The English Dramatists

JOHN MARSTON

VOLUME THE SECOND

THE WORKS

OF

JOHN MARSTON

EDITED BY

A. H. BULLEN, B.A.

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOLUME THE SECOND

LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII

Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market and 80 for America. Each copy numbered as issued.

No. 30

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

THE DUTCH COURTEZAN.

The Dutch Courtezan. As it was playd in the Blacke-Friars, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written By Iohn Marston. At London, Printed by T. P. for Iohn Hodgets, and are to be sould at his shop in Paules Church-yard. 1605. 4to.

STORY OF THE PLAY.

Young Freevill, being about to marry Beatrice, daughter to Sir Hubert Subboys, determines to break his connection with Franceschina, the Dutch Courtezan. He introduces to Franceschina his friend Malheureux. This gentleman, who had hitherto led a strict life, is violently inflamed with passion at first sight of Franceschina. She promises to gratify his passion on one condition,—that he kills Freevill. As proof that the deed has been accomplished, he is to bring her a ring that had been presented to Freevill by Beatrice. Malheureux discloses the plot to Freevill, who undertakes to help him out of his difficulty. At a masque given in honour of the approaching marriage, Malheureux pretends to pick a quarrel with Freevill, and retires with him as though to fight a duel. Freevill is to lie hid at the house of a jeweller, while Malheureux posts with the ring to Franceschina. She hastens to communicate the news to Freevill’s father and Beatrice, Freevill accompanying her in the disguise of a pander. Thereupon old Freevill and Sir Hubert Subboys, attended by officers, proceed to Franceschina’s lodging, conceal themselves behind the curtain, and await the arrival of Malheureux, who comes at the hour appointed by Franceschina. They hear from his own lips a confession of the murder, arrest him, and lead him away to prison. Malheureux protests his innocence, but, as Freevill has not been near the jeweller’s house, his protestations are disregarded and the day for his execution is fixed. At the last moment Freevill presents himself and begs forgiveness for the device that he had adopted in order to cure his friend’s passion. Franceschina is condemned to “the whip and jail;” and all ends happily.

The play is enlivened by an underplot, which deals with the various tricks played by a clever knave called Cocledemoy on a vintner of Cheap, Master Mulligrub.

PROLOGUE.

Slight hasty labours in this easy play
Present not what you would, but what we may:
For this vouchsafe to know,—the only end
Of our now study is, not to offend.
Yet think not but, like others, rail we could
(Best art presents not what it can but should);
And if our pen in this seem over-slight,
We strive not to instruct, but to delight.
As for some few, we know of purpose here
To tax and scout, know firm art cannot fear    10
Vain rage; only the highest grace we pray
Is, you’ll not tax until you judge our play.
Think, and then speak: ’tis rashness, and not wit,
To speak what is in passion, and not judgment fit.
Sit then with fair expectance, and survey
Nothing but passionate man in his slight play,
Who hath this only ill, to some deem’d worst—
A modest diffidence, and self-mistrust.

Fabulæ Argumentum.

The difference betwixt the love of a courtezan and a wife is the full scope of the play, which, intermixed with the deceits of a witty city jester, fills up the comedy.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Sir Lionel Freevill, and
Sir Hubert Subboys, two old knights.
Young Freevill, Sir Lionel’s son.
Malheureux, Young Freevill’s unhappy friend.
Tysefew, a blunt gallant.
Caqueteur, a prattling gull.
Cocledemoy, a knavishly witty City Companion.
Master Mulligrub, a vintner.
Master Burnish, a goldsmith.
Lionel, his man.
Holifernes Reinscure, a barbers boy.

Beatrice, and
Crispinella, Sir Hubert’s daughters.
Putifer, their nurse.
Mistress Mulligrub.
Franceschina, a Dutch Courtezan.
Mary Faugh, an old woman.
Three Watchmen; Pages; Officers.

Scene—London.

THE DUTCH COURTEZAN.[1]

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Street.

Enter three Pages, with lights. Mulligrub, Freevill, Malheureux, Tysefew, and Caqueteur.

Free. Nay, comfort, my good host Shark; my good Mulligrub.

