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 DRAMATISTS (3F THE 1JP:ST0EATI0X. 
 
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 THE DRAMATIC 
 
 \\' () R K S OF JOHN L A C Y 
 
 V I 
 
 COMEDIAN, 
 
 WITH PREFATOJ{Y MEMOIR AND NOTES. 
 
 MDCCCLXXV. 
 
 EDINBURGH: WILLIAM PATERSON. 
 LONDON : H. 80THERAN .1- CO.

 
 TO 
 
 JAMES EOBINSON PLANCHE, Esquire, 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC., 
 WHOSE ELEGANCE OF STYLE IN 
 
 DRAMATIC COMPOSITION. 
 
 MORE ESPECIALLY IN 
 
 HUMOROUS POETIC ILLUSTRATIONS OK 
 
 HEATHEN AND FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 HAS FORMED ONE OF 
 
 THE MARKED FEATURES OF THE EN(;L1SH STA(;E 
 
 FOR UPWARDS OF THE LAST HALF GENTrRY, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, 
 
 WITH THE MOST SINCERE REGARDS (tF 
 
 THE EDITORS.
 
 CO:^fTENTS. 
 
 PltEFATOKY -M K.MOIR. 
 THK nUMI? I.ADV, . 
 THE <tIJ> TROOP, 
 SIR HERCULES HUKFOON, 
 SAUN'Y THE SCOT. . 
 
 l-AGB 
 
 ix 
 
 1 
 117 
 209 
 .•Jll
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 John Lacy, comedian, the author and adapter of 
 the dramatic pieces in this vohime, was born in 
 the vicinity of Doncaster. According to Aubrey, 
 he "came to London, to ye playhouse, 1631," and 
 apprenticed himself to John Ogilby, who at that 
 time exercised the vocation of a dancing-master. 
 This latter meritorious individual, born at Edin- 
 burgh in 1600, was the means, at the age of thir- 
 teen, along with his mother's combined industry, 
 of releasing his father, a gentleman who had 
 dissipated a good estate, from the King's Bench 
 Prison, and assisting him to pay his debts. He 
 then became apprentice to one Mr. Draper, who 
 kept a dancing-school in Gray's Inn Lane, "and 
 in a short time arrived to so great excellency 
 in that art, that he found means to purchase his 
 time of his master, and sett up for himselfe." In 
 addition to his teacliing, Ogilby figured occasion- 
 ally in court masques, until an accident unfitted 
 him for such public displays. " When the Duke 
 of Buckingham's great masque was represented at 
 court, he was chosen, among the rest, to performs 
 some extraordinary part in it ; and vaulting and 
 cutting capers being then in fashion, he, endea- 
 vouring to doe something extraordinary, by mis- 
 fortune of a false step when he came to the ground 
 did spraine a veine on the inside of his leg, of which
 
 X PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 he was lame ever after, which gave an occasion to 
 say, ' that he was an excellent dancing-master, and 
 never a good leg.' " * 
 
 Shortly before the Rebellion, John Ogilby went 
 over to Ireland, to teach in the family of the Earl 
 of Strafford, the Lord-Lieutenant, who appointed 
 him Master of the Ceremonies for that kingdom, 
 and assisted him to build a little theatre in St. 
 Warbrugh Street in Dublin ; but, the Rebellion 
 breaking out, his theatre was ruined and he lost 
 everything. He returned to England in 1648, 
 and printed a translation of Virgil made by him- 
 self. At the age of sixty he betook himself to 
 the study of Greek, and translated Homer's Iliad, 
 which Pope mentions that he read when a child 
 " with a pleasure that left the most lasting im- 
 pression on his mind." In anticipation of the 
 Restoration, he printed "the fairest impression 
 and the most correct of English Bibles that ever 
 was yet done, in royall and imperiall paper.". He 
 also printed and published His Majesty's Entertain- 
 ments at his Coronation, in folio, with cuts, 1662. In 
 the same year he returned to Ireland, and, in virtue 
 of his patent as Master of the Revels, built a new 
 theatre at Dublin at a cost of two thousand pounds, 
 " having disputed his right with Sir William 
 D'Avenant, who had obtained a grant." While 
 at Dublin he wrote a play, called The, Merchant of 
 Dublin, Avhich was never printed. He published 
 a translation of Homer's Odijsseym 1665, and, in 
 his retirement at Kingston-upon-Thames, during 
 the plague, wrote among other works a second 
 volume of his Paraphrase of ^soj), which he called 
 
 * Aubrey's Lives of Eminent Men. London, 1813. 8vo. 
 Vol. ii.
 
 PREFATORY MEJIOIR. XI 
 
 his ^sopiques. Having lost all he had, except 
 five pounds, by the great Fire, he made proposals 
 to print an English atlas, and was encouraged by 
 the King and the nobility to make an actual 
 survey of the roads of England and Wales, by 
 which the posts were regulated. He was appointed 
 his majesty's cosmographer, and died 4th Sep- 
 tember 1676. 
 
 Under such a master as this, and retaining the 
 friendship of such a man during his subsequent 
 career, it cannot be doubted that Lacy was largely 
 benefited. 
 
 A writer, supposed to be Motteux, in the Cov^ 
 tinuafion of Langbaine's Lives of the Dramatic Poets, 
 in treating of Lacy, says he was "originally a 
 dancing-master ; " but further than his having 
 apprenticed himself to Ogilby to learn the art, 
 apparently in connection with his theatrical pur- 
 suits, there is no record of his ever having been a 
 teacher. The same writer observes, of his per- 
 sonal appearance, that he was " of a rare shape of 
 body and good complexion," which other authori- 
 ties confirm. 
 
 During the Civil War, he, like the majority of 
 his brother actors, betook hims(^lf to the " passage 
 of arms," and procured a commission as lieutenant 
 and quartermaster under Colonel Lord Gerard, 
 afterwards the Earl of Macclesfield. He returned 
 to the stage at the Kestoration, and became a 
 universal favourite, more especially in eccentric 
 comedy. Pepys was a great admirer of his, and 
 numerous are the entries in his diary respecting 
 him. Noticing his appearance, 21st May 1662, 
 in the play of The French Dancing-Mistress, he says, 
 " The play pleased us very well, but Lacy's part, 
 the dancing-mistress, the best in the world." On
 
 Xll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 the 2 2d May, he again says, "We by coach to 
 the theatre, and saw Love in a Maze. The play 
 hath little in it, but Lacy's part of a country fellow, 
 which he did to admiration." 
 
 On the 10th June, in the year following, he 
 again went, with some friends, to see Love in a 
 Maze. " The play is pretty good, but the life of 
 the play is Lacy's part, the clown, which is most 
 admirable ; but for the rest, which are counted 
 old and excellent actors, in my life I never heard 
 both men and women so ill pronounce their 
 parts." 
 
 " 12th June 1663.— To the Royal Theatre, and 
 there saw The Committee, a merry but indifferent 
 play ; only Lacy's part, an Irish footman, is be- 
 yond imagination." 
 
 Four years afterwards he again sees the same 
 piece, with a different impression as to its merits : — 
 
 " 13th August 1667.— Sir W. Pen and I to the 
 King's House, and there saw The Committee, which 
 I went to with some prejudice, not liking it before, 
 but I do now find it a very good play, and a great 
 deal of good invention in it ; but Lacy's part is so 
 well performed that it would set off anything." 
 
 As Lacy figures prominently in the following 
 graphic account of the production of Howard's 
 Change of Crowns and its consequences, we give 
 it in Pepys' own words : — 
 
 "15th April 1667.— To the King's House by 
 chance — where a new play ; so full as I never saw 
 it ; I forced to stand all the while close to the 
 very door, till I took cold, and many people went 
 away for want of room. The King, and Queene, 
 and Duke of York and Duchesse there, and all 
 the Court, and Sir W. Coventry. The play 
 called The Change of Crownes, a play of Ned
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Xlll 
 
 Howard's* — the best that I ever saw at that 
 house, being a great play, and serious ; only Lacy 
 did act the countrj^ gentleman come up to Court, 
 who do abuse the Court with all the imaginable 
 wit and plainness about selling of places, and 
 doing everything for money. The play took very 
 well." 
 
 16th April 1G67, Pepys, going with his wife to 
 see again The Change of Croivns, was surprised to 
 find that the play had been changed. " However in, 
 and there Knipp came into the pit. Knipp tells me 
 the King was so angry at the liberty taken by 
 Lacy's part to abuse him to his face, that he com- 
 manded they should act no more, till Moone went 
 and got leave for them to act again, but not this 
 play. The King mighty angry ; and it was bitter 
 indeed, but very fine and witty. . . . Pretty to 
 hear them talk of yesterday's play, and I durst not 
 own to my wife that I had seen it." 
 
 " 2Uth April.— Met Mr. Rolt, who tells me the 
 reason of no play to-day at the King's House. 
 That Lacy had been committed to the porter's 
 lodge for his acting his part in the late new play, 
 and, being thence released to come to the King's 
 House, he there met with Ned Howard, the poet 
 of the play, who congratulated his release ; upon 
 which Lacy cursed him, as that it was the fault 
 of his nonsensical play that was the cause of his 
 ill-usage. Mr. Howard did give him some reply ; 
 to which Lacy answered him that he was more a 
 fool than a poet ; upon which Howard did give 
 him a blow on the face with his glove ; on which 
 Lacy, having a cane in his hand, did give him a 
 
 * Younger son of the first Earl of Berkshii-e, and brother to 
 Sir Robert Howard.
 
 XIV PREFATORY MEMOIR, 
 
 blow over the pate. Here Rolt and others that 
 discoursed of it in the pit did Avonder that Howard 
 did not run him through, he being too mean a 
 fellow to fight with. But Howard did not do 
 anything but complain to the King of it ; so the 
 whole house is silenced, and the gentry seem to 
 rejoice much at it, the house being become too 
 insolent." 
 
 On 1st May 16G7, and 28th April 1668, Pepys 
 commends Lacy's admirable acting of the clown 
 in Love in a Maze; and on 13th July 1667 he has 
 this entry : " Yesterday Sir Thomas Crewe told 
 me that Lacy lies a-dying ; nor will receive any 
 ghostly advice from a bishop, an old acquaintance 
 of his, that went to see him." 
 
 Lacy, however, recovered from this serious ill- 
 ness, and survived it for several years ; but he did 
 not appear upon the stage so frequently as he had 
 previously done. He is thus again noticed by 
 Pepys : — 
 
 " 19th January 1668-69. — At noon eat a mouth- 
 ful, and so with my wife to Madam Turner's and 
 find her gone, but The. staid for us ; and so to the 
 King's House to see Horace. This the third day of 
 its acting — a silly tragedy ; but Lacy hath made a 
 farce of several dances — between each act one ; 
 but his words are but silly, and invention not 
 extraordinary as to the dances ; only some Dutch- 
 men come out of the mouth and tail of a Ham- 
 burgh sow. Thence, not much pleased with the 
 play, set them at home in the Strand." 
 
 *' The famous Mr. Lacy," Mr. Wilkes observes in 
 his Vieic of the Stage, 1759, 8vo, "was an excellent 
 low comedian, and so pleasing to King Charles." 
 
 Rymer, in his Dissertation on Tragedy, speaks 
 of him thus : — " The eyes of the audience are
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XV 
 
 prepossessed and charmed by his action before 
 aught of the poet can approach their ears." 
 
 Langbaine says of him : — " He was a comedian 
 "whose abilities Avere sufficiently known to all that 
 frequented the Theatre Royal, where for many 
 years he performed all parts that he undertook to 
 a miracle, insomuch that I am apt to believe that 
 as this age never had, so the next never will have, 
 his eqrud, at least not his siiperioiir. He was so 
 well approved by Charles II., that he caused his 
 picture to be drawn in three several figures in the 
 same table, viz. that of Teague in Ths Committee, 
 Scruple in The Cheats, and Galliard in Variety; 
 which piece is still in being in Windsor Castle." 
 
 Galliard is a character in the Duke of New- 
 castle's Variety ; Teague, a low Irishman, is in Mr. 
 Robert Howard's Committee, a comedy which has 
 since been reduced to a farce, under the title of 
 Honest Thieves ; and Scruple, a canting, mercenary 
 Nonconformist, in Wilson's Cheats, whose style of 
 hypocrisy and casuistry was doubtless very enter- 
 taining in that day, when the original, now long 
 become quite obsolete, was to be met with in every 
 street. 
 
 Aubrey thus notes : — " His ma"*^- (Ch. II.) has 
 severall pictures of this famous comedian at Wind- 
 sore and Hampton Court, in the postures of severall 
 parts that he acted, e.g. Teag, L'l- Vaux, the 
 Puritan." 
 
 A copy of the painting in compartments at 
 Windsor Castle was amongst Mr. Harris' theatri- 
 cal portraits which were sold by the hammer of 
 George Robins in 1819. It fetched eleven guineas. 
 The romancing auctioneer, probably imagining 
 that the three characters were all assumed in one 
 piece, described Lacy as " the Matthews of his day."
 
 XVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Langbaine further says : — " I remember in 
 Shirley's Changes, the deceased Mr. Lacy acted 
 Johnny Thump, Sir Gervase Simple's man, with 
 general applause ;" and, speaking of Falstaff, "this 
 part used to be played by Mr. Lacy, and never 
 failed of applause." Downes chronicles his suc- 
 cesses in these three lines : — 
 
 *' For his just acting all gave him due praise, 
 His part in The Clients, Jony Thump, Teg,* and Bayes- - 
 In these four excelling ; the Court gave him the bays. " 
 
 Geneste gives this list of the chief characters he 
 played : — 
 
 In Vera Street, about 1662, Scruple, in The 
 Cheats.-\ 
 
 Theatre Eoyal, 1 663. — Teague, in The Committee.^ 
 
 1664. — Captain Otter, in The Silent JVoman. 
 Ananias, in Tlie Alchemist. 
 
 1665.— Sir Politick Would-be, in Volimie. Mon- 
 sieur Raggou, in The Old Troop.'\ 
 
 1666. — Sir Roger, in The Scornful Lady. 
 
 1667. — Sauny the Scot.f Country gentleman, in 
 The Change of Crowns.'\ Johnny Thump, in 
 Changes. 
 
 1669. — Drench, in The Dumb Lady.^ 
 
 1671.— Bayes. t 
 
 1672. — Alderman Gripe, in Love in a Wood.^ 
 
 1673. — Intrigo, in Love in the DarL-\ 
 
 " He probably," says Geneste, " acted French- 
 love in the English Monsieur; Pinguister in All 
 Mistaken ; Tartuffe ; French valet, in The Mock 
 Duellist; the English Lawyer ; Bobadill." 
 
 Langbaine continues : — " Nor did his talent 
 wholly lie in acting ; he knew both how to judge 
 
 * Teague in Howard's works is spelt "Teg." 
 t Originall}'.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XVll 
 
 and write plays. And if his comedies are somewhat 
 allied to French farce, it is out of choice rather 
 than want of ability to write true comedy. We 
 have three plays extant under his name : — 
 
 " The Dumb Lady, or The Farrier made Physician. 
 A comedy. 1672. 
 
 " The Old Troop, or Monsieur Ragou. A comedy. 
 1672. 
 
 " Sir Hercules Buffoon, or The Poetical Squire. A 
 comedy. 1682." 
 
 Besides these three plays, a fourth is attributed 
 to him, Satiny the Scot, which, although produced 
 in 1667, was not printed until 1698, but with 
 Lacy's name on the title-page. 
 
 Pepys thus mentions the reception of The Old 
 Troop:— "Slst July 1668.— To the King's House 
 to see the first day of Lacy's Monsieur Eagou, now 
 new acted. The King and Court all there, and 
 mighty merry. A farce." 
 
 In the Poems on State Affairs., it is insinuated 
 by Sir George Etherege that Lacy participated 
 with Hart in the favours of Nell Gwyn. Be 
 that as it may, he is known to have been her 
 first instructor in the art of acting, the lessons she 
 received from PLart being subsequent. 
 
 Lacy lived to an advanced age. His death oc- 
 curred on Saturday, 17th September 1681, and he 
 was buried " in the further churchyard of St. 
 Marty n's-in-the-Fields on the Monday following." 
 
 JAMES MAIDMENT. 
 W. H. LOGAN. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1st January 1 875.
 
 THE DUMB LADY.
 
 The Dumb Lady ; or The Farrier made Phj/sician. As 
 it was acted at the Theatre Royal. By John Lacy, Gent. 
 London: Printed for Thomas Drinrj, at the While' Lyon, 
 next Chancery Lane end in Fleet Street. 1672.
 
 This play is founded on Moliere's comedy Le Medecvn 
 mahjre lui. "If," says Langbaine, "the reader will take 
 the pains to compare them together, he will easily see that 
 our author has much improv'd the French play." Geneste 
 has this entry: "Dumb Lady; or the Farrier made a 
 Physician. This farce, in five acts, was put together by 
 Lacy. The main plot is taken from JMoliere's Mock Doctor; 
 the catastrophe is borrowed from Moliere's Love's the best 
 Doctor." The Dumb Lady was not printed till 1672, but it 
 was probably acted about this time, as Softhead, in the first 
 act, says, "I'll die a virgin martyr." Massinger's Virgin 
 Martyr had been revived in 1668. Lacy concludes his 
 Epistle to the Keader with hoping that his play will prove 
 as beneficial to the printer as it had formerly been to him- 
 self. There are no performers' naines to the Dramatis Per- 
 sonsB, but Lacy no doubt acted "Drench, the Farrier." 
 
 The plot of the Medecin malgre lui, simple in itself, has, 
 through the instrumentality of those who wish to throw a 
 doubt upon the originality of Moliere, been ascribed to 
 foreign sources. One has it, that "this excellent poet has 
 taken the plot of that humorous piece from a history re- 
 lated by a certain German writer, Adani_J31earius ; " while 
 another says : " It has been recently proved that Hop o' 
 my Thumb is but another rendering of an Indian fable ; and 
 that Cinderella too, and many other popular stories, come 
 from the Egjqitian Rhodopia. The story of Moliere's 
 Medecin malgre lui has been found by M. Cosquin in a 
 Sanscrit collection, ' La Couka Saptali.' " 
 
 The former thus jiroceeds : " This Olearius published, in 
 1647, his Scientifc Journey to Moscoio and Persia; which 
 histoiy, being translated into French as early as the j^ear 
 1656 by the celebrated Wickefort, might have been read by 
 Moliere before the Medecin malgre lui was, for the first time, 
 brought upon the stage in 1666." 
 
 "The history in cpiestion," he continues, "is briefly as 
 follows : — The Grand Duke Boris Gudenow, who reigned 
 during the j^ears 1597 and 1605, was, according to the re- 
 lation of Olearius, very much afflicted with the gout. At a 
 certain jieriod, when he suff"ered very severe pains, he caused 
 it publicly to be proclaimed at liloscow, that he would re-
 
 4 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 ward with extraordinary favour and great riches the man, 
 whoever he might be, that would relieve him from those 
 pains. It seems that no one voluntarily appeared to earn 
 the favour of the Grand Duke ; and, indeed, no wonder, for 
 a doctor had his whole existence at stake in those times in 
 Russia if his cure failed upon some high or noble j'atient ; 
 and Gudenow was in the habit of making the surgeon, as if 
 he considered the latter as absolute master of nature, respon- 
 sible for the result of his art. 
 
 "The wife of a certain bojaar, or councillor of the cabinet, 
 who received very harsh treatment from her husband, took 
 the advantage of this public edict of the Grand Duke to 
 revenge herself, in a cunning manner, on her cruel husband. 
 She therefore had the Duke informed that her husband pos- 
 sessed an infallible remedy for the gout, but that he was not 
 sufliciently humane to impart it. 
 
 ' ' The bojaar was immediately sent for to court, and strictly 
 examined. The latter declared, by all that was holy, that he 
 was iinacquainted with any such remedy, and had not the 
 slightest knowledge of medicine. But oaths would not avail 
 him ; Gudenow had him severely whipped and confined. 
 AVhen, shortly after, he was again examined, he repeated 
 the same declarations, adding that this trick was probably 
 played upon him by his wife ; the Duke had him whipt a 
 second time, but more severely, and threatened him with 
 death if he did not speedily relieve him from pain. Seized 
 with terror, the bojaar was now entirely at a loss Avhat to be 
 at. He promised to do his best, but requested a few days in 
 order to have the necessary drugs gathered. Having, with 
 great difficulty, had his request granted, he sent to ()zirbalt, 
 two days' journey from Moscow, in order to get thence all 
 sorts of drugs which were to be had there. He sent for a 
 cartload of them, mixed them all together, and prepared 
 therewith a bath for the Duke, in the hope of his blind cure 
 proving successful. Gudenow, after having used the bath, 
 really found some relief, and the bojaar had his life spared 
 him. Nevertheless, because he had known such an art, 
 denied his knowledge of it, and refused his assistance to the 
 Grand Duke, the latter had him again thoroughly whipt, 
 and after being entirely recovered, he gave him a new dress, 
 two hundred rubles, and eighteen slaves, by way of a pre- 
 sent. In addition to this, he seriously admonished the 
 doctor never to be revenged on his wife. It is said that 
 the bojaar, after this occurrence, lived many years in peace 
 and happiness with his spouse."
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 5 
 
 The second accouut, as found by M. Cosquin in ' ' La Couka 
 Saptali," is as follows: — "In the town of Pantchapoura 
 lived a king called Satroumardana. His daughter, named 
 Madanarekha, had an abscess in her throat. The doctors 
 applied all kinds of plasters, but without effect, so at last 
 they agreed that there was no remedy for the disease. Then 
 the King proclaimed in every country that he who cured the 
 Princess should be richly rewarded. The wife of a Brahmin 
 who lived in a village, having heard the proclamation, said 
 to the messenger, 'My husband is the most skilful magician 
 and charmer in the world. Take him with j'ou ; he will 
 cure the Princess.' And she said to her Imsband, 'Pre- 
 tend to be a hragician and a charmer, and go boldly into the 
 town to cure the Princess. You won't waste your time.' 
 The Brahmin went to the palace and to the Princess, 
 sprinkled her with water, blew at her, and imitated tiie 
 charmers, muttering the while between his teeth. Suddenly 
 he cried out at the toji of his voice, and uttered a farrago of 
 the most absurd words he could think of. On hearing all 
 these strange utterances, the Princess was taken with such a 
 fit of laughter, that the abscess broke and she was cured. 
 Tiie King, transported \\'ith joy, overloaded the Brahmin 
 with jiresents." 
 
 There is another adapta.tion of Le Medecbi malgi-e lid, 
 in the shape of a ballad farce by Henry Fielding, called The i 
 Mock Doctor, or the Dumb Lcidy Cured, and acted at Drury 
 Lane in 1732. Gene.ste, remarking upon the English trans- 
 lation of Jloliere's plays (1739), reminds us respecting Le 
 Medecin mcdr/re lui, that Mrs. Centlivre used a great part -\ 
 of it in her Love's Corftrivance, 1703. 
 
 The "high-born and most hopeful prince," to whom this 
 drama is inscribed, was the eldest of the three natural sons 
 of Charles II. by Barbara Villiers, wife of Roger Palmer, 
 Earl of Castlemain, better known as Duchess of Cleveland, 
 a dignity conferred by her royal keeper in testimony of the 
 high opinion he entertained of her "personal" virtues,* — 
 at least, so runs the preamble of the patent of creation. 
 
 At the date of the play the hopeful prince enjoyed the 
 title of Earl of Southampton, "as," says Collins, the Peer- 
 age writer, "heir of his mother, the Duchess of Cleveland," 
 that being her second title. Upon the first of April 1673 he 
 was installed a Knight of the Garter, and upon the 10th of 
 September 1675 was created Duke of Soiithampton, Earl of 
 Chichester, and Baron of Newberry, with remainder to the 
 * Culliiis' Peerage, vol. i. p. 56 London, 1711. Svo.
 
 b INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 heirs male of his body, whom failing to his younger brother 
 George, Duke of Northumberland. Upon the death of his 
 mother, at her house of Chiswiek, in the county of Mid- 
 dlesex, on 9th October 1709, the title of Cleveland, under the 
 limitations in the patent, devolved on her eldest son Charles. 
 
 His Grace married, when eighteen, Mary, heiress of Sir 
 Henry Wood, the elder brother of Thomas, Bishop of 
 Litchfield and Coventry. The Duchess died in 1680, and 
 was buried in "Westminster Abbey. By her he had no 
 issue. This lady seems to have brought him a very hand- 
 some fortime, as in Michaelmas tenn 1685 he had a decree 
 in Chancery against the Bishop for £30,000, "as part of 
 his lady's fortune." 
 
 In 1694 the Duke took to wife Anne, daughter of Sir 
 William Pulteny of Misterton, in the county of Leicester, 
 by whom he had three sons and three daughters. He died 
 9th September 1730, and was succeeded by his eldest son 
 William, who dying without issue in 1774, the titles of 
 Cleveland and Southampton became extinct, and remained 
 so for more than half a century, when the Dukedom of 
 Cleveland was revived in the person of the Earl of Dar- 
 lington, the heir of line of Lady Grace Fitzroy, the second 
 daughter of Duke Charles, who married Henry Yane, son 
 of Lord Barnard. Her eldest sister Barbara died unmarried, 
 and her youngest sister. Lady Anne, who married John 
 Paddey, Esq., departed this life at Waterford, Herts, the 
 23d of January 1769.
 
 TO THE HIGH - BOEN AND MOST HOPEFUL 
 PRINCE CHARLES, LORD LIMRICK, AND 
 EAKL OF SOUTHAMPTON. 
 
 Great Sir, — When I began to write this dedi- 
 cation my liand shook, a fear possessed me, and I 
 trembled; my pen fell from me, and my whole 
 frame grew disordered, as if blasted with some 
 sudden upstart comet. Such awe and reverence 
 waits on dignity, that I now find it fit for me to 
 wish I had been refused the honour of my dedica- 
 tion, rather than undertake a task so much too 
 great for me. How shall I excuse this bold and 
 saucy fault 1 How shall my mean, unworthy pen 
 render you your attributes 1 Noav I find presump- 
 tion is a sin indeed. I have given myself a wound 
 beyond the cure of common men : heal me, then, 
 great sir ;. for where princes touch, the cure is in- 
 fallible. And now, since you so graciously have 
 received my Farrier, who dares say he is no Phy- 
 sician 1 When you vouchsafe to call him Doctor, 
 he has commenced, and from your mouth he has 
 taken his degree ; for what you say is, and ought 
 to be. Such a power is due to you from the 
 greatness of your blood. I and my abject muse 
 had perished but for you ; and in such distress 
 whither should we flee for shelter but to him that 
 has power to spread his wings and cover us ] And 
 you have done it generously. Yet am I not to 
 wonder at this virtue in you, since your high birth
 
 8 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 
 
 can do no less for you than to make you good ; and 
 you are so. And may that goodness and humility 
 which so early appears in you increase to a full 
 perfection ! May your virtues prove as beautiful 
 as your person ! May they still endeavour to out- 
 vie each other, yet neither obtain, but still walk 
 hand in hand till your virtues in you be reverenced 
 by all mankind, and your lovely person honoured 
 by all women ; and so may you continue to a long 
 and happy life. But I need not wish this, nor the 
 world doubt it, for already you're possessed of all 
 tliose virtues that men hereafter may reasonably 
 expect from you ; for, being supported Avith ma- 
 jesty of one side, and with so admired and beauti- 
 ful a mother on the other, besides her great and 
 honourable birth, on such sure foundations you 
 cannot fail our hopes ; and that you never may, 
 shall be for ever the prayers of your most faithful 
 and most obedient servant. 
 
 John Lacy.
 
 THE EPISTLE TO THE EEADER. 
 
 Gentle reader (for so most ei3istles begin), being 
 conscious of my oAvn weakness (for so they go on), 
 I let tliee know my own modesty had kept me 
 from the press, but for the importunity of friends 
 (and so they make an end). 
 
 By this, you see, poetry consists more of fancy 
 than truth. So do the poets too, or else why 
 should they seem ashamed to come into the press, 
 when I know their bowels languish within them 
 till they are there, vain-glory being the chief in- 
 gredient that makes up the spirit of poetry, and the 
 grand inducement that puts us all in print 1 There 
 is a kind of charm in poetry— 'tis like tobacco and 
 chemistry ; for if you once take the one and under- 
 take the other, you are fixed to the freehold never 
 to be parted. So fares it with the dabblers in the 
 dew of Parnassus : no revilings, no shameful re- 
 proaches can discourage us ; still we write on, still 
 we are fixed to the freehold. I have observed 
 how much more j^recious to a poet the issue of his 
 brain is than that of his loins, for I have known 
 them bury children without grief or trouble ; but 
 the issue of their brain is so dear and tender to 
 them, that if you go about to persuade them but to 
 cut a play or poem shorter, they are so concerned, 
 that every line you cut is valued at a joint, and 
 every speech a limb lopped off. Without doubt, 
 there is a kind of madness in poetry, or else how 
 can a man be so vainly possessed as to think his
 
 10 THE EPISTLE TO THE READER, 
 
 own works exceed all other men's ? That there 
 are such men is but too true, for I myself have 
 thought so of my own poetry ; and when I, that am 
 so mean an under-shrub, do prove so vainly mad, 
 the tall cedars, sure, must needs be shaken with 
 outrageous fits ; and in those fits they write rap- 
 tures, and fly to the skies, and get among the 
 gods, and make such work that you would swear 
 they're all breaking up school and coming down 
 amongst us. For my part, I wonder they have 
 not come all this while ; I'm sure they have been 
 sufficiently provoked. I thank my incapacity I am 
 not so far gone in poetry as to arrive at those fits. 
 Yet I have this to say, that I have had my ends 
 upon poetry, and not poetry upon me ; for if 
 poetry had gained its ends on me, it had made me 
 mad, but that 1 having my ends on it appears in 
 my getting money by it, which was shown plenti- 
 fully on my poet's days ; but that I thank my 
 friends for, and not the desert of my plays. And I 
 wish, reader, that you mtiy prove as kind to the 
 printer as you were to me when you were a hearer; 
 and that my farrier may prove as good a servant 
 to him as formerly to me, who am, reader, your 
 humble servant, 
 
 John Lacy.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Here I am, cand not asham'd who know it, 
 I humbly come your forma paufris poet : 
 Not Hector-hke, that one half-year has writ. 
 And fights th' other half to defend that wit. 
 Nor have I brought you here a second play, 
 Like him that pretends preaching twice a day ; 
 And when you gravely come i' th' afternoon, 
 He puts you off with repetition, 
 Saying, you may remember in the mom 
 I told you thus, and so, and Avhere, and when ; 
 So spins out his hour with the same again. 
 Though such things pass on those that sermons 
 
 hear, 
 It will not do with play-judgers, I fear. 
 I would you had their grace, and they your wit ; 
 Sermons would then be hard as plays to hit, 
 And easy scenes would pass upon you, when 
 Grace above wit abounds in gentlemen. 
 How would the poets all rejoice to see 
 This age appear i' th' old simplicity — 
 To have your wives and you come ten times o'er. 
 To see the pudding eaten in Jane Shore ; 
 To cry up the bold Beauchamps of the stage 1 
 There was a blessed understanding age. 
 I would you were such but for one three days, 
 Till the poor poet gather up his bays ; 
 Or else my less than fifth-rate wit, I find, 
 Will force me beg you'll not be just, but kind. 
 Yet use me as you please, my comfort is, 
 Philosophy can no farther go than this : — _ 
 If by your vengeance I must needs be worried, 
 I'm not the first small poet has miscarried.
 
 THE ACTORS' NAMES. 
 
 Gernette, 
 Olinda, . 
 
 Squire Softhead, 
 
 Leander, 
 
 Drench, 
 
 Isabel, 
 
 Jarvis, 
 
 Nurse, 
 
 Mrs. NiBBY, . . 
 Mr. Othentick, 
 
 Three Doctors 
 Women-Servants 
 
 Two FOOTBOYS. 
 
 Two Whippers 
 
 Patients. 
 
 Neighbours. 
 
 An old rich gentleman. 
 
 His daughter, jvetendingditmh- 
 ncss, and after that mad- 
 ness. 
 
 Her S'uitor. 
 
 Her lover, hut not permitted. 
 
 A farrier, beaten to a Doctor. 
 
 His 'Wife. 
 
 Servant to Gernette. 
 
 His ivife, and housekeeper to 
 Gernette. 
 
 Cousin to Gernette. 
 
 A j:)ar50»., and brother to 
 Leander. 
 
 of pihysic. 
 
 attending on Olinda. 
 
 of Bedlam.
 
 THE DUMB LADY 
 
 Act I. — Scene i. 
 Enter Jarvis and Servant. 
 
 Ser. The like was never heard of— to liave a 
 sweet young lady, as she was going to be married, 
 to fall dumb ! 
 
 Jar. If my wife had done so too, I think it had 
 been ne'er the worse for the commonwealth; but 
 it would make any woman dumb to be designed 
 for such a fop as Squire Softhead. 
 
 Ser. He is a fop of a new stamp. I would not 
 marry a milkmaid to him. 
 
 Jar. I would he had my wdfe, or any that would 
 make him a cuckold ! He has turned away twenty 
 servants because they do not call him Squire oft 
 enough. I shall be sick every time I hear the 
 word Squire, he has made it so ridiculously loath- 
 some. 
 
 Ser. He has been called so from his cradle in 
 the country, Avhere the title of Squire had always 
 great worship, till the fool crept in amongst them, 
 of which he is chief. 
 
 Jar. Yes, faith, for if there were an army of 
 fops, — as truly I think they might be raised here, 
 — Squire Softhead must be General. He has one 
 faculty: he will maintain a quarrel within three
 
 14 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 words of striking, and then he will eat cold cus- 
 tard. 
 
 Ser. Hang him ! But dost thou think my 
 young mistress is dumb indeed 1 
 
 Jar. You saw the doctors could not cure her. 
 But if she do counterfeit, do not blame her, for 
 'twere pity upon pity that the Squire — a pox squire 
 him ! — should have her. Here they all come ! 
 
 JE'utei- Gernette ; his Daughter, led hy Ser- 
 vants as dumh ; Squire Softhead, her 
 suitor ; NiBBY, and Jarvis. 
 
 Ger. To have my child struck dumh upon her 
 intended wedding day, and to have the doctors 
 give her over, too ! O my unliappy stars ! 
 
 Soft. Are the stars such iinhappy things 1 Are 
 they the cause of her dumbness 1 By the heart of 
 a horse, if I thought so I'd complain of 'em; 
 
 Nib. Complain of the stars ! Who would you 
 complain to, good Squire Softhead 1 
 
 Soft. I'd complain to the sun and moon ; I war- 
 rant you they'd not uphold them in their rascally 
 twinkling tricks. 
 
 iYi7>. Alas, poor Squire, the sun is always in 
 haste ; he ne'er stays to hear complaints. 
 
 Soft. Why, then, I'll watch them when they 
 fall; and if the proudest star of them all light 
 within my ground, by the heart of a horse, I'll 
 have an action of trespass against them; and if the 
 law once take hold of 'em, I'll warrant 'em for 
 twinkling again in haste. 
 
 Alb. You were best get a star-traj:) to catch 'em in. 
 
 Soft. I warrant you a law-trap will do as well. 
 
 Nib. Do you think your daughter had not better 
 be dumb and dead than marry such a ridiculous 
 brute as this 1
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 15 
 
 Ger. Oh, but his estate lies so sweetly round 
 mine, that Avhen she understands the blessing she'll 
 doat on him as I do. 
 
 Nib. Marry, the devil doat on him ! Why, sir, 
 he never comes into her chamber but he is all of a 
 foaming sweat, throws off his periwig — and no one 
 knows whether he or that smells rankest ; then he 
 runs to the looking-glass, rubs his head with the 
 dressing cloth, puts on his periwig, tiien combs 
 out the powder upon his mistress, so makes a 
 scuiA'y leg, and leaves her. There's a lover, with 
 a pox to him ! But, Squire, why do you profane 
 the stars so 1 
 
 Soft. Profane ! There's a company of vagabond 
 wand'ring stars that do nothing but run up and 
 down the sky to tell fortunes, just like our gipsies 
 i' th' highway ; I know 'em well enough. Heart 
 of a horse, to lose a "vvife for want of three words ! 
 If she had said but " to have and to hold," we had 
 had no further use of her tongue as I know of 
 
 i\"(7>. \\Tiy so, Squire 1 
 
 Soft. Do not call me Squire, mistress. Bare 
 Squire, without Softhead, sounds scurvily, and 'tis 
 scurvily done to call me so, and as scurvily I take 
 it ; and, by the heart of a horse, if you were not a 
 woman, I'd Avound you scurvily. 
 
 Jar. Truly, methinks, there's such a s}Tnpathy 
 betwixt Squire and Softhead that 'tis a thousand 
 pities to part them. 
 
 Nih. I beseech you, Squire, which is the an- 
 cientest family, the Softheads or the Hauf heads ? * 
 
 Soft. The Softheads are the ancientest family in 
 Europe, for Adam's youngest son got a knock in 
 his cradle, and the Softheads ever since derive 
 themselves in a direct line from him. 
 
 * Hauf-rockton. Quite sillj'. — Yorsh.
 
 1 6 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Ger. How does my child ? Thou hast thy health, 
 I hope ] 
 
 Olin. A-a-a-a-a ! 
 
 Soft. Heart of a horse, I believe she counterfeits 
 dumbness ; but I have a trick to make her speak 
 again, if you'll give me leave. 
 
 Ger. With all my heart, sir ; what is it 1 
 
 Soft. Why, I'll go call her jade and whore, and 
 that will provoke her to call me rogue and rascal, 
 you know. 
 
 Ger. Though it be upon such rude terms, I 
 would be glad to hear her speak, sir. 
 
 Soft. Come on ! Why do not you speak the 
 words of matrimony, you jade, that you might be 
 my Avife, you little whore 1 Look you, sir, she has 
 given me an answer. 
 
 [She takes Mm a cuff o th' ear. 
 
 Ger. Ay, but 'tis but with her hand, sir. 
 
 Soft. However, 'tis an answer, sir ; and she may 
 marry me with her hand as well as with her 
 tongue, for it seems to me to be the stronger con- 
 firmation. 
 
 Ger. Squire, if you love my child, endeavour to 
 find all possible helps. Where's my servants 1 
 Run and ride all ways imaginable ; leave no 
 ground unsearched, nor means unthought of, to 
 recover her. 
 
 Nib. And, good Squire Softhead, find out a Avise 
 man to cure her. Do you know one when you see 
 him] 
 
 Soft. By my troth, to my knowledge, I never 
 saw a wise man in my life. 
 
 Jar. Do you send a fool to find out a Avise man 1 
 
 Nil). If he cannot find a Avise man, a Avase man 
 will find out him quickly. 
 
 Ger. Come, lead my child to her chamber, and
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 17 
 
 ride all ways and all countries to find out wise and 
 able men. [Exeu7it all hut Jarvis and Softhead. 
 
 Soft. Jarvis, how shall Ave do to know a wise man 
 when we see him] What marks and signs haA^e they? 
 
 Jar. Why, their dress and their speech they 
 have from the stool of formality ; and they have 
 likely a bald head Avith a satin cap on't, a narroAv 
 band Avith a broad hat ; a cane growing in their 
 hands, Avith the silver head ahvays bobbing at 
 their lips ; and they that are thus habited are taken 
 for Avise men. 
 
 Soft. Why, then, I may be a Avise man if a 
 silver cane will make me so ; but, prithee, what do 
 these AA^se men do 1 
 
 Jar. By'r lady, that Avill puzzle a Avise man to tell 
 you, for I never heard of anything that Avas Avisely 
 done in my life ; therefore I think wise men do 
 nothino;. 
 
 Soft. Then I aauII be A\dse, AvhatsoeA^er it cost me, 
 for I love to do nothing above all things i'tli' 
 Avorld. But come, let us go the right way to find a 
 Avise man now. 
 
 Jar. I'll Avarrant you go right, for we'll go 
 directly east. 
 
 Soft. Why, you fool, the Avise men came out 
 o' th' east, and dost thou think to find them there 
 Avhen they left the place 1 
 
 Jar. Ay, but, sir, they returned back into their 
 OAvn country again. 
 
 Soft. Did they ? Why, then, the wise men of the 
 east are not so wise as the wise men of France ; for 
 if they get into anotlier country, the deAdl cannot 
 drive them home again. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Drench, a farrier, and Isabel, his icife. 
 
 Dr. I say, dame Isabel, I'll have it my Avay ! 
 
 B
 
 1 8 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Isa. Have it my Avay ! Why, who are you, sir 1 
 Art thou any more than my husband, fellow ] How 
 earnest thou thus audacious, then, to say, I'll have 
 it my way 1 Say that again, and by the faith I 
 have in my confidant, my gallant shall make thee 
 an example. 
 
 Dr. Aha ! have you your confidant and your 
 gallant, wife 1 
 
 Im. Yes, that I have. You know when the 
 great ones have done with a fashion, it comes 
 amongst we mean madams into the country at last ; 
 and I have as much privilege due to me as any 
 freeborn people in the world has, and we women 
 will maintain the liberties of the subject with our 
 lives and fortunes. 
 
 Dr. By'r lady, wife, you rant like a freeborn 
 subject indeed ! But, pray you, what do you with 
 the Avord " freeborn subject " 1 
 
 Isa. I have it to show that I am one of the free- 
 born, and may have my gallant, with all the per- 
 quisites belonging thereunto. 
 
 Dr. Why, thou stragglest as far out of the bonds 
 of matrimony as if thou 'dst a good jointure to 
 justify thee in 't. There is a thing called duty, 
 wife ; the parson, you may remember, said so 
 when he married us. 
 
 Isa. I no more remember what the parson said 
 when he married us than what he has said ever 
 since when he preached. 
 
 Dr. The jade's mad beyond recovery ; a pox of the 
 liberty of the she subject ! Wife, there are five chil- 
 dren by the fireside ; pray j^ou, how many of 'em's 
 mine, wife] I think 'tis high time to ask that question. 
 
 Isa. I must not be so much concerned with thee 
 as to call thee husband ; therefore, Mr. Drench, the 
 first child was yours.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 19 
 
 Di\ And whose are the rest 1 
 
 Isa. The rest are mine, fellow ; let that suffice 
 thee! 
 
 Dv. And but one of them mine, wife ] 
 
 Isa. No but one yours, and for this folIoAving 
 reason. After my first child, you neglected your 
 family duty, Mr. Drench ; and when you grew 
 negligent of me I grew careful of myself, and from 
 that care came the rest of my children, Mr. Drench. 
 
 Dr. And those four children, it seems, are free- 
 born subjects ? I find a wife a little modish is 
 worse than a Avife a little oldish. "Wife, I'll down- 
 right poison your freeborn children, 
 
 Isa. thou ungallantified beast ! wouldst thou 
 destroy thy own flesh and blood % 
 
 Dr. Not mine, but I ^\il\ yours, Avife. 
 
 Isa. Why, are not man and Avife one flesh 1 and 
 then are not your children mine, and mine yours, 
 Mr. Drench 1 
 
 Dr. Faith, I doubt this argument is the general 
 security that mankind has to Avarrant their ofl"- 
 springs legitimate. 
 
 Isa. Sirrah, talk of poisoning my children, and 
 I'll haA^e thee so gallantified ! 
 
 Dr. Gallantified ! Prithee AAdiat's that, Avife 1 
 
 Isa. To be gallantified is to be soundly cudgell'd, 
 sirrah. There is another point of she doctrine for 
 you. 
 
 Dr. Pray you, let me ask you a cjuestion, 
 madam. Nay, be not ashamed to be called madam, 
 for as mean people as yourself has the impudence 
 to own it. Therefore, madam, are you true to your 
 gallant I 
 
 Isa. Ay, by my life am I ! I else deserA'e to 
 lose my priA^leges, and be a bondAA^oman, ay, and 
 condemned to my OAvn husband.
 
 20 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Dr. That part of me that's gentleman forgives 
 thee freely for that ; but the rough part, which is 
 farrier, must be revenged ; and though your gal- 
 lant carry your cudgel of love, I carry your cudgel 
 of chastisement. I plead my pri\'ileges, wife, and 
 must beat you ; take this, and that, and that, and 
 this ! [Beats her. 
 
 Isa. Help ! murder, murder ! Will you kill me, 
 you villain ] 
 
 Dr. Kill you 1 Alas ! this is but compliment, 
 wife, and 'tis a new fashion come into the country, 
 Avife ; so I have it to show you that I'm one o' th' 
 freeborn, wife. [Beats her again. 
 
 Isa. Murder, murder ! help, murder ! 
 
 Enter a Neighbour. 
 
 Neigh. "What's here 1 Fie, fie, neighbour Drench ! 
 Hold, for shame ! What, beating your wife 1 
 
 Isa. Ay, marry is he, sir ; what's that to you 
 suppose I long for a beating ] I have been getting 
 him in a good humour this two months to do it, 
 and now you must disturb us. 
 
 Neigh. Nay, if you long for a beating, I'm sorry 
 I disturbed you. I have done. 
 
 Isa. You wicked fellow, do you know what 
 you've done 1 You have taken him off of the 
 sweetest humour. I see by his looks I shall not 
 get another blow off him to save my life. 
 
 Dr. The jade is mad beyond all cure. 
 
 Neigh. Ay, for none but a madwoman would 
 long for a beating; but farewell, neighbours. I 
 have done. 
 
 Dr. You're an impertinent fellow to begin. 
 Men that part rencounters are often killed or 
 hurt, and therefore you ought, neighbour, to be 
 soundly cudgelled. [Beats him.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 21 
 
 Neigh. Nay, good neighbour, hold, hold ! 
 
 Isa. You see he has taken off his anger from 
 me, and now you must have all the sweet blows, 
 you rascal ! 
 
 Dr. So he shall, for if I had known thou hadst 
 longed for a beating, thou shouldst not have had a 
 blow to 've saved thy life ; but you shall have it. 
 
 [Beats him again. 
 
 Neigh. Hold, hold, hold ! If ere I part man 
 and wife, if ere I put my hand betwixt the bark 
 and the tree again, may my fingers bear fruit and 
 the boys rob my orchard ! A woman to long for a 
 beating 1 What a blessing 'twere if all our wives 
 would long so ! [Exit Neighbour. 
 
 Dr. Now I know you long for a beating, wife, 
 lest you should miscarry I'll beat you wonder- 
 fully. 
 
 Isa. Hold, hold ! my longing is over indeed. 
 
 Dr. Is it] Why, then, I'll to the wood and 
 drench a sick horse ; and by that time I return I 
 hope you may come to your longing again, and 
 then I shall plead the liberty of the subject, and 
 claw your freeborn sides again. [Exit Drench. 
 
 Isa. To be beaten thus ! If I be not revenged, 
 say I'm a woman without gall or invention. Let 
 me think a little. They say when a woman means 
 mischief, if she but look upon her apron-strings 
 the devil Avill help her presently. I'll try him. 
 Who is here 1 
 
 Enter Jarvis and Softhead to her. 
 
 Soft. We may search long enough ; the devil a 
 wise man that I can find or hear of 
 
 Jar. Ay, but, sir, you must know there be 
 seA^eral sorts of wise men ; and our business is to 
 find out a wise physician.
 
 22 THE DUMB LADY, 
 
 Isa. Either the proverb's false or the devil's 
 very dull, for he has helped me to no invention 
 yet. [Aside. 
 
 Soft. But all the professed doctors which we take 
 to be wise physicians have given her over, you see. 
 
 Jar. Ay, but there may be skilful and w^ise men 
 in physic that do not profess it. 
 
 Soft. You say very true, for I was cured once 
 o'th' bellyache by an old woman and a warm 
 trencher, when all the doctors i' th' town had given 
 me over. 
 
 Isa. God-a-mercy, devil; I have it, i' faith ! These 
 gentlemen have given me a hint for a revenge 
 upon my barbarous husband. Gentlemen, I over- 
 heard your discourse, and I find you are in great 
 distress for a wise physician. 
 
 Soft. "What then 1 does such a country creature 
 as thou know anything that's wise ? 
 
 Isa. I know not what your worship means by 
 wise. 
 
 Soft. I dare swear thou dost not, for I, that am 
 a squire, scarce know myself. 
 
 Isa. But, sir, I can help you to the most excel- 
 lent physician upon earth ; but then he's a man of 
 the most strangest humours. 
 
 Soft. 'Slid, no matter for his humours, so he be 
 wise ! Where is he 1 
 
 Isa. Why, in that very copse, blooding and 
 drenching of a sick horse. 
 
 Soft. Why, that's a Avise farrier, not a wise phy- 
 sician, woman! 
 
 Isa. But he is a famous physician of Padua, and 
 has retired himself on purpose to avoid patients. 
 
 Soft. Then he is a fool, and no physician ; for 
 the wise doctors never leave a patient whilst he 
 has either breath in 's body or money in 's purse.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 23 
 
 Isa. Ay, but, sir, this is not a man that values 
 money. 
 
 Soft. Then, I say, he is not a wise man. Come 
 away, Jarvis, this cannot be he we look for. 
 
 Isa. Why, you must know, sir, he exceeds the 
 world for physic ; but then his humour is to deny 
 his profession, and acknowledge nothing but ignor- 
 ance. Then, sir, he looks so like a farrier, that you 
 would swear he were one indeed ; then he is such 
 a clown. 
 
 Jar. The greater the scholar, still the more 
 clown ; and the further he is gone in learning, the 
 more ignorant still in other things. 
 
 Soft. Ay, but is he far gone in physic 1 Can he 
 make a dumb Avoman speak 1 
 
 Isa. A dumb woman speak ! I'll undertake he 
 shall provoke a dumb devil to speak. 
 
 Soft. That's the wise man I want ; pray you, 
 where is he 1 
 
 Isa. Why, sir, he is easily sjDoke with, but 
 you'll find it wonderful difficult to get him to a 
 patient. Neither gold, compliment, nor other fair 
 usage could ever yet work upon him ; and yet there 
 is a way to gain him. 
 
 Soft. Heart of a horse, pox to him ! Avhat way 
 can that be 1 
 
 Isa. A way that you'll think strange, but very 
 true. He could never yet be brought to a patient 
 without being rudely used and soundly cudgelled 
 to it. 
 
 Soft. Nay, by the heart of a horse, he shall want 
 for no beating ! 
 
 Isa. Ay, marry, sir, that Avill do it, and nothing 
 else i' th' world ; yet he will carry his seeming 
 simplicity so cunningly, that I hold a wager you 
 come away persuaded that he is no physician.
 
 24 THE DXJilB LADY. 
 
 Jar. I hold a wager lie shall own it ; I'll make 
 him commence doctor else with a good cudgel, I 
 warrant you. But is he such a rare physician ] 
 
 Isa. Truly, sir, but two days since he brought a 
 madwoman to her wits again that was suspected 
 never to have any ; nay, he has taken men's legs 
 and arms off, and set 'em on sound again. 
 
 Jar. That's beyond Surgeon's Hall ; sure he can 
 conjure. 
 
 Soft. I'll be hanged if this felloAv be not a spy 
 of the virtuosos, and is come hither disguised to 
 betray secrets in nature. 
 
 Jar. But does he take no other fees but beating, 
 mistress ? 
 
 Isa. Of a certain, nothing else, sir. 
 
 Jar. I would some doctors I know could be 
 brought to that : I would want no physic, nor he 
 should want no fees, i' faith ! 
 
 Isa. Gentlemen, you'll find him in the wood 
 with a leather apron, and a hammer by his side, as 
 if he were a real smith ; and he studies as much to 
 be a farrier now as formerly a physician. And as 
 his drink was altogether Avine before, now, farrier- 
 hke, he studies all sorts of ale, and drinks them 
 soundly, too. So farewell, gentlemen ; you'll find 
 all things true as I have said, and my rascal, I 
 hope, will be cudgelled from a farrier to a doctor. 
 
 [Exit Isabel. 
 
 Jar. Why, this is such an humorous physician 
 as yet I have not heard of. 
 
 Soft. 'Slid, Ave should haA'e asked the woman one 
 thing : it may be he delights to be beaten with one 
 sort of cudgel more than another. 
 
 Jar. We'll be so c\\\\ as to a.sk him that, if he 
 puts us to it. But come, let us into the wood and 
 find him out !
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 25 
 
 Soft. Hark ! I hear the trees burl * in the wood. 
 'Slid, here's a man coming towards us ; I hope 'twill 
 proA^e the doctor. 
 
 Jar. By mass ! he has a leather apron on, and a 
 hammer by his side. 
 
 Soft. 'Tis he ! What if we cudgel him before we 
 speak to him ? 
 
 Jar. Not for the Avorld, sir ; that would be rude 
 indeed. 
 
 Enter Drench. 
 Save you, sir. 
 
 Dr. Save me, sir 1 Spare your compliment till 
 I'm dying, and then I'll thank you for 't. 
 
 Soft. By the heart of a horse, I like him for that ; 
 for what should a man be saved for till he is dead, 
 you know 1 
 
 Jar. Sir, in short, we come, having business 
 with you, to pay you all the respect and reverence 
 that's due to your Avorship. 
 
 Dr. Respect, reverence, and worship ! You're 
 very merry, gentlemen. Pray you, sir, what part 
 of me is it that you find worshipful ] 
 
 Jar. Oh, sir, it is your virtues that we admire. 
 
 Dr. Virtue ! I never heard the word in my life ; 
 no, nor the use on 't. 
 
 Soft. Thou speak'st like an honest man, for, by 
 my troth, I see no sign of virtue about thee. 
 
 Jar. 'Slid, you'll spoil all to be so blunt with 
 him. Sir, we understand you are a great doctor. 
 
 Di\ I understand myself to be a great horse- 
 doctor, sir. 
 
 Soft. But pray you, sir, be a man-doctor for 
 my sake. By this cudgel, it will be the better for 
 you, if you knew all ! 
 
 Jar. Sir, in short, we know you to be a famous 
 * Rattle.
 
 26 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 doctor of Padiia, and we wish you would leave 
 these abject thoughts of being a farrier, and follow 
 your own worthy profession of physic. 
 
 Dr. Now you provoke me, sir. Do you think a 
 farrier inferior to a physician ] He is the son of a 
 mare that thinks a horse has not as many diseases 
 as a man. 
 
 Soft. And he is the son of a whore that thinks 
 a squire has not as many diseases as a horse. And, 
 friend, take heed how you make comparisons, for 
 you'll have all the squires i' th' country about your 
 ears upon this score. 
 
 Dr. Country squires I shall deal well enough with, 
 and I shall justify a liorse has more diseases than 
 a squire, and take the honour of knighthood to 
 help you. 
 
 Soft. You lie ! and for the honour of squirehood 
 I'll die a virgin martyr ! [Offers to draiv. 
 
 Jar. Hold, hold, sir ! the latter end of a squire's 
 argument is still quarrelling. 
 
 Soft. Without quarrelling, then, I'll proA^e that 
 squire and squiress haAe more diseases than a 
 horse. 
 
 Dr. Ay, with the diseases of their own, that 
 nature never meant them, I grant you. 
 
 Soft. And first, I prove a squiress, that is, a 
 woman, may be dumb. 
 
 Dr. And I answer, a horse cannot speak — set that 
 against that. And yet I'll undertake to make a 
 horse speak before you shall make a woman dumb, 
 sir. 
 
 Jar. Good squire, let us mind our business. In 
 short, sir, will you own your profession 1 Are you 
 a doctor or no 1 
 
 Dr. A pox of a doctor ! I am a downright farrier. 
 I can give you a drench, or cut you for the staggers
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 27 
 
 when you're drunk ; I have no more learning tlian 
 a horse. Pray open my head, and see if you can 
 find a physician there. 
 
 Jar. Since no means but the extremity will 
 make you own your profession, we will cudgel you 
 with as much compliment as we can, sir. 
 
 Soft. A cudgel is but a coarse compliment, I 
 confess. 
 
 Dr. Hey, good boys, i' faith ! What a devil mean 
 you, gentlemen? 
 
 Jar. Squire, do you strike the first blow. 
 
 Soft. No ; do you, Jarvis, for the first blow will 
 bear an action, you know; and thou'rt a poor 
 fellow, he can recover nothing of thee. 
 
 Dr. What a devil's the matter 1 
 
 Jar. Fall on, fall on ! Will you confess you 're a 
 doctor"? [Beats him. 
 
 Dr. Hold, hold, hold ! I will be a physician ! 
 
 Jar. Will you own you are one, sir % 
 
 [Beats him affain. 
 
 Dr. I am one, I am one ! Hold, I am a very good 
 physician ; I feel I am. 
 
 Enter Isabel. 
 
 Isa. Yes, gentlemen, he is a rare physician ; and 
 would confess it, too, but that he would not lose 
 the pleasure of a cudgel, for once a week he longs 
 for a beating. Now you and I are even, sir. 
 
 [Exit Isabel. 
 
 Dr. A pox upon you, is this your design] I'll 
 be revenged, you jade, to the purpose. If I should 
 say she is my wife, and that I'm a very blacksmith, 
 they'd not believe me ; 'twere but the way to be 
 cudgelled again. 
 
 Jar. Nay, come, sir. What ! are you falling into 
 a relapse again 1
 
 28 THE DUlVrB LADY. 
 
 Dr. No, no; hold ! As the woman says, I am a 
 doctor. 
 
 Jar. Ay, and so famous, that you can take off 
 broken limbs and set them on sound again. 
 
 Dr. Well, I will own all this rather than have 
 my bones broken. And, now I remember, you 
 fetched me once before out of this great wood, in 
 Plato's great year, as my master called it. 
 
 Soft. Pray you, sir, how long is that since % 
 
 Dr. Why, next strawberry time, it will be com- 
 plete six-and-thirty thousand years. 
 
 Jar. Ho, boy ! 
 
 Dr. Ay, and I remember I poisoned somebody 
 at your request. 
 
 Jar. No, sir, I do not remember that. 
 
 Dr. But I do, sir ; by the same token you gave 
 me a hundred pieces for a bribe, tied up in a laced 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Jar. I remember now as well as can be. 
 
 Soft. But I do not remember I hired him to 
 poison anybody, nor do I remember I'm six-and- 
 thirty thousand years old. A pox of your Plato's 
 great year, and his little year too ! 
 
 Jar. Pray, sir, remember your mistress will 
 ne'er be cured else. 
 
 Soft. Nay, rather than so, I will remember any- 
 thing. 
 
 Jar. Look you there, sir ; you see we both re- 
 member ; therefore, I pray you, go with us to cure 
 a distressed lady. 
 
 Dr. My business in physic is killing, not curing, 
 I assure you ; for as there is your man-tailor and 
 your woman-tailor, so there is your killing doctor 
 and your curing doctor — distinct professions, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Jar. But, sir, you must own curing as well as
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 29 
 
 killing, or else we shall court you with a cudgel 
 again. 
 
 Soft. As we did in Plato's great year, you know, 
 Jarvis. 
 
 Dr. I do not remember that ye beat me then. 
 
 Soft. But I remember it; by the same token you 
 gave me my laced handkerchief back when you 
 had put the gold in your pocket. 
 
 Dr. Now I do remember. Hold, hold ! 
 
 [Offers to heat him. 
 I do own curing, and, since there is no remedy, I 
 confess I am a doctor ; but if all men should take 
 their degrees as I have done, we should have but 
 small commencements. I once served a mounte- 
 bank, and have some of his canting terms, and for 
 aught I know, may prove as good a physician as 
 if I'd served an apprenticeship at Padua. Well, 
 gentlemen, what disease is it I must cure 1 
 
 Soft. You must help a lady that is dumb, and 
 has lost her speech. 
 
 Dr. How ! dumb, and lost her speech too ! That's 
 a great work. If she had only lost her speech, I 
 could have cured her, or if she had been but dumb ; 
 but to be dumb and speechless too, her case is very 
 desperate. Would I'd my wife and all the neigh- 
 bourhood at that lock ! 
 
 Jar. But we must entreat your utmost skill, for 
 'tis a sad thing for a woman to be speechless. 
 
 Dr. Ay, and dumb ; but 'tis a sadder thing for 
 a man to be a fool, for certainly he is a changeling 
 that has a dumb Avife and would have her speak 
 again. Are you in love with a woman's sting 1 
 
 Jar. Why do you call it a sting, sir 1 
 
 Dr. Because, sir, a woman has no tongue ; 
 they're tongues in men's mouths, but they're 
 called stings in women.
 
 30 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Jar. But, sir, this lady never spoke an angry 
 word — not so much as to a servant ! 
 
 Dr. But she will do if I cure her, for I've an 
 unlucky hand that way; yet for her sweet disposi- 
 tion's sake I'll preserve her. And now I'll answer 
 to the name of doctor with as much confidence as 
 a quack dressed up in all his ignorance. 
 
 Soft. Will ignorance make men confident ? 
 'Slid, would I'd a little ignorance too ! 
 
 Jar. Ay, if you had but a little, 'twere very well, 
 sir. 
 
 Dr. Let me see how to behave myself like a 
 doctor, now. I will first take your mistress by the 
 pulse, and look up gravely at the ceiling all the 
 while ; then ask what she took last, and when 
 she'd a stool, — and there's half a doctor's work. 
 Then I'll prescribe something that will neither do 
 hurt nor good, so leave her to luck; and there's 
 the other half of the doctor. Then, to amuse the 
 people, I'll give her the powder of a dried dock- 
 leaf with apothecaries' hard name to it ; and if 
 that will not mend her, I'll give her a drench, 
 for women have sturdy stomachs, and why not as 
 strong of constitution as horses ] 
 
 Soft. Heart of a horse, thou'rt a delicate mad 
 doctor ! Sirrah, Avilt thou give her a drench 1 
 
 Dr. Why, a drench is a potion, and a potion is 
 a drench ; only the distinction is, when you put it 
 into a horn, then 'tis a drench for a horse ; and 
 when you put it into a vial-glass, 'tis a potion for a 
 man. Nay, I'll discover all their cheats. 
 
 Come, my Squire Softhead, never fear thy 
 wench, 
 
 She shall be cured by learned Dr. Drench.
 
 THE DUMP. LADY. 31 
 
 Act II. — Scene i. 
 Enter Gerxette, Softhead, Jarvis, and Nurse. 
 
 Ger. And is he so famous a physician, say you ? 
 
 Jar. Why, sir, Esculapius, as you call him, is a 
 mere mountebank to him. 
 
 Soft. Ay, and that fellow Galen Hippocrates, as 
 you call him, not worthy to be his apothecary. 
 He can conjure, for he'll cure a wooden leg, make 
 it flesh and blood, and set you up sound again ! 
 
 Jar. Nay, if he like your pulse, he'll give you a 
 lease of your life for term of years. 
 
 Nur. I would he would give me three lives in 
 mine, and begin them all at fifteen again. 
 
 Jar. Is not one life sufficient to make a man a 
 cuckold, but you'd have three to do it in 1 
 
 Xur. Yes, because I'd make thee a monster, 
 that my child and I may live upon showing thee. 
 
 Ger. You talk of wonders ; I long to see him. 
 
 Jar. He is i' th' next room, sir; but 'tis the 
 maddest doctor, and of the strangest humours. 
 
 Soft. So he is, for, by the heart of a horse, we 
 were fain to bribe him Avith a cudgel before he 
 would own being a doctor. 
 
 Nur. A downright sir reverence of a doctor ! I 
 say, get her a worthy husband, and say I told you 
 so. 
 
 Ger. You're a foolish woman, and talk of that 
 you understand not. 
 
 N'ltr. Understand not ? Sure I should know what 
 a woman wants as well as you. I say again, a pox 
 of your doctor ! get her a good husband ! A plaster 
 of true love clapped to her will do her more good 
 than senna or rhubarb.
 
 32 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Ger. Did I not provide her a good husband 1 
 Was she not to marry the Squire here 1 
 
 Nur. A precious morsel of him ! How came 
 you to be a Squire, with a pox, with your soft head, 
 and your little head, and your no head at all ] 
 
 Soft. Bear witness, she says I have no head at 
 all! 
 
 Nur. Thou mayest take it and throw it to the 
 dogs for any brains there's in 't. 
 
 Soft. I will not call you whore, gentlewoman, 
 but, by the heart of a horse, your husband's a 
 cuckold ; and he is not only an English cuckold, 
 but also an Italian cuckold — that is to say, he is a 
 cuckold both before and behind. 
 
 Nur. Sirrah, cudgel him, or lie in the truckle- 
 bed all thy life ! 
 
 Jar. I'll rather cudgel thee, for I believe every 
 word he says. 
 
 Nur. For shame ! Proffer her a husband of her 
 own choosing. Let her have Leander ! 
 
 Ger. She shall never be his Hero. 
 
 Nur. If she perish in the Hellespont, at your 
 peril ! 
 
 Ger. Hellespont ? — how came you by that fine 
 word 1 
 
 Nur. Honestly enough. 
 
 Jar. As honestly as you came by your child, I 
 think. 
 
 Nur. I have seen Mr. Hellespont in a puppet- 
 show, and Hero, and Leander too. 
 
 Ger. Talk no more of Leander, I know him not ; 
 but whoe'er he be, he is not to be compared with 
 the Squire here for wealth. 
 
 Nur. Is your Squire boobe, loobe, poope, to 
 stand with Leander for parts and person ? 
 
 Ger. Do you know his parts 1
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 33 
 
 Nur. No, but I have heard of him and his parts. 
 
 Soft. Grant me patience, for I have much ado to 
 forbear calling you whore, forsooth ! 
 
 Nur. Do, if thou dar'st ! Is wealth to be named 
 the same day with love 1 I scorn that comparison, 
 though I'm o' th' wrong side o' th' teens, i' faith. 
 
 Ger. Hast thou any sense of the fopperies of 
 love left % 
 
 Nur. Dost thou call sweet love foppery ? Though 
 thou'rt my master, thou'rt a beast. Go, go to 
 bed and die ; what dost thou in this world % Let 
 the doctors give him physic ; nobody else has need 
 on't! 
 
 Jar. You 're very bold with your master, wife. 
 
 Nur. He has been as bold with me ; let that 
 suffice you, husband. I have so fresh in my 
 memory the sweet effects of love, that I wonder 
 mankind should be such beasts as to forget it. 
 
 Ger. Go, give your child suck, for that's your 
 talent, and meddle no more. 
 
 Jar. That's another sign 'tis none of my child, 
 for why should he be so careful to have the child 
 suck if it were not his own 1 
 
 Soft. Look you, friend, your wife has abus'd me, 
 and 'tis not civil to call her whore to her own face ; 
 but I tell thee to thy face she is a whore rampant, 
 and in heraldry thou 'rt a cuckold passant. 
 
 Jar. Ay, sir, and my wants make me a cuckold 
 couchant, or I'd ne'er endure it. 
 
 Soft. Oh, here come's our delicate, humoursome 
 doctor, i' faith ! 
 
 Enter Doctor. 
 
 Ger. Squire, go bid them make my daughter 
 ready to receive the Doctor. 
 
 Soft. I do not care to go, for she has her wild 
 
 c
 
 34 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Irish chambermaid, that always calls me Squire 
 Pogemihone, and then laughs at me. 
 
 Ger. Pray you, go, sir. You 're very welcome, 
 sir ; I have very much desired to see you. 
 
 [ExAt Softhead. 
 
 Doct. Hippocrates says, I pray you be covered. 
 
 Ger. Pray you, in what chapter of Hippocrates 
 does he bid you be covered 1 
 
 Doct. In the first chapter of keeping your head 
 warm. 
 
 Ger. A pleasant gentleman, and I love his 
 humour. But, sir, concerning my daughter, who 
 is very sick, sir 
 
 Doct. I am very glad on 't, sir ; and I would you 
 and your whole family were sick, lame, or blind, 
 that I might have the honour to cure you. 
 
 Ger. Why, this is the strangest doctor. He had 
 need of good parts to bear out his humours. 
 
 Doct. And now, sir, I pray you, what's your 
 daughter's name '? 
 
 Ger. Olinda, sir, at your ser\ace. 
 
 Doct. Olinda ! a pretty name to be cured. 
 
 Ger. Sir, I'll see if my daughter be ready to 
 come forth to you. [Exit Gernette. 
 
 Doct. Your servant, sir ; and what woman is 
 that, I pray you 1 
 
 Jar. The nurse of the house, sir. 
 
 Doct. By'r lady, a pretty piece of household 
 stuff, and a fine ornament for a couch. I do salute 
 you, nurse, and I would I were that happy suck- 
 ling that shall draw down the milk of your favour 
 and aff"ection, nurse. 
 
 Jar. Her pulse beats not thereabouts, sir ! 
 Hands off, for she's my wife, sir ! 
 
 Doct. I cry you mercy, sir. I congratulate you 
 for having so handsome a wife, and your wife for
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 35 
 
 having so worthy a husband. Your breasts, sweet 
 nurse 
 
 Jar. Pray you, hold, sir ! Half tliis courtesy 
 would serve. 
 
 Dod. Worthy sir, I cannot declare enough how 
 much I'm your servant ! Delicate breasts, nurse. 
 
 \_His hands tifon her breasts still. 
 
 Nur. At your service. 
 
 Jar. Oh, devil take you, sir ; let my wife's breasts 
 alone ! 
 
 Dod. Sweet sir, I must see her breasts ; it is the 
 doctor's duty to look to the nurse's milk. 
 
 Jar. You shall not look to her milk ; I'll look 
 to your water for that, sir ! 
 
 Dod. You will not hinder me from following 
 my profession. Alas ! I must not only feel her 
 breasts, but I must know whether she be with 
 child or no. 
 
 Jar. Sir, my wife is not with child. 
 
 Dod. But she must be with child. What say'st 
 thou. Nurse 1 
 
 Nur. If your worship think it be for my health, 
 sir. 
 
 Dod. Thou wilt die in a week, else. 
 
 Nur. Do you hear that 1 
 
 Jar. A pox of your mountebanking, sir ! My 
 wife is sound and well, and shall have no doctor. 
 
 Dod. Sir, I know you're a man of sense, and I 
 beseech you hear reason. A sweet nurse ! 
 
 Nur. Oh, dear Doctor ! 
 
 Jar. A pox of your sense and reason ! Give me 
 my wife, sir ! 
 
 Dod. But, sir, I'm from home, and want a 
 woman. I hope you'll be civil to a stranger ; 
 if you come my way, I'll be as kind to you, 
 sir.
 
 36 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Jar. The devil take your kindness ! Give me my 
 wife. 
 
 Doct. Give me a reason for 't ; for look you, sir, 
 your wife is either with child, or else she has a 
 tympany. Nurse, show me your legs, they may 
 be swelled and dropsical ; a sweet woman may be 
 cast away here for want of a little looking to. 
 
 Jar. Let my wife's legs alone, or I'll downright 
 thrust you out o' th' room ! 
 
 Dod. Sir, I find you 're choleric ; but I'll give 
 you a purge shall make you so patient, that if you 
 saw me lie with your wife you should not have so 
 much gall left as would make an angry line in 
 your face. 
 
 Nur. Now, good husband, take physic. 
 
 Doct. God-a-mercy, Nurse ! 
 
 Nur. In troth, sir, he is always so fretful, and 
 so cholericly jealous ! 
 
 Jar. I'll make you an example ! 
 
 Dod. Such another word, and I'll put thee in a 
 fever, and keep thee in't a year. I tell thee, 
 fellow, thy wife is not well, and I will give her a 
 gentle gentile glister. Prithee be sick, Nurse. 
 
 Nur. Yes, sir, I am sick ; and if you please you 
 shall give me a gentle gentile, as you call it. 
 
 Jar. Yqu are no more sick than I am, housewife ! 
 
 Nur. Sure the doctor knows better than you or 
 I whether I be sick or no ; and I find I am sick, 
 and I do so long for a gentle gentile what d'ye 
 call \i1 
 
 Jar. My master is coming, or I'd give you such 
 a gentle gentile ! 
 
 Enter old Gernette, Us Daughter led in by 
 Servants, and Squire Softhead. 
 
 Ger. Sir, I have brought my daughter; and I
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 37 
 
 beseech your best care of her, for the world's gone 
 with me if she die. 
 
 Dod. Hold, sir ! People do not die so easily 
 without the help of a physician. 
 • Ger. A notable droll, and puts me in great com- 
 fort. 
 
 Dod. Is this she 1 A very pretty patient, and one 
 a man may venture on in sickness or in health. 
 Come on, sir, let me feel your pulse ! 
 
 Ger. I am not sick, sir. 
 
 Dod. But your daughter is, therefore give me 
 your pulse. Why, by your pulse, I find your 
 daughter is dumb ! 
 
 Nxir. Oh dear ! how he hits on 't ! 
 
 Jar. Hits on 't ? You'd be hit on 't too, would 
 you ? He may thank his knowing on 't before. 
 
 Ger. But, sir, 'tis strange that you should know 
 my daughter's disease by my pulse. 
 
 Dod. Sympathy does it. I find you have no 
 faith here in the sympathetical powder, therefore 
 cannot know our sympathetical way of practice. 
 When any man or woman is sick in Greenland, 
 they always send the next of kin to the doctor ; 
 and by that pulse the disease is known and the 
 patient cured. 
 
 Soft. Pray, Doctor, feel whether I be dumb or 
 no. 
 
 Nur. Let me feel your pulse, husband. Oh, I 
 am sick, and the Doctor must pliysic me, or I die ! 
 
 Jar. The devil has found a new way to make a 
 cuckold. 
 
 Ger. But Avhat may be the cause, think you, of 
 her dumbness ? 
 
 Dod. Why, sir, according to the sense of Aris- 
 totle 
 
 Ger. Aristotle was a philosopher, sir.
 
 38 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Dod. A.J, and a physician too ; I know "what I 
 say. Heart ! I had like to have been gravell'd ! 
 I say again, according to the sense of Hippocrates. 
 
 Ger. Ay, marry, sir, he was a physician indeed. 
 
 Dod. Ay, and a philosopher too ; therefore no 
 matter which of their opinions I take. 
 
 Jar. By my troth, I think so too. 
 
 Dod. And therefore, as I said at first, according 
 to the sense of Aristotle, women are dumb because 
 they cannot speak. 
 
 Nur. A sweet doctor ! I always thought so, in- 
 deed. 
 
 Jar. Have you tasted of his sweetness, you 
 quean 1 
 
 Nur. Xot yet, but I hope I shall do, you rogue ! 
 
 Ger. But, sir, are there many reasons for dumb- 
 ness in a Avoman ] 
 
 Dod. Several, sir. A woman may be dumb 
 when she has no mind to speak ; and she may 
 speak when nobody has a mind to hear her. This 
 is natural philosophy, now. 
 
 Ger. Why, you speak as if it were sullenness in 
 their sex, and not a defect in nature, nor other 
 accident. 
 
 Dod. I do so. In some romance, perhaps, you 
 may have read of a woman's being dumb ; but sure 
 no man seriously ever heard of a woman that could 
 not speak. 
 
 Nur. He is i' th' right, i' faith ; this is the doctor 
 of doctors, i' faith. 
 
 Jar. Again the Doctor 1 I would he were hung 
 about thy neck ! 
 
 Nur. By my troth, so would I, to determine thy 
 jealousy ! 
 
 Ger. But pray you, sir, why should you think a 
 woman cannot be dumb i
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 39 
 
 Dod. Why, sir, your men that have endeavoured 
 to find out the perpetual motion have come near 
 it, I confess, with their clocks and pendulums ; 
 but Aristotle says. Fix a dial-plate to a woman's 
 mouth, and if the perpetual motion be not there, 
 let them never hope to find it ; and if it be there, 
 'tis infallible a woman cannot be dumb. 
 
 Enter a Footboy. 
 
 Boy. Squire, forsooth, here is a letter. 
 
 Soft. A good boy ! Squire and forsooth does 
 well together ; they're very suitable. But hold ! 
 this letter is not big enough to have business in 't, 
 nor little enough to be a challenge. Heart of a 
 horse, a downright challenge ! — [Beads the letter] — 
 and if he be as stout as Hercules, I'll fright him 
 out on 's fighting, or he shall fright me ! 
 
 Ger. But touching the cause of my child's dis- 
 ease, sir. [Exit Softhead. 
 
 Doct. Why, you must know, her dumbness may 
 proceed from the string-holt. 
 
 Ger. The string-holt ! Why, that's a disease one 
 of my horses has now in the stable. 
 
 Doct. I grant you, sir ; but we of Padua call a 
 lameness in the tongue the string-holt, from that 
 very string which you call the greedy worm. — A 
 pox on me, I shall betray myself a farrier! — [Aside.] 
 — And this dumbness proceeds from a contraction 
 or shrinking of that nerve or string, which shrink- 
 ing proceeds from stomachous fumigations, which 
 proceed from certain exhalations or influence of 
 the stars, called in Arabic — do you understand 
 Arabic ] 
 
 Ger. Not a word — not I, sir. 
 
 Boct. A gentleman, and not speak Arabic ! Why, 
 where have you been bred ]
 
 40 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Ger. I neither speak Arabic, Latin, nor any 
 language but niy mother tongue. 
 
 Doct. What blessed luck is this for me ! How 
 shall I do to explain it to you, then 1 For optimum 
 purgamentum, cantaridem, venetreclum — do ye 
 conceive me, sirl — vinum cum drammum, scirra- 
 moucha scrupulum ; and this is just your daughter's 
 case, sir. 
 
