A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 116

BUT. Your wife's come in, sir.

SCAR. Thou li'st, I have not a wife. None can be call'd True man and wife, but those whom heaven install'd, Say--

KATH. O my dear husband!

SCAR. You are very welcome. Peace: we'll have compliment.

Who are you, gentlewoman?

KATH. Sir, your distressed wife, and these your children,

SCAR. Mine! Where, how, begot?

Prove me by certain instance that's divine, That I should call them lawful, or thee mine.

KATH. Were we not married, sir?

SCAR. No; though we heard the words of ceremony, But had hands knit, as felons that wear fetters Forc'd upon them. For tell me, woman, Did e'er my love with sighs entreat thee mine?

Did ever I in willing conference Speak words, made half with tears, that I did love thee?

Or was I ever but glad to see thee, as all lovers are?

No, no, thou know'st I was not.

KATH. O me!

BUT. The more's the pity.

SCAR. But when I came to church, I did there stand, As water, whose forc'd breach[427] had drown'd my land.

Are you my wife, or these my children?

Why, 'tis impossible; for like the skies Without the sun's light, so look all your eyes; Dark, cloudy, thick, and full of heaviness; Within my country there was hope to see Me and my issue to be like our fathers, Upholders of our country all our life, Which should have been if I had wed a wife: Where now, As dropping leaves in autumn you look all, And I, that should uphold you, like to fall.

KATH. 'Twas nor shall be my fault, heaven bear me witness.

SCAR. Thou liest, strumpet, thou liest!

BUT. O sir!

SCAR. Peace, saucy Jack! strumpet, I say thou liest, For wife of mine thou art not, and these thy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds Whom I begot of thee with this unrest, That b.a.s.t.a.r.ds born are born not to be blest.

KATH. On me pour all your wrath, but not on them.

SCAR. On thee and them, for 'tis the end of l.u.s.t To scourge itself, heaven lingering to be just: Harlot!

KATH. Husband!

SCAR. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!

CHIL. Father!

BUT. What heart not pities this?

SCAR. Even in your cradle, you were accurs'd of heaven, Thou an adultress in my married arms.

And they that made the match, bawds to thy l.u.s.t: Ay, now you hang the head; shouldst have done so before, Then these had not been b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, thou a wh.o.r.e.

BUT. I can brook't no longer: sir, you do not well in this.

SCAR. Ha, slave!

BUT. 'Tis not the aim of gentry to bring forth Such harsh unrelish'd fruit unto their wines[428], And to their pretty--pretty children by my troth.

SCAR. How, rascal!

BUT. Sir, I must tell you, your progenitors, Two of the which these years were servant to, Had not such mists before their understanding, Thus to behave themselves.

SCAR. And you'll control me, sir!

BUT. Ay, I will.

SCAR. You rogue!

BUT. Ay, 'tis I will tell 'tis ungently done Thus to defame your wife, abuse your children: Wrong them, you wrong yourself; are they not yours?

SCAR. Pretty--pretty impudence, in faith.

BUT. Her whom you are bound to love, to rail against!

Those whom you are bound to keep, to spurn like dogs!

And you were not my master, I would tell you--

SCAR. What, slave? [_Draws_.

BUT. Put up your bird-spit, tut, I fear it not; In doing deeds so base, so vile as these, 'Tis but a kna, kna, kna--

SCAR. Rogue!

BUT. Tut, howsoever, 'tis a dishonest part, And in defence of these I throw off duty.

KATH. Good butler.

BUT. Peace, honest mistress, I will say you are wrong'd, Prove it upon him, even in his blood, his bones, His guts, his maw, his throat, his entrails.

SCAR. You runagate of threescore!

BUT. 'Tis better than a knave of three-and-twenty.

SCAR. Patience be my buckler!

As not to file[429] my hands in villain's blood; You knave, slave, trencher-groom!

Who is your master?

BUT. You, if you were a master.

SCAR. Off with your coat then, get you forth a-doors.