Mal. Advance thy snout; do not suffer thy sorrowful nose to drop on thy Spanish[2] leather jerkin, most hardly-honest Mulligrub.

Free. What, cogging Cocledemoy is run away with a neast[3] of goblets? True, what then? they will be hammered out well enough, I warrant you.

Mul. Sure, some wise man would find them out presently.    10

Free. Yes, sure, if we could find out some wise man presently.

Mal. How was the plate lost? how did it vanish?

Free. In most sincere prose, thus: that man of much money, some wit, but less honesty, cogging Cocledemoy, comes this night late into mine hostess Mulligrub’s tavern here; calls for a room; the house being full, Cocledemoy consorted with his movable chattel, his instrument of fornication, the bawd Mrs. Mary Faugh, are imparlour’d next the street; good poultry was their food, blackbird, lark, woodcock; and mine host here comes in, cries “God bless you!” and departs. A blind harper enters, craves audience, uncaseth, plays; the drawer, for female privateness’ sake, is nodded out, who knowing that whosoever will hit the mark of profit must, like those that shoot in stone-bows,[4] wink with one eye, grows blind o’ the right side, and departs.    27

Caq. He shall answer for that winking with one eye at the last day.

Mal. Let him have day[5] till then, and he will wink with both his eyes.

Free. Cocledemoy, perceiving none in the room but the blind harper (whose eyes Heaven had shut up from beholding wickedness), unclasps a casement to the

street very patiently, pockets up three bowls unnaturally, thrusts his wench forth the window, and himself most preposterously, with his heels forward, follows: the unseeing harper plays on, bids the empty dishes and the treacherous candles much good do them. The drawer returns, but, out alas! not only the birds, but also the neast of goblets, were flown away. Laments are raised——    42

Tys. Which did not pierce the heavens.

Free. The drawers moan, mine host doth cry, the bowls are gone.

Mul. Hic finis Priami!

Mal. Nay, be not jaw-fall’n, my most sharking Mulligrub.

Free. ’Tis your just affliction; remember the sins of the cellar, and repent, repent!    50

Mul. I am not jaw-fall’n, but I will hang the coney-catching Cocledemoy; and there’s an end of’t.

[Exit.

Caq. Is it a right stone? it shows well by candle-light.

Free. So do many things that are counterfeit, but I assure you this is a right diamond.

Caq. Might I borrow it of you? it will not a little grace my finger in visitation of my mistress.

Free. Why, use it, most sweet Caqueteur, use it.

Caq. Thanks, good sir; ’tis grown high night: gentles, rest to you.

[Exit.

Tys. A torch! Sound wench, soft sleep, and sanguine dreams to you both. On, boy!    62

Free. Let me bid you good rest.

Mal. Not so, trust me, I must bring my friend home:

I dare not give you up to your own company; I fear the warmth of wine and youth will draw you to some common house of lascivious entertainment.

Free. Most necessary buildings, Malheureux; ever since my intention of marriage, I do pray for their continuance.    70

Mal. Loved sir, your reason?

Free. Marry, lest my house should be made one. I would have married men love the stews as Englishmen loved the Low Countries: wish war should be maintain’d there, lest it should come home to their own doors. What, [not] suffer a man to have a hole to put his head in, though he go to the pillory for it! Youth and appetite are above the club of Hercules.

Mal. This lust is a most deadly sin, sure.

Free. Nay, ’tis a most lively sin, sure.    80

Mal. Well, I am sure, ’tis one of the head sins.

Free. Nay, I am sure it is one of the middle sins.

Mal. Pity ’tis grown a most daily vice.

Free. But a more nightly vice, I assure you.

Mal. Well, ’tis a sin.

Free. Ay, or else few men would wish to go to heaven: and, not to disguise with my friend, I am now going the way of all flesh.

Mal. Not to a courtezan?

Free. A courteous one.    90

Mal. What, to a sinner?

Free. A very publican.

Mal. Dear, my loved friend, let me be full with you:
Know, sir, the strongest argument that speaks

Against the soul’s eternity is lust,
That wise man’s folly, and the fool’s wisdom:
But to grow wild in loose lasciviousness,
Given up to heat and sensual appetite,
Nay, to expose your health and strength and name,
Your precious time, and with that time the hope    100
Of due preferment, advantageous means,
Of any worthy end, to the stale use,
The common bosom of a money creature,
One that sells human flesh—a mangonist!