 Nur. Hoboy, Doctor! he claws it away with 
 Latin, i' faith ! 
 
 Jar. Still commending the Doctor 1 You'd have 
 him claw you away with Latin too, would you not, 
 you jade 1 
 
 Nur. Ay, faith, or with Greek either, you knave ! 
 
 Ger. Sure he's a learned man, if one could 
 understand him. Pray you, if you please, state 
 her case in English. 
 
 Doct. Why, this is worse than all the 1-est. 
 Why, you must know, sir, that the vapours passing 
 from the right side, where lies the heart, unto the 
 left, where lies the liver, the lungs, which in Latin 
 we call Armion, having communication with the 
 brain, which in Greek Ave call Nazmatlion, by 
 intermedium of the Vena cava, Avhich in Hebrew 
 we call Rabshack, and in Arabic Helgoshob 
 
 Nur. Thou beast ! when wilt thou know Eab- 
 shack and Helgoshob 1 most divine Doctor ! 
 
 Jar. Divine ! Is it come to divinity now 1 Why, 
 then, you hope to be saved by him 1 
 
 Nur. I'll venture with him into Kabshack and 
 Helgoshob, whate'er befalls me. 
 
 Ger. Eagshag 1 Sir, I understand these tongues 
 less than Latin. 
 
 Doct. I'm sorry for't, sir; did you but know 
 the sweet sound of Hebrew and Arabic, you 
 would never speak your mother tongue again.
 
 THE DUlVrB LADY. 41 
 
 ijrer. Sir, I like your discourse well, only where 
 you say the heart lies on the right side and the 
 liver on the left, Avhich is contrary to all anatomists 
 I ever heard of. 
 
 Dod. How shall I answer this 1 Pox on him, he 
 makes me sweat ! — Why, sir, it is true that in time 
 of health the heart lies on the left side, and in 
 most diseases too ; but in dumbness, the heart by 
 some strong passion being turned and whirled to 
 the right side, till by art it be returned and 
 whirled back to the left, neither man nor woman 
 can possibly speak ; and that is the positive cause 
 of all dumbness. 
 
 Nur. dear Doctor, I cry still ! 
 
 Jar. Is it come to dear Doctor, now ? Is he your 
 dear, you whore 1 
 
 Nur. He is not yet, but he shall be, you cuckold ! 
 
 Jar. Cuckold ! Eemember this. 
 
 Niir. I do remember thou art one, and I "svill 
 remember to continue thee so. 
 
 Ger. Sir, I am well satisfied. Now, if you please, 
 let us proceed to the cure of my daughter. 
 
 Doct. Oh, there's the point ! Why, there be 
 several ways to cure, and twice as many ways to 
 kill ; for we learned physicians with too much 
 study have likely a worm in our heads, and when 
 that worm wriggles the mind alters, so that we 
 change our fashions as much in physic as the 
 court and gentry do their clothes. But come, get 
 my patient to her bed, and when she's warm give 
 her a lusty dose of sops and wine. 
 
 Ger. How ! sops and wine ! Sure that will make 
 her drunk, sir. 
 
 Dod. The better, sir ; for when people are 
 drunk, they are apt to speak their minds. I work 
 by natural causes. You see by the virtue of
 
 42 THE DUMB LABY. 
 
 cakes and wine how women tattle at a gossiping. 
 No man ever knew a dumb woman at a christen- 
 ing or a gossiping but she talked before she went 
 away, 
 
 Nur. The Doctor's i' th' right, I'll be sworn ; I 
 know it by experience. brave Doctor ! 
 
 Jar. Brave Doctor ! I' faith, proclaim your Jove 
 with him. 
 
 Nar. By my troth, so I will, with the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 Dod. So lead her to bed, and let Nurse drink 
 with her to countenance her. 
 
 Nur. I will indeed, Mr. Doctor ; I will be sure 
 to obey your commands. 
 
 Doct. And when you have drunk smartly, bring 
 me w^ord how it works, Nurse. 
 
 Jar. You shall be hanged first, Doctor. 
 
 Dod. And be sure, Nurse, come alone still ; for 
 you know she may have something to say to me 
 that is not fit for her husband to hear. 
 
 Jar. A pox on you ! must my master pimp for 
 you too % 
 
 Ger. Pray you take your fee, sir. 
 
 Dod. By no means ; no cure no money with me, 
 sir. But pray you be careful of my patient, and be 
 sure to send Nurse still to me. 
 
 Jar. I must be a cuckold, and cannot avoid it. 
 
 Ger. Sir, I shall send to you, but perhaps not 
 Nurse. 
 
 Jar. So my master is jealous of her as well as I ! 
 Now 'tis plain he got my child. How many points 
 o' th' compass am I a cuckold 1 
 
 Dod. I hope I shall make that rogue mad for 
 beating me. 
 
 Nur. Your servant, Mr. Doctor, 
 
 Dod. Your servant. Nurse. [Exeunt.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 43 
 
 Enier Leander and his Footboy. 
 
 Lea. Boy, did Squire Softhead receive my note 
 so cheerfully ? 
 
 1 Boi/. Yes, sir ; and withal he told me he won- 
 dered that he heard not sooner from you, being, 
 you know, he was to marry your mistress. 
 
 Lea. Is he so braye ? I shall the better digest 
 my ruin if I find honour in him ; yet he with all 
 his merits can never deserve her. "Tis strange if 
 he should fight, for they say he is a very ass. Oh, 
 here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Softhead and his Boy. 
 
 Soft. Sirrah, yonder he is ; will you be sure to 
 do as I bid you ? 
 
 2 Eoy. Yes, I warrant your worship. 
 
 Soft. Just when you see my vest off, that's your 
 time. 
 
 2 Eoy. I'll be sure to do it, sir. 
 
 Lea. Save you, sir. 
 
 Soft. Damn you, sir, why ] ^Miy the pox save 
 me, sir] 
 
 Lea. Because your poor servant hath an occasion 
 to kill you and send you to heaven. But why 
 damn me, sir ? 
 
 Soft. Because your poor servant hath an occasion 
 to kill you and send you to hell, sir. 
 
 Lea. TliLS is uncharitable language from a dj-ing 
 man, as you are, sir. 
 
 Soft. 1 scorn dying ; I've an estate will keep me 
 alive in spite of a duel, sir. I scorn but to be very 
 charitable. ^Miere wilt thou be buried, fellow ] 
 
 Lea. Let me be killed first, I pray you. 
 
 Soft. Nay, by the heart of a horse, doubt not 
 that, sir ! And if you'll have a tombstone over you,
 
 44 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 write your inscription, and my stonecutter shall do 
 it. Nay, I scorn but to be charitable, sir. 
 
 Lea. Good rich Squire, make your will, for die 
 you must. 
 
 Soft. What a pox should I kill thee for, that has 
 nothing to leave me for my pains 1 
 
 Lea. Now you are not civil, sir. 
 
 Soft. I scorn but to be as civil as any man ! 
 
 Lea. You shall find me so too, for I'll see you 
 buried in the flaxen your grandam spun herself, 
 and left your worship for a winding-sheet. 
 
 Soft. And I'll be as civil to you, sir, for I'll see 
 you buried in flannel. And, sir, to show myself 
 civil, if you have a mind not to fight at this wea- 
 pon, I'll stay till you choose another ; nay, if you 
 have a mind not to fight at all, for civility's sake 
 I'll have no mind to fight at all neither — I scorn 
 to be behindhand in civility ! 
 
 Lea. Now, no more words, sir, but strip and 
 take your fortune. 
 
 Soft. Pull off", boy ! And, sir, I must have you 
 know tliat I long as much to go out of this world 
 honourably as you to stay in it honourably. 
 
 2 Boy. "This is my cue, I take it. 
 
 [Softhead's Boy runs away with his master's 
 sword. 
 
 Soft. And to show you I kill you, sir, merely 
 upon honour, and not upon malice, I lovingly em- 
 brace you, sir. 
 
 Lea. Embrace an ass ! Leave your fencer's 
 tricks, and take you to your sword, sir ! 
 
 Soft. Then a pox on you, sir ! and give me my 
 trusty sword, boy ! How ! the rogue is run away, 
 and with my sword, too ! Why, sirrah rascal, come 
 back, you treacherous rogue ! Come, this must be 
 your plot, sir, to hire my boy to run away with my
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 45 
 
 sword, sir. Why, rogue, traitor to my honour, 
 come back ! 
 
 Lea. This shall not serve your turn. Squire ; my 
 boy shall run and overtake him, I'll warrant you. 
 
 Soft. I scorn to be beholding to you or your boy, 
 sir. I'll run and overtake him myself, sir ; and I 
 charge you upon honour to stay till I come back, 
 sir. [He nms off as fast as he can. 
 
 Lea. This is the newest coward I have known ! 
 He has cozen'd me, for, as I live, I thought he 
 would have fought, for he bore it up to the very 
 point of danger. Sirrah, there's a vest for you, 
 and run after him and cudgel him till he be all 
 over black and blue ! 
 
 1 Boy. You could not have put me upon a better 
 employment, sir. [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter Doctor. 
 
 Dod. By your favour, sir, I was looking out at 
 my mndow, and as I thought I saw a duel towards, 
 so I came. 
 
 Lea. To prevent it 1 
 
 Dod. No, by my troth, sir ; my business is not 
 to prevent wounds, but to cure 'em. Where is the 
 other that fought you ? Nounze, you have made 
 quick despatch ; have you killed him and buried 
 him already 1 
 
 Lea. No ; he is gone very safe, and no wound 
 about him but that of his honour. 
 
 Bod. Was it not Squire Softhead, sir 1 
 
 Lea. It was so, sir; and how he has behaved 
 himself you shall know anon. But, sir, I guess 
 you are the doctor that undertakes the Dumb Lady] 
 
 Dod. I am so, sir. 
 
 Lea. You're happily come, sir, for I have earnest 
 business with you.
 
 46 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Dod. Why, ay, the dulness of your eye shows 
 you have — let's see, let's see — a very dangerous and 
 highflying pulse. 
 
 Lea. I am not sick, sir. 
 
 Dod. You are loth to confess. Come, I see you 
 have a clap, sir. 
 
 Lea. By my honour, not I, sir. 
 
 Dod. Do not let it go too far ; modesty has 
 spoiled one-half of the town gallants, and too much 
 confidence the other half, so that there's no hopes 
 of any of you. 
 
 Lea. If you please, sir, I shall acquaint you with 
 my business. My name, sir, is Leander ; perhaps 
 you may have heard of me. 
 
 Dod. I have heard of a naval knight called Sir 
 Hero Leander ; are you the man, I pray you 1 
 
 Lea. You are merry, sir, but my affair is serious. 
 You have a dumb lady your patient to whom I am 
 a servant, and she, sir, has an equal love for me. 
 Now, being by her father barred of all means of 
 coming together 
 
 Dod. You would have me do it, and so pimp for 
 you? 
 
 Lea. Not pimp, sir ; but I would fain oblige you 
 to befriend us. 
 
 Dod. Befriend us ? a modest phrase for pimping. 
 I begin to find that physic is but one part of a 
 doctor's trade ; and I shall gain the character of 
 Chaucer's seamstress, for says he, 
 
 " She keeps a shop for countenance. 
 But bawdeth for her sustenance." 
 
 So I shall physic give for countenance, 
 
 But pimping's my chief maintenance. 
 
 Lea. Sir, I know you may bring me to the 
 speech of her. I mean no pimping, sir. 
 
 Dod. Whatever you mean, the thing is the
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 47 
 
 same, sir; for how can I help you to the speech of 
 her but I must bring you together 1 And if I bring 
 you together, what's that but pimping, sir ? 
 
 Lea. But I mean in the way of honesty, sir. 
 
 Doct. Honesty 1 Indeed I have heard 'twill make 
 men rich and brave, but I never heard of honesty 
 in the case before. Sir, the profession will not 
 bear it. And would you make a pimp of a phy- 
 sician 1 most horrible indignity ! 
 
 Lea. Pray you, sir, be pacified, and let this show 
 you that I can be grateful. [Gives him a j^tiirse. 
 
 Dod. Is there a fee belonging to that part of a 
 doctor too 1 I begin now to think that pimping is 
 no such scandalous thing as malicious men report 
 it. Sir, you have given me such strong reasons to 
 think so well on 't, that I believe none rail at it 
 but such as would be glad of the employment 
 themselves. And, sir, as you call it, I will help 
 you to the speech of her, or befriend you, or pimp 
 for you. 
 
 Lea. Your servant, sir. I must now reveal a 
 secret to you. You must know, sir, the lady 
 feigns this dumbness for love of me, and to avoid 
 marriage with this Squire Softhead. 
 
 I)oct. I knew there was some trick in 't. 'Twere 
 impossible else, either by nature, art, or misfortune, 
 a woman should be dumb ; for take a woman's 
 tongue, and pluck it up by the roots, I'm sure in an 
 hour another would gi-ow i'th' room on't. But 
 come, sir ; you shall shift you, and pass for my 
 apothecary. 
 
 Lea. That I think an excellent way, and nothing 
 better. 
 
 Doct. We cannot miss to cure her now. I shall 
 get credit as I am her physician, and money as I 
 am your bringer together, or your pimping friend.
 
 48 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Thus shall I be your advocate and protector. 
 And venerably called both bawd and doctor. 
 
 Act III. — Scene i. 
 Unter Doctor, ami Leander like an apothecary. 
 
 Lea. This habit will pass me for an apothecary; 
 I only want some of their canting phrases. 
 
 Dod. Why, faith, you are as well qualified for 
 an apothecary as I am for a physician. You have 
 trusted me with your heart, and now I'll trust you 
 with my simplicity. I am no doctor, but was 
 forced to own being one — why and how I'll tell you 
 hereafter ; but having served a mountebank, that 
 and my great share in impudence has made me 
 famous. 
 
 Lea. Is it possible impudence should have such 
 virtuous effects 1 
 
 Dod. Yes ; yet some men rail at impudence, and 
 speak it vicious, when the jest is, they that rail 
 most at it make most use on 't. 'Tis doubtless the 
 greatest blessing in the world, and most men do 
 their business by it. 
 
 Lea. But if you be so ignorant, sure impudence 
 should not bear you out, especially in this learned 
 profession. 
 
 Docf. Oh, sir, it is the securest cloak for ignor- 
 ance of all arts ! Other professions are liable to 
 miscarriages and questionable ; but the physician 
 may kill from the fool to the senator, from the 
 beggar to the blood-royal, and ne'er be called in 
 question ; the dead was never so uncivil yet as to
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 49 
 
 come out o'tli' other -world to complain of the 
 physician. 
 
 Lea. 'Tis a sign thej^'re civilly used where they 
 are. But do you not study at all 1 
 
 Bod. It needs not, for the great study of physic 
 is come to nothing now but letting blood ; and it 
 falls out well for me, that am a downright farrier. 
 
 Lea. How ! is your real profession a farrier ? 
 
 Bod. Yes, faith ; and Avith the same fleams I 
 let horse's blood I use my patients to ; and the 
 horse's drench is the potion I give to men ; and I 
 cure more than I kill, so that I am the only 
 doctor that has found out horse and man to be of 
 one constitution. 
 
 Lea. But how comes letting of blood so much in 
 fashion 1 
 
 Bod. Oh, sir, 'tis h la mode Paris. If your corn 
 does but ache against rain, what says the doctor 1 
 Let him blood. Nay, if you be troubled in con- 
 science, they'll let you blood for that too. 
 
 Lea. They let not blood for the small-pox, I 
 hope 'i 
 
 Bod. But they do ; and 'tis the opinion of 
 Padua that 'tis as sure a Avay to kill as an old 
 woman and saffron is to cure. 
 
 Lea. How came you by that velvet coat 1 
 
 Elder a Seaiian's Wife, a Countryman icHh an 
 urinal, and an Apprentice loith an urinal, icith 
 other Patients. 
 
 Bod. Oh, here come patients ! Mark my con- 
 fidence. — [They jJi'ess to the Bodor.'] — Good people, 
 one at once ; let the woman be served first. Now, 
 Avoman, what Avant you ] 
 
 TFife. That that nobody can help me to, the 
 worse luck, sir. I am a seaman's wife, sir, that 
 
 D
 
 50 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 has been married this dozen years, and I have 
 never a child ; and please you, and I would fain 
 have a child, sir. 
 
 Doct. And wouldst thou have me get it ] 
 
 Wife. I would fain have your worship give me 
 something that will, sir. 
 
 Doct. By my troth, I have nothing about me at 
 this time can do it. Why, look thou send thy 
 hu.sband to sea ; that often makes the wife fruitful. 
 
 //'//(?. Alack, sir, I have tried all ways, both by 
 sea and land, and nothing will help me ! 
 
 Doct. I do prescribe thee a lusty wine-porter, 
 and he shall be thy gallant. 
 
 Wife. And it please your worship, I have tried 
 your gallant, and your top-gallant, and your top- 
 and-top-gallant, and all will do no good, sir. 
 
 Doct. By my troth, go try the mainyard too, and 
 if that fail thee, thou 'rt a barren woman of a 
 certain ; but come i' th' evening to me ! after a 
 glass of wine I may have something to help thee. 
 
 [Exit Woman. 
 
 Conn. And it please your worship, I am a poor 
 man. 
 
 Doct. I have never a medicine for that disease. 
 Prithee begone, fellow. 
 
 Coxni. My wife, and it please you, lies danger- 
 ously sick. 
 
 Doct. If thou be'st poor, trouble thyself no fur- 
 ther ; she'll die of a certain. But art thou so poor 
 thou canst not come to the point 1 
 
 Ccnin. I would entreat your worship to visit her ; 
 and here's an old angel for you. 
 
 Doct. This is but one of the points ; there's two- 
 and-thirty in the compass, fellow. However, I'll 
 come see her. She rules the roast when she has 
 her health, does she not 1
 
 THE DUMB L.ADY. 51 
 
 Coun. Ay, but too much, to my sorrow, sir. 
 
 Dod. Thou hast a stable, hast thou not ? 
 
 Coun. Yes, and it please you. 
 
 Dod. Then take me your wife, and tie her up to 
 the rack-staves ; and be sure you give her no hay, 
 for I mean to blood her and drench her. 
 
 Coun. Why, sir, that's as I serve my horse when 
 he is sick ! 
 
 Dod. But I know thou'rt a henpecked fellow, 
 and such Avomen as do command in chief I physic 
 them as I do horses, and all little enough, too ; but 
 first take her and ride her off on her legs. 
 
 Coun. That's more than I, and your Avorship to 
 help me, can do, sir. But I hope your worship 
 will come. [Exit Countryman. 
 
 Dod. Yes, yes. What are you, sir ? 
 
 Prent. A prentice, sir, that has brought my 
 mistress' water, sir. 
 
 Dod. Has your mistress ne'er a maid, but she 
 must send her water by her prentice % A foolish 
 custom ; I cannot break 'em on 't Let me see; but 
 are you sure this is your mistress' water 1 
 
 Prent. Yes, and it please your worship. 
 
 Dod. How sure are you 1 Did you see her make 
 it? 
 
 Prent. I did not see her make it, but, and it 
 please you, I heard her make it. 
 
 Dod. Why, I find by thy mistress' Avater, 
 friend, that thou art almost out of thy time, 
 
 Prent. Yes, truly, within three months, and it 
 please you. 
 
 Dod. I knew it. Why, here is twenty visible 
 things in this water ! Your master is out of town 
 about a purchase, is he not 1 
 
 Prent. Yes, and it please your worship. 
 
 Dod. And you are removed out o' th' garret to
 
 52 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 lie iu the next room to your mistress, to keep 
 spirits from her, are you not ] 
 
 Prent. By my troth, and so I am, and it please 
 your worship. 
 
 Dod. The water shows it plainly. Hold ! ha ! 
 I find your mistress is apt to dream much, and is 
 frighted, and walks in her sleep, and comes to 
 your chamber to be awakened, does she not ] 
 
 Prent. By my truly, she has been so troubled 
 with these frights since my master's absence that 
 I have never had a good night's rest since he went • 
 for she'll come in her sleep and throAv herself upon 
 my bed, and then I lie as still as can be, and then 
 she rises like a madwoman, and throws all the 
 clothes off, and makes such work with me that 
 I'm ashamed your worship should know it. Then 
 tell her on 't the next day, and she runs away and 
 laughs at me. 
 
 Dod. I know her disease. Commend me to thy 
 mistress, and tell her, because I'll make a perfect 
 cure on 't, I'll come and lie in the next room to her 
 myself, and thou shalt go into the garret again. 
 
 Prent. And it please your worship, my mistress 
 perhaps may not like that so well, sir. 
 
 Dod. She will like it, I know ; 'tis variety must 
 recover her. Go tell her I'll not fail her. 
 
 Exit Prentice. 
 
 Lea. Here comes Squire Softhead, that ran 
 away with a trick to save his honour. 
 
 Dod. I see your boy has cudgelled him to some 
 purjDOse. 
 
 Enter Softhead. 
 
 Soft. Save you. Doctor ! a word in private. Can 
 you keep a secret 1 
 
 Dod. 'Tis the first point of my profession, secrecy.
 
 THE DU]\rB LADY. 53 
 
 Soft. Despatch that fellow out o' th' way quickly, 
 then. 
 
 DocL He is my apothecary, and as much to be 
 trusted as I am. But how came your face so 1 
 
 Soft. Honourably of my side ! You must know 
 I have fought a duel with a damned coward, a 
 rascal called Leander. 
 
 Lea. Now must I be abused, and dare not take 
 notice on 't ! — But, sir, is it possible Leander should 
 be such a coward % 
 
 Soft. Do you know him, sir 1 
 
 Lea. Very Avell, sir. 
 
 Soft. Is he your friend, sir ? If he be, I am sorry 
 I said so of him, sir ; but if he be not your friend, 
 he is a coward, and I'll justify it, and a rascal, and 
 I'll maintain it. Yet, sir, if you have the least 
 relation to him, I shall be very ready to eat my 
 words rather than disoblige you. 
 
 Lea. Sir, he is neither relation nor friend of 
 mine, neither care I a farthing for him, sir. 
 
 Soft. Then he's the son of a whore, and I'll tell 
 you how he served me. Just when we were 
 stripped, and ready to go to it, the base rascal 
 hired my boy, it seems, to run away with my 
 sword. 
 
 Dod. That was base indeed. 
 
 Lea. I cannot believe so unworthy a thing of 
 him. 
 
 Soft. Eather than offend any man, I'll sa}^ I 
 hired my boy myself to run away with my sword. 
 I can be no civiller, sir. 
 
 Lea. Rather than so, I will believe Leander did 
 it, sir. 
 
 Soft. Sir, I thank you heartily, and I will 
 justify all that Mande\dl or Coriat writ for your 
 sake, so you believe it yourself, sir.
 
 Oi THE DUiNEB L-ADY. 
 
 Docf. But how wa-s the duel, if the boy ran away 
 with your sword ] 
 
 Soft. "\Miy, I ran after him, got my sword, and 
 came honourably to him again, and I drove him 
 honourably round the field ; and all that while his 
 boy got behind me dishonourably and cudgelled 
 me damnably, that I am ashamed it should be 
 known. 
 
 Lea. Xay, sir, it shall ne'er be kno^m for us ; but 
 if the boy cudgelled you behind, how came you 
 thus black and blue before ? 
 
 Soft. Why, he beat my head and shoulders so 
 deviHshly that it came quite through to th' other 
 side, that mr face is all over Coventry blue. 
 Therefore, good Doctor, report I am your patient 
 and desperately wounded, and there's twenty 
 pound : and I'll have a red scarf with a great 
 frinse about mv arm — methinks that looks 
 vaUantly ; and here is a sword has been up to the 
 hilt in blood ; and if you hear Leander be killed, 
 not a word who did it, on your lives 1 
 
 Lea. Sir, to tell you true, we came just now 
 from dressing of Leander's wounds ; and to be 
 plain with you, if you did it, your life is in danger, 
 for he cannot live above two dressings more. 
 
 Locf. Therefore, if you would escape hanging, 
 flee your country. 
 
 *S''//. Heart of a horse, I did neither wound him 
 nor kill him ! 
 
 Lea. No ! did you not confess just now you did ? 
 Besides, your sword is all bloody up to the hilt, 
 which wdl hang yon if there were no other witness 
 in the world. 
 
 S"ff. Heart of a horse, I shall be hanfred with a 
 trick of my own 1 
 
 Dod. I'U get money out of him. — Sir, we can
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 55 
 
 do no less than send for a constable and apprehend 
 you. 
 
 Soft. dear Doctor, thou Avilt not be such a 
 rascal, I hope ! 
 
 Dod. I'll be revenged of you for beating of me 
 into a doctor, Avhen I had a mind to conceal my 
 parts ; therefore get me a constable. 
 
 Soft. I am disgraced and dishonoured if you 
 do ; and that's all you can do to take away the 
 reputation of a poor Squire, for I did not kill 
 Leander. 
 
 Leu. AVhy, \\o\x came your sword so bloody I 
 
 Soft. If you must needs know, 'twas Avitli killing 
 of a sheep, sir. 
 
 Dod. A sheep ? Why, are you not ashamed, as 
 you are a Squire, to own that ? 
 
 Soft. There's no shame in it, sir, for 'twas a ram 
 sheep, sir, and he assaulted me ; and in my own 
 defence I killed him honourably and fairly. 
 
 Dod. This excuse will not serve, for Leander is 
 dying, and we must apprehend you. 
 
 S(ft. Since you are such a rascal, I'll give you a 
 hundred pound to conceal all that I have said. 
 
 Dod. Tell us the whole truth of your duel, and 
 give me two hundred pound, as you did for the 
 last man you killed in Plato's great year. 
 
 Soft. A pox of your Plato, and your two hun- 
 dred pound ! But, since there's no remedy, you 
 shall have it, sir. 
 
 Lea. And -sWthal, tell us the truth of your duel, 
 and we'll swear to be true to you. 
 
 Soft. Why, then, by the heart of a horse, we 
 fought not one stroke, but my boy ran away with 
 my sword, as I contrived it, and I seemed to run 
 after him to fetch it again, and so ran quite out 
 o' th' field. .c\jid this is the truth, by the heart of
 
 66 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 a horse ! Then Leander's boy ran after me, and 
 cudgelled me, as you see, Coventry-wise, 
 
 Dod. Well, sir, go into my chamber and send 
 for your money, and I'll release you and keep your 
 counsel faithfully. 
 
 Soft. To give a physician two hundred pounds, 
 and not so much as one clap cured for it ! dis- 
 honour to true Squirehood for evermore ! 
 
 [Uxii Softhead. 
 
 Enter Isabel. 
 
 Dod. 'Slid, Pothecary ! here is my wife ! I'm 
 resolved I will not own the quean ; for, first, she'll 
 obstruct our design, next, I owe her a revenge. 
 Hark you ! we must have some device to be rid of 
 her. [ Whispers. 
 
 Lea. I understand you very well. 
 
 Isa. Save your worship ! 
 
 Lea. Would you speak with anybody here, 
 woman 1 
 
 Isa. Pray tell his doctorship's worship that 
 here's his wife. 
 
 Lea. Alas, poor woman, his worship has ne'er a 
 wife ! 
 
 Isa. Who told you so 1 Were you by when his 
 worship was unmarried again ] I must and will 
 make bold to speak to him. Good Doctor Dog- 
 bolt, how long have you been worshipful 1 
 
 Dod. Feel her pulse, feel her pulse, Pothecary ! 
 
 Isa. I'll take you over the face if you feel any- 
 thing about me, you beastly fellow ! 
 
 Lea. Prithee, begone, woman, for I assure thee 
 Doctor Drench has ne'er a wife. 
 
 Isa. But there is a horse-doctor Drench, a 
 farrier, that has a wife. 
 
 Doct. Ay, the farrier Drench may have a wife.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 57 
 
 but I assure thee Doctor Drench has none ; there- 
 fore begone, woman ! 
 
 Isa. Are you too proud to o-\^ti your wife, you 
 ungrateful rascal 1 Who made you a doctor but 
 my invention and a good cudgel 1 I'll spoil your 
 trade of physic, sirrah ! 
 
 Bod. Now is your time, Pothecary, to be rid of 
 her. 
 
 . Lea. 'Tis enough ! But, Doctor, do you hear 
 the strange news that's abroad 1 
 
 Isa. lack ! what news is it, I beseech you, 
 good sir 1 
 
 Lea. I do not speak to thee, woman. 
 
 Bod. Well, what is it 1 
 
 Lea. It seems tliere is an edict made, and it 
 goes very hard with poor women, I confess. 
 
 Isa. Now, good sir, as ever you came of a woman, 
 tell me quickly what it is ! 
 
 Lea. I will not tell my tale to the woman. 
 
 Bod. Then tell me, I pray you. 
 
 Lea. Why, sir, there is a new edict made, that 
 no woman, upon pain of death, under such a degree 
 or quality, shall presume to have a gallant, or any 
 man but her own husband. 
 
 Isa. And all this upon pain of death ? 'Slife ! 
 who would not be a rebel at this rate 1 
 
 Lea. You say very true ; and upon this hard 
 usage there are twenty thousand Avomen in arms, 
 and have made a formal remonstrance, wherein 
 they declare for the privilege of the she-subject, 
 and will live and die for the freeborn women of 
 England. 
 
 Isa. Ten thousand blessings upon them ! 
 Where are they, I beseech you, sir 1 
 
 Lea. They 're drawn up upon Hounslow Heath, 
 and are now marching to besiege Windsor Castle.
 
 58 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Isa. Though I sell all I have, and undo my chil- 
 dren, I'll have a regiment, whatsoever it cost me ! 
 
 [Exit Isabel. 
 Dod. I saw the cage stand open by the stocks. 
 Throw this purse into 't, and say I sent it ; and 
 when she is in, lock the door and bid the boys 
 hoot at her and call her bawd, and then I am 
 revenged for her beating she procured me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nur. I find the Doctor has a mind to gallant 
 me. He has such a winning way with him ; he 
 swears 'tis a thousand pities such a rascal as my 
 husband should e'er enjoy me, and such like fine 
 terms, that 'tis hard, I swear, to withstand him. 
 But yet one's honesty — Why, I confess, honesty's a 
 fine thing to read of in a romance, but I do not 
 find the practice of it so followed as to make it a 
 fashion ; therefore, if Doctor's love hold, I shall — 
 I shall — I cannot help it, husband, I shall. 
 
 Enter Doctor. 
 
 Dod. Nurse, how happy am I to meet with thee 
 alone! Ah, rogue, methinks I could e'en run 
 through thee now ! 
 
 Nur. Ay, so ye all say ; but I am sure I could 
 never see it yet. 
 
 Dod. Now, good Nurse, grant me my suit. 
 
 Nur. Truly, Doctor, so I would, if it were not 
 for my honesty. 
 
 Dod. Thou fool, there is no such thing as 
 honesty ! The word honesty is a mere bugbear that 
 jealous husbands invented to keep women in awe 
 with, as raw-head and bloody-bones frights chil- 
 dren ; that's all, i' faith.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 59 
 
 Nur. But is it possible that should be true, 
 Doctor 1 
 
 Dod. Nurse, it is so true that I'll show thee 
 a reverend book, called St. Aratine's, where you 
 shall be convinced there's no such thing as honesty. 
 
 Nur. Say you so 1 Nay, then, dear Doctor, give 
 me physic. Here comes my husband. What 
 woman's that with him 1 
 
 Enter Jarvis and Isabel. 
 
 Dod. 'Tis a patient of mine that has twenty 
 diseases besides a Neapolitan pox. 
 
 Nur. What disease is that, Doctor? 
 
 Dod. 'Tis a new-fashion'd disease came fresh 
 with the last packet. 
 
 Nur. Have we not old-fashion'd diseases enough 
 of our own, but we must send for new ones over ? 
 
 Jar. What a \dllain is this Doctor ! First, not to 
 own his wife ; next, Avith a trick to trepan you into 
 the cage ; then make the boys throw dirt at you 
 and call you bawd. But Avhy do you weep 1 
 
 Isa. To think that ever I should live to be called 
 bawd. If he had called me whore, 'twould ne'er 
 have vexed me ; but to be called bawd is to be 
 thought an old woman unworthy of copulation. 
 
 Jar. Troth, malicious people may call you bawd, 
 but, I jjrotest, I think you far worthy to be called 
 whore ; therefore, pray you, wipe your eyes. 
 
 Isa. I thank you for your good opinion, how- 
 soever. 
 
 Jar. If it please you, madam, I'll make my 
 opinion good. 
 
 Nu7'. Here is a rogue ! to be jealous of his wife, 
 and yet play the whoremaster himself! 
 
 Isa. Look you, there's Doctor Devil for you ! that 
 will not own his wife.
 
 60 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Jar. And my wife ■\vdth him ! Take no notice of 
 them. I believe he has made me a cuckold of all 
 colours — of the red, and the green, the yellow, and 
 the blue bed. A pox on him ! Faith, be revenged, 
 and make his caps too little for him. 
 
 Isa. By my gallant, so I would, if it were not 
 for my honour. 
 
 Jar. Honour 1 I'll not come near your honour ; 
 that's an airy thing that lies i' th' crown of your 
 head. My request lies lower, quite another way. 
 
 Isa. Look, look ! how familiar Doctor Dog is 
 yonder. Oh for revenge ! 
 
 Jar. A pox on him ! I'm not able to endure this. 
 Go you in there. — Are you in your closet, sir ? If 
 you be, come out and see a fine sight quickly, sir. 
 Oh, look ! look ! this cursed Doctor ! [Exit Isabel. 
 
 Nur. We had need be careful of our credits. 
 Doctor, for the world is grown so base, that if they 
 should but see a man and a woman in bed together 
 they would swear they were naught straight. 
 
 hod. Fear nothing. Nurse. \Kisses her. 
 
 Jar. Look, look, look ! I am no cuckold to 
 speak on. 
 
 Enter Gernette. 
 
 Ger. Is it so 1 What a false quean is this to use 
 me thus ! 
 
 Jar. Use you thus, sir % 'Tis use me thus, with 
 your favour. 'Slid, why are you concerned ] 'Tis I 
 am the cuckold, sir. 
 
 Nur. 'Slid, Doctor, my master sees us kissing ; I 
 am utterly undone. 
 
 Doct. Feign yourself in a sound, and I'll seem to 
 rub you to fetch you to life again. Alack ! help, 
 help ! Who's within there ] Help ! Oh, are you
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 61 
 
 there, sir? Good sir, run for a glass of cold water; 
 I have much ado to keep life in her. 
 
 Ger. Ay, with all my heart ! and glad 'tis no 
 worse. \Exit Gernette. 
 
 Jar. Why the devil must he fetch water 1 Why 
 could he not have sent me ] I find I shall be the 
 staple cuckold for all the kingdom. 
 
 Nur. What a rascal art thou to fetch my 
 master ! 
 
 Jar. Oh, you counterfeit quean ! you are not in a 
 sound, then? 
 
 Nur. No, you jealous rogue ! but I'll counterfeit 
 again as soon as my master comes, and he shall 
 believe it, too. 
 
 Dod. Here he comes; fall into your sound again, 
 quick ! 
 
 Enter Gernette. 
 
 Ger. Here, here ! Alack, poor Nurse, she does 
 use to have fits. 
 
 Jar. Ay, a pox on her, more than e'er her 
 mother had. Sir, give her no water ; she counter- 
 feits ; she spoke as sensibly since you went as ever 
 she did. Deny it. Doctor, if you can. 
 
 Dod. What an uncharitable villain art thou to 
 forge such a wicked lie ! This rogue is made sure. 
 
 [Gives her icater. 
 
 Ger. Come, you wicked knave, and help to 
 lead her to her bed; you'll never leave your 
 jealousy. [Servants and Jaevis lead her off. 
 
 Jar. Oh, oh, oh ! she'll pull my ear off, sir ! 
 
 Dod. That's a sign of a strong fit, sir ; but lay 
 her upon her bed and she'll recover. 'Slid, sir, I 
 never was so surprised in my life ! I was consult- 
 ing with Nurse about your daughter's health, and
 
 62 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 all o' th' sudden she fell into my arms in a sound. 
 But now for your daughter, sir. 
 
 Ger. Despatch, and bring my daughter hither 
 with all care. 
 
 Doct. And, good sirs, bid my apothecary come in. 
 
 Ger. What apothecary is it, sir ] Cannot you 
 cure her Avithout an apothecary 1 
 
 Doct. No, sir ; you speak as if you were jealous. 
 
 Ger. Not jealous, sir, but I love to know who 
 comes in my house. 
 
 Doct. Neither apothecary nor doctor shall trouble 
 you ; so fare you well, and cure your daughter 
 yourself, sir. 
 
 Ger. Nay, sAveet Doctor, leave me not in this 
 distress ! 
 
 Doct. Be not jealous, then. 
 
 Ger. Be not angry, then. Hey ho, Doctor, my 
 heart misgives me that my child will be stolen. 
 
 Enter Apothecary. 
 
 Doct. I'll warrant you whilst I am in your 
 house. — He smokes us, I doubt. 
 
 Ger. I thank you, sir. Is this your apothecary 1 
 
 Doct. Yes, sir. 
 
 Ger. What the reason may be, I know not, but 
 my heart rises at him though I never saw him be- 
 fore. 
 
 Doct. You make your life miserable with foolish 
 phantasms. Pray, sir, bid him welcome. 
 
 Ger. Why, you're welcome, sir ; but, to tell you 
 truly, I like you not. 
 
 A2)ot. If you please, I'll be gone, sir. — Do you 
 think he has no hint of our design ] 
 
 Doct. No, no ! — Nay, sir, if he go, I'll go with 
 him. 
 
 Ger. Nay, I beseech you both, stay ! for I doubt
 
 THE DUMB LADY, 63 
 
 my child is dying. Oh, here she comes ! Good 
 sir, look upon her. 
 
 Enter Olinda in a couch ; two Women. 
 
 Boci. Apothecary, feel her pulse ! 
 
 Gtr. Is not that your office, sir % 
 
 Bod. Yet again % Why, he is the most learned 
 man in Europe, and, to my shame, I iind I cannot 
 cure her -sWthout him. Go, go, feel her pulse ! 
 
 Aj)ot. I fear my over joy Avill discover me. 
 
 Boct. Meantime, I'll tell you, sir, 'tis a great 
 question amongst we learned of Padua ■whether 
 men or women be hardest to cure. Some are of 
 one opinion, some another ; meantime there be 
 potent arguments on either side. 
 
 Gcr. He is very long feeling her pulse, methinks. 
 
 Boct. Pray you, mind you me, sir. First, Ave hold 
 that women being naturally more cold than men, 
 and cold being an enemy to life, it follows their 
 cure must needs be more difficult and dangerous. 
 
 Gcr. How many pulses has he to feel that he is 
 thus long about it % 
 
 Boct. You do not mark me, sir. I do not love 
 to be slighted Avhen I'm in argument. 
 
 Gcr. I do mark you, sir. 
 
 Boct. Then, I say, 'tis generally held at Padua, 
 that women, when they take physic, ought to have 
 their potions much more stronger than men, be- 
 cause physic cannot Avork so well upon cold and 
 phlegmatic bodies as upon hot and dry. You do 
 not hear me, su*. 
 
 Gcr. They're very close together, methinks ! 
 
 Boct. A sign he minds his business ; and this 
 was the o})inion of the great Cham of Tartar's 
 chief physician, that was fellow student Avith me 
 at Padua.
 
 64 THE DUaiB LADY. 
 
 Ger. A pox of your great Cham ! I must know 
 why he dwells thus long upon her pulse. Have 
 you conveyed no letters to her, sir 1 
 
 Dod. What an uncivil question's that ! Come, 
 Pothecary ! Let your daughter die, and you perish^ 
 the world shall never make me visit her again. 
 
 Ger. Dear Doctor, do not leave me in this 
 extremity. Mr. Pothecary, will you be my over- 
 throw too ? 
 
 Apot. I'll do no man service that affronts me thus. 
 
 Ger. Good gentlemen, bear Avith an old man's 
 passion ! Good Mr. Apothecary, go to my child 
 again ! 
 
 Apot. No, not I, sir ; I shall but convey letters. 
 
 Ger. Nay, then, you're cruel. I beseech your 
 pardons, gentlemen. 
 
 Dod. Well, sir, we see it is j'our weakness, and 
 we pass it over; go to your daughter whilst we 
 consult a little. — We must press to have her to 
 your house to cure her. 
 
 Apot. Good ! And if he refuses that, I'll persuade 
 her to counterfeit madness ; I have a design in't. 
 
 Doct. And that she may appear the more mad, 
 let her tear all her clothes off, for a madwoman 
 naked has such antic temptations. 
 
 Apot. I should be loth any man should see her 
 naked but myself, Doctor. 
 
 Ger. Well, gentlemen, what have you concluded 
 of? 
 
 Dod. Sir, he must feel if he can discover of what 
 side her heart lies. — I'll keep him in discourse the 
 meanwhile. 
 
 Ger. Must he feel her heart, Doctor 1 Still it 
 runs in my mind this apothecary will do me a mis- 
 chief. Nay, be not angry ! 
 
 Dod. Nay, I forgive you ; I see an old man's
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 65 
 
 twice a child. Pray you walk into the next room ; 
 I must talk in jirivate with you. 
 
 Ger. I should sound if I should leave my child 
 with the Ajiothecary. 
 
 DocL Let's talk here, then ; for look you, sir. 
 
 \Thcy walk, and seem to talk earnestly. 
 
 Olin. I'll observe all your directions ; for if he 
 will not let me go to your house, he shall find me 
 mad enough, doubt not. 
 
 AjwL You see hoAV jealous he is, therefore we 
 have no other hopes of enjoyment left but by this 
 means. 
 
 Olin. I'll do my part ; fear not. 
 
 Ger. Sure he feels something more than her 
 heart all this while. 
 
 Doct. If there be occasion, we must stick at 
 nothing. 
 
 AjMt. Why, sir, according to your opinion, I 
 have found her heart on her right side. 
 
 Ger. Most Avonderful ! Pray you, what may be 
 the reason, gentlemen ] 
 
 Aj^ot. Love is certainly the cause on 't ; and for 
 her cure this is no place of convenience, therefore 
 she must be removed to my house. 
 
 Ger. To thy house, thou \Wcked fellow ! I told 
 thee at my first sight of thee I did not like thee. 
 
 A2)ot. But there is all things ready that cannot 
 be removed hither, sir, — my tubs, my baths, and 
 my sweating-house. 
 
 Ger. I like it not. It is a plot to steal my child ; 
 I doubt so. Xay, be not angry, gentlemen, I do 
 but doubt so. 
 
 Bod. You would make a man forswear doing 
 you any service. 
 
 Ger. I crave your pardons once more. Is there 
 no art left to make her speak 1 
 
 E
 
 CQ THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Bod. Yes, I could make lier speak presently ; but 
 I doubt it will be but wildly, sir, for love has 
 sliaken her brain exceedingly. 
 
 Ger. Let me have the comfort to hear her speak 
 of any fashion, good Mr. Doctor. 
 
 Apot. You shall, sir. Pray you, madam, chew 
 that in your mouth. Sir, you shall see the effects 
 of it straight. Before you speak, put out your 
 tongue, and wag it two or three times. 
 
 [He embraces her. 
 
 Olin. Let me alone ! I'll do anything to purchase 
 thee, my dear Leander ! 
 
 Ger. Why does he embrace her so 1 I do not 
 like it, sir. 
 
 Dod. 'Tis something in order to her cure. I 
 think you're mad, sir ; you'll spoil all. He is but 
 shaking her heart right. 
 
 Ger. I'm sure he shakes mine every time he 
 touches her. 
 
 Olin. A — a — a — a. 
 
 [She rises ujj and stares, and wags Jier tongue. 
 
 Ger. Oh, bless my child ! 
 
 Bod. Be comforted, sir, for now it works. 
 
 Olin. A — a — a — a. 
 
 Ger. Is this your working ? The devil work ! 
 my child is undone ! 
 
 Bod. Nay, now her tongue wags, she'll not be 
 long ere she speaks ; fear not. 
 
 Olin. Who are all you, sirs ? 
 
 Ger. She speaks ! she speaks ! Make me thank- 
 ful to you for it, worthy Mr. Doctor and Apothe- 
 cary! 
 
 Olin. What art thou 1 whence camest thou 1 and 
 whither wouldst thou 1 
 
 Ger. Oh me, I fear my child's distracted ! 
 
 Bod. I told you, sir, her sense was a little shaken.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 67 
 
 Olin. Pray you, is not that the devil in black, 
 sir? 
 
 Dod. No, I'm but a doctor yet, madam ; I shall 
 not take my degree of devil these seven years. 
 
 Apot. Yet, if you please, madam, he shall com- 
 mence devil presently. 
 
 Olin. Then, good Doctor Devil, — for you shall 
 lose none of your titles here, sir,— help me to tear 
 that beard off that old, wrinkled, weather-beaten, 
 tanned old face. 
 
 Ger. I am thy father, child ! 
 
 Olin. I hope thou art not. I'd rather be a 
 bastard than have thy ill-nature in me. 
 
 Ger. I am thy old father, child. 
 
 Olin. I hate anything that's old ! 
 
 Ger. Wilt thou break thy old father's heart 1 
 
 Olin. Nay, that's more precious to me than my 
 father, which is my dear looking-glass. I would 
 break that if it were old, for sure the devil in- 
 vented old people on purpose to cross young lovers ; 
 they could ne'er have been so cruel else to poor 
 Leander ! 
 
 Ger. My child is undone; she weeps for 
 Leander. 
 
 Olin. Yes, and w^ill w^eep again and again for 
 Leander. Leander, Leander, Leander ! Why, you 
 do not love Leander ; for which sin, good Doctor 
 Devil, take him into your territories, and let him 
 fall desperately in love with a young she-devil, and 
 let that she-devil have a cross father that will not 
 let them come together, and then he'll feel the 
 torment his poor child endures. 
 
 Ger. Doctor, this has too much sense and satire 
 in 't to be madness. 
 
 Dod. Oh, sir, 'tis madness to a high degree, and 
 dangerous madness too !
 
 68 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Olin. You look like Leander, sir, you are so 
 young and handsome ! Sure you are Leander ! 
 
 Apot. Yes, madam, I am so. 
 
 Ger. No, no, no, Pothecary ! Do not say so, I 
 charge you. What does he mean by holding up 
 his linger so impudently 1 [He beckons. 
 
 Dod. He makes signs to let you know he must 
 say as she says to please her, for in Padua we deal 
 with mad folks like those that catch dottrils : when 
 they stretch out a wing, we must stretch out an 
 arm ; if they stretch out a leg, you must do so too ; 
 else if we should cross her, she may fall into a 
 raging fit and tear us all to pieces. 
 
 Ger. most accursed madness ! 
 
 OUn. Why would you absent yourself so long, 
 Leander 1 Why lay you not your rosy cheek to 
 mine, and throw your arms with sweet embraces 
 about your lover ? I doubt you're false, Leander ! 
 
 Apot. Madam, may the earth open as I kneel, 
 and make me an example of falsehood, if any un- 
 constant thought be in me ! 
 
 Ger. Why, villain Pothecary, talk no more so to 
 her. Why the devil does he kneel It He speaks as 
 feelingly as if he were concerned. 
 
 Doct. Sir, there is no other way on earth to cure 
 her but this. 
 
 Ger. The remedy is worse than the disease. 
 Come from her, Pothecary ! I told thee at first 
 I did not like thee. I have a natural aversion 
 against thee. Confess, for I know thou art to do 
 me a mischief Why were you so concerned to 
 kneel and make such protestations 1 
 
 Apot. By my life, sir, I did it to please and to 
 satisfy her, for she doubted I was false, and I 
 swore I was not. Alas, sir ! we must take these 
 courses to recover her by saying as she says, for
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 69 
 
 physic has the least hand in curing madness. I 
 have cured tAventy mad people this way. 
 
 Ger. Well, sir, you have a little satisfied me, and 
 with reason too ; but yet there is something within 
 me that hates thee heartily. 
 
 Apot. Well, sir, when I have cured your daugh- 
 ter, I hope you'll have a better opinion of me. 
 
 Ger. I may of your art, but never of you, I 
 doubt ; for thy conscience knows thou art to cozen 
 me. Nay, do not tell the Doctor so. 
 
 [He offers to go to the Doctor. 
 
 Dad. Troth, lady, you are so fine a madAvoman, 
 that 'tis a thousand pities you should e'er come to 
 yourself again. Faith, for a frolic, take me by th' 
 ears, and lead me round the room. 
 
 Olbi. If you will have it so. Doctor, but I shall 
 make you repent it. — I have him, I have him ; 
 and now I'll tear him all to pieces. 
 
 Ger. Oh, save the Doctor, save the Doctor ! 
 
 Apot. SAveet lady, spare the Doctor ! I'm your 
 friend Leander, madam. 
 
 Olin. I will do anything for Leander ; but you 
 must stay and live Avith me, then. 
 
 Apot. You see, sir, hoAV very calm the A^ery 
 name Leander has made her. Troth, sir, I doubt 
 you must be forced to send for Leander. 
 
 Dod. I doubt Ave cannot cure her Avithout him. 
 
 Ger. She shall die mad first, and I'll die Avith 
 her. This is a plot. Carry my child to her cham- 
 ber ! Get out of my house, you A'illains ! 
 
 Enter Servants and Nurse. 
 
 Dod. You shall lay your hands under our feet 
 before Ave come under your uuAvorthy roof again. 
 [Eo:mnt Doctor and Apothecary.
 
 70 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Olin. Let me go with Leander ! Leander ! 
 Leander ! [Exit Lady ; she tears them. 
 
 Nur. You liaA^e made a fine hand to make my 
 mistress thus mad. I'll weary you out of your life 
 for this. 
 
 Ger. You are very bold with your master, 
 Nurse. 
 
 Nur. There's an English proverb says, If you 
 lie with your maid, she'll take a stool and sit 
 down by her master. 
 
 Ger. Well, well, I say again, she shall never 
 marry but the Squire. 
 
 Nur. She shall never marry your fool Softhead. 
 She shall first merchandise her maidenhead. 
 
 Act IV. — Scene i. 
 Enter Olinda and Mrs. Nibby. 
 
 Olin. No, dear cousin, I was not dumb, nor am 
 I mad ; I have trusted you with my love, and in 
 that my life. 
 
 Nib. Dear cousin, doubt me not ; when I am 
 false to you, may I miscarry in my own amours. 
 But pray you, coz, how came you by this lover 
 Leander "? for none o' th' house knows him. 
 
 Olin. Truly, coz, I never saw him but at church. 
 
 Nib. A very good place to make love in. 
 
 OJin. Indeed, I have found it so. The first time I 
 saw him was six pews from me ; the next time he 
 sat within two, and there he warmed my heart ; 
 the next after he sat i' th' same pew with me, and 
 'twas so ordered betwixt him and the pew-keeper
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 71 
 
 that none sat with us, and there we loved, and 
 there we plighted troth. 
 
 Alb. I lind a pew-keeper is a worthy friend to 
 love, and for sixpence you may sit with whom you 
 please, and court whom you please, i' th' church. 
 It was handsomely contrived of your lover, though, 
 to come with the Doctor as his apothecary ; but 
 what made him persuade you to counterfeit mad- 
 ness ? 
 
 Olin. He has a design in 't, but had not time to 
 tell me. My father has turned the Doctor o£F, you 
 see ; therefore, coz, you must go to him. 
 
 Nih. He'll find some stratagem to see you again, 
 fear not. If not, I'll go to him. But come, coz, 
 now let's laugh at the duel that the Squire's foot- 
 boy told us of his master. 
 
 Olin. Ay, he found it safer killing of a sheep 
 than Leander. 
 
 Nib. No doubt on 't. Your father 's bringing of 
 him in to avoo you again ; fall to your madness, 
 and let me alone to dispose of the Squire. I'll 
 have him drawn up with an engine, and there he 
 shall hang i' th' air in a cradle till you're married 
 or run away. Here they come ; let us ^dthdraw a 
 little. [Exeunt Olinda and Nip.by. 
 
 Enter Gernette and Softhead. 
 
 Ger. But how came your face thus black and 
 blue, and thus black patched % I never saw a 
 lady's face thus furnished. 
 
 Soft. They may he thus furnished Avhen they 
 please, but they shall never come so honourably 
 by their black patches as I have done. 
 
 Ger. Pray you, how came you by them ? 
 
 Soft. Do you take these for patches ] O dull 
 old age ! These are badges, badges of honour.
 
 72 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Look you, my sword is glazed with honour too. 
 But you shall ne'er know how ; it has cost me two 
 hundred pounds already confessing. 
 
 Ger. I know it already, sir ; but, Squire, I fear 
 you did not court my daughter handsomely. What 
 said you when you wooed her 1 
 
 Soft. I wooed her with all the fashionable ques- 
 tions of the town. I asked her if she could come 
 a seven, and she laughed at me ; then I asked her 
 if she would come the caster, and I'd cover her. 
 No man could say fairer to his mistress, I think. 
 Then I asked her if she could drink Burgundy and 
 seal bonds, pay the price of a chine of beef for a 
 dish of French trotters ; and that's all I said to 
 her. 
 
 Ger. I would thou hadst more wit, or I thy 
 precious acres. Who's there ] 
 
 Ser. Sir? ■ 
 
 Ger. Bid them bring in my daughter if she be 
 awake. I hope she may take you for Leander, for 
 she is now out of her dumbness, and is fallen stark 
 mad. 
 
 Soft. How, can she speak 1 and is she mad ? 
 Heart of a horse, I'll be mad with her for a hun- 
 dred pound ! Oh, I do so love to be mad ! And 
 will she be drunk too ] 
 
 Ger. Drunk, you brute you 1 no ! 
 
 Soft. Why, how can she be mad, then 1 I cannot 
 be mad till I'm drunk for my life; but I'll try 
 what I can do. 
 
 Ger. But be sure you humour her, and say 
 everything as she says. 
 
 Soft. Let me alone ; here she comes ! 'Slid, how 
 delicately she stares !
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 76 
 
 Enter Olinda, Nibby, Nurse, and Servants. 
 
 01 in. What's that with the piebald face 1 Hoav 
 earnest thou so distracted, thou errant knight 1 
 
 Soft. For thy sweet sake, thou devilish damsel. 
 
 Olifi. Thou art as mad as I am. 
 
 Soft. I am stark mad, for my mother was born 
 in March ; therefore let us be married. 
 
 0U71. I would not be so mad for all the world. 
 
 Soft. And Avhen we are married we'll outdo the 
 Great Mogul for new fashions. Instead of six 
 Flanders mares, our coach shall be drawn with six 
 centaurs. 
 
 OU71. Centaurs ! In the name of madness, Avhat 
 are them ] 
 
 Soft. A centaur is a horse born with a postilion 
 on's back. 
 
 Olin. And shall all the footmen ride behind the 
 coach 1 
 
 Soft. Yes, o' th' backs of one another, like March 
 frogs in a ditch ; and there they shall spawn young 
 footboys. 
 
 Olin. And at the boot of your coach must be 
 running an orange wench, presenting your lady a 
 sweet lemon with a love letter in 't. 
 
 Soft. Right ! And instead of points and gildetl 
 nails, our coach shall be trimmed round Avith cart- 
 ridges. 
 
 Olin. And they shall be filled with powder and 
 shot to defend us. 
 
 Soft. No ; each cartridge shall have a little tiny 
 page in it, Avith his head peejiing out like hictius 
 doctius. 
 
 Nib. B}' 'r lady, I think they are both mad ! 
 
 Soft. What Avonders Avould I do for my true 
 love !
 
 74 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Nur. There's a verse of a song to that purpose ; 
 I'll sing it : 
 
 * What wouldst thou do for thy true love, 
 If she for help should call % ' 
 
 Soft. Why, I would fight with a great giant, 
 though he were ne'er so tall. 
 
 Olin. Thou fight with a giant ? He must be in 
 .sheepskin, then. 
 
 Soft. Heart of a horse, how came she by that 1 
 
 Enter Conjuror. 
 
 Olin. Go, bid my conjuror come. 
 
 Con. Here, madam ! 
 
 Olin. Let me see Elysium quickly, and tell me 
 truly what they do there. 
 
 Con. Madam, it is so little, .and so like what's 
 done in this world, that it is not worth your know- 
 ing ; but since you command, I must obey. Let 
 idle poets speak their fancies of Elysium, but I 
 that have been there must speak the truth ; in 
 short, madam, all the women do nothing but sing, 
 * John, come kiss me now,' and then the men give 
 'em a green gown upon the flowery banks, and 
 there they commit love together. 
 
 Olin. Do they not dance in Elysium ] 
 
 Con. Yes, madam, as you shall see. Every one 
 keep their stand. Squire, stand you here. 
 
 Soft. Must I see the devil ] 
 
 Con. Yes. 
 
 Soft. Would I were devilish drunk, then. 
 
 Con. Why would you be drunk. Squire 1 
 
 Soft. Because they say when I'm drunk the 
 devil would not keep me company. 
 
 Con. You must know my devil scorns to be com- 
 manded with canting mountebank words ; he is a
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 75 
 
 seafaring kind of devil, that comes when his bosun 
 
 whistles. Stand fast ! 
 
 [He whistles, Elysium opens; viany tvonurHs voices sing^ 
 
 'John, come kiss menotv;' after that a dance; 
 
 they draw up Squire Softhead with a devil, 
 
 and he cries out. 
 Soft. Save the Squire ! save the Squire ! 
 
 Unfer Jarvis and Isabel — Nurse unseen. 
 
 Jar. Tell my master all the lies you can invent 
 of him, for I know women are good at sudden in- 
 vention. 
 
 Isa. Yes, I could lie sufficiently to do his work ; 
 that is, I can lie my part, if you can swear yours. 
 
 Jar. If you do not second your lying with 
 swearing, we shall do no good on 't. 
 
 Isa. Nay, by my troth, if I lie, I expect you 
 should swear to it ; 'tis your revenge as well as 
 mine, and you shall bear your part. 
 
 Jar. Troth, I am not very good at swearing. 
 
 Isa. Then do you lie, and I'll swear ; take your 
 choice, for 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Jar. Nay, we must second one another both with 
 swearing and lying as occasion serves. 
 
 Niir. That I had but some Avitness of this villany ! 
 
 Isa. I'll warrant you, we'll spoil his being a 
 doctor, i' faith ! 
 
 Nur. You shall not, if I can help it. 
 
 Isa. I'll tell your master, first, he is a drunken 
 farrier, and no doctor; a villain not to own his 
 wife. 
 
 JVur. How ! is this his wife 1 I dare say 'tis for 
 my sweet sake he does not own her. Poor dear 
 Doctor ! 
 
 Isa. I'll be revenged to the full. 
 
 Nur. So will I, till I am full.
 
 76 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Jar. I'll give you my wife's new gown, and take 
 your revenge my way. 
 
 Nur. rogue ! a cuckold to the ninth degree ! 
 
 Isa. Sure a new gown and a new gallant are two 
 sweet things, but revenge is sweeter and dearer to 
 me than my children ; therefore let us first go to 
 your master. 
 
 Jar. But first let us consider, and lay our story 
 ready, [^a:c?<?i^ J akvis rtntZ Isabel. 
 
 Nut. I'll to the Doctor, and tell him all this. 
 What a slave is this husband of mine ! rogue, 
 that cannot be content to be a cuckold, but he 
 must be a whoremaster too. Thou shalt have more 
 than an ordinary head, for that at Amboes shall 
 appear but a pricket to thee ; for thou shalt be a 
 monstrous cuckold, if man or beast can make thee 
 one. [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Enter Doctor and Apothecary. 
 
 Apot. I doubt. Doctor, Ave shall never win the 
 old man's favour again. 
 
 Dod. Troth, I think you were never in 't, for his 
 blood rose at the very first sight of you. 
 
 Apot. He finds by instinct the mischief I'm to 
 do him. 
 
 Dod. Well, 'tis now come in my head to gain his 
 opinion again. 
 
 Apot. my dear Doctor, how 1 
 
 Dod. Why, thus ; — you shall write a love letter 
 to your mistress, as you are Leander, and then 
 deliver it to th' old man, as you 're my apothecary ; 
 I'll go with you too. 
 
 Apot. What advantage Avill that be 1 
 
 Dod. We'll tell him that Leander, hearing that 
 we gave his mistress physic, offered us a lusty sum 
 to convey a letter to her ; and finding how heartily
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 77 
 
 he resolves against Leauder, we thought fit to 
 show ourselves honest by delivering him the letter. 
 
 A2wt. In troth, this may clear the jealousy he 
 had of us, and bring us in again. 
 
 Dod. If this Avill not, we must find some other 
 trick. "What if I continued love to Nurse ? She 
 would be very instrumental, if we had so little wit 
 as to trust her. 
 
 Apot. It would argue very little wit indeed ; but 
 come, let us about the letter. 'Slid, here comes 
 Nurse ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nur. Oh, Mr. Doctor ! I must tell you you're a 
 man of little conscience to make such true love to 
 me as you have done, and have a Avife as you have ! 
 
 Dod. Truly, Nurse, I had thought you had had 
 more honesty than to suffer me to make such love 
 to you, and have a husband as you have. 
 
 Nur. But, Doctor, I came to tell you that the 
 woman my cuckold makes love to swears she is 
 your wife, and says you 're no doctor, but a farrier, 
 and a drunkard, and a beggar, and they're just 
 now going to my master to tell him so ; nay, 
 they 're resolved to lie and swear all things they 
 can invent against you. 
 
 Dod. There is no great invention in so much 
 truth. A pox on 'em ! what shall we do 1 All our 
 designs are quite spoiled. 
 
 AjM. I am undone to all eternity. 
 
 Dod. Nay, nay, 'tis I am undone, for I must 
 turn farrier again. — Nurse, I'll come to you pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Apot. I'm utterly destroyed if I get not off o' 
 this. 
 
 Dod. I have it already ! Eun you to Bedlam,
 
 78 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 and give two of the whippers a piece, and bring 
 them hither, and tell them they own my wife for a 
 madwoman, and carry her to Bedlam, and force 
 her with all violence, and keep her there till fur- 
 ther orders. 
 
 Apot. I'll instruct them further as they come 
 along. [Uxit Apothecary. 
 
 I)ocL Do so ; make haste and fly like gunshot. 
 Now, Nurse, this was kindly done indeed to tell 
 me this. Nurse ; but be not troubled, for she is not 
 my Avife, but a madwoman broke out of Bedlam; 
 and now I am resolved to marry thee. Nurse, for I 
 see thou lovest me truly. 
 
 JVur. Ay, but, Doctor, you know I've a husband. 
 
 Dod. Hang him ! I were a pitiful doctor to 
 suffer anybody to live that I have occasion to have 
 dead. 
 
 Ahir. If it could be done with a safe conscience. 
 
 Bod. Why, if it be safely done, it's done with a 
 safe conscience. I see thou 'rt a fool, and knows 
 nothing. 
 
 Niir. You learned men know best ; I leave all 
 to you. 
 
 Dod. Thou shalt lead the sweetest life. Nurse. 
 First, I will get my son and heir myself, Nurse; and 
 then thou shalt have a brave gallant, with a fine 
 white periwig that cost twenty pound, Nurse. 
 
 Niir. dear Doctor, how sweetly you express 
 your love to me ! 
 
 Dod. And then your gallant shall carry you 
 abroad, and bring you home o' nights, so well 
 pleased. Nurse ! 
 
 Nw. my most obliging Doctor ! 
 
 Dod. And then thou shalt throw that gallant 
 off. Nurse, and have one with a brave brown peri- 
 wig, Nurse.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 79 
 
 Nnr. Did ever man show sucli true love to a 
 woman "? Let all husbands take example by this 
 dear Doctor ! 
 
 Doct. And then thou shalt have one Avitli a 
 brave black periwig, Nurse, so that thou shalt 
 have children of all colours i'th' rainbow. But 
 why dost thou weep, Nurse 1 
 
 Nur. I weep for joy to think what a comfortable 
 life I shall lead with you. 
 
 Doct. And dare you be true to your young mis- 
 tress and Leander, and helj) to bring them to- 
 gether, Nurse? 
 
 Kur. I deserve to starve for a true lover else. 
 
 Dod. But then you must be true to your master, 
 and tell him when they're together; and then you 
 oblige both parties, you know. 
 
 Nur. By my troth, and so I shall ; and I'll be 
 sure to follow your directions. 
 
 Doct. I dare swear thou wouldst. But, Nurse, I 
 do but jest ; I would not wrong the old gentleman 
 for the whole earth. 
 
 Nur. Nor I for all the world. 
 
 Doct. But, Nurse, go tell your master that the 
 woman is a madwoman of Bedlam ; you may 
 swear you have seen her there, for 'tis very true. 
 Nurse. 
 
 Nur. I will do it truly. Doctor ; but when shall 
 our happy day of marriage be, Doctor ] 
 
 Doct. As soon as you can persuade your husband 
 to take physic. 
 
 Nur. Let me alone for that. dear Doctor, 
 this fine white periwig does so run in my head. 
 
 Doct. And does not the brown one do so too ] 
 
 Nur. Yes, by my troth, and the black one eke 
 also. [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Doct. I dare not trust this jade for all this ; yet
 
 80 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 for little things, which may be helps to the main, 
 I shall venture to try her in. 
 
 Enter Apothecary and two Officers of Bedlam. 
 
 A pot. Mr. Doctor, I have brought you a couple 
 of officers for your turn ; they both understand, 
 and are ready to serve you for your money. 
 
 Dod. But have you given them instructions 1 
 
 1 Offi. Oh, sir, we have it thoroughly. 
 
 Dod. You must be confident, for you'll find a 
 damned scold of her. 
 
 2 Offi. Oh, sir, we that can tame mad folks can 
 tame a scold, I warrant you. 
 
 1 Offi. And though the woman be not mad, we 
 can make her mad if you please. 
 
 Dod. Prithee, how 1 
 
 2 Offi. With these engines. Why, people are 
 not so mad when they come to Bedlam as they are 
 when they're in 't, I assure you. 
 
 Dod. How comes that, I prithee 1 
 
 1 Offi. Do you think that the food of bread and 
 water, to lie naked in foul straw, and to be whipped 
 twdce a day, will not make anybody mad] I'll 
 warrant you, faith. 
 
 Dod. But do you give them no physic ? 
 
 1 Offi. Something they have, but a whip is the 
 main ingredient ; for we whip 'em out of a frenzy 
 into stark madness, and then whip 'em on till they 
 come round to their wits again. 
 
 Dod. That plainly shows the circulation of the 
 blood ; and this may be cited a consultation. 
 
 jij^ot. Well, sir, you see they know their work ; 
 therefore about it, and there is more money to 
 encourage you. 
 
 1 Offi. You shall hear of her in Bedlam, I'll war- 
 rant you. [Exeunt Bedlam Men.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 81 
 
 Apot. Now, let's about our letter with all 
 speed. 
 
 Dod. Come on ! and if all fail, we'll fetch your 
 mistress to Bedlam, for she is pretty well entered 
 into madness already. 
 
 Apot. No ; then people will say, if she had not 
 been mad she'd ne'er been in love with me. Yet 
 anywhere out of her father's house does it. 
 
 Bod. Well, if our other designs fail, faith, have 
 at that ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Gernette, Nibby, and Nurse. 
 
 Nib. Thou wretched old man, first to make thy 
 daughter mad, and then to keep her in 't with thy 
 cruelty, when your own conscience knows a hus- 
 band would recover her ! 
 
 Ger. But now my mind is altered ; for I'm re- 
 solved, let her perish, she shall never marry whilst 
 I live. 
 
 Mb. At your peril be it, for I'll take my oath 
 before a judge that a husband would bring her to 
 her wits again. 
 
 Ger. I renounce and disclaim her. 
 
 Nib. A husband, I tell you ! Second me, Nurse. 
 
 Ger. I'm resolved I'll hear of no husband. 
 
 Nur. I tell you once again, a husband. 
 
 Nib. And I tell you moreover and above, a hus- 
 band. 
 
 Nur. And I tell you both under and over, and 
 over and under, a husband. 
 
 Both. A husband, a husband, a husband ! 
 
 Ger. I'll stop my ears. I'll hear no more of her. 
 
 Nib. But in troth, uncle, consider soberly her 
 sad condition. She is young, and her blood gallops 
 in her veins, and requires the satisfaction of a 
 
 F
 
 82 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 gentleman. I prescribe her nothing but what I 
 would take myself. 
 
 Nur. Alack, she might take it if she were a 
 (lying. 
 
 Ger. Cannot the comforts of a father recover 
 herl 
 
 Nur, Nor of a mother neither, if her heart be set 
 the other way. 
 
 Ger. Then let her die mad, for I'll hear of no 
 such thing as husband. 
 
 Nib. With all my heart I wish she would marry 
 thy gardener. 
 
 Nur. Ay, that she might taste of his apricocks. 
 Nay, nay, nay, you shall hear us out ! for look you, 
 master, a husband is such a thing. 
 
 N^ib. Ay, truly, uncle, a husband is such a thing. 
 
 Ger. What a thing is a husband 1 
 
 Nib. Why, a thing a young woman cannot be 
 without. 
 
 Nur. No, nor an old woman neither. 
 
 Nib. A husband is a thing that's good for many 
 things. 
 
 Nur. A husband is good to father his Avife's 
 children. 
 
 Nib. Pray you, let him be good at getting them 
 first. 
 
 Nur. No matter, that's a thing may be done 
 without him ; I see you are a young woman, and 
 know nothing. 
 
 Nib. Then a husband is a thing that is a good 
 cloak for a woman's knavery 1 
 
 Nur. Ay, if a husband could be brought to 
 do the civil office of an orange woman, to fetch 
 and carry, he were worth his weight in gold. I 
 have a husband, my master knows, is the un- 
 towardest peevish fellow at it.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 83 
 
 Ger. Away, away, you idle woman ! 
 
 Nih. You mean downright pimping, Nurse ; 
 that's a little against the hair, methinks, for a 
 husband. Ben Jonson says. Fathers and mothers 
 make the best bawds. 
 
 Nur. Bawds ! Your Jonson's an ill-bred, foul- 
 mouthed fellow to call them so. Besides he is a 
 fool, for a husband's worth a hundred fathers and 
 mothers for that office, for then the wife's un- 
 stained ; the world cannot taint her when the hus- 
 band gives her countenance. 
 
 Nib. But will you consider your daughter's 
 madness ? 
 
 Nur. Ay, he has turned off a worthy doctor and 
 his apothecary that would have cured her, and 
 now he's jealous of 'em, and will not let 'em come 
 near her. 
 
 Nib. 'Slife, I'll indite you for murder ! I'll not 
 see my cousin cast away thus ! Send for this 
 doctor, I say! 
 
 Enter Jarvis and Isabel. 
 
 Jar. Here is a woman, if it please you, has 
 something to say to you concerning the Doctor. 
 
 Ger. Ay, what is it, woman 1 
 
 Isa. I would be loth to have your worship 
 abused. This doctor, if it please you, that comes 
 to your house is a very rascal. Swear to it, now. 
 
 Jar. Ay, by my feckars-law is he. 
 
 Isa. Swear up roundly, and be hanged ! Is 
 feckars-law an oath to pass before a judge 1 I say 
 this doctor is a rascal. 
 
 Ger. AVhy, he may be ne'er the worse doctor for 
 that. 
 
 Isa. But he is not a doctor, if it please you.
 
 Si THE DUaiB LADY. 
 
 Ger. Why, he may be ne'er the worse rascal for 
 that. 
 
 Isa. But, as I said, he is no doctor, but a down- 
 right farrier. 
 
 Ger. A farrier ! by 'r lady, a good foundation to 
 raise a doctor upon. I like him ne'er the worse. 
 
 Isa. Besides, he is a beggar, and I am his wife, 
 sir. 
 
 Ger. If thou be'st his wfe, 'tis an even lay but 
 he's a beggar. 
 
 Isa. Besides, we have had five children, and now 
 he Avill not own me, sir. 
 
 Ger. That confirms him a good doctor still, I 
 say. 
 
 iVwr. This woman is mad, sir. 
 
 Ger. She talks sensibly enough, and I believe 
 her. 
 
 Isa. I am not mad, sir, and I tell you he is but 
 a farrier. Swear, and be hanged ; you leave me 
 sweetly i' th' lurch ! I say he can give your 
 daughter a drench, and shoe her before and be- 
 hind, and that's all he knows of a doctor. 
 
 I^nter Bedlam Men. 
 
 2 Offi. By your leave, we must make bold with 
 your worship ; we have a madwoman broke out 
 of Bedlam, and we understand she is come into 
 your worship's house. Oh, are you there, you mad 
 quean 1 must we have all this labour to find you, 
 with a pox] I'll scourge you to some purpose, 
 i' faith ! [He mistakes. 
 
 Ger. What dost thou mean, fellow 1 this is my 
 servant. 
 
 Nur. You rogue ! you -sillain ! you rascal ! 
 
 1 Offi. Sir, pray you pardon him ; this fellow is a 
 stranger, and come neAvly to his office since she
 
 THE DUJIB LADY. 85 
 
 stole out of Bedlam. This is the quean, sir ; she 
 knows me well enough. Look, look, look, if it 
 please your worship, how the mad whore stares at 
 me now she sees me ! 
 
 Isa. I mad ! I in Bedlam, you rogue ! 'Tis 
 that thing, that gentlewoman thing, that looks like 
 a madAvoman. 
 
 Nib. 'Slight, I'll away and secure my cousin. 
 
 [Exit NiBBY. 
 
 Ger. I hope they do not come for my daughter, 
 Nurse. 
 
 1 Offi. Nay, nay, nay ; com.e you quean ! away 
 with her ! Why, sir, we have had this Avretch in 
 Bedlam this dozen years ; and sometimes she is so 
 well that we let her go about the house ; and then 
 she steals out, and 'tis sometimes a Aveek before we 
 can find her again. Fare you Avell, sir. 'Slid, how 
 I'll lash the whore ! 
 
 [Exeunt Bedlam Mex with Isabel. 
 
 Ger. This Avoman being mad confirms me the 
 Doctor is AATonged. 
 
 Jar. The Avoman is his Avife, and not mad, sir; 
 and the fellow is no doctor, but a farrier, sir. 
 
 Nur. The rogue is jealous of the Doctor, and 
 that makes him say so, as he is of your AA'orship 
 AA'hen I rise a-nights to rub your shins. 
 
 Jar. I say again, he is a farrier and no doctor ! 
 
 Ger. This must be scandal, for I belieA^e he is a 
 learned man. Hoav noAV? What do you here, 
 sir 1 Did not I forbid you my house 1 Are you a 
 farrier, sir ] 
 
 Enter Doctor and Apothecary. 
 
 Dor.t. Are you a changeling, sir ] 
 Ger. Why changeling, felloAA' 1 
 Doct. Why farrier, fool 1
 
 86 THE DVMB LADY. 
 
 Ger. He is wronged, sure, by his angry con- 
 fidence. 
 
 DocL Who told you I was a farrier, sir t 
 
 Ger. A woman that said she was your wife ; 
 and, truly, I believed it, till two officers of Bedlam 
 fetched her away, and said she was a madwoman. 
 
 Doct. Alack, alack ! was it she 1 Why, that 
 poor creature has been in Bedlam this many years ; 
 and she has called me husband so long, that of 
 my conscience the poor wretch believes it to be so 
 indeed. 
 
 Nur. Ay, but, Mr. Doctor, my husband swears 
 you're a farrier. 
 
 Doct. Who 1 that villain 1 Why, thou scan- 
 dalous rogue, how dar'st thou wrong me, when 
 thou hast discovered such strange things to me of 
 thy master 1 
 
 Ger. Ay, what has the rogue discovered, sir ? 
 
 Doct. First, he is damnable jealous of you ; next, 
 he told me that you got his wife's child ; and he 
 desired us of all loves to give you some cantharides, 
 to disable you for getting of children. Ask my 
 apothecary else. 
 
 Ajyot. 'Tis very true, I assure you. 
 
 Jar. Sir, they wrong me, and they lie. 
 
 Nur. But they do not swear and lie, as thou and 
 the madwoman did. Sir, I'll swear ujion a book 
 I overheard them make the bargain ; she was to 
 lie, and he was to swear to it. 
 
 Doct. 'Pothecary, you overheard that too, did 
 you not 1 
 
 Apot. I did so, sir, and I'll be deposed upon't. 
 — You put me to hard duty, Doctor. 
 
 Ger. You villain, out of my house ! 
 
 Jar. Sir, they do me wrong ; I never said so. 
 
 Ger. I know you were always a jealous rascal.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 87 
 
 and therefore must believe 'em. So get you out, 
 you villain ! 
 
 Dod. Sirrah, will you be content to be a 
 cuckold yet] 
 
 Jar. I'll be revenged, for I'll cut thy throat. 
 
 Dod. I'll be even with thee, for I'll give thee 
 physic ! 
 
 Ger. Pay him his wages, and let him be gone. 
 
 Jar. Give me my wife, then. 
 
 Dod. No ! I mean to physic her, and make her 
 fit for a gentleman. 
 
