Chapter XII: Part 12

_Vio._ No Sir, for gods sake, if you know an honest man in all these
Countreys, give me some directions to find him out.

_Val._ More honest than my self, good sooth I do not know; I would
have lain with thee, with thy consent, and who would not in all these
parts, is past my memory, I am sorry for thee, farewel gentle maid,
God keep thee safe. [_Exit._

_Vio._ I thank you Sir, and you;
Woman they say, was only made of man,
Methinks 'tis strange they should be so unlike,
It may be all the best was cut away
To make the woman, and the naught was left
Behind with him, I'll sit me down and weep,
All things have cast me from 'em but the earth;
The evening comes, and every little flower
Droops now, as well as I.

_Enter two Milk-maids with pails._

_Nan._ Good _Madge_ lets rest a little, by my troth I am weary, this
new pail is a plaguy heavy one, would _Tom_ were hang'd for choosing
it, 'tis the untoward'st fool in a Countrey.

_Madg._ With all my heart, and I thank you too, _Nan_.

_Vio._ What true contented happiness dwels here,
More than in Cities! wou'd to God my Father
Had liv'd like one of these, and bred me up
To milk: and do as they do: methinks
'Tis a life that I wou'd choose, if I were now
To tell my time agen, above a Princes; maids, for charity
Give a poor wench one draught of Milk,
That weariness and hunger have nigh famish'd.

_Nan._ If I had but one Cows Milk in all the world, you should have
some on't; there, drink more, the Cheese shall pay for it, alas poor
heart, she's drie.

_Madge._ Do you dwell here abouts?

_Vio._ No, would I did.

_Nan._ _Madge_, if she does not looke like my cosin _Sue_ o'th' _Moor
lane_, as one thing can look like another--

_Madge._ Nay, _Sue_ has a hazle eye, I know _Sue_ well, and by your
leave, not so trim a body neither, this is a feat bodied thing I tell
you.

_Nan._ She laces close by the mass I warrant you, and so does _Sue_
too.

_Vio._ I thank you for your gentleness, fair maids.

_Nan._ Drink agen pray thee.

_Vio._ I am satisfied, and heaven reward thee for't, yet thus far I
will compell you to accept these trifles, toys only that express my
thanks, for greater worth, I'm sure they have not in them; indeed you
shall, I found 'em as I came.

_Nan._ _Madge_, look you here _Madge_.

_Madg._ Nay, I have as fine a one as you, mine's all gold, and
painted, and a precious stone in't; I warrant it cost a crown wench.

_Nan._ But mine is the most sumptuous one, that e'r I saw.

_Vio._ One favour you must do me more, for you are well acquainted
here.

_Nan._ Uds me, our _Dorothy_ went away but last week, and I know my
mistriss want's a maid, and why may she not be plac'd there? this is a
likely wench, I tell you truly, and a good wench I warrant her.

_Madg._ And 'tis a hard case if we that have serv'd four years apiece,
cannot bring in one servant, we will prefer her; hark you sister, pray
what's your name.

_Vio._ _Melvia._

_Nan._ A feat name i'faith; and can you milk a cow? and make a
merry-bush? that's nothing.

_Vio._ I shall learn quickly.

_Nan._ But be sure to keep the men out, they will mar all that you
make else, I know that by my self; for I have been So touz'd among 'em
in my days, come you shall e'en home with us, and be our fellow, our
house is so honest, and we serve a very good woman, and a Gentlewoman,
and we live as merrily, and dance a good daies after even-song: our
Wake shall be on Sunday; do you know what a Wake is? we have mighty
cheer then, and such a coil, 'twould bless ye; you must not be so
bashful, you'll spoil all.

_Madg._ Let's home for Gods sake, my Mistriss thinks by this time we
are lost, come, we'll have a care of you, I warrant you; but you must
tell my Mistress where you were born, and every thing that belongs to
you, and the strangest things you can devise, for she loves those
extreamly, 'tis no matter whether they be true or no, she's not so
scrupulous; you must be our Sister, and love us best, and tell us
every thing, and when cold weather comes, we'll lye together, will
you do this?

_Vio._ Yes.

_Nan._ Then home again o' gods name, can you go apace.

_Vio._ I warrant you. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scaena Prima._

_Enter_ Pedro _and_ Uberto, _severally_.

_Ped._ How now, any good news yet?

_Silvio._ Faith not any yet.

_Ped._ This comes o' tipling; would 'twere treason and't pleas['d]
God, to drink more than three draughts at a meal.

_Sil._ When did you see _Richardo_?

_Ped._ I crost him twice to day.

_Sil._ You have heard of a young wench that was seen last [night].

_Ped._ Yes.

_Sil._ Has _Richard_ heard of this?

_Ped._ Yes, and I think he's ridden after, farewel, I'll have another
round.

_Sil._ If you hear any thing, pray spare no horse-flesh,
I'll do the like.

_Ped._ Do. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Richardo _and_ Valerio.

_Rich._ Sir, I did think 'twas you by all descriptions.

_Val._ 'Tis so,
I took her up indeed, the manner how
You have heard already, and what she had about her,
As Jewels, Gold, and other trifling things:
And what my end was, which because she slighted,
I left her there i'th' fields.

_Rich._ Left i'th' fields? could any but a Rogue
That had despis'd humanity and goodness,
[God,] law and credit; and had set himself
To lose his noblest part, and be a beast,
Have left so innocent unmatch'd a virtue,
To the rude mercy of a wilderness?

_Val._ Sir, if you come to rail, pray quit my house,
I do not use to have such language given
Within my doors to me; for your wench,
You may go seek her with more patience,
She's tame enough, I warrant you.

_Rich._ Pray forgive me.
I do confess my much forgetfulness;
And weigh my words no farther, I beseech you,
Then a mere madness, for such a grief has seiz'd me
So strong and deadly, as a punishment,
And a just one too,
That 'tis a greater wonder I am living,
Than any thing I utter; yet let me tell you thus much,
'Twas a fault for leaving her
So in the fields.

