Classic Poem

ACT III. SCENE I.

Sir George Richley's House . Violetta's bedchamber .

As the curtain rises Brains is discovered, with a paper in his hand .

Bra . Sure this is it, my mistress and her maid are both fast still, I have watched under the bed all night, to rob her pocket of this paper, and I have done it. Some fellow, at this opportunity, would have wriggled himself into one of their flesh.
Vio . Who's there? Sensible?
Bra . Death! her tongue is awake already.
Vio . Who's in the chamber?
Bra . Help me, brains, before she wakes the t' other. — 'Tis I, forsooth, but looking for the chamber-pot.
Vio . Beshrew you for your noise.
Bra . Where's the door?
Sens . Who's there?
Bra . The t' otherspirit is raised in the trundle-bed.
What will become of me now?
Sens . Here's nobody.
Vio . Make an end, and get thee to bed.
Sens . An end of what? Does she talk in her sleep? she was not wont.
Bra . So, so!
Sens . [ going to the door .] — Ha! the spring is open,
I might forget to make it fast last night;
'Tis so; and happily some cur or cat
Has been in the chamber, for I hear a noise
About the door; I'll make it fast,
And so to bed again; I think it is day already.

SCENE II .

Another Room in the Same.

Enter Tutor in his gown, with a paper .

Tutor . So; this fancy, wrote for sir Nicholas, like a forked arrow, points two ways; wenches are caught with such conceits: they will imagine it none of his invention, then, — whose but mine? my person does invite more acceptation, but the father aims at the estate; no matter, if I can insinuate myself into her opinion; 'tis no impossibility; her portion will be enough for both.
Shall I live still dependant, and not seek
Ways to advance myself? busy my brains
In ballads to the giddy chambermaids?
Beggar myself with purse and pincushion?
When she that is the mistress may be mine?
'Twill be a masterpiece if I can gull him. —
But he's here already.

Enter TREEDLE with a paper .

Treed . Noble Tutor! 'morrow to you! have [you] finished the whimsey for my mistress already?
Tutor . I have done it; this paper carries the love-powder.
Treed . For fear you had forgotten me, I have made a quibbling in praise of her myself; such a one as will fetch up her heart, Tutor.
Tutor . That were a dangerous vomit, sir; take heed of that.
Treed . Ay, but I will not hurt her, I warrant thee, an she die within a twelvemonth and a day, I'll be hang'd for her.
Tutor . Will you, sir?
Treed . Marry will I. Look you, sir. — But first let me see your's. — Can you not write it in my own hand? I shall hardly read it.
Tutor . I'll read it to you.
Treed . Sir George! — Give me it!

Enter RICHLEY , and WORTHY .

Rich . See, they are at it.
Treed . And how do you like it?
Wor . 'Morrow, noble sir Nicholas.
Rich . 'Morrow, gentlemen!
Treed . 'Morrow to you both. — Sir George, I have been making poetry this morning.
Tutor . He has a subtle fancy.
Rich . What's the subject?
Tutor . No subject, but the queen of his affections.
Treed . I scorn subjects; 'tis my empress your daughter's merit hath set my Muse on fire.
Tutor . Read, sir.
Treed . No, you shall read them for me.
Tutor . 'Tis a hue and cry, sir.
Rich . A hue and cry! for what?
Treed . For what! why, for somewhat, I'll warrant you.
Tutor . You may call it Love's hue and cry .
Treed . Call it what you will, I know what it is.
Wor . Are you so poetical?
Treed . I have been dabbling in Helicon; next to travel, 'tis all my study. — Mark the invention.
In Love's name you are charged hereby
To make a speedy hue and cry,
After a face, who t' other day
Came and stole my heart away;
For your directions in brief
These are best marks to know the thief:
Her hair a net of beams would prove,
Strong enough to captive Jove,
Playing the eagle: her clear brow
Is a comely field of snow.
A sparkling eye, so pure a gray
As when it shines it needs no day.
Ivory dwelleth on her nose;
Lilies, married to the rose,
Have made her cheek the nuptial bed;
[Her] lips betray their virgin red,
As they only blush'd for this,
That they one another kiss;
But observe, beside the rest,
You shall know this felon best
By her tongue; for if your ear
Shall once a heavenly music hear,
Such as neither gods nor men
But from that voice shall hear again,
That, that is she, oh, take her t' ye,
None can rock heaven asleep but she.