 Jar. I'll have my wife, if there be law, 
 
 Dod. Thou shalt have her before thy suit is 
 ended, for by that time everybody Avill have done 
 with her. 
 
 Nur. Come, sir, I'll pay you your wages ; you 
 see what comes of jealousy. Could not you be 
 content to hear and see, and say nothing 1 
 
 [Exeunt Jaryis and Nurse, 
 
 Apot. But, sir, our business is to present you 
 with this letter, and AA-ithal to advise you to look 
 strictly to your daughter, for this Leander is con- 
 triving several stratagems to steal her. He offered 
 us I know not what to deliver her this letter. 
 
 Dod. But we, knowing it would break your 
 heart, we thought ourselves bound in conscience to 
 bring you the letter, and Avithal to advise you to 
 be careful of your child, for to my knowledge 
 she'll be gone else. So, having fairly discharged 
 ourselves, we take our leaves. [/#''"*' io go. 
 
 Ger. Oh, do not go, you are my friends ! you 
 have proved yourselves my faithful friends ! I 
 beseech you stay and take care once more of my 
 child ! 
 
 Apot. Not for the world, sir ! AVe came not 
 to that end, sir. "We came to show ourselves
 
 88 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 honest men ; and that being now cleared, our 
 credits shall come no more in question. 
 
 Ger. I beseech you, leave me not ! 
 
 Dod. Why, your passion will spoil all our 
 practice ; for should it be noised abroad that a 
 doctor of physic carries letters betwixt party and 
 party, 'twere enough to undo us all. 
 
 Ger. Good gentlemen, I have received comfort 
 by your fidelity ; take it not from me again by your 
 obstinacy. I once more beseech you to take the 
 care of my child upon you. 
 
 Apot. Alack, sir, do not weep ! We'll do any- 
 thing to serve you ; but our credits are so precious 
 to us. 
 
 Ger. Good men, I'll never distrust you more ; 
 you have showed such worth in the discovery of 
 this letter, that I weep for joy to think I have 
 found such faithful friends. 
 
 Doct. In troth, my tender nature melts too. 
 See, see, my poor Apothecary weeps too. 
 
 Ger. Dost thou cry too, Nurse ? Alack, poor 
 woman ! 
 
 Nur. How can I choose but cry, to see my 
 master weep 1 
 
 Doct. I thought you had cried to part with your 
 husband, Nurse. 
 
 N^ir. Your own conscience knoAvs I do not love 
 him so well. Pray you, good master, wipe your 
 eyes. 
 
 Ger. Good Doctor and Apothecary, weep no 
 more ! 
 
 Doct. We cannot hold to see your grief so great, 
 sir. 
 
 Omncs. Ah — ah — ah — ah. \AU cry together. 
 
 Doct. Let us cry in four parts, and see how 
 'twill go.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 89 
 
 Apof. I have heard of singing in four parts, but 
 never of crying in four parts before. Come, sir, 
 take comfort, for once more we will undertake 
 your child. 
 
 Doct. We must first repair home, to provide 
 things fit for her, and then without delay we come. 
 — Once more we have fastened of him. 
 
 [Exeunt Doctor a7id Apothecary. 
 
 Ger. Good gentlemen, make haste ! Come 
 hither, Nurse; this was kindly done to weep. 
 Nurse. 
 
 Nur. I could not choose but weep to see you 
 weep. 
 
 Ger. In the middle of my sorrows, there is some 
 comfort in thee yet. Come, kiss me, Nurse. I 
 hope thou hast been true to me, Nurse, and not 
 suffered that rascal thy husband to come near 
 thee. 
 
 Niir. Do you think I'd be so false a wretch as 
 to let my husband touch me 1 I wish the heavy 
 judgment of such a sin may fall on me if ever he 
 so much as kissed me, or ever shall whilst your 
 worship lives ; for sure you have been a sweet 
 man in your youth, that is such a comfort to a 
 woman in your old age. 
 
 Ger. But am I such a comfort to thee indeed. 
 Nurse 1 Do not dissemble with me. 
 
 Nur. If I do, I %vish I may never enter into the 
 why am I a woman 1 But why do you sus- 
 pect me so 1 
 
 Ger. Because I thought the Doctor had kissed 
 you when you were in 's arms. 
 
 Nur. That you should think such a wicked 
 thing of me, when you saw I'd a fit of the mother. 
 
 Ger. Weep not. Nurse ! I am satisfied. Come, 
 kiss and be friends. [He kisses Nurse.
 
 90 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Enter Nibby. 
 
 Nib. Look, look of that old sinckanter !* Here's 
 a fine mouldy gallant, an old grey badger ! I must 
 play the rogue with him, though I suffer for it, 
 
 Nur. 'Slid ! your niece sees you kiss me. 
 
 Ger. Alack, I am ashamed for ever, then ! 
 Grood Nurse, sound as you did when the Doctor 
 rubbed you. 
 
 JNur. Do you think I can counterfeit sounding 1 
 Besides, do you think you are able to rub me as 
 the Doctor did ? 
 
 Nih. Oh, woe is me, and woe unto us all ! 
 this uncle ! this Avdcked uncle ! 
 
 Ger. Alack ! what's the matter 1 
 
 Nib. cruel destiny ! fatal fortune ! 
 
 Ger. Why, Niece Nibby, what's the matter % 
 
 Nib. That ever I should live to see this day ! 
 
 Nur. Oh, my dear Mrs. Nibby, what's the 
 misfortune 1 
 
 Nib. Oh, where should I find this cursed uncle 
 of mine 1 
 
 Ger. Here I am, Nibby ! Avhat's the danger ? 
 
 Nib. You are undone and ruined 1 
 
 Ger. How ! undone and ruined 1 Do not delay 
 me ! 
 
 Nih. Oh, your daughter, your daughter, you 
 wicked wretch ! I am not able to say more for 
 grief. 
 
 All. Ah — ah — ah — ah. [^All iceep. 
 
 Ger. Tell me c^uickly what's the matter ! 
 
 Nib. Why, your daughter's grown desperate 
 mad at j-our unkindness, ran to the window that 
 stands over the river, and there opening the great 
 casement 
 
 • Worn-out person.
 
 THE DUSfB LADY.. fti 
 
 Ger. Ob, what did she then ? 
 
 Nib. AVhy, lifting up her hands and eyes to 
 that good place where you will never come, 
 uncle, she loudly cried, Since my father has aban- 
 doned me, 'tis time for me to quit this life of 
 mine. 
 
 Ger. And so threw herself into the river ? 
 
 Nib. No ; it seems she did not like that kind of 
 death. 
 
 Ger. AVby, what then ? 
 
 Nib. Why, then she ran like lightning to the 
 table, where your pocket pistol lay. 
 
 Ger. And so shot herself with that 1 
 
 Nib. No ; it seems there Avas no powder i' th' 
 pan. But, bitterly sighing and weeping, at last she 
 ran and desperately threw herself upon her bed, 
 and then growing paler and paler by degrees fell 
 into a deadly sound. 
 
 Ger. And so died ] 
 
 Nib. Stay, stay, you're too quick for your 
 daughter ; but with much rubbing, tumbling, and 
 tossing her, I brought her to life again. So, 
 leaving her at death's door, I came to tell you the 
 neAvs. 
 
 Ger. AAliere are my servants'? Eun, bid 'em 
 run ! I'll have a consultation of doctors. And run 
 for Doctor Drench, for he shall join in council 
 "w^th 'em. [Exeunt. Manet NuRSE. 
 
 Nur. I'll to the Doctor and tell him this. I 
 doubt he will not like a consultation with 2)hy- 
 sicians. 
 
 If he stand this brush, he's made for ever ; 
 Luck, if 't be thy will, just now or never.
 
 92 the dumb lady. 
 
 Act v. — Scene i. 
 Enter Doctor, Leander, and Parson Othentick. 
 
 Lea. Look you, Doctor, this gentleman is my 
 brother, and, though he be young, a minister in 
 orders. I have tokl him what we designed, and 
 he is to go as my apprentice, and carry our feigned 
 physic. 
 
 Dod. Very good ! And can you step out of a 
 pulpit into an apothecary's shop, poison a friend or 
 two, and steal to your text again, without scruple 
 of conscience 1 
 
 Othen. Sir, I shall go as near the wind as a 
 Dutch skipper to serve my brother; but I hope 
 there is no poison in the case. 
 
 Lea. No ; but there is a little cheat. 
 
 Doct. Which I hope you may dispense with. 
 
 Othen. Truly, I hope I may to serve my brother. 
 
 Doct. Or your sister. 
 
 Othen. Yes, sure, to serve any of my relations. 
 
 Doct. Or a friend. 
 
 Othen. So it be a dear friend. 
 
 Doct. Or a stranger with a good living to pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Othen. That's a good thing still. 
 
 Lea. The Doctor's merry, brother; but pray 
 you let me help you off with your reverend weeds, 
 and appear like an apothecary's apprentice, or a 
 disciple of Paracelsus. [Helps him off. 
 
 Othen. Now, Doctor, give me leave to be merry 
 with you. I studied physic, and should have pro- 
 fessed it, and an old doctor gave me some rules 
 for a young doctor to observe. 
 
 Doct. Pray you, let's hear them by all means.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 93 
 
 Othen. First, have always a grave, busy face, as 
 if you were still in great care for some great per- 
 son's health, though your meditations, truly known, 
 are only employed in casting where to eat that day. 
 Secondly, be sure you keep the church strictly 
 on Sundays, and i'th' middle o'th' sermon let 
 your man fetch you out in great haste, as if 'twere 
 to a patient ; then have your small agent to hire 
 forty j)orters a day to leave impertinent notes at 
 your house, and let them knock as if 'twere upon 
 life and death. These things the world takes notice 
 of, and you're cried up for a man of great practice, 
 and there's your business done. 
 
 Doct. Believe me, these are good instructions. 
 
 Othen. Nay, I have more. Be sure you in- 
 gratiate yourself with the bawds, pretending to 
 cure the poor whores for charity; that brings 
 good private work after it. Strike in with mid- 
 wives too, that you may be in the council for 
 by-blows ; that secures a patient during life. And 
 Avith apothecaries and nurse-keepers go snips. But 
 above all, acquire great impudence, lest you be out 
 of countenance at your own miscarriages. 
 
 Dod. I am so well stocked Avith that, that if 
 ever impudence come to be worshipped as a deity, 
 they'll set me upon a pedestal for their god. 
 
 Lea. But to our business, Doctor ! You know 
 we persuaded the old man that we must say and do 
 all things to humour his seeming mad daughter, 
 and by that only way she is to be recovered. 
 
 Doct. Riirht ! and the old man believes it too. 
 
 Lea. Therefore, when we are there, you shall 
 hold the father in discourse whilst I whisper her ; 
 and as she and I Avill manage her madness, my 
 brother shall marry us to the old man's face. 
 
 Doct. By my troth, that would be impudently
 
 94 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 done indeed ; yet the old gentleman has now so 
 much confidence in us that we may do anything. 
 
 Lea. Therefore pack up your pretended physic, 
 and let us cheerfully about it. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nur. Save you, gentlemen! you are much 
 longed for ! My old master does so talk of the 
 Doctor, and my young mad mistress of the Pothe- 
 cary, that you must come with all speed, for my 
 mistress is so stark mad that my master has sent 
 for three or four learned doctors ; and you must 
 make haste, and bring all your learning with you, 
 for you must sit in consultation with them. 
 
 Dod. In consultation with doctors 1 'Heart, 
 all is spoiled again, and worse than ever 'twas ! 
 Tell your master plainly, Nurse, consultation with 
 doctors is not my way of practice, — a company of 
 wrangling fellows, they can never agree. Besides, 
 he undervalues me to think I am not able to cure 
 her without help. But, Nurse, go into my cham- 
 ber and turn over St. Aratine's book till I talk 
 with my Pothecary. 
 
 Nut. With all my heart, dear Doctor ! 
 
 [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Lea. This is the unfortunatest cross that e'er 
 befell me ! 
 
 Dod. The devil hath conspired against you, so 
 farewell for an unlucky wretch. I'll put on my 
 apron and profess farrier again ; and then, let the 
 doctors and the devil come, I defy them. 
 
 Lea. Nay, nay ! stay. Doctor, and let us con- 
 sider. {Offers to (JO. 
 
 Dod. Consider? Do you think I can support 
 an argument with able physicians ? 
 
 Othen. Come^ be not dismayed, for we will go if
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 95 
 
 there were a whole college of physicians. I am a 
 scholar, and a proficient in physic, and those ques- 
 tions that you cannot answer put them upon me, 
 and doubt not but we will baffle them all ; there- 
 fore we must be wary, and not talk too much of 
 Padua, for ten to one but some of 'em has been 
 there, and they are strict Galenists ; therefore we 
 must be chemists. Now you must not call my 
 brother your apothecary, nor me his apprentice ; 
 that will not sound like an outlandish physician. 
 Therefore call him Hurnatio, your operator, and 
 me Stirquilutio, his man. 
 
 Doct. Well, boys, you have so encouraged me 
 that I have just now a trick come into my head to 
 bafflle them all myself. 
 
 Lea. Oh, brave Doctor 1 What is't? What 
 is'tl 
 
 Doct. You shall know. But Nurse must be in 
 the plot. 
 
 Lea. By no means i' th' earth ! She'll betray us 
 all. 
 
 Doct. Fear nothing, for I've promised to poison 
 her husband and marry her, and allow her half-a- 
 dozen gallants ; and if that will not make her true, 
 I have no art to gain a woman. 
 
 Lea. That may go a great way, but 
 
 Doct. But me no buts ! Nurse ! nurse ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nur. Here, my dear Doctor ! 
 
 Doct. Nurse, tell your master that I am resolved 
 to consult with the doctors ; but 'tis for thy sweet 
 sake, I'll swear. Nurse. Therefore, my dear Nurse, 
 if thou lovest mirth, and wilt be true to me, we'll 
 put such a trick upon these learned physicians 
 that Ave'U laugh seven years after it.
 
 96 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Nur. Here's my hand and heart, dear Doctor ; 
 I'll be true to you. 
 
 Doct. I believe thee. Be sure, Nurse, that you 
 be in the room, and when I bid you fetch your 
 mistress' water, be sure you go out and bring me 
 your own ; and then mark what work I'll make 
 with your learned doctors. 
 
 Nur. Why, this will please me above all things, 
 most hugely, most strangely ! 
 
 Lea. Ay, but if Nurse should cozen you, and 
 neither bring her mistress' water nor her own, 
 she would serve you finely. 
 
 Nur. I scorn to be so base, sir ; and if you think 
 so, sir, you may be by when 'tis made, sir. 
 
 Dod. Nay, be not angry, Nurse, for my apothe- 
 cary — my operator I should say — is to give your 
 husband physic when he is to die, and he knows 
 I'm to marry you ; I've told him all. Nay, he is 
 as true as steel. 
 
 Nur. Is he so, sir 1 I crave your pardon for my 
 hasty speech. The Doctor reports you're as true 
 as steel, sir ; and I assure you I honour any gentle- 
 man that has either truth or steel in him. I shall 
 inform my master of your coming, and I assure 
 you, sir, you shall command my water without 
 fraud or guile. [Exit NuRSE. 
 
 Lea. Let us now consider how to answer these 
 learned doctors. 
 
 Othcn. That cannot be, for we know not what 
 they will fall upon. 
 
 Dod. I find I shall betray myself to be a damned 
 farrier; but, however, I'll brazen it out. 
 
 Othen. Doctor, you must be sure you consent 
 not to consult in private, which they will desire ; 
 because they never agree. Besides, urge that the 
 father, Nurse, and we may be admitted : it will be
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 97 
 
 a good excuse for your worship not to speak 
 Latin. 
 
 Dod. But, by the way, you must furnish me 
 with a snip or two of Latin to save my credit. 
 
 Othcn. That's easily done ; but you must be sure 
 to embroil the doctors first with some strange 
 questions, to prevent their falling upon you. 
 
 Dod. Let me alone, I'll do it. 
 And spite of all their scruples, drams, and ounces, 
 I will confound these learned Doctor Bounces. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter old Gernette toith three learned Doctors. 
 
 Ger. Gentlemen, I have made bold to send for 
 you again ; and though you could not help my child 
 Avhen she was dumb, I hope you may now she is 
 mad. 
 
 1 Doct. HoAV ! Is she mad 1 and does she speak 1 
 Ger. Yes, sir. A famous and a learned man, 
 
 of great skill and Avonderful knowledge, gave her 
 something, and in a short time she spake, and fell 
 into raving fits of madness, and has ever since 
 continued so ; and this he told me would be the 
 effect of what he then did. 
 
 2 Dod. This is strange. 
 
 3 Dod. Most wonderful ! What was it he gave 
 her, sir ? 
 
 Ger. Nay, that I know not ; but I assure you he 
 said he could make her speak, and told me her 
 disease would turn to madness, and accordingly it 
 has proved so. Nevertheless, gentlemen, I desire 
 you to join with this learned man, and consider 
 how to perfect her cure. 
 
 1 Dod. Why, sir, you tell us wonders of him. 
 W^here did he study ] 
 
 Ger. I know not ; but he seems to be a great 
 
 G
 
 98 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 traveller, for he talked of Tartar Cham, and of 
 Padua, and Greenland. 
 
 2 Doct. Tartar Cham and Greenland ? This 
 must be a mountebank and a cheat. 
 
 Ger. Upon my credit you Avill not find him so, 
 for he has seen all universities ; he is but newly 
 come over, and his name is Doctor Drench. 
 
 1 Doct. Drench 1 Why, that's a fitter name for 
 a farrier than a physician ! 
 
 Ge7\ Let his name be as strange as it Avill, he 
 has also strange humours too, for he'll find out 
 men's ignorance presently. 
 
 3 Doct. I think we were best begone, lest he 
 finds out ours. 
 
 1 Doct. Why, ay, for if he be a chemist, his 
 opinion and ours must needs diff"er, and conse- 
 quently not agree in consultation. 
 
 2 Doct. I am, sir, of your opinion, for I think it 
 infra dignitatem to hold consultation with mounte- 
 banks. 
 
 3 Doct. W^e know not yet, sir, what the man is. 
 
 1 Doct. If he be a chemist, sir, he is, eo nomine, 
 a declared enemy to the Galenical way, to all 
 truth and learning, and a denyer of principles, and 
 therefore not to be consulted with. 
 
 2 Doct. Right, sir ; contra jirincipia negantem non 
 est dispidandum. He that replies but with submis- 
 sion to sic dixit Galenus is not to be looked on as 
 a physician. 
 
 3 Doct. Pardon me, gentlemen, I have known 
 some chemical physicians learned and rational 
 men ; and, although not strict adherers to the 
 Galenical method, proceed with great reason and 
 good success, which, I take it, answers all we can 
 say or do. 
 
 2 Doct. I profess I think it as bad as murder to
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 99 
 
 cure out of the methodical way. Oh, what satis- 
 faction 'tis to have a patient die according to all 
 the rules of art ! 
 
 Ger. But, sure, it should satisfy your conscience 
 better to have them live by rules. 
 
 2 Dod. Come life, come death, to follow rules 
 is your satisfaction; and conscience is no ingredient 
 within the rules of physic, sir. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, the Doctor is come ! 
 
 Ger. 'Tis well ! 'tis well ! Gentlemen, to end 
 this dispute, here is a double fee for each ; and, 
 pray you, consult with him his way, and be civil 
 in 't for my sake. 
 
 1 Dod. Sir, you and yours here hath prevailed 
 over us. 
 
 2 Dod. I profess, to serve so worthy and mag- 
 nificent a person, I would consult with a farrier. 
 
 3 Dod. A farrier ] Naj^, for a double fee we 
 would consult with a gunsmith. 
 
 Ger. Here he is ! pray you salute him. 
 3 Dod. We know how to be civil, sir. 
 
 Enter Doctor, Hurnatio, Stirquilutio, and 
 Nurse. 
 
 Ger. Save you, sir ! 
 
 Dod. I thank you. 
 
 3 Dod. Save you, sir ! 
 
 Dod. One save you, sir, is sufficient for all ; we 
 learned men should hate compliment — verba ])auca 
 sapiens sapit. — Was that true Latin, Parson 1 
 
 Stir. Brave ! fear nothing ! At them with some 
 question ! 
 
 Dod. I shall fall into the farrier. — Well, I tinJ,
 
 100 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 gentlemen, you are professed doctors of physic, and 
 are met to consult the health of a distracted lady ; 
 therefore to the point, and avoid your canting 
 words that would stick in a wise man's throat 
 and choke him. 
 
 2 Doct. But, sir, 'tis necessary we deliver our- 
 selves in proper and learned phrases when we dis- 
 course either of physic or distempers — in arte arti- 
 fidaUter loquendum ; and withal, sir, 'tis fit that we 
 of the consultation should withdraw. 
 
 Doct. No withdrawing, sir ; 'tis not my way. I 
 love persons concerned should hear and see what's 
 done, that they may judge who are doers and 
 who are talkers ; and if you affect tlie vain-glory 
 of learned phrases, my operator Hurnatio and his 
 man Stirquilutio shall dispute you, for with 
 great pains I have enabled them to argue in all 
 tongues, because they know I hate the trouble 
 on 't myself. 
 
 Stir. Start a question quickly. 
 
 Doct. I shall only trouble you with one question 
 or two myself. First, I ask you whether you 
 know the practice of before behind, behind before 1 
 
 2 Doct. Before behind, behind before 1 Why, 
 that is something belongs to a horse ! A farrier 
 or a blacksmith must answer that question. 
 
 Doct. I know where you'd be presently. In some 
 sort 'tis true that you say; yet in Italy both 
 women and boys have their before behind, behind 
 before, as well as your horses have here. 
 
 Stir. Bravely come off, Doctor ! 
 
 Doct. I know not well your way of practice, but 
 the cost you put the people to in that common 
 disease called the mourning of the chine, I do 
 abominate you for. 
 
 3 Doct. Mourning of the chine ? With your
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 101 
 
 favour, sir, that is the disease of a horse, and the 
 phrase of a farrier. 
 
 Dod. And, sir, I say again, I call it the mourn- 
 ing of the chine, for the word pox is a phrase of 
 ill manners \ and therefore I think it proper to 
 call it the pox in a horse, and civil to call it the 
 mourninc: of the chine in a man. 
 
 Stir. You'll have no need of Latin, Doctor. 
 
 Dod. Look you to that, Parson. — And I must 
 tell you I shall spoil the benefit you get by that 
 disease ; for I'll advise every man to plant a 
 guaiacum tree in his orchard, and a leaf of that at 
 any time will cure infallibly ; and that's one of the 
 secrets I will reveal to the world, to spoil the 
 practice of mountebanks, clap doctors, and bill 
 men. 
 
 2 Dod. But will that disease be cured with the 
 leaf of a guaiacum tree 1 
 
 Dod. Ay, sir, as I can order it. 
 
 1 Dod. Pray you, sir, how will you order it 1 
 Dod. Wliy, first, sir, I will make you a mash. 
 
 3 Dod. How, sir, that's a farrier's phrase again. 
 What mean you by a mash, sir 1 
 
 Dod. Tell 'em, tell 'em, Stirquilutio, and let not 
 me be troubled to interpret. 
 
 Stir. Why, sir, the Doctor is so much read in 
 the Arabian physicians that he often uses theii- 
 terms. Masha in the Arabic is what quinta essentia 
 is in the Latin. 
 
 Dod. Well helped. Parson. — You wonder at my 
 phrases, and I at your want of Arabic. Now, sir, 
 when any man is troubled with tlie staggers, we 
 do not cut him and slash him in the forehead as 
 you do your horses. 
 
 2 Dod. Staggers in a man 1 With your favour, 
 sir, you have talked all this while liker a farrier
 
 102 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 than a physician ; and I begin to think you are 
 one, sir. 
 
 Dod. How shall I get off now 1 
 
 Stir. Yes, sir, he is a farrier, and an able farrier 
 too ; for if you be not good farriers, and good sur- 
 geons too, you deserve not the name of doctors. 
 
 Hur. And pray you, come to the point concern- 
 ing our mad patient. 
 
 Dod. Ay, there's the best trial of our judg- 
 ments ; therefore, Nurse, run and fetch your young 
 mistress' water presently. 
 
 Ger. Ay, that the gentlemen may the better 
 Judge what to apply ; and I beseech you, gentle- 
 men, agree, that I and my child may find comfort 
 from you. 
 
 3 IJod. Sir, you shall be sure of all the aid our 
 art can show. 
 
 Dod. And likeAvise our endeavours, sir. 
 
 2 Dod. But, sir, amongst all signs of sickness or 
 health, whereby the skilful physician is led into 
 the knowledge of the state of the body, two above 
 the rest are most certain, which are the pulse and 
 urine. 
 
 3 Dod. Ay, whereof the pulse shows the state 
 of the heart and arteries, and urine the state of 
 the liver and veins. 
 
 2 Dod. Therefore the question is, Avhether of 
 these two severally considered does give the most 
 certain signification? 
 
 Dod. Urine, urine, urine ! which makes me send 
 for her water. — Still, I say, Stirquilutio, give 'em 
 reasons, and let not me be troubled. 
 
 Stir. Then, I say, Montanus de excrementis says — 
 
 Dod. I say, give them reasons in their own 
 mother tongue. 
 
 Stir. Then, I say, the urine above the pulse
 
 THE DUMB LAPY. 103 
 
 gives the most manifest, certain, and general 
 signification of all diseases, because with the blood 
 it is conveyed into all parts of the body, and from 
 thence returns back again in the veins to the liver 
 and vessels of urine, and so brings some note of 
 the state and disjiosition of all those parts from 
 whence it comes. 
 
 3 Doct. 'Tis wonderful that an under-servant to 
 a doctor should have this learning ! 
 
 2 Doct. I doubt whether the master understand 
 so much. 
 
 Doct. Say you so, sir"? I'll be even with you.^ — 
 Parson, I'll tell that Doctor he is not well, 
 and whilst I feel his pulse, convey you this cow- 
 itch down his neck. Come hither, sir, I pray you. 
 
 2 Doct. Your pleasure, sir 1 
 
 Doct. You are not Avell, sir. 
 
 2 Doct. As ever I was in my life, sir. 
 
 Doct. Let me feel your pulse. You accuse me 
 of farrier's phrases ; I've another farrier phrase for 
 you. You are not well ; you are foundered in 
 your body, and it will fall upon your shoulders. 
 First, it w ill begin wdth a kind of itcliing, then 
 into inflammations and catarrhs ; therefore, look 
 to 't, be roAvelled betimes. 
 
 2 Doct. I slight your opinion, sir. 
 Doct. Well, mark the end on 't, sir. 
 
 Enter NuRSE icith irater, and NiBBY. 
 
 Nur. Gentlemen, my mistress presents her ser- 
 vice to you, and desires you to be civil to her 
 water, and use it with as much modesty as you 
 may, for I assure you her Aurgin water was never 
 exposed to public view before. 
 
 3 Doct. Pray give it the stranger.
 
 104 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Dod. By no means, gentlemen ; I must have 
 your opinion first. — Niirse, art thou true to me'? 
 
 [The Doctors take the vater. 
 
 Nut. By my little life, it's my own water. 
 Doctor ! 
 
 Docf. By my great life, I'll marry thee to-morrow, 
 then. But, Nurse, when I wink at you, you must 
 own the water to be yours. 
 
 Nur. I'll do it, dear Doctor ! 
 
 2 Docf. Here is dangerous water, it does not 
 show the three regents ; neither is here colour, 
 substance, perspicuity, darkness, contents, or 
 smell. 
 
 3 Dod. Therefore, the urine being obstructed, 
 must needs fly back upon the parts, as to the 
 stomach in vomitings, to the belly in drojisies. 
 
 2 Dod. Or to the head in frenzies. Here we find 
 plain madness. — 'Slife, I itch most terribly; this 
 fellow, sure, can conjure. 
 
 Bur. The cow-itch Avorks, he is at it already. 
 
 Dod. Come on, let me see the water ! Hum, 
 ha, here is no madness, nor the least sign on 't. 
 Come hither, sir ; is your daughter married 1 
 
 Ger. No, sir ; why do you ask 1 
 
 Dod. Then I say she is a baggage ! She had a 
 child lately, and counterfeits madness to keep the 
 knowledge on 't from you. 
 
 Ger. Gentlemen, I iDeseech you believe not this 
 scandalous Doctor. Sir, I'll have you punished for 
 this defamation. My daughter had a child, you 
 wretch 1 
 
 Dod. Come, you're a weak old man. I say 
 again that she that made this water has had a 
 child lately, therefore let search be made to find 
 it out. 
 
 2 Dod. You will do well to examine it, for 'tis
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 105 
 
 possible it may not be her water, for doctors have 
 had such tricks put upon 'em ere now. — This itch- 
 ing makes me mad. 
 
 Doct. But they can put no such tricks upon me, 
 for my judgment cannot fail me ; therefore, I say, 
 look to 't, for there's a child in the case. 
 
 Ger. Call all my servants ! Where's my daugh- 
 ter's women? Here must be treachery, and, 
 Nurse, you must need know it ! 
 
 Nur. Sir, I do know it indeed, and I crave your 
 pardon. 
 
 Ger. What ! Has my daughter had a child, 
 then % 
 
 Nur. No, sir, but you know I have had one. 
 
 Ger. But the Doctor says she that made the 
 water has had a child. 
 
 Nur. The Doctor says very true, for 'tis my 
 water, sir. 
 
 Dod. I was sure I could not be deceived. 
 
 Ger. Are you sure you speak truth, Nurse 1 
 
 Nur. Ej my little life do I. Mrs. Nibby can 
 witness. 
 
 Nih. Nurse speaks very true, sir. 
 
 Ger. Why did you so bold a thing as this, 
 Nurse ? 
 
 Nur. If you'll have the truth, I did it to find 
 out which would prove the ablest doctor, and the 
 stranger, it seems, is the doctor of doctors, 
 i' faith. 
 
 2 Doct. I believe he is, for ever since he felt my 
 pulse my back has played the devil. 
 
 Ger. Worthy sir, I once more heartily crave your 
 pardon, and must acknowledge you an able and 
 faithful gentleman ; and. Doctors, I beseech your 
 leaves to make use of this worthy stranger as to 
 the cure of my child.
 
 106 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 2 Doct He must cure me too, for the vengeance 
 has got into my back parts. 
 
 3 Doct. Sir, we consent, and think you have 
 made a worthy choice ; so we take our leaves, sir. 
 
 Doct. Nay, gentlemen, I hoi^e you'll stay and see 
 our way of practice. Alas ! we cure madness with 
 as much ease as you do fevers, and merely with 
 humouring them. 
 
 '2 Doct. I believe every word he says. 
 
 Hur. 'Tis well you're convinced. brave 
 cow-itch ! — Pray, sir, let your child be brought 
 forth, that we may despatch. 
 
 Ger. Go, Nurse, prepare her quickly. 
 
 Nur. She is ready, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt NuRSE and Nibby. 
 
 Doct. Stirquilutio, go get me a parson's cassock. 
 
 Ger. Why so, sir ? why so ] 
 
 Doct. Because, sir, you saw in her madness she 
 fancied my apothecary, my operator, to be Leander, 
 and was much in love with him. 
 
 Ger. She was so, to mv grief. But what then, 
 sir? 
 
 Doct. Why, then, sir, if she take him for Leander 
 again, you shall see how finely I'll fool her into 
 lier wits again. 
 
 Ger. Here she comes ! 
 
 Enter Olinda, Nibby, Nurse, a7id Servants. 
 
 OUn. What ! is all the world got together 1 
 Then I hope I shall find Leander amongst them. 
 
 Ger. Again Leander 1 A pox on him ! Who 
 knows him, or ever saw him 1 
 
 Nib. None of your household. We hav3 only 
 lieard well of him ; and I believe she never saw 
 liim but at church. 
 
 Ger. Like enough ; that's one o' th' ends people
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 1*^7 
 
 go thither for. I'll take warning how I ever send 
 my child to church again. 
 
 Olin. Are you Leander, sir] 
 
 Dod. Say ay, say ay, Doctor ! 
 
 2 Dod. I am Leander, madam, at your service, 
 if my back would give me leave. 
 
 OJin. Thou Leander, beast 1 Why, thou shrug- 
 gest as if thou wert lousey, and wanted a clean 
 shirt. Oh, Doctor Devil, have I catched you? 
 Where's my Leander 1 Find him, or I'll tear thee 
 into air ! 
 
 Dod. Here ! here, is your Leander, madam. 
 
 [Presents the Parson. 
 
 OUn. Oh, you devil, would you put a false 
 Leander upon me % Find me out the right, or I'll 
 throw thee headlong to that dismal place prepared 
 for doctors. 
 
 Dod. Here ! here, madam, is your right 
 Leander ! 
 
 Olin. Ay, this is he indeed : now I thank you, 
 Doctor — nay, sir, I'll take a course with you ! 
 Why, Leander, would you torment me with your 
 absence thus 1 
 
 Hur. It was not my fault. Heaven knows ; it was 
 your cruel father kept me from you. 
 
 Ger. Why, rascal Apothecary ! Why say you 
 so, you villain ] 
 
 Dod. 'Tis you are mad ! Gentlemen Doctors, 
 you saw how fine and calm she began to be upon 
 luimouring her. 'Tis you that keeps her mad ; I'll 
 justify it. 
 
 Ger. Nay, I have done ! I have done ! But here 
 is something here that will not be removed. 
 
 Olin. Nay, sir, I'll fetter you from running. 
 Doctor, get me a parson. Does none of these 
 grave men belong to the clergy 1
 
 108 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 2 Dod. No, madam. 
 
 Olin. Eun, run and fetch me one ; they're never 
 i' th' way when they should do good. 
 
 Dod. Stirquilutio, put on the parson's coat 
 quickly. Madam, have patience ; the parson will 
 be here presently. 
 
 Ger. Why so ] \Vliy so, Doctor ? Why so 1 
 
 Dod. To bring your child to herself again. Ask 
 these doctors else. 
 
 2 Dod. Nay, no doubt they are right, sir, if you 
 obstruct them not, I must have his opinion for 
 my disease too. 
 
 Dod. Look you ! here is the parson, madam. 
 
 OVui. Oh, welcome, sir ! Nay, not a word out 
 of your book, but turn to your text of matrimony, 
 and marry us presently; and pray you, let not 
 that old man know we are married. 
 
 Dod. No, no, by no means. You must not 
 know, old man, your daughter's to be married. 
 
 Ger. Nay, nay, nay, Doctor; Doctor, no jesting 
 with marriasre. 
 
 Dod. Why, are you jealous of my operator? 
 Alas, poor wretch ! Why, gentlemen, the man 
 has a wife and four children. 
 
 Ger. Has he? And art thou sure of that. 
 Doctor] 
 
 Dod. Why, sir, before tliese gentlemen, if I 
 speak false, degrade me of the dignity of a doctor. 
 
 Ger. I believe you and am satisfied, and now I 
 am as liglit and airy as a boy. 
 
 Olin. Who will be my father, and give me to 
 Leander? I have a mind to this grave gentle- 
 man. Do you refuse me, sir 1 
 
 Dod. No, no, no, madam ; go and give her, sir, 
 go. Bless us all, you see what a raging fit she had 
 like to have fallen into.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 109 
 
 Ger. Ay, but I do not like ; I do not know — I 
 do not like — I do not know what to say to it. 
 
 Dod. The devil's in you ! Why, you have forgot 
 the fellow's married. 
 
 Ger. I had forgot, I had forgot; in troth, I 
 should laugh to see her thus recovered. Why, 
 gentlemen, is not this a strange way to cure mad- 
 ness 1 
 
 3 Dod. It is so, sir ; but it seems they have the 
 experience, the practical part, and truly it seems 
 rational. 
 
 Dod. Why, sir, if we can but get her to sleep in 
 the belief that she is married to Leander, my life 
 for yours she wakes i'th' morning in her right 
 senses. 
 
 2 Dod. And sure this back will put me into my 
 wrong senses. 
 
 Ger. Ha, ha, ha ! I laugh to think, poor girl, 
 how she'll be cozened into her A\dts again. 
 
 Nur. Master, as I live, they're married in 
 earnest ! I'll be sworn, with the very same words 
 that I and my husband was. 
 
 Ger. Let them alone ; 'tis all but jest, Nurse. 
 Why, the apothecary's married, fool, and has four 
 children. 
 
 Hur. 'Tis true that he is married, but no four 
 children, sir ; but we will have four and four to 
 that gii'l. 
 
 OUn. What ! shall we have but eight, Leander 1 
 
 Hur. Fifty, fifty sons, to vie with Priam ! Be- 
 sides girls shall be reckoned but as by-blows. 
 
 Nur. Fifty, besides girls ! When shall a poor 
 woman get such a husband ? 
 
 Hur. OUn. Now, sir, we both crave your bless- 
 ing. 
 
 Ger. Well said. Apothecary ; thou acts it to the
 
 1 1 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 life, i' faith ! Gentlemen Doctors, does he not do 
 it well ] 
 
 Hur. I shall do it better yet. Nurse, make a 
 sack-posset, and let's to bed presently. 
 
 Ger. No, no, no, no, Nurse ; no going to bed ! 
 There you overact it, Tothecary. 
 
 OVm. Sir, he is no apothecary, but real Leander, 
 and my lawful husband ; therefore Ave must of 
 necessity go to bed, sir. 
 
 Ger. Why, Doctor, this girl is stark mad still. 
 
 Doct. No indeed, she speaks sensibly. What 
 would you have a young woman do but go to bed 
 when she is married 1 
 
 Ger. Why, Doctor, thou overacts thy part too I 
 
 Dod. In troth, sir, this is neither apothecary, 
 operator, nor Hurnatio, but very Leander ; neither 
 is this his man Stirquilutio, but his brother, and a 
 minister in orders, who has lawfully made 'em 
 man and wife. 
 
 Ger. How, villain ! Didst not thou say he was 
 married and had four children, and bid me de- 
 grade thee of the dignitv of a doctor if it were not 
 so? 
 
 Dod. I did so, sir, and therefore I'll degrade 
 myself. There goes the doctor, and here's honest 
 Robin Drench, the farrier. 
 
 All. How ! a farrier 1 
 
 2 Dod. Did not I tell you he must be a cheat 1 
 
 Hur. You have found him so, 'tis much that a 
 Doctor Avedded to rules and method should be 
 cozened by a farrier ; for you haA^e no disease, 
 'tAvas only a little coAV-itch put doAvn your back. 
 
 2 Dod. A pox upon you and all your cheats I 
 
 Ger. Oh, this cursed farrier ! this cursed villain ! 
 Then you are not mad, lady 1 
 
 Dim. No, sir; neither Avas I mad or dumb, but
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 1 1 1 
 
 counterfeited both to cozen the Squire and you, 
 sir. 
 
 Ger. And you, sir, were Leander when you 
 brought me the letter from Leander 1 
 
 Lea. Yes, sir. 
 
 Ger. And you tokl me that Leander would steal 
 my daughter, and gave me good counsel to look to 
 her? 
 
 Lea. I did so, sir. 
 
 Ger. 'Twas good counsel, if I could have taken 
 it. That cursed letter feigned from Leander 
 cozened me ; that got them credit with me, spite 
 of my jealou.sy. Thou art a pretty fellow, I con- 
 fess, but the most impudent and audacious villain 
 to marry my child against my will, and before my 
 face too, gentlemen. 
 
 OUn. Do you think I'd have lieen married but 
 in my fether's presence ] Not for all the world. 
 
 Lea. 'Twas love forced us to make this shift, sir. 
 
 Ger. A pox of love, for that's the end on 't ! 
 Did not I tell thee all along that thou wouldst 
 cozen me % 
 
 Lea. You did so, sir, but love can take no 
 warning. 
 
 Ger. For my revenge, I'll to bed and fall 
 desperately sick, make my will, and die, and leave 
 thee ne'er a groat, that thou and thy issue may 
 starve and perish. [Exit Gernette. 
 
 OUn. Fear not, Leander ! When this fit is over, 
 he's to be reconciled, fear not ! 
 
 Doct. Gentlemen Doctors, I hope 'tis no dis- 
 paragement to you that a poor farrier, by a com- 
 bination with Nurse, has cured a madwoman. 
 
 Nur. Ay, but where is my reward for it ? 
 
 Doct. Faith, Nurse, if thou Avilt accejjt of a 
 farrier instead of a doctor, I'll love thee still.
 
 1 1 2 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Nur. A pox on you for me ! My heart is so set 
 upon the white periwig that I shall ne'er be my 
 own woman again. 
 
 Enter Jarvis, Isabel, and many Neighbours. 
 
 Jar. Where is my master 1 Here is Avitness 
 enough now that he is no doctor, but a drunken 
 farrier. These are all his neighbours, gentlemen ! 
 
 Doct. I confess I am a farrier ; they all know it 
 too. But can my neighbours bear witness thou'rt 
 no cuckold 1 
 
 Isa. No ; but here is witness that I am thy wife, 
 and that I am not mad. 
 
 Doct. I'll own that too ; thou art my wife, and 
 not mad — nay, more than that, I'll go home and 
 live with thee. 
 
 Lea. Well, I'll give you a pension of fifty pounds 
 a year for the good service you did me in your 
 reign of Doctor. 
 
 Doct. I thank you, sir. And, Jarvis, thou shalt 
 have thy wife again, that thou mayest have a 
 foundation for thy jealousy ; for I find when thou 
 art not jealous thou'rt a dead man. 
 
 Soft. Save the Squire ! Save the Squire ! Save 
 the poor Squire ! 
 
 [The scene opens, and the Squire is discovered 
 hanging in a cradle. 
 
 Olin. Is not that the Scjuire's voice ] 
 
 Nih. Yes, and 'tis high time to let him down 
 now. Open ! open ! Come, Squire, will you quit 
 your interest in your mistress now to be set free '? 
 
 Soft. Ay, with all my heart, and the devil take 
 her to boot ! — [Let him dovn.'] — I have hung so 
 long in the air that the household took me for 
 Mahomet's tomb, and paid my worship with their 
 piss-pots out of the garret, I thank 'em.
 
 THE DUMB LADY. 113 
 
 Nib. I caused it to be done ! 
 
 Niir. I was joined with her in commission of the 
 member vessels. 
 
 Nib. But, Squire, since you ha' lost your mis- 
 tress, what think you of marrying the wild Irish 
 chambermaid ] 
 
 Soft. Who? Madam Pogamilione ? I'll marry 
 my mother's sow fii'st. 
 
 Lea. But, Squire, when shall you and I fight 
 another duel 1 
 
 Soft. Sir, if I Avere a man that were given to 
 quarrelling, as sometimes they say in my drink I 
 am, I'd have you know that I am able to ])eat and 
 cudgel half-a-dozen such fellows as you are ; ay, 
 and make you creep under the tables and joint- 
 stools, sir. Nay, I could cudgel you under a 
 candlestick, sir ; that is, if I were a man that were 
 given to quarrelling. 
 
 Lea. I am very happy that you are a man not 
 given to quarrelling. 
 
 Soft. So you are, sir ; but if I were given to 
 quarrelling, here's a leg that is four and twenty 
 inches about, that's three inches more than any of 
 the King's cables, sir ; and I'd have you knoAv, sir, 
 that I am able not only to kick you downstairs, 
 but kick you upstairs again, sir. Still, that is, if 
 my leg Avere given to kicking, or I to quarrelling. 
 
 Lea. Well, sir, Ave are all blest, that your leg 
 of four-and-tAv^enty inches about is not given to 
 kicking. Nurse, let the sack-posset be made. In 
 the interim A\-e'll dance, and have the song of 
 Arthur O'Bradley, Avhere Christopher carried the 
 custard. 
 
 Doct. And Bartle the beef and the mustard. 
 
 H
 
 114 THE DUMB LADY. 
 
 Dance. 
 
 Lea. Come, my Olinda, let us in and prove 
 The sweet rewards due to our virtuous love. 
 
 [To Olinda. 
 Othen. Ay, ay, to bed I you now need fear no 
 proctor, 
 But thank your farrier cudgel'd to a doctor.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 You that are learn'd, expect honour for it ; 
 We that are unlearn'd slight and abhor it 
 The rich does look with scorn upon the poor, 
 But give no alms ; the beggar scorns you more. 
 Tims does the wretch your wealth disdain; nay 
 
 worse, 
 For each proud look the beggar gives a curse. 
 But give him alms, as I believe 'tis rare, 
 The beggar gratefully returns his prayer. 
 So when the unlearn'd by the learn'd improve, 
 They'll give them honour for their learned love. 
 But stead of that, the unlearn'd they indite, 
 And proudly ask us how we dare to write ] 
 We humbly answer our indictment thus, 
 If poetry be fancy, the right's in us ; 
 For you with authors are so deeply read, 
 Invention has no room in learned head ; 
 Borrowing what you read, and authors citing. 
 Is your invention, and your writing. 
 Now th' illiterate are for fancy bent, ^ 
 Having no learning they must needs invent. 
 Thus poetry is ours to inherit 
 As much as yours with your learned merit ; 
 For as Quakers preach, we write, by the spirit.
 
 THE OLD TROOT: 
 
 OR, 
 
 MONSIEUR RAGGOU.
 
 The Old Troop; or, Monsieur JRaggou. As it was acted 
 at the Theatre Royal. By John, Lacy, Gent. London; 
 Printed for William Crook and Thomas Dring, ivithin 
 Temple-Bar, and at the White-Lyon next Chancery Lane 
 end in Fleet Street. 1672. ito. 
 
 Tlie Old Troop; or. Monsieur Raggou. As it is acted 
 at the Theatre -Royal. By John Lacy, Gent. London; 
 Printed for Benj. TooTce, at the Middle-Temple Gate in 
 Fleet Street. 1698. Uo.
 
 Of this piece Laugbaine affords scant information. He 
 "fancies by the style it is founded on some French 
 original," like the Dumb Lady, "tho' my small acquaint- 
 ance with French poets makes me speak only on conjecture. 
 Both it and the Dumb Lady were acted with universal 
 applause." 
 
 Sir- Walter Scott, in his novel of Woodstock, vol. ii. 
 ciiap. 2 (12mo, 1832), has taken a hint from our author. 
 Sir Henry Lee, addressing Captain Wildrake, the cavalier, 
 says: "I am glad this dilapidated place has still some 
 hospitality to otfer you, although we cannot treat you to 
 roasted babes or stewed sucklings — eh. Captain?" Wild- 
 rake replies: "Troth, Sir Henry, the scandal was sore 
 against us on that score. I remember Lacy, who was an 
 old play-actor, and a lieutenant in ours, made drollery on 
 it in a play which was sometimes acted at Oxford when our 
 hearts were something up, called, I think, 7V*e Old Troop." 
 
 To these passages Sir Walter appends an interesting 
 note, which he titles Cannibalism imputed to the Cavaliers. 
 He says: "The terrors preceding the Civil Wars which 
 agitated the public mind rendered the grossest false- 
 hoods current among the people. When Charles i. ap- 
 pointed Sir Thomas Lunsford Lord- Lieutenant of the 
 Tower, the celebrated John Lillburn takes to himself the 
 credit of exciting the public hatred against this officer and 
 Lord Digby, as pitiless bravoes of the most bloody-minded 
 description. Of Sir Thomas in particular, it was reported 
 that his favourite food was the flesh of children, and he was 
 painted like an ogre in the act of cutting a child into steaks 
 and broiling them. The Colonel fell at the siege of Bristol 
 in 1643, but the same calumny pursued his remains, and 
 the credulous multitude were told — 
 
 " ' The post who came from Coventry, 
 Riding in a red rocket, 
 Did tidings tell how Lunsford fell, 
 A child's hand in his pocket.' " 
 
 Many allusions to this may be found in the lampoons of 
 the time, "although," says Dr. Grey, "Lunsford was a man
 
 120 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 of gi'eat sobriety, industry, and courage." Butler says that 
 the preachers — 
 
 " Made children with their lives to run for't. 
 As bad as Bloodybones or Lunsf ord. " 
 
 " But this extraordinary report," Sir Walter goes on to 
 observe, "is chiefly insisted upon in a comedy, called The 
 Old Troop, written by John Lacy, the comedian. The 
 scene is laid during the Civil "Wars of England, and the 
 persons of the drama are chiefly those who were in arms for 
 the King. They are represented as plundering the country 
 without mercy, Avhich Lacy might draw from the life, 
 having, in fact, begun his career as a lieutenant of cavalry 
 in the service of Charles i. The troopers find the peasants 
 loath to surrender to them their provisions, on which, in 
 order to compel them, they pretend to be in earnest in 
 the purpose of eating the children. A scene of coarse but 
 humorous comedy is then introduced, which Dean Swift 
 had perhaps not forgotten when he recommended the eating 
 of the children of the poor as a mode of relieving the dis- 
 tresses of their parents. " Here he quotes largely from TheOld 
 Troop, Act iii., which see at page 173 of the present volume. 
 
 ' ' After a good deal more to this purpose, the villagers 
 determined to carry forth their sheep, poultry, etc., to save 
 their children. In the meantime, the cavaliers are in some 
 danger of being cross-bit, as they then called it — that is, 
 caught in their own snare. A woman enters, who announces 
 herself thus : — 
 
 Worn. By your leave, your good worships, I have made 
 bold to bring you in some provisions. 
 
 Fer. Provisions ! WTiere is thy provisions ? 
 
 Worn. Here, if it please you ; I have brought you a couple 
 of iine fleshy children. 
 
 Cor. "Was ever such a horrid woman ? "Wliat shall we do ? 
 
 Worn. Truly, gentlemen, they are fine squab children ! 
 Shall I turn them up ? — they have the bravest brawn and 
 buttocks. 
 
 Lieut. No, no ; but, woman, art thou not troubled to part 
 with thy children ? 
 
 Worn. Alas, sir, they are none of mine — they are only nurse 
 children. 
 
 Lieut. "What a beast is this ! AVhose children are they? 
 
 Woin. A laundress,* that owes me for a year's nursing. I 
 hope they'll prove excellent meat ; they are twins, too. 
 
 " The word in the original play is '• Londoner's."
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 121 
 
 Rag. Aha ! but — but begar we never eat no twin shild ; the 
 law forbid that, 
 
 "In this manner the cavaliers escape from the embar- 
 rassing consequences of tlieir own stratagem, which, as the 
 reader will perceive, has been made use of in the preceding 
 chapter." 
 
 This play was produced at the Theatre Royal on 31st July 
 1668, and Pepys went to see it. "To the King's house, to 
 see the first day of Lacy's Monsieur Bagijou, now new acted. 
 The King and court all there, and mighty merry — a farce. 
 Thence Sir J. Minnas giving us, like a gentleman, his 
 coach, hearing we had some business, we to the Park, 
 and so home. " 
 
 Geneste, in noticing it, says: "This farce in five acts 
 was written by Lacy, who no doubt acted Eaggou ; the 
 piece, however, is printed without the names of the per- 
 formers. Most of the characters are officers or privates in a 
 troop of horse in the service of Charles the First, at the time 
 of the t'ivil Wars ; some Roundheads are also introduced. 
 It is remarkaVile that Lacj^ should represent the subalterns 
 in this troop as plundering the country in a shameful 
 manner." He further says: "Old Troop was not pub- 
 lished till 1672, but it is sufficiently clear that it was acted 
 before The Vestal Virgin, as in the first epilogue to that 
 play I^acy speaks of himself as having been once a poet ; in 
 the second he says : 
 
 " ' "Well, if nothing pleases but variety, 
 I'll turn Raggou into a tragedy. 
 When Lacy, like a whining lover, dies, 
 Tho' you hate tragedies, 'twill wet your eyes. 
 Letters of Marque are granted everywhere, 
 * * * * 
 
 Which makes poets and Dutchmen certain prize ; 
 All that I wish is, that the Dutch may fight 
 With as ill fortune as we poets write.' 
 
 "These lines," he remarks, "must have been written 
 soon after the declaration of war against the Dutch, which 
 was made the beginning of 1665, N.S." He therefore 
 assumes that The Okl Troop appeared upon the stage in 
 1665. 
 
 The Vestal Virgin, or the Roman Ladif, just referred to 
 as to its epilogue, is a tragedy by Howard. "In this play.
 
 122 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 as originally acted," Geneste observes, "all the princij)al 
 characters but two are killed, and, just as the tag is spoken. 
 Lacy entered to speak the epilogue : — 
 
 " ' By your leave, gentlemen. 
 
 After a sad and dismal tragedy, 
 
 I do suppose that few expected me.' 
 
 "An alteration was afterwards made in the, conclusion 
 of the 4th act, and almost all the 5th was written afresh. 
 According to this change, only one of the characters dies. 
 Lacy came on as before, but, finding most of them alive, he 
 said there was no use for him, and that the poet had spoiled 
 his epilogue." 
 
 The Old Troop was performed on 30th July 1707 with 
 this cast : — "Eaggou, Bowen ; Captain, Keen; Lieutenant, 
 Verbruggen ; Cornet, Booth ; Lancashire Trooper, Johnson ; 
 Ferret-Farm, Bullock ; Two Neighbours, Norris and Pack ; 
 Biddy, Mrs. Pater. " The piece was represented at intervals 
 over the next ten years, but there is no record of it beyond 
 that. 
 
 The young Prince George, to whom the play is dedicated, 
 was the youngest son of Barbara Villiers, daughter of the 
 accomplished and amiable Viscount Grandison. She became 
 the wife of Roger, Earl of Castlemain, of the kingdom of 
 Ireland, and one of the mistresses of Charles II. Banks 
 observes, in his Dormant and Extinct Baronage of England* 
 that "she was a lady of great beauty and personal accom- 
 plishments ; Collins says, ' of personal A-irtues, ' which 
 seems difficult to accredit, when the fruit of her illicit 
 amours with the amorous King evidenced that she had no 
 virtue at all." 
 
 So high an opinion had the monarch of her "personal 
 virtue," that he was gi-aciously pleased in 1670 to create 
 her Duchess of Cleveland, Countess of Southampton, and 
 Baroness of Nonsuch, with remainder to Charles Fitzroy, 
 the eldest of his natural children by her, and, in default of 
 issue male, to his brother George, "the young prince," who 
 was in 1674 created Earl of Northumberland, Viscount Fal- 
 mouth, and Baron of Pontefract. In 1682 he was created 
 Duke of Northumberland. He married Catherine, daughter 
 of Thomas Wheatly, Esq. of Breknol, in Berkshire, the 
 widow of Thomas Lucy of Charlcote, in Warwickshire. He 
 
 • Vol. iii. p. 197. London, 1809. 4to.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 123 
 
 died in 1716, leaving no issue. According to Evelyn, this 
 marriage was a veiy mean one, and lie, ' ' with the help of 
 his brother Grafton, attempted in vain to spirit her away."* 
 
 His virtuous mother surviving her husband, the Earl of 
 Castlemain, who died in 1705, took as a second husband 
 Robert Fielding, commonly called Beau Fielding, from 
 whom she was very speedily separated judicially. Her 
 Grace departed this life at Chis^vick, 1709. 
 
 Evelyn met the Duke at dinner in the house of Sir 
 Stephen Fox (24th July 1684). " He seemed to be a young 
 gentleman of good capacity, well-bred, civil, and modest, 
 newly come from travel, and had made his campaign at 
 the siege of Luxemburgh. Of all his Majesty's children, 
 of which he had now six Dukes, this seemed the most accom- 
 plished, handsome, and well shaped. What the Dukes of 
 Eichmond and St. Albans will prove, their youth does 
 not yet discover ; they are very pretty boys. " The same 
 writer, in another part of his diarj', 18th November 1685, 
 describes the Duke as "a graceful person, and an excellent 
 rider." 
 
 The immediate elder brother of the Duke of Northumber- 
 land, Henry Fitzroy, was born on the 20th September 1663, 
 and was created by his father, 16th August 1675, Viscount 
 Ipswich and Earl of Euston, and in the month of Septem- 
 ber following Duke of Grafton. " From his youth he 
 evinced," says Collins, "a brave and martial spirit, addicted 
 himself first to the experience of maritime affairs, serving in 
 several naval engagements under Sir John Buiy previous to 
 his elevation to the peerage. Subsequently he turned his 
 attention to military affairs, and conmianded a part of the 
 forces of King James against the Duke of Monmouth, re- 
 ceiving at the siege of Cork a shot which broke two of his 
 ribs on the 21st of September 1690. After lingering for a 
 fortnight, he died at the early age of twenty-seven, and his 
 body was taken to England, and buried at Euston, in Suf- 
 folk. He was in this way not older than twenty-four when 
 he assisted his younger brother of Northumberland, three 
 years his junior, to spirit away his Duchess." 
 
 It is evident that the youthful Northumberland had been 
 entrapped by the widow of Charlcote, whose wiles, based on 
 past experience, he had found it difficult to resist. From the 
 character previously given by Evelyn of this prepossessing 
 
 * Diary, vol. ii. p. 251. (29th March 1686.)
 
 124 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 youth, it is matter of regi'et that he ventured to enter the 
 lists with a widow. "Ware hawk," said Dirk Hatterick ; 
 "Ware widows," the Duchess of Cleveland should have said 
 to her son. 
 
 The Duke of Northumberland had no children by these 
 inauspicious nuptials. He held the office of Chief Butler of 
 England, in which he was succeeded by his brother, the 
 Duke of Cleveland, upon his death at Epsom, in the 51st 
 year of his age, 28th June 1716.
 
 TO THE YOUNG PRINCE GEORGE, THIRD SON TO 
 HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 
 
 Sir, — I acknowledge that I am no less un- 
 worthy to appear before you than I was before 
 your elder brother, having in me the same duty 
 and reverence for your high blood, and the same 
 equal regard for your person. Yet I come Avith 
 confidence to you ; for, having found so affable and 
 sweet a reception from your dear brother, I ought 
 not at all to doubt of yours. Since his great 
 blood runs in your veins, you must also retain his 
 virtues ; and in you they are justly called so. Yet 
 tliey are not so in all men ; for if slaves and ser- 
 vants and meaner men prove affable and humble, 
 it is not virtue in them, because it is their duty ; 
 but in you, being adorned with all your great- 
 ness, it shows so rich a goodness in you that all 
 men are obliged to return you honour for it, w^hich 
 I do with my heart and all my faculties. I also 
 present you, Sir, with a poor Frenchman, Mon- 
 sieur Raggou, being party perpale trooper and 
 cook. I tender him to you in his own equipage, 
 just as he landed, Avith not so much as a shirt to 
 his back ; but that is no new thing to the English 
 nation. Therefore, Sir, receive him as an object 
 to exercise your charity upon ; being naked, clothe 
 him ; let him but wear your livery, and lie will 
 not only be received, but be made welcome to all 
 men. Lay your protecting hand upon him, and he
 
 126 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 
 
 is safe from the malice of his enemies. And, Sir, 
 as I am bound, so I pray that you may want no 
 one virtue that may make you up a miracle. May 
 your great blood appoint you to cut your own for- 
 tune out, and may you do it with such success 
 and valour that all men of courage may honour 
 you, and the rest of the world fear you. — And this, 
 Sir, shall always be the prayer of your obliged 
 and most obedient servant, 
 
 John Lacy.
 
 THE EPISTLE TO THE KEADER. 
 
 Epistles, 'tis true, are customary, but I think as 
 unnecessary as funeral sermons, for they must 
 either insinuate and flatter grossly, or else say 
 nothing to the purpose. For my part, I cannot 
 imagine, reader, what to say to thee, unless, like a 
 raw preacher, I swerve from my text, and instead 
 of a modest apology for my bold printings, tell 
 thee a tale of Maestricht being taken, or the Dutch 
 bang'd at sea; and to do that were to rob the 
 Gazette, and so be called in question for intrench- 
 ments. What then shall I say 1 Shall I praise 
 my play to thee 1 No ; that were to be a vain- 
 glorious ass, and in thy power, reader, to prove me 
 so. What, then ? — shall I decry it ? No ; that 
 were to break the stationer, that perhaps has paid 
 too dear for it. What, then 1 — shall I discover 
 the plot and intrigue of the play to thee 1 No ; 
 to speak of the plot in the epistle were to fore- 
 stall the reading of the play, and so damn the sale 
 of it. Instead, then, of an ingenious epistle to 
 divert, I beg a crafty boon, reader, that some one 
 eminent leading voice amongst you will be for 
 once so kind as to give an excellent character to 
 the world of this my play, and by that decoy 
 people may be drawn in to buy it off ; so that, as 
 I have cozened the stationer, by this means the 
 stationer may overreach you ; and in so doing, 
 reader, you will most highly oblige your humble 
 servant, 
 
 John Lacy.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 To you that judges are i' tli' public street 
 
 Of ballad without sense, or even feet ; 
 
 To you that laugh aloud with wide-mouth'd grace, 
 
 To see Jack Pudding's custard thrown in 's face — 
 
 To you I do address ; for you I write ; 
 
 From you I hope protection here to-night. 
 
 Defend me, O my friends of th' upper region. 
 
 From the hard censure of this lower legion. 
 
 I Avas in hope that I should only see 
 
 My worthy crew of th' upper gallery. 
 
 What made you wits so spitefully to come ? 
 
 To tell you true, I'd rather had your room. 
 
 Order there Avas, and that most strictly gi'n, 
 
 To keep out all that look'd like gentlemen. 
 
 You have e'en bribed the doorkeepers, I doubt, 
 
 Or else I'm sure they Avould ha' kept you out. 
 
 You must nor censure poet nor his play, 
 
 For that's the work o' the upper house to-day. 
 
 Deal you, Sirs, with your match, your Dryden wit, 
 
 Your poet-laureate both to box and pit. 
 
 It is some conquest for to censure him 
 
 That's filled with wit and judgment to the brim : 
 
 He is for your censure, and I'm for theirs, 
 
 Pray therefore meddle with your own affairs. 
 
 Let wits and poets keep their proper stations ; 
 
 He writes to th' terms, I to th' long vacations.
 
 THE PERSONS' NAMES. 
 
 Captain, ") 
 
 Lieutenant, I Of the Troop. 
 
 Cornet, j 
 
 Tom Tell-Troth. 
 
 Raggou. 
 
 Flea-Flint, Plunder- Master-General. 
 
 Captain Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Quarter-Master Burndorp. 
 
 Biddy, the Cornet's Boy. 
 
 DoL Troop. 
 
 Troopers. 
 
 Constables. 
 
 Painter. 
 
 Carpenter. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Women and Children in abundance. 
 
 roundheads. 
 
 Governor of a Garrison. 
 
 Captain Holdforth. 
 
 Captain Tup.text ; and his two holy Sisters.
 
 AN OLD TROOP; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MONSIEUR RAGGOU. 
 
 Act I. — Scene i. 
 Tell-Troth and Dol Troop. 
 
 Dol. I have heard your story, and much pity 
 you. But in truth I am a wicked, a very wicked 
 woman, for I never did one good deed in all my 
 life ; and I doubt you're unlucky, that your fate 
 directs you to me. 
 
 Tell. I find you have opportunity to do good, 
 and will, to serve me ; and for reward, if that 
 
 Dol. Nay, y' are liberal enough ; you understand 
 the world, for money creates good and e\\\ ; and 
 I, that never thought of doing good, will now 
 heartily endeavour it. Go to my quarters, for I 
 have a great deal of roguery to act for myself, 
 besides the good I am to do for you. 
 
 Tell. Inquire all you can into the last thing you 
 spoke of, for I confess that troubles me. If .she 
 proves but honest, I'll forgive her wildness. 
 
 Dol. I'll do it with all the craft I can. 
 
 \Eo:eunt.
 
 132 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, 
 and BuRNDORP. 
 
 Flea. Good morrow, good morrow, Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. Precious rogues ! what brave honours 
 and titles you have arrived at in the wars, rascals ! 
 Plunder-Master-General Flea-Flint! What Prince 
 can give thee so great a title ? — a great credit for 
 my colonel, rogue. Then here's Caj^tain Ferret- 
 Farm, an honourable gentleman ; for always, when 
 we are fighting, you are ferreting the farms, and 
 searching the women for letters of intelligence, you 
 damn'd rogue ! Then here's the Quarter-Master 
 Burndorp, a rogue that, when we have brave large 
 quarters assign'd, you sell half of 'em, and then 
 truss us up nine or ten in one house together. A 
 pox on you, rascal ! 
 
 Burn. But why are you thus cruel. Lieutenant? 
 
 Lieut. Hang you, dogs ! Did not I know you 
 at first to be three tatter'd musketeers, and by 
 plundering a malt-mill of three blind horses you 
 then turn'd dragooners ; and so, quartering in a 
 farm where a good team was, you chang'd your 
 blind horses for better, and then you commenc'd 
 troopers at Oxford ; and when you had plundered 
 yourselves into good clothes, you impudently called 
 yourselves major, and captain, and quarter-master, 
 and then you ran away from your own troop, and 
 I entertained you for reformado-officers 1 you know 
 I know this, and yet, you dull, ungrateful rascals, 
 you will not know why I am angry ! 
 
 Fer. Why are you angry] 
 
 Flea. Why 1 — I'll tell thee why. He wants twenty 
 pounds and a good gelding, coxcomb. He must 
 have it, too ; I know him well enough. 
 
 Burn. Is that it? He shall have it, and thank
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 133 
 
 him, too. Pray, accept of this twenty pounds, 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 Fer. And we have a good gelding for you, Lieu- 
 tenant, as ever you laid leg over. 
 
 Lieut. Why so 1 Why will you put me to 't to 
 give you ill language ] Cannot you understand 
 me without scurvy usage ] 
 
 Fer. I did not understapd you, by my troth, 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. Pray, understand me hereafter. Now are 
 you three as honest, harmless fellows ! How dost 
 thou do ] Who dares say that thou wilt flea a 
 flint 1 or he search for letters in a wench's placket % 
 or the Quarter-Master burn a town 1 I'll set 'em 
 by the heels that say it. Honest Eobin, Tom, 
 and Dick, when shall we drink a tub of ale to- 
 gether 1 
 
 Burn. When you please, worthy Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. Get a tub at one of your quarters, and I'll 
 come to you. And pray, understand me thoroughly 
 hereafter. I believe I shall be very angry within 
 this week again ; therefore, pray, take care to pre- 
 vent it. [Exit. 
 
 Flea. It were a good deed ne'er to plunder more. 
 
 Burn. A\Tiy, prithee 1 
 
 Flea. No thriving on 't for these damn'd officers. 
 To put excise and custom upon plundering ! — to 
 put toll upon fleaing a flint ! I hold my own 
 quarters to be my lawful inheritance as much as 
 any man's land or office that is held by old custom 
 and time out of mind. 
 
 Fer. Nay, I hold my quarters to be so much my 
 own, that the wife, the daughter, and maid-ser- 
 vants ought to be in my occupation. 
 
 Burn. I deny that ; for the man of the house 
 ought to have his wife himself, in case he have a
 
 134 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 (laughter to furnish you. Nay, the strictness of 
 the statute of phnidering says, that in case he 
 has but barely a maid-servant, you ought not to 
 meddle with his Avife, or indeed his daughter. 
 
 Flea. I am of the opinion of the gentleman that 
 spoke last ; for I am, in my own quarter, lord of 
 the manor, and all wefts and strays are mine. 
 
 Bum. I'll say that for thee, a maid cannot go 
 a-milking l)ut tliou mak'st a weft or stray of her. 
 
 Enter Cornet. 
 
 Cur. Here's the faithful fraternity ! — a league of 
 knaves that's never to be broke ! It is a joyful 
 thing when brethren plunder together in unity. 
 HoAv d' ye, Plunder-Master General 1 
 
 Flea. We have all arrived at excellent nick- 
 names, to say truth, according to our several 
 degrees and ways of plundering ; but you, Cornet, 
 have a name that's proper for all cornets to be 
 call'd by, for they are all beardless boys in our 
 army, for the most part of our horse were rais'd 
 thus : The honest country gentleman raises the 
 troop at his own charge, then he gets a low- 
 country lieutenant to fight his troop safely, then 
 sends for his son from school to be his cornet, and 
 he puts off liis child's coat to put on a buff coat ; 
 and this is the constitution of our army : so I salute 
 j'ou, Cornet Beardless. Thou art called Ferret- 
 Farm because thou art so terrible valiant amongst 
 the country bumpkins, and Aspen because thou 
 shakest and tremblest in a day of battle. 
 
 Fer. Whoo, pox ! this is absolute malice. 
 
 Cor. There thou art out, for this is neither 
 malice nor anger, but downright truth. 
 
 Flea. You abuse him, i' faith ! I have seen him 
 up to the chin in blood.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 135 
 
 Cm. 'Twas in a saw-pit, then ; yet, when the 
 armies meet, I'll say that for him, he will draw 
 up as confidently as if he would take a general by 
 the beard ; and lie will as confidently ride out of 
 the army before the battle joins ; and if any man 
 ask him wliither he goes, he says he is sent for 
 orders ; so you hear of him no more, and the next 
 day you find him as sure in a saw-pit. 
 
 Fer. Pray let the saw-pit alone, and provoke 
 me not ; good men have done the like, therefore 
 be not too bold with your betters. 
 
 Flea. Provoke him not, for he's a devil at a 
 sword, though he tremble at a gun. 
 
 Fer. A gun, I confess, is as terrible to me as 
 thunder and ligbtning ; they 're out of my element. 
 Well, but leave this discourse, and, so you do not 
 laugh at me, I'll tell you a story. 
 
 Flea. What is 't ? 
 
 Fer. Why, faith, our Dol's with child, and lays 
 it to me. 
 
 Burn. Pox on her ! she was with me this morn- 
 ing, and I compounded with her for five pound. 
 
 Fer. The whore had seven of me, by this light. 
 
 Cor. An excellent cunning quean ! She knows 
 the family of the Flea-Flints are ever the monied 
 men of the troop. I'll make use of my time too ; 
 give me ten pound to keep counsel, or I'll make 
 you the laughingstock o' th' army. 
 
 Flea. Thou wilt not turn treacherous rogue, 
 now, sure 1 
 
 Cor. 'Tis no treachery. Show me a soldier that 
 ^vill not take advantage. 
 
 Flea. Ay, of the enemy. 
 
 Cor. For ten pound any man's my enemy or 
 friend. There's another principle for you, and very 
 fit for the Flea-Flints to make use of.
 
 136 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Burn. We scorn to compound ; but we vnW 
 lend you so much money if you will mortgage the 
 next fresh quarters. 
 
 Cor. I'll do 't. 
 
 Burn. Then there's your ten pound. 
 
 Cor. Now are you men of inheritance ; now you 
 have a good title to every man's goods and chat- 
 tels ; and for ten pound more I'll help you to a 
 lawyer shall plead it, and make it good to you and 
 your heirs for ever. 
 
 Enter Tell-Troth. 
 
 Tell. God give you good morn, sirs ; I pray you, 
 which of you is the Captain Commander 1 \ 
 
 Flea. Why, friend, we have ne'er a captain here ; 
 he lyes leaguer at Oxford, to give the King intelli- 
 gence when his troop beats or is beaten. 
 
 Cor. There y' are a scandalous rascal. Some 
 cajjtains, I confess, have that trick, but our captain 
 always fights his troop himself But we have a 
 good lieutenant here, if that Avill serve your turn. 
 
 Burn. Ay, he 's too good for us ; I would the 
 devil had him ! 
 
 Cor. What's thy business ? 
 
 Tell. I'd be a trooper. 
 
 Fer. And canst thou fight ? 
 
 Tell. Wilt thou try ? 
 
 Fer. No ; faith, friend, I believe thee. Wast 
 ever a soldier ? 
 
 Tell. Ay, a Parliament one. 
 
 Flea. What ! and didst thou run away 1 
 
 Tell. No, I walked this pace ; I scorn to run. 
 
 Burn. I believe this fellow's a spy. 
 
 Tell. You lie ; I am very honest ! Now, dare 
 you fight ? 
 
 Burn. No, by my troth, not with thee.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 137 
 
 Te2l. Then remember, if anybody want the lie, 
 you had it last. 
 
 Flea. This is such a fellow as I never met with. 
 Yet why didst thou leave the Parliament 1 
 
 Tell. For the same cause that I believe I shall 
 leave you. 
 
 Flea. What's that ? 
 
 Tell. Because I liked 'em not. 
 
 Fer. Who was thy captain 1 
 
 Tell. One Captain Verily Rett. 
 
 Fer. Of what profession was he ? 
 
 Tell. Of every one's profession, I think. 
 
 Fer. What's that 1 
 
 Tell. An hypocrite. 
 
 Burn. And dost thou come out of love to the 
 King? 
 
 Tell. No ; I come to see fashions. 
 
 Burn. But why didst thou leave thy captain 1 
 
 Tell. Because he is an hypocrite — a yea-and- 
 nay knave. He cannot endure to plunder, but, in 
 a godly manner, he will take all he can lay his 
 hands on. 
 
 Cor. But wilt thou fight for the King out of 
 stark love and kindness ? 
 
 Tell. No ; I'll fight for him as all men fight for 
 kings — partly for love, partly for my own ends. 
 I'll fight bravely for a battle or two, then beg an 
 old house to made a garrison of, grow rich, con- 
 sequently a coward, and then, let the dog bite the 
 bear, or the bear the dog, I'll make my own peace, 
 I warrant you ; and, in short, this is my business 
 hither. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. Where are you, sirs 1 The Captain has 
 brought orders to march, but whither I know not ;
 
 138 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 and, better news than that, he has brought pay, 
 boys! 
 
 Flea. I hope you are not angry, Lieutenant ? 
 
 Lieid. I am not yet, but I shall be very sud- 
 denly, therefore provide against it ; the next fresh 
 quarter you will have advantage enough. I hope 
 we understand of all hands '? 
 
 Flea. 'Tis sufficient, Lieutenant. 
 
 Cor. But here's the strangest felloAV come to be 
 a trooper. 
 
 Lieut. He's welcome ! Hast thou a good horse, 
 friend % 
 
 Tell. No, but I've a bridle ; and if you '11 enter- 
 tain me, I shall quickly have a horse. Are you 
 the Captain 1 
 
 Lieut. I am but lieutenant, friend. 
 
 Tell. Ho ! I thought you had all been captains. 
 I'm sure you are all call'd so. 
 
 Enter Captain. 
 
 Lieut. But here comes one that is so ; this is a 
 very captain. 
 
 Tell. I tell thee that's very much. What's his 
 name 1 
 
 Lieut. Captain Honor. 
 
 Tell. Ay ! have you such a thing as honour 
 amongst you 1 
 
 Capt. Lieutenant, get your corporals together, 
 and give 'em orders to make ready for a march; and 
 be sure you charge 'em to see every horse in their 
 squadrons shod, otherwise we shall have 'em lye 
 behind drinking and plundering, and then pretend 
 they stay to shoe their horses. Let me hear no 
 more on 't ! 
 
 Tell. 'Tis possible a very captain may be 
 honest.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 1 39 
 
 Lieut. But, sir, before you do anything, talk with 
 this fellow ; he would fain be a trooper. 
 
 Capt. Now, friend, Avould'st thou be a soldier ? 
 
 TdL Yes, if I could light of a good side, a right 
 cause, and good men to manage it. 
 
 Capt. On my word that's shrewdly put ! Well, 
 I'll promise thee a good cause, and some good men ; 
 in multitudes all are not virtuous nor valiant. 
 
 Tell That's well said ; I think I shall begin to 
 take a liking to you. But, Captain, I hear a man 
 may learn to flea a flint amongst you, to drink and 
 plunder. 
 
 Capt. D'ye hear that, rascals I But where did'st 
 thou hear this report of us ] 
 
 Tell. In a London pulpit. But another sort of 
 people told me they preach'd interest more than 
 gospel, so that a man knows not which side to 
 take. 
 
 Capt. Nay, upon my word, thou art come to the 
 right side. 
 
 Tell. I guess as much ; for you talk worse than 
 you do, and they do worse than they talk. 
 
 Capt. This is an odd kind of fellow, and I believe 
 a dangerous. Friend, withdraw, Avhile I read my 
 orders to my officers. 
 
 Tell. A word in your ear first : are you wonder- 
 ful honest 1 
 
 Capt. Thou art a .strange, blunt fellow. Yes, I 
 am honest. 
 
 Tell. But are you wise too 1 For else the want 
 of wit to manage your honesty may make you a 
 knave. I know 'tis some men's cases. 
 
 Capt. Thou dost surprise me ! Sure, thou hast 
 more business than to be a trooper 1 
 
 Tell. I have so, but I must ask you another 
 question ere you know it. Are you staunch enough
 
 1 40 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 to keep a secret] Be not angry — many of your 
 party cannot hold ; for tell you news, and you fly 
 like lightning to the next man to disgorge it ; and 
 so it goes round till it comes to the enemy, and 
 thus you betray your business, and intend it not 
 neither. 
 
 Capt. I have not heard so dangerous a man. 
 Pray, friend, think me worthy to know your busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Tell. You shall. And to show you that I have 
 business, I know what your orders are. 
 
 Capt. Why, 'tis impossible ! 
 
 Tdl. Nothing impossible ; you are to remove 
 your troop to Cilstow, there quarter till further 
 orders, but not to go to bed, for you are within 
 three miles of a little house call'd Thievesden 
 Garrison ; and you are to expect a company of foot 
 to quarter with you — is this your orders 1 
 
 Cajyt. You amaze me ! How came you by this 
 intelligence 1 
 
 Tell. It came to Thievesden House this morning, 
 and so to me. I am their confidant, and would fain 
 be yours. 
 