_Val._ Sir, I will think so now, and credit me,
You have so wrought me with your grief, that I
Do both forgive and pity you:
And if you'll please to take a bed this night here;
To morrow I'll bring you where I left her.

_Rich._ I thank you, [no,] shall I be so unworthy:
To think upon a bed, or ease, or comfort,
And have my heart stray from me, God knows where,
Cold and forsaken, destitute of friends,
And all good comforts else, unless some tree
Whose speechless charity must better ours,
With which the bitter east winds made their sport
And sung through hourly, hath invited her
To keep off half a day? shall she be thus,
And I draw in soft slumbers? _God_ forbid.
No, night and bitter coldness, I provoke thee,
And all the dews that hang upon thy locks,
Showrs, Hails, Snows, Frosts, and two edged Winds that prime
The maiden blossoms, I provoke you all,
And dare expose this body to your sharpness,
Till I be made a Land-mark.

_Val._ Will you then stay and eat with me?

_Rich._ Y'are angry with me, I know y'are angry,
You would not bid me eat else; my poor Mistriss,
For ought I know thou'rt famish'd, for what else
Can the fields yield thee, and the stubborn season,
That yet holds in the fruit? good gentle Sir,
Think not ill manners in me for denying
Your offer'd meat, for sure I cannot eat
While I do think she wants; well I'm a rascal;
A villain, slave, that only was begotten,
To murder women, and of them the best.

_Val._ This is a strange affliction.
If you'll accept no greater courtesie, yet drink Sir.

_Ric._ Now I am sure you hate me, and you knew
What kind of man I am, as indeed 'tis fit,
That every man should know me to avoid me.
If you have peace within you, Sir, or goodness
Name that abhord word - Drink, no more unto me,
You had safer strike me.
I pray you do not, if you love me do not.

_Val._ Sir, I mean no ill by it.

_Ric._ It may be so,
Nor let me see
None Sir, if you love heaven;
You know not what offence it is unto me,
Nor good now do not ask me why:
And I warn you once again, let no man else speak of't,
I fear your servants will be prating to me.

_Val._ Why Sir, what ail you?

_Rich._ I hate drink, there's the end on't,
And that man that drinks with meat is damn'd
Without an age of prayers and repentance,
And there's a hazard too; good Sir, no more
If you will do me a free courtesie;
That I shall know for one: go take your horse,
And bring me to the place where you left her:

_Val._ Since you are so impo[r]tunate, I will;
But I will wish Sir, you had staid to night
Upon my credit you shall see no drink.

_Rich._ Be gone, the hearing of it makes me giddy,
Sir, will you be intreated to forbear it,
I shall be mad else.

_Val._ I pray no more of that, I am quiet,
I'll but walk in, and away straight.

_Rich._ Now I thank you,
But what you do, do in a twinkling, Sir.

_Val._ As soon as may be. [_Exit._

_Enter Mother_, Viola, _and two Milk-maids_.

_Moth._ Is this the wench you have brought me? some catch I warrant.
How daringly she looks upon the matter!

_Madge._ Yes forsooth, this is the maiden.

_Moth._ Come hither, wou'd you serve?

_Vio._ If it shall please you to accept my service, I hope I shall do
something that shall like you, though it be but truth, and often
praying for you.

_Moth._ You are very curious of your hand methinks,
You preserve it so with gloves, let me see it;
I marry, here's a hand of march-pane, wenches,
This pretty palme never knew sorrow yet;
How soft it is I warrant you, and supple:
O' my word, this is fitter for a pocket to filch withal
Than to [work], I fear me little one,
You are no better than you should be; goe to.

_Vio._ My Conscience yet is but one witness to me,
And that heaven knows, is of mine innocence,
'Tis true, I must confess with shame enough,
The time that I have led, yet never taught me
What 'twas to break a sleep, or to be weary.

_Moth._ You can say well: if you be mine, wench, you must doe well
too, for words are but slow workers, yet so much hope I have of you,
that I'll take you, so you'll be diligent, and do your duty: how now?

_Enter_ Alexander.

_Alex._ There is a messenger come from your son,
That brings you word he is return'd from travel,
And will be here this night.

_Moth._ Now joy upon thee for it, thou art ever
A bringer of good tidings, there, drink that:
In troth thou hast much contented me, my Son!
Lord how thou hast pleas'd me, shall I see my Son
Yet e'r I dye? take care my house be handsome,
And the new stools set out, and boughs and rushes,
And flowers for the window, and the _Turky_ Carpet,
And the great parcel Salt, _Nan_, with the Cruets,
And prethee _Alexander_ goe to the Cook,
And bid him spare for nothing, my son's come home,
Who's come with him?

_Alex._ I hear of none yet, but a Gentlewoman.

_Moth._ A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman?

_Alex._ I know not, but such a one there is, he says.

_Moth._ Pray God he have not cast away himself
Upon some snout-fair piece, I do not like it.

_Alex._ No sure, my Master has more discretion.

_Moth._ [Well,] be it how it will, he shall be welcome.
Sirs to your tasks, and shew this little novice
How to bestir her self, I'll sort out things. [_Exit._

_Madge._ We will forsooth, I can tell you, my Mistriss is a stirring
woman.

_Nan._ Lord how she'll talk sometimes! 'tis the maddest cricket--

_Vio._ Methinks she talks well, and shews a great deal of good
huswivery, pray let me deck the chambers, shall I?

_Nan._ Yes, you shall, but do not scorn to be advis'd, Sister, for
there belongs more to that, than you are aware on; why [w]ould you
venture so fondly upon the strowings? there's mighty matters in them
I'll assure you, and in the spreading of a bough-pot, you may miss, if
you were ten years elder, if you take not a special care before you.

_Vio._ I will learn willingly, if that be all.

_Nan._ Sirrah where is't they say my young Master hath been?

_Madg._ Faith I know not, beyond the Sea, where they are born without
noses.

_Nan._ [Jesse blesse] us! without noses? how do they do for
handkerchiefs?

_Madg._ So _Richard_ says, and sirrah, their feet stand in their
foreheads.

_Nan._ That's fine by my troth, these men have pestilent running heads
then; do they speak as we do?

_Mag._ No, they never speak.

_Nan._ Are they cursend?

_Mag._ No, they call them Infidels, I know not what they are.

_Nan._ Sirrah, we shall have fine courting now my young master is come
home, were you never courted Sister?

_Vio._ Alas, I know it not.

_Mag._ What is that courting, sirrah?

_Nan._ I can tell, for I was once courted in the matted chamber, you
know the party _Madge_, faith he courted finely.

_Madg._ Pray thee what is't?

_Na[n]._ Faith, nothing but he was somewhat figent with me, faith 'tis
fine sport, this courting.

_Alex. within._ Where be the Maids there?

_Madg._ We shall be hang'd anon, away good wenches, and have a care
you dight things handsomly, I will look over you. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Mercury _and_ Maria.

_Mer._ If your sorrow will give you so far leave, pray think your self
most welcome to this place, for so upon my life you are, and for your
own fair sake, take truce awhile with these immoderate mournings.

_Wife._ I thank you Sir, I shall doe what I may;
Pray lead me to a chamber.

_Enter Mother and_ Alexander.

_Mer._ Presently,
Before your blessing Mother, I intreat ye
To know this Gentlewoman, and bid her welcome,
The virtuous wife of him that was my self
In all my travels.

_Moth._ Indeed she is most welcome, so are you son [_kneel._
Now all my blessing on thee; thou hast made me
Younger by 20 years, than I was yesterday,
Will you walk in? what ails this Gentlewoman?
Alas, I fear she is not well, good Gen[t]lewoman.

_Mer._ You fear right.

_Moth._ She has fasted over long,
You shall have supper presently o'th' board.

_Mer._ She will not eat; I can assure you Mother,
For Gods sake let your Maid conduct her up
Into some fair becoming Chamber
Fit for a woman of her Being, and
As soon as may be,
I know she's very ill, and wou'd have rest.

_Moth._ There is one ready for her, the blew chamber.

_Mer._ 'Tis well, I'll lead you to your chamber door
And there I'll leave you to your quiet, Mistriss.

_Wife._ I thank you, Sir, good rest to every one,
You'll see me once again to night, I hope. [_Exit._

_Mer._ When you shall please, I'll wait upon you, Lady.

_Moth._ Where are these maids, attend upon the Gentlewoman, and see
she want no good thing in the house? goodnight with all my heart
forsooth, good Lord how you are grown, is he not _Alexander_?

_Alex._ Yes truly, he's shot up finely, God be thanked.

_Mer._ An ill weed, Mother, will do so.

_Alex._ You say true, Sir, an ill weed grows apace.

_Mer._ _Alexander_ the sharp, you take [me] very quickly.

_Moth._ Nay, I can tell you, _Alexander_ will do it, do you read
madcap still?

_Alex._ Sometimes forsooth.

_Moth._ But faith Son, what Countreys have you travell'd?

_Mer._ Why many, Mother, as they lay before me, _France_, _Spain_,
_Italy_ and _Germany_, and other Provinces that I am sure, you are not
better'd by, when you hear of them.

_Moth._ And can you these tongues perfectly?

_Mer._ Of some a little, Mother.

_Moth._ Pray spout some _French_ Son.

_Mer._ You understand it not, and to your ears 'twill goe like an
unshod cart upon the stones, only a rough unhandsome sound.

_Moth._ [Faith] I would fain hear some _French_.

_Alex._ Good Sir, speak some _French_ to my Mistriss.

_Mer._ At your intreaty _Alexander_, I will, who shall I speak to?

_Alex._ If your worship will do me the favour Sir, to me.

_Mer._ _Mounseir_, _Poultron_, _Coukew_, _Cullione_, _Besay_, _Man
cur_.

_Alex._ _Awe Mounseir._

_Moth._ Ha, ha, ha, this fine indeed, gods blessing 'on thy heart Son,
by my troth thou art grown a proper Gentleman, cullen and pullen,
good god what [saucey] words they use beyond the seas, ha, ha, ha!

_Alex._ Did not [you sweare] right.

_Mer._ Yes good _Alexander_, if you had done so too,
But good Mother, I am very hungry, and have rid far to day, and am
fasting.

_Moth._ You shall have your supper presently, my sweet Son.

_Mer._ As soon as you please, which once ended,
I'll go and visit yo[n] sick Gentlewoman.

_Moth._ Come then. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Antonio _like a Post, with a Letter_.

_Ant._ I have ridden like a fury, to make up this work, and I will do
it bravely, e'r I leave it; this is the house I am sure.

_Enter_ Alexander.

_Alex._ Who wou'd you speak with, Sir?

_Ant._ Marry Sir, I would speak with a Gentlewoman, came this night
late here from the City, I have some Letters of importance to her,
I am a Post Sir, and would be dispa[t]ch'd in haste.

_Alex._ Sir, cannot I deliver 'em? for the truth is, she's ill, and
in her chamber.

_Ant._ Pray pardon me, I must needs speak with her, my business is so
weighty.

_Alex._ I'll tell her so, and bring you present word.

_Ant._ Pray do so, and I'll attend her, pray god the grief of my
imagined death, spoil not what I intend, I hope it will not.

_Alex._ Though she be very ill, and desires no trouble,
Yet if your business be so urgent, you may come up and speak with her.

_Ant._ I thank you Sir, I follow you. [_Exit_ Alex.

_Enter Wife._

_Wife._ What should this fellow be i'th' name of Heaven, that comes
with such post business? sure my Husband hath reveal'd himself, and in
this haste sent after me, are you the Post my friend?

_Enter_ Anto[n]io.

_Ant._ Yes forsooth Mistriss.

