Chapter XXII: Act V: Scene I

_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.

_Enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA.

PHIL. How well this gentleman keeps his promise too!
Sure there’s no trust in man.
VIO. They’re all Franciscos,
That’s my opinion, mistress; fools, or false ones.
He might have had the honesty yet, i’faith,
To send my master’s clothes home.
PHIL. Ay, those clothes!
VIO. Colliers come by the door every day, mistress—
Nay, this is market-day too, poulterers, butchers;
They would have lain most daintily in a pannier,
And kept veal from the wind.
PHIL. Those clothes much trouble me.
VIO. Faith, and[669] he were a gentleman, as he seem’d
To be, they would trouble him too, I think;
Methinks he should have small desire to keep 'em.
PHIL. Faith, and less pride to wear 'em, I should
think, wench,
Unless he kept 'em as a testimony
For after-times, to shew what misery
He past in his young days, and then weep o’er 'em.
VIO. Weep, mistress?
Nay, sure, methinks he should not weep for laughing.

_Enter_ MARTINO.

PHIL. Martino? O, we’re spoil’d, wench! are they come
then?
MAR. Mistress, be of good cheer, I’ve excellent news
for you;
Comfort your heart. What have you to breakfast,
mistress?
You shall have all again, I warrant you.
PHIL. What says he, wench?
VIO. I’m loath to understand him.
MAR. Give me a note of all your things, sweet
mistress;
You shall not lose a hair, take’t of my word;
We have him safe enough.
PHIL. O, 'las, sweet wench,
This man talks fearfully!
VIO. And I know not what yet;
That’s the worst, mistress.
MAR. Can you tell me, pray,
Whether the rascal has broke ope my desk or no?
There’s a fine little barrel of pome-citrons
Would have serv’d me this seven year: O, and my
fig-cheese!
The fig[670] of everlasting obloquy
Go with him, if he have eat it! I’ll make haste;
He cannot eat it all yet. He was taken, mistress,
Grossly and beastly; how do you think, i’faith?
PHIL. I know not, sir.
MAR. Troth, in my master’s clothes:
Would any thief but a beast been taken so?
PHIL. Wench, wench!
VIO. I have grief enough of mine own to tend,
mistress.
PHIL. Did he confess the robbery?
MAR. O no, no, mistress;
He’s a young cunning rascal, he confess’d nothing;
While we were examining on him, he took away
My master’s purse and mine, but confess’d nothing still.
PHIL. That’s but some slanderous injury rais’d against
him.—
[_Aside._
Came not your master with you?
MAR. No, sweet mistress:
I must make haste and meet him; pray, despatch me then.
PHIL. I’ve look’d o’er all with special heedfulness;
There’s nothing miss’d, I can assure you, sir,
But that suit of your master’s.
MAR. I’m right glad on’t:
That suit would hang him, yet I would not have
Him hang’d in that suit though; it will disgrace
My master’s fashion for ever, and make it as hateful
As yellow bands.[671] [_Exit._
PHIL. O what shall’s do, wench?
VIO. ’Tis no marvel, mistress,
The poor young gentleman could not keep his promise.
PHIL. Alas, sweet man, has confess’d nothing yet,
wench!
VIO. That shews his constancy and love to you,
mistress:
But you must do’t of force, there is no help for’t,
The truth can neither shame nor hurt you much;
Let 'em make what they can on’t. 'Twere sin and pity,
i’faith,
To cast away so sweet a gentleman
For such a pair of infidel hose[672] and doublet;
I’d not hang a Jew for a whole wardrobe on 'em.
PHIL. Thou say’st true, wench.

_Enter_ MARTIA, _disguised as before_.

VIO. O, O, they’re come again, mistress!
PHIL. Signor Ansaldo?
MARTIA. The same; mightily cross’d, lady,
But, past hope, freed again by a doctor’s means,
A man of art, I know not justly what indeed;
But pity, and the fortunate gold you gave me,
Wrought my release between 'em.
PHIL. Met you not
My husband’s man?
MARTIA. I took such strange ways, lady,
I hardly met a creature.
PHIL. O, most welcome!
VIO. But how shall we bestow him now we have him,
mistress?
PHIL. Alas, that’s true!
VIO. Martino may come back again.
PHIL. Step you into that little chamber speedily,
sir,—
And dress him up in one of my gowns and head-tires,
His youth will well endure it.
VIO. That will be admirable.
PHIL. Nay, do’t, do’t quickly then, and cut that suit
Into a hundred pieces, that it may never
Be known again.
VIO. A hundred? nay, ten thousand at the least,
mistress; for if there be a piece of that suit left as
big as my nail, the deed will come out: ’tis worse than
a murder; I fear 'twill never be hid.
PHIL. Away, do your endeavour, and despatch, wench.
[_Exeunt_ VIOLETTA _and_ MARTIA.
I’ve thought upon a way of certain safety,
And I may keep him while I have him too,
Without suspicion now; I’ve heard o’ th’ like:
A gentleman, that for a lady’s love
Was thought six months her woman, tended on her
In her own garments, and she being a widow,
Lay night by night with her in way of comfort;
Marry, in conclusion, match they did together:
Would I’d a copy of the same conclusion!

_Enter_ BRANDINO _with a writing_.

He’s come himself now. If thou be’st a happy wench,
Be fortunate in thy speed! I’ll delay time
With all the means I can.—O, welcome, sir!
BRAN. I’ll speak to you anon, wife, and kiss you
shortly;
I’m very busy yet: [_reads_] _Cocksey-down, Memberry,
Her manor-house at Well-dun_.
PHIL. What’s that, good sir?
BRAN. The widow’s, your sweet sister’s deed of gift;
Sh’as made all her estate over to me, wench;
She’ll be too hard for 'em all: and now come buss me,
Good luck after thieves’ handsel.
PHIL. O ’tis happy, sir,
You have him fast!
BRAN. I ha’ laid him safe enough, wench.
PHIL. I was so lost in joy at the report on’t,
I quite forgot one thing to tell Martino.
BRAN. What’s that, sweet blood?
PHIL. He and his villains, sir,
Robb’d a sweet gentlewoman last night.
BRAN. A gentlewoman?
PHIL. Nay, most uncivilly and basely stript her, sir.
BRAN. O barbarous slaves!
PHIL. I was even fain, for womanhood’s sake,
Alas, and charity’s, to receive her in,
And clothe her poor wants in a suit of mine.
BRAN. 'Twas most religiously done; I long for her.
Who have I brought to see thee, think’st thou, woman?
PHIL. Nay, sir, I know not.
BRAN. Guess, I prithee, heartily;
An enemy of thine.
PHIL. That I hope you have not, sir.
BRAN. But all was done in jest: he cries thee mercy;
Francisco, sirrah.[673]
PHIL. O, I think not on him!
BRAN. That letter was but writ to try thy constancy;
He confess’d all to me.
PHIL. Joy on him, sir!

_Enter_ FRANCISCO.

So far am I from malice, look you, sir——
Welcome, sweet signor; but I’ll ne’er trust you, sir.
BRAN. Faith, I’m beholding[674] to thee, wife, for
this.
FRAN. Methinks I enter now this house with joy,
Sweet peace, and quietness of conscience;
I wear no guilty blush upon my cheek
For a sin stampt last midnight: I can talk now
With that kind man, and not abuse him inwardly
With any scornful thought made of his shame:
What a sweet being[675] is an honest mind!
It speaks peace to itself and all mankind. [_Aside._

_Re-enter_ MARTINO.

BRAN. Martino!
MAR. Master?
BRAN. There’s another robbery done, sirrah,
By the same party.
MAR. What? your worship mocks,
Under correction.
PHIL. I forgot to tell thee;
He robb’d a lovely gentlewoman.
MAR. O pagan!
This fellow will be ston’d to death with pipkins;
Your women in the suburbs will so maul him
With broken cruises and pitchers without ears,
He’ll never die alive, that’s my opinion.

_Re-enter_ MARTIA _dressed as a woman, and_ VIOLETTA.