 Capt. Do you not know who sent it 1 
 
 Tell. No, nor they neither; there's the subtle 
 carriage of the thing. 
 
 Ccqyt. But pray, sir, let me ask you who you arel 
 
 Tell. I am a plain, honest-meaning man, a neigh- 
 bour to that garrison of Thievesden, and one that 
 has div'd into the bottom of both your parties, 
 and find that you have faults, but the other great 
 wickedness. 
 
 Flea. I do not like this fellow ; he had a fling 
 against drink. 
 
 Fer. And plundering ; but twenty to one he 
 hath paid for't.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. Ul 
 
 Flea. He had a plaguy jerk at flaying of flints too. 
 Capt. What if you went to Oxford with me 1 
 Tell. So I may be hang'd when I come home 
 again ? for they will know it as sure. Pray let me 
 eat and refresh myself, and then conclude of some- 
 thing. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter DoL, atid calls Lieutenant back 
 
 Dol. Lieutenant, I'd speak with you. 
 
 Lieut. Dol, I'll come to thee presently. [Exit. 
 
 Dol. I cannot say I am with child, but with 
 cliildren ; for here has been all nations, and all 
 languages to boot. If the several tongues should 
 work upwards now, and I speak all languages ? 
 Why, I am not the first learned woman, but I 
 believe the first that ever came by her learning 
 that way. If I should have for every man that 
 has been dealing here a child, and if the children 
 should be born with every one a back and breast 
 on, as they were got, bless me, what hard labour 
 should I have ! But, for all this, I hope I do not 
 go ^vith above a squadron of children. But to my 
 business. I mean to lay this great belly to every 
 man that has but touch'd my apron strings. I 
 thank the law, 'tis very favourable in this point; 
 for when I have played the whore, the law gives 
 me leave to play the rogue, and lay it to whom I 
 will. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. Why, how noAv, Dol? How go matters 
 with you, good Dol ] 
 
 Dot. I desire you'd stand my friend, sir ; you see 
 my condition 1 
 
 Lieut. Thou wilt not lay thy child to my charge. 
 I hope ]
 
 1 42 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Dot. No, sir, I have more wit ; my drift is to lay 
 it to more than one man or one squadron. Sir, I 
 understand there's a month's pay in your hands ; 
 and I am resolv'd to lay this great belly to every 
 man round the troop. Some I have struck already, 
 and they have very fairly compounded with me. 
 Some, I suppose, may bustle and stand out ; but 
 if you will countenance me, then they must coni- 
 l»ound at our rates. 
 
 Lieut. But, Do], what benefit is this to me 1 For 
 I profess no friendship, but follow the general 
 principle of mankind, Dol, which is to pick the 
 money out of thy pocket to put it into mine. So, 
 Dol, in plain terms, what will you give me 1 
 
 Dol. Why, Lieutenant, you shall go snips. 
 
 Lieut. Why, Dol, we are agreed. But after we 
 have struck the troop round, Avho dost thou pitch 
 upon to father it ? 
 
 Dol. Why, faith, I did design to marry Monsieur 
 Kaggou, the French cook that rides in your troop. 
 
 Lieut. Thou wilt never endure to live with him, 
 'tis such a nasty slovenly rogue. 
 
 Dol. 'Tis no matter for living with him ; I want 
 a husband. 
 
 Lieut. He stinks above ground. He has not 
 had a shirt on's back time out of mind. 
 
 Dol. That makes it a fit match, for, by my troth, 
 I do not deserve a man that's worth a shirt. 
 
 Lieut. Well, Dol, upon the aforesaid terms you're 
 sure of me ; play your game with all confidence. 
 
 Dol. Well, I'll to work amongst 'em presently ; 
 or if I might gain you to advance my greater 
 desires, which is my cornet's boy that waits on 
 him. I am foolish, for I love him strangely, des- 
 l)erately. A hundred pounds, in plain terms, make 
 him mine.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 143 
 
 Lieut. But, Dol, where is this hundred pound 1 
 Dol. I have shark'd these four years, and made a 
 
 shift to scrape four liundred pounds together. 
 Lieut. Still, I say, you're sure of me with ready 
 
 money. 
 
 Enter Monsieur Raggou and his Landlady. 
 
 Well, Dol, away ! here comes Monsieur Raggou 
 — step aside ! 
 
 Dol. Oh, let him have his money. If our cornet's 
 boy fail, I'll have him, or he shall certainly keep 
 the child. [Exit. 
 
 Bag. Landlady ! come, take a my pistol and lock 
 in your trunk very safe. 
 
 Laml. Yes, sir. 
 
 Rag. Take heed, for begar you will be hang if 
 my pistol run away ! 
 
 Land. Lord, I'll take no charge on 't ! 
 
 Rag. You Roundhead whore, lock it up, or me 
 will kill you, begar ! 
 
 Land. I'll take all the care I can on 't, sir. \Exit. 
 
 Rag. So, me will steal my pistol from her trunk, 
 and say she carry it to de enemy, and den me will 
 so plundra de dam whore. 
 
 Enter Bumpkin. 
 
 Stand ! who are you for. Bumpkin 1 
 
 Bum. Lord, sir, I am for nobody ! 
 
 Rag. You dog, be you for de King or de Parlia- 
 menta 1 
 
 Bum. Why, I am for pray, sir, who are you 
 
 fori 
 
 Rag. Tank you for dat ! Begar, you be very full 
 wid cunning. You will be of my side if me name 
 myself first. Speak, you dam dog ! who be you 
 fori
 
 1 44 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Bum. In truth it is not good manners to say who 
 I am for ; your worship ought to speak first. 
 
 Rag. Pox take you ! Me be for de Parliament, 
 you dog ! 
 
 Bum. Oh, the Lord bless your worship, I am for 
 the good Parliament too. 
 
 Rag. Je'rny, I am for de King, you Roundhead 
 dog ! Begar, me will plundra you, soul and body. 
 
 Bum. Oh, good sir, spare me ; I am for the King ! 
 
 Rag. Diable, me will plundra you for being Jack 
 of both sides. Diantie, he have but one silling 
 about his soul and bodee. Get you gone, you dog ! 
 
 [Exit Bumpkin. 
 Begar, me have no luck. Zoun, me plundra every 
 day dis tre years, and begar me never get but 
 one silling or one sixpenne, begar. Ha ! Monsieur 
 Lieutenant, me hear very brave ting of you. 
 
 Lieut. "What's that 1 
 
 Rag. Me hear you have some largion for Mon- 
 sieur la Soldier; pray, how much will come to 
 Monsieur Moy 1 
 
 Lieut. Faith, Monsieur, some three pounds. 
 
 Rag. How ! — tre pone ! Whar be de tre pone ? 
 How much be tre pone 1 
 
 Lieut. Why, here 'tis, Monsieur; so much as you 
 see. 
 
 Rag. Begar, sure you mock a de moy; begar, me 
 never see so much money togeder in my life ! Me 
 will lye do\\ai and tumble in my money, like de dog 
 dat tumbla in de carrion; it is so sweet, brave 
 Capitain ! brave Lieutenant ! Gad a bless de 
 King of England, and de King of France too, when 
 he give me tre pone ! Lieutenant, be to be mad a 
 dangerous ting ? 
 
 Lieut. Oh, very dangerous. 
 
 Rag. Begar, dere be your tre pone again ! It will
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 1 45 
 
 make a me tark a mad ; me no know vat me sail 
 do with all dis money. Begar, me admire tre pone 
 of all de ting in this varle ; it vill make de great 
 Turk de Christian, or de Christian de Turk, better 
 den all de argument in the varle. Pray, Lieu- 
 tenant, keep dis money for me, one, two, tree year, 
 till me take counsel of all my friend in France vat 
 me sail do wid dat. 
 
 Lieut. Go to Oxford, and buy some necessaries 
 with it ; you are so nasty, nobody is able to come 
 near you. Buy some shirts, to keep you sweet and 
 clean. 
 
 Bag. Buy some shart ! Me love you very well. 
 Lieutenant, but you no understand ; for vat sail me 
 have some shart t 
 
 Lieut. To keep yourself sweet, and from being 
 lousey. 
 
 Bag. Who can see my shart 1 Here be my 
 doublet come close, my coat come over all dat, den 
 who de devil see my shart 1 For vat sail me have 
 a shart, when nobody see my shart 1 
 
 Lieut. But then you want stockings and twenty 
 necessaries. 
 
 Bag. Me pull up my boot, who see me have a 
 stockin ? You vill have a little English tricka, and 
 never understand ; for vat will you have more ting 
 about you den vat vOl make a show in de varle 
 and everybody can see 1 Pray, let me lay out my 
 money to please my own fancee. 
 
 Lieut. With all my heart. 
 
 Bag. Den me will lay it out for my honour, and 
 for de honour of de King and my Lieutenant. So 
 adieu. Buy shart ! — who see my shart ] \_Exit. 
 
 Enter DoL. 
 Dol. Faith, Lieutenant, I'll at him and some of 
 
 K
 
 146 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 the rest presently ; therefore leave me to work. I 
 am asham'd I am such a fool to doat on a boy ; 
 but no remedy. Remember, therefore, and about 
 it. 
 
 Lieut. Do you remember the hundred pound, 
 I'll work him ; fear not. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Act II. — Scene i. 
 
 Enter Dol Troop. 
 
 Bol. Now to my business. My Flintflayer com- 
 pounded with me very civilly, that I did fear would 
 have outwitted me. I am afraid of nothing but 
 an impudent rogue that has no shame in him, that 
 will father the child rather than part with his 
 money, and so spoil my compounding with the 
 rest of the troop. I'll be as wise as I can, so have 
 
 among em 
 
 I 
 
 Enter a Trooper. 
 
 Trooj). What a pox makes she here 1 
 
 Dol. How d' ye, Mr. William 1 I'm come to tell 
 you I am gone half my time, that you may provide ; 
 for I am quick. 
 
 Troop. Art thou ? Faith, I'll be as quick as thou 
 art, for I'll be in Holland, if the wind serve, to- 
 morrow. [Exit. 
 
 Dol. 'Slife, if they should all boggle thus, I should 
 make a thin troop on 't. 
 
 Enter Raggou. 
 
 Bag. Oh, Madam Dol ! Ow dee 1 ow dee 1 
 Dol. You see how I do. I am near my time ; I
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 147 
 
 desire you to provide. You swore a thousand oaths 
 to me you would keep the child. 
 
 Rag. But me did but swear in French, Madam 
 Dol, and dat vill no stand good in English law, 
 Madam Dol. 
 
 Dol. Come, sir, come ; I'll make you father my 
 child, or I'll make you do worse. Will you com- 
 pound ] 
 
 Rag. Me scorn to compone, and scorn to fader 
 your shild ! You be a dam whore, Madam Dol. 
 
 Dol. You are a rascal, Mr. Monsieur, and I'll 
 make you father the child in spite of your French 
 teeth. 
 
 Rag. Begar, Madam Dol, you be de great whore 
 de Babylon ! Begar, me vill make appear noting 
 can get you wid shild but de maypole in de Strana ; 
 and den me can make appear by good vitteness 
 dat me have no maypole abouta me. So adieu, 
 Madam Babylon ! Pox take you ! — me fader your 
 dam son of a whore's shild '? [Exit. 
 
 Dol. You fickle Frenchman, I shall be reveng'd 
 on thee ! I'll marry thee, but I'll be reveng'd on 
 thee ! 
 
 Enter Cornet, Lieutenant, and Biddy. 
 
 But here comes my Cornet and his boy, and the 
 Lieutenant. I see he is mindful of my business. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lieut. Cornet, I have an earnest, and, by my 
 troth, a most pleasant suit to you. 
 
 Cm: You cannot miss the grant of it. What 
 is'tl 
 
 Lieut. But first, do you love money ] 
 
 Cor. By my troth, I know not, for I never had a 
 sum worth loving in my life yet. 
 
 Lieut. Will fifty pound do any hurt 1
 
 1 48 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Cor. But what must I do for itl — betray the 
 troop to the enemy, or some garrison ] for under 
 that I cannot deserve fifty pound. 
 
 Lieut. Towns are not so cheap yet ; though trea- 
 son be plentiful, 'tis not grown a drug. But to 
 my suit : you are to know that our Dol is des- 
 perately in love, and Avith whom 1 
 
 Cor. Not with me ? I find I must earn this fifty 
 pound. 
 
 Lkut. No such matter; you have too great a 
 conceit of your good face. 
 
 Bid. Indeed you lie, Lieutenant, for he can never 
 think too well of that face. [Aside. 
 
 Cor. Who is it she is in love with ? 
 
 Lieid. By my troth, with thy boy here ; despe- 
 rately in love with thy boy. 
 
 Bid. The devil take her for her pains ! But why 
 do I curse her, that am so desperately in love my- 
 self] [Aside. 
 
 Cor. Why, this story is very pleasant, if you 
 knew all. 
 
 Bid. Lord, you will not tell him what I am, I 
 hope 1 
 
 Cor. Lieutenant, I must deny your suit, for it must 
 not be a match ; for the boy is, in plain terms, a girl. 
 
 Bid. The de-sdl take you for telling him ! 
 
 Cor. Why so 1 My lieutenant's very faithful. 
 
 Lieid. A girl ! Let me see your face. 
 
 Bid. 0, you unworthy man ! Good sir, forgive 
 me, for I am even ready to scold. 
 
 Lieut. This is the pretty young daughter that 
 belong'd to your winter quarters, and so came 
 away for love 1 
 
 Bid. Yes, sir ; but if your cornet had been true, 
 I had been past love by this time — I had been 
 married.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 149 
 
 Lieut. Why, are all married people past love 1 
 
 Bid. Yes, sir, of the men's side especially ; but, 
 sir, I am naturally A^ery merry, and shall be if you 
 will but do me the favour to think me very honest. 
 
 Lieut. I shall do you a great favour if I do, for 
 I never thought anybody so yet ; but if it please 
 you, I'll try your honesty, and then I'll give you 
 my opinion. 
 
 Bid. Be not rude when you try me. If you be, 
 you were better venture on a maiden cat at mid- 
 night, for I shall scratch worse, and so mark you, 
 not for my humble servant, but my humble cater- 
 wauler. 
 
 Lieut. I could meet such a creature o' th' house- 
 top at any hour, and scratch and squeak, and 
 tumble down together, and get the prettiest kitlins 
 as we fall. 
 
 Bid. I am glad to see you merry, sir, for merry 
 people are likely honest. 
 
 Lieut. Well, we'll try ; but if you love mirth, 
 consent to marry with this Dol. There's money 
 for us all. {Exit. 
 
 Bid. Content, i' faith ! 'Twill be excellent sport 
 to marry her, for I love roguery well enough ; but, 
 the devil's in 't, she'll know me to be a girl ! 
 
 Enter DoL aloof. 
 
 Cor. No, no ; she shall not come near you, nor 
 touch you, till she's brought to bed. Then two to 
 one but the troop marclies away and leaves her 
 behind ; then I'm sure the country bumpkins will 
 knock her o' th' head. 
 
 Dol. There's a cornet in grain, i' faith. 
 Bid. Troth, you are very charitable. Well, since 
 my hand's in at wearing breeches, I'll do all the 
 offices of a man. I would I had wherewithal to
 
 150 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 perform, for, by my troth, I am weary of our own 
 sex. 
 
 Dol. She cries, i' faith ; I like that well. 
 
 Cor. You little fool, you do not cry, I hope 1 
 
 Bid. No, faith, that was but a tear by chance. 
 You made mo leave my friends, you know, when 
 you talk'd of marriage to me ; but not one word 
 on 't now you have; made me your be-de-boy. 
 
 Dol. I know not what to say to that ! 
 
 Cor. We'll talk of those things when we are 
 settled. 
 
 Bid. By my troth, you have put me in such a 
 gog of marriage that it will not out of my head ; 
 and yet I scorn to ask you to marry me, and I 
 scorn to crack a commandment with you. Was 
 not that bascily done of you to tempt me 1 But I 
 shall scold, which is a thing I hate. O base fellow ! 
 you would be going o' th' score with me for my 
 virginity ! Faith, sir, I'd have you know 'tis worth 
 ready money at any time ; an<l, faith, I'll swear it 
 shall ne'er go under matrimony. 
 
 IM. She is honest, i' faith ! I love a virtuous 
 Avoman, though I am none myself; like him that 
 lov'd the sound of Greek though he understood 
 it not. She is right honest, i' faith ! 
 
 Bid. Marry me, and then halloo, dog, for thy 
 silver collar; but till then I'll gnaw my under- 
 sheet to the bedcord before you shall have your 
 will of me. I am sometimes mad when I think 
 how I left my friends. Soinetimes I could scold, 
 and sometimes I could cry ; and the devil take 
 that good face of yours, I can do neither for it ! 
 
 Cor. Come, come ; you trust your person with 
 me, and why not your virginity] How long do 
 you think you can hold out at this staunch rate 1 
 
 Bid. Faith, sir, I can hold out till it's fit for no-
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 151 
 
 body — till I'm past the use of man, before thou 
 shalt have it, shameless -vrretch ! 
 
 Lkd. She is certainly honest, and that's half our 
 work done ! 
 
 Cor. Come, prithee let's think of our mock- 
 marriase with Del. and after well be serious. 
 
 Bid. Why. I'm for that too ; but vet I cannot 
 choose but cry to see how false you are, and how 
 they talk at home of me. She's run away with a 
 soldier, and that rascal ^rill not marry her. Oh, 
 the -devil take you : I shall never recover that 
 credit asain. 
 
 Cor. Come, we'll cozen 'em all at last. 
 
 Bid. Nay, I beUeve thou'lt cozen more than me ; 
 for what woman can forbear runnino; awav with 
 thee that sees those leering eyes, thou be^vitching 
 devil, thou 1 
 
 Cor. Oh, remember you hate scolding, Biddy. 
 
 Bid. I had forgot that, indeed. 
 
 Cor. Xay, prithee, no more of this story. 
 
 Bid. "Well. I will not : but truly I grow weary 
 of your unkindness, and I am serv'd weU enough 
 for scorninij a man that doated on me ! 
 
 Lol. A ha 1 Av, marrv ! That's somewhat, 
 indeed. 
 
 Bid. But I see. a cornet ^vith his living colours, 
 and his word, •• Have at all," goes a great way 
 with a virgin. "Who can resist it ? \Exj:urd. 
 
 Enter Captaix, Lieutenant, and Tell- 
 Troth. 
 
 Capt. Lieutenant, stay and receive orders. But, 
 sir, how many companies are there in Thievesden 
 garrison ? 
 
 Tell. Xe'er a company ; for not one of 'em will 
 be call'd captain of a company, but captain of a
 
 1-52 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 congregation. One is call'd Captain Holdfortli ; 
 another Captain Tubtext ; rogues marked at the 
 font for rebellion. 
 
 Capt. Eebellion is the first point of reformation 
 always. 
 
 Tell. They are form'd to a new stamp of villany, 
 the last impression — that which put the de\^l into 
 a cold sweat. Take the Avickedest and worst re- 
 puted men you have, and turn them loose to 
 plunder, and I defy 'em to make the tithe o' th' 
 spoil these hypocrites have done ! 
 
 Cajyt. You are very bitter. 
 
 Tell Malice cannot lay 'em open. They lecture 
 it thrice a week, and summon the country to come 
 in. They that refuse, they take their goods and 
 leave 'em ne'er a groat ; and then they say they 
 took but their own, for the good creature is the 
 inheritance of the peoj^le of God. 
 
 Capt. It seems every captain is a teacher, and 
 his own company is his congregation, so that they 
 hang and draw religion among themselves. No 
 doubt most blasphemous villains ! 
 
 Tell. Well, sir, I'll home to-night. March your 
 troops to Lavel to-morrow ; stay till I come to you ! 
 So fare you well, and I wish a blessing upon your 
 good meaning ! [Ey:it. 
 
 Cajyt. Lieutenant, be careful how you march to- 
 morrow, and take heed I hear of no complaint. 
 I'll to Oxford in the morning, to give an account 
 of this fellow ! 
 
 Lieut. 1 hope you'll allow us our old harmless 
 drolleries. 
 
 Ca^yt. Ay, most freely. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Cornet. 
 Cor. Lieutenant, half the troop will be gone.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 153 
 
 Dol has laid her child to 'em all, and they're for 
 horse and away ! 
 
 Lieut. What shall we do 1 
 
 Cm'. Endeavour to prevent it, that is all that's 
 to be said. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter a Trooper with his arms, and Monsieur 
 Eaggou meets him. 
 
 Bag. Ow dee, ow dee, Monsieur Lancashire 1 Yat 
 make you have your arms so late at night 1 Is 
 dere alarm ] Be de enemy in de quarteer ? 
 
 1 Troop. Worse than the enemy — the devil's in 
 the quarter ! Our Dol is with child, and would 
 lay it to me ; but I'll lay down my arms and go 
 home. 
 
 Rag. Begar, me vil lay down my arms and go 
 home too. Ha ! begar, now I tink, me have no 
 home. [Eo'At. 
 
 1 Troop. Captain ! Captain ! 
 
 IVithin. Who's there 1 — what's the matter 1 
 
 1 Troop. Thomas, 'tis I, the old mutineer. Tell 
 the Captain I must speak with him. 
 
 inthin. He is but just laid down on the bed to 
 sleep a little. Come i' th' morning ! 
 
 1 Trooj). Flesh and blood, I will speak with 
 him ! 
 
 Captain above. 
 
 Capt. What's the matter 1 — an alarm 1 
 
 1 Troop. Ay, marry is there. Captain ; there will 
 be a whole squadron upon you presently. 
 
 Capt. 'Sdeath, my horse presently ! 
 
 1 Troop. The enemy, Dol, is fallen into our 
 Lancashire quarters, and has laid her child to our 
 squadron. So here is your back and your breast, 
 Captain, and I'll go home.
 
 154 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Enter four Troopers and Raggou. 
 
 2 Troop. Flesh ! we'll father no child, not we ! 
 Rag. Begar, me vil fader no shild too. Hey ! 
 
 Monsieur Capitain, here be your one pistole ! 
 
 3 Troop. Captain, we have brought you some 
 Lancashire arms; here is some ten or eleven sowze 
 kidgiors for you. 
 
 Capt. What the devil ails the fellow 1 [Above. 
 
 Bag. Begar, Capitain, me vil keep no shild ; 
 your dam Madam Dol have get us all with a 
 shild ! 
 
 Capt. Run for the quean to come to me. — I shall 
 have all my troop forsake me. Stay, sirs ; I'll come 
 to you. I must as well humour 'em as be severe, 
 or else no soldiers. [Exit from above. 
 
 Bag. Veil, me do know very well how it sal be 
 my shild or no. 
 
 4 Troop. Well, monsieur, and I have a mark 
 to know whether it be mine or no as well as you. 
 
 2 Troop. And so we have all. 
 
 Enter Captain and Cornet. 
 
 Capt. My masters, you might have had so much 
 manners to have held your complaints till morning; 
 but, however, I have sent for Dol, and I'll do you 
 justice before I stir now. How now, Raggou 1 
 what are thy sleeves stuff'd withal so 1 
 
 Bag. Begar, dis sleeve be my stabla — dere be 
 good oata for mine arse ; and dis sleeve be my 
 kitchin — dere be meat for myself ! Vill you eat 
 dis morning, Capitain 1 
 
 Capt. Fob ! your sleeves stink abominably ! 
 
 Bag. Zoun, do you call dat a stinka 1 'Tis true, 
 it have a little huggo f begar, dis sleeve keep your 
 
 * Haut gout.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 155 
 
 troop alive — dis sleeve is de physician to all de 
 troop. When any man be sick, me set on some 
 hot vatera, dere let my sleeve boil one hour in it, 
 and dat make de comfortable pottage in de varle. 
 Have me not cure you all 1 
 
 4 Troop. Yes, indeed, Captain, he has cur'd us 
 twenty times ! 
 
 Hag. Begar, Capitain, me have cure that dam 
 whore Madam Dol, and yet for all dat she lay her 
 shild a top upon me ! 
 
 Enter DoL. 
 
 Capt. Oh, here she is ! Now, you audacious 
 quean, what makes you alarm these people thus 1 
 Who got you with child 1 Speak, and speak truth, 
 I charge you ! 
 
 Dol Why, then, I will speak truth, an't please 
 you. Good Captain, do not fright me ! 
 
 Ca2)t. AVell, then, is it his child 1 did he get it ] 
 
 DoL I cannot say absolutely 'tis his, Captain. 
 
 Capt. Why, is it this fellow's ] 
 
 Dol. I cannot say directly 'tis his neither. 
 
 Caj^t. Is it Monsieur Raggou's 1 
 
 Dol. I cannot say, to speak truth, 'tis his in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 Capt. Death ! you abominable quean, say whose 
 'tis, or I'll slit your nose ! 
 
 Dol. Why, truly, I cannot lay it to any one 
 man ; but. Gad is my judge, 'tis the troop's child. 
 Captain ! 
 
 Capt. Was ever such a slut heard of? 
 
 Dol. I desire your worship to believe me in one 
 thing. Truly, Captain, and as Gad's my comfort, I 
 have been as true and faithful a woman to the 
 troop, as ever wife was to a husband, Captain. 
 
 Bag. Oh ho ! are you so 1 Me tink now. Madam
 
 156 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Dol, you are de whore cle Babylon ; for one whole 
 troop may make a maypole. 
 
 Capt. ^Mly, this is some honesty yet, that she 
 is true to the troop. 
 
 Rag. Quid, Capitain ! for ought a me see, dis shild 
 be your shild ! 
 
 Capt. How prove you that, sir 1 
 
 Rag. Begar, she say de shild belong to de troop, 
 and you say de troop belong to you ; derefore de 
 shild is your shild, begar ! 
 
 Capt. But I'll make some of you father it. There 
 is none of you but have some private mark to 
 know it to be your o-svn by. 
 
 4 Troop. Faith, Captain, if it be born with a 
 gauntlet and a headpiece on, I'll own it. 
 
 2 Troop. Troth, Captain, if it be born with a 
 bridle in its hand, and boots and spurs on, I'll 
 own it. 
 
 1 Troop. Troth, Captain, I ne'er touch'd her. I 
 was about it once, but the jade laid herself so like 
 a constable tied neck and heels together, that I 
 went to plunder her, and she up and beat me like 
 a dog. 
 
 3 Troop. And by my troth, if it be born leading 
 a horse into the world, 'tis my child, Captain. 
 
 Rag. Ould ! you every one have a mark to 
 know your shild. Madam Dol, before my Capi- 
 tain, if your shild be born wid never a shart, den 
 it be my shild, for me have had no shart dls forty 
 M'eek. 
 
 Enter Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Per. By your leave, Captain. 
 Capt. What want you. Aspen ? 
 Per. I come to free all these men, and to own 
 the child, Cai^tain.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 157 
 
 DoL How ! own my child] The rogue never 
 touch'd me in his life, Captain ! 
 
 Fer. Ha, Dol ! confess, confess ! Will you have 
 the truth, Captain 1 
 
 Capt. Ay, prithee, with all my heart. 
 
 Fer. Why, then, I must confess she goes with 
 two children ; one I got on the great trunk's end, 
 and the other on a staircase— by my life, Captain. 
 
 Capt. I never heard of staircase children before. 
 
 Piag. But vat if de shild be born wid no shart 1 
 You sail be hang before you fader my shild ! 
 
 Dol. Captain, if I were to die to-morrow, the 
 rogue never touch'd me, 
 
 Fer. I'll cudgel the rogue to death, Captain. 
 
 Capt. Hold! hold! 
 
 Rag. Let him come, Captain ! Me vill kill him, 
 begar ! \_Draics, and throws off his coat. 
 
 Capt. Hold, Dol ! I charge you to put up, 
 monsieur! 
 
 Piag. Me vill put up, den. 
 
 Capt. Not one word more, I charge you, but all 
 to your quarters ! Begone ! Cornet, 'tis time to 
 sound to horse ; and take heed I hear of no com- 
 plaints. 
 
 Piag. Begar, me never see all dat before ! Diable, 
 me be Monsieur Raggou indeed ! Me \"ill put on 
 my coat presan, for, begar, if Monsieur Dunghill- 
 raker see me, begar he vill put me in his sack. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter twelve Troopers at six doors — tico at a door. 
 
 1 Troop. Pox of this French fool ! ^Vllat ! does 
 he mean to give us all ribbons 1 We do but laugh 
 at him. ' 
 
 3 Troop. His business is to be admir'd. I admire 
 he has bought him ne'er a shirt.
 
 158 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 2 Troop. He is like the hypocrites that will not 
 sing psalms ; because they've ne'er a room to the 
 street they cannot be heard. 
 
 4 Troop. And so he'll have ne'er a shirt because 
 it cannot be seen. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, 
 
 aild. BURNDORP. 
 
 Lieut. Come ! to horse, to horse ! 
 
 Flea. Lieutenant, pray let Monsieur Eaggou ride 
 before, and make the quarters to-night. 
 
 Per. Pray do, sir; for every fresh quarter we 
 know you expect, and therefore you must wink. 
 
 Lieut. But, sirs, I dare not own you ; for my 
 captain is so severe that I protest he'll hang any 
 man that plunders, especially you flint-flayers, that 
 he has forgiven so often. 
 
 Burn. Why, sir, we'll venture that, for we have 
 a way to come off". 
 
 Lieut. Pray, how 1 for if the country com- 
 plain, and they discover you, the world cannot 
 save you. 
 
 Flea. Why, sir, you know Monsieur Eaggou has 
 a remarkable coat, with one sleeve always full of 
 meat for himself, and the other full of oats for 
 his horse 1 
 
 Lieut. Well, what then % 
 
 Flea. Why, I have such a coat, and I will stuff" 
 up the sleeves and rob like him. I can spatter 
 French, and have everything so like him that your- 
 self cannot distinguish. 
 
 Lieut. Well, and how rob the rest 1 
 
 Fer. To satisfy you, in such disguises as the devil 
 cannot find us out in. 
 
 Lieut. You'll do well to keep in those disguises 
 still, for, i' faith, he'll find you at the long run else.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 159 
 
 Well, if you will venture, do ; I'll aid you in what 
 I can. 
 
 Burn. If the country complain, they come directly 
 to you, Lieutenant. 
 
 Fer. Then you bid 'em describe the men, and 
 without peradventure they fall upon the French- 
 man with his remarkable sleeves. 
 
 Lieut. But suppose he stand it out, and make it 
 out where he was in the time of plundering 1 
 Flea. That's shrewd, I confess. 
 Lieut. Come, I'll help you ! If the countrymen 
 come in and describe him, I'll go directly to him, 
 and tell him I have orders to seize him, for my 
 Captain is resolv'd to hang him. So, out of my 
 kindness to him, I'll let him make his escape, and 
 I'll warrant he'll away as if the devil drove him ! 
 
 Fer. But suppose he will not go at that neither 1 
 for he's impudent enough. 
 
 Lieut. Ha ! if he will not — let me see — I'll write 
 a letter and have it ready in my hand, and we'll 
 pretend to search him for letters of intelligence, 
 and so clap the letter into his pocket and pull it 
 out again, which shall be as if it came from the 
 enemy, and that, according to his promise, they 
 hope he will betray the troop. 
 
 Fer. Ay, marry, this is something ! Needs must 
 he go that the devil drives. 
 
 Flea. Then much more must he go that the Lieu- 
 tenant drives. I warrant he goes to some purpose. 
 Fer. Good ; and when he is gone and fled for 't — 
 Lieut. The case is plain, he's guilty. None but 
 he could do it. 
 
 Burn. Why, this is plot and intrigue. Lieutenant ; 
 bravely laid, i' faith ! 
 
 Flea. Why, then, esperanza, Flea-Flint. 
 Fer. What work we'll make !
 
 1 60 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Enter Eaggou and Jus Landlady. 
 
 Lieut. Here comes the poor rogue and his land- 
 lady ! He little thinks of our tragical design against 
 him. I'll step aside and see what work he'll make. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Rag. Come, landlady, bring me my pistole ! me 
 must march. 
 
 Laml. Ay, sir, I'll fetch it you ; 'tis safe enough. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Rag. Begar, me have steal my pistole ! Me vill 
 make her believe she vill be hang, and den she vill 
 endure plundering de betra. But, pox take her ! 
 me have search, and she have noting to plundra. 
 
 Enter Landlady. 
 
 Land. Lord! what shall I do? Monsieur, 
 your pistol's gone ! 
 
 Rag. Ha! _ 
 
 Land. It is gone — it is stolen ! 
 
 Rag. Ha ! you have carry my pistole to de 
 enemy, you dam whore ! Begar, you sail hang tre 
 pair of stair higher den Haman. 
 
 Laiul. Truly, I know not what's become on 't. I 
 hope you have it yourself. 
 
 Rag. Oh, you dam whore, me vill plundra your 
 house for slander a moy. 
 
 Land. Good sir, I have nothing worth plunder- 
 ing but a great cheese. 
 
 Rag. Give me your sheese, you devil, you ! 
 
 Land. Here it is, sir, and all I have in the world. 
 
 Rag. Pox take you ! give me one silling for my 
 sheese ! 
 
 Land. With all my heart. Truly it's all the 
 money I have ! 
 
 Rag. Now give me my sheese agen, you dam
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 161 
 
 whore ! Yat sail me do wid dis sheese 1 — it vill not 
 go into my kitchin sleeve. Begar, for one silling 
 more you sail have the slieese indeed ! 
 
 Land. You'll plunder it again ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, it go agen my conscience to take your 
 sheese, because it vill no go in my kitchin sleeve ! 
 
 Land. I have not a penny to save my life ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, me sell it to your neighbour ! 
 
 Enter Neighbour. 
 
 Yat vill you give me for my sheese 1 
 
 Land. It's my cheese ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, she lie ; me plunder it very fair from 
 her. 
 
 Neigh. Then I hope I may buy plundered goods 
 as well as other people. ^V hat's your price 1 
 
 Bag. Begar, dog sheap — one silling ! 
 
 Neigh. There's your money. 
 
 Land. Will you offer to buy my cheese 1 
 
 Neigh. 'Tis my cheese. 
 
 Land. I'll try that. [Fight and eoxunt. 
 
 Bag. Begar, fight till de devil part you ! 
 
 Enter Lieutenant a^id all the Troopers. 
 
 Oh, Monsieur Lieutenant ! 
 
 Lieut. What dost with that cheese? 
 
 Bag. My landlady love me vera dear, and she 
 give me dis sheese as a token to wear for her sake. 
 
 Lieut. Raggou, you must needs go make the 
 quarters for the troop. 
 
 Bag. Wid all min heart ! But, Lieutenant, dere 
 be a favour for you. [Gives him a knot of ribban. 
 
 Lieut. But what is the meaning of this 1 
 
 Bag. Begar, it be for my honer ; me have lay out 
 all my tre pone in ribbon, and give all de troop my 
 favour to wear in de hat.
 
 162 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Lkut. AMiat ! and is all thy three pound gone 
 in ribbon, and bought never a shirt? 'Tis very 
 fine. 
 
 Puig. Begar, and so it be very fine. As me tell 
 you before, who de devil see my shart ? All de 
 A'arle see Monsieur Eaggou in de hat ; every man 
 vill admire, and ask, Who gave all that favour to 
 de troop 1 den dey cry, Monsieur Raggou, de 
 French cook. Begar, dat sail be more honer for 
 me den ever you sail get by your shart ! 
 
 Lietit Thou art a right Frenchman. My horse 
 there, groom ! Let's march away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Act III. — Scene i. 
 Enter Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, and Burndorp. 
 
 Flea. Is not this like him as can be % 
 
 Burn. 'Tis like enough to delude the people 
 with. 
 
 Flea. I'll rant and tear the ground, boys. I will 
 so plundra all de dam bumpkin dog ! 
 
 Fer. That will pass ; that's his word ; 'tis like 
 him. 
 
 Flea. Be you pretty modest, sirs, and let me 
 play the devil among 'em. I will so terrify 'em 
 with French gibberish, that you shall aj)pear no- 
 body amongst 'em. 
 
 Burn. Good ! for, the more active and terrible 
 thou art, they will the more remember thee when 
 they come to complain, and so we shall be sure to 
 escape. 
 
 Flea. Come away, sirs ; we must be quick, and 
 ride hard for 't. [Exeunt.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 1G3 
 
 Enter Raggou, like Flea-Flint. 
 
 Bag. Begar, me have maka myself like Flea-Flint, 
 and me vill burn one two town as me go to make 
 a de quarter ; and me ■v'ill sjjeak English, and me 
 vill call myself Flea-Flint. Let me see. Come, where 
 is this constable 1 where are all these damn'd dery 
 damn'd rogues and whores'? I'll slay your very 
 souls, you beastly bawds ! Begar, all dat be very 
 good English, and it be very much like Monsieur 
 Flea-Flint ; and begar, me hope he Aill be taken and 
 hang for dat, for begar me \ill plundra de devel if 
 me catch him ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Cornet mid Biddy. 
 
 Cor. Come ; let me see, Biddy, how finely you'll 
 court your mistress, now. 
 
 Bid. I can court her as all men court women. 
 You shall lend me two or three hundred oaths, 
 your dissembling tongue, and your false heart, and 
 then I cannot miss the right way of wooing her. 
 
 Cor. This comes very near scolding, Biddy. 
 
 [Takes Iter hy the chin. 
 
 Bid. You make me forget myself Look you, 
 now, would any honest man take a maid so kindly 
 by the chin, and yet not mean to marry her 1 
 
 Cor. Thou little fool, at that rate every man i' 
 th' kingdom would have ten thousand wives. If 
 you'll part Avith your maidenhead, have at you, 
 Biddy. Come, come, you loving worm; I know I 
 shall have it at last. 
 
 Bid. Nay, o' my conscience, I believe thee ; yet 
 I have held fast hitherto. 
 
 Cor. I am glad to hear that, i' faith ! 
 
 Bid. But I find I must look no more on those 
 eyes ] if I do, i' faith, I shall flutter so long about
 
 164 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 the candle that I shall singe my virgin wings at 
 last. I will therefore now conclude that I am a 
 man, and must go court my mistress. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant and Dol. 
 
 Cor. Here's the Lieutenant and Dol ; noAV behave 
 yourself like a man. 
 
 Bid. Could you show me how to behave myself 
 like an honest man 1 That's out of your way, I 
 doubt. 
 
 Dol. Still better and better ! This confirms me. 
 
 Bid. Well, give me thy hand. I'm resolv'd to be 
 very virtuous and very merry, and never think 
 more of thee. 
 
 Cor. Well, Mrs. Dol, here's one has consented in 
 part to marry you. 
 
 Dol. Pretty creature ! 
 
 Bid. Ugly toad ! [Aside. 
 
 Dol. Well, and will you be content to ride before 
 me lovingly a days ? 
 
 Lieut. Ay, and behind thee, too ; ride thee all 
 points o' th' compass, wench, fear not ! 
 
 Bid. O Lord ! but is there so many ways of 
 riding. Lieutenant ? 
 
 Lieut. Hast thou liv'd to these years and not 
 known that yet 1 
 
 Cor. Well, but when will you marry ? 
 
 Bid. Nay, by my faith, let us woo first and then 
 marry, because I believe there is more pleasure in 
 wooing than in the effects of it. 
 
 Cor. Why do not you begin and court her, then? 
 
 Bid. Nay, by my faith, let her begin first. 
 
 Lieut. That's not the mode, for the woman to 
 woo the man. 
 
 Bid. That is if the man love the woman ; but 
 that's not my case, for 'tis she loves me, not I her.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 165 
 
 Lieut. Oh, but in complaisance you must begin. 
 It is not civil to put a woman to 't. 
 
 Bid. Not I, faith. Pray, forsooth, do you begin. 
 
 Bol. Indeed it shall be yours. 
 
 Bid. I protest it shall be yours ; therefore begin, 
 or I vow I'll break off the match. 
 
 Dol. Nay, rather than so, I'll begin. Sweet sir, 
 I am much and greatly asham'd. 
 
 Bid. Were you ever so before, mistress 1 
 
 Dol. Yes, truly, I have been asham'd, but it is 
 so lonsr since 
 
 Bid. That you have forgot it, I suppose. But I 
 disturb you, forsooth] 
 
 Dol. No disturbance, sweet sir ; I want fine 
 words to express my love in. I am sorry that 
 the cart-wheel of fortune should drive me into the 
 coach-box of your affection. 
 
 Bid. Fortune will take it scurvily to call her 
 wheel a cart-wheel ; besides, coach-box and cart- 
 wheel did never agree in this world yet. 
 
 Dol. I am not able to express my love as it 
 deserves ; but I have four hundred pounds in gold, 
 if that will do it. 
 
 Bid. By my faith, you express yourself very well, 
 and I will woo you heartily for it. Madam, you 
 have struck me with such a desperate dart from 
 those fair somewhat or other that you have about 
 you. Are you sure you have the gold you spoke 
 of? 
 
 Dol. Yes, my dear heart, very sure. 
 
 Bid. Then if I do not love you above all woman- 
 kind, perish me, and sink me, refuse me, rot me, 
 and renounce me ! 
 
 Cor. Hold, hold, hold ! do you call this wooing 1 
 
 Bid. Yes, faith ; I had a sister cast away Avith the 
 very same speech, therefore do not interrupt me,
 
 166 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 for I know all mankind woos thus. And as I was 
 swearing, madam, the devil take 
 
 Lieut. Enough, enough, enough, enough ! 
 
 Bid. But, madam, are you satisfied 1 
 
 Dol. I am, to the full, and do believe you. 
 
 Bid. But if you please, madam, now my hand is 
 in, to accept of a hundred or two of oaths more. 
 
 Dol. No, no, no — by no means ; I believe you 
 without 'em, and I am yours. 
 
 Bid. I have not sworn out half my alphabet yet. 
 
 Dol. You have done sufficiently, indeed. 
 
 Bid. Well, give me your hand, then. You are 
 the first woman, certainly, that was ever gain'd 
 with so little swearing. 
 
 Cor. Thou hast wooed her and won her most 
 bravely ! 
 
 Bid. Have 1 1 Why, then, I'm thine. But hark 
 you. Lieutenant and Cornet, we will be married 
 privately, and in the dark, because her face shall 
 not turn my stomach. Madam, I have one ill- 
 humour — I cannot abide a woman with a bare face ; 
 therefore, if I could buy you a masque that would 
 stick to your face and never come off", I believe I 
 should love you very well. 
 
 Dol. I'll have a masque, or Avhat you please, my 
 dear ; 
 Next bout, I hope, will be my turn to jeer. 
 
 Lieut. Come ! let's in, and visit our new 
 quarters. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Eaggou making quarters, Constables, 
 and Neighbours. 
 
 1 Neigh. I beseech your worship do not quarter 
 so many upon me ; I'm but a poor man. 
 
 2 Neigh. Alas, poor man ! you have overcharg'd 
 him. Eogue, he has more money than half the town !
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 167 
 
 Pm(J. You be a dam dog to betray your neigh- 
 bour. Who woukl tink to find de devel in a 
 country bumpkin 1 Begar, me vill make use of 
 your devilry. 
 
 1 Neigh. I pray your worship, take four horse 
 from me. 
 
 Rag. You be a dam rich dog ; begar, you sail 
 have a squadron upon you if you no understand 
 me. 
 
 1 Neigh. How should I understand you 1 
 
 Rag. You be a dam dog ; begar, me ^dll put 
 twenty horse upon your back till you understand 
 a moi ! Vat vill you give me if I take all de horse 
 from you 1 
 
 1 Neigh. Indeed I'll pray for your worship. 
 
 Puig. ho ! be dat all 1 Do you understand no- 
 ting but prayer ] Divel, you fool ! vat be prayer to 
 de quarteer-master 1 But can you pray in French ] 
 
 1 Neigh. Alas ! not I, an't please you. 
 
 Bag. Den, begar, your English prayer will no 
 save a Frenchman ; you sail have ten arse more fo 
 dat. 
 
 2 Neigh. An't please you, monsieur, I under- 
 stand you. 
 
 Bag. You sail have no arse upon you. 
 
 3 Neigh. And I understand you very well, sir. 
 Bag. Begar, you have very mush, a great deal of 
 
 understanding ! 
 
 3 Neigh. Here are more of our neighbours that 
 understand you, sir. 
 
 Bag. Begar, den me undestand too ! Get all your 
 money togedra, and put in my pocket yourself; den 
 me can swear, begar, me never take no penny of 
 you, aha ! 
 
 3 Neigh. We Avill do it gladly, sir, and pray for 
 you too.
 
 168 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Eag. Begar, me no care for clat. But you dam 
 dog that no understan a moi sail quarteer all de 
 troop ; and den look to your wife, for, begar, Flea- 
 Flint vill so get your sliild for you. [Exeimt. 
 
 Enter Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, Burndorp, 
 Lieutenant, Cornet, Raggou, and Dol. 
 
 Burn. Lieutenant, we have done the work. 
 
 Fer. We have burnt seven towns. 
 
 Flea. We have rais'd fourscore pound. 
 
 Lieut. Y' are dexterous at your trade — ^you have 
 made quick despatch ; but peace, we'll share anon ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Now you're Avelcome. Come, where's the boors o' 
 th' house ] We'll see what my quarters can afford. 
 AVhere are you all ] What house here, ho ? 
 
 Enter Woman and Maid. 
 
 Worn. What want you, sir ? 
 
 Lieut. Art thou the woman o' th' house 1 
 
 Worn. Yes, sir ; a poor woman. 
 
 Lieut. Art thou poor 1 — what a pox do I in such 
 a quarter 1 Why, Quarter-Master Raggou, is this 
 the best house in the village 1 
 
 Rag. Zoun ! hang 'em, they're very rich dog ; but 
 you sail have no meat for yourself, no oat for your 
 arses, but her dam husband vill feast you all wid 
 pray for you. 
 
 Lieut. Diable, you Rotterdam whore, I'll make 
 you bring out your things ! Where's your cows, 
 your calves, and your sheep 1 
 
 Worn. Alas ! we have none, sir. 
 
 Cor. Hast thou any drink, good woman ? 
 
 W^om. No, tnily, we have none. 
 
 Flea. Nor hast thou no wine nor strong water, 
 good woman 1
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 169 
 
 fVom. No, indeed, we have none. 
 
 Bag. Why, den, a pax take you, good woman ! 
 
 Lieut. No hens, nor turkeys, nor swine, nor no- 
 thing 1 
 
 Bag. Hang her ! begar, she hide everyting when 
 dey hear me come to make a de quarteer. 
 
 Fer. Send to the market town and buy pro- 
 visions, and be hang'd, or I'll set fire o' your house, 
 you damn'd dery damn'd whore ! 
 
 Bag. Zoun, dis dam coward, how he domineer 
 over de bumpkin woman ! 
 
 TFoman. Alas, we have no money, sir ; — not we. 
 
 Fer. What dost thou tremble and shake so for 1 
 What a pox ails thee 1 
 
 Cor. AVhat shall we do ? Threat'ning will not 
 serve the turn. 
 
 Lieut. Do but second me, and I'll make 'em 
 bring out all they have, I Avarrant you I Do but 
 talk as if we us'd to eat children. 
 
 Fer. 'Tis enou2:h ! 
 
 Lieut. Why, look you, good woman ; we do be- 
 lieve you are poor, so we '11 make a shift with our 
 old diet. You have children i' th' town 1 
 
 Worn. Why do you ask, sir 1 
 
 Lietit. Only have two or three to supper. Flea- 
 Flint, you have the best way of cooking children ! 
 
 Flea. I can powder 'em to make you taste your 
 liquor. I 'm never without a dried child's tongue 
 or ham. 
 
 JFom. Oh, bless me ! 
 
 Flea. Mine 's but the ordinary way ; but Ferret- 
 Farm is the man : he makes you the savouriest jDie 
 of a child's chaldron that ever was eat. 
 
 Lieut. A pox ! all the world cannot cook a child 
 like Monsieur Eaggou. 
 
 Bag. Begar, me tink so ; for vat Avas me bred in
 
 170 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 de King of Mogul's kitchen for? Tere ve kill twenty 
 shild of a day ! Take you one sliild by both his 
 two heels and put his head between your two leg, 
 den take your great a knife and slice off all de 
 buttack, so fashion ; begar, dat make a de best 
 Scots collop in de varle ! 
 
 Lieut. Ah ! he makes the best pottage of a child's 
 head and purtenance ! But you must boil it with 
 bacon. Woman, you must get bacon ! 
 
 Fer. And then it must be very young. 
 
 Lieut. Yes, yes. Good woman, it must be a fine 
 squab child, of half a year old ; a man-child. Dost 
 hear 1 
 
 Worn. Lord ! yes, sir. 
 
 Rag. Do you hear 1 Get me one she-shild, a 
 littel whore-shild, and save me all de lamb-stone 
 and sweetbread, and all de pig-petty-toe of de 
 shild. Do you hear, you Roundhead whore ? 
 
 Worn. Ay, sir, ay. that ever I should live to 
 see such men ! [Exit. 
 
 Lieut. I warrant you it works. If there be pro- 
 vision in the country, we shall have it. 
 
 Flea. How the whore trembled for fear ! 
 
 Cor. We shall have all the women in the village 
 about our ears. Hide-bound whores ! it 's a ques- 
 tion whether they '11 part with their meat or their 
 children first. 
 
 Lieut. This foolery will be noised about the 
 country, and then the odium will never be taken 
 off". 
 
 C<yr. Why, what can they make on 't 1 All un- 
 derstanding people will know it to be mirth. 
 
 Lieut. I know they will ; but the envious priests 
 will make fine talk on 't, and make a great advan- 
 tage on 't too. Though they know it to be nothing 
 but mirth, they '11 preach their parishioners into a
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 171 
 
 real belief of it, on purpose to make us odious. 
 They '11 preach against anything. I heard a scan- 
 dalous sermon of two hours long against Prince 
 Eupert's dog. 
 
 Cor. Come ! 'tis no matter what hypocrites 
 preach ; let us see what the event will be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Women in a fright, alarmed by their 
 Neighbour. 
 
 Worn. Look to your children ! If ever you 
 mean to see your children alive, hide your chil- 
 dren : they 11 eat your children ! 
 
 1 Neigh. Woe is me ! what's the matter, neigh- 
 bour? 
 
 IVom. I say, hide your children. 
 
 2 Neigh. Ah ! good neighbour, what's the 
 matter 1 
 
 Worn. Why, run away with your children ! 
 
 3 Neigh. Why, that ever we were born ! 
 What's the matter 1 
 
 Worn. They will eat our children. 
 
 4 Neigh. Oh, these bloody cavaliers ! How ! eat 
 our children ] 
 
 Worn. They talk of boiling your children. 
 All. Oh, mercy on us ! 
 Worn. And roasting your children. 
 All. Oh, bloody villains ! 
 Worn. And baking your children, 
 1 Neigh. Oh, hellish cavaliering devils ! 
 Worn. There's nothing to be thought of but 
 hiding your children. 
 
 1 Neigh. I would mine were in my belly again ! 
 Worn. That's not safe; they'll search therein 
 
 the first i^lace, to be sure. 
 
 2 Neigh. I'll hide mine in the straw.
 
 172 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 TFom. And so we shall have one of 'em lay 
 you down a-top of it, and smother one child whilst 
 he is getting another. I say, run away with your 
 children ! 
 
 3 Neigh. Oh, bloody wretches ! I have heard 
 much of their getting children, but never of their 
 eating children before. 
 
 4 Neigh. Neighbour, their getting of children 
 might be borne with ; but eating 'em was never 
 heard of. 
 
 Worn. They have got a cook from the Great 
 Mogul on purpose to kill children ; and they talk 
 of roasting their haunches, and baking the chal- 
 dron, and broiling the chine. 
 
 Maid. And making pottage of the child's head 
 and purtenance. 
 
 All. Oh, deliver our poor children ! 
 
 IVom. Do you stand whining and crying? 
 Fetch out your sheep, and your calves, your hens, 
 your pigs, and your geese, and your bacon; for 
 there 's no other way to save your children. 
 
 All. Ay, with all our hearts ! 
 
 1 Neigh. I'll bring two fat sheep. 
 
 2 Neigh. I'll bring turkeys and hens. 
 
 3 Neigh. I have a brave fat calf, worth eleven 
 nobles ; by my troth, I had as lieve part wdth one 
 of my children. 
 
 JFum. Oh, you uncharitable beast ! Go fetch 
 your calf. Run, everybody, and bring your things 
 to my house as fast as you can drive ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant, Cornet, Flea-Flint, Fer- 
 ret-Farm, BuRNDORP, aiul Raggou. 
 
 Lieut. Meat or children to supper, for a wager, 
 gentlemen 1 
 
 Cor. Meat, for a wager, if they have it. .
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 173 
 
 Lieut. Ay, without doubt ; for never was woman 
 and children so alarmed in this world. 
 
 Flea. When they were got together, and told 
 their children would be eaten, they set up their 
 throats and made a more horrid noise than a Welsh 
 hubbub, or an Irish dirge. 
 
 Enter Nurse tvith two children. 
 
 Per. How now ! what think you if we be put 
 to eat children indeed] By this light, here's a 
 woman "svith two children ! 
 
 Lieut. We shall be crossbit with these country 
 whores. What shall we do 1 
 
 Rag. Begar, me vill help you off; you sail eat 
 no shildren ! 
 
 Nurse. By your leaves, your good worships, I 
 make bold to bring you in some provisions. 
 
 Fer. Provisions ! Where — where is thy pro- 
 visions ? 
 
 Nurse. Here, an't please you. I have brought 
 you a couple of fine fleshy children. 
 
 Car. Was ever such a horrid wdiore ? What shall 
 we dol 
 
 Nurse. Truly, gentlemen, they're as fine squab 
 children— shall I turn 'em up ? They have the 
 bravest brawny buttocks ! 
 
 Lieut. No, no ! But, woman, art thou not 
 troubled to part -with thy children 1 
 
 Nurse. Alas ! they are none of mine, sir ; they 
 are but nurse-children. 
 
 PMg. Dere be a dam whore for you ! 
 
 Lieut. What a beast is this ! Whose children 
 are they ? 
 
 Nurse. A Londoner's, that owes me for a year's 
 nursing. I hope they'll prove excellent meat. 
 They're twins, too !
 
 174 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 PMg. Aha ! but, begar, we never eat no twin- 
 shild ; de law forbid dat. But, hark you ! have 
 any woman with shild in de town ? 
 
 Nurse. Yes, half a dozen. 
 
 Rag. Lieutenant, it be de best meat in de varle ! 
 Begar, a woman with shild is better meat den one 
 hen with egg at Shrovetide. 
 
 Enter Landlady and Women with p-mnsions. 
 
 Lieut. How now ! what news, landlady 1 
 
 JFom. Here is a great many poor women that 
 
 have brought in provisions, in hope you'll spare 
 
 their children. 
 
 1 Neigh. We beseech your worships, spare our 
 poor children, and you shall want for nothing our 
 country can afford ! 
 
 Lieut. Good woman, we are content to spare 
 your children, but you must get us some strong 
 drink. 
 
 2 Neigh. Ay, ay; we'll get you everything 
 you want. 
 
 Lieut. Why, then, go all home, and be contented ; 
 for we promise you, if we eat any children, it shall 
 be the two nurse-children. 
 
 All. Ah, preserve you all, gentlemen ! 
 
 Rag. Take some comfort, for if we should eat 
 your shildren you sail no be a loser by dat ; for 
 look you, good Avoman, how many shildren we eat 
 in a parish so many shild Ave are bound to get 
 before we leave it. Dat is very fair. 
 
 [Exeunt Women. 
 
 Lieid. Why, is not this better than fasting ? 
 
 Elea. Well, and what harm is there in all this ? 
 
 Cor. None i' th' world. Come, let's in and 
 dress our supper ! 
 
 Rag. Me will go eat at my OAvn quarteer. It be
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 175 
 
 a brave ting to be in office. Begar, de clowns 
 worship me as if me were deir great god Bumpkin ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Act IV. — Scene i. 
 Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, and 
 
 BURNDORP. 
 
 • 
 
 Flea. Lieutenant, here 's all our country creAv 
 that we plundred yesterday. 
 
 Fcr. But our comfort is they knoAv us not, but 
 cry out of a Frenchman, with two coat sleeves 
 stuffed like two country bag-puddings. 
 
 Lieut. This cunning rogue has crossbit you all. 
 He has been plundering as he went to make his 
 quarters, and in a buff coat too ; for here is a 
 dozen fellows at my quarter, and they all describe 
 a rogue so like thee that I protest thou wilt 
 suffer for it. Nay, the rogue called himself Flea- 
 Flint too ! 
 
 Flea. Ouns ! what shall we do, sir 1 
 
 Lieut. Upon my word, this is no jesting business. 
 
 Fer. 'Sheart, over-reached thus ! 
 
 Lieut. You must e'en think of over-reaching 
 him again. You must first think of stopping the 
 clamour of the bumpkins ; that 's your first point 
 of security. 
 
 Flea. But, Lieutenant, how should we do 't 1 
 Faith, you must try your wits, and stick to us. 
 
 Limt. I knew you would venture so far 'twould 
 come to my turn to fetch you off at last, rogues. 
 
 Flea. Why, sir, my man and his both shall 
 swear Raggou borrowed a buff coat of them.
 
 176 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Lieut. Let liim be gone first, and then you may 
 swear anything. One of you go, tell the bumpkins 
 I am searching for the rogue ; the rest go with me 
 to Eaggou. [Exit Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Burn. This is his quarter. 
 
 Lieut. This ? Knock ! It seems to be the best 
 house i' th' town. [Knoclcs. 
 
 Maid. Who would you speak with 1 [JFitkin. 
 
 Lieut. With Monsieur Raggou. 
 
 3Iaid. Sir, he gave us strict charge to let nobody 
 speak with lym. 
 
 Lieut. But I must and will speak with him. 
 
 Maid. Indeed, sir, he charged us, upon pain of 
 his displeasure, not to disturb him. 
 
 Lieut. Pain of his displeasure ! What an im- 
 pudent rogue 's this ! Show us, show us ! 
 
 [Raggou is discovered in a taffata bed, ivith a 
 back, breast, and head-piece on. 
 How now I — what ! in taffata curtains 1 The im- 
 pudent rogue makes me laugh. You rascal, 
 Raggou ! Look, in his head-piece, too ! 
 
 Rag. Who de devel disturb me? You dam 
 whore, you know vat me do to you last night ! 
 
 Lieut. AVhy, what was that you did to her last 
 night 1 
 
 Bag. Begar, me lie with her at three motion, as 
 de musketier shoot off his gun — make ready, pre- 
 sent, and give fire. 
 
 Lieut. 0' my Avord, that's good discipline ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, she sail make ready for you, if you 
 will present and give fire. 
 
 Lieut. But how came it that I had not this good 
 quarter 1 
 
 Bag. Because me knew me should make a de 
 quarter but one night ; and so, begar, me make a de 
 best use of my time, as all the whole varle do too.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 177 
 
 Lieut. But what a rogue art thou ! Why dost 
 thou lie in such a bed in thy arms ] 
 
 Bag. For two gran reason, sir. First, because 
 my French louse sail go great way about before 
 he come to de clean sheet ; next, because a de dam 
 English flea shall not bite a my sAveet French 
 body. 
 
 Lieut. Well, maid, go down ; I must speak with 
 him. [Exit Maid. 
 
 Hag. Vat you have wid me, Lieutenant 1 
 
 Lieut. Faith, out of my love I Avould save thee 
 from hanging. 
 
 liag. Hang ! For vat 1 Begar, hang me if me 
 deserve, so you hang all dat deserve a de hang. 
 Begar, dat is de whole troojj — Lieutenant and all ! 
 
 Lieut. Here you plunder in one shape, and there 
 in another — sometimes, like Flea-Flint, in buff; 
 sometimes like yourself, — that here is all the 
 country come in with such horrid complaints. 
 Nay, they say you ravish women too ! 
 
 JRag. Lieutenant, begar, me never ravish but one 
 old woman, and she give me live shilling for my 
 pain. 
 
 Lieut. Nay, here is worse than all that ; my Cap- 
 tain has intelligence you're a dangerous man, and 
 hold correspondence with the enemy. 
 
 Hag. Me sail be hang, Lieutenant, if you tink 
 so. 
 
 Lieut. Nay, 'tis so ; I have orders to search you. 
 Put that in his pocket, and pull it out again. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Hag. Ah, begar, me have no long life before 
 me be hang ! 
 
 Burn. Oh, sir ! are you good at that 1 He was 
 going to convey letters out on 's pocket. 
 
 Bag. Begar, he lie, Lieutenant ; me have no 
 
 M
 
 178 THE OLD TRO0P. 
 
 lettra ! Begar, hang a me if me can write an 
 read ! De hornljook be de Hebrew to me, begar ! 
 
 Lieut. Search him, search him. 
 
 [Search, and pulls a letter out and an engine. 
 
 Burn. Here's a letter. Lieutenant, and an engine, 
 I think. 
 
 Flea. What's this 1 
 
 Lieut. Oh, you need not write and read if you 
 have this. I'll be hanged if this be not the key 
 of his character he writes to the enemy with. 
 
 Hag. Dat make a de French pie, and make a 
 de garniture for de dish ; dat be all ! 
 
 Lieut. Let's see. The case is plain ; he sent 
 his intelligence in characters of paste. This very 
 thing will hang him. But let's read the letter. 
 
 Hag. Begar, me have no lettra ! De devil send it 
 in my pocket ! 
 
 Lieut. (Beads) " Monsieur Raggou, in hope that 
 under this poor disguise of a French cook you 
 will show a rich faith " 
 
 Rag. Vat he mean by fait ] Begar, me have no fait ! 
 
 Lieut. (Beads) " And when you have delivered 
 up your troop to us, the Parliament will own you 
 as yourself, and give you the respects due to your 
 great and honourable family." 
 
 Bag. Devel, me have no honourable, nor family 
 neider, begar ! 
 
 Flea. The case is plain ; you are of some great 
 family. 
 
 Bag. Lieutenant, me confess me come of de 
 King of France kitchin, of de honourable family 
 of de Turn-spit. Begar, me tell you true, dere be 
 all my family, and my honourable too. 
 
 Burn. Oh, sir, 'tis a very canning fellow. My 
 Captain sends word he used to be conversant with 
 the Roundheads, and pray with them.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 179 
 
 Bag. The devil take a me, me never pray in 
 my life ! Me swear altogedra in de King of France 
 kitchin ! 
 
 Lieut. I love you so well that I'd be loth to 
 hang you, monsieur ; therefore I'm content to let 
 you 'scape. But be sure you be not taken. 
 
 Rag. Begar, den hang a moi, for my arse vill 
 no go very far. 
 
 Lieut. Well, pray be gone, and say you found 
 a friend. 
 
 Pittg. Gad a bless you, Lieutenant. Ven me come 
 in France, zoun, me vill so pray for you ! 
 
 Flea. And yet you say you never prayed in 
 your life. 
 
 Rag. Begar, me tank Gad me never have occa- 
 sion to pray till just now. Adieu, adieu^a 
 
 Who send me dat dam lettra in my pocket 1 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Lieut. Well, now we must keep the bumpkins 
 here till he is gone, and then give 'em orders to 
 search the countries for him. 
 
 Burn. And that will whidle them as well as 
 if you had given them their money again. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Governor, Captain Holdforth, Mr. 
 Tell-Troth, and Captain Tubtext. 
 
 Hold. In truth, drinking is a harmless recrea- 
 tion so we proceed not to drunkenness. 
 
 Tub. Pray, how far forth may Ave proceed in 
 drink 1 for I would take no more than is fit to be 
 taken with a safe conscience. 
 
 Tell. Why, Captain Tubtext, if thy belly were 
 as large as thy conscience, by that computation 
 the great tun at Heidelberg would be just thy 
 morning's draught. 
 
 Tab. Here is old Tom Tell-Troth I ha, ha, ha !
 
 180 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Hold. In truth, if lie were not very faithful, we 
 should never away with his boldness. 
 
 Tub. Well said, Captain Holdforth ! But to the 
 question : How far may Ave proceed in drink 1 
 
 Gov. As far as the innocent recreation of knock- 
 ing one another down with cushions come to. It 
 is the exercise of our superior ofl&cers. 
 
 Hold. I have observed, indeed, they do three 
 things together : they drink, then practise pulpit 
 faces 
 
 Tell. To cheat the people with ! 
 
 Tub. Ha, ha, ha ! In truth, you hit so home ! 
 
 Hold. And the third is throwing of cushions. 
 The practising and dissembling of holy looks is of 
 great use and design. 
 
 T\ib. And drinking and throwing cushions a 
 great refreshment to the body. 
 
 Gov. As, for example. [Throivs a cushion. 
 
 Hold. Ha, ha, ha ! I have seen our grandee 
 throw a cushion at the man with the great thumb, 
 and say, " Colonel, wilt thou be a cobbler again ?" 
 
 [Throios a cushion. 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Tub. Come, here 's to you, Governor ! you, Co- 
 lonel Goldsmith, with a conscience as dirty as a 
 blacksmith, will you sell thimbles again 1 
 
 [Throws a cushion. 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Hold. Noble Colonel, wilt thou brew ale again 1 
 
 [Throws a cushion. 
 What an everlasting cheat is reformation and false 
 doctrine ! It has raised us from cobblers to com- 
 manders. 
 
 Tiib. There is no other way to raise rebellion 
 but by religion. 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha !
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 181 
 
 Gov. I never knew the use of religion before. 
 
 Tub. The women tickle like trouts at it. Ha, 
 ha, ha ! [All laugh. 
 
 Tell. I believe the country will find it so, for I 
 hear of twenty wenches "with child. 
 • Gov. In truth, I wonder at the witchcraft of 
 it ; for, notwdthstanding the people have been bit 
 through the chine-bone with it, yet, for all that, be- 
 fore the old wound is healed, they are ready to run 
 after the lanthorn of new lights again. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Tell. Well, sirs, since you are in such an in- 
 genious Avay of confessing, tell me one thing. Do 
 not you wish your garrison a-fire, so you were at 
 home with all the wealth you've got 1 
 
 Tab. Thought 's free. But talk no more of that ; 
 these are both treacherous rogues ; I dare not 
 trust 'em. 
 
 Tell. Well, you are merry, sirs ; but faith, be 
 plain, sirs. What says my seeming saint that 
 drinks by the conscience ? Dost not wish thyself 
 at home, wallowing in thy plunder 1 
 
 Hold. You might find a better name for it. 
 Hark in your ear ! we are all such treacherous 
 rogues, we dare not trust one another, but we'll 
 talk in private. 
 
 Gov. But our contribution women Avill come in 
 anon. 
 
 Hold. Ha, ha, ha! In truth, they edify as one 
 would have 'em. 
 
 Tell. Well, noAv, you ought to be serious, and 
 consider the enemy 's approaching. 
 
 Tub. In truth, a good occasion to fetch in all 
 the goods and chattels of the country, upon pre- 
 tence of securing them, and so make conditions 
 with the enemy to march away Avith them. I see 
 we shall be rascals to the last gasp.
 
 182 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Hold. And so we shall have provisions for a 
 long siege. 
 
 Gov. I'll make your siege short enough. 
 
 [Exit Governor and one Captain. 
 
 Tub. You are faitliful ; they are rogues. Read 
 that, and tell me whether you will undertake or 
 no. [Gives Tell-Troth a letter, aiul exit. 
 
 Tell. How very good ! Is 't possible "? This is 
 a greater rogue in his own nature than the devil's 
 invention can make him. He would not only be- 
 tray his trust, but deliver up all the rest of the 
 garrison to mercy, conditionally that he may have 
 all their wealth, and safe convoy to his own house. 
 I need lay no plot ; 'tis done to my hand. I love 
 the King well ; yet my own ends are mingled, be- 
 cause I have a mistress among 'em, and cannot 
 have her but by serving the King. And I believe 
 most men have their reasons for their loyalty as 
 well as I ; so that, good king, wheresoe'er you see 
 me, trust to yourself. Yet I wall do something. 
 What if I betrayed this rogue and his letter to 
 the Governor, to secure myself? But then, if 
 they have a mind to deliver up the garrison, 'twill 
 make 'em shy of me. I find I have a hard task 
 on't. 
 
 Enter Governor. 
 
 Gov. 0, Tell-Troth, I came to ask thee a ques- 
 tion ; and what thinkst thou ? 
 
 Tell. Troth, I knoAv not. 
 
 Gov. To know Avhether thou lov'st me truly or 
 no. 
 
 Tell. If you be serious, I could be angry with 
 you for raising such a doubt. To show you that 
 I love you (I do not say your cause, but you), read 
 there. Look you, one of your Captain Eogues
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 183 
 
 gave me that letter ; and the other gave me a 
 whisper to the same purpose, too. 
 
 Gov. Is 't possible 1 What 's to be done with 
 these villains ? 
 
 Tell. Something must be done ; they '11 betray 
 you else. 
 
 Gov. I thank thy honesty ; I find it so. 
 
 Tell. Shall I speak boldly 1 Serve 'em in their 
 own kind. 
 
 Gov. In troth, I had it in my head before to be- 
 tray 'em, for the rogues are rich. 
 
 Tell. Come ! let not you and I be shy of one 
 another. Do it yet ! 
 
 Gov. Art thou in earnest 1 
 
 Tell. By my life ; and I will put you in a way, 
 too. 
 
 Gov. Let 's in, and consider how. Had we best 
 secure 'em 1 
 
 Tell. No. First command their two companies 
 out, then draw 'em into several parties, and then 
 Avith your own company disarm 'em, and so clap 
 them up and their officers ; then show 'em the 
 reason (this letter). "When that's done, send the 
 letter to the Parliament, and write how you have 
 secured 'em ; which will so ingratiate you with 
 them that you'll never be suspected for betray- 
 ing on 't yourself. 
 
 Gov. My worthy friend, shall I fall on my knees 
 and Avorship thee 1 
 
 Tell. Let 's be wise, and about our business. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Cornet and two Troopers. 
 
 Cor. "\Miere have you been, sirs ] 
 1 Troop. Why, we have been to take Flea- 
 Flint. My captain is resolved to hang him.
 
 184 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Cor. For what 1 
 
 2 Troop. For plund'ring, and so forth. But 
 the rogue has intelligence of it, and is gone ; but 
 he is in as bad a case as Raggou, for we must 
 send hue and cry after him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Eiiter Raggou. 
 
 Rag. Ah, jan povera de moi ! my arse can no 
 carry me from de danger of de hang a de moi ; 
 and yet me have spur two such great hole in his 
 rib dat you may creep quite trow him. Me must 
 go change mine coat and mine hat ; begar, me sail 
 be known by dat ! Vat come here now ] 
 
 Enter Frenchman loith a Shoio. 
 
 What come 1 
 
 French. Come ! who see my fine shite, my rare 
 shite 1 Who see my fine shite, my rare shite 1 
 
 Bag. Monsieur, where you go wid your shite 1 
 
 French. To de Bristol Fair, monsieur. 
 
 Bag. Dis Frenchman look as if he will be hang. 
 Begar, me vill put a de sheat of de hang upon 
 him ! Monsieur, begar me have de very fine shite 
 too, and it vill come de Bristol Fair too. It be de 
 great vonder of de varle ; it be de great fat droma- 
 dory. You hear of dat 1 
 
 French. Wee, wee ; all de varle know de fat 
 dromadory. 
 
 Bag. Begar, you and me vill join partiner in de 
 Fair, because you be my countryman. 
 
 French. Ay, monsieur, and tank you too. 
 
 Bag. We vill give out in de bill of de two 
 famous Frenchman ; one inventra de show of all 
 trade, and de oder make a de invent of de fat dro- 
 madory. 
 
 French. Monsieur, wid all my heart !
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 185 
 
 Puig. Very good. You sail go take a de best 
 house in de town. Dere be two piece, two jacoby 
 for you ; get some vera good dinner. You sail 
 take a my coat and de hat, and leave your show 
 wid me, for my waggon will come wid my dro- 
 madory presan. 
 
 French. I had good luck to light o' this French- 
 man. \_Aside. 
 
 Bag. Begar, me have betra luck to light o' dis 
 Frenchman ! So, help me wid your wastcoat — 
 vera good. So, now, make all de haste in de 
 varle. Adieu, adieu ! [Exit Frenchman. 
 
 So now, begar, me be very safe ! But how de 
 devil sail me show mine shite 1 Begar, me forget 
 to ask vat language all de puppet in de show 
 speak. Farla Francois, Monsieur Puppey ? Owieda. 
 Aha ! very good ! 
 
 Fnter Constables. 
 
 1 Con. Sure we shall catch this fellow at last, 
 for we hear of him everywhere. 
 
 2 Co7i. Ay, his two sleeves stuffed, and his 
 French hat edged with ribbons, will discover him. 
 
 Bag. Diable, dere be de constable and Mr. Hue- 
 Cry come to catch a me. — Who see my shite, 
 my rare shite, my fine shite 1 Begar, me sail shite 
 myself indeed ! 
 
 1 Con. What a pox does he mean 1 
 
 2 Con. He would have you see his show. 
 
 1 Con. Come, faith, let us. You, fellow, come, 
 let's see your show ! 
 
 Bag. How sail me do now 1 Begar, me must 
 show it as well as me can. 
 
 2 Con. Sirrah, did not you see a Frenchman 
 pass by 1 
 
 Bag. Frenchman ? Yat have he upon him ?
 
 186 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 1 Con. Why, he has a greasy coat with the 
 sleeves stuffed out. 
 
 Piag. A pox take him ! Begar, he rob me just 
 now of two piece — all me have in de varle ! Dat 
 make a me cry. 
 
 2 Con. rogue, rascal ! — alas to-day ! Give him a 
 crown, churchwarden ; we are at the parish charge. 
 
 1 Con. Come, do not cry, poor fellow ; let 's 
 see thy shite. There 's a crown for thee ! 
 
 Picig. A Gad bless you ! Here be de brave shite 
 of de varle ! — here be de King of Spain play on de 
 bagpipe to his Privy Council. Dat 's a very good 
 jest. Den dere be de King of Solomon ; he give 
 judgment upon de wise child. Dere is de first 
 act. Now, put on your hat, and look upon all de 
 lady. [Plays and sings. 
 
 "Jam more cum povera bla cum povera, 
 Jam, jam, jam, jam tomba nette, 
 Jam, jang tombe nette equbla." 
 
 Now, here be de Queen of Swiveland. She sit in 
 great majesty ; her leg hang over de chair, vera 
 full of temiJtation — make your chops watra. Vera 
 good jest. Den dere be de whore of Babylon ; 
 she make great love to de May-pole in de Stran. 
 Second act. 
 
 " Jam more cum povera," etc. 
 
 [Plays and sings. 
 
 Dere be de King of Denmarks and Norvay learning 
 to juggle of de Bishop of Munsera. Dat 's a very 
 good jest. Dere be de silent ministra ; he make 
 a de long preach in de play-house, Dere is tre 
 act ; dat is all. 
 
 2 Con. I thought your plays had always had 
 five acts 1
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 187 
 
 Rag. Dey be de great puppet have five act ; de 
 little puppet have but tre. Vill you go catch dis 
 dam dog for me, and get a my money for me agen, 
 my two jacoby ? Begar, me be undone if you no 
 catch dis dam dOg for me ! 
 
 1 Con. We'll away. We'll have him, I war- 
 rant thee ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Rag. Begar, me be very fine sheat, if it vill hold 
 out. But hold a — vat if dey catch my coat 1 Be- 
 gar, den dey \\\\ hang a my coat. But dam dog 
 vill confess me have his show, den. Begar, me sail 
 be hang A\'id mine coat. Begar, me vill put away 
 mine show ! 
 
 Enter Flea.-Flint, ivitli Hue and Cry after him. 
 
 Who de devil is dat 1 
 
 Flea. A pox on 't ! I must be robbing alone, and 
 without my Lieutenant's advice. I must be care- 
 ful, or suffer for it. The rogues follow me with 
 hue and cry ; I am not able to go farther ; I must 
 change my clothes. How now — what fellow's 
 this 1 'Sheart, would I could persuade him out of 
 his show, and take my cloak for it ! 
 
 Rag. Begar, would me could persuade him to 
 take my show, and give me de cloak for dat ! 
 
 Flea. Come hither, honest fellow. 
 
 Rag. Devil, it is Flea-Flint ! Ah, me be povera 
 de moy ; begar, me be half-hang already. Me vill 
 no speak French, begar, den he vill know me ; me 
 vill belch Dutch at him. Yaw, min heer. 
 
 Flea. Come hither, honest man. What 's that ? 
 — a show ■? 
 
 Rag. Yaw, min heer. Begar, me vill slit my 
 mouth from one ear to de odra to speak good 
 Dutch ; and den when me speak French, begar,
 
 188 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 me vill sew it up again. Dere 's a vera good trick 
 to save a my life ! 
 
 Flea. Fellow, wilt thou sell thy show % 
 
 Rag. Yaw., min heer. Begar, dis Dutch make me 
 vera sick. Look ! begar, every time me cry Yaw, 
 min heer, dere come up a pickle herring with it. 
 Yaw — look, dere it go ! 
 
