Chapter XXVI: Act IV: Scene I

QUOMODO’s _Shop_.

_Enter_ QUOMODO, SHORTYARD _and_ FALSELIGHT _disguised
as before,[1093] after whom_ EASY _follows hard_.

SHO. Made fools of us! not to be found!
QUO. What, what?
EASY. Do not undo me quite, though, master Quomodo.
QUO. You’re very welcome, master Easy: I ha’ nothing to
say to you; I’ll not touch you; you may go when you
please; I have good bail here, I thank their worships.
EASY. What shall I say, or whom shall I beseech?
SHO. Gentlemen! ’slid, they were born to undo us, I
think: but, for my part, I’ll make an oath before master
Quomodo here, ne’er to do gentlemen good while I live.
FAL. I’ll not be long behind you.
SHO. Away! if you had any grace in you, you would be
ashamed to look us i’ th’ face, i-wis:[1094] I wonder
with what brow you can come amongst us. I should seek my
fortunes far enough, if I were you; and neither return
to Essex, to be a shame to my predecessors, nor remain
about London, to be a mock to my successors.
QUO. Subtle Shortyard! [_Aside._
SHO. Here are his lands forfeited to us, master Quomodo;
and to avoid the inconscionable trouble of law, all the
assurance he made to us we willingly resign to you.
QUO. What shall I do with rubbish? give me money: ’tis
for your worships to have land, that keep great houses;
I should be hoisted.
SHO. But, master Quomodo, if you would but conceive it
aright, the land would fall fitter to you than to us.
EASY. Curtsying about my land! [_Aside._
SHO. You have a towardly son and heir, as we hear.
QUO. I must needs say, he is a Templar indeed.
SHO. We have neither posterity in town, nor hope for any
abroad: we have wives, but the marks have been out of
their mouths these twenty years; and, as it appears,
they did little good when they were in. We could not
stand about it, sir; to get riches and children too,
’tis more than one man can do: and I am of those
citizens’ minds that say, let our wives make shift for
children and[1095] they will, they get none of us; and I
cannot think, but he that has both much wealth and many
children has had more helps coming in than himself.
QUO. I am not a bow wide[1096] of your mind, sir: and
for the thrifty and covetous hopes I have in my son and
heir, Sim Quomodo, that he will never trust his land in
wax and parchment, as many gentlemen have done before
him——
EASY. A by-blow for me. [_Aside._

_Enter_ THOMASINE.

QUO. I will honestly discharge you, and receive it in
due form and order of law, to strengthen it for ever to
my son and heir, that he may undoubtedly enter upon’t
without the let[1097] or molestation of any man, at his
or our pleasure whensoever.
SHO. ’Tis so assured unto you.
QUO. Why, then, master Easy, you’re a free man, sir; you
may deal in what you please, and go whither you
will.—Why, Thomasine, master Easy is come from Essex;
bid him welcome in a cup of small beer.
THO. Not only vild,[1098] but in it tyrannous.
[_Aside._
QUO. If it please you, sir, you know the house; you may
visit us often, and dine with us once a-quarter.
EASY. Confusion light on you, your wealth, and heir!
Worm gnaw your conscience as the moth your ware!
I am not the first heir that robb’d or begg’d.
[_Exit._
QUO. Excellent, excellent, sweet spirits![1099]
[_Exit_ THOMASINE.
SHO. Landed master Quomodo!
QUO. Delicate Shortyard, commodious Falselight,
Hug and away, shift, shift:
’Tis slight,[1100] not strength, that gives the greatest
lift. [_Exeunt_ SHORTYARD _and_ FALSELIGHT.
Now my desires are full,—for this time.
Men may have cormorant wishes, but, alas,
A little thing, three hundred pound a-year,
Suffices nature, keeps life and soul together!
I’ll have ’emlopt[1101] immediately; I long
To warm myself by th’ wood.
A fine journey in the Whitsun holydays, i’faith, to
ride down with a number of citizens and their wives,
some upon pillions, some upon side-saddles, I and
little Thomasine i’ th’ middle, our son and heir, Sim
Quomodo, in a peach-colour taffeta jacket, some horse-
length, or a long yard before us;—there will be a fine
show on’s, I can tell you;—where we citizens will
laugh and lie down,[1102] get all our wives with child
against a bank, and get up again. Stay; hah! hast thou
that wit, i’faith? ’twill be admirable: to see how the
very thought of green fields puts a man into sweet
inventions! I will presently possess Sim Quomodo of
all the land; I have a toy[1103] and I’ll do’t: and
because I see before mine eyes that most of our heirs
prove notorious rioters after our deaths, and that
cozenage in the father wheels about to folly in the
son, our posterity commonly foiled at the same weapon
at which we played rarely; and being the world’s
beaten[1104] word,—what’s got over the devil’s back
(that’s by knavery) must be spent under his belly
(that’s by lechery): being awake in these knowings,
why should not I oppose ’emnow, and break Destiny of
her custom, preventing that by policy, which without
it must needs be destiny? And I have took the course:
I will forthwith sicken, call for my keys, make my
will, and dispose of all; give my son this blessing,
that he trust no man, keep his hand from a quean and a
scrivener, live in his father’s faith, and do good to
nobody: then will I begin to rave like a fellow of a
wide conscience, and, for all the world, counterfeit
to the life that which I know I shall do when I die;
take on[1105] for my gold, my lands, and my writings,
grow worse and worse, call upon the devil, and so make
an end. By this time I have indented with a couple of
searchers,[1106] who, to uphold my device, shall fray
them out a’ th’ chamber with report of sickness; and
so, la, I start up, and recover again! for in this
business I will trust, no, not my spirits,[1107]
Falselight and Shortyard, but, in disguise, note the
condition of all; how pitiful my wife takes my death,
which will appear by November in her eye, and the fall
of the leaf in her body, but especially by the cost
she bestows upon my funeral, there shall I try her
love and regard; my daughter’s marrying to my will and
liking; and my son’s affection after my disposing:
for, to conclude, I am as jealous of this land as of
my wife, to know what would become of it after my
decease. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_The Country Wench’s Lodging._

_Enter Country Wench and Father._

FA. Though I be poor, ’tis my glory to live honest.
COUN. W. I prithee, do not leave me.
FA. To be bawd!
Hell has not such an office.
I thought at first your mind had been preserv’d
In virtue and in modesty of blood;
That such a face had not been made to please
Th’ unsettled appetites of several men;
Those eyes turn’d up through prayer, not through lust:
But you are wicked, and my thoughts unjust.
COUN. W. Why, thou art an unreasonable fellow, i’faith.
Do not all trades live by their ware, and yet called
honest livers? do they not thrive best when they utter
most, and make it away by the great?[1108] is not whole-
sale the chiefest merchandise? do you think some
merchants could keep their wives so brave[1109] but for
their whole-sale? you’re foully deceived and[1110] you
think so.
FA. You are so glu’d to punishment and shame.
Your words e’en deserve whipping.
To bear the habit of a gentlewoman,
And be in mind so distant!
COUN. W. Why, you fool you, are not gentlewomen sinners?
and there’s no courageous sinner amongst us but was a
gentlewoman by the mother’s side, I warrant you:
besides, we are not always bound to think those our
fathers that marry our mothers, but those that lie with
our mothers; and they may be gentlemen born, and born
again for ought we know, you know.

FA. True:
Corruption may well be generation’s first;
We’re bad by nature, but by custom worst.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

QUOMODO’s _Shop_.

THO. [_within_] O, my husband![1111]'
SIM. [_within_] My father, O, my father!
FAL. [_within_] My sweet master, dead!

_Enter_ SHORTYARD _and Boy_.

SHO. Run, boy; bid ’em ring out; he’s dead, he’s
gone.
BOY. Then is as arrant a knave gone as e’er was called
upon. [_Exit._
SHO. The happiest good that ever Shortyard felt!
I want to be express’d, my mirth is such.
To be struck now e’en when his joys were high!
Men only kiss their knaveries, and so die;
I’ve often mark’d it.
He was a famous cozener while he liv’d,
And now his son shall reap’t;[1112] I’ll ha’ the lands,
Let him study law after; ’tis no labour
To undo him for ever: but for Easy,
Only good confidence did make him foolish,
And not the lack of sense; that was not it:
’Tis worldly craft beats down a scholar’s wit.
For this our son and heir now, he
From his conception was entail’d an ass,
And he has kept it well, twenty-five years now:
Then the slightest art will do’t; the lands lie fair:
No sin to beggar a deceiver’s heir. [_Exit._
[_Bell tolls._

_Enter_ THOMASINE _and_ WINEFRED _in haste_.

THO. Here, Winefred, here, here, here; I have always
found thee secret.
WIN. You shall always find me so, mistress.
THO. Take this letter and this ring——
[_Giving them._
WIN. Yes, forsooth.
THO. O, how all the parts about me shake!—inquire for
one master Easy, at his old lodging i’ the Blackfriars.
WIN. I will indeed, forsooth.
THO. Tell him, the party that sent him a hundred pound
t’other day to comfort his heart, has likewise sent him
this letter and this ring, which has that virtue to
recover him again for ever, say: name nobody, Winefred.
WIN. Not so much as you, forsooth.
THO. Good girl! thou shalt have a mourning-gown at the
burial of mine honesty.
WIN. And I’ll effect your will a’ my fidelity.
[_Exit._
THO. I do account myself the happiest widow that ever
counterfeited weeping, in that I have the leisure now
both to do that gentleman good and do myself a pleasure;
but I must seem like a hanging moon, a little waterish
awhile.

_Enter_ REARAGE _and Country Wench’s Father_.

REAR. I entertain both thee and thy device;
’Twill put ’emboth to shame.
FA. That is my hope, sir;
Especially that strumpet.
REAR. Save you, sweet widow!
I suffer for your heaviness.
THO. O master Rearage, I have lost the dearest husband
that ever woman did enjoy!
REAR. You must have patience yet.
THO. O, talk not to me of patience, and[1113] you love
me, good master Rearage.
REAR. Yet, if all tongues go right, he did not use you
so well as a man mought.[1114]
THO. Nay, that’s true indeed, master Rearage; he ne’er
used me so well as a woman might have been used, that’s
certain; in troth, ’t’as been our greatest falling out,
sir; and though it be the part of a widow to shew
herself a woman for her husband’s death, yet when I
remember all his unkindness, I cannot weep a stroke,
i’faith, master Rearage: and, therefore, wisely did a
great widow in this land comfort up another; Go to,
lady, quoth she, leave blubbering; thou thinkest upon
thy husband’s good parts when thou sheddest tears; do
but remember how often he has lain from thee, and how
many naughty slippery turns he has done thee, and thou
wilt ne’er weep for him, I warrant thee. You would not
think how that counsel has wrought with me, master
Rearage; I could not dispend another tear now, and[1115]
you would give me ne’er so much.
REAR. Why, I count you the wiser, widow; it shews you
have wisdom when you can check your passion:[1116] for
mine own part, I have no sense to sorrow for his death,
whose life was the only rub to my affection.
THO. Troth, and so it was to mine: but take courage now;
you’re a landed gentleman, and my daughter is seven
hundred pound strong to join with you.
REAR. But Lethe lies i’ th’ way.
THO. Let him lie still: You shall tread o’er him, or
I’ll fail in will.
REAR. Sweet widow! [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Before_ QUOMODO’s _door_.

_Enter_ QUOMODO _disguised as a Beadle_.

QUO. What a beloved man did I live! My servants gall
their fingers with ringing,[1117] my wife’s cheeks smart
with weeping, tears stand in every corner,—you may take
water in my house. But am not I a wise fool now? what if
my wife should take my death so to heart that she should
sicken upon’t, nay, swoon, nay, die? When did I hear of
a woman do so? let me see; now I remember me, I think
’twas before my time; yes, I have heard of those wives
that have wept, and sobbed, and swooned; marry, I never
heard but they recovered again; that’s a comfort, la,
that’s a comfort; and I hope so will mine. Peace; ’tis
near upon the time, I see: here comes the worshipful
Livery; I have the hospital boys;[1118] I perceive
little Thomasine will bestow cost of me.
I’ll listen to the common censure[1119] now,
How the world tongues me when my ear lies low.