_Wife._ What good news hast thou brought me gentle Post?
For I have woe and grief too much already.

_Ant._ I would you had less, Mistriss, I could wish it, beshrew my
heart she moves me cruelly.

_Wife._ Have I found you once more Jugler? well Jewel, thou hast only
virtue in thee, of all I read of yet; what ears has this ass to betray
him with? well, what's your business then?

_Ant._ I have brought a Letter from your servant, Mistriss, in haste.

_Wife._ Pray give it me, I hope the best still.

_Ant._ This is the upshot, and I know I have hit it,
Well, if the spirits of the dead do walk, I shall
Hear more of this one hundred years hence.

_Wife._ By any means you must have special care, for now the City is
possest for certain, my Master is made away, which for ought I know is
[a] truth indeed; good Mistriss leave your grief, and see your danger,
and let that wise and noble Gentleman with whom you are, be your right
hand in all things.

_Ant._ Now do I know I have the better on't, by the languishing of her
eye at this near instant, 'tis still simming in her blood, in coyning
somewhat to turn _Mercury_, I know it.

_Wife._ He is my Husband, and 'tis reasonable he should command in all
things, since he will be an ass against the hair, at his own peril be
it, in the morn you shall have a pacquet, till when, I must intreat
you stay, you shall not lose by it.

_Ant._ I do not doubt it, Mistriss; I'll leave you to your rest, and
wait your pleasure.

_Wife._ Do, and seek out the Gentleman of the house, bid him come to
me presently.

_Ant._ Who, Mr. _Mercury_?

_Wife._ Do you know him, Post?

_Ant._ Only by sight forsooth, now I remember your servant will'd me
to let you know he is the only man, you [and] your fortunes, are now
to rest upon.

_Wife._ Prethee no more, I know all this already.

_Ant._ I'll take my leave now, I am made for ever. [_Exit._

_Wife._ Good night, I am provided for you, my fine youth. [_Exit._

_Enter Mother, beating_ Viola, Alexander _with a broken Glass_.

_Mother._ I'll make thee have more care.

_Viola._ Good Mistriss pardon me.

_Moth._ Thou'lt ne'r be good I warrant thee, can your fine fingers
hold no faster?

_Viola._ Indeed it was against my will.

_Moth._ _Alexander_, let's see the glass, as I am true kirsome woman,
it is one of the chrystal glasses my Cosin sent me, and the baggage
hath broke it where it cannot be mended, _Alexander_, can _Humphrey_
mend this think you?

_Alex._ No truly, this will ne'er be mended.

_Vio._ Truly I meant but to wash it for the Gentlewoman that is sick
above, and shaking out the water, knockt it against the pail side.

_Moth._ Did you so? be sure I'll stop it, 'twill make a good gap in
your quarters wages, I can tell you.

_Viola._ I pray forgive me, and let me have no wages this first
quarter.

_Moth._ Go whimling, and fetch two or three grating loaves out of the
Kitching, to make Ginger-bread of, 'tis such an untoward thing.
[_Exit_ Viola.

_Alex._ She's somewhat simple indeed, she knew not what a kimnel was,
she wants good nurture mightily.

_Moth._ My Son tells me, _Alexander_, that this young widow means to
sojourn here, she offers largely for her board, I may offer her good
cheer, prethee make a step i'th' morning down to the Parsonage for
some Pigeons; what are you mad there? what noise is that? are you at
bowls within? why do you whine?

_Enter_ Viola _weeping_.

_Vio._ I have done another fault, I beseech you sweet Mistriss forgive
me.

_Moth._ What's the matter?

_Vio._ As I was reaching for the bread that lay upon the shelf, I have
thrown down the minc'd meat, that should have made the pies to morrow.

_Moth._ Get thee out of my house, thou filthy destroying Harlot, thou,
I'll not keep thee an hour longer.

_Vio._ Good Mistriss, beat me rather for my fault, as much as it
deserves, I do not know whither to go.

_Moth._ No I warrant thee, out of my doors.

_Vio._ Indeed I'll mend, I pray speak you for me.

_Alex._ If thou hadst hurl'd down any thing but the Pie-meat, I would
have spoke for thee, but I cannot find in my heart now.

_Moth._ Art thou here yet? I think I must have an Officer to thrust
thee out of my doors, must I?

_Vio._ Why, you may stop this in my wages too,
For God's sake do, I'll find my self this year;
And let me stay.

_Mer._ Thou't spoil ten times as much, I'll cudgel thee out of my
doors.

_Vio._ I am assur'd you are more merciful,
Than thus to beat me and discharge me too.

_Moth._ Dost thou dispute with me, _Alexander_ carry the prating
hilding forth.

_Vio._ Good Mistriss hear me, I have here a Jewel,
My Mother left me, and 'tis something worth:
Receive it, and when all my faults together
Come to the worth of that, then turn me forth,
Till then I pray you keep me.

_Moth._ What giggombob have we here? pray god you have not pilfred
this somewhere, th'art such a puling thing, wipe your eyes, and rise,
go your ways, _Alexander_, bid the Cook mince some more meat, come,
and get you to bed quickly, that you may up betime i'th' morning a
milking, or you and I shall fall out worse yet.
[_Exit Moth, and_ Alex.

_Vio._ She has hurt my arm; I am afraid she is a very angry woman, but
bless him heaven that did me the most wrong, I am afraid _Antonio's_
wife should see me, she will know me.

_Mother within._ _Melvia._

_Vio._ I am coming, she's not angry agen I hope. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Mercury.

_Mer._ Now what am I the better for enjoying
This woman that I lov'd so? all I find,
That I before imagined to be happy:
Now I have done, it turns to nothing else
But a poor pitied, and a base repentance,
Udsfoot, I am monstrous angry with my self:
Why should a man that has discourse and reason,
And knows how near he loses all in these things,
Covet to have his wishes satisfied;
Which when they are, are nothing but the shame
I do begin to loath this woman strangely,
And I think justly too, that durst adventure,
Flinging away her modesty to take
A stranger to her bed, her Husbands body
Being scarce cold in the earth for her content,
It was no more to take my senses with
Than if I had an idle dream in sleep
Yet I have made her promises: which grieves me,
And I must keep 'em too, I think she hunts me:
The devil cannot keep these women off,
When they are fletched once.

_Enter Wife in night attire._

_Wife._ To bed for gods sake Sir, why do you stay here?
Some are up i'th' house, I heard the wife,
Good dear sweet-heart to bed.

_Mer._ Why, I am going! why do you follow me?
You would not have it known I hope, pray get you
Back to your chamber, the doors hard by for me,
Let me alone, I warrant you this it is
To thresh well, I have got a customer,
Will you go to bed?

_Wife._ Will you?

_Mer._ Yes, I am going.

_Wife._ Then remember your promise you made to marry me.

_Mer._ I will, but it was your fault, that it came
To this pinch now, that it must need remembrance:
For out of honesty I offer'd you
To marry you first, why did you slack that offer?

_Wife._ Alas I told you the inconvenience of it,
And what wrong it would appear to the world
If I had married [you] in such post-haste
After his death: beside, the foolish people
Would have been bold to have thought we had lain together
in his time, and like enough imagin'd
We two had murther'd him.

_Mer._ I love her tongue yet,
If I were a Saint
A gilded Saint, and such a thing as this
Should prate thus wittily and feelingly
Unto my Holiness, I cannot tell,
But I fear shrewdly I should do something
That would quite scratch me out o'th' Kalender,
And if I stay longer talking with her,
Though I am mad at what I have done already,
Yet I shall forget my self again;
I feel the Devil
Ready to hold my stirrop; pray to bed, good night.

_Wife._ This kiss, good night sweet Love,
And peace goe with thee: thou hast prov'd thy self
The honestest man that ever was entic'd
To that sweet sin as people please to call it,
Of lying with anothers wife, and I,
I think the honestest woman without blushing,
That ever lay with another man, I sent my Husband
Into a Cellar, post, fearing, and justly
He should have known him, which I did not purpose
Till I had had my end.
Well, now this plot is perfect, let him brag on't. [_Exit._

_Actus Quintus. Scaena Prima._

_Enter Justice and_ Curio _with a Paper_.

_Just._ Birlady Sir, you have rid hard that you have.

_Cur._ They that have business, must do so, I take it.

_Just._ You say true, when set you out my friend?

_Cur._ About ten a clock, and I have rid all night.

_Just._ By the mass you are tough indeed, I have seen the day, I would
have rid too with the proudest of them, and fling dirt in their faces,
and I have don't with this foolish boy, Sir, many a time; but what can
last always? 'tis done, 'tis done now, Sir, age, care, and office,
brings us to our footcloaths, the more the pity.

_Curio._ I believe that, Sir, but will it please you to read the
business?

_Just._ My friend, I can read, and I can tell you when.

_Cur._ Would I could too Sir, for my haste requires it.

_Just._ Whence comes it do you say?

_Cur._ Sir from the City.

_Just._ Oh from the City, 'tis a reverent place.

_Curio._ And his justice be as short as his memory,
A Dudgion Dagger will serve him to mow down sin withal,
What clod-pole Commissioner is this?

_Just._ And by my faith, govern'd by worthy members,
Discreet and upright.

_Cur._ Sir, they are beholding to you, you have given some of them a
commendations, they were not worthy of this twenty years.

_Just._ Go to, go to, you have a merry meaning, I have found you Sir,
i' faith, you are a wag, away, fie now I'll read Your Letter.

_Cur._ Pray do Sir; what a misery 'tis
To have an urgent business wait the Justice
Of such an old Tuff-taffata that knows not,
Nor can be brought to understand more sence,
Than how to restore supprest Alehouses,
And have his man compound small trespasses,
For ten groats.

_Just._ Sir, it seems here your business is of a deeper circumstance
than I conceiv'd it for; what do you mean, Sir?

_Cur._ 'Tis for mine own ease I'll assure your Worship.

_Just._ It shall not be i' faith friend, here I have it,
That one _Antonio_ a Gentleman, I take it so,
Yes, it is so, a Gentleman is lately thought to
Have been made away, and by my faith, upon a
Pearls ground too, if you consider; well, there's
Knavery in't, I see that without spectacles.

_Cur._ Sure this fellow deals in revelation, he's so hidden,
Goe thy ways, thou wilt stick a bench spit as formally,
And shew thy Agot, and hatch'd chain
As well as the best of them.

_Just._ And now I have consider'd, I believe it.

_Cur._ What Sir?

_Just._ That he was murdered.

_Cur._ Did you know him?

_Just._ No.

_Cur._ Nor how it is suppos'd.

_Just._ No, nor I care not two-pence, those are toys and yet I verily
believe he was murdered, as sure as I believe thou art a man, I never
fail'd in these things yet, w'are a man that's beaten to these
matters, experience is a certain conceal'd thing that fails not: pray
let me ask you one thing, why do you come to me?

_Cur._ Because the Letter is addrest to you, being the nearest
Justice.

_Just._ The nearest? is that all?

_Cur._ I think it be Sir, I would be loth you should be the wisest.

_Just._ Well Sir, as it is, I will endeavour in it; yet if it had come
to me by name, I know not, but I think it had been as soon dispatcht
as by another, and with as round a wisdom, I, and as happily, but
that's all one: I have born this place this thirty years, and upwards,
and with sufficient credit, and they may when they please, know me
better; to the nearest? well.

_Cur._ Sir, it is not my fault, for had I known you sooner--

_Just._ I thank you Sir, I know it.

_Cur._ I'll be sworn you should have plaid for [any] business now.

_Just._ And further, they have specified unto me, his Wife is sorely
suspected in this matter, as a main cause.

_Cur._ I think she be Sir, for no other cause can be yet found.

_Just._ And one _Mercury_ a traveller, with whom they say directly she
is run away, and as they think this way.

_Cur._ I knew all this before.

_Just._ Well Sir, this _Mercury_ I know, and his breeding, a neighbors
child hard by, you have been happy, Sir, in coming hither.

_Cur._ Then you know where to have him, Sir?

_Just._ I do Sir, he dwells near me.

_Cur._ I doubt your Worship dwels near a knave then.

_Just._ I think so; pray put on: but 'tis a wonder
To see how graceless people are now given,
And how base virtue is accounted with them
That should be all in all, as says a wise man.

I tell you Sir, and it is true, that there have been such murthers,
and of late days, as 'twould make your very heart bleed in you, and
some of them as I shall be enabled, I will tell you, it fell out of
late days.

_Cur._ It may be so, but will it please you to proceed in this?

_Just._ An honest Weaver, and as good a workman, as e'er shot shuttle,
and as close: but every man must dye; this honest Weaver being a
little mellow in his Ale, that was the evidence _verbatim_, Sir, God
bless the mark, sprung his neck just in this place: well _Jarvis_,
thou hadst wrongs, and if I live some of the best shall sweat for't,
then a wench--

_Cur._ But Sir, you have forgot my business.

_Just._ A sober pretty maid about 17, they say, certainly, howsoever
'tis shuffled, she burst her self, and fondly, if it be so, with
Furmety at a Churching, but I think the Devil had another agent in't:
either of which, if I can catch, shall stretch for't.

_Cur._ This is a mad Justice that will hang the Devil; but I would you
would be short in this, before that other notice can be given.

_Just._ Sir, I will doe discreetly what is fitting; what, _Antonio_?

_Ant. within._ Your Worship.

_Just._ Put on your best coat, and let your fellow _Mark_ goe to the
Constable, and bid him aid me with all the speed he can, and all the
power, and provide Pen and Ink to take their confessions, and my long
sword: I cannot tell what danger we may meet with; you'll go with us?

_Cur._ Yes, what else? I came to that end to accuse both parties.

_Just._ May I crave what you are?

_Cur._ Faith Sir, one that to be known would not profit you, more than
a near kinsman of the dead _Antonio's_.

_Just._ 'Tis well, I am sorry for my neighbor, truly, that he had no
more grace, 'twill kill his Mother; she's a good old woman, will you
walk in? I'll but put my cloak on, and my chain off, and a clean band,
and have my shooes blackt over, and shift my Jerkin, and we'll to our
business, and you shall see how I can bolt these matters.

_Cur._ As soon as't please you, Sir. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valerio, _and_ Richardo.

_Val._ This is the place; here did I leave the Maid
Alone last night, drying her tender eyes,
Uncertain what to do, and yet desirous
To have me gone.

_Rich._ How rude are all we men,
That take the name of _Civil_ to our selves!
If she had set her foot upon an earth
Where people live that we call barbarous;
Though they had had no house to bring her to,
They would have spoil'd the glory, that the spring
Has deckt the trees in, and with willing hands
Have torn their branches down, and every man
Would have become a builder for her sake.
What time left you her there?

_Val._ I left her, when the Sun had so much to sett,
As he is now got from his place of rise.

_Rich._ So near the night she could not wander far;
Fair _Viola_!

_Val._ It is in vain to call, she sought a house
Without all question.

_Rich._ Peace, fair _Viola_?
Fair _Viola_? who should have left her here
On such a ground? if you had meant to lose her,
You might have found there were no ecchos here
To take her name, and carry it about,
When her true Lover came to mourn for her,
Till all the neighboring valleys and the hills,
Resounded _Viola_,--
And such a place,
You should have chose--
You pity us because
The dew a little wets our feet,
Unworthy far to seek her in the wet;
And what becomes of her? where wandred she,
With two showers raining on her, from her eyes
Continually, abundantly, from which
There's neither tree nor house to shelter her;
Will you go with me to travel?

_Val._ Whither?

_Rich._ Over all the world.

_Val._ No by my faith, I'll make a shorter journey
When I do travel.

_Rich._ But there's no hope
To gain my end in any shorter way.

_Val._ Why, what's your end?

_Rich._ It is to search the earth,
Till we have found two in the shapes of men,
As wicked as our selves.

_Val._ 'Twere not so hard to find out those.

_Rich._ Why, if we find them out,
It were the better, for what brave villany,
Might we four do? we wou'd not keep together:
For every one has treachery enough
For twenty countreys, one should trouble _Asia_,
Another should sow strife in _Africa_;
But you should play the knave, in at home in _Europe_,
And for _America_ let me alone.

_Val._ Sir, I am honester,
Than you know how to be, and can no more
Be wrong'd, but I shall find my self aright.

_Rich._ If you had any spark of honesty,
You would not think that honester than I,
Were a praise high enough to serve your turn:
If men were commonly so bad as I,
Thieves would be put in Calendars for Saints;
And bones of murderers would work miracles.
I am a kind of knave, of knave so much
There is betwixt me, and the vilest else--
But the next place of all to mine is yours.

_Enter two Milk-maids and_ Viola _with pails_.

_Val._ That last is she, 'tis she.

_Rich._ Let us away, we shall infect her, let her have the wind,
And we will kneel down here.

_Vio._ Wenches away, for here are men.

_Val._ Fair maid, I pray you stay.

_Vio._ Alas, agen?

_Rich._ Why do you lay hold on her? I pray heartily let her go.

_Val._ With all my heart, I do not mean to hurt her.

_Rich._ But stand away then for the purest bodies
Will soonest take infection, stand away,
But for infecting her my self, by heaven,
I would come there, and beat thee further off.

_Vio._ I know that voice and face.

_Val._ You are finely mad, g[o]dbwy Sir, now you are here together,
I'll leave [y]ou so, god send you good luck, both; when you are
soberer, you'll give me thanks. [_Exit._

_Madg._ Wilt thou go milk? come.