 Flea. Art thou a Dutchman 1 
 
 Bag. Yau', verathticke. 
 
 Flea. Where hah you de neder lands go Weston ? 
 
 Bag. Diable, vat sail me say 1 Begar, me have 
 no more Dutch ! 
 
 Flea. Hah you de neder lands go west Lanceman ? 
 
 Bag. Ich haben de Hoigh Butch lamler -goe weston 
 Lanceman. 
 
 Flea. Nay, it may be what Dutch it will, for I 
 can speak no more. 
 
 Bag. Ick maken loeel vamler slapan can helder 
 ho light. 
 
 Flea. But wilt thou sell thy show 1 
 
 Bag. Yaw, yaio, ick vill van hundred gilder haben. 
 
 Flea. That's ten pound ; that 's too much. 1 
 would I had it at any rate ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, never fear ! you sail have it. 
 
 Flea. Wilt thou take five pound 1 
 
 Bag. Neave ick ; ick maken de show myself, 
 and ick maken dat better as dis, and dat's better 
 as dat, and dat's better as all, begott. 
 
 Flea. I hear 'em coming. Here's ten pound 
 for thee, and I'll give thee my cloak to boot, 
 and hat. 
 
 Bag. Dere be my show and my cap. Me tank 
 you, Lanceman. So, dis dam rogue never do no 
 good in all his life before ; and me hope, begar, he 
 vill be hang for dat ! [Exit. 
 
 Flea. Now, what shall I do with this show, for
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 1 89 
 
 I cannot show it ] Why, if anybody would see it, 
 I must say it's locked up, the key is gone before 
 to Bristol Fair ; that 's all I have for 't. 
 
 Enter Constables, looking for Flea-Flint. 
 
 4 Con. Come, sirs, we shall have him at last. 
 
 3 Con. Stay, sirs — what fellow's this ? Who are 
 you, sir] 
 
 Flea. A poor man, master, going with my show 
 to the Fair, to get a penny ; and a rogue has robbed 
 me of all I have, almost ten pound ! 
 
 4 Con. damned rogue ! Had he not a gray 
 cloak and hat ? 
 
 Flea. Ay (wicked villain !), the same, master. 
 
 3 Con. It 's the same rogue we are looking for ; 
 we shall have him i' th' Fair, I warrant you. Let 's 
 away ! [Exeunt Constables. 
 
 Flea. This rogue thinks himself so safe now, and 
 he'll be hanged sure enough if they catch him. 
 
 Enter the first Constables lolth him tlmt had Eag- 
 Gou's clothes. 
 
 1 Con. Look you, there's the notorious rogue 
 with the show. Take him ! 
 
 Flea. What would you have with me, gentle- 
 men] 
 
 French. Begar, me vill have my show from you ! 
 
 Flea. Pox take you and your show ! A damned 
 rogue that had it has robbed me of ten pound 
 and my hat and cloak. 
 
 1 Cm. Come, these are both rogues ; bring 'era 
 away ! 
 
 1 Watch. Hold ! it will do us no good to have 
 them hanged ; what if we plunder them, as they 
 use to do us ? 
 
 Con. 'Tis a very good notion. Do you hear ?
 
 190 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 We are to ask you a question. Will you be 
 hanged or be plundered ? 
 
 Flea. I'll be hanged before I part with my 
 mone}'. 
 
 2 Watch. Then let's hang him; we can take 
 his money when he is dead. 
 
 Con. Then do you hang him. 
 
 Enter Bumpkin, passing over the stage. 
 
 1 Watch. Not I ; I know not how to hang him. 
 
 2 JFaich. Troth, hang him yourself, if you'll 
 have him hanged. 
 
 Con. Dost hear, brother Bumpkin 1 I'll give 
 thee an angel, and hang this fellow. 
 
 [Constable calls to the Bumpkin. 
 Bump. It is not worth while for one, but I'll 
 take angels apiece to hang you all. 
 
 Con. Hang you, rascal ! Come, there, fall on, 
 boys, and plunder him. [Phmcler Flea-Flint. 
 
 Flea. Pray you, gentlemen, give me some money 
 again to bear my charges home. 
 
 Con. There's a crown for thee, and farewell ! 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Bumpkin. 
 Bumf. Hey day ! this will prove a very wonder. 
 That Bumpkin should soldier plunder. 
 
 Act v.— Scene i. 
 
 Enter a Joiner, Servant, and a Painter at one 
 door, and Eaggou at another. 
 
 Serv. Joiner, make haste, and set your t'other 
 post up ; and painter, fetch your colours, your 
 pots, and pipkins, and paint this post in the mean- 
 time. It must be despatched before the people are 
 stirring.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 191 
 
 Paint. My things are all ready, sir, at the next 
 house. We can scarce see to work yet. 
 
 Serv. And be hanged, then ! Go, get some ale to 
 clear your eyesight ; I'll warrant you'll see the 
 bottom of the pot well enough without daylight. 
 
 Join. Make what haste you can; I'll bring my 
 post as soon as you'll be ready to paint it. \^ExH. 
 
 Pa'ud. I'd laugh at that, i' faith ! But, friend, 
 what noise was this all night ? I think the Avatch 
 was searching for somebody. 
 
 Serv. Ay, ay ; hark, you may hear 'em searching 
 still. Why, it seems 'tis a kind of outlandish 
 Frenchman that they look for ; he has a gray hat 
 and a gray cloak. But come, let us mind our 
 business, and make haste. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Rag. Dat be- me. Dey slander a moy ; me be 
 no outlandish Frenchman — begar, me be a French 
 Frenchman ! Hark, dey come ! Vat sail me do ? 
 Begar, me vill stand for de odra post till de dam 
 bumpkin be gone. A pox take 'em ! — de devil 
 could not hue and cry me so close. How sail 
 me do to be like a dat post ? Hark, dey come 
 now ! 
 
 [Raggou gets upon the piost, and sits in the pos- 
 ture of the other post. 
 
 Enter Constable and AVatch. 
 
 Con. Pox o' this outlandish French fellow for 
 me ! — I 'm as dry as a dog. 
 
 1 Watch. So we are all; let's go and knock 
 'em up at an alehouse, and eat and drink a little. 
 
 2 JFatch. With all our hearts. 
 
 Enter Painter. 
 
 Honest painter, canst tell where we may have a 
 little ale ?
 
 192 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Paint. Ay, sure ; two or three doors off you '11 
 find 'em up, and a good fire, where you may toast 
 your noses, boys. 
 
 Con. Thou did'st not see an outlandish French- 
 man this way 1 
 
 Faint. No, I saw no Frenchman. 
 
 [Exeunt Constables and ^YATCH. 
 ^Vhy, what a devil ! — this joiner has been here, and 
 set up his post before I came. How time slips 
 away at an alehouse ! 
 
 Bag. Begar, would a good rope would slip away 
 you too ! 
 
 Paint. Now to work. [ JFJiistles and paints him. 
 
 Hag. He vill paint a me ; vat sail me do 1 
 
 [As he stoops, Eaggou throws a stone at him. 
 
 Paint. A pox o' these roguing prentices ! Sirrah, 
 I'll have you by the ears ! A company of rogues ; 
 a man cannot work for you ! If you serve me 
 such another trick, I'll break all your windows. 
 
 Bag. De pox break all your neck ! 
 
 [Throws the pipkin at him as he stoops. 
 
 Paint. Why, you damn'd rogue, you have broke 
 my head. 'Sheart, I'll complain to your master. 
 Spoil'd all my colours, too ! I'll not endure it y I'll 
 be reveng'd, whatsoe'er it cost me. [Exit. 
 
 Bag. A pox dis rogue I — he murder mine face 
 wid his dam paint. Now de coast be clear, me 
 ^dll take a de coat of Monsieur Jack Painter and 
 go ; for begar, dere be no stay in dis town for moy. 
 
 Enter Joiner ^vith his post. 
 
 Hark ! dere be sonieting ; me must be de post 
 agen. A pox on dat ! 
 
 [He stands vp for a post again. 
 
 Join. Why, how now 1 — Avhat a devil ! another 
 
 post, and none of my work ] 'Sheart, do you em-
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 193 
 
 ploy two men at once 1 I'll not be used thus ; I'll 
 be paid for my work, and then let the devil set up 
 your posts. [Exit. 
 
 Bag. So, now, begar, me vill take de coat of de 
 Jack Paintra, and de post of de Jack Joiner, den 
 no man will suspect a moy. [Offers to lift the post. 
 Diable, it is too much heavy for moy ; begar, me 
 betra be hang den have all dis dam joiner sit upon 
 me. Diable ! and vould me vere in bed vrvCi all 
 de king of France army. Begar, me vould fain see 
 vat dam English bumpkin, Mr. Hue-cry, come fetch 
 me from dem. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Servant, Painter, and Joiner. 
 
 Sen\ A^^iy, what a foolish fellow art thou to be 
 so angry ! I employed no joiner but thyself. 
 
 Join. 'Sheart, there were two carved posts up, 
 and I'm sure I iDrought the third. 
 
 Sen: Thou art mad, and so is this fool too. To 
 complain of throwing stones at thee, Avhen we 
 have ne'er a prentice, nor none "\\'ithin six doors 
 of us ! 
 
 Paint. I'm sure my pipkin's broke, and my head 
 too ; pray, look here ! 
 
 Serv. Why, what's here 1 Here's a broken pipkin 
 indeed, but where's the three carved posts 1 
 
 Join. There were two stood up when I came to 
 the house, and I set the third down here. Ouns \ 
 my post and my tools and all's gone ! 
 
 Serv. I believe you are both drunk. 
 
 Paint. Heart, man, I jDainted the post that stood 
 there. 
 
 Join. Well, and heart, man, I brought the 
 t'other, an' you call it heart man ; and all's gone, 
 you see. 
 
 N
 
 194: THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Serv. My masters, go look after your things, and 
 make an end of your work. 
 
 Paint. Let's go search for tliis fellow that stole 
 our goods here. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Tell-Troth and DoL. 
 
 TeU. Oh, Dol, d'ye hear ] Put her off till your 
 friend come as before you pretended, and say 
 you'll marry when the garrison is delivered up. 
 
 JDol. The Lieutenant and Cornet are very eager 
 to have it despatched, that they may have the 
 money I promised ; and then they are resolved to 
 laugh me to death. 
 
 Tell. Well, hut you know it will be our turn to 
 laugh at them, if all be right you have told me. 
 
 Dol. Upon my life, I have been faithful in all 
 points ; and I find I shall take pride in doing good 
 since I have prospered so well in serving you. 
 
 Tell. Your reward shall ansAver your service. I 
 must to the Captain, and give him an account of 
 all I undertook, which will meet his expectation. 
 
 Dol. Let me alone to manage my undertakings. 
 
 Enter Captain a7id Lieutenant. 
 
 Tell. Here's the Captain. Be you gone, there- 
 fore ; I would not be seen with you till I make 
 him acquainted with everything. [Exeunt. 
 
 Lieid. But pray, sir, why are you thus severe 
 now, to banish the flint-flayers 1 
 
 Capt. The King's honour and interest is so 
 abus'd with these scandalous fellows that I'm re- 
 solv'd to cashier 'em. 
 
 Enter Tell-Troth. 
 
 Oh, friend Tell-Troth ! Look you, Lieutenant, my 
 opinion seldom fails me.
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 195 
 
 Tell. So you had some dispute, then, concerning 
 me ] Look you, sir, it's now in my power to do 
 more than ere I hop'd for. You have a foot com- 
 pany ? 
 
 Capt Yes ; they are now marching into the 
 quarter. Lieutenant, see they march fair, and do 
 no wrong. [i^.r/^ Lieutenant. 
 
 Tell. Read that ! Ui^on my life there is hut 
 three companies, and two of 'em are disarmed 
 and prisoners, officers and all. I laid no plot to 
 do it. I found 'em all ready to lietray one an- 
 other to get the wealth ; the manner how, here- 
 after. The governor has commissioned me to 
 make his conditions, which znust be a convoy, 
 with all his wealth, to his own home. The 
 country bring in their plate and goods to secure 
 'em from your party, and he'll make conditions 
 with you to march away with them and so cheat 
 the people (precious rogues !), besides what they 
 preach the women out of. 
 
 Caj^t. That must not be, for the King has intelli- 
 gence that they have great treasure there. 
 
 Tell. Does he know how they came by it 1 
 
 Capt. Yes, very well ; with the cheat of preach- 
 ing; I mean tub-preaching and lectures. The 
 lectures your wives read you never awed you so. 
 
 Tell. But faith, sir, give him his conditions ! 
 
 Capt. I'll storm it first. 
 
 Tell. I intend not to have you keep conditions 
 when you have made 'em. 
 
 Capt. That's base ! I scorn that ; my honour is 
 at stake. 
 
 Tell. What ! for breaking articles with a rebel 1 
 Had it been a fair enemy, I grant you. Suppose 
 you storm it, and be beaten off"? The King would 
 give you little thanks for the punctilio of your
 
 196 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 own private honour. Let your lieutenant do it ; 
 the captain may with his honour break the con- 
 ditions that bis lieutenant makes. 
 
 Capt. I may approve of that ; I would not have 
 my own band appear against me. But I am glad 
 to see you thus earnest for the King. Sure you 
 have some design ? 
 
 Tell. By my troth, I have, but so small a one 
 it is not worth this labour ; you shall know it, for 
 you must assist me. 
 
 Capt. With all faithfulness. 
 
 Tell. Come, then, let's sign articles ! So, march 
 and take possession. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Eaggou like an old woman. 
 
 Bag. Me vill make a me nose of wax like de 
 old woman, and vill go to Madame Dol and tell 
 her me come from Monsieur Eaggou. Vera good ! 
 And if she vill beg liis pardon of de Capitain, he 
 vill come and marry her, although her shild be 
 born wid a shart, and back, and breast too ; for, 
 begar, me find in my conscience me had betra 
 marry a dam whore dan be hang. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Tell-Troth, Captain, Lieutenant, 
 Cornet, etc., with the Governor j^risoner. 
 
 Tell. Now, sir, are you satisfied in my faith 1 
 Cajyt. I am so ; and I have found you a worthy 
 person. Command me to anything. 
 
 Tell. Then I'll make you merry till I go about 
 my design. Captain Tubtext, that got the two 
 sisters with child, is now in bed with them eating 
 a sack posset ; and that we may both shame and 
 fright 'em, there are bears i' th' town, and other 
 shows that are going to Bristol Fair. Now, I'll 
 speak to the bearward to muzzle a bear, and turn
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 197 
 
 liim loose into the room, and I'll bring you where 
 you shall see the sight. 
 
 Cwpt. Content, for I am a great lover of sports. 
 Let not the shows go away, for I mean to celebrate 
 Dol's Avedding. 
 
 Lieut. That's kindly done. You'll need no 
 other sport than to see Dol rant and tear when 
 she finds she has married a girl. 
 
 Capt. But the sport will be when you and the 
 Cornet receive your fifty pound a-piece you told 
 me of. 
 
 Lieut. Yes, faith, we shall have it sure enough. 
 
 Capt. Yes ; for 'tis deposited in my hands. 
 
 Cor. Never was jade so deeply in love ; but the 
 jest is, the girl has made conditions with Dol to 
 put on a mask when she is marrying, for her face 
 is so bad she cannot away with it. 
 
 Capt. Give all the troop favours ; let 'em de- 
 spatch, and bring them in to the baiting of the 
 sack posset, and let the country be summoned in ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 [TuBTEXT and his Sisters are discovei'ed in bed 
 eating a sack posset. 
 
 Enter Captain, Lieutenant, Cornet, and 
 Ferret-Farm, above. 
 
 Tub. Here is this spoonful in remembrance of 
 our sweet sister's precious fruit she goes with. 
 
 [He piuts a spoonful in each of their mouths.^ 
 
 1 Sister. My tender and most shame-faced 
 thanks be returned you. 
 
 Tub. Now, here is to the maiden-fruits of this 
 our weeping sister. Wipe your tears. If they 
 were cavaliering burthens you went with, your
 
 198 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 case were mournful ; but as they are my offspring, 
 repent not, for your infants, be assured, will be 
 babes of grace. 
 
 Ca])t. ^Vllat a damn'd rogue is this ! 
 
 1 Sister. Why, then, it seems we religious lambs 
 may play ^Yith. one another without sinning ] 
 
 Capt. Was ever such blasphemous rogues and 
 whores 1 I tremble to hear 'em. Let in the bear 
 upon 'em ! 
 
 1 Sister. Here is to this our sweet comforting 
 man! 
 
 2 Sister. I am overjoyed to hear that religious 
 lambs may play, and yet not sin. 
 
 [Put their spoons in his mouth. 
 
 Enter Bear. 
 
 Tub. AVhat's here 1 — a bear ! Mercy upon us ! 
 
 All. Help, help, help, help ! 
 
 Tub. Shift for yourselves, sweet sisters. 
 
 Ca2)t. Kow bear ! now saint ! 
 
 Lieut. Halloo, saint ! — halloo, bear ! I'll hold 
 
 Cor. Hundred pound of the bear ! — thou boy bear ! 
 
 Lieut. A hundred pound of the saint ! So, now, 
 take off your bear. 
 
 Fer. By my faith, we must stave and tail him 
 off for aught I see, Captain. I have been at many 
 a bear-baiting, but never at a saint-bear-baiting 
 before. [E.vit Bear, etc. 
 
 Cajjii. Now, sir, is your name Tubtext 1 
 
 Tub. Yea! 
 
 Cajyt. And do you think your two whores are 
 with child with two babes of grace 1 
 
 Tub. Yea, foul mouth ! 
 
 CajJt. What an audacious rogue is this ! And 
 dost thou really believe thyself in such a degree of
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 199 
 
 iserfection that thou canst not sin, and so need no 
 repentance 1 
 
 Tub. Yea, sure, we are past repentance. 
 
 Ca])f. Thou damn'd villain, I believe thee. 
 Blasphemous rogue ! how many poor souls hast 
 thou deluded ? Sirrah, it were just to make thee 
 marry these two women, and then hang thee for 
 having two wives ! 
 
 Enter Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Fer. Sir, our wedding folks are coming, and are 
 so merry and so pleas'd that, if their joy continue, 
 the example will make us all marry. 
 
 Entei' Biddy as bridegroom, Tell-Troth in her 
 hard dressed in Dol's clothes, and DoL in other 
 clothes^ and Raggou dressed like an old woman 
 icifh a muffler. 
 
 Look you ! here they are, pleased as you see ! 
 
 J)ol. Now stand you here till I beg your pardon 
 of my Captain. 
 
 Bid. By your leave. Captain, I have made bold 
 to espouse your old handmaid, Dol. And give us 
 leave to laugh, for faith my Lieutenant and Cornet 
 has cheated her, Captain, for they have matched 
 her to a girl. I am a very girl ; and yet I have 
 not wrong'd you, for I told you before I could not 
 get 3'our children. 
 
 Tell. And we laugh to think how we have 
 cheated you ; for though you cannot get my 
 children, if I can get yours we shall do well 
 enough. 
 
 Bid. Lord, what's that? — that is not Dol's 
 voice ! 
 
 Dol. Y' are i' th' right ; it is not Dol's voice, nor 
 Dol that has married you — keej) the money, Cap-
 
 200 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 tain — but your old love, Tell-Troth. Pray have 
 your money, Lieutenant, before you laugh me to 
 death. 
 
 Bid. What ! my old lover, Tell-Troth ? 
 
 Tell. Now the laugh is on our side, gentlemen. 
 Come, be not troubled, for I am the same honest 
 lover that e'er I was. 
 
 Bid. Nay, I'll swear thou deserv'st me ; thou art 
 a desperate lover to venture on a wench that has 
 troop'd so long under such a handsome cornet. 
 But he's a fool too, for if he had followed his blow 
 close at one time, he had had all that I could have 
 given him. 
 
 Tell. I had spies upon you, and am well assur'd 
 of your honesty. Ask Dol ! 
 
 Dol. Yes, faith, I watched your water at every 
 turn. Do you remember he would have gone 
 o' til' score for your maidenhead ? But you cried 
 'twas worth ready money at any time ; but marry 
 me, and then halloo dog for thy silver collar. You 
 remember this 1 
 
 Bid. Ay, to my shame I do. 
 
 Tell. What, are you ashamed that you are 
 honest ? 
 
 Bid. No ; but I'm ashamed that I lost so much 
 time, for I'm sure thou would'st ha' had me, 
 honest or not honest. 
 
 Tell. Come, be not troubled ; I pass by all. 
 
 Bid. I love thee for thy confidence ; give me thy 
 hand. By my life, I'm very honest ; but I have 
 had as much ado to keep myself so as ever poor 
 wench i' th' world had. 
 
 Cor. But I hope, Biddy, you and I shall not lose 
 our acquaintance 1 
 
 Bid. If my husband Avill have it so, I cannot 
 help it. But I hope he has more wit than ever to
 
 THE OLD TROOP. 201 
 
 let me see you again ; if you have not, husband, in 
 good faith, at your own peril. 
 
 Tell. I'll have wit enough ; fear not ! 
 
 Enter Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Fer. Sir, here's the country gentlemen come. 
 Ca;pt. Pray, let 'em come in ! 
 
 Enter Country Gentlemen. 
 
 Gentlemen, 'tis not unknown how publicly you 
 have appeared against your Prince, and how secure 
 you thought yourselves under the protection of 
 these hypocrites. But, to show you what rogues 
 they are, all the wealth that you brought hither to 
 be secured from us, they would have made con- 
 ditions to have marched away with, and so cheated 
 the whole country ! Look you, there 's their arti- 
 cles ! — there 's reformation for you ! 
 
 1 Gent. We are deceived indeed in them — to 
 have used us thus ! 
 
 Capt. You must own, gentlemen, that all the 
 wealth that 's here is justly forfeited to the King. 
 
 2 Gent. We grant it, worthy Captain, and our 
 lives to boot. 
 
 Capt. Although the wealth that 's here be great, 
 and the King's wants require it, yet, to show that 
 he had rather have his subjects' hearts than money, 
 he has commissioned me to return every man his 
 
 own again 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, this gracious act of the King, and 
 your readiness to perform it, shall turn us all faith- 
 ful subjects to the extent of our lives and fortunes. 
 
 Capt. Now, you deserve his mercy. 
 
 Dot. Sir, will you grant me a request 1 Poor 
 Raggou has sent me word, if I can beg his pardon 
 of you, he '11 marry me.
 
 202 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Capt. Dol, you have been instrumental to our 
 friend Tell-Troth ; I must grant you anything. 
 
 Dol. Then pray, sir, let's make a little sport 
 with him. Who do you think that old woman is 1 
 
 Capt. I know not. 
 
 Dol. 'Tis Raggou himself. Pray, fright him a 
 little before you seal his pardon. 
 
 Capt. "What a devil has he done to his face 1 
 
 Dol. I know not. I believe he has clapt wax 
 upon 't. 
 
 Capt. Now, good woman, what would'st thou 
 have 1 
 
 Rag. Me come in de crowd, in hope to see a 
 soldier hang. It Avould be great satisfaction to de 
 country, truly. 
 
 CapA. Well, good woman, where dost thou 
 dwein 
 
 Bag. Begar, me have no dwell ; vat sail me say 
 to him 1 — I live at Bristol town's end, an't please 
 your worship. 
 
 Capt. But, woman, if thou would'st tell me 
 where to find a plundering Frenchman called 
 Eaggou, the country should hang him Avith all my 
 heart; for that's a notorious rogue, and he shall 
 be hanged if he live above ground ! 
 
 Rag. Begar, he serve a me vera well to hang 
 me ! Vat a devil make a me come here 1 Dis be 
 my vit ! A pox on mine French vit ! [^Askie. 
 
 Capt. Woman, find out that rascal for me. Here 
 is ten shillings in earnest ; and when thou takest 
 him I '11 make it ten pound. 
 
 I Rag. But will your worship secure me that I 
 shall have no harm if I find him 1 
 
 Capt. Ay, upon my honour, before all this com- 
 pany, thou shalt have no harm. 
 
 Rag. Bear witness, gentlemen. Now give me ten
 
 THE OLD TROOP, 203 
 
 pound, for. begar, me be de man ; me be Monsieur 
 Eaggou ! 
 
 All. How ! Monsieur Eaggou ! 
 
 Rag. Wie, mafoy, ha, ha ! Me have sheat a my 
 capitain of ten pound, and save a my life too ! 
 Dere be de French vit ! Begar, me honour my vit 
 very much for dat ! 
 
 Capt. Call the Marshal. Take him, and hang 
 him upon the next tree. 
 
 Rag. Hang a moy 1, Did not you before vitness 
 engage your honour dat me sail have no harm ? 
 Begar, you vill do me great deal wrong if you hang 
 me now ! 
 
 Cajit. I promised, indeed, that the old woman 
 should have no harm ; l)ut Eaggou shall certainly 
 be hanged. 
 
 Rag. Aha ! dere be a dam English trick vill 
 hang a Frenclmaan ! But hold, hold ! if you hang 
 Eaggou, how can you save de old Avoman ? Dere be 
 law case for you ! Let me have fair play for my life. 
 
 Capt. Take the old woman's garments and lay 
 them up safe, and then they have no harm ; then 
 my honour is clear, and here is Eaggou fairly to 
 be hanged. 
 
 Marsh. Come, come aAvay ! 'Tis a plain case ; 
 you must hang for 't. 
 
 Dol. Why were you such a fool as to come 
 hither 1 
 
 Rag. For love of you, you dam whore, you ! 
 
 Dol. Why would you betray yourself for ten 
 pound 1 
 
 Rag. Dat be my cunning. De hangman sail 
 have de ten pound because he sail no hurt a me 
 when he hang me ! But, Capitain, begar you can 
 no hang me in justice ; for de old woman is Eag- 
 gou, and Eaggou is de old woman, and de devil
 
 204 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 can no part us. So, if you hang Raggou, you hang 
 de old woman, and you hang your own honour too, 
 begar ! 
 
 Capt. Well, sir, you have pleaded so well for 
 yourself, that, conditionally you Avill marry Dol, 
 I'll pardon you. 
 
 Rag. If you tink it better to marry den to be 
 hang, Capitain, me leave all to your judgment. 
 
 Capt Why, then, marry her. 
 
 Rag. But who sail keep de shild ? 
 
 Capt. The troop shall keep it. 
 
 Rag. Why may not de troop as veil marry her, 
 and me vill make one ] Dat 's very fair, me tinks. 
 
 Capt. Nay, you may be hang'd yet if you "vvill. 
 \He takes the naman in one hand, and the 
 halter in the other. 
 
 Rag. Let a me see. Here be whore, and here 
 be halter — vera fine shoice, begar ! Me can no 
 tell which to shuse ; but me vill e'en stan to mine 
 fortune, and cross and pile for it. 
 
 Capt. By my troth, it shall be so ! And take your 
 choice — cross or pile ] 
 
 Lieid. Why, cross he shall *be hanged, and pile 
 he shall be married. 
 
 Rag. No, begar ! It shall be cross if me be 
 married, and pile if me be hang. 
 
 Lieut. Now it 's an even lay whether this farce 
 be a comedy or a tragedy. 
 
 Cor. Come, gentlemen ; whore or halter for a 
 wager 1 
 
 Lieid. Whore, for a wager ! 
 
 Cm: Halter, for a wager ! 
 
 Rag. Hold, hold ! Vat if it be nedra cross nor 
 pile] 
 
 Capt. If it be neither cross nor pile, thou shalt 
 neither be married nor be hanged, upon my honour.
 
 THE OLD TKOOP. 205 
 
 Come, here is your fortune for you. I' faith, 'tis 
 cross ! Thou art to be married. 
 
 Bag. Den dere be your halter again, and me 
 tank you. 
 
 Capt Come, take your beloved wife, and strike 
 a match. 
 
 Rag. Den let her take me, and de devil in hell 
 give her good of me ! 
 
 Capt. Then you have my pardon, and all is well. 
 
 Enter Ferret-Farm. 
 
 Per. Sir, here are two of Queen Elizabeth's tilters, 
 going to Bristol Fair, desire to dance before you. 
 Ca/pt. With all my heart. Call 'em in ! 
 
 A dance of two hohhy-horses in armour, and a jig. 
 
 You have done well. AVhere 's my man 1 Give 
 'em half a piece. You have done prettily indeed. 
 Lieutenant, cashier the flint-flayers. As for these 
 hypocrites, I '11 keep them prisoners till the King 
 dispose of 'em, which will be but too mercifully, 
 I 'm sure. 
 
 Cor. I suppose, Governor, the Parliament will 
 reward you with some Bishops' lands for being so 
 honourably pulled by the ears out of your gar- 
 rison] 
 
 Capt. Come, upbraid 'em not ; I hate that. To- 
 morrow, sirs, summon in the country, and every 
 man shall have his right. 
 
 All. God bless the King, and all his good 
 soldiers ! 
 
 Cajjt. You see, Lieutenant, how with good usage 
 the people return to their loyalty, I know you 
 are a brave fellow ; but you have been to blame in 
 the country, and that dis-ser\'es your Prince more 
 than your courage can recompense.
 
 206 THE OLD TROOP. 
 
 Lieut. Sir, you shall never have occasion to say 
 this again. 
 
 Capt. I believe you ; and I wish that the great 
 timber, the pieces of state, that lie betwixt the 
 King and subjects — 
 
 I wish that they would take a hint from hence, 
 To keep the people's hearts close to their Prince ! 
 
 [Eiieunt omnes.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Prologues and epilogues should something say, 
 
 In order to the excusing of a play ; 
 
 But things to the purpose being laid aside, 
 
 We shoot at random at least six bows Avide, — 
 
 Speaking of this or that, of sea or land, 
 
 Of any matter but the thing in hand. 
 
 If men with such faults poets do commence, 
 
 I may put in with my impertinence. 
 
 And though my dull Muse cannot make y' a feast, 
 
 I'd fain be thought a poet at the least. 
 
 I find I am one ; I can prove it plain. 
 
 Both by my empty purse and shallow brain. 
 
 I've other symptoms to -confirm it too ; 
 
 I've great and self-conceit of all I do. 
 
 I have my little cullies, too, i' th' town, 
 
 Both to admire my works and lend a crown. 
 
 My poet's day I mortgage to some citt, 
 
 At least six months before my play is wTit ; 
 
 And on that day away your poet runs, 
 
 Knowing full well in shoals come all his duns. 
 
 If these things make me not a perfect poet, 
 
 He that has better title let him show it.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 

 
 Sir Hercules Buffoon ; or the Poetical Squire. A Comedy. 
 As it tvas acted at the Duke's Theatre. Written by John 
 Lacy, Com. London : Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh, Book- 
 seller to His Royal Highness, at the Black Bull in Cornhill. 
 1684.
 
 Langbaine says: "This play was brought upon the stage, 
 and publisht after the author's decease. The Prologue 
 was writ by Mr. Durfey, the Epilogue by Jo. Heyns the 
 comedian, and both spoken by the latter. I know not how 
 this play succeeded in the theatre ; but I am confident had 
 the author been alive to have grac'd it with Aw action, it 
 could not have fail'd of applause. This Mr. Durfey has 
 observed in the beginning of his Prologue : — 
 
 " ' Ye scribbling fops ! — Cry mercy, if I wrong ye. 
 
 But, without doubt, there must be some among ye ; — 
 
 Know that fam'd Lacy, ornament o' th' stage, 
 
 That standard of true comedy in our age. 
 
 Wrote this new play : 
 
 And if it takes not, all that we can say on't 
 
 Is, we've his fiddle, not his hands to play on't.' " 
 
 Geneste remarks : " This is a posthumous comedy by Lacy. 
 It was acted at Dorset Garden." He speaks disparagingly 
 of the play, and ends -wdth " Lacy's friends should have 
 buried his fiddle with him." 
 
 Jo. Haines or Hayns, who spoke the Prologue, and who 
 wrote and spoke the Epilogue, was an actor in great repute. 
 His life was a roving, and consequently a varied one, and he 
 constantly aimed, but very frequently fell far short of his 
 mark, at carrying out the comedian, or rather Imtfoon, oflfthe 
 stage as well as on it. An account of him will be found in 
 the prefatory memoir to Tom Killigrew's Dramatic Works 
 in the present series ; but as more immediately in connection 
 with the author of the present volume, it may be well to 
 notice the following incident here. On the dissolution of 
 the play-house in Hatton Garden (1672), Hayns obtained an 
 engagement at Drury Lane, "at which time the Rehearsal, 
 writ by His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, was to be acted. 
 The famous Lacy, whose part was that of Bays, unseason- 
 ably falls sick of the gout, and consequently is" incapable of 
 appearing on the theatre. Hayns is looked upon as the fittest 
 person to supply the place of the distemper'd, his Grace 
 himself being j)leased to instruct him in the nature of the 
 part, and Mr. Lacy, by his Grace's command, took no small
 
 212 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 pains in teaching it him ; nor did Lacy gain less reputati(jn 
 by this his sutiragan and schollar than if he had acted it 
 himself. So well did Hayns perform it, that the Earl of 
 R[ochester], Lord B[rouncker ?], Sir Charles S[edley], and 
 several of the most ingenious men, ever after held him 
 in gi-eat esteem, which increased more and more with his 
 conversation."* 
 
 The dialogue of the present comedy is indued with no 
 inconsiderable amount of wit, and the characters are well 
 drawn — more especially those of the hero, and of the un- 
 principled Sir Marmaduke Seldin and his daughters twain. 
 
 * Life of the late famous Comedian, Jo. Hayns. Lond. 1701. 8vo.
 
 PROLOGUK 
 
 Written by Thomas Durfey, Gent. Spoken by J. 
 Haynes, Com. 
 
 Ye scribbling fops ! — Cry mercy, if I wrong ye, 
 But, without doubt, there must be some among 
 
 ^ye;— 
 
 Know that famed Lacy, ornament o' the stage, 
 
 That standard of true comedy in our age, 
 
 Wrote this new play ; 
 
 And if it takes not, all that we can say on 't 
 
 Is, we have his fiddle, not his hands to play on 't. 
 
 Against our interest he, to do you right. 
 
 Your foes the poets has abused to-night, 
 
 And made us like rude birds our nest besh — te. 
 
 We know. 
 
 If you would write us plays, they'd lose their 
 
 ends, 
 Kind parties still Avould make your pains amends ; 
 For there's no fop but has a Avorld of friends. 
 Who Avill like city Avhigs help one another, 
 And every noisy fool cry up his brother. 
 No more, then, rack for prologue or for song ; 
 Such trifles to dull quality belong. 
 Nor lampoon ladies that your virtues trust, 
 That bask in the hot Mall's pulvillio dust ; 
 Whose low-hung fringes, with attractive arts, 
 Hweep heaps of straAvs 'mongst crowds of lovers' 
 
 hearts.
 
 214 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Subjects like these will never get you fame ; 
 Nor can you write, if this be all your aim, 
 More than a rogue can sing that sets a psalm. 
 But if, like wits, you would the town oblige, 
 Write a good comedy on some famed siege. 
 But not in rhyme ; and if to please you mean. 
 Let Luxemburg be taken the first scene. 
 Yet, now I think on 't, choose another story ; 
 Some sparks that late went o'er to hunt for glory 
 Have spoiled that jest, and ta'en the town before 
 
 ye- 
 
 No Avonder, too, for who could stand their rage. 
 Since they with Couingsmark broadswords engage 1 
 I fancy you'll turn butchers the next age ; 
 For these new weapons look, that guard your lives. 
 Like bloody cousins-german to their knives. 
 I'll put a question t' ye. Pray does the writer. 
 As times go, get most credit, or the fighter ] 
 Wit is applauded when with fancy dressed ; 
 But to be knocked o' th' head's a cursed jest,— 
 A fate in which your forward fool miscarries. 
 No, 'tis much better to lie sick at Paris, 
 Where we can write what the French king intends. 
 And storm a town in letters to our friends. 
 Another inconvenience we must own ; 
 There's many a fool is by a bullet known. 
 That once passed for a Avit of high renown. 
 The proof of sense lies hid in safety here, 
 But when the skull is broke the brains appear. 
 Ah, sirs, if you to tlie rough wars should follow, 
 How many pates, like mine, would be found 
 
 hollow ] 
 Faith, then, take my advice, stick to Apollo ; 
 Write, and be studious in dramatic rules ; 
 For should our poets sound your shallow skulls, 
 You were undone for wits, and we for fools.
 
 THE ACTORS' NAMES. 
 Bowman," .' .' ' [ ]\ Two Gentlemen. 
 
 AOIWELL. 
 
 Lord Arminger. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke Seldin, Uncle and guardian to 
 
 the tivo heiresses. 
 Sir Hercules Buffoon, A loiter of wit and lymg. 
 Alderman Buffoon, . His uncle. 
 Squire Buffoon, . . Son to Sir Hercules. 
 Overwise. 
 
 A Judge, a Clerk, a French Tailor, and Women. 
 
 :Mariana, Ji:idest daughter to Sir 
 
 Marmaduke. 
 
 Fidelia, Youngest daughter to Sir 
 
 Marmadul'e. 
 
 Belmaria, 
 
 Innocentia, .... ^he two heiresses. 
 
 Lydia, A servant to Mariana. 
 
 A French Waiting Woman. 
 
 A Seaman, Lmer of Lydia. 
 
 Servants, Constable, Waiters, and Footboy.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Act I. — Scene i. 
 Unter Laton, Bowman, and Aimwell. 
 
 La. Dear Bowman, well met ! Aimwell, thy 
 servant ! 
 
 Bow. Oh, Mr. Laton, I was told you were in a 
 gay humour last night, — good company, and very 
 witty. 
 
 La. An easy thing for any man to be witty, or 
 a wit at my rate ; for we that make the greatest 
 hustle, tlie loudest noise, and are rudest to the 
 women, are called -vvits. 
 
 Boiv. Then you conclude rudeness and ill-man- 
 ners to be the ingredients of Avit 1 I see thou 
 understand'st some wit. 
 
 La. Yes, the wit of this age I do ; for to be 
 witty now is to be more troublesome in a play- 
 house than a butcher at a bear garden. That's wit 
 to tear women's clothes and linen off in the house ; 
 that's wit to see plays for nothing, — one act in the 
 pit, another in a box, and a third in the gallery, — 
 that's wit. And lastly, to cheat your hackney- 
 coachman, link-boy, and your whore, and give 'em 
 nothing — oh, that's mighty wit ! 
 
 Aim. Hang 'em, those are sherks, not Avits!
 
 218 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 La. They go for wits, I assure you, sir. When 
 a poor coachman has driven me all day, and I not 
 knowing how to pay him, I have bid him drive to 
 such a place, and there I tell him he must wait 
 till I have supped. Under that pretence I slip out 
 at a back door, and there, your coachman's paid ! 
 
 Aim. This is a very ungentleman-like wit, I 
 assure you. 
 
 La. Take heed what you say, for I always do it 
 when I am drunk. 
 
 Boiv. Ay, and when you are sober too, I doubt. 
 
 La. Faith, when I want money ! but now they 
 all know me so well, that when I call a coach they 
 drive away from me as the devil w^ere i' th' wdieels. 
 
 Aim. If thou call'st this wit, prithee be witty 
 no more. But, waiving all this, what news % 
 
 Bow. All the discourse o' th' town is of the two 
 great heiresses of the city — three hundred thousand 
 pounds betwixt two sisters ! 
 
 Aim.. 'Tis almost incredible that a merchant in 
 his lifetime should raise so vast an estate. 
 
 Bow. 'Tis no wonder. Several aldermen have 
 left greater sums, whose sons to this hour wallow 
 in wealth, and honour too. 
 
 La. Has their father left them orphans to the 
 cityl 
 
 Bmv. No ; but he has fetched his elder brother 
 out of prison, and made him their guardian. 
 
 La. If he be poor, they will as certainly be 
 bought and sold as soap and hops are at Sturbridge 
 Fair. 
 
 Bmv. Maybe not, for he's of great education; 
 and, though he be a man of parts and wisdom, yet 
 his pride would never suffer his high spirit to 
 stoop to his low fortune, but still spent on till he 
 was clapped in prison.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 219 
 
 Aim. 'Tis strange his brother should trust him 
 in that low condition. 
 
 Bow. 'Tis so ; but to encourage him to be just, 
 he has left him a thousand pounds a year for his 
 life. 
 
 La. For all that, they that bid most shall have 
 em. 
 
 Bow. He has two daughters of his own, indeed. 
 What his love to them may tempt him to I know 
 not ; but this men say of him, — he is the devil in 
 his anger, and in his temper the most airy, jocose, 
 and civil gentleman in the world. 
 
 Aim. So much for him, now for ourselves. How 
 design ye the day] 
 
 La, My business is to visit the famous Norfolk 
 knight. Sir Hercules Buffoon. They say he is come 
 to town. 
 
 Bow. I am glad to hear it, for he is a man of 
 great divertisement. 
 
 La. To most men he is a pleasant creature. 
 His ambition is to be a wit, but he wants materials. 
 All the tools he has towards it is lying ; and that 
 he does so well, that 'tis hard to know when he 
 lies and when he does not. 
 
 Aim. I have business with him ; let us all go. 
 
 Bow. Faith, let us call on my Lord Arminger, 
 for he loves such divertisement. 
 
 La. With all my soul, for I value him above all 
 mankind. 
 
 Aim. He deserves it, sir, for he has all points of 
 honour in him to perfection. 
 
 Bow. I am not the least of his admirers, and so 
 let's go wait upon him. [Exeunt.
 
 220 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke Seldin, Mariana and 
 Fidelia, his daughters. 
 
 Sel. Fortune, Mariana, has bailed me out of the 
 jaws of prison, and made me guardian to my 
 brother's daughters. Three hundred thousand 
 pounds they have, which shall lodge you both in 
 the arms of honour. But you must follow my in- 
 structions, and subtlely act your parts in my design. 
 
 Mar. So your design be just, sir. 
 
 Sel. Just ! Dare you question the actions of 
 your father 1 Does your conscience scruple to be 
 great, Madam Precision 1 
 
 Mar. No, sir, if that greatness be fairly pur- 
 chased ; but where have we fortunes to expect 
 such blessings 1 
 
 Sel. Is not three hundred thousand pounds 
 enough to invite the best of subjects to your bed, 
 madam ? 
 
 Mar. Bless me ! that's your brother's money, 
 left for his own dear children. I hope, then, you'll 
 not betray your trust, and strip yourself of that 
 honest fame you have ever lived in 1 
 
 Sel. Who would not be a knave, a damned one, 
 rather than a beggar ] Who can withstand this 
 great temptation 1 The fools, the wise, the learned, 
 nor the religious, have power to resist such a 
 blessed occasion ; why, then, should I be styled, 
 That honest fool ] No ! 
 
 Fid. Sister, can you forget that our wants made 
 our landlady attempt our virtues, saying she would 
 help us to a kind gentleman that would pay our 
 rent for us, if Ave would be kind to him again ] 
 
 Sel. A bawd, by my life ! Oh, damn her ! But 
 landladies are licensed bawds ; for paying scot and 
 lot they have vestry commissions to corrupt the
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 221 
 
 daughters of each parish. But say, Mariana, re- 
 solve you to obey ] 
 
 Mar. Sir, on my knees, I beg I may retire from 
 the mischiefs I foresee. Your honour and my 
 cousins' ruin are at stake, and must be lost. I'll 
 beg some heavenly guide tf) direct me where virtue 
 dwells. 
 
 Sel. That's where no mankind inhabits. Virtue 
 is a meagre, starved old woman, that lives in a 
 cellar on the alms of a parish ; and that's the 
 best preferment virtue ever purchased. 
 
 Fid. And will you be one of those virtuous old 
 women, sister? 
 
 Mar. Yes, and from my heart I wish you were 
 so too. 
 
 Fid. Thank you, sister ; but I hope 'tis time 
 enough to think of virtue when one's teeth are 
 out. To be a virtuous young woman and a vir- 
 tuous old woman too is too much. I think 'tis 
 fair, father, for a young woman to resolve to l)e 
 virtuous when she's old. 
 
 Mar. Would you not be virtuous whilst you're 
 young, sister 1 
 
 Fid. Yes, dear sister ; but one would not make 
 it their business. If it come, 'tis welcome ; if not, 
 by my troth, I'll not break my heart about it. 
 
 Sel. Thou art my own child, by heaven ! For 
 thee, Mariana, though thou art the treasure of my 
 heart, I'll tear thee from it, for it must be torn, 
 thou art so firmly rooted ; but henceforth I'll hate 
 thee for thy disobedience. Therefore, be gone ! 
 
 Mar. 'Tis the only thing my soul desires ; for I 
 had rather l)e the offspring of a monster than the 
 child of him who means such horrid wrongs to 
 those that trust them. 
 
 Sel. 'Sdeatli, lier saucy zeal has made her impu-
 
 222 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 dent ! You fanatic devil, dare you talk to me 
 thus and not shake and tremble 1 Has virtue be- 
 reft thee of modesty and manners 1 A curse upon 
 the errors of the age, when children grow precisely 
 obstinate ! The damned ignorant call that virtue. 
 
 Fid. Prithee consider, sister, virtue cannot main- 
 tain thee ; and when once 'tis known a hand- 
 some woman is in want, then, as the poet worthily 
 says, the powerful guinea cannot be withstood. 
 Pray you, sir, let me but have her one hour, I'll 
 make her sensible what destruction virtue brings 
 to womankind. But, pray you, tell her how great 
 she shall be ; I fancy an honourable title may pre- 
 vail with a tender conscience. 
 
 Sel. She shall be sure of the highest, or, if sub- 
 jects can arrive at greater dignities, we will still 
 fly higher. 
 
 Fid. But hark you, father, what shall I be all 
 this while 1 This tempting honour has kindled 
 such a fire in me that I'm ready to break out into 
 dignities, and cannot be quenched till I'm refined 
 and purified fit for empire. There's noble pride 
 for you, father ! 
 
 Sel. My own spirit dictates to thine, and makes 
 our hearts strike time and thought together. 
 
 Fid. Sister, look here. Farewell conscience ! for 
 greatness' sake I'd make no scruple to poison my 
 very father. 
 
 Sel. How ! how 1 
 
 Fid. If you stood betwixt me and honour, 
 father. 
 
 Sel. Oh, my genius ! my o-wTi dear genius ! 
 
 3far. Was ever thing so very young so very 
 wicked] Thou should'st ha' ta'en thy leave of 
 heaven fairly, and not suffered the society of devils 
 to have entered thee so soon.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 223 
 
 Fid, Alack, father, she'll preach anon ! I dare 
 swear a great pew in a fanatic church is her non 
 ultra. She has no honourable pride in her ; she 
 is not of our family. 
 
 Mar. From my soul I wish I were not. 
 
 Sel. That shall be granted, never doubt. The 
 thing I doat on more than heaven proves my 
 greatest hell. Thy virtue makes thee thy own 
 angel and my devil. 
 
 Mar. Well, I'll go where nothing of religion is 
 professed, and there, perhaps, may be no wicked- 
 ness ; for heathens, sure, have no sins of your mon- 
 strous growth. 
 
 Fid. 1 had rather be a rich and honourable 
 monster than a virtuous beggar, sister. 
 
 Sel. Is greatness, then, a monstrous sin 1 That's 
 like those malicious brutes who call coaches hell- 
 carts because they go afoot ; so you think wealth 
 monstrous because you are a beggar. That ever 
 we should bring our children up to be religious ! 
 It only teaches them to rebel against their Prince 
 and parents. Then Dame Nature, that cunning 
 jilt, commands and orders us to doat on them, 
 when they return nothing but ingratitude. Would 
 nature had let that subtle knack alone, for 'tis the 
 chiefest curse that mankind has, loving and pro- 
 viding for our brats. Come, minion, I'll provide 
 for you ; for, by the life that's lent me, if within 
 this hour you comply not, I'll ease your troubled 
 mind with this 
 
 Fid. Let me, father, but have her to my cham- 
 ber ; if I do not charm her to obedience, and, like 
 a twig, bend and supple her fit for all your projects, 
 then disown me too. 
 
 Sel. Thy words come from thee with an angel's 
 voice.
 
 224 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Mar. A devil's or a peacock's rather. 
 
 Fid. You bray like an ass, lady, and may come 
 into the concert. What harmonious music would 
 a peacock, a devil, and an ass make 1 The peacock 
 should chaunt the treble, the ass should bray the 
 tenor, and the devil should roar the bass. And to 
 these add but a sow-gel der, and say they are come 
 out of France, and they would pass for the best 
 music in Christendom. Come, foolish sister ; come, 
 angry father; I'll confute your she lay elder, never 
 fear me ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Sir Hercules Buffoon and Alderman 
 Buffoon at different doors. 
 
 Aid. My worthy nephew. Sir Hercules Buffoon, 
 I rejoice heartily to see you at London ! And pray 
 you, sir, what news does the country afford 1 
 
 Her. Why, all the news in the country is that 
 there's no news at London. 
 
 Aid. What ! and the Gazette bawling in the 
 streets twice a week 1 
 
 Her. Burn the Gazette ! we know what news 
 there's in't before it comes out. There's my 
 lady's little dog, with liver-coloured spots ; then a 
 horse stolen or strayed, fourteen hands high, they 
 that can bring tidings of him shall be well re- 
 warded. Then there's the old stop-gap ditto ; and 
 these are for ever and ever the news of the Gazette. 
 I'll be better informed in the country at a thatched 
 alehouse, Avhere the gentry meet twice a week to 
 communicate news. 
 
 Aid. But prithee, nephew, tell me what news 
 i' th' country ? 
 
 Her. They say for certain that London and 
 Westminster are grown so godly that in a whole 
 week there's scarce a cuckold made.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 225 
 
 Aid. You found not that in the Gazette, I 
 hope 1 
 
 Her. A pox on the Gazette ! They have got a 
 trick now to expound it, and they make as many 
 false interpretations as thou makest, uncle, when 
 tliou expound'st a chapter to thy family. 
 
 Aid. You are always jerking at the Scriptures, 
 and profaning the silent Ministers ; those are your 
 commonplaces. They say, now, ^-ou take delight 
 to be thought an Atheist and a Wit, forsooth. 
 
 Her. I confess I'd rather be thought an Atheist 
 than not a Wit. 
 
 Aid. They go together, indeed ; impossible to 
 part those two sins. 
 
 Her. They are as inseparable, I confess, as 
 matrimony; an Atheist and a Wit are incorporated, 
 and like man and wife become one flesh. 
 
 Aid. Or rather, grafted or inoculated into Bel- 
 zebub, and so become one devil. 
 
 Her. The truth is, thev are linked to<'ether like 
 sausages. 
 
 Aid. Ay, and they will fiy together like saus- 
 ages one day. 
 
 Her. In hell, thou meanest 1 They never value 
 that, man, for they that believe nothing fear 
 nothinf'. 
 
 Aid. Then you are counted the most notorious 
 liar of all Norfolk, which is a shame and dishonour 
 to the family of the Buffoons. 
 
 Her. Thou fool ! 'tis the only useful virtue be- 
 longing to a great family, and I am prouder of it, 
 uncle, than thou art of thy great Bible with huge 
 silver clasps. 
 
 Aid. A worthy virtue, indeed, when a liar's 
 (counted worse than a thief 
 
 Her. Y' are a rascal, uncle ; lying is one of the 
 
 P
 
 226 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 liberal sciences, and is the eminent'st profession 
 in the world but poetry. 
 
 Alii. A poet, indeed, is an excellent yoke-fellow 
 for a liar ; the devil could not ha' matched them 
 better. 
 
 Her. A City Presbyter and a silenced Minister 
 are better matched by half. 
 
 Aid. Thou'rt a wicked fellow ! Sure, there is 
 some secret delight in being a Wit, or else men 
 would never venture to be damned for't, as they 
 do. 
 
 Her. A man would venture anything to be a 
 Wit, uncle, — to have men honour and admire them, 
 and cry, There goes a Wit ! — That gentleman's a 
 Wit! Oh, there's more glory in that than in being 
 a Monarch ! 
 
 Aid. I believe I myself am a better Wit than 
 the best of them. I can repeat all Hopkins and 
 Sternal's psalms by rote ; and that's more than any 
 Wit in England can brag of 
 
 Her. Ha I ha ! what a thing has this fool found 
 out for wit ! Why, what the devil has wit to do 
 with religion ? 
 
 Aid. Nay, sir, I have got a hundred thousand 
 pounds by my wit ; that's the substantial part. 
 Your little flashy Wits ! their pockets are always 
 as empty as their heads. Money is wit, purchasing 
 is wit, planting is wit ; when they come to that, 
 I'll allow 'em to be Wits, — not before, I assure you. 
 But, where's your son 1 I mean to make a prentice 
 of him. 
 
 Her. I mean to make a Wit of him. 
 
 AM. First make a prentice of him, and then he 
 is qualified for wit, or any honourable title in the 
 world. I would bind him prentice because I 
 would have him saved.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 227 
 
 Her. Saved 1 I was a prentice myself, and I do 
 not find I am like to be saved, for 1 learnt all my 
 lying there. The first thing my master taught me 
 was never to speak truth to a customer ; and is 
 that the way to be saved 1 
 
 Aid. That is not lying, nephew, 'tis but the 
 mystery of our professions ; and for advantage of 
 trade we all hold fraud to be a little lawful. 
 
 Enter Esquire Buffoon. 
 
 Ha: Oh, here comes your heir and mine ! — This 
 is your uncle, sirrah. 
 
 Squ. Sirrah 1 Sir, if you were twenty fathers, I 
 write myself Esquire. 
 
 Aid. Well said, boy ! T commend thee. 
 
 Squ. Are you my reverend rich uncle, Alderman 
 Buffoon '] 
 
 AM. Yes, sir. 
 
 Squ. I hope you'll excuse my father's rudeness 
 for calling me sirrah ; really, I am ashamed of 
 him, — a poor country Knight, void of manners. I 
 understand, uncle, you will make me your heir 1 
 
 Aid. If you behave yourself like a Buffoon, I'll 
 make you my heir. 
 
 Squ. Then pray you, uncle, pray to God to bless 
 me. You are obliged indeed, sir, for I have not 
 asked my father's blessing these seven years. 
 
 Aid. And if good times come, I'll make you a 
 Lord. 
 
 Sq^i. Then I shall be the first Buff'oon that ever 
 was a Lord. 
 
 Her. Not by a hundred ! There have been, there 
 are, and will for ever be Lord Buffoons. We are 
 an ancienter fomily than the La-Fools. We came 
 in with William of Normandy, and the French 
 Buff"oons came out of the Irish Buffoons by a
 
 228 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 match with King Pippin ; and there the Buffoons 
 are fixed, and will be to the end of the world. 
 
 Aid. I honour thee, nephew, for thy learning, 
 in deriving our pedigree in a diameter from the 
 best blood of Europe. 
 
 Squ. But, uncle, setting the house of Pippin 
 aside, I must needs go see the players. 
 
 Aid. Players ! Thou foolish, profane boy, — 
 j)layers 1 
 
 Squ. If you be not read in the history of players, 
 both men and women, 'twill call your breeding in 
 (piestion. Besides, all the Princes in the world 
 allow of players ; and if the Buffoons should not, 
 then where's your pedigree from the house of 
 Pippin ] 
 
 Aid. Nay, rather than call that in question, I'll 
 allow of players freely. 
 
 Squ. We admire poets, too, in the country most 
 mightily, uncle. 
 
 Aid. That's more than we do in London, I 
 assure you, sir. 
 
 Squ. I pity all those that do not, uncle. — But, 
 father, which do you hold to be the most honour- 
 able, your comic or heroic poet 1 
 
 Her. Oh, your heroic, without doubt, because 
 he comes nearer the romantic strain than the 
 other. 
 
 Squ. Romantic ! What signifies the word 
 romantic 1 
 
 Her. Why, it comes from the word romance, 
 and romance is the Arabic word for a swinger, and 
 swinger is the Hebrew word for a liar. 
 
 Squ. By this you prove the heroic poets to be 
 liars 1 
 
 Her. No, no, by no means; romantically inclined, 
 only.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 229 
 
 Aid. Nephew, I admire thy parts. I'll home 
 and make thy entertainment to the dignity of the 
 Buffoons, for I am more than proud that I spring 
 from the loins of King Pippin. 
 
 [Exit Alderman. 
 
 Squ. Uncle, we will most dutifully be with you 
 forthwith. — I must see the players, father, for I 
 have tokens to deliver to one of them from two 
 countrj' ladies. 
 
 Her. Prithee, Ned, which of the players is 't 1 
 
 Squ. 'Tis he that acts Drawcansir.* The ladies 
 are damnably in love with him for killing whole 
 armies, horse and foot. One of 'em said she would 
 give a hundred pound to be with child by him of 
 a young Drawcansir. 
 
 Her. Then he must get the other lady with child 
 of a young army, for the young Drawcansir to 
 conquer. But prithee, Ned, who are the ladies 1 
 I'll warrant 'em both whipsters. 
 
 Squ. Like enough, for one is my sister, and 
 the other my mother, i' faith. 
 
 Her. You damned rogue, to betray your mother 
 and sister ! 
 
 Squ. Betray ! if that be all, they have been be- 
 trayed long since. Come away, father ! 
 
 Her. A plaguey witty dog this. [Exeuni. 
 
 * The extravagant language put by Dryden, in his Conquest 
 of Grenada (1670), into the mouth of Alnianzor, his hero, 
 caused the Duke of Buckingham to ridicule that character, as 
 Drawcansir, in his burlesque, the Rehearsal. Almanzor was 
 originally played by Hart, one of the favoured lovers of the 
 Countess of Castlemaine (Pepys, 7th April 1668) and other 
 ladies of quality. It is understood that Nell Gwj-n, for whom 
 he entertained a passion, was elevated from the position of an 
 orange-girl to that of an actress by him and Lacy.
 
 230 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Act II. — Scene i. 
 
 Enter Guardian. — Mariana and Fidelia 
 
 meet him. 
 
 Sel. Now, my Fidelia, how hast thou prospered ? 
 I know thou hast vigorously pressed her to obey, 
 for thou art all duty. 
 
 Fid. Not I, indeed ! this is your dutiful daugh- 
 ter, sir ? 
 
 Sel. Is it possible ? What charms, what fire 
 didst thou use to thaw that frozen virtue in her, 
 that common enemy to all honour and preferment ? 
 
 Fid. I have made her more in love with great- 
 ness than e'er she was with virtue. Come, Lady 
 Convert, down o' your knees and crave pardon for 
 your stiffnecked rebellion, or out you turn to your 
 old tattered granum. Goody Virtue. 
 
 Mar, Sir, I beg your pardon for all my disobedi- 
 ence, and tender my duty to whatever you com- 
 mand, and think it virtue in me to obey you. 
 
 Sel. I am overcharged, and want room to enter- 
 tain the joy thy dear compliance brings. But 
 now to our business. You two shall pass for my 
 two nieces, and, in short, enjoy their fortunes. 
 
 Fid. Well, sir, if we must pass for these great 
 fortunes, how will you dispose of the real ones 1 
 
 Sel. They must be despatched ! Let me see, 
 we'll have 'em 
 
 Fid. Murdered. Come, out with it, father ! 
 
 Sel. That's too harsh a word for thy tender ear, 
 is it not, my jewel 1 
 
 Mar. Indeed it startles me ; pray ye, give it a 
 milder name ; the word murder is enough to 
 daunt a young beginner.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 231 
 
 Fid. Fie, thou hast no mettle in thee. Think of 
 honour ; that will fright all bugbears that awe the 
 simple conscience. 
 
 Sel. I'd give the world to have thee steeled and 
 wrought to her hard temper. 
 
 Mar. I would not have 'em murdered, but they 
 may be desired to take a journey into the other 
 world. 
 
 Sel. There can be no offence in that ; a tender 
 zealot may allow of murder clad in such mild 
 words. 
 
 Fid. A pretty equivocation the devil has helped 
 us to to embolden us to murder. 
 
 Sel. Throw by your fears, or I'll throw by your 
 lives. Bloody words suit best with bloody deeds, 
 therefore I'll have no other })hrase but murder ; 
 startle that dares! 
 
 Mar. Murder be it, then. Now I consider, 
 sister, 'tis very foolish to scruple at the word when 
 we so freely consent to the deed. 
 
 Fid. Father, I must laugh a little. To tell you 
 true, this cunning baggage has but dissembled 
 virtue all this while, on purpose to discover your 
 inclinations. 
 
 Sel. Mine is to murder 'em, without the least 
 fright or start of conscience ; but if that were 
 feigned virtue thou managed'st with such saint-like 
 zeal, by heaven I shall honour thee as the metro- 
 politan hypocrite of all thy sex. 
 
 Mar. And, sir, to show you how little I value 
 virtue, their deaths already are contrived, and my 
 faithful servant has undertaken it. 
 
 Sel. How, how, my dear child, how ? 
 
 Mar. Thus, sir. My good, honest maid has a 
 lover to whom she is contracted, and, being a sea- 
 man, has already hire<l a ship to spirit them away
 
 232 Sm HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 into the north of Norway, where they shall never 
 more be seen or heard of. 
 
 Sel. The wisest of men could not ha' tliought of 
 so secure a course. But when, oh when, shall this 
 he done? 
 
 Mar. Instantly ! we have already prepared our 
 cousins for a journey, too. We told them you 
 would send them into France for better education, 
 before any suitors should be admitted. 
 
 SeL And all this ready done ? Let mankind 
 after this never deal in mischief. When there is a 
 work the devil cannot manage, a zealous woman 
 shall have the honour of it. I have prepared for 
 thee, my jewel, the brave Lord Arminger, — a man 
 that has no stain to blast his better parts, but has 
 a crystal fame that all the world may see through. 
 
 Fid. Then I find I must provide my own fool. 
 
 Sel. Thou art merry still. I have already rich 
 presents sent me by this Duke, that Marquis, the 
 other Earl. This Duchess for her kinsman writes, 
 that Countess for her brother, — will all send gifts. 
 I do not receive 'em, nor they carry 'em away, for 
 in that gentile manner great Ministers of State take 
 bribes. 
 
 Mar. Ay, sir, you have raised my spirits ; the 
 thought of honour makes murder seem a little 
 crime. 
 
 Sel. Ay, there fix thy soul. Think on the bless- 
 ings that attend on greatness ; then Avho would 
 not wade to the chin in blood % 
 
 Fid. To the knees, father, is deep enough, in 
 conscience. 
 
 Sel. You are not known to the world, so that 
 you may pass for them securely ; only the youngest, 
 that came from the north, the world has got some 
 hint of her country speech, which, if thou canst
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 233 
 
 imitate, we shall cozen the world, live in pleasure, 
 and die in the bed of honour. 
 
 Fid. No, father ; they that deal justly die in the 
 bed of honour ; we that cheat and cozen can die 
 but in honour's truckle-bed. 
 
 Sd. Well said, good Madam Hudibras ! Come, 
 let us cheerfully despatch this murder, and that 
 settles all our fortunes. 
 
 Mar. Our hands and hearts go all together. 
 
 Sel. This is the greatest satisfaction that ever 
 yet my soul received, [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene ii. 
 
 Enter Lord Arminger, Bowman, Aimwell, and 
 
 Laton. 
 
 Omnes. My Lord Arminger, your most humble 
 servant ! 
 
 Arm. I hope, gentlemen, you likewise think I 
 am your's. 
 
 La. We come to invite your lordship to the 
 sight of an extraordinary new sort of fool. 
 
 Ann. Not a finer than my Mr. Overwise, I 
 hope ? 
 
 La. Your lordship's is a more affected fool ; he 
 is for impossible projects, new Avords, and fine 
 phrases. 
 
 Arm. Oh, he hates a common phrase as he does 
 a common Avoman. 
 
 Bow. Then he is very impertinent. If he sees 
 you kneeling, he will advise you how to pray ; at 
 <linner, how to eat ; in bed, how to behave yourself. 
 
 Arm. Those things make him a fool ; he would 
 not be one else. He has one worse fault than all
 
 234 SIK HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 those — he will whisper you eternally, always buzz- 
 ing in your ear like a Lincolnshire gnat. 
 
 Aim. But our fool makes lying one part of his 
 talent ; 'tis Sir Hercules Buffoon. 
 
 Arm. Oh, I have heard of him; they say he has 
 a magazine of confidence. 
 
 Bow. Nay, faith, 'tis impudence, and the greatest 
 that e'er came out of Norfolk. 
 
 Aim. Sir, there are Buffoons in other countries 
 besides Norfolk. 
 
 Bov). I grant you more than that, sir ; there are 
 as worthy gentry in Norfolk as are in the world, 
 and yet they may have a ridiculous Buffoon 
 amongst them. 
 
 Arm. Aimwell, methinks y' are very fine ! this 
 dress is meant for love or war, a mistress or cam- 
 paign. Oh, here comes my whispering fool, Over- 
 wise, i' faith. 
 
 Enter Oyerwise. 
 
 Over. My royal Earl ! No, Earl is too common ; 
 I will call thee my Royal Count. In thy haven I 
 ride safe at anchor from the surprising cogboats, 
 such as carry small burthens of sense ; I mean 
 those whom men vulgarly call fops. 
 
 La. Prithee, Mr. Overwise, what is a fop 1 
 
 Over. A fop ] 'Tis strange thou shouldst not 
 know what a fop is, that art so great a one thyself 
 I will tell thee. A fop is the fruit of a foplin, as a 
 Wit is the kernel of a witlin. 
 
 Boiv. I have heard of a foplin but never of a 
 witlin before. 
 
 Arm. He has every day some ridiculous thing 
 would please the most morose creature in the 
 world. 
 
 Over. Aimwell, thou art as gay as a tulip, as
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 235 
 
 glorious as a milk-pail on a May day. — That is all 
 new, my Count. 
 
 Arvi. Thou art th3^self every day new. 
 
 Over. I am upon a project, my Eoyal Count, of 
 obtaining a charter for the sober society of the 
 professors of coffee ; and I would honour the Peers 
 and gentry so far as to make 'em free of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 Arm. It must needs be a great honour to be 
 free of Coffee-House Hall. 
 
 Over. More honour than to be free of the Vir- 
 tuosos'. But why, my Gallantissimos, do you not 
 address to the rich heiresses ] 
 
 Arm. I declare the guardian has courted me ; 
 but none must visit 'em till some time be expired. 
 The reason I know not. 
 
 Over. My Count, why may not I address ? The 
 ladies, perhaps, may love a wise man before a 
 handsome man. 
 
 La. Where shall we find him ? Then let me 
 put in ! perhaps they may love a peevish fellow 
 that will beat 'em, before a civil man that Avill 
 court 'em. I have a small miss that I use bar- 
 barously, and I dare swear that she loves me the 
 better for it. 
 
 Aim. My French garniture, a pox on 'em, is not 
 yet arrived from Paris. 
 
 Arm. The ladies will despise you if you have 
 not all things French, for I suppose they are of the 
 same air and humour that quality is subject to — 
 that is, to admire a French fan before an Englisli 
 gown. 
 
 Bow. And a French dog before an English man. 
 
 La. The men do worse ; for they admire a French 
 feather above an English Lordship, and a French 
 tailor above an EngUsh father and mother.
 
 236 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Arm. 1 must say this for the ladies, — where there 
 is one female fool to admire 'em, there are forty 
 male. 
 
 Over. Really, we are so fondly affected with the 
 French that Ave shall in time send for Frenchmen 
 to get our English children for us. 
 
 Hoiv. But they say, my Lord, the youngest 
 lieiress, that was hred in the north, is the prettiest 
 kind of creature ; everything she does or says 
 becomes her. 
 
 Arm. Yes ! and they say her northern speech 
 is a great addition to her beauty, which is very 
 strange ; but, being a child, it may the better 
 l)ecome her. 
 
 La. She has a Frencliwoman to wait on her, 
 and she hates her mortally, and desires all people 
 to help her to curse her home again. 
 
 Over. Really they say she puts up a j^aper every 
 Sunday to the parson in the pulpit, to desire the 
 curses of the congregation against all French 
 tailors and tirewomen. 
 
 Bow. Then they say she plays at several sports, 
 — as Rampscuttle, Clapperdepouch, and Come, 
 mother, saw you my cock to-day? These sports 
 declare her a sweet, innocent creature. 
 
 Arm. But you have forgot Sir Hercules Buffoon, 
 gentlemen. Pray ye, let us go in search of him. 
 
 Aim.. My lord, we shall all wait upon your 
 Lordship. 
 
 Over. I will go in search of that strange sport 
 called. Come, mother, saw you my cock to-day 1 so 
 I take leave. 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! [Exeunt.
 
 sir hercules buffoon. 237 
 
 Scene hi. 
 
 Enter Seldin, Seaman, ami Maid. 
 
 Sel. I understand, sir, that you have undertaken 
 the disposing of ray two nieces 1 
 
 Sea. I'll set them ashore where no mankind 
 inhabits, Avhere they must be starved to death ur 
 torn to pieces by wild bears. 
 
 Sel. I honour thee because thou makest no 
 scruple. 
 
 Sea. That's for children to boggle and be fearful. 
 I'll give you an honest and a just account of their 
 murder, sir ; and in so doing I hope I shall dis- 
 charge my duty with a good conscience. 
 
 Sel. What a sweet minister of darkness has the 
 devil sent me I 
 
 Lyd. He is my lover, sir, my honest lover. I 
 have his heart as sure as my young ladies have 
 mine. We two would commit more than murder 
 to make them great. 
 
 Sel. Your worthy faith shall be rewarded. 
 
 Sea. 'Tis enough ! Come, call our foolish sea- 
 mates, Ave must not lose our tide. Oh, here they 
 come. 
 
 Enter Mariana, Fidelia, Innocentia, and 
 Belmaria. 
 
 Sel. Alack, my sweet and lovely nieces, why do 
 ye weep 1 Such tears are too precious for so 
 slight occasion ; all ladies rejoice at going into 
 France. 
 
 Inn. I had rather gea to Yorkshire than to 
 France. Now, good my honey nuncle, let us not 
 gea to France, but send me back to my naunt 
 at York again.
 
 238 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Sel. Alas, my sweet niece, 'tis for your breeding 
 I send you. Why weep you, my lovely niece? 
 
 BeJ. Something troul)les me, I know not what, 
 and prompts me to beseech you on my knees 
 you'll give us leave to stay. 
 
 Sel. Alack, my dear jewels, it is by advice I 
 send you into France. Your fortunes are great, 
 and 'tis my duty to see your education answerable. 
 I should be condemned by all the world else. 
 
 Bel. But, good uncle, why do you turn away 
 our old servants, that have been with us from our 
 cradles 1 They Avould be a comfort to us. 
 
 Sel. Because you shall have none but French 
 about you ; you'll never learn the language else. 
 
 In7i. Marra, the devilst learn French for me. 
 By my saul, ean Yorkshire word, nuncle, 's worth 
 ten thousand French eans. 
 
 Bel. Dear uncle, let us stay. We have both 
 had horrid dreams last night, which waked us into 
 such dreadful tremblings. No ague ever shook the 
 body as those have done our fearful souls. 
 
 Sel. You are more a child than your sister ; and 
 what was your dream 1 
 
 Bel. Why, sir, I dreamt I was set ashore by a 
 seaman in a cold country, all frost and snow ; and 
 I called out, methought, to the wicked wretch that 
 left me there, but he like a cruel man ran from 
 me ; and there I perished, without one bird or 
 beast of the creation by to pity me. 
 
 Sel. I like not this. 
 ■ Sea. [Apart to Sel.] Damn 'em, get 'em aboard ! 
 and then no matter what they dream. I hate 
 peevish people that will not be murdered quietly 
 when 'tis their turn. Come, despatch 'em, sir! 
 
 Sel. And Avhat was your dream, you little fearful 
 fooU
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 239 
 
 Inn. Marry, God help me. nuncle, I dreamed 
 just sike ana grizely* man as that set me down in 
 frost and snow, and ran away when he had done, 
 and by and by there came three hujus bears, 
 nuncle ; then I cried and screamed out, and God 
 wait not ean kerson saul came to help me ; then 
 I said, Good sweet honey bears, do not kill me, and 
 yet the hard-hearted devils worried me all to bits, 
 and left not ean morsel of me alive. 
 
 Sel. Is it possible instinct should give natun* 
 such hints of truths to come 1 — 'Sdeath, what weep 
 you for? 
 
 Mar. To practise hypocrisy ; 1 may have occasion 
 for't. Besides, it is a kind of compliment to weep 
 with them at parting. 
 
 Fid. Come, sir, away with 'em ! I fear they will 
 work upon your good nature too, and then all our 
 hopes are cut oflF. 
 
 Sel. Thou wert always my comforter, but now 
 my counsellor. I'll see 'em aboard presently. 
 Come, my dear nieces, throw your idle dreams 
 behind you. I send you to the splendid court of 
 France, where all good manners and civil breeding 
 grow. 
 
 Inn. We have better manners bith' half at York, 
 that have we ; and one Yorkshire jig's worth a 
 thousand French dances, that it is. 
 
 Bel. Dear uncle, let our sweet cousins go with 
 us, that they may have the same education that is 
 allotted for us. 
 
 Sel. Not for the world ; the town would report 
 I bred my children at your charge, and so conclude 
 I mean them part of your fortune. 
 
 Sea. They consider nothing. — Come, sir, the tide 
 serves, and go we must. 
 
 * Frightful, ugly. - Yorksh.
 
 240 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Inn. Now, hy my saul, that ill-looked beast 
 frights me. All, thou's an ill-favoured grizely-like 
 fellow, that is sa. 
 
 Sel. Not one word more, I charge you, of all 
 hands. I'll see you safe ashipboard, pray for you, 
 and farewell ! 
 
 Inn. E'en God's benison and mine be with you, 
 cousins. My heart gives me I'st be dead, cousin ; 
 and if I die, wae's me, we'st ne'er play at Clapper- 
 depouch again. 
 
 Fid. Yes, yes, dear cousin, fear nothing ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene iv. 
 
 Enter Lord Armingek, Bowman, Laton, Aim- 
 well, and Sir Hercules. 
 
 La. Sir Hercules Buffoon, no man more glad to 
 see you ! Here is a most worthy and honourable 
 Peer of the realm desires to know you. 
 
 Her. Not as a Lord, but as a man of parts, I 
 salute you. 
 
 La. My Lord has great parts and virtues, besides 
 a man of great wit. 
 
 Her. Wit ? Prithee, my Lord, let's hear a little 
 of it. 
 
 Arm. AVhen you give me occasion for 't, you 
 shall ; i' th' interim, assure yourself I have wit 
 enough to honour and admire you. 
 
 Her. Prithee, my Lord, let's honour and admire 
 one another till we find a reason for 't. 
 
 Arm. If we stay till then, we shall admire one 
 another long enough. 
 
 La. Here's another worthy person ; his name is 
 Bowman, sir.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 241 
 
 Her. Bowman, Bowman ] by my life I honour 
 and admire you to the superlative degree. You 
 must needs be a swingeing liar. 
 
 Boiv. Why so, sir 1 
 
 Her. Sir, I have a hound of your name, as 
 arrant a cur as e'er came in field. When my dogs 
 are hunting and at a fail, he is the first that opens ; 
 but the devil a hound i' th' pack will believe him, 
 for he ne'er spoke truth in 's life. So, sir, if you 
 be a true Bowman 
 
 Bow. I'm as arrant a cur as your dog Bowman 1 
 
 Her. Despise not my dog ; for aught you know, 
 you may be both of a family. 
 
 Arm. This is an insuiferable fool indeed ! 
 
 Her. You'll not be angry, I hope ; a hound is a 
 gentleman's fellow in any ground in England. 
 
 Arm. In any hunting ground in England, I 
 grant you ; but we are men of no exceptions, nor 
 you, I hope. 
 
 Boic. Therefore, good Sir Hercules, let's have a 
 swingeing lie, now ! 
 
 Her. You are a very idle fool, sir I 
 
 Bow. What mean you by that 1 I am no fool, sir ! 
 
 Her. Then there's a lie for you, and that's what 
 you required. 
 
 Arm. 'Tis a kind of a Avitty lie, too. 
 
 Her. 'Tis so, my lord ; I have not spoke a word 
 of truth to-day. I said I honoured and admired 
 thee ; that's another lie, for the devil take me if I 
 either honour or admire thee — indeed I see no- 
 thing in thee to admire. 
 
 Aim. Oh, sii', ]\Ir. Bow'mau is a man of most 
 accomplished parts. 
 
 Her. He's an ill-natured felloAv, then, for he 
 keeps 'em to himself. I believe his good parts and 
 terra incognita will be found together. 
 
 Q
 
 242 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Arm. This is great wit, Knight, but very severe. 
 
 La. Come, Sir Hercules, be good-natured ! and 
 let's have a 
 
 Her. Lie ; I know your meaning, to tell you 
 truth, sir. This is none of my lying days. 
 
 Aim. No ! Hast thou in the whole course of 
 thy life any intervals of truth 1 
 
 Her. Oh, sir, I'm an old man, and must think 
 o' th' other world ; and therefore I'm allowed but 
 three days a week to lie. 
 
 Bow. Prithee, Knight, who allows thee ? 
 
 Her. Our parson. I was forced to give him a 
 bull calf to allow me them ; I'd been excommuni- 
 cated else. 
 
 La. But prithee, Knight, what dost thou do the 
 other four days ] 
 
 Bow. He looks like an ass, I believe, when he 
 speaks truth. 
 
 Her. I' faith, so I do ; it is very childish, and 
 therefore I hate it. However, of those days I'm 
 very godly, and go to church. 
 
 Arm. How ! to church, man 1 Dost thou think 
 there's another world for thee % 
 
 Her. Yes, faith, do I — such a one as it is ; but 
 those days I go to church I would not speak a lie 
 for the world's wealth. 
 
 Aim. That day thou goest to church, I dare 
 swear, thou speakest truth. 
 
 Enter Esquire Buffoon. 
 
 Squ. You say right, gentlemen. I have been 
 his son these eighteen years, and he has ne'er been 
 at church since I was born. 
 
 Her. You impudent son of a whore you ! 
 
 Arm. Oh, fie, Sir Hercules, who is this you call 
 son of a whore 1
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 243 
 
 Her. My own son of a whore ; whose should he be 1 
 
 Arm. Nay, if lie be the son of a whore, he ought 
 to be thine. 
 
 Sqii. Gentlemen, I'm not ashamed to own it ; I 
 am my father's own son of a whore, upon my credit ! 
 
 Arm. Bowman, the son is a finer fool than the 
 father. 
 
 SqiL. Yet my mother's virtuous enough, if it were 
 not for 
 
 Aim. What, what 1 Prithee out with it ! 
 
 Squ. Oil, sir, she will lie most shamefully ; that 
 is, she would lie as a man would have her. 
 
 Her. By my life, the boy's i' th' right ; my Avife 
 will lie with any man in England. 
 
 Bow. Do you own her to be so common, sir '? 
 
 Her. No ; I mean she will tell a lie with any 
 man in England. Why, the devil would not lie 
 with her carnally, for she's as ugly as she's old. 
 A man Avith all his neighing youth about him 
 would not touch her Avith a pair of tongs. 
 
 Squ. She has not had a tooth in her head these 
 thirty j^ears, nor capable of man these forty. 
 
 Her. The boy's i' th' right ; the jade's as lean as 
 a luke olive, and as dry as a mummy, — a skeleton 
 fit only to read lectures on. 
 
 Bow. But, Squire, if your mother has not been 
 capable of man these forty years, how came you 
 to be but eighteen 1 
 
 Squ. I am none of her son, man. I'm but a by- 
 bloAV my father got of a cinder Avoman one niglit 
 a-serenading ; so that you cannot properly call me 
 the son of a Avliore, but the son of a serenade. 
 
 Aim. Hark you, sir! are not you a damned 
 eternal lying rascal ? 
 
 Her. Ay, by my life, is he ; but I cannot l)e 
 angry, he lies so impudently.
 
 244 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Squ. Oh, dear sir, now you compliment. I 
 assure you, gentlemen, my father is the cock liar 
 of all Norfolk. 
 
 Her. My son, i' faith ! Besides, he is full of in- 
 vention, and for that cause I mean to bind him 
 prentice to a poet. 
 
 Omnes. Prentice to a poet 1 This is more than 
 lidiculous. 
 
 Her. Yes ; and my reason is, if he should prove 
 dull, as 'tis many a poet's case, yet they cannot 
 deny him to be a poet, because he has served his 
 time for't. Besides, as he is a poet, he sees plays 
 for nothing, and that's consideral)le. 
 
 Bow. And must he needs be a poet when he has 
 served his time 1 Faith, bind him prentice to a 
 lord ; by the same rule he'll be a lord Avhen he's out 
 of his time. 
 
 Her. Now you joke. Yes indeed must he ; but, 
 really, do you know ever a poet that wants a 
 prentice 1 
 
 Arm. Pray you, gentlemen, manage these fools ; 
 'twill be worth while. 
 
 Aim. Sir, I know a rare poet, but he'll have two 
 hundred pounds with a jirentice. 
 
 Her. I stand not upon that ; but I'm for one of 
 the primest of 'em, one of those that swinges the 
 Gods about. 
 
 Squ. No, father, I had rather be prentice to a 
 comic poet ; that's witty company. Some of your 
 heroic poets, they say, write rarely well, yet are 
 the heaviest, dull, insipid animals over a glass of 
 wine in nature. 
 
 Her. Ay, and some of 'em will filch and steal 
 out o' th' old plays, and cry down the authors 
 when they've done. 
 
 Squ. They have no more invention than there is
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 245 
 
 in the head of a soused mackerel. Now they've 
 turned cobblers ; they vamp and mend old plays. 
 
 Her. Or rather turned tinkers, who stop one 
 hole and make ten : so they mend one fault and 
 make twenty. 
 
 SqiL But, gentlemen, am I to serve a seven 
 years' prenticeship ? 
 
 Aim. No, sir, but five. 'Tis with a poet as witli 
 a red or fallow deer ; the fifth year he is a stag or 
 buck o' th' first head ; so he that writes. 
 
 Squ. A pretty kind of similitude ! And pray 
 you, sir, do the poets shed their heads yearly as 
 the deer do 1 
 
 Arm. No, sir, in that they differ, else they come 
 nearest of all creatures. For every year they com- 
 mence and have new titles ; as, for example, a stag, 
 ■ — the first year he's a calf, the second a brocket, the 
 third a lirock, the fourth a staggard, and the fifth 
 year a stag o' th' first head. 
 
 Bmv. So he that means to be a poet, the first 
 year he's an ass, the second a fop, the third a 
 witlin, the fourth a wit, and the fifth year a poet 
 o' th' first head. 
 
 Her. Aha, sirrah, here's learning in this ! 'Tis 
 ingenious and admirable. 
 
 Squ. But, sir, have not your wits their degrees 
 too'? 
 
 Boic. Oh yes ; there are your first, second, third, 
 fourth, and fifth-rate wits too. 
 
 Arm. Ay, and your first, second, third, fourth, 
 and fifth-rate fools too. 
 
 Squ. That we have i'th' country. But why 
 should a poet be an ass the first year 1 
 
 Arm. A poet is not an ass ; he is five years ad- 
 vanced above it. Yet let any man that has Avrit 
 five years look back into Avhat he writ the first
 
 246 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 year, and he will find himself an ass, I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Squ. I believe I should make a good fop, hut 
 I am positive I shall never make an ass as long as 
 I live. 
 
 Bow. Never despair ! I'll help you to an hundred 
 gentlemen shall make an ass of you presently. 
 
 Squ. I shall be extremely beholding to you, for 
 the devil take me if I know which way to go 
 about it myself 
 
 Aim. Sir, your father must requite this courtesy. 
 
 Squ. Command him anything but his new play ; 
 he is mighty choice of that. 
 
 Her. I confess I am a little fond of my play. 
 
 Arm. That's more than any man else can be, I 
 doul)t. 
 
 Aim. Why is't not played"? 'Twas made in 
 Norfolk, I doubt. 
 
 Her. So all you fops cry, indeed ; but your cock 
 wits and your cock poets cry it up to the skies. It 
 is so lashing a satire against the whole nation, I 
 should ha' been hanged had it been played. 
 
 Boiv. 'Tis a thousand pities 'twas not played, 
 then. But I am told 'tis a damned play, worse than 
 ever Mr. Bayes * writ in all his whole cartload. 
 
 Her. Sir, I had as lief you would stab me to 
 the heart as speak ill of my play. 
 
 Aim. But, Knight, I hope you remember your 
 promise to me ? 
 
 Her. Upon my life, thou shalt have one of the 
 rich heiresses ; the guardian and I are the inti- 
 matest friends i' th' world. And so, gentlemen, 
 let's go bind my son prentice to this famous poet. 
 
 Bow. Agreed, agreed ! and there shall he be 
 sufficiently abused." [Exeunt. 
 
 * Dryden.
 
 sir hercules buffoon. 247 
 
 Scene v. 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke aiid Mariana. 
 
 Sel. We are liappy, Mariana. I saw my nieces 
 under sail below the Hope, with a fair wind to 
 blow 'em to destruction. We are happy in thy 
 sister too, for never was so ingenious a mimic. 
 She imitates her northern cousin ; no player ever 
 acted like her. And the necessity of it is great, 
 for there is such notice taken of her Yorkshire 
 speech, that, should her tongue be missing, we 
 were all in question. 
 
 Mar. She does it so Avell that she puts me but 
 too much in mind of my poor little cousin. 
 
 Sel. Death ! do you repent 1 Value thyself upon 
 thy fortune ! Be proud ! mankind shall pay thee 
 homage as if it were thy due and their duty. My 
 heart is set upon the highest pinnacle of pride — 
 not for myself ; I am proud for thee, my jewel, 
 and had I power I would make the whole liody of 
 the earth bow to thee, though it dropped out 
 o' th' frame, and dashed itself into eternal atoms. 
 Yet am I pleased to match thee to the great, the 
 virtuous, and the valiant Lord Arminger. 
 
 Mar. The noble character that you so oft have 
 given him has made an impression here so deep, 
 that before I see I love. Report has conquered 
 ere the siege is laid. 
 
 Sel. Those blessed words create me a new man, 
 j-^oung and vigorous. The course of nature, joined 
 with envious age, cannot prevent the sprightly 
 youth I now feel growing in me.
 
 248 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, Alderman Buffoon is come to see you. 
 
 Sel. Alderman Buffoon, dost thou call him ? 
 Prithee, good foolane, tell Alderman Buffoon that 
 he may come in. 'Tis Alderman Buffoon ! I know 
 him, — a vast rich citizen. Go you in, Mariana, no 
 more my daughter, but my niece. 
 
 Mar. I understand you, sir. [Exit Mariana. 
 
 Enter Alderman. 
 
 Aid. Sir Marmaduke ! I come to congratulate 
 your good fortune. 
 
 Sel. Good fortune in what, sir 1 
 
 Aid. In being sole guardian to your brother's 
 daughters. 
 
 Sel. Where lies the good fortune of that 1 
 
 Aid. Oh, sir, it gains you esteem in the world ; 
 besides, good advantage may be made on't. 
 
 Sel. Advantage ? What ! do you take me for a 
 knave ? 
 
 Aid. Fie, no ! and yet I think you are no fool. 
 
 Sel. All the town knows their fortune ; what 
 advantage, then, can I make, unless I wickedly 
 betray my trust '? 
 
 Aid. Said like a Avorthy gentleman ! I know 
 your principles are honourable, your spirit high, 
 but your fortune is low ; consider that ! 
 
 Sel. Pray you, come to your meaning, sir. 
 
 Aid. An honest advantage may be made, and I 
 come to offer it. 
 
 Sel. I would have you know, were there no 
 other but the common thing called honesty, that 
 would guard me from corruption. But here's a 
 stronger tie, a tender conscience. Alas ! doomsday 
 is ever in my thoughts, and I dare not hear you.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 249 
 
 All. I wonder your high spirit and a tender 
 conscience should agree so well 1 'Tis strange, 
 too, that having been so lavish as to spend your 
 great estate, you should now be so good a hus- 
 band as to lay up for doomsday, a thing so far 
 off. 
 
 Sel. Death, sir, do you come to affront me % 
 
 Aid. No ; I say again, an honest advantage may 
 be made, if there were twenty doomsdays. AVill 
 ten thousand pounds damn you 1 Ask any man's 
 opinion. But, case it would, I know twenty 
 citizens with tender consciences, that make long 
 prayers too, and yet would run the risk of dooms- 
 day for ten thousand pound. 
 
 6*1?/. Oh, most fearful I I hope you've better 
 thoughts of me. Alas, I have a grave to think on, 
 and in my chamber stands my coffin Avith my 
 father's skull upon 't, and when I awake they are 
 the first objects that my eyes encounter ; and can 
 you ever hope to corrupt me then ? 
 
 Aid. I never knew a tender conscience afraid of 
 an honest motion ])efore. Since you're turned a 
 simple precisian, farewell, sir ! 
 
 Sel. Naj', pray stay, an honest motion may be 
 heard at last. 
 
 Aid. Well said I Then thus it is : I liave a nephew 
 that I'll make my heir, and if you'll match your 
 northern niece to him, I'll settle five thousand 
 ]>ounds a year on him, and at my death the rest. 
 And I'll give j'ou ten thousand pounds for your 
 consent. You know I can make this good. 
 
 Sel. Where's your nephew 1 Fetch him pre- 
 sently ; but I will take no money. 
 
 Aid. Well, well, who is your goldsmith 1 
 
 Sel. I have no goldsmith, nor will I take money; 
 'tis Ancious bribery. Yet, now you talk of a gold-
 
 ■250 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 smith, Mr. Cash is as just a man as can be dealt 
 with. 
 
 J Id. 'Tis enough ! I understand you. 
 
 Sel. You must not understand me so, indeed, 
 sir. 
 
 Aid. Away, away! you're too modest, too honest 
 to live among men. I'll do it, and bring my 
 nephew presently. [Eo:it Alderman. 
 
 Sel. Ha, ha ! I laugh to think how this fellow 
 will report my tender conscience to the citizens. 
 Well, if this fool will fall into a trap that never 
 was laid for him, then 'tis not I Init fate destroys 
 him. [Exit. 
 
 Act iil — Scene l 
 
 Entei- Lord Arminger, Bowman, Aimwell, 
 Poet, Servants a7ul bottles. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen, pray ye salute my friend 
 Overwise ! he has undertaken to be the poet to 
 whom the Squire is bound prentice. 
 
 Omnes. Your humble servant, Mr. Overwise. 
 
 Over. Gentle worthies, I am your contracted and 
 betrothed friend. 
 
 Arm. Can there be a liner-phrased fool than 
 this ] 
 
 Boiv. No, certainly ; he is our contracted and 
 betrothed fool. 
 
 Over. My lord ! No, the word lord is too com- 
 mon ; it tastes of vulgerality. 
 
 Aim. God's so, there's a tine word ! Vulgerality 
 is your own coining, sir 1 
 
 Over. Stamped in my own mint, sir. I hope so
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 251 
 
 to refine the English tongue that the Dukes and 
 Peers of France will come over hither to learn the 
 language. 
 
 Aim. That's a great project. Do you hope to 
 see it in your own lifetime 1 
 
 Over. No question, sir. Do you hope to see 
 Paul's built ? 
 
 Aim. Yes, without doubt. 
 
 Over. At the same time I expect tlie Peers of 
 France to learn the English tongue. 
 
 Arm. But, Mr. Overwise, prithee what are those 
 squirts and bottles for? 
 
 Over. They are proper instruments to initiate 
 an ass withal. You must second me, as I have 
 ordered the ceremony ; he will really be very 
 much abused. 
 
 Bow. Abused 1 Hang him ! to murder him 
 requires no more compassion than drowning of a 
 kitlin. 
 
 Enter Sir Hercules a7id Squire. 
 
 Her. Save you, my lord ! Save ye, gentlemen ! 
 You honour me to come to this ceremony. \Yhicli 
 is my son's master, sirs 1 
 
 Bow. This is the worthy person your son is 
 bound prentice to. 
 
 Her. Are you a poet, worthy sir ? 
 
 Arm. Yes, sir ; he is one of those that swinges 
 the Gods about. 
 
 Over. I am by my profession a poor poet, sir. 
 
 Her. That's no wonder, for I never heard of a 
 rich one in my life. 
 
 Over. Oh, sir, poets, like philosophers, despise 
 wealth. The fame of worthy wit is all we aim at. 
 
 Her. You may aim, but ne'er hit the mark, I
 
 252 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON, 
 
 doubt ; however, 'tis an honourable ambition. 
 Well, what is he to be the first year 1 
 
 Over. The first year he takes his degree of ass. 
 Her. Oh, 'tis true; you told me of a ceremony to 
 enter or initiate him into the order of asshood. 
 
 Arm. I have heard of manhood, but never of 
 asshood before. 
 
 Over. Sir, the ceremony is great. The rule was 
 among the ancient poets, when a man took his 
 degree, to bathe in the liquor of the Gods ; but we 
 modern wits steep our brains altogether in Bur- 
 gundy and Pontack, and we find it does the busi- 
 ness every whit as well. 
 
 Her. But how do you know that 1 
 Over. By comparing the ancient and modern 
 wits together. Come, sir, you must strip to your 
 shirt. Get the bottles and glasses ! 
 
 Bene. The ceremony to a stranger will seem to 
 be a gross abuse ; however, I assure you it is no 
 more than what all men undergo that are bound 
 prentice to poets. 
 
 Omnes. That we all upon our honours do assure 
 you. 
 
 Squ. Nay, then, I will undergo it, whatsoever it 
 be. 
 
 Her. We can suffer as much abuse as any family 
 in England upon the score of poetry. 
 
 Over. Come, kneel down, sir ! Now fill every 
 gentleman a bumper of claret. You must know 
 for six months together he must swallow daily two 
 verses; and by old custom he must begin with 
 Chaucer, and so go through all the English poets 
 till he come to modern Mr. Bayes. The ceremony 
 is an ancient copy of verses taken out of the 
 records of Parnassus. 
 
 Her. Is it possible ? Pray, sir, oblige me with
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 253 
 
 a copy of verses out of the records of Parnassus. 
 What work shall we make i' th' country with 'em, 
 boy ! 
 
 Sqii. Ay, father ! 
 
 Over. Are you all ready 1 Kneel down, sir. 
 
 Her. He will hurt his knees ; pray ye, let him 
 have a cushion. 
 
 Arm. By no means ; 'tis absolutely against the 
 record of Parnassus. 
 
 Sqii. Then hang knees, father. 
 
 Her. 'Sheart ! What a deal ado is here about 
 making one an ass ! 
 
 Over. Silence ! Stand all ready charged ! 
 
 Thy dull and stupid blockhead must be 
 
 washed, 
 And in thy face bumpers of claret dashed. 
 
 [Throvj the icine in his face. 
 Pour on his head the best Canary sack, 
 And down his throat Burgundy and Pontack. 
 
 \_Pour wine. 
 Wash all his body with the choicest wine, 
 That grows upon the fruitful river Rhine. 
 Leave not e'en one dry thread upon his shirt, 
 And do't with each of ye a lusty squirt. 
 
 [They squirt him all over. 
 
 Her. Hold ! 'Sheart, hold ! I think you mean 
 to make an ass of my son indeed. 
 
 Aim. Who the devil doubts it ? 
 
 Boiv. Why, sir, you know he is to lie made 
 poetically an ass. 
 
 Her. 'Tis true ; but yet 'twould stir a man's 
 blood to see one's child used at this roo;uish rate. 
 
 Arm. Sir, by the I'ules of Parnassus he ought to 
 take his degrees upon the rack.
 
 254 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Her. 'Sheart, I'll have no child of mine put 
 upon the rack, my lord ! 
 
 Bow. 'Tis not intended ; that act Avas abolished 
 by reason of the torment. 
 
 Squ. Nay, I'll endure any torment rather than 
 not be a complete ass. 
 
 Her. I could find in my heart, the devil take me, 
 to step to Parnassus, and see whether it be so or 
 no. 
 
 Arm. You Avill not lose your labour, for really 
 I have been there and read the record. 
 
 Squ. Pox of your records ! my knees ache dam- 
 nably. Do they use to have agues in Parnassus ] 
 My teeth chatter in my head, I am so wet and so 
 cold. 
 
 Over. Come, we will make an end. Silence ! 
 
 Here I produce a rare and precious pill. 
 Made by the doctors of Parnassus' Hill ; 
 The virtue is, it will thy brain inspire 
 With th' airy flames of brisk poetic fire. 
 Having in it the refined quintessence 
 Of wit, true wisdom, and Avell-worded sense. 
 It being wrapt up in two lines of Chaucer, 
 You must Avith reverence swallow it down 
 j^our maw, sir. 
 
 Her. Silence ! Come, let's make an end ! 
 
 In's foce let each man throw a full beer glass. 
 [Full glasses throun in his face. 
 That ceremony done, rise up and pass 
 For a well-grounded and sufficient ass ! 
 
 Squ. Do you call throwing of beer glasses in a 
 man's face a ceremony ] 
 
 Over. In Parnassus Ave do. Noav, sir, I'll justify 
 to the world you're an ass.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 2o5 
 
 Arm. A pretty thing to hrag of! Two such 
 fools nature ne'er produced. 
 
 Her. I declare I like the pill wonderfully ; I 
 must have one of 'em. 
 
 Squ. For all this, I cannot fancy myself to be an 
 ass yet. 
 
 Ann. Oh, yes ; the very first minute you 
 parted with your money you were an ass, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Sqti. How 1 You mean I was an ass for parting 
 with my money, my lord ? 
 
 Arm. I mean fairly by the rules of poetry. 
 
 Her. Then you're an ass upon record, sirrah ! 
 Now you're a prentice, your hat must not be on 
 before your master. 
 
 Ar7n. That's your mistake ; an ass puts off his 
 hat to no man, but is void of all manners. His 
 talent is to be bold, rude, and saucy, Avithout 
 regard to cpiality or any distinction of persons. 
 
 Her. If those cpialifications will do, I'll warrant 
 -him a sufficient ass. 
 
 Btnv. And now you are so. Squire, you must 
 always have a cane, but not in your hand ; 'tis to 
 be Avorn ever under your arm, that when you turn 
 about you may take the next man a slap over the 
 face. 
 
 Squ. Adad, that's pretty ! Look to your chops, 
 father ! But, sir, are them asses that wear their 
 canes so t 
 
 Aim. They are shrewxlly to be suspected. 
 
 Squ. I am an apt scholar. I do but Avhat you 
 teach me ; ha ! 
 
 Her. I am thinking, my lord, what contemp- 
 tible titles a man must pass over before he attains 
 to the honourable name of poet, — as ass, fop. and 
 Avitlin.
 
 256 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Bow. Poet is an honourable title ; it admits of 
 no addition. 
 
 Squ. Oh, father, the fame of poetry is above all 
 mortal honour. Wealth and greatness perish, the 
 man of dignity dies, but poets are eminently and 
 l)rodigiously immortal. 
 
 Her. By my life, the boy speaks rarely well 
 already ! If he talk thus wittily being an ass, 
 how will he talk Avhen he's a poet % 
 
 Aim. Little better, I assure thee. 
 
 Sqn. Poets are esteemed above Princes. I have a 
 reverend author for it called Taylor, the water poet. 
 
 " "When nature did intend some wondrous thing, 
 She made a poet, or at least a King." 
 
 Ben Jonson would ha' given a hundred pounds — 
 if he had had it, that is — to ha' been author of 
 those two lines. 
 
 Her. Did ever boy speak so rarely, gentlemen ? 
 The devil take me, I could find in my heart to 
 commence ass myself. 
 
 Arm. Commence changeling, for thou wert born 
 an ass. 
 
 Squ. Hark you, sir ! now I'm entered, I may 
 censure plays, may I not ? 
 
 Arm. Yes, yes ! to censure plays and women is 
 natural to an ass. [Exit Squire. 
 
 Over. Well, my Earl, I value myself much upon 
 this frolic. 
 
 Arm. So thou mayest. 
 
 Aim. Sir Hercules, 'tis time to remember your 
 promise, and to present me to the guardian. If 
 thy interest get me one of the heiresses, here's my 
 hand I'll not murder thee. 
 
 Her. 'Tis enough ! I'm so intimate with the 
 guardian, I'm certain he'll deny me nothing.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 257 
 
 Enter Footman. 
 
 Foot. My lord, here's a letter from Sir Marma- 
 duke Seldin. 
 
 Arm. 'Ods so, the guardian to the heiresses ! 
 Gentlemen, I must take leave, and for a while 
 grow serious. 
 
 Her. My lord, I thank you for this honour. 
 Bowman, prithee go with me ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene ii. 
 
 Enter Sir Marmaduke and Mariana at one do&r, 
 French AVoman a,t another. 
 
 Worn. sir, sir, sir ! 
 
 Sel. What is the matter that you stare so ? 
 
 IFom. Sir, my country north lady will no learn 
 French of me. Me must learn Yorkshire of her 
 or she Avill beat my brain. 
 
 Sel. That is just her humorous little cousin. 
 'Tis happy tliat she mimics her so well ; that pre- 
 serves us from suspicion. 
 
 Enter Tailor. 
 
 Tail. Oh, sir, what sail me do? Me have 
 brought my Yorkshire madam two new gown 
 home, and begar she have cut off all her long train 
 to de very calf of her leg 1 
 
 Enter Fidelia. 
 
 Sel. Here she comes ! Fie, fie, niece ! I must 
 cliide you, niece. They say you've cut the train 
 off your gowns, and quite spoiled 'em, niece. 
 
 Fid. Nay, honey nuncle, they're ne'er the war 
 for me ; why, lack-a-day, they come down to the 
 varra heels of me yet, my beam. 
 
 R
 
 258 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Mar. Nay, sister, you must be ruled, and wear 
 your clothes fashionably, as I do. 
 
 Fid. Now, oot upon thee, sister ! yee wad have 
 me wear a lang tail behind me, as my naunt's 
 brown cow does at hame. 
 
 Mar. They are not tails, but trains, sister. 
 Great persons wear them as ornaments of State, 
 as an honourable distinction from those of lower 
 quality. 
 
 Fid. By my troth, but I'se teld that naughty 
 sluts wear 'em as well as your great Countesses. 
 
 Sd. Ay, but, niece, persons of quality have 
 Pages, — boys a purpose to hold up their trains. 
 
 Fid. Have they boys to hold up their tails behind ] 
 Do not the milucky lads j^eep in 'em sometime ] 
 
 *SV/. Fie, niece, what have you said ? Those are 
 paAv * words indeed. 
 
 Fid. Why, nuncle, did I say bawdiness now ? 
 
 Sel. No, not downright, l)ut very near it, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Fid. Nay, by my saul, sister, gin my naunt at 
 York should but knaw that I said bawdiness, 
 marra, she'd shatter my brains oot ; ftiith wad she ! 
 
 *SV/. Come, sweet niece, be ruled, and let the 
 French people dress you and make a fine lady of you. 
 
 Fid. Wad my French tailor were hanged ; he 
 stinks of wine as sour as a swine-trough. Beside 
 he is varra saucy with ma, nuncle. 
 
 Sel. Saucy ! how '? saucy was he"? 
 
 Fid. Oh, my saul, nuncle, gin I'd let him alane, 
 he had taken measure o' th' inside of me as well as 
 I)' th' out. 
 
 Sel. You damned villain ! ha ! I never heard 
 of such a rogue. 
 
 [^Dratvs ; fJie Man runs out. 
 
 * Paw-paw : naughty. — Vcr. di'd.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 259 
 
 Fid. Nuncle, I'd have my naunt's tailor, Billy 
 Barton of York, make my gowns for me. 
 Sel. Prithee, who is Billy Barton of York 1 
 Fid. Marra, he's the delicatest tailor in all 
 England ; he makes my Lord Mayor of York's 
 gowns, and Lady Mairise's tee. 
 
 Enter Alderman and Squire. 
 
 Aid. Come, sir, I mean to marry you to the 
 Northern heiress. — Sir, I have brought my nephew 
 and my heir. 
 
 Sel. He is welcome. Pray you, sir, salute my 
 nieces. — I should scorn to have this Buffoon come 
 into the presence of my children but for the con- 
 veniency of destroying him. 
 
 Aid. Here's a bill upon Alderman Marrow for 
 ten thousand pound. 
 
 Sel. I'll not take it indeed, sir. 
 
 Aid. Come, come ; you must and shall have it. 
 
 Sel. I'll not touch it, truly ; give it my eldest 
 niece, if you please, to buy her pins. A proud 
 man may let his daughter stoop to ten thousand 
 pound. [A kiss. 
 
 Aid. Fair lady, here's a paper of pins Mill last 
 you and your heirs for ever. Sir, I have brought 
 the deeds of my estate to peruse and to keep till 
 our Counsel settle things of all hands. 
 
 Sel. 'Tis enough ; let us in and view the writ- 
 ings. 
 
 Squ. Sir, I swear by Parnassus, you have got 
 the most superlative paragon of the North. I am 
 struck with an amour as suddenly as he that fell 
 in love while he pulled on his boots. 
 
 Aid. Sir, you have taken Sir Marmaduke over 
 the face with your cane.
 
 260 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Squ. The mode must crave your pardon, not I. 
 The whole congregation of Gallants use it as a 
 novel lately come from France. 
 
 Sel. A most superlative fool ! This is one of 
 nature's bold strokes, niece. You see a monster 
 there almost in the shape of a man ; use him ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 [Exmnt Sir Marmaduke a7id Alderman. 
 
 Fid. I understand you, sir ; let me alone to 
 abuse him, sir. — Is thou to be my husband, sweet 
 honey beam ] 
 
 Squ. Honey ? "What a loving fool it is; she calls 
 me honey at first sight. 
 
 Fid. Now, I prithee, honey, help me to curse 
 my Frenchwoman. 
 
 S(pi. Ay, with all my heart, honey. A pox 
 upon her, and confound her ! Where is she 1 
 
 Fid. Honey, thou mun let me bang thee some 
 time, then thou't be my good lad. 
 
 Squ. Ay, with all my heart, bang all the honey 
 out of the hive of Parnassus. 
 
 Fid Stand fair, then, honey ; there's for thee 
 now. [Boo: d tli ear. 
 
 Squ. The de\'il ! You strike too hard, honey. 
 
 Fid. Hang thee, thou mun not frown ; thou mun 
 smile sweetly on me when I box thee ; now thou's 
 my defty.* And wilt thou play finely with me, 
 and not hurt me 1 [Bex o' fh' ear ; he smiles. 
 
 Squ. Play finely with me and not hurt mel 
 'Sheart, I have got a little whore, I think. 
 
 Fid. Now, my beam, thou mun lake t at, Come, 
 mother, saw you my cock to-day f 
 
 * Qy. dawty ? — one to be caressed and fondled. 
 t Play. 
 
 '■ AVilliam wel with IMeliors his wille than dede, 
 And layked there at lyking al the long daye." 
 
 William and the Werwolf, p. 38.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 261 
 
 Sqii. Come, mother, saw you my cock to day ? 
 'Sheart, 'tis a whore of a certain. 
 
 Fid. Thou man play at Rampscuttle and Clap- 
 perdepouch with me, my honey. 
 
 Sc/u. Clapperdepouch 1 Devil, what a strange 
 kind of a wife shall I have ! Come, then, show 
 me your Rampscuttle. 
 
 Fid. Thou mun first put on a petticoat. My 
 Frenchwoman shall make a lad-lass of thee. 
 
 [Puts on a petticoat. 
 
 Squ. Anything to please you, madam. 
 
 Fid. Then thou 's my pretty Frenchwoman, and 
 ril give thee a honey sugar kiss. 
 
 Squ. I'll do her the honour to give her a honey 
 sugar kiss too. 
 
 Mar. A great honour, indeed. What an absolute 
 fool is this ! 
 
 Fid. Come, honey, learn Rampscuttle ; begin 
 thus. [Dance. 
 
 Squ. With all my heart. 'Slife, what a mad 
 couple shall we make ! 
 
 Fid. That's my fool ; wilt thou be my fool, 
 honey ] 
 
 [She turns round and claps down ; tJun he. 
 
 Squ. I'll be thy fool ; nay, I'll be thy cuckold, 
 honey. 
 
 Fid. Wilt thou 1 I' faith, and we have mad 
 lads ; we make swingeing cuckolds in Yorkshire. 
 
 Squ. That's nothing to be a cuckold, madam. 
 My father and mother are cuckolds ; we can prove 
 our genealogy to be cuckolds from the very loins 
 of King Pippin. 
 
 Fid. Whaw, whaw, marra, the devil take thee 
 and thy King Pippin to boot ! Now play at Clap- 
 perdepouch, my honey beam. Clapperdepouch, clap- 
 perdepouch, clapperde, clapperde, clapperdepouch !
 
 262 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 S(j}i, This is the finest wife for my turn that 
 ever mortal light on ! Oh, devil ! you have beat 
 out my teeth, honey ! 
 
 [She turns, and hits him, on the face luith his cane. 
 
 Fid. The fashion mun crave thy pardon, honey, 
 not I ; besides, all the teeth of thy genealogy have 
 been beaten out up to King Pippin. What's thy 
 name, honey 1 
 
 Squ. I am proud of my name ; I was christened 
 Squire Buffoon. 
 
 Fid. By my saul, Buffoon is a worse name than 
 King Pippin. 
 
 Squ. Honey, we are the ancientest family of 
 the nation ; our mansionhouse is called Buffoon, 
 and our coat is three buffoons. 
 
 Fid. Methinks you should give three pippins 
 too, and that would show your descent plainly 
 from King Pippin. 
 
 Squ. If the heralds are to be bribed, I'll have 
 'em. Come, honey, shall we go behind the door 
 and play finely together, and get one another with 
 child of two young Pippins 1 
 
 Fid. Marra. out upon the grizely beast ! Wie 
 wad ta make a slut of me, and have me play at 
 bawdiness with thee 1 Help, help, help I 
 
 Enter Alderman and Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 ^Id. How now, what's the matter? 
 
 Fid. Marra, he's e'en a foul beast ; that is a, 
 nuncle, he wad have me go into the dark, and do 
 naughtiness with him. 
 
 Squ. She asked me to play finely with her and 
 not hurt her; then what could I say less? 
 
 Sel. This rogue was composed of a coarser stuff 
 than the common creation, of unrefined clay, such
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 263 
 
 as bearvvards and tinkers were made up of. You 
 are content, sir, to settle all entirely upon my 
 niece and her heirs ? 
 
 Aid. Most freely ; upon this match I'll make 
 my nephew a lord. 
 
 Sel. Tliere are so many Buftbons stolen into 
 titles, that raen would judge they came not law- 
 fully by them. Come, sir, let us go settle this 
 estate. 
 
 Sqv. Why, honey, shall we not have one trial of 
 skill for a young Pippin ? [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene hi. 
 
 Enter SiR Hercules, Laton, Bowman, Squire, 
 ami Clerk. 
 
 Lo. Sir, be sure you make my peace, or all the 
 world shall not save your throat. I will be at the 
 door and hear all you say, sir. [Exit Laton. 
 
 Boir. If thou get'3t oft" o' this, Knight, I'll prefer 
 thee to the first form of Wits, and that's very 
 iionourable, I assure you. 
 
 Her. I had rather be an honourable first-rate 
 Wit than a first-rate Alderman. 
 
 Enter Judge. 
 
 Boic. Thou art bravely disguised ; have a good 
 iieart ! here's the Judge. 
 
 Jud. Save ye, gentlemen ! Are you Sir Thomas 
 Lovill, sir? 
 
 Her. I am. Knight and Baronet, if you please, 
 my Lord. 
 
 Jud. Then, sir, if you please, your business ? 
 
 Her. Second me, sirs. — I come to inform your 
 Lordship of the most notorious villain that ever
 
 2C4 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 wore the figure of a man, — one Sir Hercules Buf- 
 foon. The law, no doubt, will give your Lordship 
 damage enough for the scandalous things he has 
 said of you, 
 
 Jud. Of me, sir 1 Scandalous things of me 1 
 Pray you, the words ? 
 
 Botv. What the devil ! does your father mean 
 to be hanged 1 
 
 Squ. For a good lie he'll venture that at any 
 time. 
 
 Her. He said your Lordship loved a bribe above 
 your allegiance, and that you have unjustly given 
 away an estate for a bribe of fifteen hundred 
 guineas. 
 
 JuJ. That's action enough ; down with those 
 guineas. What a villain 'tis ! 
 
 Squ. Ay, you'd say so if you knew the rogue as 
 well as we do, my Lord. 
 
 Her. You dog, I do not allow you to abuse me 
 thus. 
 
 Jud. But, gentlemen, have you witness of this 1 
 
 Her. Enough, my Lord ; myself and tAvo gentle- 
 men more, — not these ; they can Avitness another 
 thing. One Laton, hearing how Buffoon had 
 abused your Lordship, comes to him, and had 
 downright killed him but for these two gentlemen. 
 
 Squ. 'Tis very true, my Lord ; I got a broken 
 head with parting 'em, and this gentleman was 
 run through the arm. 
 
 Bow. A pox on him, I must own it now. — He 
 tells you true, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. Pray you, what Laton is it that has fought 
 for me thus 1 
 
 Her. One Robin Laton, my Lord. Buffoon's a 
 valiant fellow, and yet this Laton ha-s cudgelled 
 and beaten him to stockfish, my Lord.
 
 SIR HERCTLES BUFFOON. 265 
 
 Jud. That Robin Laton is my kinsman. I 
 turned him out of doors ; 'tis much, then, he 
 should fight for me. 
 
 Her. Your kinsman, my Lord 1 he might be your 
 son by his desjierate fighting for you. 
 
 Jiul. Say you so ? If this be true, gentlemen, 
 I'll make him happy. 
 
 Bmv. We can all witness it, my Lord. To say 
 truth, Sir Hercules is a most pernicious, mis- 
 chievous rascal. 
 
 Squ. A notorious villain, my Lord. There has 
 not been a rogue hanged these seven years that 
 has deserved it so much as he has done. 
 
 Her. You dog, remember this ; I'll maul you 
 for 't. 
 
 Jvd. Well, I'll trounce the rogue, I warrant 
 you. Has he an estate to make good the damages 
 the law will give me 1 
 
 Squ. Enough, enough, my Lord. Hang him ! a 
 damned rich hell-hound ! 
 
 Her. Zounds ! was ever man tlius abused, Bow- 
 man?— Nay, he said your Lordship was a most 
 gigantic whoremaster, and that you have nine 
 bawds lie leaguer in the country to send up fresh 
 virgins to you. 
 
 Jud. Pox on him, would he could make his 
 words good ! I'll firk the knave. How shall we 
 do to take him 1 
 
 Her. If your Lordship will grant me your war- 
 rant, I'll bring him before your honour to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Jud. Clerk, write a warrant presently. I'll not 
 leave him worth a groat ; he shall rot in jail. 
 
 Her. To see that rogue a beggar would make 
 me pray for your Lordship all the days of my life. 
 The knave called me cuckold, my Lord, too.
 
 266 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 S'pi. Faith, sir, no child can say absohitely who 
 was his father ; wives will have their fancies, and 
 why not yours ] 
 
 H(r. You abominable ro£;;ue I — My Lord, have 
 not you an office in your gift ? 
 
 Jud. Yes, I have, sir. 
 
 Bou: I'll tell you, my Lord ; this Buffoon, after 
 Mr. Laton had beaten him, promised to get this 
 office of your Lordship for Mr. Laton, pretending 
 that he had you at such a hank vou durst not 
 deny him. 
 
 Jud. I never saw the villain in my life. 
 
 Bou'. Nay, my Lord, the next day he told your 
 nephew he had got the office for him, and made him 
 go presently to give your Lordship thanks for it. 
 
 Her. And the base fellow, they say, was never 
 with your Lordship. 
 
 Jnd. No, indeed, sir ; and that made me angry 
 with my nephew to give me thanks for that I 
 ne\er gave him. The man meant mischief. 
 
 Her. Was ever such a shameless fellow, my 
 Lord 1 By my troth, give your kinsman the office, 
 and I'll give your Lordship two brace of fat deer 
 every season, as long as you live, my Lord. 
 
 Jtid. Give it me under hand and seal, that I 
 may demand them as my due, and I'll do it. 
 
 Her. With all my heart, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. Out of what park i for the place nmst he 
 expressed in the writing. 
 
 Her. Zounds ! I've ne'er a park ; what shall I 
 do ? — Out Whetstone's Park, in the county of Mid- 
 dlesex, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. Whetstone 1 There is a place called Whet- 
 stone by Barnet, but I never heard of a park 
 there. 
 
 Her. That's not the place. Whetstone's Park is
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 267 
 
 as well known as London. I would it were an 
 hundred miles off on't. I am so plagued with 
 Citizens that I cannot have a deer that's man's meat 
 but they steal it out of my park, my Lord. 
 
 Clerk. Here is the warrant against Sir Hercules 
 Buffoon. 
 
 Jud. I'll sign it. Clerk, draw an indenture for 
 two brace of deer yearly out of Whetstone's Park,* 
 in the county of Middlesex, upon forfeiture of five 
 hundred pounds, from Sir Thomas Lovill. 
 
 Bote. Here I shall burst out a-laughing ; I can- 
 not hold. 
 
 Enter Laton. 
 
 La, My Lord, here's one to summon all the 
 Judges to court. 
 
 Jvd. 'Ods so, I must away, then. Sir, I forgive 
 you for defending my reputation so well ; I give 
 you the office, and all my estate after my death. 
 Nephew, see Sir Thoma.s Lovill sign the obligation 
 for two brace of deer yearly out of Whetstone's 
 Park, in Middlesex ; and, sir, I hope you will 
 apprehend that rascal Buffoon for me. 
 
 [Exit Judge. 
 
 Her. I'll have him as sure as the day comes, my 
 Lord. 
 
 La. Dear Knight, thou art come off with honour ; 
 thou art my golden calf, and I'll worship thee. 
 
 * Whetstone's Park is referred to in Crowne's Countiy Wit. 
 See Crowne's Works in this series. Vol. III. See aim author's 
 address to Lee's ' Princess of Cleves.'' It was situated on the 
 Holborn side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was much fre- 
 quented by women of the town. Granger, in his account of 
 Mother Cresswell, observes: "The daughters of iniquity 
 were much more numerous than the mothers. They were 
 dispersed through every quarter of the town, but MoorSelds, 
 Whetstone's Park, Lukener's Lane, and Dog and Bitch Yard, 
 were their capital seraglios. "
 
 268 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Bow. Never had man so much ado to forbear 
 laughing as I have had at this Whetstone's Park. 
 
 Sqii. I was fain to turn about and laugh. 
 
 Clerk. I had certainly laughed in the Judge's 
 face, but for consideration of you, sir. 
 
 Iai. Clerk, take heed you be very just. 
 
 Clerk. As your own heart, i' fi\ith. 
 
 Brno. How thou wilt get clear of the Judge when 
 he comes to have his deer out of Whetstone's Park, 
 1 know not. 
 
 Her. I have a harder task by half; I am to 
 help Aimwell to one of the rich heiresses. I have 
 told him a damned lie. 
 
 La. Like enough ; prithee, what is it ? 
 
 He/r. I told him the guardian and I were inti- 
 aate friends, old acquaintance and schoolfellows, 
 ■md the devil take me if I ever saw him in my 
 life ; yet I am resolved to face him down that we 
 are dear friends and old acquaintants, and that's as 
 hard a task as ever impudence undertook. 
 . Bt/w. Faith, so 'tis, considering the great spirit 
 uf tlie guardian. 
 
 Her. I'll do it for all that. 
 
 Squ. Give me thy hand, father ; I commend thy 
 impudence, old • 
 
 La. Bravely resolved ! Come, I will first treat 
 thee, then go with thee, and back thee manfully. 
 
 \^E.cevnt. 
 
 1 
 
 Act IV.— Scene i. 
 Enter Lord Arminger, Guardian, Mariajsia, and 
 
 W^AITERS. 
 
 Arm. Wait in the next room. 
 
 Sel. 1 am prouder to have the great Lord
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 209 
 
 Arminger under this mean roof than liaughty 
 Princes are of empire ; and I bow with such rever- 
 ence to your person as holy men do to the holy 
 altar, and with the same humility offer my obla- 
 tion up. Receive her as from Heaven, for she is 
 fraught with virtue equal with the angels. 
 
 Arm. Sir, I admire you Avith more than com- 
 mon wonder. Guardians usually make price of 
 the innocent orphans in their charge, but you are 
 more than just, you are kind, and to that degree 
 which parents have for children. 
 
 Sel. I shall betray myself with violent fondness ; 
 such torrents of love flow in me, that I think the 
 world too little for her doAver. 
 
 3far. Indeed, my Lord, his tender care seems 
 to have more of father than guardian in 't, in 
 which we hold ourselves most highly blessed. 
 
 Sel. My good Lord, I leave you to make your 
 court where doubtless you'll find your love most 
 worthily and readily received. [Exit Seldin. 
 
 Arm. Madam, your uncle spoke largely of your 
 virtues to me, but nothing of your ])erson ; and 
 now I see the cause, for 'tis impossible the capacity' 
 of man should reach the character of so much 
 })eauty as I now behold, and all the rest must 
 needs submit to crown you Goddess of your 
 admired sex. 
 
 Mar. My Lord, you answer not your character. 
 You were rendered to me the only man of honour, 
 truth, and justice, and I hear nothing but airy 
 compliment, fine poetical flattery ; fit only to catch 
 girls. 
 
 Ar7n. Madam, by my honour, and that's my 
 dearest treasure, I flatter not, but speak truth just 
 as my heart conceives it ; therefore I again declare 
 you are the only beauty that ever yet my eye 
 
 o
 
 270 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 encountered, and I find a dotage stealing on me 
 more than common love. 
 
 Mar. Hold, my Lord, I command you ! for sure 
 she may command that is so much admired 1 
 therefore, by that precious gem, your honour, are 
 those sweet words you've sjx)ken truth 1 
 
 Arm. Madam, by all the bliss I hope for, I have 
 no falsehood in me. 
 
 Mar. Then stop and go no further in your love, 
 I charge you, for I must never be your wife. 
 
 Arm. HoAv, madam ] I came prepared by your 
 uncle this day to marry you. 
 
 Mar. Oh, my Lord, tliat day is further off than 
 the unknown, uncertain hour of doom. 
 
 Arm. Madam, if there be cause for this your 
 cruelty, reveal it ; and by the original of all honour 
 here I swear, this bosom is your grave to bury all 
 your secrets. 
 
 Mar. I believe you, my Lord, Avith the same 
 faith I do religion. 
 
 Arm. Madam, you have reprieved my life, by 
 thinking me worthy of your thoughts, though un- 
 worthy of your love. 
 
 Mar. Oh, my honoured Lord, it is my unworthi- 
 ness, not yours, that must for ever keep this cruel 
 distance. 
 
 Arm. Whate'er the reason is, that cannot be it. 
 Say you're contracted unknown to your uncle ; 
 say any cruel thing but that. 
 
 Mar. Then I declare the noble character my 
 uncle gave me of your Lordship sprung in me a 
 true and perfect love, Avhich made my desires so 
 violent to see you, that since my life till now was 
 more uneasy than a sick man's restless night, and 
 yet must never marr\\ 
 . Arm. Never was man pleased and startled so at
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 271 
 
 once ! Infinitely pleased to hear you say you love, 
 but strangely startled that you ne'er must marry. 
 The thought frights me. The ghosts of murdered 
 men shake not guilty slaves as that resolve shakes 
 me. I find man is not fortified to bear the frights 
 of love, I beseech you, madam, if you have cause 
 for this your, resolution, give me some ease by 
 imparting it. 
 
 Mar. It is so dreadful for a good man to hear ; 
 but, if your Lordship will ask my uncle's leave to 
 carry me and my sister abroad, you then shall 
 know why you and I must never marry. 
 
 Ann. Your resolution has dispersed my spirits 
 so, they are never more to be collected. All 
 within me lies confused ; a madman's blood's in 
 better temper, and I am all on fire till I ani satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Mar. My Lord, I am destroyed if you reveal me. 
 
 Arm. You are more cruel in distrusting that 
 than in refusing me. 
 
 Mar. Your pardon ; and henceforth my trust 
 shall ever rest in you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene ir. 
 
 Enter Sir Hercules, Bow.alan, Aimwell, Laton, 
 ami Overwise. 
 
 Aim. You have put me oft' from time to time, 
 and I am resolved to be no longer fooled ; there- 
 fore, try your interest you boast of with the 
 guardian, or 
 
 Her. AVell, fool, doubt n(jt ine in the least. 
 — This is the greatest strait I ever was yet put to. 
 Bowman. For me to salute and impudently em- 
 brace a man of his high spirit, and face him down
 
 272 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 that we are dear and intimate friends, and yet 
 never saw him — the devil take me, 'tis a damned 
 audacious task ! 
 
 Bmv. However, go forward ! here's my hand 
 thou shalt not suffer. 
 
 Her. Then, dear impudence, stand my friend 
 this one push, and I'll own thee for my patron all 
 my life. 
 
 La. Here comes the guardian ; bear up, Knight I 
 
 Omnes. Your most humble servant, sir. 
 Enter Seldin. 
 
 Sel. Gentlemen, I am to crave your pardon, my 
 nieces are not this day to be seen ; however, the 
 freedom of my house I tender you with all the 
 respect imaginable. 
 
 Her. Sure, Sir Marmaduke, you will let your 
 intimate friend see your nieces. Dear rogue, how 
 dost thou do 1 — Own me for your friend and 
 schoolfellow; 'twill be thousands in your way. — 
 This worthy gentleman, dear friend, thou must 
 know. 
 
 Sel. It will concern me more to know you, sir, 
 for in my life I never met such confidence. 
 
 Her. Why, how now, Marmaduke, has your 
 guardianship made you proud 1 Have you forgot 
 yourself ? 
 
 Sel. "What the devil means this fellow ] Gentle- 
 men, who knows this creature 1 or who brought 
 him hither % 
 
 Aim. "We all know him, and he brought us 
 hither, pretending more interest in you than all 
 mankind besides. 
 
 Sel. Upon my honour, gentlemen, I never saw 
 the man before. 
 
 Her. Thou shameless fellow, canst thou with so 
 bold a face say thou know'st me not 1
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 273 
 
 Aim. You are found out, i' faith, Knight! 
 
 Her. Hang him, he knows me better than lie 
 knows his housekeeper ! 
 
 Sel. I am at a stand, and know not how in this 
 case to behave myself. 
 
 Her. I commend thee, Marmaduke, for diivin^ 
 a jest so far. The devil take me, gentlemen, if I 
 thought it had been in him. I loved thee dearly 
 before, but tliis jocose humour of thine makes me 
 admire thee. Dear rogue, let me hug and kiss 
 thee, sweet boy. 
 
 Sel. Stand off, or, as I'm a gentleman, I'll strike 
 you ; which nothing could make me do in my own 
 liouse, but such an impudent provocation. 
 
 Her. Did you ever in your lives see a jest s(j 
 well managed, gentlemen '? He does it so rarely 
 well that I dare swear j'ou all think him in 
 earnest. 
 
 La. Yes, in good faith do we. 
 
 Her. By my life, so should I, but that I have 
 known him these fifty years. 
 
 Sel. Pray ye, gentlemen, open the scene, and 
 discover what buffoon this is. 
 
 Her. Buffoon ! mark ye that ; as if he did not 
 know me, and yet name me. He'll carry it thus 
 till I am angry Avitli him. 
 
 Baiv. Overwise is whispering of him ; he'll 
 trouble him Avorse than Buffoon. 
 
 Over. Sir, I am one that honours you. My name is 
 Overwise ; by that you may judge I am no fool, sir. 
 
 Sel. 'Sdeath ! this is a worse fop than the other. 
 
 La. But, Knight, if Sir Marmaduke jokes, he 
 does it rarely Avell. 
 
 Her. He is the devil at joking. But that I 
 would not say it to disgrace him, he has been an 
 old player at the Blackfriars. 
 
 s
 
 274 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Sel. You eternal dog, I'll cut your throat ! 
 Gentlemen, come ye to affront me 1 
 
 Boiv. Hold, good sir ! we come upon no such 
 unworthy design, I assure you, sir ! 
 
 Ocer. Sir, read Seneca, and he will teach you 
 l^atience. 
 
 Sel. Damn thee, fop ! is patience to be exercised 
 in thy company ? 
 
 Her. But you, friend Marmaduke, now 'tis time 
 to leave fooling, and to own me for your old 
 friend, as you have done these fifty years, or hang 
 me if I do not declare you a proud foolish fellow. 
 
 Sel. Gentlemen, I love wit and joking — no man 
 more ; therefore, if this be a Court fool, or a public 
 buffoon, declare it, and he's welcome. 
 
 Her. Incomparable well ! incomparable ! Does 
 he not carry it rarely well, gentlemen 1 
 
 Aim. I know not what to think. Are they 
 acquainted or no, for a wager 1 
 
 Over. No more than thou art with a reverend 
 Divine, or the Emperor of Japan. 
 
 Aim. Then is this rogue Buffoon the original 
 (jf impudence, and the rest of mankind mere 
 copies. [He whispers. 
 
 Sel. 'Sdeath, your whispering torments me more 
 than his impudence. Gentlemen, pray ye let me 
 know the name and quality of this confident person. 
 
 Her. Away, aAvay, fools ! 'Sheart, he knows 
 name and quality better than he knows his chil- 
 dren. I'll show you by an infallible token that I 
 know him, for he has a mole of his right buttock 
 as broad as both my hands. 
 
 Sel. By my life, a villain, and he lies, gentlemen ! 
 
 Her. Why, show the contrary, and that's de- 
 monstration. Sure he Avill not let down his 
 breeches to disprove me.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 275 
 
 Sel. I know not whether to laugh or to be angry. 
 Pray ye, gentlemen, let me know his name. 
 
 Bote. Sir, his name is Hercules BuflFoon. 
 
 Sel. Oh, I have heard of him. Sir Hercules, I 
 must be better known to you. 
 
 Her. A good jest ! as if you and I need to be 
 better known. 
 
 Sel. Nay, sir, I'll own anything you say, to 
 keep up your humour. 
 
 Over. But one ear more with you, sir. I'm one 
 that loves curiosities. Have you really such a mole 
 o' your buttock 1 
 
 Sel. I can be angry no longer. Where the 
 devil wert thou bred that thou delightest so in 
 lying ? 
 
 Her. Now, sirs, I'll tell you how we two arch 
 rogues robbed my mother's orchard of all her wall 
 fruit, her peaches, heart cherries, and her great 
 Dutch strawberries. 
 
 La. Pray ye, sir, are strawberries a wall fruit 1 
 
 Her. You must know those Avere Greenland 
 strawberries, and there they grow up to be vast 
 great trees, and are nailed against the walls as 
 vines are. 
 
 La. By reason of the great heat of the climate, 
 I suppose ; because Greenland, you know, lies 
 under the line. 
 
 Her. It does so. Thou hast travelled, or read 
 maps, I find. But, sir, to clear ourselves of rob- 
 bing the orchard, we drew forty huge overgrowji 
 carps out of a pond, each six foot long at least. 
 
 Bote. How ! carps six foot long ! That's two 
 yards, man. 
 
 Sel. But then you must consider they were over- 
 grown carps. 
 
 Her. Right ! a monstrous overgrown carp may
 
 276 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 he nine foot long. But, sir, we put 'em in the 
 peach-trees, then fetched my mother to see 'em ; 
 and when we came back, the carps were skipping 
 from tree to tree, eating the fruit as the devil 
 drove 'em. So my mother wondered at it, and we 
 were cleared of the robbery, old boy. 
 
 Aim. Now the devil thy tutor take thee ; for 
 every motion of thy tongue thou deservest a 
 whipping. 
 
 Her. This fellow is an infatuated Jew ; believes 
 nothing — not so much as a Greenland strawberry- 
 tree. 
 
 Aim. Did you never tell a lie with Sir John 
 JNIandevil for a wager 1 
 
 Her. Yes, and made an ass of him too. I'll 
 tell you a thing that I am sure this fellow will 
 give no credit to. 
 
 Aim. Now thou speakest truth, I am sure of it. 
 
 Her. Sir, I have been in a strange country, 
 where all creatures are prodigiously bigger than 
 in other parts of the world, though of the same 
 species. For example, I have seen a bee as big as 
 an eagle. 
 
 Bote. Pray you, how big were the hives then 1 
 
 Her. Full as big as Westminster Hall, only 
 they're round. 
 
 Over. A good simile ; for we have a fort of 
 English vermin that bring all the honey of the 
 nation to that hive indeed. 
 
 Her. I have seen a cabbage-tree higher than the 
 monument upon Fish Street Hill. 
 
 Omnes. Thou boy, thou boy ! 
 
 Her. You do not believe me, then 1 The devil 
 take me if these homebred fellows can be saved ! 
 They neither know nor believe half the crea- 
 tion.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 277 
 
 Aim. The country thou speakest of is thy own 
 creation. 
 
 Her. Marmaduke, upon my credit, all their 
 mainmasts for their capital ships are made of 
 cabbage stalks, and the planks of the ships are all 
 cabbage leaves, — and better timber by half than 
 your English oak. 
 
 Bow. If the planks of their ships be cabbage 
 leaves, prithee what are the sails made of? 
 
 Her. Upon my life, all their sails are made of 
 spiders' webs. 
 
 Oinnes. ' Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Her. You ignorant fops, what do you laugh at ? 
 A spider's web there is ten times stronger than all 
 the canvas sails in the world. And the spiders 
 are bigger than the King's fine cranes in the park, 
 but twenty times longer legged. The first time 1 
 saw them, they looked like Lincolnshire men 
 walking i' th' fens upon stilts. 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Aim. If every man here should cut an inch of 
 his tongue out, he Avould have enough left, I war- 
 rant ye, to tell a lie. 
 
 Over. Really, if one inch were off, 'tis possible 
 he might speak truth ; and if one inch will not do, 
 my opinion is to cut it clear out. 
 
 Boa: Prithee, Knight, what's the name of the 
 country where these wonders grow 1 
 
 Her. 'Tis called — 'tis called Terra Incognita. 
 All the seamen i' th' world know it. Ne'er a sculler 
 o' th' Thames but knows Terra Incognita, fool ! 
 
 Boa: 'Tis as well known as the north-east pas- 
 sage to the Indies. The seamen know it as well as 
 they know the Garden of Eden. 
 
 Her. Why, there's no question i' th' world of it, 
 man.
 
 278 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Aim. If thou shouldst be condemned to speak 
 truth all thy life, what a case wert thou in ! 
 
 Her. I'll hold thee five guineas the next thing I 
 speak of shall be truth, and deposit in Sir Mamia- 
 duke's hand. 
 
 yiim. Done for five guineas ! There, sir. 
 
 Her. And there, sir. You know I told ye, 
 gentlemen, that the guardian and I were old 
 acquaintants and intimate friends ; and may I 
 perish if ever I saw him in my life before this 
 hour. Speak truth, now, guardian. 
 
 Sel. The man speaks truth now, upon my 
 honour, gentlemen. 
 
 Her. Then I have won. Now, I'll hold thee 
 five guineas more that I ne'er speak truth again 
 as long as I live. 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Eiiter Servant. 
 
 Ser. My Lord Arminger is come, and desires to 
 see you. 
 
 Sel. Gentlemen, I must crave your pardon. 
 Great business calls me from ye ; but I desire ye to 
 take the freedom of my house. [E'xit Seldin. 
 
 Enter Alderman and Squire, 
 
 Her. Uncle, what makes you here ? 
 
 Aid. I have matched our squire to the Northern 
 heiress, and settled all my estate upon the lady. 
 
 Boir. Sir, your nephew cannot marry till he is 
 out of his time, for he is prentice to a poet. 
 
 Aid. How ! Prentice to a poet ! 
 
 Squ. Yes, and a greater honour than to be a 
 Lord. Uncle, you would say so if you knew the 
 records of Parnassus. I have taken the degree of 
 ass already.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 279 
 
 Aid. Ass I Poets are the wittiest men of our 
 nation ; then what relation can an ass have to a 
 poet, blockhead] 
 
 Sqic. Oh, uncle, you would ha' blessed yourself 
 to ha' seen me pass the grand ceremony of an ass. 
 First, I kneeled in my shirt, then all these gentle- 
 men, according to the rules of Parnassus, threw a 
 hundred bumpers of claret in my face. 
 
 Aid. Bumper ! Prithee, what's a bumper 1 
 
 Squ. For shame, uncle ! Not know what a 
 bumper is ? Bumper is the Parnassus' word for a 
 beer glass top full. 
 
 Her. Oh, the learning of Parnassus exceeds all 
 tlie Greek, Hebrew, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish in 
 the world ! 
 
 AM. I find they make an ass of thee indeed. 
 
 La. But you must know 'twas done by the laM's 
 of Parnassus, where the records of poetry are most 
 sacredly kept. 
 
 Aid. Records of Parnassus ! Prithee what place 
 is Parnassus i 
 
 Sqii. 'Tis a place of rest for the souls of tlie 
 poets ; for you must know they never go to Heaven, 
 but when they die their souls are condemned to 
 Parnassus, there to sing madrigals, every one in 
 praise of his own poetry, to all eternity. 
 
 Aim. And that doubtless pleases them better 
 than going to Heaven. 
 
 Aid. But will abusing a man inspire him with 
 wit 1 
 
 Her. The ceremony without question will ; for 
 never was boy so improved. 
 
 Aid. But will his wit get him an estate, as mine 
 has donel 
 
 Her. Nay, by my faith, I cannot say that. 
 
 Aid. Then a wit is a pitiful poor creature, and.
 
 280 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 I'll warrant you, one that will borrow money of 
 his very father. I have more wit than a hundred 
 of 'em. 
 
 Squ. Ay, uncle, you got j'our wit out of eternal 
 Hopkins. i 
 
 Aid. Come, let me s^e your master. 
 
 Over. I am the person that honours your nephew 
 so far as to make him my prentice. 
 
 Aid. Honour him ! He honours thee, thou 
 vainglorious poet ! But I do not blame thee, for 
 'tis natural to you all. But come. Sir Poet, I'll 
 try whether you're a poet or no. Break a jest 
 (|uickly — quickly, without studying, sir ! 
 
 Over. Hold, sir ; a jest is not so quickly at a 
 poet's command. 
 
 Aid. Then you're a dull, insipid poet, and will 
 never go to Parnassus. To tell you true, I like 
 not your profession, therefore I'll buy the b(jy's 
 time out. I'll give you a hundred pound that 
 you may take some lawful calling ; for poets and 
 plaj'ers are never useful but of a Lord Mayor's 
 day, Avhen they're mounted on a pageant. 
 
 Boic. What think 30U of the authority of the 
 nation that allows them 1 
 
 Aid. For all that, we citizens are always of out- 
 own opinion. And I say again, poets and players 
 are never useful but when a king is crowned, or a 
 lord mayor is chosen ; and 'tis the opinion of the 
 •^•ourt of aldermen, and I'll stand in it. [E.x.'vnt. 
 
 Scene hi. 
 
 Enter Lord Arminger and Mariana. 
 
 Mar. I am here by promise, to give your Lord- 
 ship reasons why you and I must never marry.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 281 
 
 And prepare yourself, for I've a story ; blood and 
 horror are the least things in't. 
 
 ^4rm. Bless me ! it startles all my spirits to hear 
 sweet innocence talk of blood. You must be 
 virtuous ; such sweetness cannot deceive. 
 
 Mar. My Lord, I am false, — a lewd impostor, 
 and not the heiress whom you came to marry. 
 
 Arm. How? You have not left me sense 
 enough to Avonder ! My blood wants motion, and 
 life is stealing from me, and not sensible. Speak 
 again, for 'tis impossible you should e'er be 
 wicked. 
 
 Mar. I am not the heiress, but Sir Marmaduke 
 Seldin's own daughter ; and the true heiresses, my 
 dear and lovely kinswomen, are 
 
 Arm. Are what? Where? Speak! 
 
 Mar. Murdered ! What opinion have you of 
 my -virtue now, my Lord ? 
 
 Arm. I rather fear your senses than your virtue 
 yet. Some wild extravagancy hath seized your 
 parts, and made your tongue strike false. Sucli 
 a Heavenly fabric cannot be tenanted with devils. 
 Therefore deliver truth, in short, and let me be at 
 ease. 
 
 Mar. Our cruel father forced our consents to 
 that more cruel murder ; and had we refused, we 
 had infallibly met our own deaths. 
 
 A'rm. Hold ! ]\Iy heart has met so violent a 
 storm, 'twill overset. I bear a weight of grief 
 heavier than Atlas' burden. Pray you, speak of 
 something else ; my ears ai-e filled with so much 
 wickedness, they have no room for more. Pray 
 you, speak the rest as softly as you can. 
 
 3far. Then thus, my Lord. Having met my 
 father in all his bloody purposes 
 
 Arm. Bless me ! how unconcerned she talks of
 
 282 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 blood ! Her tongue persuades one way and her 
 Heavenly form another. 
 
 71/ar. But the contrivance of their deaths so 
 infinitely surprised and pleased my father, that he 
 trusted our engines with the bloody deed. 
 
 Arm. Bless me ! how my opinion comes and 
 goes ! You seem to rejoice, madam. 
 
 Mar. Then hear me, sir. !My own servant, 
 having a seaman to her lover, hired a ship to carry 
 them to the north of Norway, and there to set the 
 innocent ashore Av^here none but the merciless 
 inhabit ; and, being shipped, my jealous father 
 saw them under sail below the Hope, and then 
 returned well satisfied. But our servants, by our 
 order, the next tide brought 'em back ; and here, I 
 thank Heaven, they are safe, and have escaped the 
 wicked purpose of my father. 
 
 Arm. I thank Heaven too, both for your virtuous 
 actand theirpreservation. Howglorious do you now 
 appear ! You shine so bright, your dazzling virtues 
 hurt my tender sight. I dare not gaze too much. 
 
 Mar. My Lord, preserve your fine managed 
 tongue for the lovely beauty that deserves it. 
 You came to court the true heiress, and fate has 
 purposely preserved her for you. 
 
 Enter Lydia, 
 
 Ljjd. Oh, my sweet, dear lady, your cousins will 
 receive you with such joy, I fear an ecstasy will 
 follow. I'll call them presently. 
 
 Mar. Now you shall behold a beauty worthy of 
 the Lord Arminger, whose parts and fortune 
 parallel yours. But had she no wealth, and were 
 as low as poor Mariana, the power of her beauty 
 would humble the proudest of Monarchs, and make 
 him stoop to court her.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 283 
 
 Arm. Had she all this beauty, and the world's 
 treasure in her own exchequer, she could no more 
 tempt me to love her than she could tempt the 
 dead. A marble statue her beauty may give life 
 and motion to, force it to weep and tell its 
 amorous passion, make it die for love, and so turn 
 statue again. All this, I think, is in the power of 
 love, and yet it cannot work a change in me ; my 
 heart is linked so firmly to your virtues, magic 
 cannot break the chain. 
 
 Ent€7- Belmaria, Innocentia, Fidelia, Lydia, 
 and Seaman. 
 
 3far. Oh, my dear and lovely Belmaria ! My 
 pretty Innocentia ! 
 
 Fid. We have embraced and kissed alread}', 
 sister; wept for joy, and given thanks. Not so 
 much as my ungodly seaman, old Captain Ham- 
 mock, but has rendered thanks to see us together 
 again. 
 
 Bel. Oh, you dear preservers ! How shall we 
 reward your virtues 1 How shall we proclaim the 
 honour due to your merits'? 'Tis fit the world 
 should know that Heaven reigns in women. 
 
 Fui. Ay, but the wicked world will hardly 
 believe it. 
 
 Inn. Oh, let me kiss, and clip,* and hug thee ! 
 Oh, thou's my goodly cousin ; thou wad not let us 
 be murdered, honey ; no more wad thou, thou 
 pratty creature thou. 
 
 Fui. Sister, whilst we rejoice to see each other, 
 we lose ourselves in neglecting of my Lord. 
 
 3far. My Lord, most earnestly I crave your 
 pardon. 
 
 Arm. This precious love you show each other 
 
 * Embrace.
 
 284 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 requires my praise and wonder, not my pardon. 
 Your servant, madam ; yours, lovely Innocentia. 
 Inn. What pratty words he said to me, cousin ! 
 Bel. We ought to rejoice at the sight of these 
 miracles, these cherubins ; for such virtue, my 
 Lord, deserves such heavenly attributes. 
 
 Arm. Madam, you cannot say enough ; they are 
 angels, only wrapped up in mortality, disguised in 
 lovely flesh and blood, to show the world Avhat 
 blessed creatures the whole sex of womankind 
 were meant. 
 
 Inn. Now, wae's me, cousin, that my tongue 
 could but tattle as prattily as this deft "• lord's does 1 
 Bel. My Lord, we intend equally to divide our 
 fortunes with them; to be less grateful would 
 render us unworthy of our lives, which they so 
 virtuously have preserved. 
 
 Inn. Marra, sister, my cousin shall have half of 
 everything I have ! Thou'st have half my portion ; 
 nay, by my conscience, thou'st have half my hus- 
 band when I have him ! 
 
 Fid. But, cousin, suppose this brave Lord were 
 your husband, would you let me have half of 
 him 1 
 
 Inn. Now, by my saul, I think I should not. 
 A wattanerin t he's too pratty a man to part with, 
 cousin. 
 
 Arm. Lovelj^ sweet Innocence ! I thank your 
 kind opinion, madam. 
 
 Mar. Good Belmaria, did you say half your 
 
 portions 1 My Lord, have they not brave and 
 
 generous souls % Does it not add to their beauties, 
 
 and make them look more lovely 1 Speak, my Lord. 
 
 Arm. With great astonishment I admire their 
 
 * Neal, dexterous. Still in use in the north, 
 t Qy- I iirn of opinion.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 285 
 
 offer. The worst of men must needs adore such 
 gratitude. 
 
 Mar. And the best of men despise us, should we 
 accept the offer. 
 
 Arm. It was my fear you would, when you so 
 highly extolled their generosity. 
 
 3Iar. My Lord, if we have done good, the deed 
 rewards itself. Virtue's a free gift from above, 
 and to be bought and sold no more than Heaven. 
 
 Fid. Virtue was never mercenary yet ; and if it 
 should, my Lord, Ave have not such a stock as to 
 sell it out by retail. 
 
 Bel. This is obstinacy, not honour, to refuse a 
 friendship justly due to you. You'd make us 
 ungrateful to raise yourselves a fame. 
 
 Inn. Let this deft honey Lord be judge now. 
 They saved us fra being devoured by wild l)ears, 
 honey Lord ; then should not we give them half we 
 have, thou pratty man, thou 1 
 
 Fid. Dispute this no more, but come to the 
 ]»oint. I present your Lordship with the real 
 heiress ; my sister was but a false ninepin put 
 upon you. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis true, my Lord, this is your true prize, 
 and Avorthy of your greatness. 
 
 Bel. Hold, cousin ! Shall I be offered up to one 
 that may refuse me 1 That would be a stain to 
 my honour never to be cleared. 
 
 Inn. Marra, wad, to the Lord of Heaven, they 
 wad all say so ! Then I hope at last he wad come 
 to be my sweet honey husband. 
 
 Mar. We are now to think of safety, for home 
 we must not go ; therefore we beg your Lordship 
 to take us into your protection. 
 
 Omnes. We all desire that favour, my Lord. 
 
 Inn. Favour ! marra, it's e'en a blessing ! And,
 
 286 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 good honey sister, let's ne'er go fra this pratty 
 Lord whilst we live. 
 
 Arm. I receive you, ladies, Avith such care as 
 tender mothers take of infants ; and if my honour, 
 life, and fortune can preserve you from your 
 father's cruelty, you are safe. 
 
 Sea. Your safety lies in securing your father, 
 madam. Bring him to public justice, and then 
 you're safe. 
 
 Mar. Oh, say that no more ! My Lord and Bel- 
 maria, you have milder tempers. We have pre- 
 served your lives, and to publish my father's 
 shame were to murder us. 
 
 Fid. The ill he meant you see is mercifully 
 prevented ; how ungrateful, then, would you all 
 appear to us ! But thy nature, like thy horrid 
 aspect, is all rough and furred. Thy love to her is 
 furred all over like a sick man's tongue, so that 
 love in thee is a perfect fever ; and when thou'rt 
 well, it is no longer love, but turns again to brutish 
 seaman. 
 
 Arm. What way can you propose to secure 
 yourselves, and conceal your father's shame, 
 ladies 1 
 
 Mar. If we could find a way to bring him to 
 repentance. 
 
 Bel. Ay, dear cousin, that were a blessed work 
 indeed ; we could all wish that ; but how 1 
 
 Mar. Why, thus. Your Lordship, we desire to 
 get my father hither, aiid tell him we are fallen 
 desperately ill — indeed, distracted. Say something 
 has appeared to us and frighted us ; and desire him 
 to come with all speed, lest we die before he has a 
 sight of us. 
 
 Fid. Very good ! My two cousins, Lydia, and 
 her seaman, shall appear at that window like
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 287 
 
 ghosts, call liim bloody murderer, bid him repent, 
 and so vanish. 
 
 3Iar. That must shake his spirits, being guilty 
 and, I hope, may work upon his hardened heart. 
 
 Arm. We all hope that. I much approve of 
 this contrivance, and, if you please, I'll instantly 
 about it. 
 
 Bel. My Lord, we shall for ever own the obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 Inn. Good honey Lord, take heed my naughty 
 nuncle do not kill you now. 
 
 Arm. Sweet lovely Innocentia, I thank you. 
 Your faithful servant, ladies. [Edf Arminger. 
 
 Inn. Faithful tons alH Marra, I'se sure I'st 
 have the least share of you, then. 
 
 Bel. Come, dear Mariana ; this trial, I hope 
 will bring your poor father to an humble peni- 
 tence. 
 
 Mar. It is the only blessing upon earth my soul 
 prays for. 
 
 Fid. I hope for something else upon earth before 
 I die, sister. 
 
 Omnes. We shall all rejoice to see you both 
 enjoy your wishes. \Ey:eunt. 
 
 Act v. — Scene i. 
 
 Enter Buffoon, Bowman, and Laton. 
 
 La. Oh, Sir Hercules, there's rods in piss foi' 
 you, i' faith. My uncle is so incensed against 
 thee for putting that damned joke of Whetstone's 
 Park upon him, that he resolves to have the whole 
 nation searched, but he will have thee.
 
 288 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON, 
 
 Jler. I thought a deer out of Whetstone's Park 
 liaJ been welcomer to him than all the venison 
 i' th' world. How came he to know it ] 
 
 Bow. Why, it seems he inquired of some of his 
 ])rother lawyers Avhereabout in Middlesex a place 
 called Whetstone's Park stood, arid withal told 
 'em he had bargained for two brace of deer yearly 
 out on't during his life. 
 
 La. Upon that they all fell a-laughing at him 
 ready to split, and told him it was a park of 
 bawdy-houses ; which made him fall into so great 
 a T'age, that he has sent his clerk, constables, and 
 devil, and all to search for thee. 
 
 Her. Why, you know, 'twas Sir Thomas Lovill 
 with the wooden leg that put Whetstone's Park 
 upon him. I'll go to him, as I am Sir Hercules, 
 and bid him produce his lame knave. Sir Thomas 
 Jjovill. Hast thou the deed of thy father's estate, 
 man l 
 
 La. I have it, old boy. He was so pleased that 
 I fought with thee in the defence of his reputa- 
 tion, that he gave me the deed presently ; and the 
 lawyers assure me that it is as firm a deed as ever 
 yet was made. 
 
 Her. Then never- fear me; I'll get off well 
 enough, I'll warrant you. 
 
 Im. I'll own the whole to him. Come, we'll 
 ••ontrive it as we go. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene it. 
 
 Enter Lord Arminger and Guardian. 
 
 Jrm. Sir Marmaduke, I have something to 
 impart to you ; but you being subject to violent
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 289 
 
 passions, I am not willing to communicate such 
 unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Sel. My Lord, to show the dear respect I bear 
 you, passion shall be my slave for once. I'll stop 
 his violent source, and yoke him to humility. 
 Therefore, let me know the worst of ill my cruel 
 fate has destined. 
 
 Arm. In short, your nieces are fallen desperately 
 ill. 
 
 Sel. Is that all, my Lord 1 If they be sick, we 
 will ha-se a doctor. 
 
 Arm. Not sick, but worse. A ghastly fear and 
 trembling has possessed them. Something appears 
 to 'em and frights 'em ; for they ran to me and 
 cried, Save us, save us ! and asked me if I saw 
 nothing, and pointed with their fingers, crying 
 aloud, There they are ! there they are ! Have they 
 ever had such fits before 1 
 
 Sel. Often, my Lord, often. Ever, when they 
 dream of hobgoblins, the next day they run to me 
 for shelter. Damn 'em, their base womanish fear 
 will destroy their glorious preferment. 
 
 Arm. Their desperate fits would make me think 
 'em guilty of murder, but for my full persuasion 
 of their sweet and blessed innocence ; and what 
 unspeakable comfort it is to be innocent ! What 
 say you, sir] 
 
 Sel. Yes, it is a fine childish comfort. For to 
 be innocent is to be ignorant ; to be ignorant is to 
 know nothing ; and they that know nothing are 
 unworthy to be reckoned of the race of man. 
 And that is my opinion of innocence, my Lord. 
 
 Arm. I am troubled to hear this; it is no re- 
 ligious answer. 
 
 Sel. It was no religious question. I would see 
 my nieces ; are they here, my Lord 1 
 
 T
 
 290 SIR HERCL'LES BUFFOON; 
 
 Ann. Yes, they are here, bloody villain ! I'll 
 fetch those blessed innocents, which by thy vir- 
 tuous daughters were preserved. [Ghost above. 
 
 Sel. Ha, ha ! What ! thou art a foolish scare- 
 crow called a ghost, art thou not ? 
 
 Arm. Who is't you speak to ] What is't you 
 see ? 
 
 Sel. Nothing. I speak to nothing ; I see 
 nothing. Do you, my Lord 1 
 
 Arm. No, sir ; but such distracted starts as 
 those your nieces had. 
 
 Sel. Then, good my Lord, withdraw. In short, 
 the devil and I have conference once a week, and 
 now's the time. 
 
 Arm. I'll fetch your nieces; their virtues may 
 Iright your devil away. [Exit Arminger. 
 
 Sel. Now, thou venomous serpent clad in 
 ghostly white, come down, that I may kill thee 
 over again, and so have thee doubly damned. 
 
 Sea. Thou canst not, fool, hurt me ; I am an airy 
 spirit. 
 
 »SV/, Come down, and I'll knead and mould thy 
 airy spirit into substance, that I may tear it into 
 air again. ^V' hat art thou ] 
 
 Sea. A damned soul of thy preferring. Despatch 
 and die ! The devils are stark mad in hell that 
 thou art so long on eartli ; therefore make haste, 
 they want thee. 
 
 Sel. If the devil wants me, let him if he dares 
 come fetch me. I dare him and his whole host of 
 furies. Bring Proserpine, his Avife, and in spite of 
 all his guards, I'll keep her here on earth, and 
 make Prince Pluto my cuckold. And what a 
 shame 'twould be to hell to have it said, Miss 
 Proserpine is kept ! 
 
 Sea. Cease thv madness, fool ! I am that
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 291 
 
 seaman who undertook the bloody murder of thy 
 nieces, but was prevented by being all drowned at 
 sea. 
 
 Sel. Drowned ! Art thou sure of it 1 
 
 Sea. Too siire. 
 
 Sel. Then take notice, I am their heir-at-law ! 
 Come down, sweet ghost, and let me kiss thee ; 
 for never did spirit bring such blessed news ! 
 
 Bel. [^Entering ahov€'\ O Avicked uncle, repent. 
 
 Inn. Repent, for thou's my naughty nuncle. 
 
 Sel. What ! a Yorkshire ghost with Innocentia ? 
 What northern devil is thy guardian now '] 
 
 Sea. Since thou canst not, Avretched man, repent, 
 behold us all in flesh and blood, and clad in pure 
 innocence. 
 
 Sel. Alive, all alive ? Oh, happy hour ! Oh, 
 blessed minute ! Come, come down, dear nieces, 
 and behold your poor uncle rejoicing in his tears 
 to find you all thus secretly preserved. What 
 saint was't that saved you 1 
 
 Bel. Your virtuous children. So we come, good 
 uncle. 
 
 Inn. Take heed thou dissemble not, good nuncle. 
 
 [Ejximt above. 
 
 Sel. My own daughters betray me ? I that 
 thought my sulitlety above the reach of devils, by 
 children to be deluded ! Oh, damn 'em ! How like 
 innocent truth their words fell from 'em, and I an 
 infatuated fool Ijelieved. 
 
 Enter Lord Arminger, Fidelia, Belmaria, 
 Innocentia, Lydia, and Seaman. 
 
 Arm. Sir !Marraaduke, I take yo\i in my arms, 
 and am o'erjoycd to see such penitential tears flow 
 from you. 
 
 Sel. Oh, my Lord. I find my cliildren have made
 
 292 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 known my wicked purpose ; and my shame con- 
 founds me so, I dare not look upon your virtuous 
 figure. Oh, let me see my Heavenly babes! 
 
 Mar. Here, dear father, let us for ever kneel, 
 and for evermore thank Heaven for this your 
 blessed conversion. 
 
 Fid. Oil, dear sir, what comfort 'tis to see you 
 satisfied that these are safe ! 
 
 Sel. A blessed comfort indeed ! They are saints, 
 my Lord, too good to dwell on earth, and therefore 
 shall to Heaven — thus, ye devils ! 
 
 [Stabs Mariana ; Lord Arminger and Sea- 
 man disarm him. 
 
 Arm. Hold, thou cursed wretch ! Take his 
 sword from's side, whilst I disarm him of his 
 dagger. 
 
 Fid. Run, run for surgeons ! let all the house- 
 hold run ! 
 
 Arm. Household 1 Employ the whole world 
 for surgeons, and let all the business of the earth 
 stand still till Mariana be recovered I 
 
 3Iar. Have mercy on my distressed father, my 
 Lord. 
 
 Sel. A curse on thee for a religious jilt ! 
 
 Arm. What can he now expect but public 
 justice ? for all the records of hell cannot produce 
 such wickedness as is in thee. But, for Mariana's 
 sake, yet repent, and all shall be forgot. 
 
 Sel. Repent ! Seaman, that Lord's turned fool. 
 Did quality ever trouble itself with repentance 
 before ? it lies not in the road of greatness. Fetch 
 me the devil, and I'll thank you. I have revenge- 
 ful work for him and his whole tribe. Give me 
 my sword. 
 
 Sea. You are in no condition to be trusted Avith 
 a sword, sir.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 293 
 
 Sel. Lord, of all mankind trust not that trea- 
 cherous slave. He once seemed to me the bravest 
 and the bloodiest villain that ever man or devil 
 employed ; and the false dog turned tail, proved 
 honest, and betrayed me. My children, too, 
 proved false. Who would stay in this wicked 
 world ] I and my damned issue will out on 't. 
 To see them fry in torments would please me 
 better than to be a Monarch. 
 
 Arm. Thou wretch, think of thy soul, and then 
 repent. 
 
 Sel. I cannot. Revenge allows no time to think 
 of souls. The heralds know everything takes 
 place of penitence ; that comes sneaking behind, 
 and is allowed no place of honour. But vengeance 
 rides i' th' front o' th' battle, and I his right hand 
 man. Therefore this tongue shall never utter any 
 words but vengeance, furies, and torments ; tor- 
 ments, furies, and vengeance. Eevenge, devils, 
 revenge ! [Exit Seldin. 
 
 Arm. What an example of desperation's here ! 
 Pray you, sir, be careful of him till I send Mini- 
 sters to comfort him. I wonder so wicked a man 
 should have such virtuous children. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene hi. 
 
 Enter Judge and Clerk at one door ; Bowman, 
 Laton, Buffoon, and Squire at another. 
 
 La. Clerk, take heed, be sure you be true to us. 
 
 Clerk. I'll stick as close to you as your shirt, sir. 
 
 Her. Save you, my Lord ! I understand one 
 Lovill, a rogue with one eye and a wooden leg, 
 has informed you that I have with most reproach-
 
 594 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 ful and ignominious words bespattered your Judge- 
 ship. 
 
 Jud. Olio ! then it seems you are Sir Hercules 
 Buftbon, that have, as you call it, bespattered me. 
 Write a warrant, clerk. I'll clap you up, and clap 
 an action of ten thousand pounds upon you for 
 scandal, sir, 
 
 Sq;u. That will be a damned clap indeed. Clap 
 him up, and clap an action 1 This Judge talks 
 of nothing but claps ; I believe he knows Whet- 
 stone's Park better than I do. 
 
 Her. Clap me up 1 I scorn your words, my 
 Lord. Bring that villain LoviU to my face to 
 justify his words, if he dare. 
 
 Jad. I am afraid, clerk, he dares not come, 
 because of the roguish bargain he put upon me, of 
 two brace of deer out of Whetstone's Park, — it 
 seems a park of bawdy-houses. Eogue ! rogue ! 
 
 Squ. My Lord, I'll take that bargain off your 
 hands. I'll give you two brace of fallow deer for 
 your two brace of Whetstone. 
 
 Jad. Yours is such another park as Whetstone, 
 I suppose. But for Lovill, I'll clap him up in a 
 jail, where he shall never come out. 
 
 Squ. Another clap 1 This old fellow has been a 
 swinger in's days. 
 
 Her. He's a shirking knave, and no Knight, my 
 Lord! 
 
 Jud. How came he to be called so, then % 
 
 Bow. In the time of the civil wars he found 
 friends, it seems, to get a blank warrant for a 
 Baronet, and not finding a good customer for it, he 
 saucily bestowed the honour upon himself. 
 
 Jwi. He is the first subject that ever made him- 
 self a Knight. 
 
 Her. Not by some few, my Lord. But I am
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 295 
 
 told you threaten to undo me, for which I'll clap 
 an action of the case upon you, my Lord. 
 
 Squ. Then there \d\\ be clap for your clap, and 
 the stone in your foot still, my lord. 
 
 Jud. If I find this Lovill, I'll purge your ill 
 manners for you. 
 
 Her. The rogue's oath will not be taken ; he has 
 been Knight of the post these twenty years. 
 There came in his Knighthood ; 'tis his trade, he 
 has nothing else to live on. 
 
 Jud. Did you ever hear two men rail at one 
 another thus, sir 1 
 
 Bow. I think the like was never known, my 
 Lord. 
 
 Jud. Well, till Lovill be found, I'll secure you, 
 sir. 
 
 Her. I defy both law and lawyerL, for I have a 
 protection. 
 
 Jud. A protection 1 I believe the devil voids 
 protections faster than children void worms. Let 
 me see it, sir. 
 
 Her. I have it not yet ; Ijut if you'll call for a 
 pen and ink, I'll Avrite myself one presently. 
 
 Jud. This fellow seems to be some jester rather 
 than a Knight. 
 
 Bovj. He may be a jester, and yet a Knight too. 
 
 Jud. But hold, clerk, was not this gentleman 
 here with Sir Thomas Lovill 1 
 
 Boiv. My Lord, I was not here. I have a twin 
 brother, indeed, very like me ; I suppose it might 
 l)e him. 
 
 Jud. That may be ; but I am certain this young 
 Squire was here, and said he was Lovill's son. 
 
 Squ. My Lord, I was not here. I have a twin 
 brother, indeed, very like me ; I suppose it miglit 
 be him.
 
 296 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Jud. This fellow's a fool, and not a Squire, 
 sure. 
 
 Squ. My Lord, a fool and a Squire are twins 
 too ; you'll scarce know one from the other. 
 
 Jud. Clerk, sure this is Sir Thomas Lovill's son. 
 
 Squ. I had rather be thought the son of a whore. 
 Lovill's a rogue that deals with pickpockets, and 
 can help people to stolen goods again. 
 
 Bow. This is you all this Avliile, Knight. 
 
 Jiid. You all deny the truth. »Sir Buffoon, 
 you'll deny, too, that my nephew cudgelled you ? 
 
 Her. I scorn to be cudgelled. I confess he 
 caned me, indeed, and he kicked me so that my 
 haunches look as black as AVestphalia ham, or the 
 traitors' quarters upon the city gates. 
 
 La. Upon my word, my Lord, I never caned nor 
 kicked him, nor did I ever in my life see the man 
 before this day. 
 
 Jud. Did you not beat him, then, for abusing me 
 so grossly 1 
 
 La. No, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. Then give me ray deed again, sirrah. 
 
 La. No, my Lord. 
 
 Jvd. Why did you own, you base fellow, that 
 you were caned and kicked 1 
 
 Her. Because, my Lord, I take delight in lying ; 
 'tis my darling virtue. I love it better than you 
 love Whetstone venison, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. You rascal, I'll have you cudgelled because 
 you scorn it. 
 
 Bow. Oh, my Lord, exercise your patience and 
 take some other course. 
 
 Jud. Then I suppose that you, sirrah, hired that 
 rogue Lovill to tell me stories of your valour, to 
 wheedle me out of my estate. 
 
 La. I did so, my Lord.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 297 
 
 Jud. You impudent fellow ! hast thou the face 
 to justify it 1 
 
 La. Yes, my Lord. 
 
 Jud. And this ridiculous Squire is Lovill, that 
 rascal's son 1 
 
 Squ. Yes, my Lord ; and I am this Knight's son 
 too, my Lord. 
 
 Jiul. You abominable fool, how can that be 1 
 
 Bow. Because, my Lord, Sir Hercules disguised 
 himself with a black patch and a wooden leg, a 
 purpose to put this trick upon you. 
 
 Jiid. Clerk, bear witness, here are two Knights 
 found in one person, both confessing each other to 
 be notorious rogues. Here's a pillory in the case, 
 besides whipping in abundance. 
 
 Her. You have done well. Ouns I what have 
 you brought me to 1 
 
 Jud. The misfortune is that these two Knights 
 have but one back to bear all the whipping due to 
 'em both. 
 
 Her. I defy your whipping ! Pull off my coat. 
 Look you here, sir ; I am the court fool, and here's 
 my fool's coat to protect me. 
 
 Jt(d. Death ! Had ever lawyer so many tricks 
 put upon him ? Cheated of my office, my estate ! 
 and not content with that, but thus grossly to 
 abuse me too 1 
 
 La. Your conscience knows you cozened my 
 father grossly, and I have got it again by a trick : 
 so there's trick for your trick, and the stone in your 
 foot still. 
 
 Jud. I think there's a flaw in the deed ; if there 
 be, villain, I'll make thee the wretchedest beggar 
 in the nation. 
 
 Bow. We have been with counsel, and they say 
 it is the firmest deed that ever yet was drawn ; so
 
 298 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 that you have the credit of being the best convey- 
 ancer of all the town. 
 
 Jud. Then am I the first man that ever was 
 undone by being too good a lawyer. But I'll find 
 some other way to destroy thee, thou accursed 
 villain ! [Exeunt Judge and Clerk. 
 
 Squ. As angry as you are, I expect my bargain 
 of Whetstone's Park, my Lord. 
 
 Her. Now, boys, let's to the tavern ! eat, drink, 
 and rejoice ; for Dagon the law is beaten down, and 
 shall be no longer worshipped. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene iv. 
 Enter Fidelia and Innocentia. 
 
 Fid. How do you, my dear Innocentia] My 
 soul mourns to hear you say you're sick, child. 
 
 Inn. Prithee, cousin, do not call me child. By 
 my saul, I have woman's thoughts in me ; my head 
 aches so it plays riveskin with me. Wae's me, my 
 heart gripes me too ! 
 
 Fid. You mistake, jewel ; 'tis the belly that 
 gripes, not the heart. 
 
 Inn. Nay, God waite, it's e'en my heart that is 
 it. I can do nought but think of that pratty Lord, 
 cousin ; then my heart gripes me so that I'se e'en 
 ready to be dead. What means that 1 hast thou 
 any skill to tell me, cousin "? 
 
 Fid. Alas ! my clear cousin, I doubt you are in 
 love. 
 
 Lm. Now, wae's me, I'se quite undone then. 
 Thou knows, cousin, that sweet honey Lord kissed 
 my hand e'en now, and he kissed it so prattily 
 that I liave kissed it a thousand times since, be-
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 299 
 
 cause that pratty Lord kissed it ; and is that love, 
 thinkest thou, cousin ? 
 
 Fid. Ay, and desperate love too. Shall I tell 
 him how you love liim, cousin 1 
 
 Inn. Ay, and e'en God's benison and mine light 
 on thee for it ; but I doubt, cousin, thou'U speak 
 ean word for me, and twea for thyself 
 
 Fid. Oh fie, cousin ! do not think I am so trea- 
 cherous. 
 
 Inn. By my saul, I'se sure I should serve thee 
 sea. 
 
 Fid. Poor, sweet jewel, I pity thee exceedingly ! 
 
 Enter Lord Arminger. 
 
 Arm.. Oh, Fidelia, rejoice ! your sister's wound 
 proves but a scratch. All danger's past ; she's 
 dressed and coming forth. 
 
 Fid. I heartily rejoice. But, my Lord, this 
 sweet creature is so in love with your Lordship, 
 that if you be not civil to her, I really think 'twill 
 kill her. 
 
 Ann. Heaven forbid, pretty lady ! Be assured 
 I pay you my respects with all the love my honour 
 can give way to. 
 
 Inn. Let me but once a day look at thy pratty 
 face, and then kiss my hand for me, thou deft 
 pratty man, and that's all the blessing I desire in 
 the warld. 
 
 Enter Mariana. 
 
 Arm. Assure yourself of those and thousands 
 more. But behold your sweet sister. Oh, my dear 
 Mariana, Providence, I hope, has lent you life, to 
 make mine easy to me. 
 
 Mar. Stop there, my Lord. Made not you a
 
 300 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 contract with my father to marry Belmaria, the 
 eldest heiress 1 
 
 Arm. I grant I did so, madam. 
 
 Mar. And was not I without a fortune falsely 
 put upon you 1 Did you not court me as Bel- 
 maria, and truly love me as Belmaria ] 
 
 Arm. Your father's dagger is in every word 
 you've spoke, and has not scratched, but wounded. 
 
 In7i. Now, wae's me ! my pratty Lord's in love 
 with thy sister, cousin. 
 
 Arm. Mariana, you accuse me as if I had broke 
 my faith ! By Heaven, I never yet Avas false ! 
 
 Mar. You will be, if you persist in a love 
 sprung from a false foundation. You made love 
 to an impostor, a false woman ; and now you know 
 the cheat, are you so weak to think your honour 
 is engaged to make that courtship good to that 
 impostor 1 
 
 Arm. An impostor is the welcomest blessing 
 upon earth to me, if it appear in your lovely 
 fi<j;ure. 
 
 In7i. Now, by my saul, he's more in love with 
 her than I'se with him, waes me ! 
 
 3far. I believe, my Lord, you truly love me, and 
 that's my only curse. 
 
 Inn. Ten thousand sike curses fall on me ! they 
 would be my best blessings, cousin. 
 
 Mar. When I consider how falsely — how by a 
 trick you came to love me, I must in honour pro- 
 nounce my own doom, and say I'll never marry. 
 
 Inn. God in Heaven keep her ever in that 
 mind ! 
 
 3Iar. The wrong else to Belmaria would look 
 as if we saved her from one murder to execute a 
 worse upon her.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 301 
 
 Enter Belmaria. 
 
 Bel. Mariana, you nor your Lord have injured ; 
 but had your father proved' faithful, perhaps I had 
 been your bride, my Lord. 
 
 Inn. Wae's me, what shall I do 1 My sister's in 
 love with him too ! Wad I had been devoured 
 with wild bears. 
 
 Mar. Had my father been faithful, Belmaria 
 says you had been hers ; mark that, my Lord. 
 Can you after this ever make court to me 1 My 
 Lord, this heart and every drop of blood within it 
 has more love for you than Dido quitted life for ; 
 yet all this can I conquer to be just, therefore 
 must not in jioint of honour marry. — What strong- 
 arguments I use to destroy myself ! [Aside. 
 
 Fid. I thank fate I am not in love's lime-twigs, 
 for here's the devil and all to do. In point of 
 honour, forsooth, one will not marry, and the other 
 will not marry ; so that I find the punctilios of 
 honour will destroy generation. And is't not pity 
 such a Lord should die without leaving some of his 
 brood behind him, cousin 1 
 
 Inn. Ay, God he knows is it I 
 
 Arm. I know slie loves me ; I'll try her Avitli a 
 small design. Mariana, I find your resolution 
 fixed, and no persuasion can make you mine ; 
 therefore I will take your advice, and apply myself 
 to fair Belmaria ; so your servant, madam. Sweet 
 Belmaria, now I address to you. 
 
 Mar. Hold, hold ! I die," I die ! 
 
 [They run to her. 
 
 Arm. Say you'll be my wife, and then I'll quit 
 Belmaria. 
 
 Mar. Anything rather than see that cruel sight 
 
 again.
 
 302 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Fid. Marry her presently, my Lord, lest honour 
 get the upper hand again. 
 
 Inn. Help, help ! my heart is broken quite in 
 two. [Falls down. 
 
 Fid. Alas, my sweet cousin ! Do you take her 
 up, my Lord, and she'll do well again. 
 
 Arm. How do you do, dear Innocentia 1 
 
 Inn. Is it the pratty Lord that comes to help 
 me 1 Then I is varra well again. 
 
 Mar. Then we are happj'^, my Lord, and I am 
 wholly yours. But how does my father all this 
 Avhile ? 
 
 Ann. He desires to go into the country with 
 two Ministers, who gave me great assurance of his 
 conversion. We will marry, then, with all con- 
 venient speed. 
 
 }>cl. I hope, my Lord, you'll be our guardian, 
 and let us live together, and we are satisfied. 
 
 Inn. And, good honey Lord, let us never part 
 whilst we have one hour to live. 
 
 Arm. By my life, we would not quit you for all 
 the world's Avealth ; and I'll make it my whole 
 business to match you to honourable fortunes. 
 
 Enter Alderman, Squire, Bowman, Laton, 
 and Aimwell. 
 
 Aid. With your leave, my Lord Arminger ! We 
 hear Sir Marmaduke Seldin is distracted and 
 dying, and that your Lordship is made guardian to 
 the two heiresses 1 
 
 Arm. The ladies are pleased to think me worthy 
 of that trust, and I have undertaken it. 
 
 Aid. The northern lady is to marry my nephew, 
 my Lord. To that end Sir Marmaduke caused me 
 to settle my estate entirely upon her ; the match 
 is gone so far, my Lord.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 303 
 
 Stju. Nay, 'tis gone further with us young folks, 
 for we have played at clapperdepouch together; 
 therefore 'tis too late to break oif the match. 
 
 Inn. By my saul I never played at clapperde- 
 pouch with thee. Did my nuncle mean to wad me 
 to sike an a fool as thee 1 
 
 Squ. Why, this is not my clapperdepouch, uncle. 
 
 Fid. Why, no ! I is thy clapperdepouch, honey. 
 
 Squ. What the devil ! are there two clapperde- 
 pouches 1 I am sure one must be fiilse. 
 
 Iim. I'se sure I'se the right Northern Heiress. 
 
 Squ. Then thou art the false one, honey. I 
 have heard of false dice and false ninepins ; but to 
 liave a false clapperdepouch j)ut upon a man is 
 more than ever I heard of. 
 
 Aid. My Lord, I will not stand to this bargain, 
 for my estate is settled upon the Northern Heiress. 
 
 Arm. No, sir ; I have read the deed, and it is 
 settled upon Fidelia Seldin. 
 
 Aid. Then I am cozened, my Lord, and abused. 
 
 Arm. Not so, sir ; 'twas your own voluntary act. 
 Besides, I have married her sister, and I hope 
 you'll think it no disparagement for me to call you 
 uncle, and you me nephew, and to have your kins- 
 man call me brother. 
 
 u4ld. My Lord, I sliall take it for the greatest 
 honour in the world. 
 
 Squ. A much greater honour than our alliance 
 with King Pippin ; and so I receive Fidelia Seldin 
 for my wife. 
 
 Aid. And I receive you, my Lord, as my nephew, 
 and your lady as my niece. 
 
 Enter Sir Hercules Buffoon and Overwise. 
 
 Her. And I receive you as my son and daughter. 
 By this match you honour us, as you are a noble
 
 304 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Lord ; and we honour you by making you a kins- 
 man to King Pippin. 
 
 Over. My Earl of honour, I have one project, the 
 which, if your Lordship will countenance 
 
 Arm. You know I was always your friend, and 
 ever will be. 
 
 Over. Then, my Earl, you must know my ancestor 
 was the first inventor of shorthand, and you see of 
 what use it is to the world ; but at first it was 
 extremely laughed at, as, no doubt, my project 
 will be. 
 
 Bow. There is no question of it in the least. 
 
 Arm. Pray you let me hear your project as 
 briefly as you can. 
 
 Over. Briefly 1 I find I am troublesome. I 
 humbly refuse, then, my Lord. 
 
 Aim. I would not give a doit to hear it. 
 
 Over. My Lord, I humbly grieve that I have 
 rudely refused. My project is this 
 
 Arm. I will not hear it now, sir. 
 
 Over. Then I pity you, my Lord. Young man, 
 thou shalt hear it. 
 
 Squ. By my faith but I will not. 
 
 Over. Now, sir, it is my opinion that you sprung 
 not from the loins of King Pippin. 
 
 Her. Sir, do you aff"ront the family of the 
 Buff'oons % 
 
 Squ. I'll afi'ront^ your coxcomb with Mahomet's 
 own scimitar that cut off" Orene's head. 
 
 Over. My Lord, upon my honour that very 
 scimitar hangs up now in Gresham College. 
 
 Arm. Now, sir, I'll hear your project, for your 
 scimitar's sake at Gresham College. 
 
 Over. My Lord, you all know the world now 
 writes shorthand ; and my project is that, which I 
 am, I confess, really fond of.
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 305 
 
 Boiv. That's more than any one else -w-ill be, I 
 doubt. Well, what is it ? 
 
 Oter. Sir, I communicate only to my Lord. 
 Ladies, you may hear if you please. My project 
 is, ladies ; well, I value myself extremely upon it. 
 
 Inn. Marra, the devil ha ma gin this be not a 
 worse fool than thy clapperdepouch cousin. 
 
 Over. Well, in short, as all the world writes 
 shorthand, so I would teach all the world to speak 
 shorthand, and by an Act of Parliament have it 
 called the shorthand tongue. 
 
 La. Speak shorthand, and have it called the 
 shorthand tongue ? Jack Adams '"' for that ! Ha, 
 ha, ha ! 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Over. Did not I beforehand tell your Lordship I 
 should be laughed at ? 
 
 Arm. You did so indeed, most prophetically. 
 
 Over. Nevertheless, my Lord, I shall proceed ; for 
 I have really computed that a long-winded Mini- 
 ster shall preach a sermon in the shorthand tongue 
 in as little time as a horse shall run a four miles' 
 course, and that is exactly seven minutes, madam. 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Bow. AVhy do you laugh, gentlemen 1 I think 
 'twould be great service to the nation to have a 
 sermon preached in seven minutes. 
 
 Aim. Then sermons would not be tedious, nor 
 people would not sleep at church. 
 
 Her. Nor would they have time to make love 
 there, as I have done often. 
 
 SqiL Nor would Sunday pies be burnt in the 
 oven, nor meat over-roasted ; nor would farmers 
 have time to make bargains at church. 
 
 * Astrological Professor of Clerkenwell, of whom there is a 
 portrait, now very rare. 
 
 U
 
 306 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 
 
 Over. . Right, sir. I will undertake to make the 
 merchants of the 'Change and lawyers at the bar 
 plead all their business in the shorthand tongue ; 
 nay, and the Judges shall give sentence in the 
 shorthand tongue. 
 
 Squ. And men shall be hanged in shorthand 
 ropes, and then they will feel no pain. 
 
 Over. Right. And what ease would it be to the 
 world to have all the whole business of a day done 
 in seven minutes ! 
 
 Squ. Then should we have all the rest of the day 
 to be drunk in. 
 
 La. I believe thou speak'st shorthand already, 
 Squire ; for always when thou'rt drunk thou 
 put'st twelve words into one. 
 
 Squ. That is not shorthand ; 'tis called clipping 
 the King's English. I hope, sir, you'll teach Avomen 
 to scold in shorthand tongue, and that would be 
 great service to the nation. 
 
 Bow. Good my Lord, let us laugh this insuffer- 
 able shorthand fool quite out of the land. 
 
 Omnes. The shorthand tongue ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 away, fool, away ! 
 
 Over. I'll make you all fools with one philo- 
 sophical question. Tell me whether at the great 
 or the small end of a spider's egg does nature 
 make production 1 
 
 La. Thou art the product of an ass, I'm sure. 
 
 Squ. Pray you, sir, let me ask you one question. 
 Is your name Overwise or Otherwise ? 
 
 Over. It is not proper for me to say I'll quarrel 
 with you ; but, sir, I'll make a cessation of friend- 
 ship with you, and so draw upon you. 
 
 Boiv. Hold, hold ! put up, put up ! Away, 
 shorthand ass ! 
 
 Over. Well, I pity all fools; from the gentle-
 
 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 307 
 
 man to the lord and lady fools ; and so I take my 
 leave. [Exit Overwise. 
 
 Sqii. I hope you'll take your leave in the short- 
 hand tongue. 
 
 Aim. My Lord, we hope you will befriend us so 
 far as to admit us suitors to these heiresses. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen, were I not concerned, I Avould 
 serve you frankly ; but being their guardian, Avere 
 you my brothers I would not betray my trust, but 
 will match them to men of such honour and 
 wealth as shall deserve their fortunes ; and this 
 resolution you cannot take unkindly. 
 
 La. No, my good Lord, your answer has fully 
 satisfied us. 
 
 Bel. What a noble Lord is this, cousin ! 
 
 Mar. Come, pretty cousin, I'll give you half I 
 have now ; nay, I'll give you half my husband. 
 
 Inn. Thank you, honey cousin ; but I'st be a 
 little whore then, shall I not 1 
 
 Mar. No, sweet cousin, I'll have a care of that. 
 
 Fid. My Lord, we must see honest Captain 
 Hammock here and his Miss well rewarded, and 
 all's done. 
 
 Arm. And it shall be done to their satisfaction.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 TFrote and spoke hy J. H. Com. 
 
 Methinks, right worthy friends, you seem to sit 
 
 As if you had all ta'en physic in the pit. 
 
 When the play's done, your jaded fancies pall ; 
 
 After enjoyment, thus 'tis with us all. 
 
 You are 
 
 Mere epicures in thinking ; and, in fine, 
 
 As difficult to please in plays as wine. 
 
 You've no true taste of either, judge at random. 
 
 And cry, De gustibus non disjmtandum. 
 
 One's for Vin d'Hermitage, love's lofty inditing ; 
 
 Another Old Hock, he a style that's biting ; 
 
 Both hate Champagne, and damn soft natural 
 
 writing. 
 And some, forsooth. 
 
 Love Ehenish wine and sugar, plays in metre ; 
 Like dead mne, swallowing nonsense rhymes make 
 
 sweeter. 
 There's one's for a cup of Nantes, and he, 'tis odds, 
 Like old Buff"oon, loves plays that swinge the Gods. 
 True English topers Racy Sack ne'er fail ; 
 With such Ben Jonson's humming plays prev^ail ; 
 Whilst some at tricks and grimace only fleer ; 
 To such must noisy frothy farce appear ; 
 These new Wits relish small smart bottle beer. 
 French gouts, that mingle water with their wine. 
 Cry, Ah de French song, gosoun, dat is ver' fine. 
 Who never drink without a relishing bit ; 
 Scapin, methinks, such sickly tastes might hit.
 
 EPILOGUE. 309 
 
 Where w' entertain each squeamish nicer palate 
 "With sauce of dances, and with songs for salad. 
 Since, then, 'tis so hard to please with choicest diet 
 Our guests, wh' in wit and sense do daily riot ; 
 Since wit is damned by those whom wits we call, 
 As love that stands by love, by love does fall ; 
 When fools, both good and bad, like whores, 
 
 swallow all, — 
 " I Avish for your sakes the sham Wits o' th' nation 
 " Would take to some honest, some thriving voca- 
 tion. 
 " The Wit of our feet, you see every night, 
 " Says more to our purpose than all you can write. 
 " Since things are thus carried, a Wit's such a tool, 
 " He that makes the best plays does but best play 
 the fool." 
 
 A dreaded fool's your bully, 
 A wealthy fool's your cit, 
 A contented fool's your cully. 
 
 But your fool of fools your wit. 
 They all fool cit of 's wife, 
 
 He fools them of their pelf; 
 But your Wit's so damned a fool. 
 He only fools himself 
 Oh, Wits, then face about to sense ! Alas ! 
 I know it by myself, a Wit's an ass. 
 For, like you, in my time 
 I've been foolish in rhyme ; 
 But now so repent the nonsensical crime, 
 I speak it in tears, which from me may seem oddly. 
 Henceforth I'll grow wiser— damn Avit, I'll be 
 
 godly ! 
 That when by new grace I have wiped off old 
 
 stains, 
 In time I may pass, not for Count, but Sir Haynes.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
 
 Sauny the Scot; or. The Taming of the Shreio : A 
 Comedy. As it is now acted at the Theatre-Royal. Written 
 by J. Lacy, Servant to His Majesty, and never before 
 printed. London : Printed and sold by E. Whitlock, near 
 Stationers' Hall. 1698. ito. 
 
 Ih. — As it is now acted at the Theatre Royal in Brury 
 Lane, by Her Majesty's Company of Comedians. Written 
 by John Lacy, Esq. 
 
 Then I'll cry out, swell'd with Poetick Rage, 
 'Tis I, John Lacy, have refonned your Stage. 
 
 — Prol. to Rehearsal. 
 
 London : Printed for R. Bragge, in Paternoster Row. 
 1708. ito.
 
 This piece, altered from Shakespeare's Taming of a Shrew, 
 has been attributed to Lacy, and with all show of probability, 
 inasmuch as internal evidence is strong in his favour. The 
 language of Sauny, for instance, is closely allied to, if not 
 identical with, that of the Yorkshire heiress in the comedy of 
 Si7- Hercules Buffoon, just preceding. It is not Scotch in 
 its idiom or apparent pronunciation, but .savours strongly 
 of the meridian of Doncaster, Lacy's birthplace. Having 
 some resemblance, some very remote resemblance, to Scotch, 
 the difference between it and the reality at the time when 
 the j)iece was first produced would not be detected in 
 London ; and even at the present day a mongrel mixture 
 of Scotch, Yorkshire, Somerset, and other provincial dialects, 
 is, it is to be feared with consent of the Scotch residenters 
 there, accepted on the London stage as the lang\iage spoken 
 in one and all or any of these several places. As regards 
 provincial patois, it is recorded by Aubrey that from Lacy 
 " Ben Jonson tooke a note of his Yorkshire words and pro- 
 verbs for his Tale of a Tub." Aubrey, however, more 
 probably meant Jonson's Sad Shepherd, as the phrases 
 introduced in the Tale of a Tub are not northern but 
 western, while in the Sad Sliepherd the Y'orkshii-e phraseo- 
 logy obtains. 
 
 Although Langbaine evinces a partiality for Lacy, and 
 Sauny the Scot was produced at the Theatre Royal on 
 9th April 1667, he makes no mention of it whatever in 
 his account of English Dramatic Poetry. Lacy himself 
 acted "Sauny." The play was not printed until 1698, 
 seventeen years after Lacy's death, but without the per- 
 formers' names. It would seem to have been revived at 
 that time to afford Bullock an opportunity of performing 
 "Sauny." Geneste gives this further portion of the cast : — 
 Petruchio, Powell ; Woodall, Johnson ; Winlove, Mills ; 
 Tranio, Harland ; Geraldo, Thomas; Snalchpenny, Pinketh- 
 man ; Jamie, Haines ; Margaret, the Shrew, Mrs. Verb- 
 ruggen ; Biancha, Mrs. Cibber. 
 
 Pepys thus notices its first production :— "9th April 1667. 
 To the King's house, and there saw The Taming of a Shrew, 
 which hath some very good pieces in it, but generally is but 
 a mean iday ; and the best part, 'Sauny,' done by Lacy;
 
 314 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 and hath not half its life, by reason of the words, I suppose, 
 not being understood, at least by me. " 
 
 In this alteration of Shakespeare's play, the dialogue is 
 shortened and converted into prose, the scene is changed 
 from Padua to London, Gnimio is turned into Sauny, and 
 the fifth act is almost altogether new. It was acted with 
 success. Shakespeare's play was partially taken from the 
 older comedy The Taming of a Shrew, and partly from 
 The SupjMses, a comedy by George Gascoigne. The subject 
 has been frequently dealt with in other plays, and among 
 the offshoots of Shakespeare's piece may be instanced The 
 Cobbler of Prestoyi, by Charles Johnson, again altered by 
 Christopher Bullock, son of the actor who played " Sauny" 
 in Lacy's version, and The Devil to Pay, by Jevon. 
 
 In the old play Taming of a Shreio, on which Shakes- 
 peare founded his comedy, the character called by him 
 Grumio was named Sander, and probably from this cir- 
 cumstance Lacy derived the idea of representing it under 
 the garb of a Scotchman. The original play (1594) was 
 reprinted for the Shakespeare Society in 1844, from the 
 copy supposed to be unique in the library of the Duke of 
 Devonshire. Stevens had previously reprinted the edition 
 of 1607 of this play, in "six old pilays, on which Shakes- 
 peare founded his Measure for Mcaimre, Comedy of Errors, 
 Taming the Shreio, King John, King Henry IV. and King 
 Henry V., King Lear." Lond. 1779. 8vo. 
 
 The dedication "to the Right Honourable the Earl of Brad- 
 ford," which follows, is attached only to the edition of 1708, 
 and apparently emanates from the publisher. Although not 
 a great literary eftbrt, it is worth while preserving. 
 
 Francis Newport, the first Earl of Bradford, who obtained 
 that honour in 1694 from William and Mary, was the eldest 
 son and heir of Richard Newport, who for his loyalty was 
 created by Charles i., in 1642, Lord Newport of High- 
 Ercall. After the King's death, he having suffered much 
 during the Ci\'il War, retired to France, where he died in 
 1650. Before the Restoration, Francis, the future earl, 
 was appointed Comptroller and Treasurer of the Royal 
 Household. He was created Viscount Newport of Bradford 
 in 1675, He married Lady Diana Russell, daughter of 
 Francis, Earl of Bedford, by whom he had five sons and 
 four daughters, and died in 1708, when he was succeeded 
 by his sou Richard. All the honours became extinct upon 
 the death of Thomas, the fifth and last earl, who died a 
 lunatic on the 18th of April 1762.
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE EARL OF BRADFOED. 
 
 When, by this way of address, I gain an admission 
 into your Lordship's honourable walls, the full 
 view of that venerable brow I meet there, and all 
 the radiant glories round it, demands the humblest 
 bending knee from so bold an intruder. 
 
 'Tis here I survey the bountiful smiles of the 
 great and gracious Dispenser of blessings, in de- 
 volving on so deserving a head so unbroken a 
 chain of continued prosperity, through your Lord- 
 ship's long and still unfinished race of honour. 
 
 'Tis thus, through the various administrations of 
 so many successive sovereign heads, the throne has 
 ever found your Lordship a vigorous supporter ; 
 your country a faithful and unshaken patriot ; your 
 altars a constant and zealous devotee ; your equals, 
 the more exalted veins, a leading worthy among 
 them ; whilst your Lordship has so signally dis- 
 tinguished your conspicuous merits, that the elder 
 heads of honour have all the reason in the world 
 to pride themselves in so eminent a pattern of 
 \'irtue, and the younger to copy from it. 
 
 'Tis thus, my Lord, you have enjoyed a long 
 blest life, — more a reward than gift, a donation 
 more from the divine gratitude than favour. For 
 true virtue is so much and so justly the darling
 
 316 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY, 
 
 of Heaven, that the blessings that fall on such a 
 favourite head are not the random showers of Pro- 
 vidence. 
 
 Your Lordship's austere profession of piety has 
 not the least tincture of bigotry ; for, as your Lord- 
 ship has ever made it your care thoroughly to read 
 the world, yet so equally have you divided the 
 work of life, that in all the greatest load of private 
 or public affairs your Lordship still never wanted 
 leisure or application to the sublimer study of 
 heaven. 'Tis from this you can equally taste the 
 innocent blessings of this life, and yet at the same 
 time make the wisest and securest provision for a 
 richer feast in the next. 
 
 Amongst these innocent enjoyments, your Lord- 
 ship has ever had a particular relish to the diver- 
 sions of the theatre ; and 'tis this consideration 
 only has animated my presumption in making your 
 Lordship this public presentation. And, as the 
 offering I humbly make your Lordship is a piece 
 that took its original from the celebrated pen of 
 the famous Shakespeare, and afterwards received 
 its finishing stroke from that ingenious comedian 
 Mr. Lacy, and thereby has acquired the merit of 
 appearing so often on the stage, handed down 
 through so long an age, and even to continue its 
 reputation to the present generation a still darling 
 entertainment, — 'tis from hence alone it has arro- 
 gated a little more boldness in laying itself at your 
 Lordship's feet, by the hand of, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most dutiful 
 
 and most devoted Servant.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 1708. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Lord Beaufoy, Father to) -^r 77^„„„ 
 
 Margaret and Biancha, . j ' 
 
 WooDALL, a rich old Citizen,') -i.^ t 
 
 cotcrts Biancha, . . ] ^^^- Johnson. 
 
 Petruchio, the Tamer, . . Mr. Mills. 
 Geraldo, (mother Pretender to) -,r tt 
 
 Biancha, . . . .j ^^- Husbands. 
 
 Tranio, yoimg IVinlove's Servant, Mr. Fairbank. 
 
 Sir Lyonel Winlove, «) m p 
 
 Country Gentleman, . .j ^^^^*- '"^^^'^• 
 Winlove, his Son, . . . Mr. Booth. 
 Snatchpenny, a Town Sharper, Mr. Pack, 
 Jamy, Servant to Winlove, . Mr. Norris. 
 
 Sauny, Petruchids Scotch Footman, Mr. Bullock. 
 
 Curtis, Nick, Philip, and other Servants to Pet- 
 ruchio. 
 
 women. 
 
 Margaret, the Shrew, . . Mrs. Bradshaw. 
 Biancha, her Sister, . . Mrs. Mills. 
 Widow. 
 
 Scene : London.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act I. 
 Enter Winlove mid his man Tkanio. 
 
 Win. I am quite weary of the country life. 
 There is that little thing the world calls quiet, but 
 there is nothing else. Clowns live and die in't, 
 whose souls lie hid here, and after death their 
 names. My kinder stars, I thank 'em, have 
 winged my spirit with an active fire, which makes 
 me wish to know what men are born for. To diet 
 a running horse, to give a hawk casting, to know 
 dogs' names ] These make not men ; no, 'tis 
 philosophy, 'tis learning, and exercise of reason 
 to know what's good and virtuous, and to break 
 our stubborn and untempered wills to choose it. 
 This makes us imitate that great Di^dnity that 
 framed us. 
 
 Tra. I thought you had learn'd Philosophy 
 enough at Oxford. What betwixt Aristotle on one 
 side, and bottle-ale on the other, I am confident 
 you have arrived at a pitch of learning and virtue 
 sufficient for any gentleman to set up with in the 
 country — that is, to be the prop of the family.
 
 320 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 JVln. My father's fondness has kept me so long 
 in the country, I've forgot all I'd learned at the 
 university. Besides, take that at best, it but 
 rough-casts us. No ; London is the choicest 
 academy ; 'tis that must polish us and put a gloss 
 upon our country studies. Hither I'm come at 
 last, and do resolve to glean many vices. Thou, 
 Tranio, hast been my companion ; still one bed has 
 held us, one table fed us ; and though our bloods 
 give me precedency,— that I count chance, — my 
 love has made us equal, and I have found a frank 
 return in thee. 
 
 Tra. Such a discourse commands a serious 
 answer. Know, then, your kindness tells me I 
 must love you ; the good you have taught me 
 commands me to honour you ; I have learned with 
 you to hate ingratitude. But, setting those aside, 
 for thus I may seem to do it for my oAvn sake, be 
 assured I must love you though you hate me ; I 
 neither look at vice nor virtue in you, but as you 
 are the person I dote on. 
 
 JFin. No more ; I do believe and know thou 
 lov'st me. I wonder Jamy stays so long behind. 
 You must look out to get me handsome lodgings, 
 fit to receive such friends the town shall bring me. 
 You must take care of all, for I'm resolved to 
 make my study my sole business. I'll live hand- 
 somely — not over high, nor yet beneath my quality. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy, Margaret, Biancha, Woodall, 
 and Geraldo. 
 
 But stay a little ! what company's this 1 
 
 Beau. Gentlemen, importune no farther; you 
 know my firm resolve not to bestow my youngest 
 daughter before I have a husband for the elder. If 
 either of you both love Peg, because I know you
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 321 
 
 well and love you well, you shall have freedom to 
 court her at your pleasure. 
 
 JFood. That is to say, we shall have leave to 
 have our heads broken ; a prime kindness, by'r 
 lady ! She's too rough for me. There, Geraldo, 
 take her for me, if you have any mind to a wife ; 
 you are young, and may clap trammels on her, and 
 strike her to a pace in time. I dare not deal with 
 her ; I shall never get her out of her high trot. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis strange, sir, you should make a stale 
 of me among these mates thus. 
 
 Ger. Mates, madam ? Faith, no mates for you, 
 unless you were a little tamer ! Woe worth him 
 that has the breaking of you ! 
 
 Mar. Take heed I don't bestow the breaking of 
 your calf's head for you. You mate 1 marry come 
 up ! Go, get you a seamstress, and run in score 
 with her for muckinders to dry your nose with, and 
 marry her at last to pay the debt. And you there, 
 goodman turnip-eater, with your neats-leather phis- 
 nomy, I'll send your kitchen-wench to liquor it this 
 wet weather. Whose old boots was it cut out of? 
 
 Ger. From all such petticoat devils deliver us, I 
 pray ! 
 
 Tra. Did you ever see the like, sir ? That 
 wench is either stark mad or wonderful froward. 
 
 JVood. I can't tell, but I had as live take her 
 dowry with this condition, to be whipped at 
 Charing Cross every morning. 
 
 Ger. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in 
 rotten apples ; but since 'tis as 'tis, let us be friendly 
 rivals, and endeavour for a husband for Margaret 
 that Biancha may be free to have one, and then he 
 that can win her wear her. 
 
 Wood. I would give the best horse in Smithfield 
 to him that would throughly woo her, wed her, 
 
 X
 
 322 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 and bed her, and rid the house of her, to carry 
 her far enough off. Well, come, agreed ! [Exit. 
 
 Tra. But pray, sir, is 't possible that love should 
 of a sudden take such hold of you ] 
 
 Win. Oh, Tranio, till I found it to be true I 
 never found it possible ; but she has such attractive 
 charms, he were a stone that did not love her. I 
 am all fire ; burn, pine, perish, Tranio, unless I 
 win her. Counsel me and assist me, dear Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Are all j^our resolutions for study come to 
 this ? You have got a book will hold you tack ; 
 you are like to be a fine virtuoso. Now must we to 
 a chemist, to set his still a going for philters, love 
 powders, and extracts of sighs and heighos. 
 
 Win. Nay, Tranio, do not make sport with my 
 passion ; it is a thing so deeply rooted here, it can- 
 not die but it must take me with it. Help me, or 
 hope not long to see thy master. 
 
 Tra. Nay, sir, if you are so far gone there's no 
 remedy, we must contrive some way, but 'twill 
 be difficult ; for you know her father has mewed 
 her up, and till he has rid his hands of her sister 
 there's no coming near her. 
 
 IVln, Ah, Tranio, Avhat a cruel father's he. But 
 don't you remember what care he took to provide 
 masters for her 1 
 
 Tra. Ay, sir, and what of all that? 
 
 Win. Y' are a fool ! Can't I be preferred to her 
 to teach her French ? I have a good command of 
 the language, and it may be easily done. 
 
 Tra. I clon't apprehend the easiness of it ; for 
 who shall be Sir Lyonel's son here in town, — to 
 ply his studies, and welcome his friends, visit his 
 kindred, and entertain 'em ? 
 
 Win. Be content ! I have a salve for that too. 
 We have not yet been seen in any house, nor can
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 323 
 
 be distinguished by our faces for man or master. 
 Then it follows thus : You, Tranio, must be young 
 Winlove in my stead, and bear yourself according 
 to my rank. I'll be an ordinary French master 
 about the town ; the time I stayed in France in 
 that will help me ; it must be so. Come, come, 
 uncase ! and take my clothes, and when we're at 
 our lodgings we'll make a full change. When 
 Jamy comes he waits on thee; but first I'll charm 
 his tongue. 
 
 Tra. 'Twill be needful. Since this is your plea- 
 sure I'm tied to be obedient, for so your father 
 charged me at your parting, although, I think, 
 'twas in another sense ; in short, I'm ready to 
 serve you and assist you in your enterprise. 
 
 Enter Jajiy. 
 
 Win. Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where 
 have you been 1 
 
 Jamy. Where have I been 1 Pray, how now, 
 master, where are you, master] Has Tranio 
 stolen your clothes, or you his, or both 1 
 
 JFin. Sirrah, come hither ! this is not the time 
 to jest. Some weighty reasons make me take this 
 habit. Enquire not ; you shall know 'em time 
 enough. Meanwhile, wait you on Tranio in my 
 stead, I charge you, as becomes you. You under- 
 stand me ] 
 
 Jamy. I, sir ? ne'er a whit. 
 
 JFm. And not of Tranio one word in your 
 mouth ; he's turned to Winlove. 
 
 Jamy. The better for him ; would I were so too ! 
 
 Tra. When I am alone with you, why, then, I 
 am Tranio still ; in all places else, your master, 
 Winlove. 
 
 Win. Tranio, let's go. One thing yet remains,
 
 324 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 which you must by no means neglect, that is, to 
 make one amongst these wooers. Ask me not 
 why, but be satisfied my reasons are both good 
 and weighty. 
 
 Tra. I obey, sir ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Act II. 
 Enter Petruchio and his Man, Sauny. 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, leave off your Scotch, and speak me 
 English, or something like it. 
 
 Sail. Gud will I, sir. 
 
 Pet. I think we have ridden twenty miles in 
 three hours, Sauny. Are the horses well rubbed 
 down and littered 1 
 
 Sau. Deil o' my saul, sir, I ne'er scrubbed mysel' 
 better than I scrubbed your nags. 
 
 Pet. And thou need'st scrubbing, I'll say that 
 for thee, thou beastly knave ! Why do ye not get 
 yourself cured of the mange ] 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, I wud nea be cured for a 
 thousand pund ; there's nea a lad in a' Scotland 
 but loves it. Gud, Sauny might hang himsel' an 
 it were not for scratten and scrubben. 
 
 Pet. Why so, prithee 1 
 
 Sail. When ye gea 'tull a lady's house ye are 
 blithe and bonny, sir, and gat gud meat, but the 
 deil a bit gats Saundy, meer than hunger and 
 cawd, sir. Ba then, sir, when a' the footmen 
 stan' still, sir, and ha nothing to dea, then gaes 
 Saundy tull his pastime, scratten and scrubben. 
 
 Pet. Dost call it pastime 1 
 
 Sau. A my saul dea I, sir. I take as muckle 
 pleasure, sir, in scratten and scrubben as ye dea in 
 tippling and mowing.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 325 
 
 Pet. Nay, if it be so, keep it, and much good 
 may it d' ye. This is my old friend Geraldo's 
 lodgings, for whose sake now I am come to town. 
 I hope he's at home ; there, Sauny, knock. 
 
 SatL Wuns, sir, I see nean to knock boe' yer 
 eansel', sir. 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, I say knock me soundly at this 
 gate. 
 
 Sau. Out, out, in the muckle deil's name t' ye ! 
 You'll gar me strike ye, and then ye'll put me 
 awa, sir. With yer favour I'se ne'er do't, sir. 
 Gud, an ye nea ken when ye an a gued man, 
 'sbreed, I wot when I've a gued master. Ye's bang 
 yersel' for Saundy. 
 
 Pet. Rogue ! I'll make you understand me. 
 
 [Beats him. 
 
 Sau. Gud, an ye'd give Saundy ea bang ai twa 
 meer i' that place, for I can ne'er come at it to 
 scrat it mysel', sir. 
 
 Pet. Yes, thus, sir ! [Beats him again. 
 
 Sau. The deil fa' yer fingers ! I may not beat 
 yea o' ye'er ean dunghill, sir ; hot gin I had yea 
 in Scotland, I'se nea give yea a bawbee for your 
 lugs. 
 
 Enter Geraldo. 
 
 Ger. How now, Sauny 1 What ! crying out 1 
 Dear Petruchio, most welcome ! When came you 
 to toAvnl What quarrel is this 'twixt you and 
 Sauny 1 I pray, let me compose the difference ; 
 and tell me, now, what happy gale drove you to 
 town, and why in this habit ] — why in mourning 1 
 
 Pet. A common calamity to us young men ; my 
 father has been dead this four mouths. 
 
 Ger. Trust me, I am sorry. A good old gentle- 
 man.
 
 326 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Sau. Gee yer gate, sir, gee yer gate ! On ye be 
 foAv a grief ye're nea friend, sir. We are blithe and 
 bonny, sir ; we ne'er "vvoe for 't. 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, you long to be basted. 
 
 Sim. Gud, do I not, sir. 
 
 Pet. Hither I come to try my fortunes, to see if 
 good luck and my friends will help me to a wife. 
 Will you wish me to one ? 
 
 Ger. What quahfications do you look for 1 
 
 Pet. Why, money — a good portion. 
 
 Ger. Is tiiat all 1 
 
 Pet. All, man ] All other things are in my 
 making. 
 
 Ger. I shall come roundly to you, and Avish you 
 to a rich Avife ; but her face 
 
 Pet. That shall break no squares — a mask will 
 mend it ; wealth is the burthen of my wooing 
 song. If she be rich, I care not if she want a nose 
 or an eye ; anything with money. 
 
 Sem. De ye nea gie him creedit, sir. I wud a 
 halpt him tull a Heeland lady with twanty thou- 
 sand pund. Gud, he wud nea have her, sir ! 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, your twenty thousand pounds 
 Scotch will make but a pitiful English portion. 
 
 Sau. Gud, sir, bo a muckle deal of Scotch 
 punds is as gued as a little deal of English 
 punds. 
 
 Ger. She has nothing like this, but a thing 
 worse ; she has a tongue that keeps more noise 
 than all that ever moved at Billingsgate. 
 
 Pet. Pish, a trifle ! Where lives she 1 I long 
 to be wooing her. Let me alone with her tongue ; 
 I'm in love with the news of it. Who is 't 1 who 
 is 't 1 I'm resolved for her or nobody. 
 
 Ger. But look before you leap, sir, and say you 
 were warned.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 327 
 
 Sau. Out, out, he can nea break his cragg upon 
 her. Gud, an ye'd venter your bonny lass, I'se 
 venter my bonny lad at her, sir. 
 
 Ger. Her father is the brave, noble Beaufoy ; 
 her name Margaret, famed about town for a vixen, 
 
 Fet. The town's an ass ! Come, prithee, show 
 me the house ; I will not sleep till I see her. I 
 know her father. Nay, I am resolved, man ; 
 come, prithee, come ! 
 
 Sau. Wuns, man, an she be a scawd, awa' with 
 her, awa' with her, and Johnee Johnston's curse * 
 gang with her ! 
 
 Ger. Prithee, what's that 1 
 
 Sail. That is, the deil creep into her weem t' ith' 
 very bottom on't, that's to the croon, gued faith, of 
 her head. 
 
 Ger. AVell, sir, if you are resolved, I'll wait on 
 you. To say the truth, 'twill be my great advan- 
 tage ; for if you win her, I shall have liberty to 
 see her younger sister, sweet Biancha, to whose 
 fair eyes I am a votary. And you, in order to my 
 love, Petruchio, must help me. I'll tell you why, 
 and how you must prefer me as a Music-master to 
 old Beaufoy. 
 
 Fet. I understand you not. 
 
 Sau. He'd ha' ye make him her piper, sir. Gud, 
 at ye'd make Saundy her piper, Avuns, I'd sea 
 blea her pipe. 
 
 Fet. Sirrah, be quiet. What I can I'll serve you 
 in. But who comes here, Geraldo ? 
 
 Enter Wood ALL atid Winlove disguised. 
 
 Ger. 'Tis Mr. Woodall, a rich old citizen, and 
 my rival. Hark ! 
 
 Sau. Out, out ! What sud an aud carle do with 
 
 * Qy. Johnstone, the Laird of Warriston's, curse ?
 
 328 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 a young bonny lass] Are ye not an and thief, 
 sir] 
 
 Wood. Howl 
 
 Sau. Are ye not an and man, sir ] 
 
 Wood. Yes, marry am I, sir. 
 
 Sau. And are not ye to marry a young maiden ? 
 
 Wood. Yes ; what then ? 
 
 Sau. And are not ye troubled with a sear grief, 
 sir? 
 
 Wood. A sear grief? — what sear grief ] 
 
 Sau. You're troubled with a great weakness 
 i' th' bottom of your bally. What sid ye dea 
 with a young maiden ? Out, out, out ! 
 
 Wood. You understand me ] Your French books 
 treat most of love ; those use her to, and now and 
 then you may urge something of my love and 
 merit. Besides her father's bounty, you shall find 
 me liberal. 
 
 Win. Mounsier, me will tell her the very fine 
 ting of you ; me vill make her love you whether 
 she can or no. 
 
 Wood. Enough ! peace ! here's Geraldo. Your 
 servant, sir. I am just going to Sir Nicholas* 
 Beaufoy, to carry him this gentleman, a French- 
 man, most eminent for teaching his country 
 language. 
 
 Ger. I have a master for Biancha too ; but, 
 waiving that, I have some news to tell you. I 
 have found out a friend that will woo Margaret. 
 What will you contribute 1 for he must be hired 
 to't. 
 
 Wood. Why, I will give him forty pieces f in 
 hand, and when he has done't, I'll double the 
 sum. 
 
 Ger. Done, sir ! I'll undertake it. 
 * My Lord.— JFrf. 1708. f Fifty guineas. —//>.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 329 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, I'se gat it done muckle 
 cheaper ; for twanty punds I'se dea it mysel'. 
 
 Ger. Come ! down with your money ! and the 
 bargain's made. 
 
 Wood. But if he should not do it 1 I don't care 
 for throwing away so much money. 
 
 Ger. If he don't, I'll undertake he shall refund. 
 
 JVood. Why, then, here's ten pieces,* and that 
 ring I'll pawn to you for t'other forty — 'tis worth 
 a hundred. But does the gentleman know her 
 qualities 1 
 
 Pet. Ay, sir, and they are such as I am fond on. 
 I would not be hired for anything to woo a person 
 of another humour. 
 
 Enter Tranio h-ave, and Jamy. 
 
 Tra. Save you, gentlemen ! Pray, which is the 
 way to Sir Nicholas Beaufoy's f house ? 
 
 JVood. Why, sir, what's your business there? 
 You pretend not to be a servant to either of his 
 daughters, d'ye 1 
 
 Tra. You are something blunt in your ques- 
 tions. Perhaps I do. 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, on any hand, I pray 1 
 
 Tra. I love no chiders. Come, Jamy ! 
 
 Ger. Pray stay, sir ! is it the other ? 
 
 Tra. Maybe it is ; is it any offence ] 
 
 Wood. Yes, 'tis, sir ! she is my mistress. 
 
 Ger. I must tell you, sir, she is my mistress too. 
 
 Tra. And I must tell you both she is my mis- 
 tress. Will that content you 1 Nay, never frown 
 for the matter. 
 
 Sau. And I mun tell ye all, there's little hopes 
 for Saundy then. 
 
 Win. The rogue does it rarely. 
 * Guineas.— j&rf. 1708. f My Lord.— 76.
 
 330 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. Nay, nay, gentlemen, no quarrelling, unless 
 it were to the purpose. Have you seen this young 
 lady, sir] 
 
 Tra. No, sir ; but I'm in love with her cha- 
 racter. They say she has a sister moves like a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 Pet. Pray spare your description, sir. That 
 furious lady is my mistress, and, till I have married 
 her, Biancha is invisible. Her father has sworn it, 
 and, till then, you must all move forty foot oiF. 
 
 Tra. I thank you for your admonition ; I should 
 have lost my labour else. And, since you are to do 
 all of us the favour, I shall be glad to be num- 
 bered among your servants, sir. 
 
 Pet. You will honour me to accept of me for 
 yours. But pray, sir, let me know Avho obliges 
 me with this civility. 
 
 Tra. My name is Winlove, sir, a Worcester- 
 shire gentleman, where I have something an old 
 man's death vdW entitle me to, not inconsiderable. 
 Come, gentlemen, let's not fall out, at least till the 
 fair Biancha's at liberty. Shall Ave go sit out half- 
 an-hour at the tavern, and drink her health 1 
 
 Sail. Do, my beams ; and I'se drink with ye to 
 countenance ye. 
 
 Pet. Ay, ay, agreed. Come ! and then I'll to ray 
 mistress. 
 
 Sau. Gud, these lads are o' Saundy's mind ; 
 they'll rather take a drink nor fight. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Margaret a7id Biancha. 
 
 3Iar. Marry come up, proud slut ! must you be 
 making yourself fine before your elder sister 1 
 You are the favourite, are you 1 but I shall make 
 you know your distance. Give me that necklace 
 and those pendants. I'll have that whisk too.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 331 
 
 There's an old handkerchief, good enough for 
 you! 
 
 Bian. Here, take 'em, sister ! I resign 'em freely. 
 I would give you all I have to purchase your 
 kindness. 
 
 Mar. You flattering gipsy ! I could find in my 
 heart to slit your dissembling tongue. Come, tell 
 me, and without lying, which of your suitors you 
 love best. Tell me, or I'll beat you to clouts, and 
 pinch thee like a fairy. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all men alive, I 
 never saw that particular face which I could fancy 
 more than another. 
 
 3Iar. Huswife, you lie ; and I could find in my 
 heart to dash thy teeth down thy throat. I know 
 thou lov'st Geraldo. 
 
 Bian. If you affect him, sister, I vow to plead 
 for you myself, but you shall have him. 
 
 Mar. Oh, then, belike you fancy riches more ; 
 you love old Woodall 1 
 
 Bian. That old fool 1 Nay, now I see you but 
 jested with me all this while. I know you are not 
 angry with me. 
 
 Mar. If this be jest, then all the rest is so. I'll 
 make ye tell me ere I have done with you, gossip. 
 
 [Flies at li&r. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy. 
 
 Beau. Why, how now, Dame ! whence grows this 
 insolence 1 Biancha, get thee in, my poor girl ! — 
 [Slu iveeps.'] — Fie, Peg ! put off" this devilish humour. 
 Why dost thou cross thy tender, innocent sister 1 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word % 
 
 Mar. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged ! 
 
 [Flies at Biancha. 
 
 Beau. What ! in my sight too ] You scurvy,
 
 332 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 ill-natured thing ! Go, poor Biancha, get thee out 
 of her way. [Exit. 
 
 Mar. What ! will you not suffer me 1 Nay, 
 now I see she is your treasure. She must have a 
 husband, and I dance barefoot on her wedding day, 
 and, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. I see 
 your care of me ; I'll go and cry till I can find a 
 way to be quit with her. [Exit. 
 
 Beau. Was ever poor man thus plagued 1 
 
 Enter Woodall, with Winlove disguised, tvith 
 Jamy carryijig a lute aiui books, and Tranio. 
 
 How now 1 Who's here ] 
 
 PFood. Sir, your servant. I am bold to wait on 
 you, to present you this gentleman, an acute 
 teacher of the French tongue ; his name's Moun- 
 sieur Mangier. Pray accept his service. 
 
 Beau. I am your debtor, sir. Mounsieur, you're 
 welcome. 
 
 Win. Me give you humble thanks, sir. 
 
 Beau. But what gentleman is that ] 
 
 Wood. I don't love him so well to tell you his 
 errand, but he would come along with me. You 
 had best ask him, 
 
 Tra. I beg your pardon for my intrusion. We 
 heard your fair and virtuous daughter Biancha 
 praised to such a height of wonder, fame has 
 already made me her servant. I've heard your 
 resolution not to match her till her eldest sister 
 be bestowed ; meanwhile, I beg admittance, like 
 the rest, to keep my hopes alive. This lute, sir, 
 and these few French romances, I would dedicate 
 to her service. 
 
 Bea^L. Sir, you oblige me ; pray, your name 1 
 
 Tra. 'Tis Winlove, son and heir to Sir Lyonel 
 Winlove.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 333 
 
 Beau. My noble friend, he has been my school- 
 fellow. For his sake j'ou are most kindly welcome; 
 you shall have all the freedom I can give you. 
 
 Enter Sauny, and Geraldo disguised. 
 
 Sau. Hand in hand, sir, I'se go tell him mysel'. 
 Whare is this laird 1 
 
 Beau. Here, sir ; what would you have ? What 
 are you 1 
 
 Sau. Marry, I'se ean a bonny Scot, sir. 
 
 Beau. A Scotchman ! Is that all 1 
 
 Sau. Wuns ! wud ye have me a cherub 1 I ha' 
 brought ye a small teaken, sir. 
 
 Beau. But d'ye hear, you Scot, don't you use to 
 put off your cap to your betters 1 
 
 Sau. Marry, we say in Scotland gead morn till 
 ye for a' the day, and sea put on our bonnets 
 again, sir.. Bud, sir, I ha' brought ye a teaken. 
 
 Beau. To me ? Where is't ? From whence is 
 your teaken 1 
 
 Sau. Marry, from my good master, Petruchio, 
 sir. He has sen' ye a piper to teach your bonny 
 lasses to pipe ; but gin ye'd lit Sauny teach 'em, 
 I'se pipe 'em sea — whim, whum — their a . . s shall 
 ne'er leave giging and joging while there's a tooth 
 in their head. 
 
 Beau. Petruchio 1 I remember him now. How 
 does thy master ? 
 
 Sau. Marry, sir, he means to make one of 
 your lasses his wanch — that is, his love and 
 his ligby. 
 
 Beau. You are a saucy rogue. 
 
 Sau. Gud wull a, sir. He'll tak your lass with 
 a long tang that the deil and Saundy wunna venter 
 on ; but he's here his aunsel, sir.
 
 334 SAU.NY THE SCOT. 
 
 Enter Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. Your most humble servant ! 
 Beau. Noble Petruchio, welcome ! I thank you- 
 for your kmdness to my daughters. Within there ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Conduct these gentlemen to my daughters. Tell 
 'em these are both to be their masters ; bid 'em 
 use 'em civilly. Take in that lute and those 
 books there ! Petruchio, I hear you have lost 
 your father lately. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis true, but I hope to find another in 
 you. In short, I hear you have a fair daughter 
 called Margaret. The world says she is a Shrew, 
 but I think otherwise. You know my fortune ; if 
 you like my person, with your consent I'll be your 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Beau. I have such a daughter, but I so much 
 love you I would not put her into your hands ; 
 she'll make you mad. 
 
 Sau. Gud, he's as mad as heart can wish, sir ; 
 he need nea halp, sir. 
 
 Pet. I'll venture it, father — so I'll presume to 
 call ye. I'm as peremptory as she's proud-minded ; 
 and where two raging fires meet together, they 
 do consume the thing that feeds their fury. My 
 father's estate I have bettered, not embezzled ; 
 then tell me, if I can get your daughter's love, 
 what portion you will give 1 
 
 Beau. After my death the moiety of my estate ; 
 on the wedding day three thousand pounds. 
 
 Pet. And I'll assure her jointure answerable. 
 Get writings drawn ; I'll warrant you I'll carry 
 the wench. 
 
 Beau. Fair luck betide you !
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 335 
 
 Enter Gekaldo, bleeding. 
 
 How now, man, what's the matter? Will my 
 daughter be a good lutanist ? 
 
 Ger. She'll prove a better cudgel-player; lutes 
 will not hold her. 
 
 Beau. Why, then, thou canst not break her to 
 thy lute ] 
 
 Ger. No, but she has broke the lute to me. I 
 did but tell her she mistook her frets, and bowed 
 her head to teach her fingerings. " Frets call you 
 these ] " quoth she, " and I'll fret Avith you ;" so 
 fairly took me o'er the pate with the lute, and set me 
 in the pillory ; and followed it with loud volleys of 
 rogue, rascal, fiddler, Jack, puppy, and such like ! 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, I love her ten times 
 more than e'er I did ! 
 
 Sau. Gud ! bo' the deil a bit ye's wad her, sir. 
 Wuns ! I'se nea gi' twa pence for my lugs gin you 
 make her yer bride. 
 
 Pet. I'll warrant you, Sauny, we'll deal Avith her 
 well enough. 
 
 Beau. Well, sir, I'll make you reparation. Pro- 
 ceed still with my youngest daughter ; she's apt to 
 learn. Petruchio, will you go Mdth us, or shall I 
 send my daughter to you 1 
 
 Pet. Pray do, sir, and I'll attend her here. 
 
 \Exeimt. Manent Petrucihio and Sauny. 
 
 Sau. Gud ! at yed gi' Saundy a little siller to gea 
 to Scotland asren I 
 
 Pet. Why, Sauny, I have not used thee so un- 
 kindly. 
 
 Sau. Gud ! I'se nea tarry with a scauding 
 quean, sir ; yet the deil fa' my lugs if I'se ken 
 which is worse, to tarry and venture my crag, or 
 gea heam to Scotland agen.
 
 336 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Enter Margaret. 
 
 Pet. Peace, sirrah, here she comes ! Now for a 
 rubber at cuffs. Oh, honey, pretty Peg, how dost 
 thou do, wench 1 
 
 Mar. Marry come up, Eagmanners ! Plain Peg t 
 Where were you bred ? I am called Mrs. Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 Pet. No, no, thou liest. Peg. Thou'rt called 
 plain Peg, and bonny Peg, and sometimes Peg 
 the cursed ; take this from me. Hearing thy 
 wildness praised in every town, thy virtues 
 sounded, and thy beauty spoke of, myself am 
 moved to take thee for my wife. 
 
 Mar. I knew at first you were a moveable. 
 
 Fet. Why, what's a moveable 1 
 
 Mar. A joint-stool. 
 
 Pet. Thou hast hit it, Peg. Come, sit upon me. 
 
 Mar. Asses were made to bear, and so were 
 you. 
 
 Pet. Why, now I see the world has much 
 abused thee. 'Twas told me thou wert rough, and 
 coy, and sullen ; but I do find thee pleasant, mild, 
 and courteous. Thou canst not froAvn, nor pout, 
 nor bite the lip, as angry wenches do. Thou art 
 all sweetness ! 
 
 Mar. Do not provoke me ; I won't stand still 
 and hear myself abused. 
 
 Pet. What a rogue was that told me thou wert 
 lame ! Thou art as straight as an osier, and as 
 pliable ! Oh, what a rare walk's there ! Why, 
 there's a gait puts down the King of France's 
 best great horse ! 
 
 Sau. And the King of Scotland's tea. 
 
 Pet. Where didst thou learn the grand pas, 
 Peg ] It becomes thee rarely.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 337 
 
 Mar. Does it so, saucebox 1 How will a halter 
 become you, with a running knot under one ear 1 
 
 Pet. Nay, no knot, Peg, but the knot of ma- 
 trimony 'twixt thee and me. We shall be an 
 excellent "mad couple well matched."* 
 
 Mar. I matched to thee ? What 1 to such a fellow 
 with such a gridiron face? with a nose set on 
 like a candle's end stuck against a mud wall, and 
 a mouth to eat milk porridge with ladles ? Foh ! 
 it almost turns my stomach to look on 't. 
 
 Sau. Gud, an your stomach wamble to see his 
 face, what will ye dea when ye see his a . . e, 
 madam ] 
 
 Mar. ]\Iarry come up, Aberdeen ! Take that — 
 \liits him a box on the ear] — and speak next when it 
 comes to your turn. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed ! the deil tak' a gripe o' yer faw 
 lingers, and driss your doublat for ye ! 
 
 Fet. Take heed, Peg, Sauny's a desperate fellow. 
 
 Mar. You're a couple of loggerheads. Master 
 and Man, that I can tell you ! [Going. 
 
 Pet. Nay, nay, stay. Peg ! For all this I do like 
 thee, and I mean to have thee ; in truth, I am thy 
 servant. 
 
 Mar. Are you 1 Why, then, I'll give you a 
 favour, and thus I'll tie it on ; there's for you ! 
 
 [Beats him. 
 
 Sau. Out, out ! I'se gea for Scotland. Gud, an 
 she beat ye, Saundy's a dead man. 
 
 Pet. I'll swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 
 
 Mar. That's the way to lose your arm. If you 
 strike a woman you are no gentleman. 
 
 Pet. A herald. Peg ! Prithee, blazon my coat. 
 
 Mar. I know not your coat, but your crest is a 
 coxcomb. [Offers to go away. 
 
 * A successful comedy by Richard Brome. 8vo. 1653. 
 
 Y
 
 338 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. Stop her, sirrah ; stop her ! 
 
 Scm. Let her gea her gate, sir, an e'en twa deils 
 an' a Scotch wutch blaw her weem full of wind. 
 
 Pet. Stay her, sirrah ; stay her, I say ! 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, stay her yersen ! But hear ye, 
 sir, an her tail gea as fast as her tang, Gud ! ye ha' 
 meet with a whupster, sir ! 
 
 Pet. Prithee, Peg, stay, and I'll talk to thee in 
 earnest. 
 
 Mm: You may pump long enough ere you get 
 out a wise word. Get a nightcap to keep your 
 brains warm. 
 
 Pet. I mean thou shalt keep me warm in thy 
 bed, Peg. What thinkst thou of that, Peg 1 In 
 plain terms, without more ado, I have your father's 
 consent, your portion's agreed upon, your jointure 
 settled, and, for your own part, be Avilling or un- 
 willing all's one, you I will marry ; I am resolved 
 on't. 
 
 Mar. Marry come up, Jack-a-Lent ! Without 
 my leave 1 
 
 Pet. A rush for your leave ! here's a clutter with 
 a troublesome woman. Rest you contented, I'll 
 have it so. 
 
 Mar. You shall be baked first, you shall. 
 Within there ! Ha ! 
 
 Pet. Hold ! get me a stick there, Sauny. By 
 this hand, deny to promise before your father, I'll 
 not leave you a whole rib ; I'll make you do't and 
 be glad on't. 
 
 Mar. Why, you will not murder me, sirrah 1 
 You are a couple of rascals. I don't think but 
 you have picked my pockets. 
 
 Sau. I'se sooner pick your tang out o' your head 
 nor pick your pocket. 
 
 Pet. Come, leave your idle prating. Have you
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 339 
 
 I mil, or no man ever shall. Whoever else 
 attempts it, his throat will I cut before he lies one 
 night with thee ; it may be, thine too for company. 
 I am the man am born to tame thee, Pesr. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy, Woodall, and Tranio. 
 
 Here comes your father. Never make denial ; if 
 you do, you know what follows. 
 
 Mar. The devil's in this fellow, he has beat me 
 at my own weapon. I have a good mind to 
 marry him, to try if he can tame me. 
 
 Beau. Now, Petruchio, how speed you with my 
 daughter 1 
 
 Pet. How, but well] It were impossible I 
 should speed amiss ; 'tis the best - natured'st 
 lady 
 
 Beaii. Why, how now, daughter ! in your 
 dumps 1 
 
 Mar. You show a father's care, indeed, to match 
 me with this mad, hectoring fellow. 
 
 Pet. She has been abused, father, most un- 
 worthily. She is not cursed unless for policy ; for 
 patience, a second Grizel. Betwixt us we have so 
 agreed, the wedding is to be on Thursday next. 
 
 Sau. Gud ! Saundy's gea for Scotland a Tuesday, 
 then. 
 
 Wood. Hark, Petruchio ! she says she'll see you 
 hanged first. Is this your speeding ] I shall make 
 you refund. 
 
 Pet. Pish ! that's but a way she has gotten. I 
 have wooed her, won her, and she's my own. We 
 have made a bargain that before company she 
 shall maintain a little of her extravagant humour, 
 for she must not seem to fall off from 't too soon. 
 When Ave are alone, Ave are the kindest, loAdngest, 
 tenderest chickens to one another ! Pray, father,
 
 340 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 provide the feast and bid the guests ; I must home 
 to settle some things, and fetch some writings in 
 order to her jointure. Farewell, Gallants ! Give 
 me thy hand, Peg. 
 
 Beau. I know not what to say ; but give me 
 your hands. Send you joy ! Petruchio, 'tis a 
 match. 
 
 Wood. Tra. Amen say Ave ; we all are witnesses. 
 
 Mar. Why, sir, d'ye mean to match me in spite 
 of my teeth ] 
 
 Pet. Nay, peace. Peg, peace ! thou need'st not 
 be peevish before these ; 'tis only before strangers, 
 according to our bargain. Come, Peg, thou shalt 
 go see me take horse. Farewell, father ! 
 
 Mar. As I live I will not. 
 
 Pet. By this light but you shall. Nay, no testy 
 tricks ; away ! [^Exeunt. 
 
 Sail. Gud ! I'se be your lieutenant, and bring up 
 your rear, madam. [Exit. 
 
 Wood. AVas ever match clapped up so suddenly? 
 
 Beati. Faith, gentlemen, I have ventured madly 
 on a desperate mart. 
 
 Wood. But now, sir, as to your younger daugh- 
 ter ; you may remember my long love and service. 
 
 Tra. I hope I may, without arrogance, sir, beg 
 you to look on me as a person of more merit. 
 
 Beau. Content ye, gentlemen, I'll compound 
 this strife ; 'tis deeds not words must win the 
 prize. I love you both, but he that can assure my 
 daughter the noblest jointure has her. What say 
 you, sir ] 
 
 Wood. I'll make it out my estate is Avorth, de 
 clara, full tAventy thousand pounds, besides some 
 A'entures at sea ; and all I have at my decease I 
 give her. 
 
 Tra. Is that all, sir t Alas ! 'tis too light, sir.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 341 
 
 I am my father's heir and only son, and his estate 
 is worth three thousand pound per annum ; that 
 will aiford a jointure answerable to her portion. 
 No debts nor incumbrances, no portions to be 
 paid. — Have I nipt you, sir ? 
 
 Beau. I must confess your offer is the best ; and 
 let your father make her this assurance, she is 
 your own, else you must pardon me, if you should 
 die before him, where's her power ? 
 
 Tra. That's but a cavil ; he's old, I young ! 
 
 IFood. And may not young men die as well as 
 old ? Have I nipt you there again ? 
 
 Beau. ^Yell, gentlemen, I am thus resolved. On 
 Thursday my daughter Peg is to be married. The 
 Thursday following Biancha's yours if you make 
 this assurance ; if not, Mr. Woodall has her. And 
 so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit. 
 
 Wood. Sir, your servant ; now I fear you not. 
 Alas ! young man, your father is not such a fool to 
 give you all, and in his waning age set his foot 
 under your table. You may go whistle for your 
 mistress. Ha, ha, ha ! [Eoit. 
 
 Tra. A vengeance on your crafty, withered hide. 
 Yet 'tis in my head to do my master good. I see 
 no reason why this supposed young Winlove 
 should not get a supposed father called Sir Lyonel 
 Winlove. And that's a wonder ; fathers commonly 
 get their children, but here the case must be 
 altered. 
 
 Love brings such prodigies as these to town. 
 For that at best turns all things upside down. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 342 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Act III, 
 
 Enter Winlove, Geraldo, and Biancha. Tahh 
 covered ivith velvet. Two cJiairs and a guitar. 
 A paper pricked loith songs. 
 
 Ger. Pray, madam, Avill you take out this lesson 
 on the guitar 1 
 
 JFin. Here be de ver fine story in de varle of 
 Monsieur Apollo and Mademoiselle Daphne ; me 
 vill read you dat, madam. 
 
 Ger. Good madam, mind not that Monsieur 
 Shorthose, but learn this lesson first. 
 
 JFin. Begar, Monsieur Fiddeller, you be de vera 
 fine troublesome fellow; me vill make de great 
 hole in your head wid de gittar, as Mrs. Margaret 
 did. 
 
 Ger. This is no place to quarrel in. But remem- 
 ber — — 
 
 Bian. AVhy, gentlemen, you do me double 
 wrong, to strive for that which resteth in my bare 
 choice. To end the quarrel, sit down and tune 
 your instrument, and by that time his lecture will 
 be done. 
 
 Ger. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune % 
 
 Bian. Yes, yes ; pray be satisfied. Come, Mon- 
 sieur ! let's see your ode. 
 
 IFin. I do suspect that fellow. Sure he's no 
 lute-master. 
 
 Bian. Here's the place ! come, read. 
 
 \Reads.'\ — " Do not believe I am a Frenchman. 
 My name is Winlove ; he that bears my name 
 about the town is my man Tranio. I am your 
 passionate servant, and must live by your smiles. 
 Therefore be so good to give life to my hopes." 
 
 Ger. Madam, your guitar is in tune !
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 343 
 
 Bkin. Let's hear. Fie ! there's a string split. 
 
 TFin. Make a de spit turn in the hole, man, and 
 tune it again. 
 
 Bkm. Now let me see. — [Seems to read.] — " I 
 know not how to believe you, but, if it be true, 
 noble Mr. Winlove deserves to be beloved ; and, in 
 the meantime, keep your own counsel, and it is 
 not impossible but your hopes may be converted 
 into certainties." 
 
 Ger. Madam, now 'tis perfectly in tune. 
 
 Win. Fie, fie ! begar, no tune at all ! 
 
 Bidn. Now, sir, I am for you. 
 
 Ger. Monsieur, pray walk now ! and give me 
 leave a-while ; my lesson Avill make no music in 
 three parts. 
 
 JFiii. Me vill no trouble you, Monsieur Fiddeller; 
 I am confident it is so. This must be some person 
 that has taken a disguise, like me, to court 
 Biancha. I'll watch him. [Aside. 
 
 Ger. First, madam, be pleased to sing the last 
 song that I taught you, and then we'll proceed. 
 
 Bian. I'll try, but I am afraid I shall be out. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ger. Madam, before you proceed any farther, 
 there be some few rules set down in this paper, 
 in order to your fingering, Avill be worth your 
 perusal. 
 
 Bian. Let's see. — [Beads] — " Though I appear a 
 lute-master, yet know, my fair Biancha, I have but 
 taken this disguise to get access to you, and tell 
 you I am your humble servant and passionate 
 admirer, Geraldo." Pish ! take your rules again, 
 I like 'em not ; the old way pleases me best. I do 
 not care for changing old rules for these foolish 
 new inventions.
 
 344: SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, my Lord calls for you to help 
 dress the Bride. 
 
 Bkm. Farewell, then, Master ! I must be gone. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Ger. I know not what to think of her. This 
 fellow looks as if he were in love, and she caresses 
 him. These damned Frenchmen have got all the 
 trade in town. If they get up all the handsome 
 women, the English must e'en march into Wales 
 for mistresses. Well, if thy thoughts, Biancha, 
 are grown so low, to cast thy w^andering eyes on 
 such a kickshaw, I'm resolved to ply my Widow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 JFin. I'm glad I'm rid of him, that I may speak 
 my mother tongue again. Biancha has given jne 
 hopes ; I dare half believe she loves me. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy, Woodall, Tranio, Margaret, 
 Biancha, and Attendants. 
 
 But, here's her father ! 
 
 Beau. Believe me, gentlemen, 'tis very strange ! 
 This day Petruchio appointed, yet he comes not. 
 Methinks he should be more a gentleman than to 
 put such a slur upon my family. 
 
 3[ar. Nay, you have used me finely, and like a 
 father. I must be forced to give my hand against 
 my will to a rude, mad-brained fellow here, who 
 wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure. This 
 comes of obeying you. If I do't again, were you 
 ten thousand fathers, hang me ! 
 
 Tra. Be patient, madam ; on my life he'll come. 
 Though he be blunt and merry, I'm sure he's noble. 
 Good madam, go put on your wedding clothes ; 
 I know he'll be with you ere you be dressed.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 345 
 
 3far. AVedding clothes'? I'll see him hanged 
 before I'll have him, unless it be to scratch his 
 eyes out. [Exit iceejnnfj. 
 
 Beau. Poor girl! I cannot blame thee now to 
 weep, for such an injury would vex a saint. 
 Though I am old, I shall find somebody will call 
 him to a strict account for this. 
 
 Enter Jamy. 
 
 Jamy. Oh, master ! news, news ! and such news 
 as you never heard of ! 
 
 Beau. Why, what news have you, sir 1 
 
 Jamij. Is't not news to hear of Petruchio's 
 coming % 
 
 Beau. Why, is he come ? 
 
 Jamy. Why, no, my Lord. 
 
 Beau. What then, sirrah ? 
 
 Jamy. He's coming, sir. 
 
 Beau. When will he l)e here ? 
 
 Jamy. When he stands where I am and sees you 
 there. 
 
 Beau. Well, sirrah, is this all the news ? 
 
 Jamy. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat 
 and an old jerkin, a pair of breeches thrice turned, 
 a pair of boots that have been candle-cases ; an old 
 rusty sword with a broken hilt and never a chape ; 
 upon an old, lean, lame, spavined, glandered, 
 broken-winded jade, Avith a woman's crupper of 
 velvet, here and there pieced with packthread. 
 
 Tra. Who comes with him ? 
 
 Jamy. Oh, sir, his man Sauny, and in an equipage 
 very suitable to his master ; he looks no more like 
 a Christian footman than I look like a windmill. 
 
 Wood. This is a most strange, extravagant 
 humour. 
 
 Beau. I'm glad he comes, however he be.
 
 346 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 ■ 
 Enter Petruchio and Sauny, strangely Imhited. 
 
 Pet. Come, where be these Gallants 1 Who's at 
 home? 
 
 Bemi. You're welcome, sir ! I'm glad you're 
 come at last. 
 
 Tra. I think I have seen you in better clothes. 
 
 Pet. Never, never, sir; this is my wedding 
 suit. Why, how now, how now, gentlemen 1 
 What d'ye stare at 1 D'ye take me for a monster ? 
 
 JVood. Faith, in that habit you might pass for 
 one in the fair. 
 
 Pet. Oh, } ou talk merrily ; my tailor tells me 
 it is the newest fashion. But where's my Peg 1 
 I stay too long from her ; the morning wears, 'tis 
 time we were at church, 
 
 Tra. Why, you Avon't visit her thus ] 
 
 Pet. Marry, but I will. 
 
 Sail. And sea will Saundy tea, sir. 
 
 Beau. But you will not marry her so, will you 1 
 
 Sau. A my saul sail he, sir. 
 
 Pet. To me she's married, not to my clothes. 
 Will you along, father and gentlemen 1 I'll to 
 church immediately, not tarry a minute. 
 
 Sau. Hear ye, sir ; ye sail marry her after the 
 Scotch Directory; then, gin ye like her not, ye 
 maw put her awa. How say ye, now ? 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio and Sauny. 
 
 Tra. He has some meaning in this mad attire ; 
 but you must persuade him to put on a better ere 
 he goes to church. 
 
 Beau. Let's after, and see what will become of 
 it. [Exit. 
 
 Tra. Well, sir, you find there's no other way ; 
 'tis too short warning to get your father up. 
 Should you steal the match, who knows but both
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 347 
 
 I 
 
 the old fools would so deeply resent it to your 
 prejudice. 
 
 }Fin. Why, prithee, this way it will be stolen ; 
 for 'tis but a cheat, which will, in a little time, be 
 discovered. 
 
 2Va. That's all one ; it carries a better face, and 
 we shall have the more sport. Besides, ere it 
 comes out, your father may be wrought to like it, 
 and confirm my promises. She is suitable to you 
 every way, and she is rich enough to do it, and 
 loves you well enough besides. 
 
 JFin. Well, if it must be so, let's contrive it 
 handsomely. 
 
 Tra. Let me alone ; Jamy shall do the business. 
 He shall find out some knight of the post that 
 shall be old Sir Lyonel Winlove here, and make 
 assurance of a greater jointure than I proposed. 
 Ne'er fear it, sir ; I'll so instruct him it shall be 
 carried without the least suspicion. 
 
 JVin. Ay ; but, you know, old Beaufoy knows 
 my father. 
 
 Tra. That's nothing ; 'tis so many years since 
 he saw him, he will never distinguish him by his 
 face. 
 
 }Fin. This may be done. But, notwithstanding 
 all, did not my fellow-teacher, that damned lute- 
 master, so nearly watch us, 'twould not be amiss 
 to steal a marriage ; and, that once performed, let 
 all the world say no, I'll keep my own ! 
 
 Tra. That we may think on too. This same 
 lute-master I more than half suspect. 
 
 ?Fin. And so do I. 
 
 Ti'a. I have missed a gentleman out of the gang 
 a good while. But let that pass ; I have already 
 sent Jamy to find a man.
 
 348 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Enter Woodall. 
 
 To our postures ; here's Mr. Woodall ! He must be 
 choused too among the rest. — Save you, sir ! 
 Came you from the church 1 
 
 fFood. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 
 
 Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
 home 1 
 
 n\x)d. A bridegroom 1 Why, he's a bridegroom 
 for the devil ! A devil ? A very fiend ! 
 
 Tra. Why, she's a devil, an arrant devil ! nay, 
 the devil's dam ! 
 
 Jf'ood. But she's a lamb, a dove, a child to him ! 
 When the priest asked if he would take Margaret 
 for his wife, " Ay, by Gog's wounds," quoth he, and 
 swore so loud that, all amazed, the priest lets fall 
 the book ; and as the sexton stooped to take it ui», 
 this mad-brained bridegroom took him such a cuff 
 that down fell sexton, book and all, again. " Now 
 take it up," quoth he, " if any list." 
 
 Tra. What said the poor bride to this ? 
 
 Wood. Trembled and shook like an aspen-leaf. 
 After this, just as the parson joined their hands, 
 he called to his roguey Scotchman for a glass of 
 muscadine, drank his wife's health, and threw the 
 toast in the clerk's face because his beard grew 
 thin and hungry ; then took the l>ride about the 
 neck, and gave her such a smack the church echoe<l 
 again. The sight of this made me run away for 
 .shame ; I know they are following by this time. 
 But hark 1 I hear the minstrels. [Musk. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy, Petruchio, Margaret, 
 BiANCHA, Geraldo, Sauny, etc. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
 your pains. I know you think to dine with me
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 349 
 
 to-day, aiifl have prepared great store of wedding 
 cheer ; but, so it is, grand business calls me hence, 
 and I take my leave. 
 
 Beau. Is't possible you will away to-night 1 
 
 Pet. I must immediately ; if you knew my 
 business you would not wonder. — Well, honest 
 gentlemen, I thank you all, that have beheld me 
 give away myself to this most patient, sweet, and 
 virtuous wife. Dine Avith my father, here, and 
 drink my health, for I must hence ; so farewell to 
 you all ! 
 
 Sail. Wuns ! will ye nea eat your wadden 
 dunner, sirl 
 
 Tra. Let us entreat you to stay till after dinner ! 
 
 Pet. It must not be. 
 
 Mar. Let me entreat you ! 
 
 Pet. That will do much ; I am content. 
 
 Mar. Are you content to stay 1 
 
 Pet. I am content you should entreat me ; but 
 yet I will not stay, entreat me how you can. 
 
 Mar. Now, if you love me, stay ! 
 
 Pet. I cannot. — Sauny ! the horses. 
 
 Sau. They have nea eat their wadden dunner yet. 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, get the horses ! 
 
 Mar. Nay, then, do what thou canst, I won't go 
 to-day, nor to-morrow, nor till I j^lease myself 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way ; you may 
 be jogging while your boots be green. 
 
 Pet. Oh, Peg, content thee ; prithee be not 
 angry ! 
 
 Mar. I will be angry ! "What hast thou to do 1 
 — Father, be quiet ; he shall stay my leisure ! 
 
 JFood. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 
 
 Mar. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. 
 I see a woman may be made a fool of if she want 
 spirit to resist.
 
 350 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Peg, at thy com- 
 mand. Obey the bride, you that attend on her. 
 Go to the feast, revel, carouse, and dance, be mad 
 or merry, or go hang yourselves ; but for my bonny 
 Peg, she must with me. Nay, look not big upon't, 
 nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret. Come, come — 
 gently — so, so; so — that's my good Peg. I will be 
 master of my own. She is my proper goods and 
 chattels ; my house, my ox, my ass, my anything. 
 Look, here she stands ; touch her who dare ! I'll 
 make him smoke that offers to stop me in my way. 
 Sauny, unsheath thy dudgeon* dagger ; we are 
 beset Avith thieves ! Eescue thy mistress if thou 
 beest a man. — Fear not, sweet wench, I'll buckler 
 thee against a million. Nay, come ! 
 
 Mar. "Will none of you help me 1 
 
 Sail. The deil a bit of dunner ye gat ! Gud, at 
 ye would speak to your cuke to gie Saundy a little 
 mutton and porridge to put in his wallet. 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Margaret, and Sauny. 
 
 Beau. Nay, let 'em go — a couple of quiet 
 ones. 
 
 Tra. Never was so mad a match. 
 
 Beaii. "Well, gentlemen, let's in ; we have a din- 
 ner, although we Avant a bride and bridegroom to 
 it. Biancha, you shall take your sister's room, 
 and, JNIr. Winlove, you may practise for a bride- 
 groom, [Exeiijit. 
 
 Wood. Monsieur, how do you find my mistress 
 inclined 1 
 
 Win. Me can no tell dat yet, but in time, Mon- 
 sieur, me sail inform you. 
 
 * With the haft made of box-wood. "Dudgeon" is 
 frequently used to express the dagger itself : — 
 " It was a serviceable dudgeon, 
 Either for fighting or for drudging. " 
 
 — Hudibras.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 351 
 
 TTood. Pray, ply her close ; here's something for 
 
 you. [Exit WOODALL. 
 
 Wi7i. Me tank you, sir. — Ha, ha, ha ! I must 
 go tell this to my Biancha. [Exit WiNLOVE. 
 
 Tra. Hark ye, sir, you may inform me ; pray, 
 what think you, does Madam Biancha fancy any 
 other but myself? She bears me' fair in hancl. 
 Pray discover, sir ; I shall not be ungrateful. 
 
 Ger. Troth, sir, I think she's as all other women 
 are. 
 
 Tra. How is that, pray 1 
 
 Ger. AVhy, fickle and foolish. 
 
 Tra. Why d'ye think so of her 1 — she was always 
 held discreet. 
 
 Ger. No sober man will think so. I tell you, 
 sir, she cares neither for you nor any man that's 
 worth caring for. She's fallen in love with a 
 Monsieur Jackdaw, a fellow that teaches bad 
 French in worse English ! 
 
 Tra. That fellow 1 — why, 'tis impossible ! 
 
 Ger. 'Tis true, though. 
 
 Tra. Why, I am confident he was employed by 
 old Woodall as his instrument to court her for him. 
 
 Ger. If he were, he has spoken one word for 
 him and two for himself. 
 
 Enter Winlove leading Biancha. 
 
 See, here they come hand in hand. Stand close ! 
 perhaps your eyes may convince you. 
 
 Win. Madam, you need not doubt my passion. 
 By those fair eyes I swear, an oath inviolable, 
 you have made a conquest over me so absolute 
 that I must die your captive. 
 
 Tra. What does he say 1 what does he say ? 
 
 Ger. I cannot hear ; listen ! 
 
 Bian. I must believe you, sir, there's some
 
 352 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 strange power attends your words, your attractive 
 actions, and your person, which is too strong for 
 my weak resistance. You have won, but do not 
 boast your victory. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then, I see 'tis so ; I cannot hold ! — 
 Madam, you must forgive my interruption : you 
 have used me kindly, fooled me with fine hopes ; 
 your Monsieur, there, has read excellent lessons 
 to you. 
 
 Bian. Sir, I understand you not. 
 
 Ger. That is, you won't. 
 
 Win. What be de matter, Monsieur Fiddeller ? 
 
 Ger. No fiddler, nor no lutanist. Monsieur No- 
 point, but one that scorns to live in a disguise for 
 such a one as leaves a gentleman to doat upon a 
 pardon-a-moi Jack-pudding. Know I am a gentle- 
 man, my name Geraldo ! 
 
 Bian. Alas, sir ! And have you been my master 
 all this while, and I never knew it 1 
 
 Ger. Yes, sweet lady, you did know it. I see 
 you have a little spice of Peg in you ; but I have 
 done with you. Mr. Winlove, pray tell me, don't 
 you hate this gentlewoman now 1 
 
 Tra. I cannot say I hate her, but I'm sure I 
 don't love her for this day's work. Would she 
 court me, I swear I would not have her ! 
 
 Ger. Nor I, by heavens ! I have sworn, and 
 will keep my oath. 
 
 Bian. Why, gentlemen, I hope you will not 
 both give the willow garland. 
 
 Ger. Go, go ; you are a scurvy Avoman ! I have 
 a widow that has loved me as long as I have loved 
 you. Sweet lady, I am not bankrupt for a mis- 
 tress. 'Tis true she's something of your sister's 
 humour, a little wayward, but one three days* 
 time at the taming school will make her vie with
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 353 
 
 any Avife in England ; and then I can pass by you 
 unconcerned. 
 
 Bmi. The taming school ! For heaven's sake 
 where is that, sir 1 
 
 Get: Why, your brother Petruchio's house. I 
 doubt you must there too ere you'll be good for 
 anything. I'll to him immedktely. Farewell, 
 thou vile woman ! [Exit 
 
 Bian. Ha, ha, ha ! this is excellent ! 
 
 Tra. Madam, I beg your pardon ; but I hope 
 my boldness with you has done my master some 
 service. 
 
 Win. Believe me has it, Tranio, and I must 
 thank thee. 
 
 Enter Jaimy. 
 
 Now, sirrah, whither away in such haste ? 
 
 Jamy. Oh, master, I have found him ] 
 
 Win. What 1— Who hast thou found 1 
 
 Jamy. A rare old sinner in the Temple Cloisters 
 — will do the feat to a hair. 
 
 Bian. What feat ?— What's to be done ? 
 
 Win. That which I told you of, my fairest. — 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Japiy. Here, here I he walks in the court. [Exit. 
 
 Bian. Well, I must in or I shall be missed. 
 Carry the matter handsomely, and let me not 
 suffer. [Exit. 
 
 Win. Fear not, madam ! — Call him in, Tranio ! 
 You must instruct hini ; I'll not be seen in 't. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Jamy and Snatchpenny. 
 
 Tra. Now, friend, what are you 1 
 Snatch. Anything that you please, sir. 
 Tra. Anything ! Why, what can you do ] 
 Snatch. Anything, for so much as concerns swear- 
 
 z
 
 354 SAUNY THE SCOT, 
 
 ing and lying to your worship's service and to get 
 an honest livelihood ; so please you to employ me. 
 
 Tra. Why, thou may'st serve turn, I think. 
 But I'll put thee to no swearing ; bare lying and 
 impudence will serve for my occasion. You must 
 bate of the price for that. 
 
 Snatch. Faith, sir, they're both of a price, take 
 'em or leave 'em. 
 
 Tra. But canst thou manage and carry oif a 
 good, Avell-contrived lie to the best advantage ] 
 
 Snatch. I should be very sorry else ; it has been 
 my trade these seven-and-thirty years. Never 
 fear it, sir. 
 
 Jamy. Nay, I picked him out amongst half-a- 
 score. I fancied he had the best lying face 
 amongst 'em. 
 
 Tra. Well, come along ^vith me, and I'll instruct 
 you ; but if you fail, look to your ears, if you have 
 any ! 
 
 Snatch. I'll venture neck and all to do it, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Petruchio's House. Enter Sauny and Curtis 
 
 severally. 
 
 Curt. Honest Sauny ! welcome, welcome ! 
 
 Sau. Saundy's hungry; can't you get a little 
 meat, sirl 
 
 Curt. Yes, yes, Sauny. 
 
 Sau. Ye mun gat a gued fire, sir, Mrs. Bride 
 has gat a fa' intull a dyke ; she's a' wet, sir — Gud, 
 she has not a dry thread to her a . . e ! 
 
 Curt. Is master and mistress coming, Sauny ? 
 
 Sau. Gud are they, gin they be nea frozen to 
 the grund. Bo where's your fire, man 1 
 
 Curt. 'Tis making, 'tis making ; all things are 
 ready. Prithee, what news, good Sauny \ What 
 kind of woman is our mistress ?
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 355 
 
 Sau. Ken ye twa-and-twanty deils, sir 1 
 
 Curt. Marry, Heaven defend us ! 
 
 Sau. Gud, she has e'en twa-and-twanty deils; 
 I'se nea bate ye ean of 'em. 
 
 Curt. They say she's a cruel shrew. 
 
 Sau. 0' my saul, sir, I'se haud a thousand 
 pund, she's set up her tang and scaud fra Edin- 
 brough to London and ne'er draw bit for 't ! 
 
 Curt. Wliat shall we do, then % there will be no 
 living for us. 
 
 Sau. Gud will there not. Wuns, I think the 
 deil has flead off her skin and put his dam intul 't ! 
 Bo where's Philip, and George, and Gregory ] 
 
 Curt. They're all ready. What, ho ! come forth 
 here ! Philip, George, Joseph, Nick ! where are 
 you? 
 
 Enter four or five Serving-Men. 
 
 Phil. Honest Sauny, welcome home ! 
 
 Sau. Gat me some meat, and Pll believe ye, sir. 
 
 Geo. I am glad to see thee, Sauny. 
 
 Sa^i. Gat me a drink and I'se believe ye tea. 
 
 Jos. "What? Sauny come to town again? 
 Welcome ! 
 
 Sau. Wuns, walcome, walcome ! Gat me gued 
 meat and drink ; that is walcome, sir. 
 
 Nick. Old lusty fellow, Sauny, welcome ! 
 
 Sau. How d'ye, Wully? 
 
 Nick. D'ye hear the news, Sauny ? Wully 
 Watts is dead. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed ! nea man that geas on twa legs 
 could slay Wully Watts, sir. 
 
 Nick. True, for he was fairly hanged. 
 
 Sau. I was sure nea man that went on twa legs 
 could slay him. 
 
 Ni^k. You are in the. right, Sauny, for 'twas one
 
 35 G SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 with three legs — 'twas Mr. Tyburn ; for he was 
 fairly hanged. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, ye lie, sir ! The gallows might kill 
 him, and break his stout heart, but it could nea 
 hang him. 'Tis hang an Englishman ! 
 
 Nick. Well, but what kind of woman is our 
 mistress, Sauny] 
 
 Sau. Ye'll ken soon enough tea your sorrow and 
 wea, sir. Ye've a' twa lugs apiece o' your head : 
 a my saul, I'se nea gea ye twa pennies for them 
 by th' morn. How say ye now 1 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Margaret. 
 
 Pet. Where be these idle rogues 'i What ! no 
 more at door to hold my stirrup or take my horses l 
 Where's Curtis, Philip, Nick, and Gregory ? 
 
 All. Here ! here ! here ! sir ! 
 
 Pet. Here, here, here, you loggerheaded curs? 
 What ! no attendance ! — no regard "? — no duty ] 
 Where's that foolish knave I sent before 1 
 
 Sail. Wuns, sir, I'se be sea hungry and sea 
 empty, ye may travel quite through me and ne'er 
 faw your fingers, sir. 
 
 Pet. You mangy rogue ! did not I bid you 
 meet me in the park and bring these rascals with 
 you ] 
 
 Sau. Gud did ye, sir; bo I'se sea hungry I'se 
 ha' nea memory. Deliver your message yoursel', 
 sir. 
 
 Pet. Begone, you slaves, and fetch my supper in ! 
 Rogues ! do I speak, and don't you fly to make 
 haste 1 — [Exeunt two or three Servants.] — Sit 
 down. Peg, and welcome. Why, when, I pray % 
 nay, good sweet Peg, be merry ; these are country 
 clownish fellows — pritliee be merry. — Off" with my 
 boots, siritih ! you rogues ! ye villains ! — When
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 357 
 
 Sings. 
 
 It was the orders of the friar grey, 
 As forth he walked on his way. 
 
 Mar. Sure, he will run himself out of breath, 
 and then it will be my turn. 
 
 Pet. Out, you rogue ! you pluck my boot siwvj I 
 Take that, and mend it in pulling off the other. — 
 Be merry, Peg. — Some water here, ho ! — Where's 
 my spaniel, sirrah % — Make haste, and desire my 
 cousin Ferdinand to come hither — one, Peg, you 
 must kiss and be acquainted with. — Where are 
 my slippers ? — Shall I have some water 1 — Come, 
 Peg, wash and welcome, heartily ! 
 
 Sau. Wuns, bo whare is the meat to mak her 
 welcome ? 
 
 Mar. We shall fall out if we wash together.* 
 Pet. You whorson villain ! will you let it fall 1 
 Mar. Pray, sir, be patient ! 'twas an unwilling 
 fault. 
 
 Table covered. Enter SERVANTS with meat. 
 
 Pet. An idle, careless, beetle-headed slave ! Come, 
 Peg, sit down ; I know you have a stomach. Will 
 you give thanks, sweet Peg, or shall I, or each for 
 ourselves ] Come, fall to ! — What's this 1 — mutton 1 
 
 Sau. Gud, it is, sir. 
 
 Pet. Who bought it 1 
 
 Curt. I did, sir. 
 
 Pet. You rascal you, 'tis not mutton ! 'tis the 
 breast of a dog ! What curs are these ! 'Tis dried 
 and burnt to a coal, too ! Where is this rascal 
 cook 1 How dare you bring such rotten meat to 
 
 * There still exists the vulgar belief, that if two persons 
 wash their hands in the same vessel, tliey are certain to 
 quarrel shortly.
 
 358 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 my table 1 Why, d'ye mean to poison me, ye 
 heedless joltheads, ye ill-mannered whelps 1 What ! 
 d'ye grumble ]— I'll be with you straight. 
 
 Mar. Pray, husband, be content. The meat is 
 good meat, and I am very hungry; I must and 
 will eat some of it. 
 
 Fet. Not for the world. Peg ; I love thee better 
 than so. 'Tis burnt, and will engender choler, a 
 disease we are both too subject to. I love thee too 
 well to give thee anything to hurt thee. We'll fast 
 to-night ; to-morrow we'll make it up. 
 
 Mar. Say what you will, sir, I'll eat some of itl 
 Did you bring me hither to starve me 1 
 
 Fet. Why, ye rascals, will ye stand still and see 
 your mistress poison herself*? Take it away out 
 of her sight quickly ! 
 
 [Thrmcs tJie meat at them ; Sauny gets it. 
 
 San. Gud, Saundy will venture, poison an 
 't will ! 
 
 Fet. Well, Peg, this night we'll fast for com- 
 pany. Come, I'll bring thee to the bridal chamber. 
 
 Mar. I must eat something, I shall be sick else ; 
 — but an egg. 
 
 Fet. No, no ; prithee don't talk on't ! To bed 
 upon a full stomach 1 
 
 3Iar. But a crust of bread. 
 
 Fet. To-morrow, to-morrow. Come, prithee, 
 away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Geo. Didst ever see the like 1 
 
 Curt. He kills her in her own humour. 
 
 Fhll. Have you said grace, Sauny ? 
 
 Sau. Gud, I was sea hungry I forgot grace. — O 
 thou that hast filled our boyes and our blathers, 
 keep us a' from whoredom and secrecy. 
 . Nick. Secrecy 1 Why, Sauny 1 
 
 Sau. Wuns, man, it is wutchcraft 1 Peace ! you
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 359 
 
 put me out, with the cleil's name to ye ! — Keep us 
 a' from whoredom and secrecy. Fro' the dinger o' 
 the swatch to the gallow-tree. keep us a', we be- 
 seech thee. — Tak' a drink, man. 
 
 Phil. Are ye full now, Sauny 1 
 
 Sau. As fow as a piper. Ye may put ean finger 
 in at my mouth, and another in mine a . . e, and feel 
 beath ends o' my dinner. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter, as in a Bed-chamber Petruchio, Peg, 
 Servants, and Sauny. 
 
 Pet. Where are you, you rogues 1 Some lights 
 there ! — Come, Peg, undress ; to bed, to bed ! 
 
 3lar. Pray send your men away, and call for 
 some of your maids. 
 
 Pet. Maids 1 hang maids ! I have no such ver- 
 min about my house ; any of these will do as well. 
 Here, Sauny ! Come hither, sirrah, and undress 
 your mistress. 
 
 Sail. 0' ray saul, sir, I'se put on my headpiece. 
 Now, an ye'U bind her hands behind her, Tse 
 undress her. [Goes to take up her coats. 
 
 Pet. What dost thou do ] 
 
 Sau. In Scotland we a' ways begin at the nether 
 end of a bonny lass. 
 
 Pet. Who made this bedl What, rascals, are 
 these ] Foh, these sheets are musty as the devil ! 
 and what rags are here upon my bed ! Is this a 
 counterpane ] — 'tis a dishclout ! 
 
 Mar. Why, the counterpane is well enough and 
 rich enough, and the sheets are as clean and as 
 sweet as may be. 
 
 Pet. Fie, fie, Peg ! thou hast got a cold, and lost 
 thy smelling. I tell thee they are all damp and 
 musty ; I would not have thee to venture to lie in 
 'em for the world, it would be thy death. — Here,
 
 360 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 take 'em away ! — We must e'en sit up ; there's no 
 remedy. 
 
 Mar. Pray, sir, talk not of sitting up ; I am so 
 sleepy I can't hold my eyes open. I must to bed. 
 
 Pet. I'll keep thee Avaking, I warrant thee. — Ho, 
 Curtis ! bring us a flagon of March beer, and some 
 tobacco and clean pipes ; we'll be merry. 
 
 [Exit Curtis. 
 
 Mar. Why, what d'ye mean ? Are you mad 1 
 
 Pet. Mad 1 — ay, what should we do — I mean 
 thou and 1 1 hand to fist we'll drink a health to my 
 father, and my sister, and all our good friends at 
 London. 
 
 Enter Servant with beer and tobacco. 
 
 Mar. Why, you don't take me to be one of 
 your fellow tosspots ? 
 
 Pet. I mean to teach thee to drink : thou must 
 learn that, or thou'rt no Avife for me. Here, Peg ! 
 to thee with all my heart, a whole one, and thou 
 art welcome. My father's good health ; Peg, you 
 shall pledge it. 
 
 Mar. I can't drink without eating ; 'twill make 
 me sick. 
 
 Pet. Pish, pish ! that's but a fancy. Come ! off" 
 with it, or thou shalt neither eat nor drink this 
 month. 
 
 Mar. Shall I go to bed when I have drank it ? 
 
 Sail. Gud, at ye gi' Saundy a little drink, 
 madam 1 
 
 Pet. Talk of that anon. — [Slie drinks.'] — So — 
 here, Peg, here's a pipe I've filled for thee myself ; 
 sit down and light it ! 
 
 Mar. D'ye mean to make a mere hackney horse 
 of me ? What d'ye off"er me your nasty tobacco for? 
 
 Pet. Nay, ne'er make so shy ; I know thou
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 361 
 
 lov'st it. Come ; young ladies are often troubled 
 with the toothache, and take it in their chambers, 
 though they won't appear good fellows amongst 
 us. Take it, or no sleep nor meat, Peg. D'ye 
 hear? 
 
 Mar. Yes, to my grief. I won't be abused thus ! 
 
 \TFee2ys. 
 
 Pet. Nay, nay, go where thou wilt, I'll make 
 thee smoke before I sleep. [Exeunt. 
 
 Act r'. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Sauny. 
 
 « 
 Pet. Sirrah, wait on your mistress ! Say what 
 you will to her, and vex her, but do not touch her ; 
 and let her have no meat, I charge ye ! 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, send her into the Highland.' 
 
 s 
 
 in Scotland ; there's hunger and caud enough ; 
 there she may starve her bally fu'. 
 
 Pet. Well, sirrah, do as I direct you. [Exit. 
 
 Sau. 0' my saul wull I, sir. Ye'll let me take 
 my headpiece to defend me, sir ? 
 
 Enter Margaret. 
 
 Mar. What ! Gregory ! Philip ! — Nobody near 
 me 1 Sauny, where are you 1 
 
 Sau. I'se e'en hard at your a . . e, madam. 
 
 Mar. Where's your master 1 
 
 Sau. He's gone to the market himself, and he'll 
 bring ye beam a braw bull's puzzle to swaddle your 
 weam with. 
 
 Mar. And in the meantime I am famished. — 
 Was ever woman used so damnably 1 I am
 
 362 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 starved for meat, giddy for want of sleep ; and that 
 which spites me more than all the rest is, he pre- 
 tends 'tis out of care and love to me. — Prithee, 
 good Sauny, give me some meat ! 
 
 Sau. 0' my saul, Saundy would be hanged gin 
 I sud bestow an auld liquored bute ; Sauny will 
 cut it into tripes to stuff your weam with. 
 
 Mar. Good Sauny, here's money for thee. But 
 one little bit of anything to stay my fainting 
 spirits. 
 
 Sau. What will ye eat 1 — a bit of beef] 
 
 3Iar. Ay, good Sauny. 
 
 Sau. Will ye eat some mustard to 't ? 
 
 3fa): Ay, good Sauny, quickly. 
 
 Sau. Mustard is nea gued for your tang ; 'twill 
 make it tea keen, and ye can scaud fast enough 
 without. 
 
 Mar. Why, then, the beef without mustard. 
 
 Sau. Gud, beef is nea gued without mustard. 
 Sauny will fetch ye some meal and water ; ye'st 
 make ye a Scotch p\;dding ; ye'st eat of that tail 
 your weam crack. 
 
 Mar. You. abusive rogue, take that ! — [Beats Jiim.^ 
 ■ — Must I be braved thus by my own servant 1 
 
 Sau. The deil wash your face with a fou' clout. 
 
 Enter Geraldo. 
 
 Ger. Why, how now, sirrah ! will you strike 
 your mistress ] You cowardly rogue — strike a 
 w^oman 1 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, d'ye ca' a Scotchman a coward 1 
 Gin I'se had ye in Scotland, I'se put my whinyard 
 in your weam gin ye were as stout as Gilderoy. 
 
 Ger. Why, Gilderoy was as arrant a coward as 
 thou art. 
 
 Sou. Wuns, ye'd be lath to keep the grund
 
 SAUN Y THE SCOT. 363 
 
 that Gilderoy quits ; yet I must confess he was a 
 little shamefaced before the enemy. 
 
 Mar. Oh, Mr. Geraldo, never was poor Avoman 
 so used ! For charity sake, convey me home to my 
 father ! 
 
 Enter Petruchio icitli a dish of meat. 
 
 Pet. Here, Peg, here's meat for thee. I have 
 dressed it myself, my dear. — Geraldo, welcome ! 
 This was kindly done, to visit Peg and me. — Come, 
 Peg, fall to ; here's an excellent piece of veal. 
 
 Mar. Why, 'tis a pullet. 
 
 Pet. Why, 'tis veal. Art thou mad 1 
 
 Mar. You won't persuade me out of my senses. 
 'Tis a pullet. 
 
 Sau. A gud is it, sir. 
 
 Pet. What an unhappy man am I ! my poor 
 dear Peg's distracted ! I always feared 'twould 
 come to this. — Take the meat away, Curtis. Is 
 the room ready as I ordered ? are the lights 
 dammed up ? 
 
 Curt. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mar. Why, what d'ye mean to do with me 1 
 
 Pet. Poor Peg, I pity thee ; but thou shalt 
 want no help for thy cure. You must be kept 
 from the light ; it troubles the brain. 
 
 Ger. I see I shall learn ; he's an excellent 
 teacher. 
 
 Mar. Why, sir, pray tell me, have you a mind 
 to make me mad ? This is the way indeed. How 
 have I injured you that you use me thus in- 
 humanly 1 Did you marry me to starve me 1 
 
 Sau. He means to bring down your weam for a 
 race ; for we a'ways cry, A nag with a weam, but 
 a mare with nean. 
 
 Pet. No, no, good Peg ; thou know'st I have a
 
 3G4 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 care of tliee. Here's a gown just brought home 
 for thee, Peg. Now thou art empty, it will sit 
 handsomely. — Where is this tailor ? Call him in, 
 Sauny ! — If it fits you, you shall put it on and we'll 
 gallop o'er to London, and see your father. Your 
 sister's wedding is at hand ; you must help her. 
 
 Enter Tailor with a gowji. 
 
 Mar. If she be matched as I am, heaven help 
 her ! But there's some comfort in going home ; 
 there's meat and sleeping room. 
 
 Pet. Come, tailor, let's see the gown. How 
 now, what's here? Bless me, what masquing 
 suit is this 1 What's this ? — a sleeve % Why, 'tis 
 like a demi-cannon. Why, what a devil, tailor, 
 dost thou mean ? — is this a gown 1 
 
 Tail. A gown, sir ? Yes, sir ; and a handsome 
 gown as any man in London can make ; 'tis the 
 newest fashion lately come out of France. 
 
 Pet. What a lying knave art thou ! My great- 
 grandmother's picture in the matted gallery is just 
 such another. 
 
 Sati. It is like the picture of Queen Margaret in 
 Edinbrough Castle, sir. 
 
 Mar. I never saw a better fashioned gown in 
 my life, more quaint," nor better shaped. I like 
 the gown, and I'll have this gown or I'll have 
 none. Say what you will, I like it ; 'tis a hand- 
 some gown ! 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say'st true, Peg ; 'tis an ugly, 
 paltry gown. I am glad to hear thee of my mind ; 
 'tis a beastly gown. 
 
 Mar. Why, I say 'tis a good gown, a handsome, 
 fashionable gown. What ! d'ye mean to make a 
 puppet of me ? 
 
 * Modish. Ed. 1708.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 365 
 
 Pet. Ay, this fellow would make a puppet of 
 thee. 
 
 Tail. She says your worship means to make a 
 puppet of her. 
 
 Pet. Thou impudent, lying, thread, bodkin and 
 thimble Hea ! thou nit ! brave me in my own 
 house 1 Go ; take it ! I'll ha' none on't. 
 
 Tail. Sir, I made it according to your directions, 
 and I cannot take it again. 
 
 Sau. Tak' it awa', or the deil o' my lugs but 
 ye'st tak' my whinyard ! 
 
 Mar. He shall not take it again. What need 
 you trouble yourself about it as long as it pleases 
 me 1 — Lay it down there. 
 
 Pd. Sirrah, take it away, I say ; Ave shall find 
 more tailors. I Avon't have my wife so anticly 
 di'essed that the boys should hoot at her. 
 
 Mar. Come, come, all this is but fooling; you 
 don't understand Avhat belongs to a gown. Say 
 what you will, I'm resolved to have it ; if it were 
 an ugly one I would wear it, an it were but to 
 cross you ! 
 
 Sau. Now the deil's a cnippen untill her mouth, 
 sir ; you may see a little of his tail hang out — it 
 looks for a' the world an it were a sting, sir. 
 
 Pet. AVhy, that's my good Peg ; I know thou 
 dost not care for it. Say no more, prithee ; thou 
 shalt have another. 
 
 Mar. I know not what you mean to do with 
 me, but methinks I might have leave to speak, 
 and speak I will ! I am no child, no baby ! Your 
 betters have endured me to speak my mind, and 
 if you cannot you had best stop your ears ; 'tis 
 better set my tongue at liberty than let my heart 
 break. 
 
 Pet. Speak, Peg, by all means ; say what thou
 
 366 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 wilt. — Sirrah, carry that tawdry thing away. — 
 Geraldo, tell him you'll see liim paid — [aside] — 
 and bid him leave it. — Come, what say'st.thou, 
 Peg] 
 
 Ger. Leave the gown in the next room, tailor, 
 and take no notice of what he says ; I'll see you 
 paid for't. [Aside. Exit Tallm: 
 
 Mar. Why, I say I will have that gown, and 
 everything I have a mind for ! I did not bring 
 you such a portion to be made a fool of ! 
 
 Pet. Very true ! thou'rt in the right. Peg. Come, 
 let's to horse ; these clothes will serve turn at pre- 
 sent till we can get better. — Go, sirrah, lead the 
 horses to the land's end ; thither we'll walk afoot. 
 — Let's see, I think 'tis about seven o'clock : Ave 
 shall reach to my father-in-law's by dinner-time 
 with ease. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis almost two ; you cannot get thither 
 by supper-time. 
 
 Pet. It shall be seven ere I go ! Why, what a 
 mischief's thisi — what I say or do you are still 
 crossing it. — Let the horses alone ! I will not go 
 to-day, and ere I do it shall be what o'clock I 
 please. 
 
 Mar. Nay, sir, that shan't stop our journey ; 'tis 
 seven, or two, or nine, or what o'clock you please. 
 Pray let's go. 
 
 Sau. Ye's have it what hour you wull, sir. 
 
 Pet. Very well, it is so ; get ready quickly. — 
 Come, Geraldo, let's all go ; we shall help mend 
 the mirth at my sister's wedding. 
 
 Ger. I'll wait on you. 
 
 Pet. Come, Peg, get on your things ! 
 
 Mar. Let me but once see Lincoln's Inn Fields 
 again, and yet thou shalt not tame me ! [Exeunt.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 367 
 
 Enter Tranio and Snatchpenny, 
 
 Tra. Now, sirrah, be but impudent enough, and 
 keep state like the old knight, and thou art made 
 for ever. 
 
 Snatch. I warrant ye, sir, I know it to a hair. 
 My Lord Beaufoy and I were schoolfellows together 
 at Worcester ; my estate lies in the vale of Eves- 
 ham — three thousand pound a year, and fifteen 
 hundred a year I settle upon you upon the mar- 
 riage. Let me alone ! I am Sir Lyonel himself. 
 
 Tra. Right, right ! Excellent brave ! — How now 1 
 
 Enter Jamy. 
 
 Jamy. To your postures, old sinner ! Be an 
 exquisite rascal, and then thou shalt be a rogue 
 paramount. Thou shalt lay the dragon asleep 
 while my master steals the pipjiins. 
 
 Tra. Well, Jamy, what hast thou done 1 
 
 Jamy. I have been with my Lord Beaufoy, pre- 
 sented your father's and your service to him, and 
 told him the old knight was happily come to 
 town, and, hearing of your love to Biancha, was so 
 overjoyed he would settle all upon you. 
 
 Tra. Well, and what said he 1 
 
 Jamy. He gave me a piece '^ for my news. I told 
 him Sir Lyonel desired his company just now to 
 treat upon the match. He's coming in all haste ; 
 he longs to be cozened, and, Snatchjienny, if 
 thou dost not do it — 
 
 Snatch. Then hang me. 
 
 Jamy. Mum, look to't ; he's here ! 
 
 Enter Beaufoy and Winlove. 
 Beau. Mr. Winlove, your man tells me your 
 * Guinea. Ed. 1708.
 
 368 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 father is just happily come to town. Where is 
 he? 
 
 Tra. Here, sir ; this is my father. Time has 
 been too bold to wear ye out of each other's 
 memory. 
 
 Snatch. Is this my Lord Beaufoy, sir ? 
 
 Tra. Yes, sir. 
 
 Snatch. My Lord, your humble servant ! I'm 
 happy at last to meet a person I have formerly 
 so much loved. 
 
 Beau. Noble Sir Lyonel, I joy to see you. 
 
 Snatch. Oh ! the merry days that you and I have 
 seen, my Lord ! Well fare the good old times, I say ! 
 
 Beau. Ay, Sir Lyonel, when you and I were 
 acquainted first. 
 
 Snatch. Ay, marry, these were golden days in- 
 deed — no cozening, no cheating. The world is 
 altered. 
 
 Beau. But we will remember these times, and 
 be honest still. 
 
 Snatch. That's e'en the best way. There's 
 hopes we may have honest grandchildren too, if 
 all be true as I hear. My son tells me your 
 daughter has made a captive of him. 
 
 Beau. I would she were better for his sake. 
 She's a good girl, and a handsome one, though I 
 say it ; if she were not, I would give her some- 
 what should make her so. 
 
 Tra. It takes rarely. [Aside. 
 
 Snatch. I'm even overjoyed that you think my 
 son worthy your alliance. I'll give something 
 they shall make a shift to live on. In plain, and in 
 brief, if you'll approve of it, I'll settle fifteen hun- 
 dred pounds a year upon him at present, which 
 shall be her jointure ; after my death, all I have 
 with a good will. What say }^ou, my Lord ]
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 369 
 
 Beau. Sir Lyonel, your freedom pleases me ; 
 I see you are an honest meaning gentleman. The 
 young folks, if I am not mistaken, like one another. 
 Well, I say no more ; it is a match. 
 
 Tra. You bind me to you ever ; now I may 
 boldly say I am truly happy. Where will you 
 please to have the business made up ? 
 
 Bemi. Not in my house, son ; I would have it 
 private. Pitchers have ears, and I have many 
 servants ; besides, old Woodall will be hindering 
 of us. He's hearkening still, and will be interrupt- 
 ing. 
 
 Tra. Then at my lodging ; there my father lies, 
 and there the business may be all dispatched. 
 8end for your daughter by this gentleman ; my 
 boy shall fetch a scrivener presently. The worst 
 on 't is, 'tis too small a warning ; you are like to 
 have but slender entertainment. 
 
 Beau. No matter, no matter ; I shall like it. 
 
 Stwtch. I would fain see your daughter, my 
 Lord ; I have heard great commendations of her. 
 
 Beau. That you shall presently. — Monsieur, 
 pray go to Bianeha, and tell her from me she 
 must come hither with 3^ou immediately. You 
 may tell her too, if you will, what has happened, 
 and that she must prepare to be Mr. Wiulove's 
 bride. 
 
 Win. My Lord, me vill fetch her presant. 
 
 Tra. My Lord, will your Lordship please to walk 
 in with my father ? This is my lodging. 
 
 Beau. Ay, sir. — Come, Sir Lyonel, I'll follow 
 
 you. 
 
 Snatch. Good my Lord, I Avill wait upon you. 
 [Exeunt Beaufoy, Snatchpenny, ami Tranio. 
 U^in. Thus far 'tis well carried on, Jamy ; but 
 how shall we prosecute it 1 
 
 2 A
 
 370 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Jamy. Why, there is but one way in the world, 
 sir. 
 
 Win. And what's that ? 
 
 Jamij. Why, thus : I have got a parson ready 
 for the purpose ; when you have got Biancha 
 abroad, whip her into Covent Gai'den Church, and 
 there marry her, and your work's done. 
 
 Win. Troth, thou say'st true. But is the parson 
 orthodox and canonical] I would not have an 
 Obadiah to make us enter into covenant of matri- 
 mony. 
 
 Jinny. Trust me, sir, he's as true as steel. He 
 says all matrimony without book — he can chris- 
 ten, wed, and bury blindfold. 
 
 Win. Well, I'll take thy counsel, if I can per- 
 suade her to 't, as I hope I shall, for I know she 
 loves me. Fair luck betides me. — But who comes 
 here 1 
 
 Enter Woodall. 
 
 Jamy. 'Tis the old grub, Woodall. What shall 
 we do with him ? 
 
 Win. We must contrive some way to get him 
 off. 
 
 Wood. I don't like those shufflins; matters : I 
 doubt there's some false play towards me in hand. 
 Here's my Monsieur ! he may inform me. — Mon- 
 sieur ! 
 
 Win. Che diet a vouz, Monsieur 1 Monsieur, 
 your servant ! 
 
 Wood. Monsieur, prithee tell me, if thou canst, 
 how affairs go ? Things are carried very closely. 
 How stands my mistress affected ? 
 
 Win. Moi foi, Monsieur, me tell you de bad 
 news in the varle. Mademoiselle Biancha no 
 stand affected to you at all. My Lord has sent
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 371 
 
 me to fetch her just now to be marry to Monsieur 
 — vat you call — Monsieur Le 
 
 Wood. What ! not to Winlove 1 
 
 Win. Yes, to Monsieur Winlove. Begar, me be 
 very sorry, but me canno help dat. 
 
 Wood. Is old Beaufoy mad, to match her to him 
 without his father's privity 1 
 
 Win. Here be de ver fine old man new come to 
 town ; me Lord be wid him now. 
 
 Wood. Upon my life ! old Sir Lyonel 1 Nay, 
 then, she's lost quite. Hark you, Monsieur; yet 
 'tis in your power to make me a happy man. 
 
 Win. Oh, Monsieur, me be your humble servant. 
 
 Wood. Why, look you, you are to fetch her- — 
 here's forty pound in gold* to buy you a pair of 
 gloves — let me take her from you as you are 
 carrying her thither. I will have two or three 
 with me, and you may safely say she was forced 
 from you. 
 
 Win. Monsieur, begar, me do you all de service 
 in the varle ; but me sail be the grand sheat knave 
 then. 
 
 Wood. That's nothing. Here's more money ; I'll 
 save you harmless. Come, you shall do it. 
 
 Win. Monsieur, me have no mind to be van 
 knave ; but to do you service, if you will meet me 
 upon de street — • 
 
 Wood. Fear not, I'll secure you. Honest Mon- 
 sieur, farewell ; I will be your friend for ever. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Win. Ha, ha, ha ! this is rare. What an ass 
 this fellow will make himself, do what we can ! 
 Here, Jamy, thou shalt share with me. 
 
 Jamy. Thank you, sir ; would Ave had such a 
 windfall every day. But come, sir, you must 
 * Guineas. Ed. 1708.
 
 372 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 make haste. This is the critical minute ; if you 
 miss it, you lose Biancha. 
 
 fFin. Thy counsel's good ; away ! I'll buy a 
 ring and pay the priest with some of Woodall's 
 money. Ha, ha, ha ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Margaret, Geraldo, and 
 Sauny. 
 
 Pet. Walk your horses down the hill l^efore ; we 
 shall reach London time enough. 'Tis a fair night ; 
 how bright and goodly the moon shines ! 
 
 Mar. The moon 1 — the sun ; 'tis not the moon- 
 light now. 
 
 Fet. I say 'tis the moon that shines so bright. 
 
 Mar. I say 'tis the sun that shines so bright. 
 
 Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my- 
 self, it shall be the moonlight, or what I please, 
 before you set sight of your father's house. — Sirrah, 
 go fetch the horses back ! — Evermore crossed, and 
 crossed, and nothing but crossed. 
 
 Ger. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 
 3Iar. Forward, I pray sir, since we are come so 
 far, and be it sun, or moon, or what you please. 
 Nay, if you call it a rush-candle, henceforth it 
 shall be so for me. 
 
 Pet. I say 'tis the moon. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed ! but I say nay, sir. Out, out ! a' 
 lies. 
 
 3far. I know 'tis the moon. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then, you lie ; 'tis the blessed sun. 
 
 3far. Why, Heaven be blessed for't, 'tis even 
 Avhat you have a mind to. Pray, let us forward. 
 
 Ger. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Well, forward, forward ! Now the bowl 
 runs with a right bias ; — but soft, here's company !
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 373 
 
 Enter Sir Lyonel Winlove, 
 
 Lyon. Boy, bid the coachman drive gently down 
 the hill. I wonder I meet nor overtake no pas- 
 sengers to-day. Stay ! I think here be some. 
 
 Pet. I will have one bout more with thee, Peg. — 
 Good-morrow, gentle lady ; which way travel you 1 
 — Come hither, Peg. Didst thou ever behold so 
 exquisite a beauty as this fair virgin bears about 1 
 Go to her, Peg, and salute her. 
 
 Mar. Are you mad ? 'tis an old man. 
 
 Pet. Beat back again, then ; — still cross ] Will 
 you do it 1 
 
 Sou. Why, i'th' deil's name, what mean ye? 
 Its nea bomiy lass, sir. 'Sbreed, its an a' fa' 
 thief! 
 
 Ger. He'll make this old man mad. 
 
 3far. You budding virgin, so fair, so sweet, so 
 fresh, Avhich way travel you ] How happy should 
 we be in the enjoyment of so fair a fellow tra- 
 veller ! 
 
 Sau. The deil has built a bird's nest in your 
 head. Gud, ye're as mad as he ; and he as mad as 
 gin he were the son of a March hare, sir. 
 
 Lyon. Why, what do ye mean, gentlewoman 1 
 
 Pet. Why, now, now. Peg, I hope thou art not 
 mad ! A virgin, quotha 1 'tis an old, wrinkled, 
 withered man. 
 
 3Iar. Reverend sir, pardon my mistaking eyes, 
 that have been so dazzled with the moon — sun, I 
 mean — I could not distinguish you. I now per- 
 ceive you are a grave old man ; pray, excuse me. 
 
 Lyon. Indeed you are a merry lady. Your 
 encounter has amazed me ; but I like such cheer- 
 ful company. I am for London, to see a son of 
 mine that went lately from me thither.
 
 374 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. We shall be glad of your company. You 
 must pardon my wife's error; she has not slept 
 well to-night, and I could not persuade her but 
 she would come out fasting, which makes her 
 fancy a little extravagant. 
 
 Sau. The deil o' my saul, but you are a false 
 trundle-tail tyke. The deil a bit he'd lat her eat 
 these three days, sir. 
 
 Mar. Curse upon your excuse and the cause of 
 it ! I could have eaten my shoe soles if I might 
 have had 'em fried. 
 
 Pet. Your name, I beseech you, sir? 
 
 Lyon. I am called Sir Lyonel Winlove in the 
 country. 
 
 Pet. Father to young Mr. Winlove % 
 
 Lyon. The same, sir. 
 
 Pet. Then I am happy indeed to have met you. 
 I can tell you some news perhaps may not be 
 unwelcome to you. Your son is in a fair proba- 
 bility of calling me brother within these two days. 
 
 Lyon. How so, I pray, sir 1 
 
 Pet. Why, he's upon marrying my wife's sister, 
 my Lord Beaufoy's youngest daughter — a brave 
 match, I can assure you, and a sweet bedfellow ! 
 
 Sau. Gud, she's tea gued for any man but 
 Saundy. Gud, gin poor Saundy had her in Scot- 
 land, wuns ! I'd sea swing her about ! 
 
 Lyon. You amaze me ! Is this true 1 or have 
 you a mind, like a pleasant traveller, to break a 
 jest on the company you overtake 1 
 
 Ger. Upon my word, sir, 'tis very true. 'Twas so 
 designed, but I don't think he'll marry her; he's 
 forsworn if he do. 
 
 Lyon. You make me wonder more and more. 
 
 Pet. Mind him not ! he's a party concerned ; 'tis 
 true.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 375 
 
 Lyon. Pray, gentlemen, let's make haste ; I 
 must look after this business. It sounds strangely ; 
 he would not do 't without my consent. He's my 
 only son, my heir, the prop of my family. I must 
 be careful. 
 
 Pet. I see you are jealous, sir, but you need not ; 
 he cannot have a better match. 
 
 Lyon. I doubt it not, if all be fjiir. I should be 
 glad of my Lord Beaufoy's alliance. He was my 
 schoolfellow, but time, I doubt, has Avorn out our 
 old acquaintance. Gentlemen, I must hasten to 
 prevent the worst. 
 
 Sail. What mean ye, sir? Ye will nea bawk 
 the bonna lad, and tak' fro' his mattle, sir 1 
 
 Ger. Well, Petruchio, thou hast put me in a 
 heat. Have at my widow now ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Winlove, Biancha, and Jamy. 
 
 Win. How good you are, my fair one ! — Jamy, 
 art sure the priest is ready for us ] 
 
 Jamy. I warrant you, sir. Pray make haste ; 
 some devil or other may come else and cross it. 
 Don't stay thrumming of caps. Here ! body o' me, 
 away ! Here's Woodall ! shift for yourselves — all 
 will be spoiled else. 
 
 [Exeunt Winlove and Biancha. 
 
 Enter Woodall with three or four Fellows. 
 
 JFood. Be sure you seize on her, and clap her 
 into a chair, and one stop her mouth. Fear not ! 
 I'll save you harmless. 
 
 1 Eel. I Avarrant you, sir. 
 
 IFood. What a devil makes this rogue poaching 
 here? 
 
 Jamy. Tum, te dum, te dum ! Sing old Coale of 
 London. [Sings.
 
 376 SAUNY THE SCOT, 
 
 JFood. Now, Jamy, what walk you here for ] 
 
 Jamy. Why, to look about me. — Te dum, te 
 dum, etc. 
 
 fVood. They say your master is to be married to 
 Madam Biancha to-day. 
 
 Jamy. Why, then, we'll be merry at night. — Te 
 dum, te dum, etc. 
 
 Wood. The rogue won't be gone. — What ! hast 
 no business] Thou look'st as if thou hadst not 
 drank to-day. There's something for thee ; go, 
 get thy morning's draught. 
 
 Jamy. I thank your Avorship. Will you take 
 part of a pot of ale and a toast ! 
 
 Wood. No, sirrah ! I drank coffee this morning. 
 
 \Exit Jamy. 
 So, he's gone ! I wonder Monsieur appears not 
 with Biancha. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Margaret, Sir Lyonel, 
 Geraldo, and Sauny, xcith Attendants. 
 
 Wood. Ha ! Who comes there 1 
 
 Get: Now you are there, I'll take my leave. 
 Your servant. [Exit. 
 
 Pet. Sir Lyonel, you are welcome to town. 
 There's your son's lodgings ! my father lives on 
 the other side. Thither we must, and therefore 
 here I take my leave. 
 
 Lyon. Pray, stay a little ! maybe he's not within. 
 If so, I'll wait upon you to the Lord Beaufoy. 
 
 Sail. 0' my saul, nea ean could have begged 
 [K>tocks] dunner better than this au'd thief has done. 
 
 Wood. They are all busy within, sir ; you must 
 knock louder if you mean to be heard. 
 
 [Snatchpenny above. 
 
 Snatch. Who is that knocks as if he would beat 
 down the gate 1
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 377 
 
 Lyon. Is Mr. "VVinlove within 1 
 
 Snatch. He is witiiin, but not to be spoken with. 
 
 Lyon. What if a man bring him a hundred 
 pounds or two to make merry withal 1 
 
 Snatch. Keep your hundred pounds for yourself ; 
 he shall need none as long as I live. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I told you, sir, your son was well 
 beloved in London. — D'ye hear, sir? Leaving 
 your frivolous circumstances, pray tell him his 
 father's just now come out of the country to see 
 him, and is here at the door to speak with him. 
 
 Snatch. That is a lie, sir. His father came to 
 town yesterday, and is now here looking out at 
 window. 
 
 Lyon. The devil he is ! Are you his father 1 
 
 Snatch. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may 
 believe her. 
 
 Sau. Can they hang him for having twa 
 fathers, sirl Gud, and 'twas sea, poor Saundy 
 would be hanged, sure enough ! 
 
 Pet. Why, hast thou two fathers 1 
 
 Sau. Gud have I, and twa and twa to that, sir. 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, gentlemen 1 this is flat 
 knavery, to take another man's name upon you. 
 
 Snatch. Lay hands upon this villain ! I believe 
 he means to cheat somebody here under my coun- 
 ter-name. 
 
 Enter Jamy. 
 
 Jamy. I have seen the Church on their back ; 
 send them good speeding. — Ha! how now] — my 
 old master. Sir Lyonel ! — 'Sfoot, we are all lost, 
 undone ! I must brazen it out. 
 
 Lyon. Come hither. Crack-hemp. 
 
 Jamy. You may save me that labour, and come 
 to me, if you have anything to say to me.
 
 378 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Lyon. Come liither, you rogue ! What ! have 
 you forgot me 1 
 
 Jamy. Forgot you, sir ? I could not forget you, 
 for I never saw you in all my life before. 
 
 Lyon. You notorious villain ! didst thou never 
 see thy master's father, Sir Lyonel Winlove ? 
 
 Jamy. What ! my worshipful old master? Yes, 
 marry, sir. See where his worship looks out of 
 the window. 
 
 Lyon. Does he so, sir 1 I'll make you find him 
 below stairs. \_Beats him. 
 
 Jamy. Help, help ! here's a madman will murder 
 me ! 
 
 Sau. Dea ca' yoursel' Jamy, and wull ye be 
 beten by an a' fa' thief? An ye ca' yoursel' Jamy 
 eance meare, I'se bang ye tea cloots ; breed a gud 
 will I, sir ! 
 
 Snatch. Help, son ! help, brother Beaufoy I — 
 Jamy will be killed. 
 
 Pet. Prithee, Peg, stand by to see this contro- 
 versy. 
 
 Enter Snatchpenny with Servants, Beaufoy, 
 o.nd Tranio. 
 
 Tra. 'Sheart, 'tis Sir Lyonel ! but we must bear 
 it a little. — Sir, what are you that offer to beat 
 my servant ? 
 
 Lyon. What am I, sir 1 Nay, what are you, sir 1 
 — Heaven, what do I see 1 Oh, fine villains, I'm 
 undone ! While I play the good husband at home 
 in the country, my son and my servants spend my 
 estate lavishly at London. 
 
 Sau. Your sou sail allow you siller to keep an 
 au'd wutch to rub your shins ; and what to anger 
 would ye ha' meer, sir 1 
 
 Tra. How now, what's the matter 1
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 379 
 
 Beau. Is the man frantic 1 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober, ancient gentleman 
 by your habit, but your words show you a mad- 
 man. Why, sir, what concerns it you what rich 
 clothes I Avear 1 I thank my good father I am 
 able to maintain it. 
 
 Lyon. Thy father 1 Oh, villain ! he's a hemp- 
 dresser in Partha. 
 
 Sail. Marra, the deil stuff his weam fu' o' hemp, 
 and his dam spin it out at his a . . e. 
 
 Beaii. You mistake, you mistake. What d'ye 
 think his name is 1 
 
 Lyon. His name 1 — as if I knew not his name. I 
 have bred him up e'er since he was three years 
 old, and his name is Tranio. 
 
 Snatch. Away, away, mad ass ! His name is 
 Winlove, my only son, and heir to all my estate in 
 the vale of Evesham. 
 
 Lyon. Heavens ! he has murdered his master. 
 Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the King's name ! 
 Oh, my son ! — Tell me, thou A'illain ! where is my 
 son, Winlove ? 
 
 Tra. Kun for an officer to carry this mad knave 
 to the jail ! Lay hold on him, I charge ye, and see 
 him forthcoming. 
 
 Sau. Awa', awa' with the hampdresser, sir. 
 
 Lyon. Carry me to the jail, ye villains 1 
 
 Fet. Hold, gentlemen. — Your blessing, father ? 
 
 Beau. Son Petruchio, welcome. You have it, 
 and you. Peg. How d'ye] Know ye anything of 
 this matter ? 
 
 Pet. My Lord, take heed what you do. So much 
 I know, I dare swear this is Sir Lyonel Winlove, 
 and that a counterfeit. 
 
 Sau. Wuns, I think sea tea. Gud, an' ye 
 please, I'se take the covenant ou't.
 
 380 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Wood. So durst I swear too, almost. 
 
 Snatch. Swear if thou durst ! 
 
 Wood. Sir, I dare not swear point-blank. 
 
 Tra. You had best swear I am not Winlove 
 neither. 
 
 Wood. Yes, I know j^ou to be Mr. Winlove. 
 
 Beau. Away with the dotard ! to the jail with 
 him ! 
 
 Lyon. Are you all settled to do mischief to me 1 
 Why, my Lord Beaufoy, methinks you might 
 know me. 
 
 Tra. Away with him to my lodgings for the 
 present, till we can get a constable to charge him 
 upon. We shall have a hubbub in the streets. 
 Drag him, I say. 
 
 Lyon. Rogues, villains, murderers ! I shall have 
 justice. [Exeunt with Sir Lyonel. 
 
 Wood {Manet.) These are strange passages ! I 
 know not what to think of 'em. But I am glad 
 Biancha came not when they were here. Sure my 
 Monsieur will not fail me. 
 
 Enter Winlove and Biancha. 
 
 Win. Now, my Biancha, I am truly happy ; our 
 loves shall, like the spring, be ever growing. 
 
 Bian. But how shall we escape my father's 
 anger 1 
 
 Win. Fear not ; I'll warrant thee. 
 
 Wood. Oh, here's Biancha ! — How now, Mon- 
 sieur brave, what fancy's this 1 
 
 Win. Oh, Monsieur, te vous la menes. How 
 d'ye do, good Mr, Woodall ] How d'ye like my 
 new bride 1 
 
 Wood. How, how, how, sir ? — your bride 1 Seize 
 ox\ her quickly. 
 
 Win. Hands off! She's my wife; touch her
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 381 
 
 who dares ! Will you have your teeth picked ? 
 What d'ye think of giving twenty pieces* to teach 
 your mistress French 1 
 
 Wood. Oh, rogue, I'll have thee hanged ! 
 
 Win. Or forty pieces* to buy a pair of gloves 
 to let you steal Madam Biancha ? This ring was 
 bought with some of it — ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Wood. Down with him ! — down with him ! — a 
 damned rascal ! 
 
 Win. Ay, do. Which of you has a mind to 
 breathe a vein ? 
 
 2 Fel. Nay, if she be his wife, we dare not 
 touch her. 
 
 Wood. I'll fetch somebody that shall. Oh, 
 devil! [Exit. 
 
 Win. Ay, do. I am your poor Monsieur; ha, 
 ha, ha ! — Fear not, Biancha ; he'll fetch 'em all, I 
 know. I warrant thee we shall appease thy 
 father easily. 
 
 Bian. Trust me, sir, I fear the storm. 
 
 Enter Beaufoy, Tranio, Petruchio, Margaret, 
 Sauny, Snatchpenny, Jamy, Sir Lyonel, 
 WooDALL, and Attendants. 
 
 Wood. That rogue, that damned counterfeit 
 Frenchman, has stolen your daughter and married 
 her ! Here they are. 
 
 Win. Bless me ! What do I see yonder ? my 
 father in earnest? Dear sir, your blessing and 
 your pardon. 
 
 Lyon. My dear son, art thou alive ? then take it. 
 
 Bian. I must beg your pardon too, sir. 
 
 Win. And I, most honoured father. 
 
 Beau. Why, what's the matter 1 — what hast 
 * Guineas. Ed. 1708.
 
 382 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 tliou done? Woodall tells me thou hast married 
 the Frenchman. 
 
 fFin. Me she has married, but no Frenchman. 
 The right Winlove, son to the right Winlove, is 
 her husband and your son-in-law. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, ye act twa parts ; ye were but 
 a hampdresser in the last act, sir. 
 
 Snatch. 'Tis time for us to be going ; I feel one 
 ear going off already. [Exit. 
 
 Beau. You amaze me ! Are not you the 
 Frenchman Mr. Woodall preferred to teach my 
 daughter 1 
 
 Bian. No, my Lord ; he put on that disguise to 
 court me ; he is the true Winlove. 
 
 Lyo)i. Marry is he my son, sir. 
 
 irin. Those were but counterfeits of my 
 making. 
 
 Woai. Here's patching with a mistress. I'm 
 sure I am gulled. 
 
 Beau. But d'ye hear, sir? Have you married 
 my daughter without my consent '? 
 
 Lyon. Come, my lord, now you must know me. 
 I will l)eg both their pardons, and secure her a 
 jointure worthy her birth and fortune. 
 
 Win. You are a father now indeed. 
 
 Beau. Sir Lyonel, excuse my rashness ; I accept 
 your noble proffer.— You are forgiven ! 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, we sail ne'er go to dunner, 
 sir. The deil forgat and forgive you a', sir. 
 
 Lyon. But where is that rogue that would have 
 sent me to jail 1 I'll slit his nose for him. 
 
 Win. I must beg his pardon, for he did all for 
 my sake. 
 
 Lyon. \Vell, sir, for your sake I pardon him. 
 
 Beau. Come, gentlemen all, to my house ; we 
 shall there end all our doubts and drown our fears.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 383 
 
 Wood. Sir, I shall expect my money back again ; 
 'tis enough to lose my mistress. 
 
 fFin. No, faith, 'tis in better hands already. 
 You'll but fool it away ; you'll be hiring French- 
 men again. 
 
 JVood. "Well, mock on ! I'll in, and eat out part 
 of it. 
 
 Jjeau. Come, gentlemen ! 
 
 3Iar. Husband, will you not go with my father 1 
 
 Pet. First kiss me, Peg, and I will. 
 
 Mar. What ! in the middle of the street 1 
 
 Pet. What I art thou ashamed of me 1 
 
 Mar. Not so, sir, but ashamed to kiss so openly. 
 
 Pet. Why, then, let's home again. — Sauny, lead 
 the way. 
 
 San. Gud, the deil a bit will Saundy budge 
 before dunner, sir. 
 
 Mar. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; nay, pray 
 now, stay. 
 
 Pet. So — is not this well ? Come, my sweet 
 Peg. 
 
 Bian. Sister, I hope we shall be friends now. 
 
 Mar. I was never foes with you. 
 
 Win. Come, fairest ! all the storms are over- 
 blown. 
 Love hath both wit and fortune of her own. 
 
 [Eztunt. 
 
 Act v. 
 
 Enter Margaret and Biancha. 
 
 Bian. But is't possible, sister, he should have 
 used you thus 1 
 
 Mar. Had I served him as bad as Eve did 
 Adam, he could not have used me worse ; but I
 
 384 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 am resolved, now I'm got home again, I'll be re- 
 venged. I'll muster up the spite of all the curs'd 
 women since Noah's flood to do him mischief and 
 add new vigour to my tongue. I have not pared 
 my nails this fortnight ; they are long enough to 
 do him some execution, that's my comfort. 
 
 Bi(m. Bless me, sister, how you talk ! 
 
 Mar. Thou art a fool, Biancha ! come, learn of 
 me : thou art married to a man too ; thou dost 
 not know hut thou mayest need my counsel, and 
 make good use on't. Thy husband bears thee 
 fair yet ; but take heed of going home with him, 
 for, when once he has thee within his verge, 'tis 
 odds he'll have his freaks too — there's no trusting 
 these men. Thy temper is soft and easy ; thou 
 must learn to break him, or he'll break thy heart. 
 
 Bi(m. I must confess I should be loth to be so 
 used ; but sure Mr. Winlove is of a better disposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Mar. Trust him and hang him ; they're all alike. 
 Come, thou shalt be my scholar ; learn to frown 
 and cry out for unkindness, but brave anger ; 
 thou hast a tongue, make use on't — scold, fight, 
 scratch, bite — anything. Still take exceptions at 
 all he does, if there be cause or not ; if there be 
 reason for't, he'll laugh at thee. I'll make 
 Petruchio glad to Avipe my shoes or walk my 
 horse ere I have done with him. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Winlove, and Sauny. 
 
 Bian. Peace, sister ! our husbands are both here. 
 
 Mar. Thou child ; I am glad on 't, I'll speak 
 louder. 
 
 Pet. Well, brother Winlove, now we are truly 
 happy. Never were men so blessed with two such 
 wives.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT, 385 
 
 JFin. I am glad to hear you say so, sir. IVIy own 
 I'm sure I'm blest in. 
 
 Fet. Yours 1 — why, Biancha's a lion, and Mar- 
 garet a mere lamb to her. I tell thee, Winlove, 
 there's no man living, though I say 't, — but 'tis no 
 matter, since she does not hear me, — that has a wife 
 so gentle and so active and affable. Poor thing, 
 I durst be sworn she would walk barefoot a hun- 
 dred miles to do me good. 
 
 3Iar. No, but she Avould not ; nor one mile 
 neither. 
 
 Sau. Now have at your lugs, sir ! 
 
 Fet. Oh, Peg, art thou there 1 How dost thou 
 do, my dear 1 
 
 Mar. You may go look ; Avhat's that to you ? 
 
 Sau. Stand o' yer guard, sir. Gud, Saundy will 
 put on his headpiece. 
 
 Fet. I am glad to hear thee say thou'rt well, in 
 troth. 
 
 Mar. Never the better for you, which you shall 
 find. 
 
 Fet. Nay, I know thou lov'st me. Prithee, take 
 up my glove, Peg. 
 
 Mar. I take up your glove ? Marry come up ! 
 command your servants. Look you, there it lies. 
 
 Fet. I am glad to see thee merry, poor wanton 
 rogue. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis very w^ell ; you think you are in the 
 country, but you are mistaken. The case is altered; 
 I am at home now, and my own disposer. Go, 
 swagger at your greasy lubber there, your patient 
 wife will make you no more sport ; she has a 
 father will allow" her meat and lodging, and an- 
 other gaits* chambermaid than a Highlander. 
 
 Sau. Gud, an ye were a-top o' Grantham Steeple, 
 
 * Manner, kind of. 
 2 B
 
 386 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 that a' the toon may hear what a scauden quean 
 ye are ! Out, out ! 
 
 Pet. Why, what's the matter, Peg? I never 
 saw thee in so jolly a humour. Sure thou hast 
 been drinking ] 
 
 Sail. Gud has she. — Hand ye tang, ye fa' 
 dranken swine ! Out, out, out ! was ye tak' a 
 drink and ne'er tak' Saundy to ye? Out, out, 
 out ! 
 
 Mar. 'Tis like I have. I am the fitter to talk 
 to you, for no sober woman is a companion for 
 you. 
 
 Pet. Troth, thou say'st right ! we are excellently 
 matched. 
 
 Mar. Well, mark the end on't. Petruchio, 
 prithee come hither, I have something to say to 
 you. 
 
 Sau. De ye nea budge a foot, sir. Deil o' my 
 saul, bo she'll scratch your eyn out. 
 
 Pet. Well, your pleasure, madam ] 
 
 Mar. First, thou art a pitiful fellow, a thing 
 beneath me, Avhich I scorn and laugh at — ha, ha, 
 ha! 
 
 Win. She holds her own yet, I see. 
 
 Mar. I know not what to call thee. Thou art 
 no man ; thou couldst not have a woman to thy 
 mother. Thou paltry, scurvy, ill-conditioned 
 fellow ! dost thou not tremble to think how thou 
 hast used me? What ! are you silent, sir? — Biancha, 
 see ! looks he not like a disbanded officer with that 
 hanging-dog look there ? — I must eat nothing 
 because your cook has roasted the mutton dry, as 
 you used to have it when your worship was a 
 bachelor. I must not go to bed, neither, because 
 the sheets are damp. 
 
 Pet. Mark you, Peg, what a strange woman are
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 387 
 
 you to discourse openly the fault of your servants 
 in your own family. 
 
 Mar. No, no, sir, this won't serve your turn ; 
 your old stock of impudence won't carry you off 
 so. I'll speak your fame, and tell what a fine 
 gentleman you are — how valiantly you and half-a- 
 dozen of your men got the better of a single 
 woman, and made her lose her supper. 
 
 Sau. Gud, she lies, sir. I would ha' gin her an 
 aud boot tull a made tripes on, and it wud a 
 bin braw meat with mustard, and she would nea 
 have it. 
 
 Mar. My faults 1 No, good squire of the coun- 
 try, you thought to have tamed me, I warrant, in 
 good time. Why, you see I am even with you — 
 your quiet, patient wife that will go no more in 
 the country with you, but will stay in town, to 
 laugh at your wise worship and wish you more wit. 
 
 Pet. I should laugh at that ; why, we are just 
 now a-going. — Sauny, go get the horses ready 
 quickly. 
 
 Sau. Gud will I, sir. I'se saddle a Highland 
 wutch to carry your bride. — Gud, she'll mount 
 your a . , e for you, madam ! 
 
 Mar. Sirrah, touch a horse and I'll curry your 
 coxcomb for you ! — No, sir, I won't say. Pray let 
 me not go, but boldly, I won't go ; you force me 
 if you can or dare. You see I am not tongue-tied, 
 as silent as you thought you made me. 
 
 Pet. Prithee, Peg, peace a little ! I know thou 
 canst speak. Leave now, or thou'lt have nothing 
 to say to-morrow. 
 
 Mar. Yes, I'll say this over again, and some- 
 thing more if I can think on 't, to a poor despised 
 man of clouts. — Sister, how he smokes now he's off 
 his own dunghill.
 
 388 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. