The Witty Fair One - Act V
ACT V. SCENE I.
The Street before Richley's House .
Enter RICHLEY , TREEDLE , and Worthy .
Treed. So, now we have got a license, I would see who dares marry your daughter besides myself. Is she come from the Exchange yet?
Wor. Not yet, sir.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Your servant Brains remembers his duty in this paper.
Rich. Letters!
Treed. Letters! let me read them.
Rich. Your patience, sir.
Wor. I doubt all is not well; what if some misfortune should now befal your mistress? I hope you have armour of patience?
Treed Ay, and of proof too, at home, as much as my hall can hold; the story of the Prodigal can hardly be seen for't; I have pikes and guns, enow for me and my predecessors, a whole wardrobe of swords and bucklers; when you come home you shall see them.
Rich. A conspiracy!
Treed. Oh, treason!
Rich. My man Brains is arrested by your Tutor; a plot to take away my daughter; she is gone.
Wor. I did prophesy too soon.
Treed. My Tutor read travel to me, and run away with my wench! a very peripatetic — what shall I do, then? an some [one] had arrested and clapp'd her up, too, we should have known where to find her. Do you hear? I did not mean to marry with a license.
Wor. How, sir?
Treed. No, sir, I did mean to marry with your daughter. Am I a gull?
Wor. Have patience.
Treed. I will have no patience; I will have Violetta: why does not Brains appear?
Wor. His heels are not at liberty; he's in prison.
Treed. In prison! why, an he had been hanged, he might have brought us word.
Rich. I am rent with vexation. — Sirrah, go you with me to the prison.
Wor. What will you do, sir?
Treed. I'll geld my Tutor.
Wor. You were best find him first.
Treed. Nay, I will find him, and find him again, an I can light on him; let me alone, I'll take half a dozen with me, and about it instantly.
Wor. I wish thee well, niece, but a better husband. —
Enter FOWLER .
Who's yonder? 'tis master Fowler, at an excellent opportunity.
Fow. I do walk still; by all circumstance I am alive, not sick in any part but my head, which has only the pangs of invention, and in travail of some precious revenge for my worse than masculine affront: what if I report abroad she's dishonest? I cannot do them a worse turn than to say so: some of our gallants take a pride to belie poor gentlewomen in that fashion, and think the discourse an honour to them; confidently boast the fruition of this or that lady, whose hand they never kissed with the glove off: and why may not I make it my revenge, to blur their fames a little for abusing me?
Enter two Gentlemen at several doors .
1 Gent. Well met, friend, what! thou lookest sad.
2 Gent. You will excuse me, and bear a part, when I tell the cause.
1 Gent. What's the news?
2 Gent. Our friend, master Fowler's dead.
Fow. Fowler! ha!
1 Gent. Master John Fowler?
Fow. That's I, that's I, ha!
2 Gent. The same.
Fow. Dead! am I dead?
1 Gent. It cannot be: I saw him but this morning
Lusty and pleasant; how died he?
2 Gent. Suddenly.
1 Gent. Where?
2 Gent. At master Worthy's house.
1 Gent. Dead!
2 Gent. Too true, sir.
Fow. I would not believe myself sick; belike I am dead; 'tis more than I know yet.
1 Gent. He was a suitor to master Worthy's daughter.
2 Gent. Mistress Penelope, right.
Fow. By all circumstance they mean me: these gentlemen know me, too; how long is it since I departed? Some mistake —
1 Gent. How poor a thing is life, that we cannot
Promise a minute's certainty; I' the height
And strength of youth, falling to dust again!
Fow. Ha, ha, gentlemen! what do ye think of the dead man?
2 Gent. 'Tis the last office I can do him, now,
To wait on him to the earth,
Fow. Coxcombs, do ye not know me? I'm alive, do you not see me?
1 Gent. He was a noble fellow, and deserves
A memory; if my brain have not lost
All his poetic juice, it shall go hard
But I'll squeeze out an elegy.
Fow. For whom, my furious poet? Ha! not know me! do I walk invisible, or am I my own ghost? — An you will not see me, you shall feel me, you have a nimble pate, I may chance strike out some flash of wit — [ strikes him .] — No —
Re-enter Worthy .
Here comes another. — Save you, master Worthy.
1 Gent. Sir, I heard ill news, master Fowler's dead.
Wor. He is indeed, sir.
Fow. Indeed you lie, sir.
Wor. I saw his eyes seal'd up by death, and him
Wrapt in his last sheet.
1 Gent. Where's his body?
Wor. At my sad house, sir.
Fow. Is my body at your house?
Wor. I did hope, gentlemen, we should have found
My house his bridal chamber, not his coffin.
But heaven must be obey'd; my daughter lov'd him,
And much laments his loss.
Fow. Very good; then I am dead, am I not?
Wor. You both were in the number of his friends,
I hope you'll add your presence to the rest
At the funeral.
Fow. Whose funeral, you man of Bedlam?