_Enter the Livery, &c._

FIRST LIVERYMAN. Who, Quomodo? merely enrich’d by
shifts
And cozenages, believe it.
QUO. I see the world is very loath to praise me;
’Tis rawly friends with me: I cannot blame it,
For what I’ve[1120] done has been to vex and shame it.
Here comes my son, the hope, the landed heir,
One[1121] whose rare thrift will say, men’s tongues you
lie,
I’ll keep by law what was got craftily.

_Enter_ SIM.

Methinks I hear him say so:
He does salute the Livery with good grace
And solemn gesture. [_Aside._
O my young worshipful master, you have parted from a
dear father, a wise and provident father!
SIM. Art thou grown an ass now?
QUO. Such an honest father——
SIM. Prithee, beadle, leave thy lying; I am scarce able
to endure thee, i’faith: what honesty didst thou e’er
know by my father, speak? Rule your tongue, beadle, lest
I make you prove it; and then I know what will become of
you: ’tis the scurviest thing i’ th’ earth to belie the
dead so, and he’s a beastly son and heir that will stand
by and hear his father belied to his face; he will ne’er
prosper, I warrant him. Troth, if I be not ashamed to go
to church with him, I would I might be hanged; I
hear[1122] such filthy tales go on him. O, if I had
known he had been such a lewd[1123] fellow in his life,
he should ne’er have kept me company!
QUO. O, O, O! [_Aside._
SIM. But I am glad he’s gone, though ’twere long first:
Shortyard and I will revel it, i’faith; I have made him
my rent-gatherer already.
QUO. He shall be speedily disinherited, he gets not a
foot, not the crown of a mole-hill: I’ll sooner make a
courtier my heir, for teaching my wife tricks, than
thee, my most neglectful son. O, now the corse; I shall
observe yet farther. [_Aside._

_A coffin brought in,[1124] followed by_ THOMASINE,
SUSAN, THOMASINE’S _Mother, and other mourners_.

O my most modest, virtuous, and remembering wife! she
shall have all when I die, she shall have all.
[_Aside._

_Enter_ EASY.

THO. Master Easy? ’tis: O, what shift shall I make now?
[_Aside._]—O!

[_Falls down in a feigned swoon, while the coffin is
carried out; the mourners, except_ THOMASINE’S
_Mother, following it_.

QUO. Sweet wife, she swoons: I’ll let her alone, I’ll
have no mercy at this time; I’ll not see her, I’ll
follow the corse. [_Aside, and exit._
EASY. The devil grind thy bones, thou cozening rascal!
T.’S MOTH[1125] Give her a little more air; tilt up her
head.—Comfort thyself, good widow; do not fall like a
beast for a husband: there’s more than we can well tell
where to put ’em, good soul.
THO. O, I shall be well anon.
T.’S MOTH. Fie, you have no patience, i’faith: I have
buried four husbands, and never offered ’em such abuse.
THO. Cousin,[1126] how do you?
EASY. Sorry to see you ill, coz.
THO. The worst is past, I hope.
[_Pointing after the coffin._
EASY. I hope so too.
THO. Lend me your hand, sweet coz; I’ve[1127] troubled
you.
T.’S MOTH. No trouble indeed, forsooth.—Good cousin,
have a care of her, comfort her up as much as you can,
and all little enough, I warrant ye. [_Exit._
THO. My most sweet love!
EASY. My life is not so dear.
THO. I’ve[1128] always pitied you.
EASY. You’ve shewn it here,
And given the desperate hope.
THO. Delay not now; you’ve understood my love;
I’ve[1129] a priest ready; this is the fittest season.
No eye offends us: let this kiss[1130]
Restore thee to more wealth, me to more bliss.
EASY. The angels have provided for me. [_Exeunt._