PHIL. Look you, your judgments, gentlemen;—yours
especially,
Signor Francisco, whose mere[676] object now
Is woman at these years, that’s the eye-saint, I know,
Amongst young gallants:—husband, you’ve a glimpse too;
You offer half an eye, as old as you are.
BRAN. Byrlady,[677] better, wench; an eye and a half,
I trow;
I should be sorry else.
PHIL. What think you now, sirs,
Is’t not a goodly, manly gentlewoman?
BRAN. Beshrew my heart else, wife.—
Pray, soft a little, signor; you’re but my guest,
remember;
I’m master of the house, I’ll have the first buss.
PHIL. But, husband, ’tis the courtesy of all places
To give a stranger ever the first bit.
BRAN. In woodcock or so; but there’s no heed to be taken
in mutton;[678] we commonly fall so roundly to that, we
forget ourselves.—
I’m sorry for thy fortune, but thou’rt welcome, lady.
[_Kisses_ MARTIA.
MAR. My master kisses as I’ve heard a hackney-man[679]
Cheer up his mare,—chap, chap! [_Aside._
BRAN. I have him fast, lady,
And he shall lie by’t close.
MARTIA. You cannot do me
A greater pleasure, sir.
BRAN. I’m happily glad on’t.
FRAN. [_after kissing_ MARTIA] Methinks there’s
somewhat whispers in my soul,
This is the hour I must begin my acquaintance
With honest love, and banish all loose thoughts;
My fate speaks to me from the modest eye
Of yon sweet gentlewoman. [_Aside._
PHIL. Wench, wench!
VIO. Pish, hold in your breath, mistress;
If you be seen to laugh, you spoil all presently:
I keep it in with all the might I have—puh!
MARTIA. Pray, what young gentleman’s that, sir?
BRAN. An honest boy, i’faith,
And come[680] of a good kind; dost like him, lady?
I would thou hadst him, and[681] thou be’st not
promis’d;
He’s worth ten thousand dollars.
VIO. By this light, mistress,
My master will go near to make a match anon:
Methinks I dream of admirable sport, mistress.
PHIL. Peace; thou’rt a drab.
BRAN. Come hither now, Francisco:
I’ve known the time I’ve had a better stomach;
Now I can dine with looking upon meat.
FRAN. That face deserv’d a better fortune, lady,
Than last night’s rudeness shew’d.
MARTIA. We cannot be
Our choosers, sir, in our own destiny.
FRAN. I return better pleas’d than when I went.
MAR. And could that beastly imp rob you, forsooth?
MARTIA. Most true, forsooth.
I will not altogether, sir, disgrace you,
Because you look half like a gentleman.
MAR. And that’s the mother’s half.
MARTIA. There’s my hand for you.
MAR. I swear you could not give me any thing
I love better, a hand gets me my living:
O sweet lemon-peel! [_Kisses_ MARTIA’S _hand_.
FRAN. May I request a modest word or two,
Lady, in private with you?
MARTIA. With me, sir?
FRAN. To make it sure from all suspect of injury
Or unbeseeming privacy, which heaven knows
Is not my aim now, I’ll entreat this gentleman
For an ear-witness unto all our conference.
MARTIA. Why, so, I am content, sir.
BRAN. So am I, lady.
[_Exeunt_ MARTIA _and_ FRANCISCO.
MAR. O master, here is a rare bedfellow
For my mistress to-night! for you know we must
Both out of town again.
BRAN. That’s true, Martino.
MAR. I do but think how they’ll lie telling of tales
together,
The prettiest!
BRAN. The prettiest[682] indeed.
MAR. Their tongues will never lin[683] wagging,
master.
BRAN. Never,
Martino, never. [_Exeunt_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO
_severally_.
PHIL. Take heed you be not heard.
VIO. I fear you most, mistress.
PHIL. Me, fool? ha, ha!
VIO. Why, look you, mistress, faith, you’re faulty;
ha, ha!
PHIL. Well said, i’faith; where lies the fault now,
gossip?
VIO. O for a husband! I shall burst with laughing
else;
This house is able to spoil any maid.
PHIL. I’ll be reveng’d now soundly of Francisco,
For failing me when time was.
VIO. Are you there, mistress? I thought you would not
forget that, however: a good turn disappointed is ever
the last thing that a woman forgives, she’ll scarce do’t
when she’s speechless; nay, though she hold up her whole
hand for all other injuries, she’ll forgive that but
with one finger.

PHIL. I’ll vex his heart as much as he mock’d mine.
VIO. But that may mar your hopes too, if our
gentlewoman
Be known to be a man.
PHIL. Not as I’ll work it;
I would not lose this sweet revenge, methinks,
For a whole fortnight of the old man’s absence,
Which is the sweetest benefit next to this.—

_Re-enter_ MARTIA.

Why, how now, sir? what course take you for laughing?
We are undone for one.
MARTIA. Faith, with great pain
Stifle it, and keep it in; I ha’ no receipt for’t.
But, pray, in sadness,[684] say, what is the gentleman?
I never knew his like for tedious urgings,
He will receive no answer.
PHIL. Would he would not, sir!
MARTIA. Says I’m ordain’d for him, merely for him,
And that his wiving fate speaks in me to him;
Will force on me a jointure speedily
Of some seven thousand dollars.
PHIL. Would thou hadst 'em, sir!
I know he can and[685] he will.
MARTIA. For wonder’s pity,
What is this gentleman?
PHIL. Faith, shall I tell you, sir?
One that would make an excellent, honest husband,
For her that’s a just maid at one and twenty;
For, on my conscience, he has his maidenhead yet.
MARTIA. Fie, out upon him, beast!
PHIL. Sir, if you love me,
Give way but to one thing I shall request of you.
MARTIA. Your courtesies, you know, may lay commands on
me.
PHIL. Then, at his next solicitings, let a consent
Seem to come from you; 'twill make noble sport, sir,
We’ll get jointure and all; but you must bear
Yourself most affable to all his purposes.
MARTIA. I can do that.
PHIL. Ay, and take heed of laughing.
MARTIA. I’ve bide the worst of that already, lady.
PHIL. Peace, set your countenance then, for here he
comes.

_Re-enter_ FRANCISCO.

FRAN. There is no middle continent in this passion;
I feel it, since it must be love or death,
It was ordain’d for one. [_Aside._
PHIL. Signor Francisco,
I’m sorry ’twas your fortune in my house, sir,
To have so violent a stroke come to you;
The gentlewoman’s a stranger; pray, be counsell’d, sir,
Till you hear further of her friends and portion.
FRAN. ’Tis only but her love that I desire;
She comes most rich in that.
PHIL. But be advis’d though;
I think she’s a rich heir, but see the proof, sir,
Before you make her such a generous jointure.
FRAN. ’Tis mine, and I will do’t.
PHIL. She shall be yours too,
If I may rule her then.
FRAN. You speak all sweetness.
PHIL. She likes your person well; I tell you so much,
But take no note I said so.
FRAN. Not a word.
PHIL. Come, lady, come, the gentleman’s desertful,
And, o’ my conscience, honest.
MARTIA. Blame me not;
I am a maid, and fearful.
FRAN. Never truth
Came perfecter from man.
PHIL. Give her a lip-taste,
That she herself may praise it.
[FRANCISCO _kisses_ MARTIA, _and then exit with
her_, PHILIPPA, _and_ VIOLETTA.

_Re-enter_ BRANDINO.

BRAN. Yea, a match, i’faith!
My house is lucky for 'em.—

_Re-enter_ MARTINO.

Now, Martino?
MAR. Master, the widow has the day.
BRAN. The day?
MAR. Sh’as overthrown my youngster.
BRAN. Precious tidings!
Clap down four woodcocks more.
MAR. They’re all at hand, sir.
BRAN. What, both her adversaries too?
MAR. They’re come, sir.
BRAN. Go, bid the cook serve in two geese in a dish.
MAR. I like your conceit, master, beyond utterance.
[_Exit._

_Enter_ VALERIA, RICARDO, _and two Suitors_.

BRAN. Welcome, sweet sister! which is the man must have
you?
I’d welcome nobody else.
FIRST SUIT. Come to me then, sir.
BRAN. Are you he, faith, my chain of gold?[686] I’m
glad on’t.
VAL. I wonder you can have the face to follow me,
That have so prosecuted things against me.
But I ha’ resolv’d[687] myself ’tis done to spite me.
RIC. O dearth of truth!
SEC. SUIT. Nay, do not spoil thy hair;
Hold, hold, I say; I’ll get thee a widow somewhere.
RIC. If hand and faith be nothing for a contract,
What shall man hope?
SEC. SUIT. 'Twas wont to be enough, honey,
When there was honest meaning amongst widows;
But since your bribes came in, ’tis not allow’d
A contract without gifts to bind it fast;
Every thing now must have a feeling[688] first.—
Do I come near you, widow?
VAL. No, indeed, sir,
Nor ever shall, I hope:—and for your comfort, sir,
That sought all means t’ entrap me for my wealth,
Had law unfortunately put you upon me,
You’d lost your labour, all your aim and hopes, sir;
Here stands the honest gentleman, my brother,
To whom I’ve made a deed of gift of all.
BRAN. Ay, that she has, i’faith; I thank her,
gentlemen;
Look you here, sirs. [_Shews writing._
VAL. I must not look for pleasures,
That give more grief if they prove false, or fail us,
Than ever they gave joy.
FIRST SUIT. Ha’ you serv['d] me so, widow?
SEC. SUIT. I’m glad thou hast her not.—Laugh at him,
honey; ha, ha!
VAL. I must take one that loves me for myself:
Here’s an old gentleman looks not after wealth,
But virtue, manners, and conditions.[689]
FIRST SUIT. Yes, by my faith, I must have lordships
too, widow.
VAL. How, sir?
FIRST SUIT. Your manners, virtue, and conditions,
widow,
Are pretty things within doors, I like well on 'em;
But I must have somewhat without, lying or being
In the tenure or occupation of master[690] such a one,
ha?
Those are fine things indeed.
VAL. Why, sir, you swore to me it was for love.
FIRST SUIT. True; but there’s two words to a bargain
ever,
All the world over; and if love be one,
I’m sure money’s the other; ’tis no bargain else:
Pardon me, I must dine as well as sup, widow.
VAL. Cry mercy, I mistook you all this while, sir;
It was this ancient gentleman indeed,
Whom I crave pardon on.
SEC. SUIT. What of me, widow?
VAL. Alas, I’ve wrong’d you, sir! ’twas you that swore
You lov’d me for myself.
SEC. SUIT. By my troth, but I did not;
Come, father not your lies upon me, widow:
I love you for yourself?—Spit at me, gentlemen,
If ever I’d such a thought.—Fetch me in, widow!
You’ll find your reach too short.
VAL. Why, you’ve enough, you say.
SEC. SUIT. Ay, but I’ll have
My humour too; you never think of that;
They’re coach-horses, they go together still.
VAL. Whom should a widow trust? I’ll swear ’twas one
of you
That made me believe so.—Mass, think ’twas you, sir,
Now I remember me.
RIC. I swore too much,
To be believ’d so little.
VAL. Was it you then?
Beshrew my heart for wronging of you!—
RIC. Welcome blessing!
Are you mine faithfully now?
VAL. As love can make one.
FIRST SUIT. Why, this fills the commonwealth so full
of beggars,
Marrying for love, which none of mine shall do.
VAL. But, now I think on’t, we must part again, sir.
RIC. Again?
VAL. You’re in debt, and I, in doubt of all,
Left myself nothing too; we must not hold,
Want on both sides makes all affection cold:
I shall not keep you from that gentleman,
You’ll be his more than mine; and when he list,
He’ll make you lie from me in some sour prison;
Then let him take you now for altogether, sir,
For he that’s mine shall be all mine, or nothing.
RIC. I never felt the evil of my debts
’Till this afflicting minute.
SEC. SUIT. I’ll be mad
Once in my days: I have enough to cure me,
And I will have my humour; they are now
But desperate debts again, I ne’er look for 'em:
And ever since I knew what malice was,
I always held it sweeter to sow mischief
Than to receive money; ’tis the finer pleasure.
I’ll give him in his bonds, as 'twere in pity,
To make the match, and bring 'em both to beggary:
Then will they ne’er agree, that’s a sure point;
He’ll give her a black eye within these three days,
Beat half her teeth out by All-hallowtide,
And break the little household stuff they have
With throwing at one another: O sweet sport!—
[_Aside._
Come, widow, come, I’ll try your honesty:
Here to my honey you’ve made many proffers,
I fear they’re all but tricks.—Here are his debts,
gentlemen;
[_Shews bonds._
How I came by 'em I know best myself.—
Take him before us faithfully for your husband,
And he shall tear 'em all before your face, widow.
VAL. Else may all faith refuse me!
SEC. SUIT. Tear 'em, honey;
’Tis firm in law, a consideration given:
[RICARDO _tears the bonds_.
What, with thy teeth? thou’lt shortly tear her so,
That’s all my hope, thou’dst never had 'em else:
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
RIC. I’m now at liberty, widow.
VAL. I’ll be so too,
And then I come to thee.—Give me this from you, brother.
[_Takes writing._
BRAN. Hold, sister, sister!
VAL. Look you, the deed of gift, sir; I’m as free:
He that has me has all, and thou art he.
BOTH SUIT. How’s that?
VAL. You’re bobb’d; ’twas but a deed in trust,—
And all to prove thee, whom I’ve found most just.
BRAN. I’m bobb’d among the rest too; I’d have sworn
'T had been a thing for me and my heirs for ever;
If I’d but got it up to the black box above,
I[t] had been past redemption.
FIRST SUIT. How am I cheated!
SEC. SUIT. I hope you’ll have the conscience now to
pay me, sir.
RIC. O wicked man, sower of strife and envy,
Open not thy lips!
SEC. SUIT. How, how’s this?
RIC. Thou hast no charge[691] at all, no child of
thine own,
But two thou gott’st once of a scouring-woman,
And they’re both well provided for, they’re i’ th’
hospital:
Thou hast ten thousand pound to bury thee;
Hang thyself when thou wilt, a slave go with thee!
SEC. SUIT. I’m gone, my goodness comes all out
together:
I have enough, but I have not my humour. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ VIOLETTA.