Treed . How do you like my pippin of Parnassus, gentlemen?
Rich. Wor . Very handsome.
Treed . Nay, I'll warrant you, my Tutor has good furniture in him.
Wor . I do not think he made them.
Treed . Now you shall hear some verses of my own making.
Rich . Your own! did you not make these?
Tutor . He betrays himself.
Treed . Hum; yes, I made them too, my Tutor knows.
Tutor . I'll take my oath who made them.
Treed . But I wrote them for another gentleman that had a mistress.
Rich . My daughter, you said.
Treed . I may say so; but, that their faces are nothing alike, you would hardly know one from t' other. For your better understanding, I will read them myself. — Her foot —
Wor . Do you begin there?
Treed . Oh, I will rise by degrees.
Her foot is feat with diamond toes,
But she with legs of ruby goes:
Thighs loadstones, and do draw unto her
The iron pin of any wooer.
Wor . Precious conceit!
Treed . Her head —
Rich . Her head!
Wor . You were between her thighs but now.
Treed . 'Tis my conceit; I do now mean to go downwards again, and meet where I left, in the middle —
Her head is opal, neck of sapphire,
Breast carbuncles, shine like a fire;
And the naked truth to tell ye,
The very mother of pearl her belly.
How can she choose but hear my groans,
That is composed of precious stones?
Wor . Ay, marry, sir.
Treed . Now, if you like't, you may .
Wor . A word with you, sir: pray, what do you think of your pupil?
Tutor . I think nothing, sir.
Wor . But deal ingenuously; your opinion?
Tutor . Shall I tell you?
Wor . Pray, sir.
Tutor . Nothing.
Wor . I think so too. What doth my brother mean, to make this fond election?
Tutor . For my own part, you hear me say nothing; but the good parts and qualities of men are to be valued.
Wor . This fellow's a knave; I smell him.
Tutor . Something has some savour.
Treed . When you please; name your own time;
I'm ready to be married at midnight.
Rich . About a seven-night hence.
Treed . Let it be three or four, I care not how soon. Is breakfast ready?
Rich . It waits upon you.
Treed . I do love to eat and drink in a morning, though I fast all day after.
Rich . I'll follow, brother.
Wor . We'll both attend.

SCENE III.

Aimwell's Lodgings .

Enter AIMWELL with a letter .

Aim . This opportunity let my covetous eye
Take to enrich itself; but first prepare
With reverence, as to an altar, bring
No careless but religious beams along
With you to this new object; this small paper
Carries the volume of my human fate,
I hold my destiny betwixt two fingers,
And thus am I wrapt up without a name,
Being, or expectation of world's joy
More than this table (when the curtain's drawn)
Presents in character to my thirsty eyesight. —
Hail, thou ambassador from thine and my
Mistress, bringing peace, or unkind war,
Thou emblem of her whiteness, which I kiss,
And thus again salute.

Enter BOY and CLARE .