Free. Alas, good creatures! what would you have them do? Would you have them get their living by the curse of man, the sweat of their brows? So they do: every man must follow his trade, and every woman her occupation. A poor decayed mechanical man’s wife, her husband is laid up, may not she lawfully be laid down, when her husband’s only rising is by his wife’s falling? A captain’s wife wants means; her commander lies in open fields abroad, may not she lie in civil arms at home? A waiting gentlewoman, that had wont to take say[6] to her lady, miscarries or so; the court misfortune throws her down; may not the city courtesy take her up? Do you know no alderman would pity such a woman’s case?[7] Why, is charity grown a sin, or relieving the poor and impotent an offence? You

will say beasts take no money for their fleshly entertainment: true, because they are beasts, therefore beastly;[8] only men give to loose, because they are men, therefore manly: and indeed, wherein should they bestow their money better? In land, the title may be crack’d; in houses, they may be burnt; in apparel, ’twill wear; in wine, alas for our pity! our throat is but short: but employ your[9] money upon women, and a thousand to nothing, some one of them will bestow that on you which shall stick by you as long as you live; they are no ungrateful persons, they will give quid [10] for quo: do ye protest, they’ll swear; do you rise, they’ll fall; do you fall, they’ll rise; do you give them the French crown, they’ll give you the French—O justus justa justum! They sell their bodies: do not better persons sell their souls? nay, since all things have been sold, honour, justice, faith, nay, even God Himself,    136
Aye me, what base ignobleness is it
To sell the pleasure of a wanton bed!
Why do men scrape, why heap to full heaps join?
But for his mistress, who would care for coin?
For this I hold to be denied of no man,
All things are made for man, and man for woman.
Give me my fee.

Mal. Of ill you merit well. My heart’s good friend,
Leave yet at length, at length; for know this ever,
’Tis no such sin to err, but to persever.

Free. Beauty is woman’s virtue, love the life’s music, and woman the dainties, or second course of heaven’s curious workmanship. Since then beauty, love, and woman are good, how can the love of woman’s beauty be bad? and, Bonum, quo communius, eo melius: wilt then go with me?    152

Mal. Whither?

Free. To a house of salvation.

Mal. Salvation?

Free. Yes, ’twill make thee repent. Wilt go to the family of love?[11] I will show thee my creature; a pretty nimble-ey’d Dutch tanakin;[12] an honest soft-hearted impropriation; a soft, plump, round-cheek’d froe,[13] that has beauty enough for her virtue, virtue enough for a woman, and woman enough for any reasonable man in my knowledge. Wilt pass along with me?    162

Mal. What, to a brothel?—to behold an impudent prostitution;[14] fie on’t, I shall hate the whole sex to see her. The most odious spectacle the earth can present is an immodest vulgar woman.

Free. Good still; my brain shall keep’t. You must go as you love me.

Mal. Well, I’ll go to make her loath the shame she’s in; The sight of vice augments the hate of sin.    170

Free. The sight of vice augments the hate of sin! Very fine, perdy!

[Exeunt.

[1] In the old eds., opposite the title, is written, “Turpe est difficiles habere nugas.” The quotation is from Martial, ii. 86.

[2] Spanish leather was held in great esteem.—See Middleton, viii. 70.

[3] The word “nest” was frequently written “neast.” (Cotgrave has—“Nicher. To neastle, build or make a neast in;” “Nid: neast.”) A “nest of goblets” was a large goblet containing several others of gradually diminishing size.

[4] A cross-bow for shooting stones or bullets. (“Arbaleste à boulet.” A stone-bow.—Cotgrave.)

[5] A debtor was said to have day (or longer day) when his creditors allowed him to defer payment.

[6] “Take say” is used here with a double meaning. “Say” was a sort of delicate serge; but the waiting-woman takes say (i.e., assay) because she tastes before her mistress (and is suitably rewarded for her lickorousness).

[7] A play on words: (1) case; (2) kaze (= pudendum muliebre).

