A Select Collection of Old English Plays - LightNovelsOnl.com
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PURSE. I'll not refuse it, were it puddle: by Styx, he is a bountiful gentleman, and I shall report him so. Here, Mistress Tickleman, shall I charge you?
TICKLE. Do your worst, serjeant: I'll pledge my young Spendall a whole sea, as they say: fa, la, la, la, la! Would the music were here again; I do begin to be wanton. Ipocras, sirrah, and a dry biscuit! Here, bawd, a carouse!
SWEAT. Bawd, i' faith! you begin to grow light i' the head. I pray no more such words; for, if you do, I shall grow into distempers.
TICKLE. Distempers! hang your distempers; be angry with me, and thou dar'st. I pray, who feeds you, but I? who keeps thy feather-beds from the brokers, but I? 'tis not your sausage-face, thick, clouted[164]
cream-rampallion[165] at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed bagpipe.
PURSE. Nay, sweet Mistress Tickleman, be concordant; reverence antiquity.
_Enter_ RASH, LONGFIELD, _and_ SPENDALL.
RASH. Save you, sweet creatures of beauty, save you: how now, old Beelzebub, how dost thou?
SWEAT. Beelzebub! Beelzebub in thy face!
SPEND. Nay, good words, Mistress Sweatman: he's a young gallant; you must not weigh what he says.
RASH. I would my lamentable complaining lover had been here: here had been a supersedeas for his melancholy; and, i' faith, Frank, I am glad my father has turned over his shop to thee. I hope I, or any friend of mine, shall have so much credit with thee, as to stand in thy books for a suit of satin.
SPEND. For a whole piece, if you please; any friend of yours shall command me to the last remnant.
RASH. Why, G.o.d-a-mercy, Frank; what, shall's to dice?
SPEND. Dice or drink: here's forty crowns: as long as that will last--anything.
RASH. Why, there spoke a gingling boy.
SPEND. A pox of money! 'tis but rubbish; and he that h.o.a.rds it up is but a scavenger. If there be cards i' the house, let's go to primero.
RASH. Primero! why, I thought thou hadst not been so much gamester as to play at it.
SPEND. Gamester! to say truth, I am none; but what is it I will not be in good company? I will fit myself to all humours; I will game with a gamester, drink with a drunkard, be civil with a citizen, fight with a swaggerer, and drab with a wh.o.r.emaster.
_Enter a_ SWAGGERER, _puffing_.
RASH. An excellent humour, i' faith.
LONG. Zounds! what have we here?
SPEND. A land-porpoise, I think.
RASH. This is no angry, nor no roaring boy, but a bl.u.s.tering boy: now, aeolus defend us! what puffs are these?
SWAG. I do smell a wh.o.r.e.
DRAWER. O gentlemen, give him good words; he's one of the roaring boys.
SWAG. Rogue!
DRAWER. Here, sir.
SWAG. Take my cloak, I must unbuckle; my pickled oysters work; puff, puff!
SPEND. Puff, puff!
SWAG. Dost thou retort--in opposition stand?
SPEND. Out, you swaggering rogue! zounds, I'll kick him out of the room!
[_Beats him away._
TICKLE. Out, alas! their naked tools are out.
SPEND. Fear not, sweetheart; come along with me. [_Exeunt omnes._
_Enter_ GERTRUDE _sola_.
GERT. Thrice-happy days they were, and too soon gone, When as the heart was coupled with the tongue; And no deceitful flattery or guile Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile.
Could women learn but that imperiousness, By which men use to stint our happiness, When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs By customary sighs and forced tears: To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint, But no abundance that we ever want, And still are begging; which too well they know Endears affection, and doth make it grow: Had we these sleights, how happy were we then, That we might glory over lovesick men!
But arts we know not, nor have any skill To feign a sour look to a pleasing will;
_Enter_ JOYCE.
Nor couch a secret love in show of hate: But, if we like, must be compa.s.sionate.
Yet I will strive to bridle and conceal The hid affection which my heart doth feel.
JOYCE. Now the boy with the bird-bolt[166] be praised! Nay, faith, sister, forward: 'twas an excellent pa.s.sion.[167] Come, let's hear, what is he? If he be a proper man, and have a black eye, a smooth chin, and a curled pate, take him, wench; if my father will not consent, run away with him, I'll help to convey you.
GERT. You talk strangely, sister.
JOYCE. Sister, sister, dissemble not with me, though you do mean to dissemble with your lover. Though you have protested to conceal your affection, by this tongue, you shall not; for I'll discover all, as soon as I know the gentleman.
GERT. Discover! what will you discover?
JOYCE. Marry, enough, I'll warrant thee. First and foremost, I'll tell him thou read'st love-pa.s.sions in print, and speakest every morning without book to thy looking-gla.s.s: next, that thou never sleepest till an hour after the bellman: that, as soon as thou art asleep, thou art in a dream, and in a dream thou art the kindest and comfortablest bed-fellow for kissings and embracings: by this hand, I cannot rest for thee: but our father----
_Enter_ SIR LIONEL.
SIR LIONEL. How now! what are you two consulting on? On husbands? You think you lose time, I am sure; but hold your own a little, girls; it shall not be long ere I'll provide for you: and for you, Gertrude, I have bethought myself already.
Whirlpit, the usurer, is late deceas'd: A man of unknown wealth, which he has left Unto a provident kinsman, as I hear, That was once servant to that unthrift Staines.
A prudent gentleman they say he is, And, as I take it, called Master Bubble.
JOYCE. Bubble! [_She makes a grimace._
SIR LIONEL. Yes, nimble-chaps; what say you to that?
JOYCE. Nothing; but that I wish his Christian name were Water.[168]