Boy . There he is, alone.
Clare . So, leave us.
Aim . Coming from her,
Can it be guilty of defiance to me?
Had she not meant me happy, she had given
My letter to the flame, and with it I,
In those thin ashes had been buried,
Nor had she deign'd this answer, which the circumstance
Of my receiving prompts me to believe
Gracious; the gentle messenger commended it,
Not as a thing she would have public, but
With eyes full of suspicion, (which had been
Needless, had she contemn'd my services;)
So, smilingly, departed. Thus I sent my paper,
Which what but love taught her to imitate?
Without a superscription. — [ seeing Clare .] — Oh, Clare, welcome,
welcome to that [shall make thy] heart dance in thy bosom if thou beest a friend, and canst rejoice to know me happy. You thought me ridiculous, and that I did with too much flattery of myself, expound your story. Had I been, like thee, of frosty apprehension, and cold phlegmatic judgment, I had missed a blessing that wanton Jove would have been rival for. Dost see this paper?
Clare . Nothing on the outside?
Aim . 'Tis inly precious.
Clare . You have not search'd the lining, that you promise so.
Aim . I see through it; hast thou not heard the perfect magnet
Will, though inclos'd within an ivory box,
Through the white wall shoot forth embracing virtue
To the loved needle? I can read it, Clare,
And read a joy in't that transports me; this
Came from my mistress; having touch'd her hand,
Whence it receiv'd a whiteness, hath it not
Brought incense too? dispersing a rich breath,
Sweeter than [all] Arabian spicery,
About the room, in which, while it remains,
We suck in perfum'd air. It came from her,
My honest Clare, from her, whose rare wit taught,
When in thy dull opinion I was lost,
My apprehension a new hope to thrive
In my ambitious love. — Excellent women!
The top of all creation, I shall be
At once too happy. — Unrip thou the seal,
Read it, and let thy voice convey it gently,
Lest I be surfeited. But why should any
Be honour'd to receive her [loving letter]
But I, to whom she hath directed it?
By thy leave, silent paper; — confident
Of bliss, I open my Elysium,
And let my soul into it. — Ha! —
Laden with mighty hopes, how desperately
Have I launch'd forth, and find a storm!
Clare . What's this? Your own letter return'd!
Can it be otherwise than in scorn?
Aim . In scorn!
Clare . Have you not now cause of triumph? who is now the truer prophet? You would nourish hope in spight of reason; now you feel a punishment in her derision.
Aim . Is this credible?
Clare . Credible! 'Tis no wonder in a woman;
Though she had promised, vow'd, affection to you,
It had not been a miracle to find
A change in her affection; yet you cannot
Accuse her much.
Aim . Appear'd I so unworthy,
That, mong so many ways she had to express
At what poor value she esteem'd my proffer'd
Service, her pride could find out none but this,
To send me mine own again!
Clare . Do but imagine
You sent a servant with a message to her,
She not within, he is return'd again
Without an answer.
Aim . Incivility!
She might have thank'd me, and subscrib'd her name;
I was not bound to her observance.
Clare . Come, be free again.
Aim . I will be so; with this
That I could cancel my affection!
Clare . What do you mean? it having touch'd her hand ,
Is full of incense and Arabian spicery;
You are too prodigal of your perfume.
Aim . Do not thou mock me, too.
Clare . Well, I have done.
Aim . Would I had so! I cannot empty all
My torment; wherefore should a man love woman?
Such airy mockeries; nothing but mere echos,
That owe their being to our opinion,
And in reward of honouring them, send back
As scornfully the language we bestow'd,
Out of our too much dotage.
Clare . If they send
All they receive from us, accuse them not,
We have our hearts again.
Aim . And I'll have mine.
I will, I have not yet; here wants a guest,
Invite him home again. Why should not I
Be as coy as she, and with as much neglect
Throw her behind my thoughts? Instruct me with
Witty revenge, and thou shalt see me toss
This shuttlecock with as much pride; and when
I'm sated with this sport, let fall this vanity
Into as low disdain, psha!
Clare. Nobly resolv'd!
Aim. Come, to a tavern; drench the memory
Of these poor thoughts.
Clare. Let's seek out master Fowler and Manly.
Aim. And, warm'd with sack, we'll try
Who can make satires best.
Clare. A match; let's to them.

SCENE IV.

Fowler's Lodgings

FOWLER , as if sick, upon a couch, and MANLY disguised as a physician, attending him: phials, &c. on a table.

Fow. An thou dost not play the doctor handsomely, I'll set the college of physicians upon thee, for practising without a license.
Man. Can you be sick?
Fow. I would but counterfeit.
Man. So must I the physician.
Fow. I have known a spruce empiric hath given his patient two or three stools with the bare repetition of crude words, and knotty sentences, which have come from him like a phlegm, which, besides the operation in the hearers, who admire him for it, while he beats like a drum, at their barrel head, and turns their brains like beer, does him the benefit to scour his own dirty maw, whose dregs else would putrify; and infest his cheeks worse than a gangrene.