2 Gent. Cry [you] mercy, sir; pray keep your way.
1 Gent. It is a duty which, without invitement, we are both prompt to discharge.
Fow. Master Worthy! Gentlemen! do ye hear? [ Exeunt all but Fowler .] — Is't possible? not know me, not see me! I am so thin, and airy, I have slipp'd out o' the world, it seems, and did not know on't. — If I be dead, what place am I in? where am I? This is not hell, sure? I feel no torment, and there is too little company; no, 'tis not hell — and I have not liv'd after the rate of going to heaven yet; beside, I met just now a usurer, that only deals upon ounces, and carries his scales at his girdle, with which he uses to weigh, not men's necessities, but the plate he is to lend money upon; can this fellow come to heaven? Here a poor fellow is put in the stocks for being drunk, and the constable himself reeling home, charges others in the king's name to aid him. There's a spruce captain, newly crept out of a gentleman-usher, and shuffled into a buff jerkin with gold lace, that never saw service beyond Finsbury or the Artillery-garden, marches waving a desperate feather in his lady's beaver, while a poor soldier, bred up in the school of war all his life, yet never commenced any degree of commander, wants a piece of brass, to discharge a wheaten bullet to his belly; — no, this is not heaven, I know by the people that traffic in't: where am I, then? Umph! I'll to Worthy's before they bury me, and inform myself better what's become of me; If I find not myself there in a coffin, there's hope I may revive again; if I be dead, I am in a world very like the other; I will get me a female spirit to converse withal, and kiss, and be merry, and imagine myself alive again.
SCENE II.
A Street.
Enter TREEDLE , WHIBBLE , and Footman,
Treed. Come, follow me, and be valiant, my masters.
Whib. Remember yourself, sir; this is your worship's footman, and, for mine own part, though I be not cut according to your cloth, I am a true servant of yours; where do you think we shall find them?
Treed. Where! where dost thou think?
Foot. I think where his worship thinks.
Treed. No matter, whether we find them or no; but, when we have taken them, — as if they be not, it is their own fault, for we are ready, — for Violetta, upon submission, I will commit marriage with her; but for the rogue, my Tutor. — —
Whib. What will you do with him?
Treed. I'll do nothing to him; thou shalt kill him for me.
Whib. It will shew better in your footman.
Treed. Thou sayest right, he can run him through quickly; but it is no matter who; an the worst come to the worst, it is but a hanging matter, and I'll get a pardon first or last. I would kill him myself, but that I should be taxed to kill a poor worm more than ever I did in my life; besides, it is not with my credit to be hanged.
Whib. An't please your worship, I'll make a fair motion; take your choice, sir Nicholas, whether we shall kill him and you'll be hanged for him, or you shall be hanged for him, and we'll kill him.
Foot. Under correction, I think it were better to take him prisoner.
Treed. I like my footman's reason; we will take him first prisoner, and whosoever hath a mind, to be hanged, may kill him afterwards. — Oh that I had him here now, I could cut him in pieces on my rapier's point!
Whib. Has not your worship been at fence-school?
Treed. At fence-school? I think I have, I'll play so many for so many, I name no weapons, with any High German English fencer of them all. — — Canst not thou fence, Whibble?
Whib. I, sir? alas. — —
Treed. It is but thus and thus, and there is a man at your mercy; I would cleave a button, an it were as broad as the brim of your hat now. Oh that I had but any friend but to kill a little! prithee try me, Whibble.
Whib. I am none of your friends.
Treed. Why, then, an thou lovest me, be my foe a little, for a bout or so.
Whib. I care not much to exercise your worship; stand aside.
Treed. Stay, let me see first — — there is it — — I cannot with my honour wound thee, I do not stand upon the odds of my weapon, which is longer than thine, but thou seest thine is shorter than mine by an handful; — too much is too much.
Enter Tutor, and SENSIBLE masked as before .
Foot. Your Tutor, sir, and mistress Violetta!
Treed . How! down with him, somebody! — [ Exit Tutor .] — he is gone, follow him close! — Oh, run away, cowardly rascal, will ye not fight against three? — Mistress, it is my fortune, you see, or my destiny, to recover your lost virginity; I am sorry for nothing, but that I have shed no blood in your rescue: but where there is no valour to be expected, it is best to put up with valour and reputation. Would the rascal my Tutor have popt in before me? I am glad I have prevented him, — do you hear? — your father is mad, and I am little better myself: but let us be wise, lose no time; I know a parson shall divide us into man and wife ere any body think on it; I will make all sure now, I will not be put into any more of these frights, I will marry you; if any man dare run away with you afterward, let it light upon mine own head, and that is the worse I am sure they can do me.
SCENE III.
Worthy's House . Penelope's Bedchamber .
Enter Worthy and two Gentlemen.
Wor. Gentlemen, I thank you; you carried it to my desire, most cunningly.
1 Gent. Do you think it has taken?
2 Gent. I am covetous to see the event.
Wor. Pray sit. — — Penelope!
Enter PENELOPE in mourning .
2 Gent. In mourning!
Wor. All parties in the engagement.
Pen. You oblige a woman's service.
2 Gent. Gentle lady,
And if it prove fortunate, the design
Will be your honour, and the deed itself
Reward us in his benefit: he was ever wild.
1 Gent. Assured your ends are noble, we are happy in't.
Enter WINNIFRIDE .
Win. Master Fowler.
Wor. Is he come already?
Pen. Remove the herse into this chamber,
In your nobleness I desire you will
Interpret fairly what I am to personate,
And by the story you will find I have
Some cause of passion.
Enter FOWLER .
