The Puritan Widow

THE PURITAINE WIDDOW

THE
ACTORS
NAME
In the Play Intitled
The Puritan Widow.

The Scene London.

Lady Plus, a Citizens Widow.
Frances,
Moll, her two Daughters.
Sir Godfrey, Brother-in-Law to the Widow Plus.
Master Edmond, Son to the Widow Plus.
George Pye-boord, a Scholar and a Citizen.
Peter Skirmish, an old Soldier.
Captain Idle, a Highway-man.
Corporal Oath, a vain-glorious Fellow.
Nichols St. Antlings,
Simon St. Mary Overies,
Frailty, Serving-men to the Lady Plus.
Sir Oliver Muck-hill, a Suitor to the Lady Plus.
Sir John Penny-Dub, a Suitor to Moll.
Sir Andrew Tipstaff, a Suitor to Frances.
The Sheriff of London.
Puttock,
Ravenshaw, Two of the Sheriffs Sergeants.
Dogson, a Yeoman.
A Noble-man.
A Gentleman Citizen.
Officers.

ACTUS PRIMUS.

Scene I. A Garden behind the widow’s house.

[Enter the Lady Widdow-Plus, her two daughters Frank and Moll, her husband’s Brother an old Knight Sir Godfrey, with her Son and heir Master Edmond, all in mourning apparel, Edmond in a Cyrpess Hat. The Widdow wringing her hands, and bursting out Into passion, as newly come from the Burial of her husband.

WIDOW.
Oh, that ever I was borne, that ever I was borne!

SIR GODFREY. Nay, good Sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good comfort; show your self a woman, now or never.

WIDOW. Oh, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the sweetest husband that ever lay by woman.

SIR GODFREY.
Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest, virtuous,
Discreet, wise man,—he was my Brother, as right as right.

WIDOW. O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a man so well given to a woman—oh!

SIR GODFREY. Nay, but, kind Sister, I could weep as much as any woman, but, alas, our tears cannot call him again: me thinks you are well read, Sister, and know that death is as common as Homo, a common name to all men:—a man shall be taken when he’s making water.—Nay, did not the learned Parson, Master Pigman, tell us e’en now, that all Flesh is frail, we are borne to die, Man ha’s but a time: with such like deep and profound persuasions, as he is a rare fellow, you know, and an excellent Reader: and for example, (as there are examples aboundance,) did not Sir Humfrey Bubble die tother day? There’s a lusty Widdow; why, she cried not above half an hour—for shame, for shame! Then followed him old Master Fulsome, the Usurer: there’s a wise Widdow; why, she cried ne’er a whit at all.

WIDOW.
O, rank not me with those wicked women: I had a husband
Out-shined ’em all.

SIR GODFREY.
Aye, that he did, yfaith: he out-shined ’em all.

WIDOW. Doost thou stand there and see us all weep, and not once shed a tear for thy father’s death? oh, thou ungratious son and heir, thou!

EDMOND. Troth, Mother, I should not weep, I’m sure; I am past a child, I hope, to make all my old School fellows laugh at me; I should be mocked, so I should. Pray, let one of my Sisters weep for me. I’ll laugh as much for her another time.

WIDOW. Oh, thou past-Grace, thou! out of my sight, thou graceless imp, thou grievest me more than the death of thy Father! oh, thou stubborn only son! hadst thou such an honest man to thy Father—that would deceive all the world to get riches for thee—and canst thou not afford a little salt water? he that so wisely did quite over-throw the right heir of those lands, which now you respect not: up every morning betwixt four and five; so duly at Westminster Hall every Term-Time, with all his Cards and writings, for thee, thou wicked Absolon— oh, dear husband!

EDMOND. Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad he’s Churched; for now he’s gone, I shall spend in quiet.

FRANCES.
Dear mother, pray cease; half your Tears suffice.
Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes;
Let me weep now.

WIDOW. Oh, such a dear knight! such a sweet husband have I lost, have I lost!—If Blessed be the coarse the rain rains upon, he had it pouring down.

SIR GODFREY. Sister, be of good cheer, we are all mortal our selves. I come upon you freshly. I near speak without comfort, hear me what I shall say:—my brother ha’s left you wealthy, y’are rich.

WIDOW.
Oh!

SIR GODFREY.
I say y’are rich: you are also fair.

WIDOW.
Oh!

SIR GODFREY. Go to, y’are fair, you cannot smother it; beauty will come to light; nor are your years so far enter’d with you, but that you will be sought after, and may very well answer another husband; the world is full of fine Gallants, choice enow, Sister,—for what should we do with all our Knights, I pray, but to marry rich widows, wealthy Citizens’ widows, lusty fair-browed Ladies? go to, be of good comfort, I say: leave snobbing and weeping—Yet my Brother was a kind hearted man—I would not have the Elf see me now!—Come, pluck up a woman’s heart—here stands your Daughters, who be well estated, and at maturity will also be enquir’d after with good husbands, so all these tears shall be soon dried up and a better world than ever—What, Woman? you must not weep still; he’s dead, he’s buried—yet I cannot choose but weep for him!

WIDOW. Marry again! no! let me be buried quick then! And that same part of Quire whereon I tread To such intent, O may it be my grave; And that the priest may turn his wedding prayers, E’en with a breath, to funeral dust and ashes! Oh, out of a million of millions, I should ne’er find such a husband; he was unmatchable,—unmatchable! nothing was too hot, nor too dear for me, I could not speak of that one thing, that I had not: beside I had keys of all, kept all, receiv’d all, had money in my purse, spent what I would, came home when I would, and did all what I would. Oh, my sweet husband! I shall never have the like.

SIR GODFREY. Sister, ne’er say so; he was an honest brother of mine, and so, and you may light upon one as honest again, or one as honest again may light upon you: that’s the properer phrase, indeed.

WIDOW.
Never! Oh, if you love me, urge it not.

[Kneels.]

Oh may I be the by-word of the world,
The common talk at Table in the mouth
Of every Groom and Waiter, if e’er more
I entertain the carnal suite of Man!

MOLL.
I must kneel down for fashion too.

FRANCES.
And I, whom never man as yet hath scald,
E’ev in this depth of general sorrow, vow
Never to marry, to sustain such loss
As a dear husband seems to be, once dead.

MOLL.
I lov’d my father well, too; but to say,
Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death—
Sure, I should speak false Latin, should I not?
I’d as soon vow never to come in Bed.
Tut! Women must live by th’ quick, and not by th’ dead.

WIDOW.
Dar Copy of my husband, oh let me kiss thee.
How like is this Model! This brief Picture

[Drawing out her husband’s Picture.]

Quickens my tears: my sorrows are renew’d
At this fresh sight.

SIR GODFREY.
Sister—

WIDOW.
Away,
All honesty with him is turn’d to clay.
Oh my sweet husband, oh—

FRANCES.
My dear father!

[Exeunt mother and Frances.]

MOLL. Here’s a pulling, indeed! I think my Mother weeps for all the women that ever buried husbands; for if from time to time all the Widowers’ tears in England had been bottled up, I do not think all would have filled a three-half-penny Bottle. Alas, a small matter bucks a hand-kercher,—and sometimes the spittle stands to nie Saint Thomas a Watrings. Well, I can mourn in good sober sort as well as another; but where I spend one tear for a dead Father, I could give twenty kisses for a quick husband.

[Exit Moll.]

SIR GODFREY. Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou mayest be proud on’t, thou hast a kind loving sister-in-law; how constant! how passionate! how full of April the poor soul’s eyes are! Well, I would my Brother knew on’t, he would then know what a kind wife he had left behind him: truth, and twere not for shame that the Neighbours at th’ next garden should hear me, between joy and grief I should e’en cry out-right!

[Exit Sir Godfrey.]

EDMOND. So, a fair riddance! My father’s laid in dust; his Coffin and he is like a whole-meat-pye, and the worms will cut him up shortly. Farewell, old Dad, farewell. I’ll be curb’d in no more. I perceived a son and heir may quickly be made a fool, and he will be one, but I’ll take another order.—Now she would have me weep for him, for-sooth, and why? because he cozn’d the right heir, being a fool, and bestow’d those Lands upon me his eldest Son; and therefore I must weep for him, ha, ha. Why, all the world knows, as long as twas his pleasure to get me, twas his duty to get for me: I know the law in that point; no Attorney can gull me. Well, my Uncle is an old Ass, and an Admirable Cockscomb. I’ll rule the Roast my self. I’ll be kept under no more; I know what I may do well enough by my Father’s Copy: the Law’s in mine own hands now: nay, now I know my strength, I’ll be strong enough for my Mother, I warrant you.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. A street.

[Enter George Pye-board, a scholar and a Citizen, and unto him an old soldier, Peter Skirmish.]

PYE. What’s to be done now, old Lad of War? thou that wert wont to be as hot as a turn-spit, as nimble as a fencer, and as lousy as a school-master; now thou art put to silence like a Sectary.—War sits now like a Justice of peace, and does nothing. Where be your Muskets, Caleiuers and Hotshots? in Long-lane, at Pawn, at Pawn.—Now keys are your only Guns, Key-guns, Key-guns, and Bawds the Gunners, who are your Sentinels in peace, and stand ready charg’d to give warning, with hems, hums, and pockey-coffs; only your Chambers are licenc’st to play upon you, and Drabs enow to give fire to ’em.

SKIRMISH. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me, for since the cessure of the wars, I have spent above a hundred crowns out a purse. I have been a soldier any time this forty years, and now I perceive an old soldier and an old Courtier have both one destiny, and in the end turn both into hob-nails.

PYE. Pretty mystery for a begger, for indeed a hob-nail is the true emblem of a begger’s shoe-sole.

SKIRMISH. I will not say but that war is a blood-sucker, and so; but, in my conscience, (as there is no soldier but has a piece of one, though it be full of holes like a shot Antient; no matter, twill serve to swear by) in my conscience, I think some kind of Peace has more hidden oppressions, and violent heady sins, (though looking of a gentle nature) then a profest war.

PYE. Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor Gentleman, and a Scholar: I have been matriculated in the University, wore out six Gowns there, seen some fools, and some Scholars, some of the City, and some of the Country, kept order, went bare- headed over the Quadrangle, eat my Commons with a good stomach, and Battled with Discretion; at last, having done many slights and tricks to maintain my wit in use (as my brain would never endure me to be idle,) I was expeld the University, only for stealing a Cheese out of Jesus College.

SKIRMISH.
Ist possible?

PYE. Oh! there was one Welshman (God forgive him) pursued it hard; and never left, till I turned my staff toward London, where when I came, all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to Graves, (as indeed there was but a few left before.) Then was I turned to my wits, to shift in the world, to tower among Sons and Heirs, and Fools, and Gulls, and Lady’s eldest Sons, to work upon nothing, to feed out of Flint, and ever since has my belly been much beholding to my brain. But, now, to return to you, old Skirmish: I say as you say, and for my part wish a Turbulency in the world, for I have nothing to lose but my wits, and I think they are as mad as they will be: and to strengthen your Argument the more, I say an honest war is better than a bawdy peace, as touching my profession. The multiplicity of Scholars, hatcht and nourisht in the idle Calms of peace, makes ’em like Fishes one devour another; and the community of Learning has so played upon affections, and thereby almost Religion is come about to Phantasy, and discredited by being too much spoken off-in so many and mean mouths, I my self, being a Scholar and a Graduate, have no other comfort by my learning, but the Affection of my words, to know how Scholar-like to name what I want, and can call my self a Begger both in Greek and Latin: and therefore, not to cog with Peace, I’ll not be afraid to say, ’tis a great Breeder, but a barren Nourisher: a great getter of Children, which mus either be Thieves or Rich-men, Knaves or Beggers.

SKIRMISH. Well, would I had been born a Knave then, when I was born a Begger; for if the truth were known, I think I was begot when my Father had never a penny in his purse.

PYE. Puh, faint not, old Skirmish; let this warrant thee, Facilis Descensus Averni, ’tis an easy journey to a Knave; thou mayest be a Knave when thou wilt; and Peace is a good Madam to all other professions, and an arrant Drab to us, let us handle her accordingly, and by our wits thrive in despite of her; for since the law lives by quarrels, the Courtier by smooth God-morrows; and every profession makes it self greater by imperfections, why not we then by shifts, wiles, and forgeries? and seeing our brains are our only Patrimonies, let’s spend with judgment, not like a desperate son and heir, but like a sober and discreet Templar,—one that will never march beyond the bounds of his allowance. And for our thriving means, thus: I my self will put on the Deceit of a Fortune-teller.

SKIRMISH.
A Fortune-teller? Very proper.

PYE.
And you of a figure-caster, or a Conjurer.

SKIRMISH.
A Conjurer?

PYE. Let me alone; I’ll instruct you, and teach you to deceive all eyes, but the Devil’s.

SKIRMISH. Oh aye, for I would not deceive him, and I could choose, of all others.

PYE. Fear not, I warrant you; and so by those means we shall help one another to Patients, as the condition of the age affords creatures enow for cunning to work upon.

SKIRMISH.
Oh wondrous! new fools and fresh Asses.

PYE.
Oh, fit, fit! excellent.

SKIRMISH.
What, in the name of Conjuring?

PYE. My memory greets me happily with an admirable subject to gaze upon: The Lady-Widdow, who of late I saw weeping in her Garden for the death of her Husband; sure she ’as but a watrish soul, and half on’t by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: device well managed may do good upon her: it stands firm, my first practise shall be there.

SKIRMISH.
You have my voice, George.

PYE. Sh’as a gray Gull to her Brother, a fool to her only son, and an Ape to her youngest Daughter.—I overheard ’em severally, and from their words I’ll derive my device; and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my second in all slights.

SKIRMISH. Ne’er doubt me, George Pye-board,—only you must teach me to conjure.

[Enter Captain Idle, pinioned, and with a guard of Officers passeth over the Stage.]

PYE.
Puh, I’ll perfect thee, Peter.—How now? what’s he?

SKIRMISH.
Oh George! this sight kills me. Tis my sworn Brother,
Captain Idle.

PYE.
Captain Idle!

SKIRMISH. Apprehended for some felonious act or other. He has started out, h’as made a Night on’t, lackt silver. I cannot but commend his resolution; he would not pawn his Buff-Jerkin. I would either some of us were employed, or might pitch our Tents at Usurers’ doors, to kill the slaves as they peep out at the Wicket.

PYE. Indeed, those are our ancient Enemies; they keep our money in their hands, and make us to be hangd for robbing of ’em. But, come, let’s follow after to the Prison, and know the Nature of his offence; and what we can steed him in, he shall be sure of; and I’ll uphold it still, that a charitable Knave is better then a soothing Puritain.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. A Street.

[Enter at one door Corporal Oath, a Vain-glorious fellow;
and at the other, three of the Widdow Puritain’s Servingmen,
Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint-Mary-Overaries, and
Frailty, in black scurvy mourning coats, and Books at their
Girdles, as coming from Church. They meet.]

NICHOLAS. What, Corporal Oath? I am sorry we have met with you, next our hearts; you are the man that we are forbidden to keep company withall. We must not swear I can tell you, and you have the name for swearing.

SIMON. Aye, Corporal Oath, I would you would do so much as forsake us, sir; we cannot abide you, we must not be seen in your company.

FRAILTY. There is none of us, I can tell you, but shall be soundly whipt for swearing.

CORPORAL. Why, how now, we three? Puritanical Scrape-shoes, Flesh a good Fridays! a hand.

ALL.
Oh!

CORPORAL. Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint Mary Ovaries, ha’s the De’el possest you, that you swear no better? you half-Christned Catomites, you ungod-mothered Varlets, do’s the first lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to be Cocks-combs? proud Cocks-combs! not once to do duty to a man of Mark!

FRAILTY.
A man of Mark, quatha! I do not think he can shew a Begger’s
Noble.

CORPORAL. A Corporal, a Commander, one of spirit, that is able to blow you up all dry with your Books at your Girdles.

SIMON. We are not taught to believe that, sir, for we know the breath of man is weak.

[Corporal breathes upon Frailty.]

FRAILTY. Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here’s one strong enough. Blow us up, quatha: he may well blow me above twelve-score off an him. I warrant, if the wind stood right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate, to the Leads of Ludgate.

CORPORAL.
Sirrah, thou Hollow-Book of Max-candle—

NICHOLAS.
Aye, you may say what you will, so you swear not.

CORPORAL.
I swear by the—

NICHOLAS. Hold, hold, good Corporal Oath; for if you swear once, we shall all fall down in a swoon presently.

CORPORAL. I must and will swear: you quivering Cocks-combs, my Captain is imprisoned, and by Vulcan’s Leather Cod-piece point—

NICHOLAS.
O Simon, what an oath was there.

FRAILTY. If he should chance to break it, the poor man’s Breeches would fall down about his heels, for Venus allows him but one point to his hose.

CORPORAL. With these my Bully-Feet I will thump ope the Prison doors, and brain the Keeper with the begging Box, but I’ll see my honest sweet Captain Idle at liberty.

NICHOLAS.
How, Captain Idle? my old Aunt’s son, my dear Kinsman, in
Capadochio?

CORPORAL. Aye, thou Church-peeling, thou Holy-paring, religious outside, thou! if thou hadst any grace in thee, thou would’st visit him, relieve him, swear to get him out.

NICHOLAS. Assure you, Corporal, indeed-lam tis the first time I heard on’t.

CORPORAL. Why do’t now, then, Marmaset: bring forth thy yearly-wages, let not a Commander perish!

SIMON.
But, if he be one of the wicked, he shall perish.

NICHOLAS. Well, Corporal, I’ll e’en them along with you, to visit my Kinsman: if I can do him any good, I will,—but I have nothing for him. Simon Saint Mary Ovaries and Frailty, pray make a lie for me to the Knight my Master, old Sir Godfrey.

CORPORAL.
A lie? may you lie then?

FRAILTY.
O, aye, we may lie, but we must not swear.

SIMON. True, we may lie with our Neighbor’s wife, but we must not swear wedid so.

CORPORAL.
Oh, an excellent Tag of religion!

NICHOLAS. Oh Simon, I have thought upon a sound excuse; it will go currant: say that I am gone to a Fast.

SIMON.
To a Fast? very good.

NICHOLAS.
Aye, to a Fast, say, with Master Fullbelly the Minister.

SIMON. Master Fullbelly? an honest man: he feeds the flock well, for he’s an excellent feeder.

[Exit Corporal, Nicholas.]

FRAILTY. Oh, aye, I have seen him eat up a whole Pig, and afterward fall to the pittitoes.

[Exit Simon and Frailty.]

SCENE IV.

The Prison, Marshalsea.

[Enter Captain Idle at one door, and later Pye-board and old soldier at the other. George Pye-board, speaking within.]

PYE.
Pray turn the key.

SKIRMISH.
Turn the key, I pray.

CAPTAIN.
Who should those be? I almost know their voices.—
O my friends!

[Entering.]

Ya’re welcome to a smelling Room here. You newly took leave of the air; ist not a strange savour?

PYE.
As all prisons have: smells of sundry wretches,
Who, tho departed, leave their scents behind ’em.
By Gold, Captain, I am sincerely sorry for thee.

CAPTAIN. By my troth, George, I thank thee; but pish,—what must be, must be.

SKIRMISH. Captain, what do you lie in for? ist great? what’s your offence?

CAPTAIN. Faith, my offence is ordinary,—common: A High-way; and I fear me my penalty will be ordinary and common too: a halter.

PYE.
Nay, prophecy not so ill; it shall go heard,
But I’ll shift for thy life.

CAPTAIN. Whether I live or die, thou’art an honest George. I’ll tell you—silver flowed not with me, as it had done, (for now the tide runs to Bawds and flatterers.) I had a start out, and by chance set upon a fat steward, thinking his purse had been as pursey as his body; and the slave had about him but the poor purchase of ten groats: notwithstanding, being descried, pursued, and taken, I know the Law is so grim, in respect of many desperate, unsettled soldiers, that I fear me I shall dance after their pipe for’t.

SKIRMISH. I am twice sorry for you, Captain: first that your purchase was so small, and now that your danger is so great.

CAPTAIN. Push, the worst is but death,—ha you a pipe of Tobacco about you?

SKIRMISH.
I think I have there abouts about me.

[Captain blows a pipe.]

CAPTAIN.
Here’s a clean Gentleman, too, to receive.

PYE.
Well, I must cast about some happy slight.
Work brain, that ever didst thy Master right!

CAPTAIN.
Keeper! let the key be turn’d!

[Corporal and Nicholas within.]

NICHOLAS.
Aye, I pray, Master keeper, give’s a cast of your office.

CAPTAIN.
How now? more Visitants?—what, Corporal Oath?

PYE.
Corporal?

SKIRMISH.
Corporal?

CORPORAL.
In prison, honest Captain? this must not be.

NICHOLAS.
How do you, Captain Kinsman>

CAPTAIN.
Good Cocks-comb! what makes that pure, starch’d fool here?

NICHOLAS. You see, Kinsman, I am somewhat bold to call in, and see how you do. I heard you were safe enough, and I was very glad on’t that it was no worse.

CAPTAIN.
This is a double torture now,—this fool by’th book
Do’s vex me more than my imprisonment.
What meant you, Corporal, to hook him hither?

CORPORAL.
Who, he? he shall relieve thee, and supply thee;
I’ll make him do ’t.

CAPTAIN.
[Aside, to Oath.] Fie, what vain breath you spend! he supply?
I’ll sooner expect mercy from a Usurer when my bond’s
Forfeited, sooner kindness from a Layer when my money’s spent:
Nay, sooner charity from the devil, than good from a Puritan!
I’ll look for relief from him, when Lucifer is restor’d to
his blood, and in Heaven again.

NICHOLAS. I warrant, my Kinsman’s talking of me, for my left ear burns most tyrannically.

PYE. Captain Idle, what’s he there? he looks like a Monkey upward, and a Crane down-ward.

CAPTAIN.
Pshaw, a foolish Cousin of mine; I must thank God for him.

PYE. Why, the better subject to work a scape upon; thou shalt o’en change clothes with him, and leave him here, and so—

CAPTAIN. Push, I publish’t him e’en now to my Corporal: he will be damned, ere he do me so much good; why, I know a more proper, a more handsome device than that, if the slave would be sociable. Now, goodman Fleer-face.

NICHOLAS. Oh, my Cousin begins to speak to me now: I shall be acquainted with him again, I hope.

SKIRMISH.
Look what ridiculous Raptures take hold of his wrinkles.

PYE.
Then, what say you to this device? a happy one, Captain?

CAPTAIN. Speak low, George; Prison Rats have wider ears than those in Malt-lofts.

NICHOLAS.
Cousin, if it lay in my power, as they say—to—do—

CAPTAIN. Twould do me an exceeding pleasure, indeed, that, but ne’er talk forder on’t: the fool will be hang’d, ere he do’t.

[To the Corporal.]

CORPORAL.
Pax, I’ll thump ’im to’t.

PYE.
Why, do but try the Fopster, and break it to him bluntly.

CAPTAIN. And so my disgrace will dwell in his Jaws, and the slave slaver out our purpose to his Master, for would I were but as sure on’t as I am sure he will deny to do’t.

NICHOLAS. I would be heartily glad, Cousin, if any of my friendships, as they say, might—stand—ah—

PYE. Why, you see he offers his friendship foolishly to you already.

CAPTAIN.
Aye, that’s the hell on’t, I would he would offer it wisely.

NICHOLAS.
Verily, and indeed la, Cousin—

CAPTAIN. I have took note of thy fleers a good while: if thou art minded to do me good—as thou gapst upon me comfortably, and giv’st me charitable faces, which indeed is but a fashion in you all that are Puritains—wilt soon at night steal me thy Master’s chain?

NICHOLAS.
Oh, I shall swoon!

PYE.
Corporal, he starts already.

CAPTAIN. I know it to be worth three hundred Crowns, and with the half of that I can buy my life at a Brokers, at second hand, which now lies in pawn to th’ Law: if this thou refuse to do, being easy and nothing dangerous, in that thou art held in good opinion of thy Master, why tis a palpable Argument thou holdst my life at no price, and these thy broken and unioynted offers are but only created in thy lip, now borne, and now buried, foolish breath only. What, woult do’t? shall I look for happiness in thy answer?

NICHOLAS. Steal my Master’s chain, qu’the? no, it shall ne’er be said, that Nicholas Saint Tantlings committed Bird-lime!

CAPTAIN. Nay, I told you as much; did I not? tho he be a Puritain, yet he will be a true man.

NICHOLAS.
Why, Cousin, you know tis written, thou shalt not steal.

CAPTAIN. Why, and fool, thou shalt love thy Neighbour, and help him in extremities.

NICHOLAS.
Mass, I think it be, indeed: in what Chapter’s that, Cousin?

CAPTAIN.
Why, in the first of Charity, the 2. Verse.

NICHOLAS. The first of Charity, quatha! that’s a good jest; there’s no such Chapter in my book!

CAPTAIN. No, I knew twas torn out of thy Book, and that makes so little in thy heart.

PYE. Come, let me tell you, ya’re too unkind a Kinsman, yfaith; the Captain loving you so dearly, aye, like the Pomwater of his eye, and you to be so uncomfortable: fie, fie.

NICHOLAS. Pray, do not wish me to be hangd: any thing else that I can do, had it been to rob, I would ha don’t; but I must not steal: that’s the word, the literal, thou shalt not steal; and would you wish me to steal, then?

PYE. No, faith, that were too much, to speak truth: why, woult thou nim it from him?

NICHOLAS.
That I will!

PYE. Why, ynough, bully; he shall be content with that, or he shall ha none; let me alone with him now! Captain, I ha dealt with your Kins-man in a Corner; a good, kind-natured fellow, me thinks: go to, you shall not have all your own asking, you shall bate somewhat on’t: he is not contented absolutely, as you would say, to steal the chain from him,— but to do you a pleasure, he will nim it from him.

NICHOLAS.
Aye, that I will, Cousin.

CAPTAIN. Well, seeing he will do no more, as far as I see, I must be contented with that.

CORPORAL.
Here’s no notable gullery!

PYE. Nay, I’ll come nearer to you, Gentleman: because we’ll have only but a help and a mirth on’t, the knight shall not lose his chain neither, but it shall be only laid out of the way some one or two days.

NICHOLAS.
Aye, that would be good indeed, Kinsman.

PYE. For I have a farder reach to profit us better by the missing on’t only, than if we had it out-right, as my discourse shall make it known to you.—When thou hast the chain, do but convey it out at back-door into the Garden, and there hang it close in the Rosemary bank but for a small season; and by that harmless device, I know how to wind Captain Idle out of prison: the Knight thy Master shall get his pardon and release him, and he satisfy thy Master with his own chain, and wondrous thanks on both hands.

NICHOLAS.
That were rare indeed, la: pray, let me know how.

PYE. Nay, tis very necessary thou shouldst know, because thou must be employed as an Actor.

NICHOLAS.
An Actor? O no, that’s a Player; and our Parson rails again
Players mightily, I can tell you, because they brought him
drunk up’oth Stage once,—as he will be horribly drunk.

CORPORAL.
Mass, I cannot blame him then, poor Church-spout.

PYE.
Why, as an Intermedler, then?

NICHOLAS.
Aye, that, that.

PYE. Give me Audience, then: when the old Knight thy Master has raged his fill for the loss of the chain, tell him thou hast a Kinsman in prison, of such exquisite Art, that the devil himself is French Lackey to him, and runs bare-headed by his horse-belly (when he has one) whom he will cause with most Irish Dexterity to fetch his chain, tho twere hid under a mine of sea-coal, and ne’er make Spade or Pickaxe his instruments: tell him but this, with farder instructions thou shalt receive from me, and thou shoust thy self a Kinsman indeed.

CORPORAL.
A dainty Bully.

SKIRMISH.
An honest Book-keeper.

CAPTAIN.
And my three times thrice honey Cousin.

NICHOLAS. Nay, grace of God, I’ll rob him on’t suddenly, and hang it in the Rosemary bank; but I bear that mind, Cousin, I would not steal any thing, me thinks, for mine own Father.

SKIRMISH.
He bears a good mind in that, Captain!

PYE.
Why, well said; he begins to be an honest felow, faith.

CORPORAL.
In troth, he does.

NICHOLAS. You see, Cousin, I am willing to do you any kindness, always saving my self harmless.

[Exit Nicholas.]

CAPTAIN.
Why, I thank thee; fare thee well, I shall requite it.

CORPORAL. Twill be good for thee, Captain, that thou has such an egregious Ass to thy Cousin.

CAPTAIN. Aye, is he not a fine fool, Corporal? But, George, thou talkst of Art and Conjuring; How shall that be?

PYE.
Puh, be’t not in your care:
Leave that to me and my directions.
Well, Captain, doubt not thy delivery now,
E’en with the vantage, man, to gain by prison,
As my thoughts prompt me: hold on, brain and plot!
I aim at many cunning far events,
All which I doubt not but to hit at length.
I’ll to the Widdow with a quaint assault.
Captain, be merry.

CAPTAIN.
Who, I? Kerrie, merry, Buff-Jerkin.

PYE. Oh, I am happy in more slights, and one will knit strong in another.—Corporal Oath.

CORPORAL.
Hoh, Bully?

PYE.
And thou, old Peter Skirmish; I have a necessary task for you
Both.

SKIRMISH.
Lay’t upon, George Pye-board.

CORPORAL.
What ere it be, we’ll manage it.

PYE. I would have you two maintain a quarrel before the Lady Widdow’s door, and draw your swords i’th edge of the Evening; clash a little, clash, clash.

CORPORAL.
Fuh!
Let us alone to make our Blades ring noon,
Tho it be after Supper.

PYE. I know you can. And out of that false fire, I doubt not but to raise strange belief—And, Captain, to countenance my device the better, and grace my words to the Widdow, I have a good plain Satin suit, that I had of a young Reveller t’other night: for words pass not regarded now a days, unless they come from a good suit of clothes, which the Fates and my wits have bestowed upon me. Well, Captain Idle, if I did not highly love thee, I would ne’er be seen within twelve score of a prison, for I protest at this instant, I walk in great danger of small debts; I owe money to several Hostesses, and you know such Jills will quickly be upon a man’s Jack.

CAPTAIN.
True, George.

PYE.
Fare thee well, Captain. Come, Corporal and Ancient! thou
Shalt hear more news next time we greet thee.

CORPORAL. More news! Aye, by yon Bear at Bridge-Foot in heaven shalt thou.

[Exeunt Pye-board, Skirmish, and Oath.]

CAPTAIN.
Enough: my friends, farewell.
This prison shows as if Ghosts did part in Hell.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A room in the widow’s house.

[Enter Moll youngest Daughter to the Widdow: alone.]

MOLL. Not Marry? forswear Marriage? why, all women know ’tis as honorable a thing as to lie with a man; and I to spite my Sisters vow the more, have entertained a suitor already, a fine gallant Knight of the last Feather: he says he will Coach me too, and well appoint me, allow me money to Dice with-all, and many such pleasing protestations he sticks upon my lips; indeed, his short-winded Father ith’ Country is wondrous wealthy, a most abominable Farmer, and therefore he may doote in time: troth, I’ll venture upon him. Women are not without ways enow to help them-selves: if he prove wise and good as his word, why, I shall love him, and use him kindly: and if he prove an Ass, why, in a quarter of an hour’s warning I can transform him into an Ox;—there comes in my Relief again.

[Enter Frailty.]

FRAILTY.
O, Mistress Moll, Mistress Moll.

MOLL.
How now? what’s the news?

FRAILTY.
The Knight your suitor, sir John Penny-Dub—

MOLL.
Sir John Penny-Dub? where? where?

FRAILTY.
He’s walking in the Gallery.

MOLL.
Has my Mother seen him yet?

FRAILTY.
O no, she’s—spitting in the Kitchen.

MOLL.
Direct him hither softly, good Frailty,—
I’ll meet him half way.

FRAILTY. That’s just like running a Tilt; but I hope he’ll break nothing this time.

[Exit.]

[Enter Sir John Penny-Dub.]

MOLL.
’Tis happiness my Mother saw him not:
O welcome, good Sir John.

PENNY-DUB. I thank you, faith.—Nay, you must stand me, till I kiss you: ’tis the fashion every where, I-faith, and I came from Court enow.

MOLL.
Nay, the Fates forfend that I should anger the fashion!

PENNY-DUB. Then, not forgetting the sweet of new ceremonies, I first fall back, then recovering my self, make my honour to your lip thus: and then accost it.

MOLL.
Trust me, very pretty, and moving; y’are worthy on’t, sir.

[Kissing: Enter Widdow and Sir Godfrey.]

O, my Mother, my Mother! now she’s here, we’ll steal into the Gallery.

[Exeunt.]

SIR GODFREY. Nay, Sister, let Reason rule you, do not play the fool; stand not in your own light. You have wealthy offers, large tendrings; do not with-stand your good fortune: who comes a wooing to you, I pray? no small fool; a rich Knight ath City, Sir Oliver Muck-Hill—no small fool I can tell you: and Furthermore, as I heard late by your Maid-servants, (as your Maid-servants will say to me any thing, I thank ’em) both your Daughters are not without Suitors, aye, and worthy ones too! one a Brisk Courtier, Sir Andrew Tip-Staff, suitor a far off to your eldest Daughter, and the third a huge-wealthy Farmer’s son, a fine young Country Knight, they call him Sir John Penny-Dub: a good name, marry; he may have it coined when he lacks money. What blessings are these, Sister!