Man. Are you sure she will visit you?
Fow. As sure as I am well; for, an I were sick and would sleep, I would rather take a nap on the ridge of Etna, and the fall of deafening Nilus, than endure the visitation of any of their tribe. — [ knocking within .] — One knocks; my pillow, and lay my head in the aching posture.

Enter AIMWELL and CLARE .

Man. 'Tis Aimwell and Clare.
Aim. Where's my witty bacchanalian? — How now? what means this apothecary's shop about thee? art physical?
Fow. Sick, sick.
Aim. Didst not look in a glass to-day? how scurvily this nightcap shews upon thee!
Clare. What's the disease?
Man. A fever, sir.
Aim. Hang fevers! let's to the tavern, and inflame ourselves with lusty wine; suck in the spirit of sack, till we be delphic, and prophesy, my bully-rook.
Fow. Alas!
Aim. A lass! is that the disease? Drench her, drench her in sack: sick for a lass! do not fool thyself beyond the cure of Bedlam; be wise and well again.
Fow. You are merry; it seems you have won the lady.
Aim. What lady? the lady i' the lobster? I was half sick for a foolish thing called a woman; a toy took me in the head, and had like to have taken away my heart, too; but I have recovered. Do not trust thy body with a physician, he'll make thy foolish bones go without flesh in a fortnight, and thy soul walk without a body a seven-night after.
Man. These are no doctors.
Aim. Doctor! art a Parisian, a Paduan, or a Leyden doctor? How many, and be true to us, hast thou killed the last spring? will it puzzle thy arithmetic, my precious rectifier of nature the wrong way? — Faith, thou must excuse me, Jack, that I cannot condole with thee; by this whey beard of Esculapius, I dare not endanger myself with so much melancholy, lest I fall into a relapse. — Whom have we here?

Enter WHIBBLE and PENELOPE disguised .

Whib. 'Tis reported that master Fowler is sick, and keeps his chamber; I hope he is within?
Pen. Noble sir.
Aim. Fair lady.
Pen. How fare you, sir?
Fow. The better to see you here.
Man. Upon the entrance of this gentlewoman, I find your grief much alter'd.
Pen. Upon mine?
Man. Yes, and by that I dare presume to say, you are the cause of his distemper?
Pen. I, sir?
Fow. A cunning doctor!
Man. For I observ'd, so soon as his searching eye had fastened on her, his labouring pulse, that, through his fever, did before stick hard, and frequent, now exceeds in both these differences; and this Galen himself found true upon a woman that had doted upon a fencer.
Clare. Ay!
Whib. She did long for t' other bout then?
Pen. Give us leave, pray.
Aim. A very pretty fellow.
Clare. Well skilled i' the pulse.
Aim. You know my disease too, do you not? will not my complexion give you the hint on't?
Man. You are not very well.
Aim. How, sir?
Man. By your favour, you will come to't.
Aim. To what?
Man. To a burning fever. — Is there not one woman in the world? —
Aim. I think there is, and too much of that; what then? what conclude you?
Man. Nothing but syrup of violet would comfort you, going to bed.
Aim. Violet!
Clare. He has given it you.
Fow. It does me good, lady, to feel you by the hand.
Pen. Would it were in my power to recover you.
Fow. The doctor, I thank him, has taken pains with me; but he says — nothing will do me good —
Pen. Nothing?
Fow. But that which is another sickness to reveal.
Pen. Pray, sir, acquaint me.
Fow. I know you love me. I have a great mind, an 'twere but for two or three minutes, to have a maid warm my bed —
Pen. That may be done.
Fow. With her body — else 'twill do me no good, the doctor says — to put life in some of my limbs, a little virgin warmth would do it.
Pen. You have a burning fever.
Fow. But now and then I have such cold fits again — and 'tis the doctor's opinion — a very learned man.
Pen. A learned pander.
Man. He's at it.
Fow. Doctor!
Clare. [ to Aimwell .] Again passionate!
Aim. Why, I may love her name without offence to you. Why did he waken my remembrance? I had forgotten her.
Clare. Think upon her scorn, then.
Aim. I have done; and till I hear her name again, I will throw this dulness off:
Clare. Let's choose another subject.
How closely they consult! the doctor is in a fit of counsel; I suspect some juggling — he comes off;
I'll gage a limb this fellow's an impostor.
Aim. Is there not much danger in him?
Man. Within two minutes, gentlemen, I have discovered happier symptoms.
Aim. So, sir.
Man. The redundant choleric matter —
Aim. 'Tis no matter, sir.
Man. I think you do not love him.
Clare. Pursue it.
Aim. What shall I give you to poison him?
Man. How?
Aim. Would he were in heaven! do you like well of this complexion?
Man. It shall hire me to kill your father.
Pen. To shew how much I value, sir, your life,
For I believe you do not mock, soon as
Your strength will give you leave to visit me
At my father's house, where I can command
An opportunity, my true love shall
Present you with your wishes; my maid only
Shall be of counsel to admit you; but
You'll make me satisfaction by marriage?
Fow. At a minute's warning.
Pen. One thing more; ere I give up my honour, I will have your oath no other woman hath enjoy'd your person.
Fow. Willingly; alas! I could ne'er be tempted, and but that there is a kind of necessity —
Pen. Be confident of my best love.
Fow. Seal it now;
I feel my spirits gather force already,
My blood shake off the corrupt humour; ha?
What an I go home with you, lady?
Pen. You are pretty well already, then! you may excuse our meeting.
Fow. O, no, no; we are all apt to flatter ourselves. Farewell, sweet lady, — if I live, I'll see you; if I die —
Pen. Whibble. —
Whib. At hand and foot to do you service.
Aim. You will poison him?
Man. He is dead; as you find me in this, let me have your custom.
Aim. You quicksalving rogue!
Man. Do; be valiant.
Fow. A stratagem, my noble Tully, a stratagem; she's my own, the castle of comfort is yielding up; I see it prostrate already, my valiant engineer.
Clare. The old humour; now has he the promise of some maidenhead.
Fow. The believing creature could not hold out.
Aim. If you thrive so well in your wench, I am no company for you.
Fow. Not for me! I'll worry thee, Frank, to death, if thou flinchest. To the Oracle, boys, thou shouldst hunt, as I do, these wanton rabbit-suckers. Come, we'll have thy story in Apollo, now my own tale is over. I'll busy my brains to set thy wheels in a handsome motion again. Bold as I am, let no denial make thee remove thy siege; they must come to parly, make but wise conditions, and the fort's thine own, I warrant thee. Come, to the Oracle.

SCENE V.

A Room in Richley's House:

Enter Brains with a letter .

Bra. Crack, my sides, with laughter: here's a purchase happier than I expected; her own letter to Aimwell! his (which was the most I could hope for) would have been but presumption, this is evidence against the world; to this have I added seal and superscription to the old knight my master. Oh, how I could hug myself with the thought on't! they may talk of women's wit, 'tis as slender as their apron-strings, from whence they fetch it; they have no reaches in them. Here comes my mistress's moveable, —

Enter Sensible .

she shall do the feat. — Mistress Sensible, here's a letter to my master; I am going in some haste to dispatch some business; when he comes, at opportunity do so much as deliver it, wilt?
Sens. A greater courtesy than this for you.
Bra. Oh, that I were a youth of one and twenty again! —
Sens. What then?
Bra. Hear my wish out, — and ten thousand pounds in a musty coffer, a house well furnished, acres enough of my own about it, fifty ploughs a going, twenty horse in the stable, beside a caroch and six Flanders mares; ten tall knaves in livery, eight velvet pages, six footmen in cadis; I would marry thee, love thee, lie with thee, and get so many Brains without sage, as should furnish any nation in Christendom with politicians, girl. Farewell, sweet, kind Sensible!
Sens. What crotchets be these? the fellow's mad, I think.