VIO. O master, gentlemen, and you, sweet widow,—
I think you are no forwarder, yet I know not,—
If ever you be sure to laugh again,
Now is the time!
VAL. Why, what’s the matter, wench?
VIO. Ha, ha, ha!
BRAN. Speak, speak.
VIO. Ha!—a marriage,
A marriage; I cannot tell’t for laughing—ha, ha!
BRAN. A marriage? do you make that a laughing matter?
VIO. Ha!—ay, and you’ll make it so when you know all.
Hee they come,[692] here they come, one man married to
another!
VAL. How? man to man?
VIO. Ay, man to man, i’faith;
There’ll be good sport at night to bring 'em both to
bed:

_Re-enter_ MARTIA, PHILIPPA, _and_ FRANCISCO.

Do you see 'em now? ha, ha, ha!
FIRST SUIT. My daughter Martia!
MARTIA. O my father! your love and pardon, sir!
VAL. ’Tis she indeed, gentlemen.
MARTIA. I have been disobedient, I confess,
Unto your mind, and heaven has punish’d me
With much affliction since I fled your sight;
But finding reconcilement from above
In peace of heart, the next I hope’s your love.
FIRST SUIT. I cannot but forgive thee now I see thee;
Thou fledd’st a happy fortune of an old man,
But Francisco’s of a noble family,
Though he be somewhat spent.
FRAN. I lov’d her not, sir,
As she was yours, for I protest I knew’t not,
But for herself, sir, and her own deservings,
Which, had you been as foul as you’ve been spiteful,
I should have lov’d in her.
FIRST SUIT. Well, hold your prating, sir;
You are not like to lose by’t.
PHIL. O Violetta,
Who shall laugh at us now?
VIO. The child unborn, mistress.
MARTIA. Be good.
FRAN. Be honest.
MARTIA. Heaven will not let you sin, and[693] you’d be
careful.
FRAN. What means it sends to help you, think, and
mend,
You’re as much bound as we to praise that friend.
PHIL. I am so, and I will so.
MARTIA. Marry you speedily;
Children tame you, you’ll die like a wild beast else.
VIO. Ay, by my troth, should I. I’ve much ado
To forbear laughing now, more’s my hard fortune.

_Re-enter_ MARTINO.

MAR. O master, mistress, and you gentles all,
To horse, to horse presently, if you mean to do
Your country any service!
BRAN. Art not asham’d, Martino, to talk of horsing
So openly before young married couples thus?
MAR. It does concern the commonwealth, and me,
And you, master, and all: the thieves are taken.
MARTIA. What say’st, Martino?
MAR. La, here’s commonwealth’s-men!
The man of art, master, that cupp’d your eyes,
Is prov’d an arrant rascal; and his man,
That drew my tooth, an excellent purse-drawer—
I felt no pain in that, it went insensibly.
Such notable villanies confess’d!——
BRAN. Stop there, sir:
We will have time for them.—Come, gentlefolks,
Take a slight meal with us: but the best cheer
Is perfect joy, and that we wish all here.[694]
RIC. Stay, stay, sir; I’m as hungry of my widow,
As you can be upon your maid, believe it;
But we must come to our desires in order;
There’s duties to be paid ere we go further.—
He that without your likings leaves this place,
Is like one falls to meat and forgets grace;
And that’s not handsome, trust me, no:
Our rights being paid, and your loves understood,
My widow and my meat then do[695] me good.—
I ha’ no money, wench, I told thee true,—
For my report, pray let her hear’t from you.
[_Exeunt omnes._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A FAIR QUARREL.