_Nan._ Why dost not come?

_Madge._ She nods, she's asleep.

_Nan._ What wert up so early?

_Madge._ I think yon man's mad to kneel there, nay [come] away, uds
body, _Nan_, help, she looks black i'th face, She's in a sound.

_Nan._ And you be a man, come hither, and help a woman.

_Rich._ Come thither? you are a fool.

_Nan._ And you a knave and a beast that you are.

_Rich._ Come hither, 'twas my being now so near,
That made [her] swound, and you are wicked people,
Or you wou'd do so too; my venom eyes
Strike innocency dead at such a distance,
Here I'll kneel, for this is out of distance.

_Nan._ Th'art a prating ass, there's no goodness in thee,
I warrant, how dost thou?

_Vio._ Why? well.

_Madge._ Art thou able to go?

_Vio._ No, pray go you and milk, if I be able to come
I'll follow you, if not, Til sit here,
Till you come back.

_Nan._ I am loth to leave thee here with yon wild fool.

_Vio._ I know him well, I warrant thee he will not hurt me.

_Madge._ Come then _Nan_. [_Exeunt Maids._

_Rich._ How do you? be not fearfull, for I hold my hands
Before my mouth, and speak, and so
My breath can never blast you.

_Vio._ 'Twas enough to use me ill, though you had never sought me to
mock me, why kneel you so far off, were not that gesture better us'd
in prayer, had I dealt so with you, I should not sleep, till [God] and
you had both forgiven me.

_Rich._ I do not mock, nor lives there such a villain
That can do any thing contemptible
To you, but I do kneel, because it is
An action very fit and reverent,
In presence of so pure a creature,
And so far off, as fearful to offend,
One too much wrong'd already.

_Vio._ You confess you did the fault, yet scorn to come,
So far as hither, to ask pardon for't;
Which I could willingly afford to come,
To you to grant, good Sir if you have
A better love, may you be blest together.
She shall not wish you better than I will,
I but offend you, there are all the Jewels
I stole, and all the love I ever had,
I leave behind with you, I'll carry none
To give another may the next maid you try
Love you no worse, nor be no worse than I.

_Rich._ Do not leave me yet for all my fault,
Search out the next things to impossible,
And put me on them when they are effected,
I may with better modesty receive
Forgiveness from you.

_Vio._ I will set no pennance,
To gain the great forgiveness you desire:
But to come hither and take me and it,
Or else I'll come and beg, so you will grant,
That you will be content to be forgiven.

_Rich._ Nay, I will come since you [will] have it so,
And since you please to pardon me I hope
Free from infection, here I am by you;
A careless man, a breaker of my faith,
A lothsome drunkard; and in that wild fury:
A hunter after whores: I do beseech you,
To pardon all these faults, and take me up
An honest, sober, and a faithful man.

_Vio._ For [gods] sake, urge your faults no more, but mend,
All the forgiveness I can make you, is,
To love you, which I will do, and desire
Nothing but love again, which if I have not
Yet I will love you still.

_Rich._ Oh Women, that some one of you will take,
An everlasting pen into your hands:
And grave in paper which the writ shall make,
More lasting than the marble Monuments,
Your matchless virtues to posterities:
Which the defective race of envious man,
Strive to conceal.

_Vio._ Methinks I would not now for any thing,
But you had mist me, I have made a story,
Will serve to waste many a winters fire
When we are old, I'll [tell] my daughters then,
The miseries their Mother had in love:
And say, my girls be wiser, yet I would not
Have had more wit my self, take up those Jewels,
For I think I hear my fellows coming.

_Enter the Milk-maids with their pails._

_Madge._ How dost thou now?

_Vio._ Why, very well I thank you, 'tis late, shall I haste home?

_Nan._ I prethee we shall be shent soundly.

_Madge._ Why does that railing man goe with us?

_Vio._ I prethee speak well of him, on my word,
He's an honest man.

_Nan._ There was never any so one's complexion, a Gentleman?
I'de be asham'd to have such a foul mouth. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Mother_, Alexander, Andrugio, _and his man_ Rowland.

_Moth._ How now _Alexander_, what Gentleman is this?

_Alex._ Indeed forsooth I know not, I found him at the market full of
woe, crying a lost daughter, and telling all her tokens to the people;
and what you wot? by all subscription in the world, it should be our
new Maid _Melvia_, one would little think it, therefore I was bold to
tell him of her Mistriss.

_Moth._ _Melvia?_ It cannot be, fool, alas you know she is a poor
wench, and I took her in upon mere charity.

_And._ So seem'd my daughter when she went away, as she had made her
self.

_Moth._ What stature was your child of, Sir?

_And._ Not high, and of a brown complexion,
Her Hair aborn, a round face, which some friends that flattered me,
would say 'twould be a good one.

_Alex._ This is still _Melvia_, Mistriss, that's the truth on't.

_Moth._ It may be so, I'll promise you.

_Alex._ Well, goe thy ways, the flower of our Town, for a hand and a
foot, I shall never see thy fellow.

_Moth._ But had she not such toyes, as Bracelets, Rings, and Jewels?

_And._ She was something bold indeed, to take such things that night
she left me.

_Moth._ Then belike she run away?

_And._ Though she be one I love, I dare not lye, she did indeed.

_Moth._ What think you of this Jewel?

_And._ Yes, this was one of them, and this was mine, you have made me
a new man, I thank you for it.

_Moth._ Nay, and she be given to filching, there is your Jewel, I am
clear on't: but by your leave, Sir, you shall answer me for what is
lost since she came hither, I can tell you, there lye things
scattering in every place about the house.

_Alex._ As I am virtuous, I have the lyingst old Gentlewoman to my
Mistriss, and the most malicious, the devil a good word will she give
a servant, that's her old rule; and God be thanked, they'll give her
as few, there is perfect love on both sides, it yearns my heart to
[heare] the wench misconstrued, a careful soul she is, I'll be sworn
for her, and when she's gone, let them say what they will, they may
cast their caps at such another.

_And._ What you have lost by her, with all my heart
I'll see you double paid for, you have say'd
With your kind pity, two that must not live
Unless it be to thank you; take this Jewel,
This strikes off none of her offences, Mistriss,
Would I might see her.

_Moth._ _Alexander_, run, and bid her make haste home, she's at the
milking Close; but tell her not by any means who's here, I know she'll
be too fearful.

_Alex._ Well, we'll have a posset yet at parting, that's my comfort,
and one round, or else I'll lose my Will. [_Exit._

_And._ You shall find _Silvio_, _Uberto_, and _Pedro_ enquiring for
the Wench at the next Town, tell them she is found, and where I am,
and with the favor of this Gentlewoman, desire them to come hither.

_Moth._ I pray do, they shall be all welcome. [_Exit Serv._

_Enter Justice,_ Curio, _and_ Mark.

_Just._ By your leave forsooth, you shall see me find the parties by a
slight.

_Moth._ Who's that, Mr. Justice? how do you, Sir?

_Just._ Why, very well, and busie, where's your Son?

_Moth._ He's within, Sir.

_Just._ Hum, and how does the young woman my Cosin, that came down
with him.

_Moth._ She's above, as a woman in her case may be.

_Just._ You have confest it? then sirrah call in the Officers: she's
no Cosin of mine; a mere trick to discover all.

_Moth._ To discover? what?

_Enter_ Mark _and Officers_.

_Just._ You shall know that anon: I think [you] have overreached you;
oh welcome, enter the house, and by virtue of my warrant which you
have there, seize upon the bodily persons of those whose names are
there written, to wit, one _Mercury_, and the wife of one _Antonio_.

_Moth._ For what.

_Just._ Away I say,
This Gentleman shall certifie you for what. [_Ex. Officer._

_Moth._ He can accuse my Son of nothing, he came from travel but
within these two days.

_Just._ There hangs a tale.

_Moth._ I should be sorry this should fall out at any time: but
especially now Sir; will you favour me so much, as to let me know of
what you accuse him?

_Cur._ Upon suspition of murther.

_Moth._ Murther? I defie thee.

_Cur._ I pray God he may prove himself innocent.

_Just._ Fie, say not so, you shew your self to be no good
Common-wealths man: for the more are hang'd the better 'tis for the
Common-wealth.

_Moth._ By this rule you were best hang your self.

_Just._ I forgive your honest mirth ever: Oh welcome, welcome _Mark_.

_Enter_ Mark _and Officers, with_ Mercury _and the Wife_.

Your Pen, Ink, and Paper, to take their examinations.

_Mer._ Why do you pull me so? I'll go alone.

_Just._ Let them stand, let them stand quietly, whilst they are
examin'd?

_Wife._ What will you examine us of?

_Just._ Of _Antonio's_ murther.

_Mer._ Why, he was my friend.

_Wife._ He was my Husband.

_Just._ The more shame for you both; _Mark_, your Pen and Ink.

_Moth._ Pray God all be well, I never knew any of these travellers
come to good; I beseech you, Sir, be favourable to my Son.

_Just._ Gentlewoman, hold you content, I would it were come to that!

_Mer._ For gods sake mother, why kneel you to such a pig-brib'd
fellow? he has surfeited of Geese, and they have put him into a fit of
Justice; let him do his worst.

_Just._ Is your paper ready?

_Mark._ I am ready, Sir.

_Enter_ Antonio.

_Just._ Accuse them, Sir, I command thee to lay down accusations
against these persons, in behalf of the State, and first look upon the
parties to be accus'd, and deliver your name.

_Cur._ My name is _Curio_, my murthered kinsman
If he were living now, I should not know him,
'Tis so long since we saw one another.

_Ant._ My Cosin _Curio_?

_Cur._ But thus much from the mouths of his servants, and others,
whose examinations I have in writing about me, I can accuse them of;
this _Mercury_, the last night, but this last, lay in _Antonio's_
house, and in the night he rose, raising _Antonio_, where privately
they were in talk an hour, to what end I know not: but of likelyhood,
finding _Antonio's_ house not a fit place to murder him in, he
suffered him to go to bed again, but in the morning early, he train'd
him I think forth, after which time he never saw his home; his cloaths
were found near the place where _Mercury_ was, and the people at first
denyed they saw him: but at last he made a friv[o]lous tale, that
there he shifted himself into a Footmans habit: but in short, the next
hour this woman went to _Mercury_, and in her Coach they posted
hither; true accusations, I have no more, and I will make none.

_Just._ No more? we need no more, sirrah, be drawing their Mittimus
before we hear their answer. What say you Sir? are you guilty of this
murther?

_Mer._ No Sir.

_Just._ Whether you are or no, confess, it will be the better for you.

_Mer._ If I were guilty, your Rhetorick could not fetch it forth: but
though I am innocent, I confess, that if I were a stander by, these
circ[u]mstances urg'd, which are true, would make me doubtless believe
the accused parties, to be guilty.

_Just._ Write down, that he being a stander by; for so you see he is,
doth doubtlesly believe the accused parties, which is himself to be
guilty.

_Mer._ I say no such thing.

_Just._ Write it down I say, we'll try that.

_Mer._ I care not what you write, pray God you did not kill him for my
love, though I am free from this, we both deserve--

_Wife._ Govern your tongue I pray you, all is well, my Husband lives,
I know it, and I see him.

_Just._ They whisper, sever them quickly I say, Officers, why do you
let them prompt one another, Gentlewoman, what say you to this, are
not you guilty?

_Wife._ No, as I hope for mercy.

_Just._ But are not those circumstances true, that this Gentleman hath
so shortly and methodically deliver'd?

_Wife._ They are, and what you do with me, I care not,
Since he is dead, in whom was all my care:
You knew him not.

_Just._ No, an't been better for you too, and you had never known him.