Fow. This is the room I sickened in, and by report died in; umph! I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, and have been wondered at by others, but I must only wonder at myself, for if they be not mad, I am come to my own burial; certain these clothes are substantial, I owe my tailor for them to this hour, if the devil be not my tailor, and hath furnished me with another suit very like it. — [ rings his money .] — This is no magical noise, essential gold and silver. What do I with it if I be dead? Here are no reckonings to be paid with it, no tavern bills, no midnight revels, with the costly tribe of amorous she-sinners; now I cannot spend it, would the poor had it; by their prayers I might hope to get out of this new pitiful purgatory, or at least know which way I came into it. — — Here they are in mourning, what a devil do they mean to do with me? — Not too many tears, lady, you will but spoil your eyes, and draw upon them the misery of spectacles: do not you know me neither?
Pen. Oh, master Fowler!
Fow. Ha! out with it; nay, an the woman but acknowledge me alive, there is some hope of me.
Pen. I loved thee living with a holy flame,
To purge the errors of thy wanton youth.
Fow. I'm dead again.
Pen. This made
Thy soul sue out so hasty a divorce,
And flee to airy dwellings: [this] hath left us
Thy cold pale figure,
Which we have commission but to chamber up
In melancholy dust, where thy own worms,
Like the false servants of some great man, shall
Devour thee first.
Fow. I am worms' meat!
Pen. We must all die.
Fow. Would some of you would do it quickly, that I might have company!
Pen. But, wert
Thou now to live again with us, and that,
By miracle, thy soul should with thy body
Have second marriage, I believe thou'd'st study
To keep it a chaste temple, holy thoughts,
Like fumes of sacred incense, hovering
About this heart, then thou would'st learn to be
Above thy frailties, and resist the flatteries
Of smooth-faced lust.
Fow. This is my funeral sermon.
Pen. The burden of which sin, my fears persuade me,
Both hasten'd and accompanied thy death.
Wor. This sorrow is unfruitful.
Pen. I have done;
May this prayer profit him! would his soul were
As sure to gain heaven as his body is here!
2 Gent. We must hope the best, he was an inconstant young man; frequenting of some companies had corrupted his nature, and a little debauched him.
Fow. In all this sermon I have heard little commendations of our dear brother departed; rich men do not go to the pit-hole without complement of christian burial. It seems, if I had lived to have made a will, and bequeathed so much legacy as would purchase some preacher a neat cassock, I should have died in as good estate and assurance for my soul as the best gentleman in the parish, had my monument in a conspicuous place of the church, where I should have been cut in a form of prayer, as if I had been called away at my devotion, and so for haste to be in heaven, went thither with my book and spectacles. — Do you hear, lady, and gentlemen, is it your pleasure to see me, though not know me? and to inform a walking puisne when this so much lamented brother of yours departed out of this world? In his life I had some relation to him: what disease died he of, pray? who is his heir yet at common law? for he was warm in the possession of lands, thank his kind father, who having been in a consumption sixteen years, one day, above all the rest, having nothing else to do, died, that the young man might be a landlord, according to the custom of his ancestors.
1 Gent. I doubt the project.
Fow. You should be his heir or executor at least, by your dry eyes, sir; I commend thee; what a miserable folly it is to weep for one that is dead, and has no sense of our lamentation. Wherefore were blacks invented? to save our eyes their tedious distillations; it is enough to be sad in our habits, they have cause to weep that have no mourning cloth, it is a sign they get little by the dead, and that is the greatest sorrow now adays. You loved him, lady; to say truth, you had little cause, a wild young man, yet an he were alive again, as that is in vain to wish, you know, he may perchance be more sensible, and reward you with better service, so you would not proclaim his weakness. — Faith, speak well of the dead hereafter, and bury all his faults with him, will ye? what, are these all the guests? ha! what papers? some elegy or epitaph? who subscribes? oh, this is your poetry.
How he died some do suppose ,
How he lived the parish knows;
Whether he's gone to heaven or hell,
Ask not me, I cannot tell.
Very well, would the gentleman your friend were alive to give you thanks for them. What, have we more?
Underneath, the fair not wise ,
Too self-lov'd Narcissus lies,
Yet his sad destruction came
From no fountain but a flame.
Then, youth, quench your hot desires,
Purge your thoughts with chaster fires,
Least with him it be too late,
And death triumph in your fate.
Hither all you virgins come,
Strew your tears upon this tomb,
Perhaps a timely weeping may
So dispose his scorched clay,
That a chaste and snowy flower
May reward your gentle shower.
Very well done upon so dead a subject; by the virgin that is in it, you should owe this parcel of poetry, lady.
Pen. A woman's muse, sir.
Fow. Oh, now you can answer me; am I dead still?
Pen. Yes.
Fow. Then you talk to a dead man?
Pen. I do.
Fow. Where am I dead?
Pen. Here, every where.
You're dead to virtue, to all noble thoughts,
And, till the proof of your conversion
To piety win my faith, you are to me
Without all life; and charity to myself
Bids me endeavour with this ceremony
To give you burial. If hereafter I
Let in your memory to my thoughts, or see you,
You shall but represent his ghost or shadow,
Which never shall have power to fright my innocence,
Or make my cheek look pale. My ends are compass'd,
And here, in sight of heaven — —
Fow. Stay,
Thou art a noble girl, and dost deserve
To marry with an emperor. Remove
This sad thing from us. —
You do know me, gentlemen;
Witness my death to vanity, quitting all
Unchaste desires; — revive me in thy thoughts,
And I will love as thou hast taught me, nobly,
And like a husband, by this kiss, the seal
That I do shake my wanton slumber off,
And wake to virtue.