Enter VIOLETTA , hastily .

Vio. Oh, look, Sensible, seek every where about the chamber; I have lost the letter Aimwell sent me. If we should be discovered, we are quite undone. What's that in thy hand?
Sens. A letter.
Vio. Whence?
Sens. I know not; 'twas left here, and Brains, having some business to dispatch, requested me to deliver it.
Vio. Let me see't. To the right worshipful sir George Richley . I see him coming; lose no time; employ thy diligence to search for mine; I will deliver this.
Sens. I shall, mistress.
Vio. My father presses me to marry Treedle: short time's allowed for the prevention.

Enter RICHLEY .

My good angel assist me. — Here's a letter, sir.
Rich. Whence?
Vio. I know not; your servant Brains received it.
Rich. What's here? — Daughter, do not you know whence this letter came?
Vio. Not I, sir.
Rich. You cannot be so ignorant.
Vio. What means my father?
Rich. You are familiar with the contents?
Vio. I beseech you, sir, have no suspicion.
Rich. I'll read it to you. — Master Aimwell, I received your letter, and praise your apprehension; upon the first view of your person, I conceived opinion of your merit, the flame is now too great to be suppressed: it is no time to protract your hopes, nor dishonour in me to yield upon noble conditions at the first summon; I accept your love, and require your industry to prevent my father's purpose. My servant Sensible you may trust; I will use some invention to delay my expected marriage. Farewell.
Vio. My harsh fate!
Rich. Do you know this character? Where's my man Brains?
Vio. Your man devil.

Re-enter Brains .

Bra. Did your worship call?
Rich. Oh, my best servant. —
Does not thy very soul blush to deceive me?
Bra. What's the matter, mistress?
Vio. Hear me, I beseech you.
Rich. In the height and puzzle of my care to make
Thee happy, to conspire thy overthrow!
I will not hear.
Bra. Good sir.
Vio. This was your work; you can read.
Bra. And write, too, the superscription of a letter or so.
Rich. Where's Sensible?

Re-enter Sensible .

For your good service to your mistress, housewife,
Pack up your trinkets, I here discharge you.
Bra. I hope you are Sensible?
Vio. Oh, wench, my father hath my letter.
Sens. Your's!
Vio. And I, mistaking, seal'd and return'd
Aim well that which he sent.
Sens. How came he by it?
Vio. Talk not of that. Oh, for some art to help us!
Bra. Let me counsel you not to express any violence in your passions, lest you mar the possibility of reclaiming her; it seems Aimwell has miss'd the intelligence. Where shame is enforced too much upon the delinquent, it begets rather an audacious defence of the sin, than repentance. Soft rain slides to the root, and nourishes, where great storms make a noise, wet but the skin i' the earth, and run away in a channel.
Sens. A most rare project!
Vio. It will appear the same; both made together,
Which, since my sister's death, I have [not] worn.
Rich. Which of my cares reward'st thou with this folly?
Vio. Sir, can you pardon?
Rich. I love you but too well; go to your chamber.
Vio. But must we part?
Rich. Dispute it not.
Bra. 'Bye, sweet mistress Sensible! I hope we shall meet again as merry as we part.
Sens. 'Tis very violent, but we obey your pleasure; I have only apparel, and some few trifles —
Rich. Take them all with you, and be gone.
Vio. Beside my own misfortune, I have cause topity thine; my father is displeas'd, and not unjustly. — Happy genius! —
Rich . So, things must be manag'd wisely; I will hasten the marriage.
Bra . By all means let it be sudden.
Rich . Within two days — to-morrow.
Bra . I would not sleep till she be married — but carry things smooth, let not the knight suspect you are troubled; your daughter will be fetch'd about with a bias again.
Rich . How thou deserv'st me! let us in.
Bra . Hereafter, for my sake, and subtle pains,
Whoe'er is wise, let the world call him Brains.