[8] Compare the witticism of Julia, daughter of Augustus, in Macrobius (Saturn., ii. 5).

[9] Ed. 2. “you.”

[10] Old eds. “quite” and “quit.”

[11] For an account of the religious sect called The Family of Love, see Middleton, iii. 3-5.

[12] Halliwell (Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words) quotes from Armin’s Nest of Ninnies:—“Out she would, tucks up her trinkets, like a Dutch tannikin sliding to market on the ice, and away she flings.”

[13] Woman (Dutch).

[14] Whore. (The word brothel was so used).—Cf. Middleton, i. 269: “I may grace her with the name of a courtezan, a backslider, a prostitution,” &c.

SCENE II.

A Brothel.

Enter Cocledemoy and Mary Faugh.

Coc. Mary, Mary Faugh.

Mar. Hem.[15]

Coc. Come, my worshipful rotten rough-bellied bawd! ha! my blue-tooth’d patroness of natural wickedness, give me the goblets.

Mar. By yea and by nay, Master Cocledemoy, I fear you’ll play the knave, and restore them.

Coc. No, by the lord, aunt,[16] restitution is catholic, and thou know’st we love——

Mar. What?    10

Coc. Oracles are ceased: tempus præteritum, doest hear, my worshipful glysterpipe, thou ungodly fire that burnt Diana’s temple?—doest hear, bawd?

Mar. In very good truthness, you are the foulest-mouth’d, profane, railing brother, call a woman the most ungodly names: I must confess, we all eat of the forbidden fruit, and for mine own part, though I am one of

the family of love, and, as they say, a bawd that covers the multitude of sins, yet I trust I am none of the wicked that eat fish o’ Fridays.    20

Coc. Hang toasts! I rail at thee, my worshipful organ-bellows that fills the pipes, my fine rattling fleamy cough o’ the lungs, and cold with a pox? I rail at thee? what, my right precious pandress, supportress of barber-surgeons, and enhanceress[17] of lotium[18] and diet-drink?[19] I rail at thee, necessary damnation? I’ll make an oration, I, in praise of thy most courtly in-fashion and most pleasureable function, I.

Mar. Ay, prithee do, I love to hear myself praised, as well as any old lady, I.    30

Coc. List then:—a bawd; first for her profession or vocation, it is most worshipful of all the twelve companies; for, as that trade is most honourable that sells the best commodities—as the draper is more worshipful than the pointmaker, the silkman more worshipful than the draper, and the goldsmith more honourable than both, little Mary, so the bawd above all: her shop has the best ware; for where these sell but cloth, satins, and jewels, she sells divine virtues, as virginity, modesty, and such rare gems; and those not like a petty chapman, by retail, but like a great merchant, by wholesale; wa, ha, ho! And who are her customers? Not base corn-cutters

or sowgelders, but most rare wealthy knights, and most rare bountiful lords, are her customers. Again, whereas no trade or vocation profiteth but by the loss and displeasure of another—as the merchant thrives not but by the licentiousness of giddy[20] and unsettled youth; the lawyer, but by the vexation of his client; the physician, but by the maladies of his patient—only my smooth-gumm’d bawd lives by others’ pleasure, and only grows rich by others’ rising. O merciful gain, O righteous in-come! So much for her vocation, trade, and life. As for their death, how can it be bad, since their wickedness is always before their eyes, and a death’s[21] head most commonly on their middle-finger? To conclude, ’tis most certain they must needs both live well and die well, since most commonly they live in Clerkenwell,[22] and die in Bride-well. Dixi, Mary.    158

Enter Freevill and Malheureux.

Free. Come along, yonder’s the preface or exordium to my wench, the bawd. Fetch, fetch! What! Mr. Cocledemoy, is your knaveship yet stirring? Look to it, Mulligrub lies[23] for you.

Enter Cocledemoy.

Coc. The more fool he; I can lie for myself, worshipful friend. Hang toasts! I vanish. Ha! my fine boy, thou art a scholar, and hast read Tully’s Offices, my fine knave. Hang toasts!

Free. The vintner will toast you, and he catch you.

Coc. I will draw the vintner to the stoop, and when he runs low, tilt him. Ha! my fine knave, art going to thy recreation?    170

Free. Yes, my capricious rascal.

Coc. Thou wilt look like a fool then, by and by.

Free. Look like a fool, why?

Coc. Why, according to the old saying: a beggar when he is lousing of himself, looks like a philosopher; a hard-bound philosopher, when he is on the stool, looks like a tyrant; and a wise man, when he is in his belly act, looks like a fool. God give your worship good rest! grace and mercy keep your syringe straight, and your lotium unspilt.    180

Enter Franceschina.

Free. See, sir, this is she.

Mal. This?

Free. This.

Mal. A courtezan?—Now, cold blood defend me! What a propension[24] afflicts me!

O, mine aderliver[25] love, vat sall me do to requit dis your mush affection?

Free. Marry, salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome.

A’ mine art, sir, you bin very velcome.    190

Free. Kiss her, man, with a more familiar affection, so. Come, what entertainment? go to your lute.

[Exit Franceschina.

And how dost approve my sometimes elected? She’s none of your ramping cannibals that devour man’s flesh, nor any of your Curtian gulfs that will never be satisfied until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this shortheels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But, faith, dost thou not somewhat excuse my sometimes incontinency, with her enforcive beauties? Speak.    203

Mal. Hah! she is a whore, is she not?

Free. Whore? fie, whore! you may call her a courtezan, a cockatrice,[26] or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a suppository. But whore! fie, ’tis not in fashion to call things by their right names. Is a great merchant a cuckold, you must say he is one of the livery. Is a great lord a fool, you must say he is weak.

Is a gallant pocky, you must say he has the court scab. Come, she’s your mistress or so.    212

Enter Franceschina, with her lute.

Come, siren, your voice.

Fra. Vill not you stay in mine bosom to-night, love?

Free. By no means, sweet breast; this gentleman has vow’d to see me chastely laid.

Fra. He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him.

Free. Peace, you tender him offence; he is one of a professed abstinence. Siren, your voice and away.

She sings to her Lute.

THE SONG.

The dark is my delight,    220
So ’tis the nightingale’s;
My music’s in the night,
So is the nightingale’s;
My body is but little,
So is the nightingale’s;
I love to sleep ’gainst prickle,
So doth the nightingale.

Thanks; buss; so. The night grows old; good rest.

Fra. Rest to mine dear love; rest, and no long absence.    230

Free. Believe me, not long.

Fra. Sall ick not believe you long?

[Exit Franceschina.

Free. O yes, come, via![27]—away, boy—on!

[Exit, his Page lighting him.

Re-enter Freevill, and seems to overhear Malheureux.

Mal. Is she unchaste—can such a one be damn’d?
O love and beauty! ye two eldest seeds
Of the vast chaos, what strong right you have
Even in things divine—our very souls!

Free. [aside.] Wha, ha, ho! come, bird, come. Stand, peace!

Mal. Are strumpets then such things so delicate?
Can custom spoil what nature made so good?    240
Or is their custom bad? Beauty’s for use—
I never saw a sweet face vicious!
It might be proud, inconstant, wanton, nice,
But never tainted with unnatural vice.
Their worst is, their best art is love to win—
O that to love should be or shame, or sin!

Free. [aside.] By the Lord! he’s caught! Laughter eternal!

Mal. Soul, I must love her! Destiny is weak
To my affection.—A common love!—
Blush not, faint breast!    250
That which is ever loved of most is best.
Let colder eld the strong’st objections move,
No love’s without some lust, no life without some love.

Free. Nay, come on, good sir; what, though the most

odious spectacle the world can present be an immodest vulgar woman? yet, sir, for my sake——

Mal. Well, sir, for your sake, I’ll think better of them.

Free. Do, good sir; and pardon me that have brought you in:
You know the sight of vice augments the hate of sin.

Mal. Hah! will you go home, sir; ’tis high bedtime?    260

Free. With all my heart, sir; only do not chide me.
I must confess——

Mal. A wanton lover you have been.

Free. O that to love should be or shame or sin!

Mal. Say ye?

Free. Let colder eld the strongest objections move!

Mal. How’s this?

Free. No love’s without some lust, no life without some love.