Wor. Meet it, daughter.
Pen. Now you begin to live.
Fow. I will grow old in the study of my honour! this last conflict hath quite o'ercome me, make me happy in the style of your son.
Wor. My blessings multiply.
Gent. We congratulate this event.
Wor. See, my brother.
Enter RICHLEY , and BRAINS .
Bra. Let not your rage be so high, sir, I have more cause to be mad.
Rich. Thou?
Bra. I.
Rich. I have lost my daughter.
Bra. But I have lost my credit, that had nothing else to live [by]. I was more proud of that than you could be of twenty daughters.
Wor. Have you found them?
Rich. No, not I; and yet this old ruffian will not let me vex for it; he says the greatest loss is his.
Bra. And I will maintain it, it was my boast that I was never cozened in my life; have I betrayed so many plots, discovered letters, deciphered characters, stript knavery to the skin, and laid open the very soul of conspiracy, deserved for my cunning to be called Brains both town and country over, and now to forfeit them, to see them drenched in a muddy stratagem, cheated by a woman, and a pedantical lousy wordmonger! it is abominable; patience, I abhor thee. I desire him that bids me go hang myself, which is the way to surgeon's hall? I will beg to have my skull cut, I have a suspicion my brains are filched, and my head has been late stuft with woodcocks' feathers.
Fow. Be not mad.
Bra. I will, in spight of any man here; who shall hinder me, if I have a mind to it?
Rich. Your happiness removes my affliction. — Ha!
Enter WHIBBLE and Tutor.
Whib. Where is sir Nicholas? we have brought the gentleman.
Bra. Are you there! — — this was the champion that justled me; shall I fetch a dog-whip? or let me cut him up, he will make excellent meat for the devil's trencher; I will carve him. — Sirrah!
Rich. Forbear; — where is my daughter? villain, confess.
Tutor . Alas, sir, I was waiting upon her home, sir Nicholas met me, and took her from me
Rich. Wor. Sir Nicholas!
Whib. Yes, sir Nicholas hath mistress Violetta, I am a witness.
Bra. Why did he justle me? there began the treachery, ask him that.
Tutor . I pray you, sir, let it be forgotten, I have been kicked for it.
Enter at one door AIMWELL , VIOLETTA , MANLY , and CLARE , at the other TREEDLE , and SENSIBLE disguised as before .
Whib. Here she is; no, there she is,
Rich. Sir Nicholas.
Wor. I am amazed.
Treed. Stay, which is my wife?
Rich. Here is my daughter.
Bra. Mistress!
Fow. Fine juggling! Frank, whence comest [thou]?
Aim. From the priest, if you have any joy for me;
We are married.
Treed. Are there not two sir Nicholasses? pray what do you call this gentlewoman?
Aim. Her name is Violetta.
Vio. Father, your pardon.
Treed. This is fine, i'faith; well may a woman mistake her husband, when a man, that is the wiser vessel, cannot know his own wife.
Rich. Married to Aimwell!
Man. Clare . We are witnesses.
Treed. A good jest, faith; heark you, were you ever catechised? What is your name, forsooth?
Sens. Faith, sir, guess.
Aim. All passion will be fruitless but of joy.
Treed. Sensible! Came I from Croydon for a chambermaid? do you hear, every body? I have married Sensible.
Man. Clare . We are witnesses of that, too.
Treed. No, no, this is my wife.
Aim. Touch her not with a rude hand.
Treed. Why, I know she meant to be my wife, and only I have married her, as folks go to law, by attorney; she is but her deputy; for the more state I married her proxy.
Bra. [ aside to Treed .] — Do not deceive yourself, sir: though princes depute men to marry their wives, women do not use to be ciphers; she is your wife in law, let me counsel you, sir, to prevent laughter: — somebody hath been cozened, I name nobody; sure it was your fortune to marry this wench, which cannot now be undone; seem not to be sorry for it, they do purpose to jeer you out of your skin else.
Treed. Sayest thou so?
Bra. Be confident, and laugh at them first that they are so simple to think that you are gull'd: commend your choice, and say it was a trick of yours to deceive their expectation.
Treed. Come hither, madam Treedle. — Gentlemen, you think now I have but an ill match on 't, and that, as they say, I am cheated; do not believe it — a lady is a lady, a bargain is a bargain, and a knight is no gentleman — so much for that. — I grant I married her, in her mistress's name, and though (as great men, that use to choose wives for their favourites or servants, when they have done with them) I could put her off to my footman or my Tutor here, I will not; I will maintain her my wife, and publish her, do you see, publish her to any man that shall laugh at it, my own lady-bird.
Fow. You are happy, sir, in being deceived; he is a noble gentleman.
Wor. Sir Nicholas has releast her,
Let your consent be free, then.
Rich. You have won it,
Be my lov'd children, and I wish a joy
Flow in all bosoms. — Brains, we are reconcil'd.
Treed. Tutor, we pardon.
Vio. You may, sir; he was my engine. Now, what says my factious servant? nay, we are friends; the greatest politician may be deceived sometimes; wit without Brains, you see.
Bra. And Brains without wit too.
Fow. Frank, thou art married, and sir Nicholas has made a lady, I have lived loose a great while, and do purpose to be made fast to this gentlewoman, to whose act I owe my true conversion.
