A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 72

JOC. What would Sir Gregory?

SIR GRE. That you would love me.

JOC. No; you must cast your slough first: can you see Ought in yourself worth loving? Have you ever, Since our unhappy meeting, us'd a gla.s.s, And not been startled in the sad perusal Of your affrightful physnomy? Sir, hear me; And let me beg your patience, if you hear Aught may disrelish you. When th' camel shall Trans-shape himself into a nimble weasel, Or such-like active creature, and this bunch, Which Nemesis has on your shoulders pitch'd (This bunch of grapes, I mean) shall levell'd be,

[_She lays her hand upon his shoulders._

And brought into proportion by a press Equally squeezing, till it shall retain Adonis' feature, I shall value you, And hug you for my consort. But till then Excuse my strangeness.

SAL. So; his cause is heard: He must unshape himself to gain her love.

MED. Sir Tristram Shorttool, have you ought to do In this pursuit of fancy?

SIR TRIS. Something, madam.

MED. But to small[134] purpose. Sir Tristram, you have been A man of reading, and on winter nights You told me tales (for that was all[135] you did), What strange adventures and what gallant acts Redoubted knights did for their ladies' sakes; But what did you for Medler all the while?

Did you e'er toss a pike or brandish blade For her dear sake? Go to, I shall conceal, And with a modest, bashful veil enshroud What sense bids me discover. Let me, sir, Advise you as a friend; for other styles, Relating to an husband, I shall never Henceforth resent them with a free comply: Love suits not well with your decrepit age; Let it be your chief care t' intend your health; Use caudles, cordials, julips, pectorals; Keep your feet warm; bind up your nape o' th' neck Close against chilling airs, that you may live An old man long; but take especial care You b.u.t.ton on your nightcap.

MOR. After th' new fas.h.i.+on With his loave-ears[136] without it.

[_Aside._

MED. This is all-- Only your absence.

MOR. So good night, Sir Tristram.

[_Aside._

SIR REU. Sweet Madam Tinder.

[SIR REUBEN _offers to kiss her_.

TIN. Keep your distance, sir; I love not to be touch'd.

SIR REU. Are you so hot, My tender tinder?

TIN. No, sir; look to the clime Where you inhabit; there's the torrid zone.

TIL. Yea, there goes the hare[137] away!

[_Aside._

SIR REU. Can you not love?

TIN. Not one that loves so many.

SIR REU. 'Las, pretty peat!

[_Offers to touch her._

TIN. Pray, sir, hold off your hand; Truck with your low-pric'd traders; I must tell you Mine honour's higher rated.

SIR REU. Be it so; I wish you would disclaim your alimony With that indiff'rent touch as you do love, You should not need a dispensation, madam; It should be granted unpet.i.tioned!

TIN. I'm confident it would; nor shall the coolness Of your affection bring me to an ebb Of favour with myself. Plant where you please, I'll henceforth scorn to hug my own disease.

TIL. So, Sir Reuben's despatched, and, like a ranger, may tappis[138] where he likes.

[_Aside._

SIR REU. But hark you, madam; what be these brave blades That thus accoutre you? Are they your Platonics, Hectors, or champion-haxters,[139] pimps or palliards, Or your choice cabinet-confidants?

TIN. You may exact accompt from them.

SIR REU. No, but I will not; Long since I've heard a proverb made me wise, And arm'd me cap-a-pie 'gainst such accounts: "Whos'e'er he be that tugs with dirty foes, He must be soil'd, admit he win or lose."

TIN. Shall I acquaint them with your adage, sir?

SIR REU. Do, if you please.

TIN. No, sir, I am too tender Of your endanger'd honour. Should a baffle Engage your fame, and I the instrument, It would disgust me.

SIR REU. You are wondrous kind; But, pray you, tell me, is this favourite, Or turnkey of your council, in the rank Of generous Hectors? I would be resolv'd, For it concerns me.

TIN. Pray, good sir, as how?

SIR REU. Since 'tis my fate, I would be branched n.o.bly, Lest mine adulterate line degenerate, And raze the ancient splendour of mine house, As many n.o.ble families have done By mixing with inferior apple-squires, Grooms, pages, ushers, which in time begot Such middle wits in this our middle region, None could distinguish them from Corydons, Nor well discover whence they might derive Their prime descent, unless it were by th' crest Their footmen wore, or what their coach presented In its rear quarter. All your Sir Reuben begs Aims mainly at your honour's privilege, Which s.h.i.+elded, I'm secure; and it is this: "Let choice hands meddle with your tinder-box!"

TIN. Make that your least of fears. We'll keep our fame, Amidst this freedom, still unblemished.

KNIGHTS. So we have all receiv'd their final answers.

SIR REU. Now[140] do I mean to draw up my rejoinder.

"He who will lose his wits or break his heart For such a wench as will not take his part, And will not shun what he may safely fly, May he a Bedlam or a beggar die!"

KNIGHTS. Farewell, inconstant ladies.

LADIES. Adieu, constant Acteons.

[_Exeunt omnes, the Ladies ushered in by their Confidants._

ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ TWO CITIZENS.