Go your ways for an apostata! I believe my cast garment must be let out in the seams for you when all is done.    270

Of all the fools that would all man out-thrust,
He that ’gainst Nature would seem wise is worst.

[Exeunt.

[15] Cf. Middleton, iv. 246.

[16] Cant term for a bawd.

[17] “Encherisseur. A high bidder or out-bidder of others; a raiser or enhancer of the price of things,” &c.—Cotgrave.

[18] Old eds. “lotinus.”

[19] “Diet-drink”—medicine prescribed for a patient who was taking diet (i.e., being treated for the pox).

[20] Ed. 2. “giddy youth, and unsetled.”

[21] It appears from many passages in old writers that bawds were accustomed to wear rings with death’s heads on them. Cf. Dekker and Webster’s Northward Ho, iv. 1:—“And as if I were a bawd no ring pleases me but a death’s head.”

[22] Turnmill Street, the headquarters of Elizabethan whores, was situated in Clerkenwell.

[23] i.e., is in ambush.

[24] Old eds. “proportion.”

[25] A corruption of Dutch “alderliefster.”

[26] A term for a courtezan; particularly applied to a captain’s mistress.

[27] “Via”—away, on!

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Outside Sir Hubert Subboy’s house, under Beatrice’s window.

Enter Freevill, Pages with torches and Gentlemen with music.

Free. The morn is yet but young. Here, gentlemen,
This is my Beatrice’ window—this the chamber
Of my betrothèd dearest, whose chaste eyes,
Full of loved sweetness and clear cheerfulness,
Have gaged my soul to her enjoyings;
Shredding away all those weak under-branches
Of base affections and unfruitful heats.
Here bestow your music to my voice.

[A song.

Enter Beatrice above.

Always a virtuous name to my chaste love!

Bea. Loved sir,    10
The honour of your wish return to you.
I cannot with a mistress’ compliment,
Forcèd discourses, or nice art of wit,

Give entertain to your dear-wishèd presence:
But safely thus,—what hearty gratefulness,
Unsullen silence, unaffected modesty,
And an unignorant shamefastness can express,
Receive as your protested due. ’Faith, my heart,
I am your servant.
O let not my secure simplicity    20
Breed your mislike, as one quite void of skill;
’Tis grace enough in us not to be ill.
I can some good, and, faith, I mean no hurt;
Do not then, sweet, wrong sober ignorance.
I judge you all of virtue, and our vows
Should kill all fears that base distrust can move.
My soul, what say you—still you love?

Free. Still!
My vow is up above me, and, like time,
Irrevocable: I am sworn all yours.
No beauty shall untwine our arms, no face    30
In my eyes can or shall seem fair;
And would to God only to me you might
Seem only fair! Let others disesteem
Your matchless graces, so might I safer seem;
Envy I covet not. Far, far be all ostent—
Vain boasts of beauties, soft joys, and the rest:
He that is wise pants on a private breast.
So could I live in desert most unknown,
Yourself to me enough were populous;[28]

Your eyes shall be my joys, my wine that still    40
Shall drown my often cares; your only voice
Shall cast a slumber on my list’ning sense;
You, with soft lip, shall only ope mine eyes
And suck their lids asunder; only you
Shall make me wish to live, and not fear death,
So on your cheeks I might yield latest breath.
O he that thus may live and thus shall die,
May well be envied of a deity.[29]

Bea. Dear, my loved heart, be not so passionate;
Nothing extreme lives long.    50

Free. But not to be extreme[30]—nothing in love’s extreme—
My love receives no mean.

Bea. I give you faith; and, prithee, since, poor soul!
I am so easy to believe thee, make it much more pity to deceive me!
Wear this slight favour in my remembrance.

[Throweth down a ring to him.

Free. Which, when I part from,
Hope, the best of life, ever part from me.

Bea. I take you and your word, which may ever live

your servant. See, day is quite broke up—the best of hours.    61

Free. Good morrow, graceful mistress: our nuptial day holds.

Bea. With happy constancy a wishèd day.

[Exit.

Free. Myself and all content rest with you.

Enter Malheureux.

Mal. The studious morn, with paler cheek, draws on
The day’s bold light. Hark how the free-born birds
Carol their unaffected passions!

