of me, I was fain to sell it to another. That by 
 four days* stay you should lose your estate ! — Oh my 
 heart! Oh my head! 
 
 VaL Pray take not on so, sir— 'tis my grief more 
 than yours. But we'll go to this man — I'll buy it of 
 him again— he'll not be cruel. 
 
 War. A dog ! a dog ! a very dog ! There's more 
 mercy in a pair of unbribed bailiffs. To shun all 
 such solicting, he's rid to York. A very cut-throat 
 rogue. Alack ! alack ! 
 
 VaL An honest old man ! How it moves him ! 
 This was my negligence — well, 'tis no use grieving, 
 my land is gone ! Farewell, sir, and I pray fortune, 
 however she may fashion out my lot, yet, for the sake 
 of my dear father, the long friend of your heart, she 
 will, in your health, keep me happy. c/^ 
 
 [Exit Valentine.*^ 
 
 War. A kind and good young man — I'm cut to the 
 soul by't- Cipher i 
 
 Cip, Sir. 
 
 War, Did I ^o it well, Cipher? 
 
 Cip. Old Kick himself could not have done it 
 better. Here comes your nephew, sir. y^/ ^^/L/y 
 
 War, Then get you gone. ^ ^^ /T^ 
 
 [Rises^^ Cipher puts back the chair, and exit^. 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 13 
 
 Enter Plotwell. o^. 
 
 Good morrow, nephew ; how now ? Sad ! how comes 
 This melancholy? 
 
 Plo, Can I choose but wear 
 Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir. 
 Your reverend age to a long doubtful voyage. 
 And not partake your dangers? 
 
 War, Fie ! these fears. 
 Though they become you, nephew, are most ominous. 
 How like you your new course ? Which place prefer 
 
 you? 
 The Temple or the Exchange ? Where are, think 
 
 you. 
 The wealthier mines, in the Indies or 
 Westminster Hall ? 
 
 Plo. Sir, my desires take measure 
 And form from yours. 
 
 War. Nay, tell me your mind plainly, 
 I*the city tongue. I'd have you speak like Cipher. 
 I do not like quaint figures : they do smell 
 Too much of the inns of court. Come, now, how say 
 you ? 
 
 Plo, Sir, I prefer your kind of life — a merchant. 
 
 War, 'Tis spoken like my nephew. Now, I like 
 
 you. 
 
 Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits 
 I have bestow'd, but will forgive all errors. 
 As mere seducements ; and will not only be 
 An uncle, but a father, to you. But 
 You must be constant, nephew. 
 
 Plo, Else I were blind 
 To my good fortune, sir. 
 
 War, Think, man, how it may 
 In time make thee o'the city senate ; raise thee 
 To the sword and cap of maintenance. 
 
 Plo, [Aside.'} Yes ; and make me 
 Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horse- 
 back — 
 
 War. Have gates and conduits dated from thy 
 year ; 
 Ride to the spittle on thy free beast. 
 
14 THE merchant's WEDDING. [aCT 1. 
 
 Plo. [Aside.'] Yes ; 
 Free of your company, I hope. 
 
 War, The works 
 And good deeds of the city to go before thee, 
 Besides a troop of varlets. 
 
 Plo, [Aside.] Yes ; and I 
 To sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet. 
 
 War. [Overhearing him.] How say you ? Let's 
 hear that? 
 
 Plo. I say, sir, I 
 To sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet. 
 
 War. Right ! right ! and be remembered at the 
 cross. 
 
 Plo. And then at sessions, sir, and all times else. 
 Master Recorder to save me the trouble. 
 And understand things for me. 
 
 War. 'Tis all possible ; 
 And in the stars and winds, therefore, good ne- 
 phew. 
 You shall pursue this course : and, to enable you. 
 In this half-year that I shall be away. 
 Cipher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish, 
 And other tongues of traffic. 
 
 Plo. Shan't I learn 
 Arithmetic too, sir, and short hand ? 
 
 War. Right, right ! 
 'Tis well remembered. Yes, and navigation. 
 
 Re-enter Cipher 
 
 .r^^ 
 
 Cip. Sir, Mr. Seathrift says you'll lose the tide, — 
 The boat stays for you. . /? 
 
 War. I am coming. Cipher. ^ ^ ' C^ - 
 Farewell, good nephew, and at my return. 
 As I hear of your carriage, you do know 
 What my intentions are ; and, for a token 
 How much I trust your reformation, boy. 
 Take this key of my counting-house, and spend 
 
 [Gives Plotwell a Jcey. 
 Discreetly in my absence. [Takes PlotwelVs hand.] 
 Farewell — Nay^ 
 
 A.X^/^fi^^ ^'*'^*^ 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 15 
 
 No tears ; I'll be back sooner than you think on't. 
 Cipher, you know what you've to do ? <^r^ 
 
 Cip. I warrant you, sir. [Exit Warehouse jo^i^* 
 
 Plo. Tears ! yes, my melting eyes shall run, but it 
 Shall he such tears as shall increase the tide. 
 To carry you from hence. 
 
 Cip. Come, Mr. Plotwell, 
 Shall's read this morning ? 
 
 Plo. Read! what? How 
 The price of sugar goes ? How many pints 
 Of olives go to a jar ? How long wine works at sea ? 
 What difference is in gain between fresh herrings 
 And herrings red ? 
 
 Cip. Have you so soon forgot 
 Your uncle's charge ? 
 
 Plo. Ay, 'faithj have I— what was't ? 
 
 Cip. To learn the tongues and mathematics. 
 
 Plo. Troth, 
 If I have tongue enough to say my prayers, 
 I' the phrase of the kingdom, I care not : otherwise, 
 I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as will 
 Give a fine relish to my liquor! — Mathematics ! 
 Bum mathematics ! 
 
 Cip. [Aside.'] What I knew 'twould come to. 
 Here be his comrades. 
 
 Bright and New cut peep in and enter. ^^^ ^ 
 
 Plo. What ! ray Fleet-Street friends ! X-^ ^ • ^/7 
 yy) [Exit Cipher. O^O . 
 
 i/<^ Bri. Save you, merchant Plotw^ell ! 
 ^2!^ Neiv. Mr. PJotwell, citizen and merchant, save 
 you. 
 Bri. Is thy uncle 
 -Gone the wish'd voyage ? 
 ^, Plo. Yes, 'faith, he's gone ! and, if 
 
 He die by the way, hath bequeath'd me but some 
 Twelve hundred pounds a year in rent, some three 
 Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, 
 Bonds, desperate debts. 
 
 New. And dost thou not fall down, 
 
16 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDIXG. 
 
 [act I. 
 
 And pray to the winds to sacrifice him to 
 Poor John and mackarel ? 
 
 Bri. Or invoke some rock 
 To do thee justice? 
 
 New, Or some compendious cannon 
 To take him off i' th* middle ? 
 
 Plo, And why, my tender. 
 Soft-hearted friends ? 
 
 Bri, Why ! — Hast not told us, man. 
 An hundred times, how he and Seathrift caused 
 The ruin of your father, and scraped up 
 Their wealth out of his wTeck ? 
 
 Plo. Why, so they did. 
 
 New, Did he not, then, in show of charity. 
 When that thy father, his own sister's husband. 
 Sunk in the grave, a prey to his misfortunes, 
 'Prentice your sister to a city seamstress. 
 And take thee from the Temple, where thou livedst. 
 As your birth challenged, like a gentleman. 
 To make thee an Old Juryman, a Whittington ? 
 
 Bri, To transform thy plush to pennystone ? — Thy 
 scarlet 
 Into a velvet jacket, which hath seen 
 Aleppo twice, is known to the great Turk, 
 Hath 'scaped three shipwrecks to be left for thee. 
 And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map ? 
 
 New. There's not in Ovid such a metamorphosis 
 As thou art now. To be turned into a tree. 
 Or some fine beast, is courtly unto this ! 
 But for thee, Frank ! O, wretched transmutation. 
 Of satin chang'd to kersey-hose, I sing ! 
 'Slid ! his shoes shine, too. 
 
 Plo. Very pleasant, gentlemen. 
 
 Bri, And faith, now, for how many years art bound ? 
 
 Plo. D'ye take me for a 'prentice? 
 
 New. Then, what office 
 Dost bear i* the parish this year ; come, let's feel — 
 No batteries in thy head to signify 
 Thou'rt constable ? 
 
 Bri. No furious jug broke on it, 
 I' the king's name ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 17 
 
 Plo, Did you contrive this scene 
 By the way, gentlemen ? 
 
 New. No ; — but the news. 
 Thou shouldst turn tradesman ! — And this pagan 
 
 dress. 
 In which, if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be 
 
 damned 
 For an usurer! — Nay, 'tis too ridiculous ! 
 
 Plo. Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright off- 
 spring 
 O' the female silkworm and the tailor male ! 
 I own you are gallants— I deny not 
 That you look well in your unpaid-for giory — 
 That in these colours you set out the Strand, 
 And adorn Fleet Street ! — That you may laugh at me, 
 Poor working-day o' the city !— Like two festivals - 
 Escaped out of the almanack ! 
 
 New. Sirrah Bright ! 
 Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate ? 
 
 Bri. I thought all wit had ended at Fleet Bridge ! 
 But wit that goes o' the score, that may extend, 
 Ift be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside. 
 
 Plo. Your mercer lives there, does he ? I warrant 
 you. 
 He has the j)atience of a burning heretic. 
 The very faith, that sold to you these silks. 
 And thinks you'll pay for them, is strong enough 
 To save the infidel part of the world ! 
 
 Bri. Why, Newcut! 
 We're most mechanically abused ! 
 
 New. Go, put on 
 One of thy Temple suits, and come with us. 
 
 Plo. But do you know to how^ much danger, sirs. 
 You tempt me : — should my uncle know I come 
 Within the air of Fleet Street — 
 
 New. Psha ! I say. 
 Go, make yourself fit for a coach again. 
 And come along ! 
 
 Plo. Well, well — you shall prevail — 
 But whither are you bent ? 
 
 New. We dine at Scoreup's. 
 
 c 
 
18 THE merchant's WEDDING. [aCT I. 
 
 There we shall meet the captain and his poet — 
 We'll have another fish ! 
 
 Br I. Rare sport, i' faith. 
 'Tis strange, how many fools have paid their pence 
 To see a drunken fellow deck'd in scales. 
 And never doubted him a true sea-monster. 
 I've seen above a score shown in Moorfields, 
 And yet the town's no wiser. — We are fam'd for't 
 Through all the world — there's no sight-hunter like 
 Your gullible Englishman : hang out a picture. 
 And blow a trumpet, and he'll pay a shilling tD see 
 his own dog dance ! 
 
 New. But, by the way. 
 We have agreed to see a lady. 
 
 Plo. Ah! 
 What lady? 
 
 BrL Hast not heard of the new lady ? — The rich 
 heiress : 
 Rich as the sea, and scornful as she's w^ealthy. 
 She has a biting wit, and such a tongue, 
 Wer't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buy 
 All young heirs near him. — Where can you have been 
 To know't not ? 
 
 New. She's the wonder of the court. 
 And talk of the town ; — she has vow'd ne'er to marry, 
 'Til she be won by stratagem. 
 
 Plo. Her name ? 
 
 New. Aurelia. 
 
 Plo. A strange wench ! I long to see her. 
 
 Bri. Why, in the name of Guildhall, who comes 
 here ? (_, '^ 
 
 Enter Timothy. 
 
 Tim. By your leave, gentlemen. . y y y_ 
 
 Plo, Mr, Timothy ! y. ^ /^ -^ 
 
 Welcome from the new world ! — What ! not gone 
 To sea with your father ? 
 
 Tim. No, faith ! I don't like 
 To go to sea. — Besides, my mother was 
 Afraid to venture me. 
 
 Flo. Belie ve't, she's wise 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 19 
 
 Not to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark. 
 But whither are you bound ? 
 
 Tim. I only came 
 To have your judgment of my suit. 
 
 Plo, 'Tis a brave suit ! a rare one ! sure the tailor 
 
 [Walks round Tim. 
 Hath done his part. 
 
 Tim. And my mother has done hers. 
 For she has paid for it. I never durst be seen 
 Before my father out of duretta 
 And serge ; but, if he catch me in such stuffs. 
 Such paltry stuffs, that make me look like one 
 Who lets out money, let him say that Timothy 
 Was born a fool ! — No, no— no more o'that. 
 Before he went, he made me do what he list ; 
 Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. What 
 rJ^Axe these two ? — Gentlemen ? 
 f^^p Plo. You see they wear 
 ^ /? T|ieir heraldry. 
 ^^^, 0Tim. But I mean, can they roar, 
 
 Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress? 
 I mean forthwith to get a mistress ! Gentlemen, 
 y^ Ljpovet your acquaintance. 
 (Ju-uS.Bri. Your servant, sir, 
 ^(^ ^ New. I shall be proud to know you. 
 Tim. Sir, my knowledge 
 Is not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune — 
 Some hundred thousand pounds, if once my father 
 Held up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass. 
 What are you ? — Inns-of-court men ? I shall shortly^ 
 Be one myself. I learn to dance already, O^ 
 
 And wear short cloaks. >- -^ *"^^ 
 
 New. [Aside to Plotwell.] This is an excellent 
 fellow? 
 Whois't? 
 
 Plo. Rich Seathrift's son, that went abroad 
 This morning with my uncle. 
 
 New. Let us take him 
 Along with us, — Quartfield shall make a show of him. 
 He shall be the fish ! 
 
 Plo. Capital sport, i'faith. 
 Tim. Gentlemen, 
 
 c2 
 
20 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDING. 
 
 [act I. 
 
 Shall we dine at an ordinary? — You 
 Shall enter me among the wits. 
 
 Plo. Sir, I 
 Will but change clothes, then we'll associate you ' 
 But, first, you shall with us, and see a lady, 
 Rich as your father's chests and pigeon-holes. 
 Fresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'd 
 Out of her alabaster ! 
 
 Tim. O, make haste ! 
 I long to see a lady, and salute her ! [Exeunt 
 
 M. 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDINCJ. 21 
 
 a 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment at Aurelia's. 
 
 Enter Aurelia, followed by Bright, Newcut, 
 Timothy, and Plot well.^^ 
 
 fCJ Aur, What means this insolence? Who let ye in? 
 The knaves ! to let such saucy swaggerers 
 
 iter a civil house. {X * _/^ 
 
 Bri. Speak to her, Timothy. cMf^^ ^^ 
 
 Tim. Lady ! let me taste the elysium of your lips. -^>f-^ 
 
 Aur. Why, what are you, sir? Prithee, know ^ 
 your distance. 
 
 Tim, What am I ? Why, my father is an alderman. 
 And I shall be one in time. 
 
 Aur. Then, sir, in time 
 You may be remembered at the quenching 
 Of fired houses, when the bells ring backwards. 
 By your name upon the buckets. 
 
 Tim. Here's a wit, now. 
 By this light, gentlemen, I've no more language 
 Than a dumb parrot. A little more, she'll jeer me 
 Into a fellow that turns upon his toe 
 In a steeple and strikes quarters ! 
 
 Aur. And you, sirs — 
 ^O Ypu are some inns-of-court men ? 
 e^ ' u/New. Yes ; what then ? 
 ^ Aur. Had I in all the world but forty mark. 
 And that got by my needle-making socks. 
 And were that forty mark mil-sixpences. 
 Spur-royals, Harry-groats, or such odd coin 
 Of husbandry as in the king's reign now 
 Would never pass, I would despise you ! 
 
 Bri. You think you have abused us now. 
 
 New. Your wit 
 Will make you die a withered virgin, lady. 
 
22 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDING. 
 
 [act II. 
 
 Bri, We shall in time, when your most tyrant 
 tongue 
 Hath made this house a wilderness, and you 
 As unfrequented as a statesman fallen, — 
 "When you shall quarrel with your face and glass, 
 'Til from your pencil you have raised new cheeks, — 
 See you beg suitors, write bills o'er your doors — 
 " Here is an ancient lady to be let." 
 
 New, You think you're handsome now ? 
 
 Aur. 'Tmay be, I do. 
 
 New. May I not prosper, if I have not seen 
 A better face in signs or gingerbread. 
 
 Tim. Yes ; I for two-pence oft have bought a better., 
 
 Plo. Fie, gentlemen ! abuse a lady thus ? y^^ /t^ ^^^ 
 I can't with patience hear your blasphemies/ ^ 
 
 Aur. O prodigy! to hear an image speak. 
 Why, sir, I took you for a mute i' the hangings. 
 
 Plo. Why, lady, do you think me 
 Wrought in a loom ? 
 
 Aur. Surely, you stood so simply ; 
 But, now I know you have a tongue, and are 
 A very man, I'll only think you dull. 
 And pray for better utterance. 
 
 Plo. Lady, you 
 Judge rashly of me ; I was only struck 
 With admiration of your beauty. 
 
 Aur. Then you can wonder, sir? 
 
 Plo. Yes, when 1 see a miracle like you. 
 
 Aur. And love me, can't you ? 
 
 Plo. Ay, and marry you. 
 If so I should be minded. 
 
 Aur. What, fair sir. 
 Whether I will or no ? 
 
 Plo. Ay — ay — despite 
 Thy pretty teeth, that show like pearly drops 
 Between those parted roses. — But come, wags, j 
 
 Let us to Scoreup's. Heaven be with you, ^^YjTz/]^ 
 I came not here to w^oo, but just to look on y^^^ ^^7 
 The pretty piece of scornfulness I'd heard 
 So much of; — now I've seen, I'm satisfied. 
 
 [Exit PlotwelL 
 
a, 
 
 SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 23 
 
 Bri, Ay! ay! away to Scoreup's. — Fare thee well I ^^ 
 
 New, Adieu, thou bitter sweet one. [Elxit ^^ 
 
 Tim. ^Tell, she is * 
 
 A most rare lady! I could love a dog O ' y ^^ 
 
 Of those sweet looks.— Heigho! ^^^-t,--^^-^^*^. 
 
 Enter Dorcas and Petee^ as Timothy goes out, — ^ 
 
 Aur. So you are here. — You're pretty guards, for- 
 sooth. 
 ;Why kept ^ou not them out? 
 
 Pet. They were so nimble, 
 I had no sooner op'd the door than all 
 Rushed in, forsooth. 
 
 Aur. [Aside. ''\ There's one amongst them 
 That hath, methinks, a right ingenious spirit, 
 Veil'd merely ^vith a youthful vanity. 
 He look'd like one who could retract himself 
 From his mad starts, and, when he pleas'd, turn tame. 
 His handsome wildness did, methinks, become him ; 
 But down these thoughts. — Do I not know the sex: 
 When a poor woman has laid open all 
 Her mind to them, then grow they proud and coy; 
 Eut, when -uise maids dissemble and keep close. 
 They come like serpents creeping in the dust. 
 And, with their oiled looks, prostrate themselves 
 Before our beauty's sun ; where, once but warm. 
 They strike us with their stings, and then forsake us! 
 No: let the wisest win me if he can, /77 
 
 ^^But, a free gift — not I to any man ! \Exit. ^*^\ 
 
 (yO. Dor. I thought she'd never go. Here, sirrah, Peter, 
 Run quickly after that same srentleman — 
 He in the yellow suit: — say, that your lady — 
 Your lady, mind — would speak with him. 
 Run — run i_^ 
 
 Pet. I will, forsooth. [Exit Peter, sloidij. \^ 
 
 Dor. A base companion ! 
 A scurvy good-for-naught 1 — I'll teach him how 
 To slight his old acquaintance. I have seen him. 
 Before his father died, walking iu Moorfields 
 TTith half a hat, a doublet with three buttons, 
 A hose with one point and no garter, and 
 
e. 
 
 24 THE merchant's wedding. [act II. 
 
 A cudgel under his arm, begging for threepence. 
 
 Then 'twas " Sweet Dorcas, and dear pretty Dorcas, 
 
 And hast thou not a noble ? By this light. 
 
 An' would my father die, I'd marry thee !'' 
 
 And now, forsooth, i'the pride of his new doublet. 
 
 He struts by me as he had been new kiughted ! 
 
 Re-enter Bright. .JZ?» 
 
 Bri, Where is your lady, wench? She called me 
 
 back. 
 Dor. Where is your conscience, sirrah ! that you 
 can 
 Look in my face and ask me for my lady? 
 Wilt swear thou dost not know me? — Base deceiver! 
 Bri. Phew ! here's a storm ! — Why — yes — I think 
 I've seen 
 That nose before, and those two unpaired eyes. 
 That feel they were not made for one another. 
 And turn away for shame. — I can't mistake them. 
 For never saw I any of their colour. 
 Unless it might be in a whiting, boiled. 
 
 Dor, Peace, or I'll tear out thine ! I will, thou 
 rake-hell ! 
 Hast thou forgotten, wretch, how oft thou'st sworn 
 They were no eyes, but two celestial stars ! 
 When you came wheedling for a capon's wing? 
 Or tenpence, to appease your laundress? — Villain! 
 Didst thou not promise thou wouldst marry me? 
 
 Bri. I'faith, I did — and twenty more beside ! 
 An' I kept all my promises, the law 
 AVould hang me for't. But, be patient, wench. 
 Who would have thought to find thee here, in this 
 
 place ? 
 Truly, I did not know thee, in thy glory, — 
 Thy mistress's cast lace and satin gown ! 
 What wouldst thou have, — a husband ?~Gads my 
 
 life ! 
 If that will please thee, I will find thee one. 
 
 Dor. Out and be hang'd, base varlet! Where's 
 the money 
 Thou hadst from me last Michaelmas? Five pounds. 
 By this blessed light, and swore to pay it truly 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT*S WEDDING. 25 
 
 ^Fithin a week, at the utmost? — Where's the ring 
 Yoa stole, as if in londness, from my linger, 
 And after pawned it ? Nay, now thou'st anger'd me, 
 I'll have it all ! I will, or else the sergeant — 
 
 Bri. Why, Dorcas, Dorcas ! hear me, silly wench, 
 I'll make. thy fortune for thee. Nay, nay, — hear 
 
 me:.^ 
 What say'st thou to a wealthy merchant's son ? 
 I'm a poor devil, and not worth thy thoughts. 
 But, if thou hast a mind to be a lady. 
 To wear your coif with a fine London licket, 
 Your buffin gown with a tuftaffety cape. 
 Eat cheries at an angel a pound, and bid adieu 
 To durance petticoats and silver bodkins. 
 There is a something may be brought about 
 
 Dar, A something ! Psha I what something, hypo- 
 crite ? 
 
 Bri. A rich young husband — 'tis a trifle, that — 
 A thing you care not for, I know. As for 
 The debt you ask, [Takes out a purse.] here, take it — 
 
 take your money ; 
 But let me tell you it will stop proceedings. 
 
 Dor. Nay, 3lr. Bright, you know I'm sometimes 
 peevish — 
 A rich young husband, said you ? 
 
 Bri. Here's your money — [Offering a purse. 
 
 Dor. Nay, put it up again — I want it not; 
 It was your love, and not your coin, I wished for. 
 And are vou really serious ? [Pushes away the purse. 
 
 Bri. Won't take it ? 
 
 Dor. No, put it up ; and tell me, my sweet Bright. 
 
 Bri. Upon entreaty, I'm content for once. 
 But make no custom of it. You do presume 
 Upon my easy foolishness. 
 
 Dor. Well, well, — [Impatiently. 
 
 But the rich husband? 
 
 Bri, Nay ; I cannot stay 
 To tell thee now. The gallants wait for me ; 
 Besides, 'tis but a thought, that must be worked on. 
 Anon I'll see tbee, and discourse upon't. 
 
 Dor. But may I trust thee now? 
 
 Bri. Upon my honour. 
 
 D 
 
I 
 
 26 
 
 THE merchant's WEDDING. 
 
 [act II. 
 
 Dor, O lud, 'twere sin to doubt thee now. Fare- 
 I shall expect thee. ^^^^^^^^^JJlJ^^.^^n/^^ 
 
 SCENE llcyCJMt^e of an Ordinary. 
 
 Enter, from House, ^Cavtai^ Quartfield, beating 
 ScoREUP. — Salewit and Millicent, labouring 
 ^^ Ao part them, 
 
 Ju-b'Qua, Sirrah, I'll beat you into air. 
 (y2^, Sco, Good captain ! — 
 
 Qua, I will, by Hector. 
 
 Sco. Murder ! murder ! help ! 
 ^ /iQua. You needy, shifting, cozening, breaking slave. 
 [/oJyMil. Nay, Mr. Salewit, help to part them. 
 J-^y, Sal. Captain! — 
 
 Qua, Ask me for money, dog ! 
 
 Sco. Oh! I am killed! 
 
 Mil, Help ! help ! 
 
 Sal, Nay, captain. 
 
 Qua. Men of my coat pay ? 
 Rascal, I'll make you trust and offer me 
 Petitions to go o'the score. 
 
 Sal. \_To Sco.l I told you, man. 
 Last time the captain beat you, what a lion 
 He is, being asked for reckonings. 
 
 Mil. So you did, 
 Indeed, good Mr. Salewit; yet you must 
 Be ever foolish, husband. 
 
 Sal. What if we 
 Do owe you money, sir ? Is't fit for you 
 To ask it? 
 
 Sco. Well, sir, there is law — I say. 
 No more — but there is law. 
 
 Qua. What law, you cur ? 
 The law of nature, custom, arms, and nations. 
 Frees men of war from payments. Dog, I tell you. 
 No soldiers ought to pay. ^ jf(^, 
 
 Sal. Nor poets either. ^ 
 All void of money, sir, are privileged. 
 
 Mil, You hear, good husband, captains and poets 
 Must never pay. 
 
 % 
 
 
di. 
 
 
 SCENE 11.3 THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 27 
 
 Sal. No, nor be asked for money. 
 
 Sco. Still I say there's law. 
 
 Qua. Say that again. 
 And, by Bellona, I will cut thy throat. 
 
 Mil. You long to see your brains out. 
 
 {Smacks his face and runs into house. 
 
 Qua. Why, thou mongrel ! 
 Thou John-of-all- trades ! Have we not been your 
 
 guests 
 Since you first kept a tavern, when you had 
 The face and impudence to hang a bush out 
 With but three pints of claret and two of sack. 
 In all the world ? 
 
 Sal. And after, when you broke. 
 Did w^e not track you here, custom your house. 
 And help away your victuals, which had else 
 Lain mouldy on your hands ? 
 
 Sco. You did, indeed ; 
 I own you've been my customers these two years ; 
 My jack went not, nor chimney smoked, without you : 
 I will go farther — your two mouths have been 
 Two as good eating mouths as need to come 
 Within my doors : as curious to be pleased 
 As if you still had lived on ready money,: — 
 Had still the meats in season, and drank more 
 Than e'en you eat. 
 
 Sal. And your ingratitude 
 Would have this paid for? 
 
 Sco. Surely, so I take it. ^/ VrT 
 
 Sal. Was ever the like heard ? y^ -^ ^D7. 
 
 Qua. 'Tis most unreasonable : 
 He has a harden'd conscience, y ^4,/,^ J^ <njja^/<? 
 
 Sco. But surely, captain — /^^^*<^^'^''^ 
 
 Qua. Peace, you loud bawling cur* do you dis- 
 grace me ^^^ 
 Before these gallants, see if I don't kill you 1 ^/p 
 
 -Ewfer B RIG ht,Newcut, Plot WELL, a/tcZ Timothy, c:,*^ 
 
 Plo. Save you, bold Quartfield and my man of wit. 
 Salute this gentleman. 
 
 Qua. I embrace him.yc^ [Embraces him, 
 
 Sal. And so do I. * [Embraces Timothy. 
 
 d2 
 
 ^^**>^,^ V::^; ^t^<^ut^ ^c<yy^ ^ 
 
28 THE merchant's wedding. [act II. 
 
 Tim, You are a poet, sir ? 
 
 Sal, A servant to the muses. 
 
 Tim, I have made 
 Some speeches, sir, in verse, which have been spoken 
 By a green Robin Goodfellow, from Cheapside 
 
 Conduit, 
 To my father's company. You are a captain, sir ? 
 
 Qua, I have seen service, sir. ^tAvfl^o Quartfield. 
 
 Tim. Captain, T love 
 Men of the sword and buflf; and, if need were, ^^ 
 I can soar too, and hope to swear in time. yC^ OL-i ij^ 
 Do you see, captain? ^{^ ^^(^X 
 
 Flo, Nay, w^e ve brought you, sir, ^ v^r^'- 
 A g:entleman of valour. 
 
 Qua, Why, Mr. Plotwell, never did I think 
 To see you in silk again. 
 
 Sal, I look'd next Lord Mayor's day 
 To see you o' the livery, or one 
 Of the bachelor whifflers. 
 
 Qua, Is your uncle dead ? 
 
 Flo, Not yet; but he's gone to sea this moraing, y 
 And I am come into your ranks again.^ J'Tt^'y -^^*^***«*^ 
 But hark ye, lads ! what think you of a fish now? 
 
 Qua, Mad wags l^mad wags ! 
 
 Bri, By heaven, 'tis true ! Here, we have brought 
 one with us. 
 
 New, Rich Seathrift's son ! He'll make a rare 
 sea-monster. 
 
 Qua, And shall's be merry, faith ? We have the 
 properties 
 Of the last fish ; and, if I give him not 
 Enough sea at dinner, and if I and Salewit 
 Show him not better than he who shows the tombs^ 
 Let me be turn'd into a sword-fish myself, y ^ zo^^'^ 
 
 Plo, A natural change for a captain ! How now, 
 Scoreup ? \^Aloud, 
 
 Pensive, and cursing the long vacation — eh ! 
 
 Tim, Are you the half-crown fellow of the house? 
 
 Sco, Sir, I do keep the ordinary. 
 
 Tim. Well! 
 Let us have wine enough ! 1 mean to drink 
 A health to a lady. 
 
 i 
 
SCENE II.] THE merchant's WEDDING. 29 
 
 Bri* [Aside to him.] Hush 1 
 Will you betray your fortune ? One of them 
 Will go and tell her who you are, and spoil 
 The marriage. 
 
 Tim. No — peace, gentlemen ; \i you'll ^ y . 
 
 Go in, we'll follow. JaJ^J gc,.^*^tg^^</L^^ ^^^t^V-^^^ 
 
 Sco, Please you, enter— =^nher 7~~ 
 
 Shall straight be set on the board. \Exit. ^4c^J^, 
 
 Qua, Come, gentlemen. 
 
 [ Exeunt Quartfield, Salewit, and Newcut, into 
 the Ordinary, 
 Plo, [Aside.} That nimble-witted heiress! plague 
 upon't. 
 The rosy rogue still haunts me! — 'Sdeath, shall 
 
 eyes. 
 Which only should be load-stars unto fools. 
 Attract a knowing spirit ! Ay, they do. 
 I am in love, — there's no concealing it ! 
 She must be won by stratagem ! Why so — 
 Then why not I as well as any man ? 
 Humph, let me think on't, [Exit Plotwell, into house, 
 Tim, But was it really 
 y^ For that she call'd you back ? 
 //Q^ Bri, Believe it, sir. 
 
 You wear some charm about you. 
 Tim, Not I, truly. 
 
 Bri, It cannot be she should so strangely doat 
 Upon you, else, thus to forego her scheme. 
 And be the first to woo. 
 
 Tim, The fine wench, then. 
 We saw this morning, is her servant only ? 
 
 Bri, That was her plot. He who had the wit 
 To find her out in her dissembled state. 
 She meant to make her husband ; but your person 
 Hath overturn'd all this. 
 
 Tim, Now I remember. 
 One read my fortune once, and told my father 
 That I should match a lady. 
 Bri, How things fall out ! 
 Tim, And did she ask you who 
 I was? 
 Bri. I told her you were a young knight — 
 
30 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDING. 
 
 [act n. 
 
 Tim. Good! 
 
 Bri, Scarce come to the years o' discretion. 
 
 Tim, Good, still, — 
 I am not quite. 
 