When all things have their trial, you shall find
Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind.
The Street before Richley's House .
Enter RICHLEY , TREEDLE , and Worthy .
Treed. So, now we have got a license, I would see who dares marry your daughter besides myself. Is she come from the Exchange yet?
Wor. Not yet, sir.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Your servant Brains remembers his duty in this paper.
Rich. Letters!
Treed. Letters! let me read them.
Rich. Your patience, sir.
Wor. I doubt all is not well; what if some misfortune should now befal your mistress? I hope you have armour of patience?
Treed Ay, and of proof too, at home, as much as my hall can hold; the story of the Prodigal can hardly be seen for't; I have pikes and guns, enow for me and my predecessors, a whole wardrobe of swords and bucklers; when you come home you shall see them.
Rich. A conspiracy!
Treed. Oh, treason!
Rich. My man Brains is arrested by your Tutor; a plot to take away my daughter; she is gone.
Wor. I did prophesy too soon.
Treed. My Tutor read travel to me, and run away with my wench! a very peripatetic — what shall I do, then? an some [one] had arrested and clapp'd her up, too, we should have known where to find her. Do you hear? I did not mean to marry with a license.
Wor. How, sir?
Treed. No, sir, I did mean to marry with your daughter. Am I a gull?
Wor. Have patience.
Treed. I will have no patience; I will have Violetta: why does not Brains appear?
Wor. His heels are not at liberty; he's in prison.
Treed. In prison! why, an he had been hanged, he might have brought us word.
Rich. I am rent with vexation. — Sirrah, go you with me to the prison.
Wor. What will you do, sir?
Treed. I'll geld my Tutor.
Wor. You were best find him first.
Treed. Nay, I will find him, and find him again, an I can light on him; let me alone, I'll take half a dozen with me, and about it instantly.
Wor. I wish thee well, niece, but a better husband. —
Enter FOWLER .
Who's yonder? 'tis master Fowler, at an excellent opportunity.
Fow. I do walk still; by all circumstance I am alive, not sick in any part but my head, which has only the pangs of invention, and in travail of some precious revenge for my worse than masculine affront: what if I report abroad she's dishonest? I cannot do them a worse turn than to say so: some of our gallants take a pride to belie poor gentlewomen in that fashion, and think the discourse an honour to them; confidently boast the fruition of this or that lady, whose hand they never kissed with the glove off: and why may not I make it my revenge, to blur their fames a little for abusing me?
Enter two Gentlemen at several doors .
1 Gent. Well met, friend, what! thou lookest sad.
2 Gent. You will excuse me, and bear a part, when I tell the cause.
1 Gent. What's the news?
2 Gent. Our friend, master Fowler's dead.
Fow. Fowler! ha!
1 Gent. Master John Fowler?
Fow. That's I, that's I, ha!
2 Gent. The same.
Fow. Dead! am I dead?
1 Gent. It cannot be: I saw him but this morning
Lusty and pleasant; how died he?
2 Gent. Suddenly.
1 Gent. Where?
2 Gent. At master Worthy's house.
1 Gent. Dead!
2 Gent. Too true, sir.
Fow. I would not believe myself sick; belike I am dead; 'tis more than I know yet.
1 Gent. He was a suitor to master Worthy's daughter.
2 Gent. Mistress Penelope, right.
Fow. By all circumstance they mean me: these gentlemen know me, too; how long is it since I departed? Some mistake —
1 Gent. How poor a thing is life, that we cannot
Promise a minute's certainty; I' the height
And strength of youth, falling to dust again!
Fow. Ha, ha, gentlemen! what do ye think of the dead man?
2 Gent. 'Tis the last office I can do him, now,
To wait on him to the earth,
Fow. Coxcombs, do ye not know me? I'm alive, do you not see me?
1 Gent. He was a noble fellow, and deserves
A memory; if my brain have not lost
All his poetic juice, it shall go hard
But I'll squeeze out an elegy.
Fow. For whom, my furious poet? Ha! not know me! do I walk invisible, or am I my own ghost? — An you will not see me, you shall feel me, you have a nimble pate, I may chance strike out some flash of wit — [ strikes him .] — No —
Re-enter Worthy .
Here comes another. — Save you, master Worthy.
1 Gent. Sir, I heard ill news, master Fowler's dead.
Wor. He is indeed, sir.
Fow. Indeed you lie, sir.
Wor. I saw his eyes seal'd up by death, and him
Wrapt in his last sheet.
1 Gent. Where's his body?
Wor. At my sad house, sir.
Fow. Is my body at your house?
Wor. I did hope, gentlemen, we should have found
My house his bridal chamber, not his coffin.
But heaven must be obey'd; my daughter lov'd him,
And much laments his loss.
Fow. Very good; then I am dead, am I not?
Wor. You both were in the number of his friends,
I hope you'll add your presence to the rest
At the funeral.
Fow. Whose funeral, you man of Bedlam?
2 Gent. Cry [you] mercy, sir; pray keep your way.
1 Gent. It is a duty which, without invitement, we are both prompt to discharge.
Fow. Master Worthy! Gentlemen! do ye hear? [ Exeunt all but Fowler .] — Is't possible? not know me, not see me! I am so thin, and airy, I have slipp'd out o' the world, it seems, and did not know on't. — If I be dead, what place am I in? where am I? This is not hell, sure? I feel no torment, and there is too little company; no, 'tis not hell — and I have not liv'd after the rate of going to heaven yet; beside, I met just now a usurer, that only deals upon ounces, and carries his scales at his girdle, with which he uses to weigh, not men's necessities, but the plate he is to lend money upon; can this fellow come to heaven? Here a poor fellow is put in the stocks for being drunk, and the constable himself reeling home, charges others in the king's name to aid him. There's a spruce captain, newly crept out of a gentleman-usher, and shuffled into a buff jerkin with gold lace, that never saw service beyond Finsbury or the Artillery-garden, marches waving a desperate feather in his lady's beaver, while a poor soldier, bred up in the school of war all his life, yet never commenced any degree of commander, wants a piece of brass, to discharge a wheaten bullet to his belly; — no, this is not heaven, I know by the people that traffic in't: where am I, then? Umph! I'll to Worthy's before they bury me, and inform myself better what's become of me; If I find not myself there in a coffin, there's hope I may revive again; if I be dead, I am in a world very like the other; I will get me a female spirit to converse withal, and kiss, and be merry, and imagine myself alive again.
SCENE II.
A Street.
Enter TREEDLE , WHIBBLE , and Footman,
Treed. Come, follow me, and be valiant, my masters.
Whib. Remember yourself, sir; this is your worship's footman, and, for mine own part, though I be not cut according to your cloth, I am a true servant of yours; where do you think we shall find them?
Treed. Where! where dost thou think?
Foot. I think where his worship thinks.
Treed. No matter, whether we find them or no; but, when we have taken them, — as if they be not, it is their own fault, for we are ready, — for Violetta, upon submission, I will commit marriage with her; but for the rogue, my Tutor. — —
Whib. What will you do with him?
Treed. I'll do nothing to him; thou shalt kill him for me.
Whib. It will shew better in your footman.
Treed. Thou sayest right, he can run him through quickly; but it is no matter who; an the worst come to the worst, it is but a hanging matter, and I'll get a pardon first or last. I would kill him myself, but that I should be taxed to kill a poor worm more than ever I did in my life; besides, it is not with my credit to be hanged.
Whib. An't please your worship, I'll make a fair motion; take your choice, sir Nicholas, whether we shall kill him and you'll be hanged for him, or you shall be hanged for him, and we'll kill him.
Foot. Under correction, I think it were better to take him prisoner.
Treed. I like my footman's reason; we will take him first prisoner, and whosoever hath a mind, to be hanged, may kill him afterwards. — Oh that I had him here now, I could cut him in pieces on my rapier's point!
Whib. Has not your worship been at fence-school?
Treed. At fence-school? I think I have, I'll play so many for so many, I name no weapons, with any High German English fencer of them all. — — Canst not thou fence, Whibble?
Whib. I, sir? alas. — —
Treed. It is but thus and thus, and there is a man at your mercy; I would cleave a button, an it were as broad as the brim of your hat now. Oh that I had but any friend but to kill a little! prithee try me, Whibble.
Whib. I am none of your friends.
Treed. Why, then, an thou lovest me, be my foe a little, for a bout or so.
Whib. I care not much to exercise your worship; stand aside.
Treed. Stay, let me see first — — there is it — — I cannot with my honour wound thee, I do not stand upon the odds of my weapon, which is longer than thine, but thou seest thine is shorter than mine by an handful; — too much is too much.
Enter Tutor, and SENSIBLE masked as before .
Foot. Your Tutor, sir, and mistress Violetta!
Treed . How! down with him, somebody! — [ Exit Tutor .] — he is gone, follow him close! — Oh, run away, cowardly rascal, will ye not fight against three? — Mistress, it is my fortune, you see, or my destiny, to recover your lost virginity; I am sorry for nothing, but that I have shed no blood in your rescue: but where there is no valour to be expected, it is best to put up with valour and reputation. Would the rascal my Tutor have popt in before me? I am glad I have prevented him, — do you hear? — your father is mad, and I am little better myself: but let us be wise, lose no time; I know a parson shall divide us into man and wife ere any body think on it; I will make all sure now, I will not be put into any more of these frights, I will marry you; if any man dare run away with you afterward, let it light upon mine own head, and that is the worse I am sure they can do me.
SCENE III.
Worthy's House . Penelope's Bedchamber .
Enter Worthy and two Gentlemen.
Wor. Gentlemen, I thank you; you carried it to my desire, most cunningly.
1 Gent. Do you think it has taken?
2 Gent. I am covetous to see the event.
Wor. Pray sit. — — Penelope!
Enter PENELOPE in mourning .
2 Gent. In mourning!
Wor. All parties in the engagement.
Pen. You oblige a woman's service.
2 Gent. Gentle lady,
And if it prove fortunate, the design
Will be your honour, and the deed itself
Reward us in his benefit: he was ever wild.
1 Gent. Assured your ends are noble, we are happy in't.
Enter WINNIFRIDE .
Win. Master Fowler.
Wor. Is he come already?
Pen. Remove the herse into this chamber,
In your nobleness I desire you will
Interpret fairly what I am to personate,
And by the story you will find I have
Some cause of passion.
Enter FOWLER .
Fow. This is the room I sickened in, and by report died in; umph! I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, and have been wondered at by others, but I must only wonder at myself, for if they be not mad, I am come to my own burial; certain these clothes are substantial, I owe my tailor for them to this hour, if the devil be not my tailor, and hath furnished me with another suit very like it. — [ rings his money .] — This is no magical noise, essential gold and silver. What do I with it if I be dead? Here are no reckonings to be paid with it, no tavern bills, no midnight revels, with the costly tribe of amorous she-sinners; now I cannot spend it, would the poor had it; by their prayers I might hope to get out of this new pitiful purgatory, or at least know which way I came into it. — — Here they are in mourning, what a devil do they mean to do with me? — Not too many tears, lady, you will but spoil your eyes, and draw upon them the misery of spectacles: do not you know me neither?
Pen. Oh, master Fowler!
Fow. Ha! out with it; nay, an the woman but acknowledge me alive, there is some hope of me.
Pen. I loved thee living with a holy flame,
To purge the errors of thy wanton youth.
Fow. I'm dead again.
Pen. This made
Thy soul sue out so hasty a divorce,
And flee to airy dwellings: [this] hath left us
Thy cold pale figure,
Which we have commission but to chamber up
In melancholy dust, where thy own worms,
Like the false servants of some great man, shall
Devour thee first.
Fow. I am worms' meat!
Pen. We must all die.
Fow. Would some of you would do it quickly, that I might have company!
Pen. But, wert
Thou now to live again with us, and that,
By miracle, thy soul should with thy body
Have second marriage, I believe thou'd'st study
To keep it a chaste temple, holy thoughts,
Like fumes of sacred incense, hovering
About this heart, then thou would'st learn to be
Above thy frailties, and resist the flatteries
Of smooth-faced lust.
Fow. This is my funeral sermon.
Pen. The burden of which sin, my fears persuade me,
Both hasten'd and accompanied thy death.
Wor. This sorrow is unfruitful.
Pen. I have done;
May this prayer profit him! would his soul were
As sure to gain heaven as his body is here!
2 Gent. We must hope the best, he was an inconstant young man; frequenting of some companies had corrupted his nature, and a little debauched him.
Fow. In all this sermon I have heard little commendations of our dear brother departed; rich men do not go to the pit-hole without complement of christian burial. It seems, if I had lived to have made a will, and bequeathed so much legacy as would purchase some preacher a neat cassock, I should have died in as good estate and assurance for my soul as the best gentleman in the parish, had my monument in a conspicuous place of the church, where I should have been cut in a form of prayer, as if I had been called away at my devotion, and so for haste to be in heaven, went thither with my book and spectacles. — Do you hear, lady, and gentlemen, is it your pleasure to see me, though not know me? and to inform a walking puisne when this so much lamented brother of yours departed out of this world? In his life I had some relation to him: what disease died he of, pray? who is his heir yet at common law? for he was warm in the possession of lands, thank his kind father, who having been in a consumption sixteen years, one day, above all the rest, having nothing else to do, died, that the young man might be a landlord, according to the custom of his ancestors.
1 Gent. I doubt the project.
Fow. You should be his heir or executor at least, by your dry eyes, sir; I commend thee; what a miserable folly it is to weep for one that is dead, and has no sense of our lamentation. Wherefore were blacks invented? to save our eyes their tedious distillations; it is enough to be sad in our habits, they have cause to weep that have no mourning cloth, it is a sign they get little by the dead, and that is the greatest sorrow now adays. You loved him, lady; to say truth, you had little cause, a wild young man, yet an he were alive again, as that is in vain to wish, you know, he may perchance be more sensible, and reward you with better service, so you would not proclaim his weakness. — Faith, speak well of the dead hereafter, and bury all his faults with him, will ye? what, are these all the guests? ha! what papers? some elegy or epitaph? who subscribes? oh, this is your poetry.
How he died some do suppose ,
How he lived the parish knows;
Whether he's gone to heaven or hell,
Ask not me, I cannot tell.
Very well, would the gentleman your friend were alive to give you thanks for them. What, have we more?
Underneath, the fair not wise ,
Too self-lov'd Narcissus lies,
Yet his sad destruction came
From no fountain but a flame.
Then, youth, quench your hot desires,
Purge your thoughts with chaster fires,
Least with him it be too late,
And death triumph in your fate.
Hither all you virgins come,
Strew your tears upon this tomb,
Perhaps a timely weeping may
So dispose his scorched clay,
That a chaste and snowy flower
May reward your gentle shower.
Very well done upon so dead a subject; by the virgin that is in it, you should owe this parcel of poetry, lady.
Pen. A woman's muse, sir.
Fow. Oh, now you can answer me; am I dead still?
Pen. Yes.
Fow. Then you talk to a dead man?
Pen. I do.
Fow. Where am I dead?
Pen. Here, every where.
You're dead to virtue, to all noble thoughts,
And, till the proof of your conversion
To piety win my faith, you are to me
Without all life; and charity to myself
Bids me endeavour with this ceremony
To give you burial. If hereafter I
Let in your memory to my thoughts, or see you,
You shall but represent his ghost or shadow,
Which never shall have power to fright my innocence,
Or make my cheek look pale. My ends are compass'd,
And here, in sight of heaven — —
Fow. Stay,
Thou art a noble girl, and dost deserve
To marry with an emperor. Remove
This sad thing from us. —
You do know me, gentlemen;
Witness my death to vanity, quitting all
Unchaste desires; — revive me in thy thoughts,
And I will love as thou hast taught me, nobly,
And like a husband, by this kiss, the seal
That I do shake my wanton slumber off,
And wake to virtue.
Wor. Meet it, daughter.
Pen. Now you begin to live.
Fow. I will grow old in the study of my honour! this last conflict hath quite o'ercome me, make me happy in the style of your son.
Wor. My blessings multiply.
Gent. We congratulate this event.
Wor. See, my brother.
Enter RICHLEY , and BRAINS .
Bra. Let not your rage be so high, sir, I have more cause to be mad.
Rich. Thou?
Bra. I.
Rich. I have lost my daughter.
Bra. But I have lost my credit, that had nothing else to live [by]. I was more proud of that than you could be of twenty daughters.
Wor. Have you found them?
Rich. No, not I; and yet this old ruffian will not let me vex for it; he says the greatest loss is his.
Bra. And I will maintain it, it was my boast that I was never cozened in my life; have I betrayed so many plots, discovered letters, deciphered characters, stript knavery to the skin, and laid open the very soul of conspiracy, deserved for my cunning to be called Brains both town and country over, and now to forfeit them, to see them drenched in a muddy stratagem, cheated by a woman, and a pedantical lousy wordmonger! it is abominable; patience, I abhor thee. I desire him that bids me go hang myself, which is the way to surgeon's hall? I will beg to have my skull cut, I have a suspicion my brains are filched, and my head has been late stuft with woodcocks' feathers.
Fow. Be not mad.
Bra. I will, in spight of any man here; who shall hinder me, if I have a mind to it?
Rich. Your happiness removes my affliction. — Ha!
Enter WHIBBLE and Tutor.
Whib. Where is sir Nicholas? we have brought the gentleman.
Bra. Are you there! — — this was the champion that justled me; shall I fetch a dog-whip? or let me cut him up, he will make excellent meat for the devil's trencher; I will carve him. — Sirrah!
Rich. Forbear; — where is my daughter? villain, confess.
Tutor . Alas, sir, I was waiting upon her home, sir Nicholas met me, and took her from me
Rich. Wor. Sir Nicholas!
Whib. Yes, sir Nicholas hath mistress Violetta, I am a witness.
Bra. Why did he justle me? there began the treachery, ask him that.
Tutor . I pray you, sir, let it be forgotten, I have been kicked for it.
Enter at one door AIMWELL , VIOLETTA , MANLY , and CLARE , at the other TREEDLE , and SENSIBLE disguised as before .
Whib. Here she is; no, there she is,
Rich. Sir Nicholas.
Wor. I am amazed.
Treed. Stay, which is my wife?
Rich. Here is my daughter.
Bra. Mistress!
Fow. Fine juggling! Frank, whence comest [thou]?
Aim. From the priest, if you have any joy for me;
We are married.
Treed. Are there not two sir Nicholasses? pray what do you call this gentlewoman?
Aim. Her name is Violetta.
Vio. Father, your pardon.
Treed. This is fine, i'faith; well may a woman mistake her husband, when a man, that is the wiser vessel, cannot know his own wife.
Rich. Married to Aimwell!
Man. Clare . We are witnesses.
Treed. A good jest, faith; heark you, were you ever catechised? What is your name, forsooth?
Sens. Faith, sir, guess.
Aim. All passion will be fruitless but of joy.
Treed. Sensible! Came I from Croydon for a chambermaid? do you hear, every body? I have married Sensible.
Man. Clare . We are witnesses of that, too.
Treed. No, no, this is my wife.
Aim. Touch her not with a rude hand.
Treed. Why, I know she meant to be my wife, and only I have married her, as folks go to law, by attorney; she is but her deputy; for the more state I married her proxy.
Bra. [ aside to Treed .] — Do not deceive yourself, sir: though princes depute men to marry their wives, women do not use to be ciphers; she is your wife in law, let me counsel you, sir, to prevent laughter: — somebody hath been cozened, I name nobody; sure it was your fortune to marry this wench, which cannot now be undone; seem not to be sorry for it, they do purpose to jeer you out of your skin else.
Treed. Sayest thou so?
Bra. Be confident, and laugh at them first that they are so simple to think that you are gull'd: commend your choice, and say it was a trick of yours to deceive their expectation.
Treed. Come hither, madam Treedle. — Gentlemen, you think now I have but an ill match on 't, and that, as they say, I am cheated; do not believe it — a lady is a lady, a bargain is a bargain, and a knight is no gentleman — so much for that. — I grant I married her, in her mistress's name, and though (as great men, that use to choose wives for their favourites or servants, when they have done with them) I could put her off to my footman or my Tutor here, I will not; I will maintain her my wife, and publish her, do you see, publish her to any man that shall laugh at it, my own lady-bird.
Fow. You are happy, sir, in being deceived; he is a noble gentleman.
Wor. Sir Nicholas has releast her,
Let your consent be free, then.
Rich. You have won it,
Be my lov'd children, and I wish a joy
Flow in all bosoms. — Brains, we are reconcil'd.
Treed. Tutor, we pardon.
Vio. You may, sir; he was my engine. Now, what says my factious servant? nay, we are friends; the greatest politician may be deceived sometimes; wit without Brains, you see.
Bra. And Brains without wit too.
Fow. Frank, thou art married, and sir Nicholas has made a lady, I have lived loose a great while, and do purpose to be made fast to this gentlewoman, to whose act I owe my true conversion.
When all things have their trial, you shall find
Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind.
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