[The nightingales sing.

Now sing they sonnets—thus they cry, We love!
O breath of heaven! thus they, harmless souls,    70
Give entertain to mutual affects.
They have no bawds, no mercenary beds,
No polite restraints, no artificial heats,
No faint dissemblings; no custom makes them blush,
No shame afflicts their name. O you happy beasts!
In whom an inborn heat is not held sin,
How far transcend you wretched, wretched man,
Whom national custom, tyrannous respects
Of slavish order, fetters, lames his power,
Calling that sin in us which in all things else    80
Is Nature’s highest virtue.
O miseri quorum gaudia crimen habent!
Sure Nature against virtue cross doth fall,
Or virtue’s self is oft unnatural.
That I should love a strumpet! I, a man of snow!
Now, shame forsake me—whither am I fallen!

A creature of a public use! my friend’s love, too!
To live to be a talk to men—a shame
To my professed virtue! O accursed reason,
How many eyes hast thou to see thy shame,    90
And yet how blind once to prevent defame!

Free. Diaboli virtus in lumbis est! Morrow, my friend. Come, I could make a tedious scene of this now; but what——Pah! thou art in love with a courtezan! Why, sir, should we loathe all strumpets, some men should hate their own mothers or sisters: a sin against kind, I can tell you.

Mal. May it beseem a wise man to be in love?

Free. Let wise men alone, ’twill beseem thee and me well enough.    100

Mal. Shall I not offend the vowe[d] band of our friendship?

Free. What, to affect that which thy friend affected? By Heaven, I resign her freely; the creature and I must grow off; by this time she has assure[d]ly heard of my resolved marriage, and no question swears “God’s sacrament, ten towsand divells.” I’ll resign, i’faith.

Mal. I would but embrace her, hear her speak, and at the most, but kiss her.

Free. O friend, he that could live with the smoke of roast-meat might live at a cheap rate!    111

Mal. I shall ne’er prove heartily received;
A kind of flat ungracious modesty,
An insufficient dulness stains my ’haviour.

Free. No matter, sir; insufficiency and sottishness are much commendable in a most discommendable

action: now could I swallow thee, thou hadst wont to be so harsh and cold: I’ll tell thee,—hell and the prodigies of angry Jove are not so fearful to a thinking mind as a man without affection. Why, friend, philosophy and nature are all one; love is the centre in which all lines close, the common bond of being.    122

Mal. O but a chaste reservèd privateness,
A modest continence!

Free. I’ll tell thee what, take this as firmest sense:—
Incontinence will force a continence;
Heat wasteth heat, light defaceth light,
Nothing is spoiled but by his proper might.
This is something too weighty for thy floor.

Mal. But howsoe’er you shade it, the world’s eye    130
Shines hot and open on’t;
Lying, malice, envy, are held but slidings,
Errors of rage, when custom and the world
Calls lust a crime spotted with blackest terrors.

Free. Where errors are held crimes, crimes are but errors.

Along, sir, to her; she’s an arrant strumpet; and a strumpet is a sarpego, venom’d gonorrhy to man—things actually possessed [Offers to go out, and suddenly draws back]—yet since thou art in love,—and again, as good make use of a statue—a body without a soul, a carcass three months dead—yet since thou art in love——

Mal. Death, man! my destiny I cannot choose.    142

Free. Nay, I hope so. Again, they sell but only flesh,
No jot affection; so that even in the enjoying,

Absentem marmoreamque putes.[31] Yet since you needs must love——

Mal. Unavoidable, though folly—worse than madness!

Free. It’s true; but since you needs must love, you must know this,—
He that must love, a fool and he must kiss.

Enter Cocledemoy.

Master Cocledemoy, ut vales, Domine!    150

Coc. Ago tibi gratias, my worshipful friend, how does your friend?

Free. Out, you rascal!

Coc. Hang toasts, you are an ass; much o’ your worship’s brain lies in your calves; bread o’ god, boy, I was at supper last night with a new-wean’d bulchin; bread o’ god, drunk, horribly drunk—horribly drunk! there was a wench, one Frank Frailty, a punk, an honest polecat, of a clean instep, sound leg, smooth thigh, and the nimble devil in her buttock. Ah, feast o’ grace! when saw you, Tysefew, or Master Caqueteur, that prattling gallant of a good draught, common customs, fortunate impudence, and sound fart?    163

Free. Away, rogue!