WIDDOW.
Tempt me not, Satan.

SIR GODFREY. Satan? do I look like Satan? I hope the Devil’s not so old as I, I tro.

WIDDOW.
You wound my senses, Brother, when you name
A suitor to me:—oh, I cannot abide it,
I take in poison, when I hear one nam’d.

[Enter Simon.]

How now, Simon? where’s my son Edmund?

SIMON.
Verily Madame, he is at vain Exercise, dripping in the
Tennis-court.

WIDDOW. At Tennis-court? oh, now his father’s gone, I shall have no rule with him; oh, wicked Edmond, I might well compare this with the Prophecy in the Chronicle, tho far inferior: as Harry of Monmouth won all, and Harry of Windsor lost all; so Edmund of Bristow, that was the Father, got all, and Edmond of London, that’s his son now, will spend all.

SIR GODFREY. Peace, Sister, we’ll have him reformed, there’s hope on him yet, tho it be but a little.

[Enter Frailty.]

FRAILTY. Forsooth, Madam, there are two or three Archers at door would very gladly speak with your Ladyship.

WIDDOW.
Archers?

SIR GODFREY.
Your husband’s Fletcher, I warrant.

WIDDOW.
Oh!
Let them come near, they bring home things of his.
Troth, I should ha forgot ’em. How now, Villain?
Which be those Archers?

[Enter the suitors Sir Andrew Tip-staff, Sir Oliver Muck-hill, and Penny-dub.]

FRAILTY. Why, do you not see ’em before you? are not these Archers? what do you call ’em? Shooters: Shooters and Archers are all one, I hope.

WIDDOW.
Out, ignorant slave.

MUCK-HILL.
Nay, pray be patient, Lady,
We come in way of honorable love.

TIP-STAFF.
We do.

PENNY-DUB.
We do.

MUCK-HILL.
To you.

TIP-STAFF.
And to your Daughters.

PENNY-DUB.
And to your Daughters.

WIDDOW. O, why will you offer me this Gentlemen? indeed I will not look upon you—when the Tears are scarce out of mine Eyes, not yet washt off from my Cheeks, and my deer husband’s body scarce so cold as the Coffin, what reason have you to offer it? I am not like some of your Widdows that will bury one in the Evening, and be sure to another ere morning. Pray, away; pray, take your answers, good Knights, and you be sweet Knights. I have vow’d never to marry;—and so have my daughters too!

PENNY-DUB.
Aye, two of you have, but the third’s a good wench!

MUCK-HILL. Lady, a shrewd answer, marry; the best is, tis but the first, and he’s a blunt wooer, that will leave for one sharp answer.

TIP-STAFF. Where be your daughters, Lady? I hope they’ll give us better encouragements.

WIDDOW. Indeed, they’ll answer you so; tak’t a my word, they’ll give you the very same answer Verbatim, truly la.

PENNY-DUB.
Mum: Moll’s a good wench still, I know what she’ll do.

MUCK-HILL. Well, Lady, for this time we’ll take our leaves, hoping for better comfort.

WIDDOW. O never, never! and I live these thousand years! and you be good Knights, do not hope; twill be all Vain, Vain,—look you, put off all your suits, and you come to me again.

[Exeunt Sir John and Sir Andrew.]

FRAILTY. Put off all their suits, quatha? Aye, that’s the best wooing of a Widdow, indeed, when a man’s Nonsuited; that is, when he’s a bed with her.

[Going out, Muck-hill and Sir Godfrey.]

MUCK-HILL. Sir Godfrey, here’s twenty Angels more: work hard for me; there’s life int yet.

[Exit Muck-hill.]

SIR GODFREY. Fear not, Sir Oliver Muck-hill, I’ll stick close for you; leave all with me.

[Enter George Pye-board, the scholar.]

PYE.
By your leave, Lady Widdow.

WIDDOW.
What, another suitor now?

PYE.
A suitor! no, I protest, Lady, if you’d give me your self,
I’d not be troubled with you.

WIDDOW.
Say you so, Sir? then you’re the better welcome, sir.

PYE. Nay, Heaven bless me from a Widdow, unless I were sure to bury her speedily!

WIDDOW.
Good bluntness: well, your business, sir?

PYE.
Very needful; if you were in private once.

WIDDOW.
Needful? brother, pray leave us; and you, sir.

FRAILTY. I should laugh now, if this blunt fellow should put ’em all by side the stirrup, and vault into the saddle himself. I have seen as mad a trick.

[Exit Frailty.]

[Enter Daughters.]

WIDDOW.
Now Sir?—here’s none but we—Daughters, forbear.

PYE. O no, pray, let ’em stay, for what I have to speak importeth equally to them as to you.