 Bri, \_Aside,'] No, I'll be sworn of (hat ! 
 And that a nobleman did mean to beg you 
 For his daughter. 
 
 Tim. O most rare! to-night's the time. 
 
 Bri. Faith, you must use a little courtship first ; 
 That done, let me alone to have the priest 
 In readiness. 
 
 Tim. But wer't not best to ask 
 My friends' consent ? 
 
 Bri. Psha! friends' consent! that's fit 
 For none but farmers' sons and milkmaids. — You 
 Shall not debase your judgment. Rot it, man. 
 She takes you for a wit, and you shall match her 
 Like one. 
 
 Tim. I will. 
 
 Bri. But no words to the gallants. 
 
 Tim. Do you think I am a sieve, and cannot 
 hold ? 
 
 Bri. Come, let us in! \^Aside.'] The woodcock's 
 spring'd ! 'tis done ! 
 Will you before, sir — 
 
 Tim. Not before you, sir — pray- 
 
 Bri. Nay, sir — your fortune claims precedency. 
 
 [As they how to each other, Timothy sud- 
 denly looks at his advanced leg. 
 
 Tim. Now, by the mass, I'd lay a score of nobles 
 It was my leg that struck her. 
 
 Bi'i. Saints forbid ! 
 You didn't kick her, surely? 
 
 Tim. [Pointing to his leg.'] Nay, my leg ! — 
 
 Bri. Ah ! pardon me ! It is a handsome leg, 
 A most rare leg, and worthy such a face. 
 
 Tim. If ever I be seen in boots again. 
 May I be killed by a cobbler. 
 
 [Exeunt into house — Timothy admiring his legs. 
 
 r- ij (h' 
 
SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 31 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in the Ordinary. — Scoreup 
 discovered arranging dinner-table, 6jc. 
 
 Enter Plotwell, Quartfield, Salewit, and Newcut, 
 
 to dinner, ^ 
 
 n Qua. Come ffentlemen^/sit, sit. . ^ ^ ^ ^Zf^^^ ^Lt^^ 
 
 ^ Enter Bright and Timothy. I/O. -^(x^^^^^^ ^A 
 
 jUPIo. Come, we've begun! — some rich canary w? 
 tnere ! {Exit Scoreup. ^^, 
 
 Qua, Gentlemen, sit. — Sit, Mr. Timothy. 
 You are victoriously welcome. y /^ / 
 
 Tim. That w^ord has conquered me. / ^^f^^^^^ - (y<^/ 
 
 Enter Scoreup with wine. cJs) . 
 
 (j^- 
 
 Sco. Here's a pottle of rich canary, and some neat 
 
 (men. /? 
 
 Plo. Pass it round, boys. //^ 
 
 i and drinks.l Gaa ! a 
 
 claret, gentlemen. / AUJ c^ /../i^ 
 
 lq ! a cupc 
 ter than our four-shillino^ beer at home ! 
 
 Tim. [Fills and drinks.^ Gad ! a cupof this is bet- 
 
 V^'' 
 
 ^^ Sal. You must drink another glass, sir — you drank 
 y^o nobody. 
 ^hS^^ ' Tim. Is it the law, that, if a man drinks to nobody, 
 -^ he must drink again ? 
 
 All. Ay, ay! fill his glass! 
 
 Tim. Why, then, I'll drink to nobody once more, 
 because I will drink again. \All laugh. 
 
 ^ Plo. Didn't T tell you ? More wine, there ! 
 ///h Bri. [Aside.'] This pageant's worth the seeing, by 
 * ' the mass ! 
 
 Tim. Yes ; give us some more wine there ! Here's 
 
 a hundred marks, gallants ! — they're your own, an' 
 
 you do but let me bear office among you. I know as 
 
 great a matter has been done, for as small a sum. 
 
 Pray let me follow the fashion ! 
 
 Qua. [Who has risen, and advanced on the right of 
 Timothy, pocketing it.] AYell, for once, we'll take 
 money. Give me a cup of wine, and give me your 
 hand. [All rise — Timothy gives his hand to Quart- 
 field — Salewit gives Quartfield a cup of wine, and 
 some pipes, — They place Timothy in a chau] I am 
 
32 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDING. 
 
 [act II. 
 
 captain of this honourable company, and this, my 
 noble poet, is my lieutenant. Our corporal was 
 lately choked at Delph, with a flap-dragon ; there- 
 fore, bear you his name and place, and henceforth 
 be called Corporal Calf *s-head ! — Let the health go 
 round ! 
 
 [Breaks the pipes overJSimothy' s head — Sale- 
 wit does the same^[/ill repeat the name, 
 drink, and huzza three times, 
 Tim, [Rising on the step of the chair,'] Gentlemen ! 
 — I feel — I — feel that I am — a — calf's-head ! 
 
 [Slips off pie chair, 
 Tim, Some wine there, tapster ! Is ct^ux) JtP'{c4jka . 
 There ne'er a tapster in the house ? — r 
 
 Re-enter Scoreup. *=-^ . 
 
 Sco, Here is more wine, gentlemen; and, sir, [To 
 Plotwell] there is one Lieutenant Valentine inquires 
 for you without. 
 
 Plo. Valentine ! — my Pylades ! my brave young 
 buff-coat ! — Show him in, good Scoreup. cP 
 
 Sco. He's here, sir. [&*'^ Scoreup Jp^ 
 
 JEnfer Valentine, c-^^ 
 
 Val Frank Plotwell 1 
 
 Flo, What wind has blown thee hither ? I 
 thought thee in the Low Countries ! 
 How fares it, man ? 
 
 Val, It cannot fare much worse — 
 I am a beggar, Frank. . v 
 
 Plo, You shall not say so 
 While I've a cross to call mine own ? How, beggar? 
 Val, My mortgage is foreclosed. — Despite my 
 haste, 
 I am four days behind my time. Your uncle, 
 Press'd by some loss through fire, has sold the estate, 
 
 too; 
 I must look out for fortunes o'er again. 
 
 Plo, A loss by fire ! — sold the estate ! — tut, tut, 
 man! 
 He has the mortgage still — 'tis all a fetch. 
 
SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 33 
 
 And, hearkye, Valentine, I have a sister, 
 A handsome sister, still — ay, and unmarried. 
 
 Val. I feared to ask. 
 
 Plo, Sit, sit, man. — I will read thee y x ^ 
 
 A history of happiness — sit down. y^^df^^Y ^^^^^-^-^^^^ '^-^ 
 
 Val. Not in this company — and, frust ine, Frank, 
 I grieve to see you here. s / ^Z ^ /y 
 
 Plo. Why, yon's a solAler,-- yO^'^^'^'Y ^^^"^^^^/^ 
 A man of war, like you. ^ 
 
 Val. A man of words !— By heav'n, it stirs my 
 wrath 
 To see these mongrels ape the soldier! 
 
 Plo, Psha! 
 Sit down, I say. — Here, Captain Quartfield, 
 Pray know my friend — Lieutenant Valentine. 
 y^ Val, [To Quartfield.] Are you a captain, sir? 
 C/tLf. Qua, I am. 
 
 Val. Where served you last ? 
 
 Qua. Why — at the Battle of Prague. 
 
 Val, Under what colonel — in what regiment ? 
 
 Qua. Why, — let me see ; but come, — sit down, sir! 
 True soldiers scorn unnecessary words. 
 Especially in taverns. 
 
 Val. True soldiers do — 
 But you are tavern-rats ! 
 
 Qwa. How? J.y .^,y/y^ , 
 
 Plo. Prithee, now — u^*^,.^^^^^^^^^--^ 
 
 Val. Foul food, that lieth all day undigested 
 Upon the queasy stomach of some tavern, 
 y^ And are vomited out at midnight. 
 (/o. Tim. [Advancing, and offering a cup of wine to Va- 
 lentine.] Hiccup! 
 Corporal Calf's-head's health, sir. 
 Val. In thy face, fool ! 
 
 [Knocks the liquor up, in Timothy's face. 
 Tim. O, la ! [Staggers up the stage, towards table, 
 
 and sits in a chair, (/a?, 
 Plo. Nay, Valentine ! — 
 Val. Forgive me, Frank ! 
 It's for thy sake I'm moved. True soldiers, say you? 
 Ye worms of worth ! ye sons of shame and baseness ! 
 That, in a tavern, dare outsit the sun. 
 
 E 
 
34 
 
 THE MERCHANT S WEDDING. 
 
 [act II. 
 
 The name of soldier should bespeak a man. 
 Noble and valiant. — Wisdom is the mould 
 In which he casts his actions. — Such a temperance 
 Doth daily deck his doings, that, by's modesty. 
 He's guess'd the son of merit — by his mildness 
 He's believ'd valiant ! — Go, and build no more 
 These airy castles of hatch'd fame, which fools 
 Only admire and fear you for. The wise 
 Laugh at — scorn you. Go and practise, sir. 
 Virtue and valour, those fair shining twins. 
 That are born, breathe, and die together. Then 
 You'll no more be called butterflies, but men. 
 Think on't, and pay your reckoning. (cp 
 
 \JElxit Valentine, c>^ 
 
 Qua, Shall we suffer this ? [Going after Valentine,,^ 
 
 Plo. [Stopping Quartfield,'] I will go after him.^^ 
 [Aside.] I know my sister loves him, and he swears 
 he loves her; and, by this hand, it shall go hard if 
 he have her not, and his mortgage back, too. Brave, 
 excellent man ! \Yith what a strength of zeal we 
 admire that goodness in another, which we cannot ^ 
 call our own ! [Exit Plotwell.^ 
 
 Qua. Kill him, an' thou lov'st me. 
 
 Bri, He's a dead man, I warrant him. 
 
 New. But Where's our corporal ? Corporal ! cor- 
 poral! / / ' ^ yCl))-iyOt. 
 
 Bri. Why, Master Timothy !/ irC^yC^ "^^-^^ ^^ 
 
 Tim. [Very drunk ^^s — is he gone f— Hiccup ! — 
 Who calls us butterflies ? 
 
 New. Yes, yes ; he's taken wing, and Plotwell is 
 gone after him, to fight with him. 
 
 Tim. That's well. He cannot but in conscience 
 do us the courtesy to kill him. Come, what shall 
 we do ? I'll never go home to bed while I can get 
 such stuff as this* Hiccup ! Is there no more wine 
 to be had ? Drawer — hie— drawer— more — canary. 
 [Falls down into Bright and Newcufs arms. 
 
 Qua. Away with him! away with him! Get the 
 
 fins and the scales up, with the picture, and let us 
 
 have all ready for the show by the time Plotwell 
 
 comes back. 
 
 /jV; [Exeunt, Newcut and Bright carrying Timothy, 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 35 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Street. — View of Holborn Bridge and 
 St, PauVs in 1638. 
 
 E'w^er Plotwell awe? Valentine 
 
 .a. 
 
 a. 
 
 / 
 
 v^ 
 
 Val, You glad my heart by this intelligence. 
 
 Plo, 'Tis as I say: — you know my precious uncle. 
 After the ruin and heart-broken death 
 Of my poor father, did, to balve his conscience. 
 Continue me a while here in the Temple, 
 But placed my sister Pen, then scarce thirteen. 
 With an old puritanic seamstress, near 
 Th'Exchange, to waste the morning of her beauty. 
 Stitching of bands and nightcaps. 
 
 Val, 'Sdeath! had she 
 Been born to such a life, or had your fortunes 
 By other means decayed, her industry 
 Had been an honour to her. 
 
 Plo. Thus it was — 
 But, when the chief cause of our wreck and fall 
 Wallowed in gold — gold dearly wrung from us, 
 Could I stand by, and hear that poor wrong'd girl 
 Run over all her shop to passengers 
 In a fine sale-time ? No, faith ! I whipp'd her oflf 
 One evening, took her lodgings here, and, out 
 Of the large sums I drew as for myself. 
 Maintained her like a lady ; while my uncle. 
 Her mistress, and the world, deemed she had been 
 Kidnapped, and soon forgot to speak of her. 
 
 Val. It was about that time, dear Frank, we first 
 Became acquainted, and still, day by day, 
 I marked the waking of that pretty bud 
 Into a beauteous flower ; and trust me, Frank, 
 On the wild ocean, in the clamorous camp, 
 'Mid night and storm and battle, that fair form — 
 
 r2 
 
36 THE merchant's wedding. [act III, 
 
 That gentle, bright, sweet form, hath never been 
 One little hour forgotten. 
 
 Plo, You have been 
 As well remembered. But, to end my story. 
 My uncle, startled at the large expenses 
 To which I put him, and the which, no doubt. 
 His avarice still magnified, withdrew 
 Me from the temple, so that the old channel. 
 Whereby I served my sister, has of late 
 Been sadly straitened ; and this very morning 
 I did receive a ticket full of griefs, ^p 
 
 Which now go I to answer. Yon's her house. Y.^J^ 
 But, Venus be my speed ! look who comes here ? 
 
 Val. A lady, bravely dress'd and well attended. 
 
 Plo. 'Tis she ! you rogue ! 'tis she ! 
 
 Vol. She ! whom ? your sister ? 
 Ir, Plo. No, no — ^my wife ; my wife that is to be. 
 
 Look on her, lad — say, is she not a jewel 
 Worth wearing, if a man knew how to win her ? 
 
 VaL And what's your hope ? 
 
 Plo. There is a certain goddess, friend, called con- 
 fidence, that carries much weight in honourable pre- 
 ferments. Fortune waits upon her— Cupid is at her 
 beck — she sends them both of errands. This deity 
 doth promise me much assistance in this business. 
 
 Vol. You may have a harder task, yet, than you 
 imagine. 
 
 Plo. A task ! What, to win a woman, and have 
 opportunity ! — I would that were a task, i'faith, for 
 any man that has his wits about him ! Give me but 
 half an hour's conference with the coldest creature 
 of them all, and, if I bring her not into a fool's para- 
 dise, I'll pull out my tongue, and hang it at her door 
 for a draw-latch. She comes this way-r- jtand back 
 
 ile I accost her. ,Z^'^/cnJ2J ^a-^ ^f^Ctt-iji—-^^ ^ 
 
 Ent/BrfAv REiJiA^ with a Pflafca»^ feiE€oi nr. 
 
 Aur,'^ [Aside.] Yes, as I live, 'tis he— shall 1 go 
 back ? 
 Why did my foolish eye take in this fellow. 
 And let him down so easy to my heart. 
 Where, like a conqueror, he seizes on't. 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 37 
 
 And beats all other thoughts out of my bosom ! 
 I wonder if he*ll speak — I'm sure he saw me — 
 (D I will go back. 
 
 ^j2o . P^o, Lady, good angels guard you. 
 
 ^^ [Aside.] Ha ! she turns back upon the motion — so, 
 There's no good to be done by praying for her. 
 I see that I must plunge into a passion. 
 [Aloud, and following her.] By the faith of a gentle- 
 man, lady, 1 do reverence the ground that you walk 
 on : I will fight with him that dare say you are not 
 fair; stab him who will not pledge thee. [Aside.] 
 Not a word — Ods foot ! if I could but get her to 
 talk once, half my labour were over : but I'll try her 
 in another vein. [Aloud.] What an excellent crea- 
 ture is a woman without a tongue ! — But what a 
 more excellent creature is a woman that hath a 
 tongue, and can hold her peace ! — But how much more 
 excellent and fortunate a creature is that man, who 
 hath such a woman to his wife ! [Aside.] Still 
 silent — try again. [Aloud.] When will that tongue 
 take liberty to talk ? [Aurelia passes him, and paces 
 to and fro, he following her.] Speak but one word, 
 and I am satisfied ! Or say but ^* mum "and I am 
 
 answered — No. 6^Co<yh J^<r/C^ —-.O^y^ 
 
 No sound? no accent? — Yet it is a woman ! 
 Nay, then, without direction, I have done — 
 A I must go call for help. 
 
 oJ^^ Val. Shall I speak to her? 
 
 Plo. 'Tis all in vain — night nor sleep is not more 
 silent. — She's as dumb as Westminster Hall in the 
 long vacation. -^.c»^.»y jij Pt<,<^'-^ 
 
 FaZy^orae, I'll try my cunning for you. Lady, 
 this g^nTleman tells me you have lost your tongue. 
 I pray, let's see : if you can but make signs where- 
 abouts you lost it, we'll go and look for't. 
 
 Aur. How now, sir : what means this ? Have you 
 
 fetched your champion ? Have you no shame, no 
 
 sense of the disdain I show'd you in our last meeting, 
 
 that you dare approach me in this unmannerly manner? 
 
 Yal. [Aside to PlotwelL] The brazen-head has 
 
 spoken ! (^ / 
 
 Look to yourself, sir. [Retires a little up. Xo ^ 
 
38 THE merchant's wedding. [act Illi 
 
 Aur, How dare you be so impudent, to stand 
 Just in the face of my incensed anger ? 
 What are you ? why do you stay me ? — Has a 
 
 crown 
 Purchased that shining satin of the broker ? 
 Or is't a cast suit of some companion ? 
 
 Plo, A cast suit, lady ? 
 
 Aur. Think you it becomes you ? 
 A blue coat with a badge would suit you better ! 
 
 Plo. Ods life, this is excellent, — now she talks ! 
 
 Aurr Were you a gentleman (which sure you are 
 y^ not. 
 Or you'd have better manners) — and, what's more. 
 Well landed — do you think that I could love you ? 
 As for your face, I never saw a worse — 
 It looks as if 'twere drawn with yellow ochre 
 Upon black buckram. — What! because 
 You've heard that ladies have sometimes run off 
 With butlers, housekeepers, or their fathers' clerks. 
 You, forsooth, c o eke r'd with your own suggestion. 
 Take heart upon't, and think me fit for you ? 
 
 Plo, [Aside.li Would I could get her now to hold 
 her tongue. 
 
 Aur. [Following Jiim.] Or, 'cause sometimes, as 
 women have pass'd by. 
 And have returned a courtesy to your hat, 
 You, as the common trick is, must suppose 
 They fell in love. 
 
 Plo, Why, this is worse than silence. 
 
 Aur. But we are fools, and in our reputation 
 
 e fkl^^ie smart on't. Ease, ungrateful wretches ! 
 Kindness is termed lightness in our sex. 
 And, when we give a favour, or a kiss. 
 We give our good names too. 
 
 Plo. Will you be dumb again? 
 
 Aur. Men you are called, but you are a viperous 
 brood. 
 Whom we, in charity, take to our bosoms. 
 And cherish with our hearts, for which you sting us. 
 
 Plo. Ods foot! I must fetch him that waked your 
 tongue. 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 39 
 
 To lay it down again ! Relieve me, Valentine ! ^^ 
 
 [Exeunt Aurelia, Paae, iMni ' 4jfiuj\jry': C/^^ 
 Eh, ! gone ! — A subtle flouting ^^ ^J2?^>^5^^!<^ 't.^^Z^^ (!^^. 
 Wench! — But I'll match her yet! This ahsrer is but 
 
 feigned- 
 
 I'll fit her humour, and win her, — not by suit, but by 
 
 surprise. 
 Confidence be still my motta, I'm resolved. 
 Come, Valentine, ^-^^ i2^. ^--/^ 
 
 Let's to my sister. [Exeunt Plotivell and Valentine. o-«j^ 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment. 
 Enter Fe^elofe, CyyO , 
 
 Fen. Would I could hear from my wild brother — 
 sure 
 He got my note ; ere I'll be tortured thus. 
 With visions of fierce sergeants and vile writs, 
 I'll back to stitching and the Exchange. — Heigho 
 For a good husband, now, to save me from 
 This frowning fortune ! — Once there was a man — 
 But he's forgotten me. /^ 
 
 Enter Plott\^ell. «ws^, 
 
 (^/? Fen, So you are come, sir? 
 <J^ Plo, Yes, sister; I received your note this morn- 
 ing, 
 . yl And find you look the mine should run still. 
 C/^ Pen. Oh, you're a careful brother, thus to put me 
 Upon a course that draws all eyes on me. 
 Then leave me in't- — I will put off my ladyship, 
 And go to making shirts and bands again. 
 Plo. I hope you will not. 
 Pen. Why, what should I do ? 
 D'ye think that I can feed 
 •7 /;;On air, like a cameleon ? 
 tj^. W , Plo. But, sister, I expected you, ere this. 
 
 Had found a husband, one who would have made 
 Thee a true lady. I begin to fear 
 ^Tou are too scornful. Pen — you look too high. 
 >. ©\ Pen. Faith, brother, 'tis no age to be put off 
 With empty education. Few will make jointures 
 
«^'rii 
 
 40 THE merchant's WEDDING. [aCT IH. 
 
 To wit or good parts. I may die a virgin. 
 While some old widow, who at every cough 
 Resigns a tooth or two, and every morning 
 Is screwed together like some instrument. 
 Having full coffers, shall be wooed, and thought 
 A youthful bride. 
 
 Plo, Well, sister, would you like 
 A match of my projection? You do know. 
 Before our father died, there was a contract 
 Between you and young Seathrift. What if I 
 Make it a wedding ? 
 
 Fen, Marry a fool, in hope 
 To be a Lady Mayoress ? 
 
 Flo. Why, sister, I 
 Could name gobd ladies that are fain to find 
 Wit for themselves and knights, too. 
 He's only city -jb red. One month of your 
 Sharp conversation will refine him ; besides. 
 How long wiirt be ere your dissembled state 
 Meet such another match ? 
 
 Pen, I'd as lieve starve, Frank, 
 As wed a dolt like that. 
 
 Tlo. You won't have him ? 
 Well, then, let's try again : dost thou remember 
 A young lieutenant. Master Valentine ? 
 
 Pen, Dear brother, what of him ? 
 
 Plo. But this : dear sister, he's without, and fain 
 Would speak with you. 
 
 Pen. With me ? What can he want 
 With me ? 
 
 Plo. Hast not best ask him that thyself. 
 I'll call him in. HoaL:Valentine ! \Runs out. 
 
 Pen. [Looking out,^Tis he ! 
 Why do I tremble so? I've loved him ever 
 Since that I was a child, and yet I feel 
 I would not have that love yet opened to him. 
 By how much longer 'tis ere it be known. 
 By so much dearer 'twill be when 'tis purchased.^ 
 
 Re-enter FhOTWELh, with Valentine. 
 
 , VaL Lady, may I not kiss that hand? 
 Plo. Ay, and those lips, too ; 
 be your warrant. 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 41 
 
 ^C ^*Pen. Brother, fie on you ! 
 
 Plo, Fie on a fiddlestick — I tell you, Valentine, 
 Here's one that loves you with all her heart, yet is 
 ashamed to confess it. 
 
 Pen, Good brother, hold your tongue. Sir, you 
 are abused ; by this light you are. Had you not 
 better go into the low countries again ? 'Twill be 
 worth your while, sir, for you lose but your time here. 
 
 Plo. Why, how now, mistress? What wind is 
 blowing now? I have brought this gentleman here 
 to be your husband — will you tell him you had rather 
 have his room than his company, and so show your 
 breeding ? Look upon him, I say. 
 
 Pen. Yes, when I have no better object. 
 
 Plo, Why, what canst thou see in him, thou un- 
 handsome, hideous thing, that merits not above thee? 
 Our uncle has wronged him. 
 
 Pen, Sweet Mr. Spendall, spare your busy breath; 
 I need no husband, and will have none. 
 
 Val. Sweet mistress, be not angry, for I need 
 No wife. I am provided happily. 
 And shortly to be married to a maid 
 Of excellent parentage, breeding, and beauty; 
 And let it not be any way distasteful 
 That thus I try'd you, for your brother urged me 
 To feign I lov'd you, that he might perceive 
 How your mind stood to marriage, as I guess 
 He has a husband still in store for you. 
 
 Plo. Ay, that I have. Pen ! — Such a stripling for 
 thee ! 
 He wants an eye, is crooked-legg'd,--but that 
 Was broke at football ; and he's rich — rich. Pen. 
 
 Pen. I hate him and his riches ; but, good sir. 
 Are you to be married in earnest ? 
 
 Plo. \^Lauglis.'\ In earnest. Why, do you think 
 men marry, as fencers sometimes fight, in jest ? Shall 
 I show her Mistress Elizabeth's letter, that I snatched 
 from thee this morning ? 
 
 Val. Not an' thou lov'st me. 
 
 Pen. [Coaxingly.] Good brother, let me see't — 
 sweet brother ! dainty brother ! honey brother ! 
 
 F 
 
42 THE merchant's wedding. [act hi. 
 
 Plo. [Imitating her.] No, indeed ; you shall not 
 see it, sweet sister! dainty sister! honey sister! 
 What is't to you ? you love him not ! Think of 
 Mistress Elizabeth Man — she is the better match. 
 
 Pen, You wicked brother ! 
 
 Plo. Ha ! does the tide turn ? Wilt thou shake off 
 this folly, and confess ? 
 
 Pen. What wouldst thou have ? 
 It is against our sex to say we love. jy//^ 
 
 VaL Let me imagine it, and I am bless'd lY^ 'O^*^^ 
 This was the trick, and there is the projector. 
 Thou'rt mine ! I*m thine, and thine alone I Sweet 
 
 lady. 
 Truth loves not virtue more than I do thee. 
 
 Plo. [Interrupting him.] Te ti tum ti ! ti ti tum tee ! 
 and this is an end o'the business. Why the devil 
 could not this ha' been done before, I pray ? 
 
 Pen. Oh, you're a goodly brother ! — This was your 
 plot ?— 
 Well, I may live one day to requite you. ^ ^ 
 
 Plo. With all my heart ; but, sister, I can now V-&« 
 Rain showers of silver in thy lap again ! 
 My uncle's gone to sea, and left me here 
 The key to the golden fleece. Friend Valentine, 
 I know where lies thy mortgage — a white devil. 
 With a red fox-tail, cooped in a black box ; 
 This day it shall be thine ; and. Pen, to-morrow i/? 
 ^ ril see thee married most methodically. yL^ cJj^. 
 H^ VaL But whither goest thou now ? not ta the 
 ^•Z? tavern? 
 
 *-/^ -0* Plo. But for an hour; — nay, do not look so cloudy, 
 ^^ ' We have a jest in hand — I wouldn't miss it 
 To be made emperor of all Cathay. 
 Besides, I have another business which 
 I must attend to, and shall want the aid 
 Of those mad wags to forward it. 
 There is an heiress. Pen ! — a dainty heiress ! 
 Young, plump, and passing wealthy ! one who bears 
 The blush of morning on her velvet cheek, — 
 Whose eyes are like a pair of talking twins, — 
 Whose lips are beds of roses, between which 
 There steals a breath sweeter than Indian gales, — 
 
 J 
 
SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 43 
 
 Whose wit ingeniously waits on her virtue, — 
 Whose virtue gives a freedom to her wit ! > y^\ 
 
 She vows she must be won by stratagem ; ^ 
 
 And I've a scheme shall beat the wooden trick 
 That won old lUium ! — Farewell, Valentine I 
 Come to me i'the evening, thou shalt have 
 Thy mortgage. — Sister — " But, I pray you, sir. 
 Are you to be married in earnest?" [Mimicking.] 
 
 ^^ /? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 C/o 't>. Pen. Out, madcap ! /O 
 
 P/o. Bye, bye, turtles 1 CAP. r^ 
 
 [Exeunt Penelope^ Valentine, and Piotwell. Cdi^^ 
 
 >^ 
 
 SCENE III.—^ Coimting-Hoiise. 
 
 y^ // Enter Warehouse, Seathrift, and Cipher. 
 
 Cp War. Fetch'd abroad by two gallants, say you ? 
 c^^?, Cip. Yes, sir ; 
 
 As soon as you were gone. He only stay'd 
 ^2 To put on other clothes. 
 CPr Sea. You say my son 
 Went with them, too. 
 Cip. Yes, sir. 
 
 War. And whither went they ? 
 Cip. I followed them to Scoreup's ordinary. 
 War. And there you left them ? 
 Cip, Yes, sir. 
 Sea. Well, I give 
 My son for lost — undone — past hope. 
 
 War. There is 
 No more but this : we'll thither straight. You, Ci- 
 pher, 
 Have your instructions. j x 
 
 Cip. Sir, let me alone , . / y Q y , ///, 
 
 To make the story doleful. / ^ >C*Ji^U^t,^^^ >57 
 War. Go, make ready. [Exit Cipher, ^yw 
 
 Now, Mr. Seathrift, you may see what these 
 Young men would do, left to themselves: but, come. 
 Let's put on our disguises 1 To leave land 
 Unto an unthrift, is to build on sand ! 
 
 [Exeunt Warehouse and Seathrift. 
 F 2 
 
 .n 
 
44 THE merchant's wedding. [act in. 
 
 , P gpENB iy,—AIloom in the. Ordinary. ^ 
 • L(f*imteT Bright, Newout, Plotwell, ana Scoreup. /;?2 ^V 
 Bri. 'Fore Jove, the captain foxed him rarely I 
 
 yfJir^^o. Oh, sir. 
 
 e is used to it ; this will be the fifth fish now 
 T^at he hath shown. One got him twenty ponnds. 
 /J) ^^New, How, Scoreup ? 
 
 Sco, Why, the captain kept him 
 ^ A whole week drunk, and showed him twice a-day. 
 "T^Bri, It couldn't be like this. 
 '^' Sco, Faith, no! — I grant this is 
 
 The strangest fish. I've hung his picture 
 Out at the door there; there be crowds about it. 
 Some say it is a porpoise — one, with whom 
 ^ A£he greater part agree, vows 'tis a mermaid. 
 ^ ^KO' Plo, Oh, that his father were at home to see him ! 
 Or his good mother would come, who follows each 
 Strange sight about the town. But where's the cap- 
 tain ? 
 Make haste, or he'll recover, and spoil all. 
 A Bri, They're here. 
 
 ^jJUu-Enter Quartfield and Salewit, disguised as 
 trumpeters, carrying a large case with curtains — And 
 Mrs. Seathrift, Mrs. Holland, and other Old 
 Women, and some Apprentices, as comer s-in, appear 
 at the door**^ • 
 
 Qua. [As he enters.] Bear back, there ! y,^ 
 
 Sal. Make room for the gentlewomen \/2 y y 
 
 Mrs. S. What is't ? Z' .^-^izjeA^t^ (>^ A«r>/^ 
 
 Sal. Twelve-pence a-piete. ^y — — X:Z^^^^'^ 
 
 Mrs. H. We will not give it. / ^^^^ ihcrtrr/^ 
 
 Qua. Make room for them that will, then.-- WaUt. / .jt 
 
 in there ! ^^^<y /^<>»-*^ ^^i^^ ^Oi^^iJ-U^ %^CM/tn^ 
 Plo. [Aside.'] Oh>^rtune ! here's his mother! 
 Mrs. S. We gave but a groat 
 
 To see the last fish. 
 
 Qua. The last fish !~Pho ! that 
 
 Was but an Irish sturgeon ! 
 jrs Sal. This came from . > — v .y 
 
3. 
 
 SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 45 
 
 The Indies ; eats five crowns a day in fry. 
 Ox-livers, and brown paste. 
 
 Mrs, S, Well, there's your money. 
 
 [Mrs. Seathrift and the rest pay, and all enter. 
 Pray let us have good places. 
 
 Qua, Bear back there ! 
 Room for those two old gentlemen to pass. 
 
 Enter Warehouse awd Seathrift, disguised 
 
 ■ :£.(3 
 
 War, What must we give ? 
 ^/) A Sal, We take a shilling, sir. 
 J^ , ^ War, {Aside to Seathrift, '\ Tender's my nephew — 
 f_/? I can see the rogue. 
 
 .^ ♦ Sea, My wife, too, as I live ! I looked for her ! 
 But where's my son ? 
 
 Qua, Make fast the door, there shall no more 
 come in ! 
 Now, gentlefolk, you shall behold a sight, — 
 Europe ne'er show'd the like ! — look on this fish ! 
 