_A Faire Quarrell. As it was Acted before the King and diuers times publikely by the Prince his Highnes Seruants. Written_

{ _By Thomas Midleton_ }
{ _and William Rowley._ } _Gentl._

_Printed at London for I. T. and are to bee sold at Christ Church Gate._ 1617. 4to.

During the same year copies were put forth with a fresh title-page,—_A Faire Quarrell. With new Additions of Mr. Chaughs and Trimtram’s Roaring, and the Bauds Song. Neuer before Printed_, &c.; these “new additions” being contained in three leaves, which the binder is desired to place “at the latter end of the fourth Act.” Another edition appeared in 1622, 4to.

On the title-page of the 4tos is a woodcut representing the Colonel and the Captain in combat, which has been copied into Strutt’s _Dress and Habits_, &c., Plate cxxxix.

Langbaine says, “The Plot of Fitz-allen, Russel, and Jane, is founded, as I suppose, on some Italian Novel, and may be read in English in the _Complaisant Companion_, octavo, p. 280. That part of the Physitian tempting Jane, and then accusing her, is founded on a Novel of Cynthio Giraldi: See Dec. 4. Nov. 5.” _Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 372.

TO THE

NOBLY DISPOSED, VIRTUOUS, AND FAITHFUL-BREASTED

ROBERT GREY, ESQUIRE,

ONE OF THE GROOMS OF HIS HIGHNESS’ BED-CHAMBER,

_His poor well-willer wisheth his best wishes, hic et supra_.

WORTHY SIR,

’Tis but a play, and a play is but a butt, against which many shoot many arrows of envy; ’tis the weaker part, and how much more noble shall it be in you to defend it: yet if it be (as some philosophers have left behind 'em), that this megacosm, this great world, is no more than a stage, where every one must act his part, you shall of necessity have many partakers, some long, some short, some indifferent, all some; whilst indeed the players themselves have the least part of it, for I know few that have lands (which are a part of the world), and therefore no grounded men; but howsoever they serve for mutes, happily they must wear good clothes for attendance, yet all have exits, and must all be stript in the tiring-house (viz. the grave), for none must carry any thing out of the stock. You see, sir, I write as I speak, and I speak as I am, and that’s excuse enough for me. I did not mean to write an epistle of praise to you; it looks so like a thing I know you love not, flattery, which you exceedingly hate actively, and unpleasingly accept passively: indeed, I meant to tell you your own, that is, that this child of the Muses is yours; whoever begat it, ’tis laid to your charge, and, for aught I know, you must father and keep it too: if it please you, I hope you shall not be ashamed of it neither, for it has been seen, though I say it, in good companies, and many have said it is a handsome, pretty-spoken infant. Now be your own judge; at your leisure look on it, at your pleasure laugh at it; and if you be sorry it is no better, you may be glad it is no bigger.

Yours ever,
WILLIAM ROWLEY.[696]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

RUSSELL, _brother to Lady Ager and father to Jane_.
_The Colonel._
CAPTAIN AGER, _son to Lady Ager_.
_Friends of the Colonel._
_Friends of Captain Ager._
FITZALLEN, _privately married to Jane_.
CHOUGH, _a Cornish gentleman_.
TRIMTRAM, _his servant_.
_Physician._
_Surgeon._
_Usher of the Roaring School._
CAPTAIN ALBO, _a pander_.
VAPOUR, _a tobacco-seller_.
_Sergeants, Roarers, Servants._

LADY AGER, _mother to the captain, and sister to
Russell_.
JANE, _daughter to Russell, and privately married to
Fitzallen_.
_The Colonel’s sister._
ANNE, _sister to the Physician_.
_Dutch Nurse._
MEG, _a bawd_.
PRISS, _a harlot_.

Scene, LONDON and its neighbourhood.

A FAIR QUARREL.