Coc. Hang toasts, my fine boy, my companion as worshipful.

Mal. Yes, I hear you are taken up with scholars and churchmen.

Enter Holifernes the barber.

Coc. Quanquam[32] te, Marce, fili, my fine boy.

Hol. Does[33] your worship want a barber-surgeon?    170

Free. Farewell, knave; beware the Mulligrubs.

[Exeunt Freevill and Malhereux.

Coc. Let the Mulligrubs beware the knave. What, a barber-surgeon, my delicate boy?

Hol. Yes, sir, an apprentice to surgery.

Coc.[34] ’Tis, my fine boy. To what bawdy-house doth your master belong? What’s thy name?

Hol. Holifernes Reinscure.

Coc. Reinscure! Good Master Holifernes, I desire your further acquaintance; nay, pray ye be covered, my fine boy: kill thy itch, and heal thy scabs. Is thy master rotten?    181

Hol. My father, forsooth, is dead——

Coc. And laid in his grave.
Alas! what comfort shall Peggy then have![35]

Hol. None but me, sir; that’s my mother’s son, I assure you.

Coc. Mother’s son? A good witty boy, would live to read an homily well: and to whom are you going now?

Hol. Marry, forsooth, to trim Master Mulligrub the vintner.    190

Coc. Do you know Master Mulligrub?

Hol. My godfather, sir.

Coc. Good boy: hold up thy chops. I pray thee do one thing for me: my name is Gudgeon.

Hol. Good Master Gudgeon.

Coc. Lend me thy basin, razor, and apron.

Hol. O Lord, sir![36]

Coc. Well spoken; good English. But what’s thy furniture worth?

Hol. O Lord, sir, I know not.    200

Coc. Well spoken; a boy of a good wit: hold this pawn; where dost dwell?

Hol. At the sign of the Three Razors, sir.

Coc. A sign of good shaving, my catastrophonical fine boy. I have an odd jest to trim Master Mulligrub, for a wager; a jest, boy; a humour. I’ll return thy things presently. Hold!

Hol. What mean you, good Master Gudgeon?

Coc. Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I’ll recoil presently.    210

Hol. You’ll not stay long.

Coc. As I am an honest man. The Three Razors?

Hol. Ay, sir.

[Exit Holifernes.

Coc. Good; and if I shave not Master Mulligrub, my wit has no edge, and I may[37] go cack in my pewter. Let me see,—a barber: my scurvy tongue will discover me:

must dissemble, must disguise; for my beard, my false hair; for my tongue—Spanish, Dutch or Welsh—no, a Northern barber; very good. Widow Reinscure’s man, well; newly entertain’d, right; so, hang toasts! all cards have white backs, and all knaves would seem to have white breasts: so proceed now, worshipful Cocledemoy.

[Exit Cocledemoy, in his barber’s furniture.

[28] “It is impossible to resist the idea that Marston was here thinking of Shakespeare: ‘Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. For you, in my respect, are all the world.’”—Halliwell.

[29] Ed. 1. “dietie,”—a recognised form of the word deity. See the index to Old Plays, ed. Bullen, sub Diety.

[30] I suggest the following arrangement:—

“Free. Be not extreme!
Nothing in love’s extreme, my love receives
No mean.
Bea. I give you faith, and prithee since,
Poor soul! I am so easy to believe thee,
Make it much more [a] pity to deceive me.”

[31] Martial, xi. 60.

[32] The opening words of Cicero’s De Officiis.

[33] “Does ... surgeon” given to Cocledemoy in the old eds.

[34] Not marked in old eds.

[35] On 26th September 1588 “A ballad intytuled Peggies Complaint for the Death of her Willye” was entered in the Stationers’ Registers: I suppose that Cocledemoy is quoting from this ballad. In The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, 1590 (Hazlitt’s Dodsley, vi. 393), the ballad of “Peggy and Willy” is mentioned.

[36] See note 2, vol. i. p. 32.

[37] Omitted in ed. 2.