 [Draws the cjirtains, and discovers Timothy 
 asleep in the case, and dressed up like a 
 sea-monster. — The company range on either 
 side the case, <^ y jy/ 
 
 y^l Mrs,S, Oh, strange! How it sleeps! ^' /Hl^^^^f^ c< 
 i^KO . Bri, Just like a salmon, on a stall i'the market. 
 
 [Timothy snores loudly, 
 Mrs, S. How it snores, too ! just lifce my husband \y 
 /// Mrs. H, *Tis very like a man ! ^^5 ylrPJl^^ ^/^^cJ^ <i-«2-^ 
 UCP. Qua. 'Tis a man-fish— 
 
 An ocean centaur, a cross-breed between 
 A syren and a stock-fish. 
 
 War. [Aside to Seathrift.] This is knavery. 
 Qua, We took him strangely in the Indies, near 
 The mouth of Rio de la Plata, sleeping 
 Upon the shore, just as you see him now. 
 Mrs, S. What, would be come to land ? 
 Qua. To land ! — He'd walk you 
 Two or three miles on the shore, sometimes — break 
 
 houses. 
 Then run to sea again ; — the country has 
 Been laid, and warrants granted, more than once. 
 To apprehend him. 
 
46 THE merchant's wedding. [act m. 
 
 Mrs, S. Wonderful ! 
 
 War, l^Aside,'] These fellows 
 Lie as they had a patent for it. 
 
 Bri, \_Aside,'\ They act it rarely ! 
 
 Plo, Nay, an' 'twere their trade. 
 They couldn't do it better. 
 
 Tim, [ Waking, 1 Oh ! captain ! — Plague take you ! 
 — captain ! 
 
 Plo, [Aside.'] 'Sdeath, he awakes ! 
 
 Mrs, S, Mercy on us ! it speaks. 
 
 War. I told you 'twas imposture ! 
 
 Plo. [Aside.] Plague upon't ! 
 The captain didn't give him his full load. 
 
 New. What, can your fish speak ? 
 
 Qua. Like a parrot, bless you. — 
 It is, in fact, a sort of sea-parrot. 
 You will admire his docility. 
 And how he'll ape a man : — tell him your name. 
 And he'll repeat it after you. 
 Now you shall hear him speak again. 
 Tim — you are drunk ? 
 
 Sea, [Aside.] 'Sdeath ! my son's name. 
 
 Mrs. S. Tim, do you call him ? 
 
 Sal. He'll answer to no other name but that. 
 
 Qua, A health, Tim ! ^ 
 
 Tim, Oh, let me alone ! [Loud knocking at the door,^^ 
 
 Sal, Now — who's there ? 
 
 Enter Cipher, dressed like a Waterman, 
 
 Cip, I must needs speak with one Mr. Plotwell, | 
 
 On urgent business. 
 
 Qua, Open the door, — we'll show no more to-day. 
 
 [Closes the curtains, 
 Mrs, S, Come, gossips, let us go ; by your leave, 
 gentlemen — Oh, 'tis a dainty fish. 
 Exeunt Mrs, Seathrift and co 
 Warehouse and Seathrift preh 
 out, hut conceal themselves up the stage, 
 ly, which is M 
 m he, friend. 
 What is your business ? 
 
 ^^ (-//[Exeunt Mrs, Seathrift and company. — 
 
 X) ^/9 ^^^' ^^^^' wnicn is . 
 fjp. t^» ^^o* I ^^ he, friend. 
 
 Warehouse and Seathrift pretend to go.O 
 yi out, hut conceal themselves up the stage, ^^^ 
 
 fp/i Cip, Pray, which is Mr. Plotwell ? 
 
 .v.t>Sv 
 
 1 
 
SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 47 
 
 Cip. Sir, I should speak 
 With young Mr. Seathrift, too. 
 
 Tim, Oh, my head ! — Captain — 
 Mr. Francis !— Captain ! — Oh ! 
 
 Plo, That's his voice, sir ; he'll be sober shortly. 
 And fit to hear your tidings. 
 
 Cip, They are sad, sir. 
 I'll tell them first to you : your uncle, sir. 
 And Mr. Seathrift, are both drown'd. 
 
 Flo, Drown'd! 
 
 [ WareJiouse and Seathrift peep out and lis- 
 
 ^■€ 
 
 ten at hack of the stage, J^£^^ 
 
 wich7" 
 
 a I 
 
 ^^Cip. Some eight miles below Green wicl 
 
 A coal-ship ran foul of us : 
 
 I 'scaped by swimming ; the two old gentlemen 
 
 ook hold of one another, and sunk together. 
 
 Bri. How some men's prayers are heard ! We 
 did invoke 
 The sea this morning, and, lo ! the Thames has ta'en 
 'em. 
 
 Plo. Art sure they're drown'd? 
 
 Cip, Too sure ; I saw 'era sink. 
 
 Plo, But wilt thou swear they'll not come up again ? 
 
 Cip. They may, but not alive. 
 
 Plo, Friend, there's my purse ! [Gives Cipher a 
 
 purse.'] Captain, the hour is ^^"^^9 a^ -^/^ Jb^^^otj^ - 
 You shall no more drink ale, 
 Nor take ofi" 
 
 Your moderate quart glass : I'll have a musket 
 Made for you — a glass cannon ! with a most 
 Capacious barrel, which, all day, we'll charge 
 And discharge with the rich and valiant grape 
 Of my uncle's cellar. Gentlemen, 
 Let's rouse the fish, and tell him his good fortune. 
 Ho ! Mr. Timothy ! [ Undraws the curtain, 
 
 Tim, Plague take you, captain ! 
 
 Plo, What, does your sack work still ? 
 
 Tim. [Rising.] Where am I — eh ? 
 How's this ? My hands 
 
 Transmuted into claws ? My feet made flounders ? 
 Array'd in fins and scales ? Arn't you ashamed 
 To make me such a monster? 
 ^2^^t)^ei.<uJ^ ^> [*S'AaA:ms' off part of the disguise. 
 
> . 1^, 
 
 48 THE merchant's wedding. [act in. 
 
 Plo, Tim, be merry ! |! 
 
 Your father and my uncle, sir, are cast 
 yp Away. 
 ^. Tim, How? 
 
 Plo, They are drown'd ! Fall down, 
 And worship sea-coal, for a ship of them 
 /^ Has made you, sir, an heir ! 
 !i^, (^iP' It is too true, sir. 
 
 Tim. Oh, hard misfortune ! 
 
 Sea, [Aside.] Look ! the dear boy weeps ! 
 
 Bri. Fie, Master Timothy ! it is not manly 
 To weep for such a slight loss as a father. 
 
 Tim. I do not cry for that. 
 
 Sea. [Aside.] How? 
 
 Bri. For what, then ? 
 
 Tim. Because I fear my mother will not let me 
 Go to the counting-house and set at liberty 
 Those harmless money-bags which have for years 
 Been doom'd to darkness. 
 
 Bri. I have heard, old Seathrift 
 Would make his jack go empty to cozen his neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Hiwi. Yes ; and then decent linen was as strange 
 To us as to the Capuchins. I wore 
 Shirts made of sacks that brought o'er cochineal. 
 Copperas, and indigo. 
 
 Sea. [Aside.] I'll not endure it, — 
 Let's show ourselves ! 
 
 War. [Aside.] Stay, let us hear all first. 
 
 Bri. Thy uncle, Frank, was such another. 
 
 Plo. Yes; 
 Myself, his factor, and an ancient cat. 
 Did keep strict diet, — had our Spanish fare — 
 Four olives amongst three. The old fellow would 
 Look fat with fasting. I ha' known him surfeit 
 Upon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight 
 Of a whole joint, and rise an epicure 
 From half an orange. 
 
 War. Dog ! 'tis false ! 'tis false ! 
 Cast off your cloud. [To Seathrift.] Do you know 
 me, sir? [To Plotwell. 
 
 Plo. My uncle ! 
 
a.. 
 
 SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 4^ 
 
 Sea, \To Timothy^ And do you know me, sir? 
 
 Tim. My father! 
 
 War. Nay, 
 We'll open all the plot. Reveal yourself. 
 
 \To Cipher, who discovers himself, 
 
 Plo, Cipher I the waterman ! 
 
 Qua. Salewit, away ! I feel a tempest coming. L^/^ 
 
 [Exeunt Salewit and Quartjield. o^^^ 
 
 War. Are you struck 
 With a torpedo, nephew ? 
 
 Sea. Ha' you seen 
 A Gorgon's head, that you stand speechless ? Or 
 Are you a fish in earnest ? 
 
 Bri. It begins to thunder. 
 
 War. Now, Mr. Seathrift, 
 You see what mourners we had, had we 
 Been wrecked in earnest. My grieved nephew here 
 Had made my cellar flow with tears, — my wine 
 Had charged glass ordnance, — our funerals had been 
 Bewailed in pottle-dranghts. Death of my soul. 
 Must I be subject to thy impious seoflfs? 
 But I will be reveng'd ! — Make thee my heir ! 
 I'll first adopt a slave, brought from some galley. 
 One whom the laws do put into the inventory. 
 And men bequeath in wills, with pots and kettles ! 
 Or, better to defeat thy aims, I'll marry. 
 Yes ! I'll go seek a wife — I will not stay 
 To let my passion cool ! — Be she a wench 
 That ev'ry day puts on her warbrobe — wears 
 Her fortune — has no portion, — so she be 
 Modest, and like to bring me sons, I'll have her : 
 By all that's good, I will. This afternoon 
 I will about it straight ! so farewell, nephew ! <^^ 
 
 [Exeunt Warehouse and Cipher, w^ 
 
 Sea. And as for you, Tim ! mermaid 1 triton ! had- 
 dock ! 
 I cast you ofi"! 
 
 My heir indeed ! — Why, ^twere unnatural 
 To leave a fish]land. La ! sir, one of your 
 Bright fins and gills must swim in seas of sack — 
 Spout rich canaries up> like whales in maps ! 
 Go ! let the captain make you drunk, and let 
 
 6 
 
50 THE merchant's WEDDING. [aCT IH. 
 
 Your next change be into some apje{*tis stale 
 
 To be a fish twice) ; and, when youVe learn*d some 
 
 trick. 
 If your fine chain and yellow coat come near 
 The Exchange, I'll see you. So I leave you, rascal ! ^ 
 
 \Exit Seathrift. Jf^ 
 Plo, Now, were there but a beam, and twopence ^^ 
 hemp, 
 Never had man such cause to hang himself. 
 
 Tim, Tve brought myself to a fine pass, too. /y 
 
 jj jy Re-enter Quartfield and Salewit. «=»^ 
 
 X* W* Qua. How now, mad lads ! — What, is the storm 
 
 '^^ // broke up ? 
 
 *^ . 'SclL Slight, who'd have thought the old men should 
 i><zy * 111 
 
 lay wheels 
 
 To catch you thus ? — 'T^^as deeply plotted, sir? 
 
 •O Tim, If ever I be drunk with captains more ! 
 
 (/ ^ * ^^uj. But do you think, Frank, that your uncle, in 
 
 •n This furious mood, will marry ? 
 
 ^, Plo. If he should. 
 
 The sleight upon the cards, the hollow die, 
 
 y^ /7And Shooter's Hill, are my revenue ! 
 
 (/Jf iPr Tim. Yes ; and for me, my destiny will be. 
 
 To fight by the day, carry my kitchen and 
 
 Collation at my back, and, after all. 
 
 Return with half a leg — perhaps, my nose 
 
 Shot off, to move compassion in my father. 
 
 B7'i. [Aside to Timothy.] Hast thou forgot the lady ? 
 
 Tim. [Aside.] Faith, 1 had. 
 
 Bri. [Aside.] Hush! Follow me. ITour fortune 
 
 may smile yet. /^ 
 
 [Exeunt Bright and Timothy. ^A^» 
 
 Sal. Yond's your uncle, at the field-door, talking 
 
 With Banswright, and as earnest for a wife 
 
 Flo. And who the devil's Banswright ? 
 
 Sal. Oh, a fellow 
 
 That's much employed about the town ; a man 
 
 That contrives matches ; one that brings together 
 
 PaHies that never saw or never met. 
 
 Till 'twere for good and all ; knows, to a penny. 
 
 Estates and jointures. I'll undertake he has 
 
SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. . 51 
 
 Now lying by him, unprovided, twenty 
 Women, of various fortunes, that want husbands. 
 And men that seek for wives. At an hour's warning, 
 He'll make all ready for the priest. 
 
 Qua, Let us devise 
 To get him hither, and to cross the match. 
 
 Sal, See — your uncle leaves him. 
 I'll call him in. Hist ! Banswriaht ! 
 
 .^ 
 
 yo Enter Banswright 
 
 ^^^, Ban. Save you, gentlemen. 
 
 Sal, Good Mr. Banswright, pray know Mr. Plot- 
 well. 
 
 Plo, You are employed, I hear, to find a wife, sir. 
 For my young and sprightly uncle^ yii^ y 
 
 Ban, Sir, he has y: ^ -:^ ^/i^ar^ ^^ 
 
 Retained me for that purpose. . t^ 
 
 Plo. Hear me, good Mr. Banswright : 
 Say I procure the bride — a friend of mine — 
 And double the reward. Such terms, meihinks. 
 Should make thee of my project. 
 
 Qua. Deny, and, by th' immortal Mars, I'll act 
 A tragedy upon thee ! 
 
 Ban. Gentlemen, 
 I am a friend to wit, but more to you, sir. 
 Of whose misfortunes I will not be guilty. 
 Though, then, your uncle has employ'd me, and 
 Has deeply sworn to wed, this afternoon, 
 A wife of my providing, if you can 
 O'erreach the angry burgess, sir, and bring 
 His wisdom to the gin, show me the way, 
 I'll help to lay the trap. 
 
 Qua. Now, now thou art 
 An honest-hearted pimp. Thou shalt for this 
 Be drunk in Vine-dee, rascal ! I'll begin 
 A rumlet to thee. ^ 
 
 Enter Valentine, n,.^ ^ 
 
 Val, Come, Frank, wilt thou go home^ V-^ ^^ ^/^^ 
 And give me that thou wottest of? ^ 
 
 g2 
 
■« I 
 
 at 
 
 52 THE merchant's wedding. [act III. 
 
 Plo. Ah, Val ! 
 The table's tum'd. My uncle is come back. 
 'Twas but a fetch to try me ! We're both ruined. 
 Unless this brain can save us. Come all in. 
 And I'll carve out this plot. We stand on wheels. 
 And the least turn of chance trips up our heels; 
 Climbing to fall, our footing never sure^ 
 Then most unsafe when we seem most secure. 
 
 \Exzunt 
 
 \ 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 53 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 ^. 
 
 V^ " . SCENE I,— An Apartment, 
 
 Enter Plotwell and Penelope. ^^ ^ 
 
 Plo, Sister, it's so projected ; therefore make 
 No more demurs ; 
 
 Or else, within this week, fly this your lodging. 
 Have your coach-horses transformed to rent. 
 And you return to cut-work. By this hand, 
 C^ If you refuse, all this must happen. 
 «w^. P6W. Well, sir. 
 
 Necessity, which hath no law, for once 
 
 Shall make me o' th' conspiracy; and, since 
 
 We are left wholly to our wits, let's show 
 
 The power and virtue of them. If this Banswright 
 
 Can but persuade my uncle, I will fit 
 
 Him with a bride. 
 
 Plo. The scene is laid already. 
 I have transformed an English poet into 
 A fine French teacher, who shall join your hands 
 With a most learned legend out of Rabelais. 
 
 Enter a Servant, v^. 
 
 
 Ser, Madam, a Mr. Banswright is below. 
 With an old gentleman, and fain would see you. 
 
 Plo, Odsfoot! they lose no time. Away with you. 
 
 Pen, Show them into th^ oaken parlour; I Cy^ 
 
 Will come anon. ^J^ u^w, \Exit Servant. J^, 
 
 Flo, If you are timid now. 
 You will spoil all. 
 
 Pen, Fear not, — I'll carry it. 
 I'll act the puritan as though I'd been 
 Born in St. Antlin's. But are you certain, Frank, 
 My uncle will not know me ? 
 
 PIq, Tut ! how should he ? 
 
54 THE merchant's wedding. [act IV. 
 
 He has not seen thee since thou wert thirteen ; 
 And in the dress I brought thee, too, I know not 
 That I could swear to thee. Away : I have 
 A stratagem in hand, which, if it take. 
 The world shall xyaise my wit, and I my fortune ^/? 
 make. (jh'lExeunt Penelope and PlotwelL ^^ 
 
 SCENE 11.— An Oaken Parlour, ^ 
 
 JEn^er Warehouse awe? Banswright. tyc/y * 
 
 War. You say her name is Martha ? 
 
 Ban, Yes ; her father 
 Was an old Irish baron, that undid 
 Himself by housekeeping. 
 
 War. As for her birth, 
 I wish it had been meaner ; she'll be asking 
 For jointure by the herald's books, and I, 
 That have no coat, — can show no azure lions 
 In fields of argeat, shall be scorn'd. She'll think 
 Her honour wrong'd, to match a man that hath 
 No 'scutcheons but them of his company. 
 Which once a year do serve to turn a lighter 
 To Westminster aud back. 
 
 Ban. You are mistaken. 
 Though she be well descended, she can bring 
 Only her arms for dowry, and they'll never 
 Advance her to a husband of like birth ; 
 She aims to match with one that can maintain 
 Her decently, but not in state. 
 
 War. But can she 
 Affect my age ? I'm hard upon threescore, sir. 
 
 Ban. I told her so, and she replied, — a mind 
 Chaste and endued with virtue would, for age. 
 Add reverence to love. 
 
 War. Excellent creature ! 
 
 Ban. Oh, she's most virtuous ! she will out-pray 
 A preacher at St. Antlin's, and divides 
 The day in exercise ; and then, so modest. 
 The least light word would shame her. 
 
 War. I shall think 
 Tne time an age, till I am married. 
 
 Ban. I have prepared her, and so set you out. 
 

 SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 55 
 
 Besides, I told her how you had cast off 
 
 Your nephew, and, to leave no doubt that you 
 
 Would ne'er be reconciled (for she had heard 
 
 Of his wild courses, and would have you shun him). 
 
 Would, ere you went to church, settle upon her 
 
 Your whole estate. 
 
 War, Right, right. — To make all sure, 
 I called upon the lawyer by the way. 
 He waits without. 
 
 Ban. She makes but one condition : 
 You must be married at the French church, sir; 
 I have bespoke the priest — one that will join you 
 I'the Geneva form, — for 'tis her sect, sir. 
 
 War, All one for that, so that the match will hold. 
 Let's to the lady, straight. To cross that nephew, 
 I'd marry an Arabian, though I paid 
 To keep one to interpret, and be wedded 
 In China language, or the tongue that's spoken 
 By the great Cham. . ^ / / 
 
 Ban, Look where she comes, sir, yonder ; /'^jC^tr^^^^y^ 
 Say, how do you affect her ? ^ 
 
 War. By this light, /' 
 
 I lilce her much : she's beautiful and young. 
 Beyond my hopes. Ods life ! but she's a rare one ! 
 
 Enter Penelope, dressed like a Puritan. 
 
 (pa\ 
 
 Ban. Madam, this is the gentleman I mention'd 
 
 ve brought him here, according to my function. 
 To give you both an interview. If you 
 Be willing, both the church and priest are ready. 
 
 Pen. But that I should offend against your care 
 As well as my preferment, I'd have more 
 Experience of the man I mean to make 
 My husband. At first sight, to marry, sure. 
 Must argue me of lightness. 
 
 Ban. Princes, madam. 
 Do woo by pictures and ambassadors. 
 And match in absent ceremonies. 
 
 Pen. But 
 You look for some great portion, sir. ^- 
 
 War. Fair mistress, y^^ ^ ^<^^*t^ — 
 
56 THE merchant's WEDDING. [ACT IV. 
 
 Your virtues are to me a dowry ; 
 
 And, if you love me, I shall think you bring 
 
 More than the Indies. 
 
 Pen, But, sir, it may be. 
 You'll be against my course of life : I love 
 Retirement, must have times for my devotion. 
 Am little used to company, and hate 
 The vanity of visits and of dress. 
 Since amulets and love-locks came in use. 
 The price of sprats, Jerusalem artichokes. 
 And Holland cheese, is very much increased ; 
 Nay, 'twas revealed to worthy Master Scruple, 
 That unto curling-irons and false teeth 
 May be ascribed the German war, the last 
 Hard frost, and the late persecutions. 
 
 War. [Aside, to Bansivright,] She's very piou5. 
 Ban. 'Tis her only fault. 
 
 War. Nay, 'tis a good one. {To Penelope.] Lady, 
 I shall love 
 You better for all this. 
 
 Pen. I shall not like thee 
 To go to sea and leave me ; I shall dream 
 Of naught but storms and pirates, — every breeze 
 Will break my sleep. [SigJis. 
 
 War. I'll stay at home, and, to remove all doubts 
 Respecting that wild nephew you have heard of, 
 I have, as Mr. Bansw/ight promised you. 
 Brought hither my own lawyer, with blank deeds: 
 He shall put in your name, and I, before 
 We go to church, will seal them. 
 
 Pen. On these terms. 
 Where is thy priest, sir ? 
 War. He expects us at 
 The French Church, mistress. 
 Pen. There's my hand, then. 
 War. Rapture ! 
 Come, we will seal upon the instant, sweetheart ! 
 And then to church ! 
 
 Bail. 1^11 see you married, sir. 
 War. You shall! you shall! [To Penelope.] Oh, 
 ♦ . I'll so dote on thee ! 
 
SCENE III.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 57 
 
 Pen. Methiaks you dote already, sir. 
 War. I do. 
 Thou art my darling — 
 A treasure of a wife ! There ne'er was man 
 So happy I I could dance now. Banswright — 
 
 friend ! 
 You've helped me to a jewel. Come, sweet Martha, /) 
 To church — to church ! Ods life ! I feel but twenty I ^-^ 
 
 {Exeu7it. ""^^^ 
 
 SCENE III. — Outside of Aiirelias House; stage dark, 
 ^ Dorcas opens the door, and lets in Bright. 
 
 (^U^yf Bri. Art content now, wench ? 
 ,^^^ Dor. Yes, and thou'st the wit 
 To make 't a lawful marriage ? 
 
 Bri. O, fear not. 
 He'll be here presently, and comes prepared 
 For Hymen. I took up a footman lor him. 
 And left him under three tiremen's hands, besides 
 Two barbers. 
 
 Dor. Well, I have procured a parson. 
 That preaches the next parish, once a week. 
 Asleep, for thirty pounds a year. 
 
 Bri. 'Tis well. 
 About midnight expect us. , ^- /f) 
 
 ^^—~ — &fgfT*LOTWELL, in a cloak. ,^^2> * 
 
 Flo. On this one hour depend my hopes and 
 fortunes. 
 My uncle's caught, and so far that goes rarely. 
 But I must have this heiress — I will have her 1 
 The doors are fast, and I have stay'd too late. 
 
 [Chinking a purse. 
 But here's the key that shall procure access. \_Knocks. 
 Will no one come ? [Knocks again, 
 
 Peter, (who carries the lamp) opens the door ; Gre- 
 gory (with a wand) looks over his shoulder, 
 
 P6^ How now— how now! Who's there? O^^t^t^^^^ 
 What would you, sir, that you do knock so boldly ? 
 
 H 
 
58 THE merchant's wedding. [act IV, 
 
 (ji. 
 
 Plo. My gentle porter, prithee where's your mis- 
 tress ? 
 Pet, My mistress, sir ? Why, she is in her cham- 
 ber. 
 What would you with her at this hour of night ? 
 
 Plo, Go tell her that one Master Plotwell begs 
 To speak with her. /? / ~) ^. 
 
 Gre. That shall he not. U (yt<^*^c^ f^^^>'''^^^'^ ^' 
 Sir, we are charged to bar your entrance. 
 
 Plo. But, my fine gentleman-usher, know you that 
 * whoso dares to execute that charge, I'll be his execu- . 
 'Mk^' tioner. Hah! I see this house needs reformation. 
 , A^/, Here'sra fellow, now, of a forwarder insight, I war- 
 ^\^ rant me. \To Peter.'] What place hast thou? 
 '*- Pet. Any place you please, sir. 
 
 Plo. La, you ! here's a man to make an usher ! 
 Sir [To Gregory, taking his wand], I discharge you 
 of your place, and do here invest thy fellow in thy 
 room ; and, for the full possession of his office [Gives 
 Peter the wand], he shall usher me to his lady. Here 
 [To Peter], to keep thy hand supple, take this from 
 me. [Gives a purse. 
 
 Pet. No bribes, sir, an't pleaser^our worship. 
 Plo. Go to — thou dost well ; but pocket it, for all 
 that. 
 'Tis no impair to thee ; the greatest do it. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then, forsooth, it were want of courtship 
 in me to refuse it. Please you, walk in ; I'll acquaint 
 my lady with your coming. 
 
 Plo. Do so, and thou shalt flourish. 
 
 a. 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment in Aurelias House. 
 
 Enter Aurelia. 0^ • 
 
 Aur. What was that knocking ? Who is there 
 below ? i/? 
 
 Enter Gregory. ^^^ 
 
 Gre. An't please you, mistress, the bold gen- 
 tleman — 
 Aur. Bold gentleman ! 
 
 ii 
 
SCENE IV.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 59 
 
 Gre. Ay; Master Plotwell, madam. 
 Aur. Plotwell ! Did I not forbid his approach 
 by all the charge and duty of thy service ! 
 
 Enter Plotwell and Peter, c^ . 
 
 a£- 
 
 a. 
 
 Plo. Madam, this fellow only is intelligent ; for he 
 truly understood your command, according to the 
 style of the court of Venus — that is, by contraries. 
 When you forbid, you bid. 
 
 Aur. By heaven, I'll discharge my house of ye all? 
 
 Plo. You shall not need, madam ; for I have already 
 cashiered your officious usher there, and chosen this 
 man for his successor. 
 
 Aur. Incredible boldness ! Come into my house ! 
 Drive away my servants ! >^ 
 
 Plo. That i will, madam, directly. Hence, ye G^ 
 knaves ! \_Drives out Peter and Gregory. ^^ * 
 
 Aur. Nay, nay, I meant not so. This is too much. 
 Why dost thou haunt me thus? 
 
 Plo. [Bowing with great respect.'] Only, sweet 
 lady, that my sighs and tears might witness to you 
 the affection of my heart, and work me some mea- 
 sure of favour from your sweet tongue, or your 
 sweeter lips. 
 
 Aur. [Aside.] Plague take the fellow's impudence ! 
 I can scarce keep my countenance. [Aloud.] If shame 
 could not restrain thee, tell me yet, if any brainless 
 fool would have tempted the danger attending thy 
 approach ? Had my grooms been but men 
 
 Plo. That proves, madam, I am no fool : then had 
 I been a fool and a base-spirited slave, if, for a lady's 
 frown or for a guard of grooms, I had shrunk back, and 
 suffered such a%delicious flower to perish on the stalk, 
 or to be plucked by a profane hand ! 
 
 Aur. Tell me, thou most frontless of all men, didst 
 thou ever observe so base a temper in me, as to give 
 any glance qf my stooping so low as thee ? What 
 is't thou presum'st on ? 
 
 Plo. On thy judgment, lady, to choose a man. I 
 have been stricken with thy beauty ; am enchanted 
 with thy wit; laugh at thy scornfulness; and would 
 
 H 2 
 
60 THE merchant's WEDDING. [aCT IV* 
 
 fain be thy husband. I am not rich, it is true— nay, 
 an* the trick must be spoken, I am not worth a penny ; 
 but I come recommended to you by the ingenious 
 graces of love, youth, and gentry, which, in no more 
 a deformed person than myself, may deserve a prin- 
 cess. 
 
 Aur, In your saucy opinion, sir. Love me,.indeed 1 
 Love my dog. 
 
 Plo, I am bound to that by the proverb, lady. 
 
 Aur. Go, kennel then with him, and intrude not on 
 me. Get thee gone. 
 
 Plo, 'Tis sharply said — but it matters not. The 
 destinies, lady — the three ill-favoured sisters, have 
 concluded on the means ; and, when I am your hus- 
 band 
 
 Aur. Why, I shall be your wife. No more words, 
 sir, nor follow me one step ; up to this moment thou 
 art pardoned thy boldness for the sake of its singu- 
 larity — but come not again. y^ 
 
 Plo, Again, and again, believe it. [Exit Aurelia.](/(^ ^ 
 As I could wish ! — Now, if Newcut be but at his post 
 [Opens the window ; Newcut y without, whistles. 1 Yes, 
 I hear his signal — he has the ladder, too. Up ! up ! 
 [Newcut appears, and jumps in at the window. 
 , New, is all right ? 
 
 Plo, Not a word, but quickly on with this cloak 
 
 and hat — you know your lesson — your kerchief to 
 
 your face. Away with you — stay — some one comes 
 
 — the maid — not a word — not a word. 
 
 / ^ Oi^^ [Plotwell hides himself — Newcut muffles him- 
 
 y ir/j^^.^^^ s^lj iji PlotweWs cloak — pidls his hat over 
 
 ^.^' 
 
 his eyes, and keeps a handkerchief to his 
 
 ""■ ...a. 
 
 lEnter Dorcas. 
 
 • Dor. This braving wooer hath the success ex- 
 pected. What, still here, sir ? Does your entertain- 
 ment stick in your throat and choke you? Poor 
 man, he hangs his head that hath been so erected. It 
 knocks at's breast to come in and hide itself — will 
 you be gone, sir? [He moves towards the door.] 
 What, has your wit's fine engine taken cold ? Art 
 stufied in the head ? — Canst answer nothing? This 
 
5CENE V'.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. JT^ 
 
 way, an*t please j^ou, then. Here, Gregory ! [Plot- 
 
 SCENE y.—Aurelia's Bedchamber.— An alcove ; i^i^ jfcO' 
 toilet table, with two£andles(^yjnother table, ivith 
 writing materials. ^^ZO • c..^4^c<x^i^ ^ 
 
 AuRELiA discovered, seated at her toilet, 
 
 Aur. To wrestle 'gainst the stream of our alFection 
 Is to strike air ! to butFet with the wind 
 
 That plays upon us ! I have tried to cast (/? /Z 
 
 This fellow from my thoughts, [Plotivell steals in, c^' -^ 
 
 and conceals himself behind the bed curtains], 
 
 but still he grows 
 More comely in my sight. I must suppress 
 This insurrection love hath trained in me. 
 And leave him as he is. 
 
 [Plotwell makes a slight noise with his foot. 
 What noise ! Who's there? e /^ r^ 
 
 Enter Dorcas. >^ . ^.^^f 
 
 Ah, Dorcas, is it you ? 
 Dor. Yes, madam. 
 Aur. Well, 
 The saucy fellow's gone ! 
 
 Dor. Quite humbled, madam ; 
 He was ashamed to show his face, and had not 
 A word to throw^ at a dog. 
 
 Aur. Indeed ! I wonder [Rises. 
 
 That aught could humble such audacity. 
 Faith, Dorcas, but the man's a proper man, 
 A very proper fellow — a good face— 
 A sparkling eye— a body well-proportioned— 
 /J'Tis pity he is such a cast-away. 
 ^;^ Dor. [Aside.] My life on't, but I think she loves 
 the fellow. 
 Aur. Fetch me the book that lies there on the 
 table. 
 Heigho ! — so— what's the hour ? 
 
62 THE merchant's wedding. [act IV. 
 
 Dor, 'Tis past eleven. 
 
 Aur. See the doors fastened, and go you to bed. 
 Dor. [Aside.'] Not till I've seen my own swain fast, t/^ 
 promise you. [Exit Dorcas. .<^. 
 
 Aur. I cannot read — my rebel thoughts fly off 
 rom every subject, to that one 
 Which threatens most my peace ! Back, silly wan- 
 tons ! 
 Can I not beat you into better fashion. 
 And teach ye temperance? What noise was that? 
 Why, Dorcas, art not gone, wench ?J|jHeav'n pre- 
 serve me ! / 
 The curtains moved, sure ! Ha ! 
 
 Plo. [Advancing.^ How does my handsome, 
 Delicious, delicate, bewitching mistress? 
 , Aur. How come you hither, sir ? How got you 
 
 in? 
 Am I betray'd by my own servants ? 
 
 Plo. No. 
 Good silly knaves, they think me far from hence. 
 Aur, For mercy's sake, sir, what is your intent ? 
 Plo. [Bowing respectfully.] Fear nothing, lady. 
 I am simply here. 
 For the last time, to say I love you, sweet. 
 And ask if you will have me. Come, your answer. 
 Aur. Sir, quit the house, or I will have you con- 
 jur'd 
 With such a spell as yet you never heard of. 
 
 Plo. Nay, nay, be calm, sweet lady ; there's an 
 end. 
 Thou wilt not have me — thou'lt not marry me ; 
 I have my answer, and I'll leave thee, lady. 
 But I had sworn you held your reputation 
 Too dear to thrust it with such carelessness 
 Into the foul and gaping jaws of scandal. 
 Aur. What mean you? Quit the house on the 
 
 instant I 
 Plo. Quit the house ! Ay, but how ? — how, my 
 sweet mistress ? 
 Call up your servants to unbar the doors. 
 And let the gentleman out of your bedroom ? 
 What would they think a gentleman should do there. 
 
a 
 
 SCENE v.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. G3 
 
 Hard upon midnight ? You know best what colour 
 To put on this adventure ; woman's wit 
 Is ever fertile at expedients ; and. 
 For my part, I'm sure 1*11 say any thing 
 You think will clear you to the world. 
 
 Aur. The truth, wretch ! 
 You shall be made to say the truth ! •* 
 
 Plo, But will it 
 Look like the truth when said, love? There's the 
 
 question ! 
 I hope that they'll believe me — T am known 
 A little in the city. Few there be 
 Who doubt of my discretion. Were it, now. 
 Some wild, mad roarer — some notorious scape- 
 grace, 
 Who had, at this still, silent, tempting hour, 
 Stol'n on your solitude, the chances were. 
 The story could not blaze about the town. 
 Without a little singeing your white fame ; 
 But I, whose blood is known to be so cold. 
 That, were I but in Italy, 'twould save 
 The charge of marble vaults, and cool the air 
 Better than ventiducts ! — Besides, 'twould be 
 A libel on your taste — a man whose face 
 Looks just ^^ as if 'twere drawn with yellow ochre 
 Upon black buckram !" — Oh, impossible, — 
 They can't suspect. What is your porter's name ? 
 Peter, I think — here, Peter ! let me out ! 
 
 Aur. Peace, peace, for mercy ! 
 
 Plo. Am I not to go, then ? 
 
 Aur. Yes, yes ! — But not that w ay, to ruin me ! ^ 
 Here ! here's a window. {She throws open a window.'] (/i • ^ 
 
 'Tis not far to the ground. - — 
 
 Begone, begone ! and I w ill pardon thee ! 
 • Plo. Leap from the window ! Saints preserve thee, 
 
 lady! 
 Why, worse and worse ! What would the world say, 
 
 then? 
 No, no— sweet mistress !— 'Tis the favour'd youth 
 Who, on love's pinions, through the casement flits. 
 And deems his neck well risk'd for such delight. 
 The luckless suitor, the discarded swain, 
 
i 
 
 ^ 
 
 64 THE merchant's V/EDDING. [act 17. 
 
 Walks soberly downstairs, and so will I. , o> 
 
 Here, Peter ! y^^ {Going. ^ 
 
 Aur. Hold! what will become of me?' -^ 
 
 What fiend has moved thee to torment me thus ? 
 
 Plo. No fiend, fair rosebud ! — But the young god, 
 Cupid, 
 The boy with the bird bolt ! 
 
 Why should you not, then, have compassion, lady, 
 Upon a reasonably handsome fellow ? 
 I do swear I love thee ! 
 
 Aur, Thy vows are vain as are a dicer's oaths, 
 A s common as the air ! as cheap as dust ! 
 Thou canst not love, or thou hadst never practised 
 This cruelty upon me ! {Weeps. 
 
 Plo. Spare, O spare 
 The treasure of those tears ! — Some captive king, 
 Whom fortune hath coop'd up in iron, wants 
 One such to buy his freedom ! — Come, say but 
 Thou lov'st me, and I'm gone ! — Out of the window ! 
 Wilt thou be mine ? 
 
 Aur. No, no ; — I am resolved ! 
 Go, sir---go how you will ; my servants know 
 Their mistress better than to doubt her honour. 
 There is the door, sir. 
 
 [A loud knocking without , and cries of '' This 
 way ! this way /" C/y 
 
 Ha I what new misfortune ? ^ ^ rv^. 
 
 Plo. {Aside."] Thanks, Newcut; Justin time. 
 
 Dor. { Without.'] Oh mistress, mistress ! 
 
 Aur. What is the matter ? — Speak 1 c„/^ 
 
 {Opening the door a little. *^ 
 
 Enter Dorcas. * . ■ 
 
 Dor. Oh, good my lady. 
 There is the saddest accident i' the street ! 
 A gentleman is slain there in a fray, 
 And all the people swear that he who did it 
 Has sheltered in this house. There is the watch. 
 The constable, and all the parish, nearly, 
 A-coming up stairs ; and they swear they'll search 
 Even your bed-chamber. I'll keep them down 
 As long's I can, and I can do no more. tJ^ 
 
 {Exit Dorcas. <yC/^ ^ 
 
SCENE v.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 65 
 
 Aur, Sure, fate is bent to-night on my destruction! 
 Are you the murderer ? 
 
 Plo. Not 1, i' faith— 
 Tliey may come up, for me. /^^ 
 
 Aur. For you, indeed ! ^ 
 
 They will come up, and find you here. O spite ! 
 Not only mine own househoW, but the whole pa- 
 rish, yLJuh 
 Will deem me shamed. Upon my knees, 1 beg 
 You will begone, sir ! 
 
 Plo, What, without mine errand ? 
 No, now I think on't, I'll not budge a foot. 
 Lie there, my cloak! {Throws his cloak on the chair, 
 
 Aur. Is the man mad ? What does the villain 
 mean? 
 They will come up 1 — I shall be shamed for ever ! 
 
 Plo, Marry me, then — say thou wilt have me, 
 darling. 
 
 Aur, No, I will not. 
 
 Plo, Well, then, here goes ! 
 
 [Flings himself into a great chair. 
 Faith, but I*m tired, dearest! 
 Is there noboot-jaok'here? ^ 
 
 Aur, I shall go mad ! '^^ 
 
 [Noise and voices again, without. **w^ * 
 
 Dor, [ Without.] Pray, gentlemen, keep down. 
 
 Aur, Alack, alack — 
 They're at the stair-foot ! If you love me, sir — 
 
 Plo. Then, will you have me ? 
 
 Aur, What shall I say?— No! 
 
 Plo, *Tis the last time of asking! [Noise of voices 
 agaiii^ Here they come. 
 And oflf go my boots : — Will you have me ? 
 
 Aur. I will, I will! — Aa good to man}/ him 
 A s my name lost for over. 
 
 Plo, Why, well said, then. [Producing a paper. 
 Here, set your hand to this. — Nay, 'tis a contract. 
 Strong and sufficient, and will hold in law. 
 Here's pen and ink — you see I come provided. 
 Quick, quick ! [She signs.] Now, one sweet kiss. 
 And walk in, gentlemen. [Throws open the door. 
 
 I 
 
66 THE merchant's wedding. [act IV. 
 
 Enter Newcut, Salewit, Quartfield, and DoRcas . 
 
 Be witness, all — 
 
 his is my wife ! — Here is our legal contract. 
 
 New, Lady, you're fairly won. 
 , Aur. How won ? Is this 
 A trick, then ? Dorcas, is there no one slain ? 
 
 Plo. No, darling ! but there is one ta*en prisoner : 
 You vow'd you would be won by stratagem. 
 Confess I've trick'd you to your heart's content. 
 
 Aur. I do confess I've been mbst vilely cozen'd ; 
 and — [Exit Dorcas, 
 
 Plo. Nay, one moment : hear me out, fair lady. 
 Thou hast thyself to thank for all this. I 
 Do love thee heartily, and have, to win thee. 
 But travell'd thine own way. Now, being won 
 By stratagem, according to thy humour, 
 I'll win thee, if I may, by nobler means. 
 Divine Aurelia ! 
 
 Before these friends, who witness to our contract, 
 I here declare it void. [Tears the contract.] Love 
 
 me, sweet creature. 
 And wed me, if thou wilt ; or leave me, poor 
 And wretched, as I shall be, wanting thee ! 
 For, by that dear affection I do bear thee. 
 Or I will owe thee to thine own free-will. 
 Or mourn thy loss for ever! [Kneels. 
 
 Qua. Zounds ! art mad ? 
 
 Plo. [Rises."] Peace, pudding-head ! nor speculate 
 on acts 
 "Which are seal'd mysteries to such as thee. 
 And take this with thee, sirrah : howsoe'er 
 This chaste and lovely lady may determine. 
 Let me but see the man who dares to breathe 
 A whisper on her fame, or give one shrug. 
 Nod, wink, or sign, that may imply suspicion, 
 I'll ci:t his throat J/yMadam, I wait your sentence. 
 
 Aur. Oh, sir, tnis nobleness hath quite o'ercome 
 A heart that was too nearly thine before. 
 Take me unto thee — me and all that's mine. , 
 Were it thrice trebled, thou wert worthy all. 
 
 o^.^^W^.fi^ ^yi^tJUJ C)^ <AyVtcO .^^^ 
 
 / 
 
SCENE v.] THE MERCHANT*S WEDDING. 67 
 
 I give myself unto thee, am not forced. 
 And with it love that ne'er shall be divorced. 
 
 AIL We wish you joy. 
 
 [Plotwell embraces Aurelia, 
 
 Plo. I thank you. Well, friend Salewit, 
 What, is my uncle and his bride gone home? 
 
 Sal, Yes, faith, for better or for worse. I've read 
 A fiction out of merry Rabelais to them. 
 In a fine nasal tone, which he mistook 
 For a French liturgy. 
 
 Plo. Well, gentlemen, you all do know your parts : ^ 
 I'll see this farce out, for my sister's sake ; C^ 
 
 Then, in the loving husband, sink the rake! [Exeunt, vi^^ 
 
 i3 
 
68 THE merchant's wedding. [act v. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment at Aurelia's, 
 
 Enter Dorcas, extravagantly dressed. 
 
 Dor, Sure, fortune plays into my hand to-night. 
 My lady has flown oiF with her wild husband. 
 And left a clear stage for my comedy. 
 I warrant me, I'll act the heiress rarely. 
 I have got Gregory and Peter over 
 Into the plot. 'Tis hard upon the hour. 
 Would he w^ere come. 
 
 Enter Gregory (ivith his wand J, followed by 
 
 Gre. Madam, here is a knight ^^''^'^■^=^<-<?5^^ 
 Desirds^our ladyship will give him audience. 
 Dor. Let him approach. 
 Gre. [To Timothy.} There is my lady, sir. 
 Tim. Enough. Abscond, poor fellow! f^ 
 
 ^ \Exit Gregory. c>^ 
 
 y^ Do I act the knight well ? [Aside to Bright. 
 
 tJ/? Bri. Ay, as you were newly dubb*d, sir. 
 
 Courage, and she is your's. [Aloud.l Madam, this 
 gentleman 
 /^ Desires to kiss your hands. y -^ 
 
 ©^» Tim. And lips, too, lady, ^-j^ ^^^alutes her, 
 Qlo^ T^^^' Si'** you much honour both. 
 Tim. Ay, I know that. 
 Else I*d not kiss you. Gads ray life, my lady, 
 I*d nearly brought my pigs to a fine market. 
 You keep your woman here so bravely dress'd, 
 I'd like to ha* fallen in love with her, and made 
 A proper business on't. But know, translucent 
 
 creature, 
 I am come off entire, and now am thine. 
 
 JL 
 
SCENE I.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 69 
 
 And thine alone. I am born, lady, 
 To a poor fortune, that will keep myself, 
 And man to bear my sword in cuerpo after me. 
 I can to court, an' if I would, and show 
 Myself i' the presence ; look after the rate 
 Of some five thousands yearly in old rents ; 
 And, were my father once well wrapp'd in sear- 
 cloth. 
 Could fine for sheriff. 
 
 Bri, [Aside.] Hearts ! you'll spoil all. 
 
 Tim. Why? 
 
 Bri. She verily believed you'd ne'er a father. 
 
 Dor. Lives your father, then ? That gentleman 
 Told me that he was dead. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis true — 'tis true ! 
 I had forgot myself: he was drowu'd, lady. 
 The other day, as he went to take possession 
 Of a summer-house and land in the Canaries. 
 
 Bri. Now y'have recover'd all. Break your mind 
 to her; 
 She does expect it. * 
 
 Tim. But, unto the business 
 For which I came — 
 
 Dor. I am at leisure, sir. 
 To hear it. 
 
 Bri. Dost mark that? 
 
 Tim. Say, then, I had 
 Some motions, lady, of affection — might 
 A man repair Paul's with your heart, or put it 
 Into a tinder-box ? 
 
 Dor. How mean you, sir ? 
 
 Tim, Why, is it stone or flint ? A pretty conceit, 
 that 1 [Aside to Bright* 
 
 Say, I should love you ? 
 
 Dor. There should be no love lost, sir. 
 
 Tim. Say you so ? 
 Then, by this air, I'll wed thee instantly. 
 O, we shall have an excellent breed of wits 1 
 I mean my youngest son shall be a poet ; 
 The eldest shall be like me^ and inherit! 
 [To Bright,] By this room, she's a rare lady. 
 
70 THE merchant's wedding. [act v. 
 
 Dor, Please you, sir, partake 
 Of a slight banquet ? 
 
 Bri, [Aside, '] Just as you are sate, 
 I'll steal the priest in. 
 
 Tim. Do. — Lady, wilt please 
 You show the way. 
 
 Bri, [Aside to him,] How now ? Most city-like. 
 'Slid, take her by the arm, and lead her in. 
 
 T^m, Your arm, sweet lady ! [Aside.] Here is for- 
 tune. [Elxeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — The Counting-House, as before,^ 
 
 'Enter Cipher, and a Woman Servant, ^"^^^ ■* 
 
 Cip. Come, bustle, girl ! is the green chamber 
 trick'd 
 Handsomely out, and supper laid within ? 
 
 Ser, All's ready. Master Ciph^. / ^j ii^ 
 
 Cip, Get ye gone, then, ^/^irux,^*^'^ /- ^ '^<^i 
 For here they come, I think ! I heard a coach stop — 
 Yes, 'tis old master, with his young wife. I trust 
 We shall have plums now in our pudding, a Sundays. /f7 
 
 [Exeunt Cipher and Senjdnt. (/ 1^, 
 
 Enter Warehouse and Penelope, o.:^ i 
 
 War, My dearest Martha, welcome ! Here you 
 see /^ 
 
 The house you must be mistress of, which, with 
 This kiss, I do confirm unto you. 
 
 Pen, Holdl 
 /> You would not sure presume to kiss me, sir ? 
 d) , War, What ! not my wife ? 
 
 Pen, No, sir ; nor come before me. 
 Without leave asked and granted. Think you -j) 
 
 I can endure your conversation ? No ; ' ' 
 
 I hope you have two chambers and two tables 
 Prepared. — It was agreed that I should live 
 Retired ; that is, apart. 
 
 War, Apart from me ? 
 Why, thou art merrv^ wife ! — A good joke, faith. 
 
 'v ^ T-iSt.^-^^ 
 
 
 
/ 
 
 a A 
 
 SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT*S WEDDING. 71 
 
 Pen. Dy'e thiuk Td jest with age ? 
 
 War. With age ? 
 
 Pen, Ay, sir. 
 
 War. Assist me, patience ! Why, 
 If thus you thought, why did you marry me ? 
 
 Pen. Ha ! ha I ha ! ha ! [Laughs. 
 
 War. She laughs! 
 
 Pen. Enough to make me ; 
 I wonder you should ask me such a question. 
 Do you think a woman, fair and young as I am, 
 Would wed a picture of a man. 
 Except to be 
 Her steward and her cloak. 
 
 War. Her cloak !— Hell !— Mischief ! 
 I shall go mad I And were there none to make 
 Your cloak but I ? 
 
 Pen. None so well lin'd. 
 
 War. Oh, impudence ! 
 Unheard-of impudence ! — Her cloak and steward. 
 
 Pen. Your coffers can maintain me, at my rate ! 
 And I'll take care they shall. 
 
 War. Am I awake ? Your rate! What's that? 
 
 Pen. Why, like a lady, as I am ! D'ye think 
 I'll have your greasy factor move before me. 
 Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like 
 Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace. 
 No : I must have my ushers and my grooms. 
 My coach, six horses, and postilions ; 
 My footmen to run before me when I visit, y// 
 
 Or go to court, or take the air i* the park ! y- ^ C/C^ 
 
 War. Why, harkye, harkye, mistress ! Sure you 
 told me 
 You loved retirement — hated visits — bargained 
 A should not carry you abroad ? 
 
 Pen. You? — Surely not. [Laughs. 
 
 Is't fit I should be seen abroad with you ? 
 
 War. You said you lik'd not dress. 
 
 Pen. I meant such dress as you would fancy for 
 me. 
 D'ye think I'll wear a gown out a whole fashion. 
 Or the same jewels twice ? 
 No, no, good sir. — I know you rich and able 
 
72 THE merchant's wedding. [act v. 
 
 To let me wear the price of baronies, — 
 
 Nay, an* I'd live at Cleopatra's rate. 
 
 You've wealth to keep me, and I'll make you do't. 
 
 War. My wits are going ! — I think you bound me, 
 too, 
 I should not go to sea — you lov'd me so 
 You couldn't be without me. 
 
 Pen. Not for that, — 
 But you may yet linger some dozen years ; 
 And, as I know you cannot help but scrape 
 And screw and hoard up money, I would fain 
 That you should live to add to my large wealth cJ^ 
 
 As long as you have hands and eyes to do it. y^ x^ •<& 
 
 War. My wits are going ! 
 
 [Throws himself info a chair. 
 This is past suflferance. 
 
 Pen. Ay, pray, sir, vex, — 
 ril in and see your jewels, and make choice 
 Of some for ev'ry day, and some to wear y^ 
 
 At masques! — Who waits ? within there ! 'yL U\j . 
 
 Enter Cipher. u6P ' 
 
 Is there a banquet towards ? 
 
 Cip. There's supper, madam. 
 Laid in the next room. 
 
 Pen. Call you that a supper ? 
 A brace of rabbits and some musty cheese. 
 With half a dozen radishes? — Run, sirrah, 
 Quick, to the mermaid ! Let them send in here 
 8uch a collation, pray, as I may look on ; 
 Command their choicest wines — rich Muscadel, 
 Cyprus, and Burgundy ; and look there be 
 Good store on't.— If there's aught that's choice 
 In your own cellars, see it be forthcoming. 
 And quickly, too — I expect company — 
 About it, sirrah ! <-/^ 
 
 Cip. Nay, the world will end, sure! [Exit Cipher. Of^* 
 
 Pen, [ Walking gently up to Warehouse, and imi- 
 tating his manner.] "Why did you marry me T' 
 Ha! haj ha! Why did you manyiae? Ha' ha! ha! /: 
 /UxJ^Ut^^'^^^^ ^^^tJi^^^ \ExiU ' 
 
 I War. I am going. Two days of this, and then 
 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 
 
 I shall be gone ! or, to redeem myself. 
 Commit some outrage ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 
 Enter Plotwell and Scoreup. 
 
 Plo, {Aside to ScoreupJ] Ha ! there he is ! — It has 
 begun to work ! 
 [Aloud.'] Sir, I am sorry such a light offence 
 Should make such deep impression on you ; but 
 That which afflicts me more than e'en the loss 
 Of my great hopes, is, that you're likely, sir. 
 To be abused, strangely abused, by one 
 Named Banswright. We have heard, sir, you do 
 
 mean 
 To marry. 
 
 War. Ay, sir, you have heard so — have you ? 
 And what of that, sir ? 
 
 Plo. Why, if it be she 
 I have heard named, I think it but my duty. 
 Despite your present treatment, to inform you. 
 That you had better match one of such looks 
 The judges of assize, without more proof. 
 Would burn for witchcraft. 
 
 War. And, pray, why, sir, eh ? 
 
 Plo. Because a hag so ugly and so old 
 Might, 'gainst her will, preserve you from disho- 
 nour; 
 While this — nay, trust not me — ask Scoreup here. 
 
 Sco. I hope you are not married ? 
 
 War, [Rising.] Shall I let 
 [Aside.] The rascal triumph in my misery ? No, no ! 
 I'll brave it out. [Aloud.] Not married, sir? not 
 
 married ? / /? 
 
 Why, say I am — what then ? vV ^ -^d ^ut^ 
 
 Sco. Why, then, I say, ^ 
 
 Heaven help you ! 
 
 War, [Aside^ Amen! They know it all — I see 
 they do ! 
 They come to laugh at me ! [Aloud.] Go to — what 
 
 mean you ? 
 I am a happy man — a very happy man, sir. 
 
 Sco. Alas ! poor gentleman ! 
 
 K 
 
 ^^<^- 
 
74 THE merchant's wedding. [act v. 
 
 Plo. Your looks betray you, sir. You would 
 trust Banswright. 
 
 War. Banswright ! My curse upou him ! Oh, 
 that I 
 Could see that cheating rogue upon the rack now, 
 I'd give a thousand pounds for ev'ry stretch 
 That should enlarge the rogue through all his joints ! 
 I'd have the wretch think hanging a relief. 
 And be as long a dying as a chopp'd eel ! vO 
 
 What shall I do? Ill go and hang myself ! y-t/(^. 
 
 Plo. Take heart, sir. Surely, you can be divorced ? 
 
 War, Divorced ! Oh, yes ; I can be soon di- 
 vorced — 
 Of all my wealth, too — all my precious wealth ! 
 With her goes all ! I have estated her — 
 Ass that I was ! — in every thing I'm worth ! 
 
 War, Under hand and seal — all — every penny ! 
 
 Plo, Nay, then, I fear it is indeed past hope. 
 I came to save you : 
 I grieve I came too late. 
 
 War, Nephew, forgive me ! {Takes his hand. 
 
 Plo, With all my heart, sir. 
 
 War, I do now repent. 
 That, when I had so good a heir, begot 
 Unto my hand, I was so rash to aim 
 At one of my own dotage ! 
 
 Plo. Fare you well, sir. ^ 
 
 If I can hit upon a way to help you, Cy^ 
 
 Believe, I will. [Exeunt Plotwell and Scoreup. «s^ , 
 
 War, Excellent boy ! 
 Fool that I was ! How much was I deceived y 
 
 To think ill of my nephew !— in whose cause, ^,j^^^ / 
 *' And that of his wrong'd father, I do see 
 The heav'ns frown on me ! I've done ill— much ill ! 
 I suffer for it now. What torment next ? r^ 
 
 Enfer Seathrift and Mrs. Seathrift. ^^ , 
 
 Mrs, S. Much joy to you, sir ! YouVe made a 
 quick despatch. 
 I like a man that can love, woo, and wed. 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 75 
 
 All in an hour. My husband was so long 
 A courting me — so many friends' consent 
 Were to be asked, that, when we came to church, 
 ^; 'Twas not a marriage, but our times were out ! ^. ^d^^ ^>^>^ 
 /g ^ War, {Aside^ More plagues !— More plagues !— 
 ^ 'n I'm stung to death by wasps ! 
 
 *^ Sea. But what's the matter, sir? — You are not 
 
 ^ merry ? 
 
 (/jJ7 Mrs, S, Methinks you do not look as you were y 
 
 married ? / A±^:^:^^t^''^^ 
 Sea. You rather look as you Iiad loSt your love. 
 War. What's that to you ! I shall look as I please ! 
 I — I'll go hang myself ! — I nothing have to do 
 Now in the world but hang myself ! /^ 
 
 -ijt^^/^ ^^ Enter Bright and Newcut. JZp . 
 
 Wh?s here ? 
 
 More strangers ! — Racks and torments ! — Who are 
 
 you, sirs ? 
 And what's your business ? 
 
 Bri. Business ! none, sir — we 
 Have come to sup with a fair friend of ours. 
 Young Mistress Warehouse. 
 
 War. Have you so, indeed ? 
 Out of my house ! thieves ! pandars ! 
 
 New. Sir, you're rude. 
 And would be beaten ! 
 
 Bri. Cannot gentlemen 
 Come here to see your wife, but you must be 
 Inquisitive ? — Be glad 'tis your own house — 
 The place protects you. 
 
 'New. Here she comes — we'll ask 
 If she permits you, sir, to be so bold. ^- 
 
 Bnter Penelope, richly dressed, CJiO' ^^-4. :^ ' 
 
 Bri. So, madam ! we have been cross-questioned 
 here. 
 Hereafter, I suppose, we must not visit you 
 Without permission from your husband, madam ! 
 Pew. Indeed! \To Warehouse.'] I marvel, sir, who 
 gave you licence 
 
 K 2 
 
76 , THE merchant's WEDDING. [acT V. 
 
 To question any friends that come to me ? 
 It shows an u'lbred curiosity. 
 Which I'll correct hereafter ;— you will dare 
 To break up letters shortly, and examine 
 My tailor, lest, when he brings home a ^ow^n. 
 There be a man in't. — I'll have whom I list 
 To visit me, and when and where I list — 
 So trust me, sir! 
 
 Mrs. S. Why, bless me, goodness ! here's 
 A modest bride ! 
 
 Sea. Why, Master Warehouse ! sure 
 This cannot be your wife ? >, ^ a. 
 
 / //^ 
 
 Re-enter Plotwell. c^ • ^\:^' 
 
 War, Prove it ! — I'll give you half my w ealth — 
 three parts — 
 And die a poor man, and a bachelor ! — 
 I did not think there was a bliss on earth 
 Could tempt me to give money for't. — There is ! — 
 Before I hang myself-^^vill no man speak. 
 And rid me of that woma^ anS- my riches ! c/^ ^ 
 
 Plo. I will. ' [Coming down. i^<^0 
 
 War. Ha, nephew! welcome to my ransom. — ' 
 
 Speak, speak ! 
 
 Plo. She's married to another man, sir. 
 
 War. Say it again ! 
 
 Plo. She's married to another man, sir. J 
 
 War. Thou art my blessed angel ! — I shall now % 
 
 Go hang myself for joy. Boy, thou wert born ^ 
 
 To be my dear preserver ! Where's your proof? 
 
 [Plotwell calls Banswright. 
 
 Ew^er BANSWRiGHT. Os-^* 
 
 Banswright ! Oh, you're a precious rogue — you've 
 
 link'd me 
 To a fine wife ! 
 
 Ban. Nay, sir, content you, — she 
 Is yours no longer ; a brave gentleman 
 Has married her w ith all her faults. — He's here ! 
 
 Plo. Walk in. Lieutenant Valentine. 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 77 
 
 / 
 
 jBw^^r Valentine. «vi3^* 
 
 Pen. Sweet husband ! [^Going to him. 
 
 War. How's this ? how*s this ? 
 Plo. A simple project, uncle. 
 This is your niece, and my beloved sister. 
 You ne'er were married, sir ; 'twas no church-form. 
 But a fine legend out of Rabelais. 
 
 War. So, so, so, so ! 
 Am I o'erreached so finely ? 
 
 Val. So should ever be 
 Those who would o'erreach others. 
 
 Plo. Come, sir, be 
 At peace with all, and thank the stars that have 
 Permitted you to make a late atonement. 
 For the injustice done to my poor father, — 
 Through him to us, — and, lastly, to this gentleman. 
 My noble friend and brother, whose fair virtues --^ 
 It shall be now my pride to emulate, ^^^-^^y £?^4^ — ► 
 For I am married too.-^ ^^*^^ ^^resenfs AiireUa . y? 
 Pray know my wife, ^\Y\>J^^itri-yjHiJ/^)ctAJV>' <:^ -(p * 
 Her kindness sets me far above your will. 
 And, therefore, the large sums which you stand 
 
 pledged 
 To pay me for this riddance from a wife, 
 I give to Valentine as my sister's dower ; 
 And, in exchange for that same mortgage which 
 Your avarice kept from him. 
 
 Pen. Thank you, brother : 
 But he has naught to pay you with. — Though I 
 No longer am his wife, I hold a deed. 
 Signed of his own free-will, estating me 
 In all he's-worth — 'tis here — I give it to my husband. 
 
 Yal. And thus I cancel it : — there, Master Ware- 
 house — [Tearing it. 
 I ask but for mine own land ; which, as now 
 'Tis known you still possess, I trust you'll give 
 me. 
 
 Aur. 'Tis nobly done ! 
 
 Sea, Why, sir, you stand amazed. 
 
78 THE merchant's wedding. [act v. 
 
 And 'tis enough to make you : — here be plots ! 
 These young heads have out-gone you ! 
 
 War, Nephew, pardon me ! 
 /,j [Shakes PlotwelVs hand. 
 
 Sir/ [lb Valentine.'] you shall have your mortgage 
 
 /^ and much more.' — 
 Half I am worth were a poor reparation 
 For all the wrongs which that young lady, now 
 Your wife, hath suflFer'd at my hand — I do 
 Forgive and hope forgiveness. I confess 
 I'm justly served ; and, in your presence here, 
 I vow hereafter to renounce and loath 
 All slavish avarice, sent by the devil, ^ 
 
 To be ^mongst men the actor of all evil, y / j^J yj\ 
 
 Val. Abless'd conversion ly^-^^iytA^i^^C.^^ 
 
 Sea, Can you tell me, sir, ( ^^ tfj^yL^ c*>*^ ^^l^^"^ 
 Where is my foolish son ? ^ V -^ 
 
 Bri. 'Faith, sir, I think -^ I, 
 
 He's married too. 
 
 Val. And this looks very like him. kj /^J? /V. 
 
 Enter Timothy and Dorcas. — They both kneel. c>^ 
 
 Tim. Pray forgive me, father; 
 I've been a sad dog, but I've matched an heiress. 
 And now mean to reform. /^ 
 
 Tim. An heiress ! This ! — ^ /^ ^ //j ^^^ , 
 
 Aur. Why, Dorcas! A.^^?^^:^-^:^^^^^:^^ 
 
 Dor. Pardon, madam,— I ^^^l^^^t^z-^^^^^'r^ j 
 
 Have followed your example. 
 
 Tim. Madam, how ! 
 What, are not you the servant? \To Aurelia. 
 
 Plo. I am your's, sir, 
 Down to the ground ! — This lady is my wife ! — 
 
 Tim. I do begin to think I'm fooled ! Oh, father ! 
 —Mother ! I thought I'd match'd a lady, and- 
 
 Sea. You've done much better, sir. So she's but 
 honest. 
 She'll make the fitter wife for you. I'll give you 
 Some four-score pounds a year, to keep you out 
 O'the streets, and leave my fortune to an hospital. 
 
 lYw. Well, I have got a wife, at any rate. 
 
SCENE II.] THE MERCHANT'S WEDDING. 79 
 
 Dor, And one, dear husband, will deserve your 
 
 love. 
 Plo. Ay, kiss her, Tim, — your father will relent. 
 
 V'' 
 
 jE«;€r Cipher. >^^^, 
 
 Cip. [To Penelope.'] The banquet's served. 
 
 War. Why, this is well ! — The feast 
 Intended for my wedding, shall be your's ; 
 To which I add, may you so live to say. 
 When old, your time was but one marriage-day ! 
 
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 THE END. 
 
 
 PRINTED BY G. H. DAVIDSON, 
 IRELAND YARD, DOCTORS* COMMONS. 
 
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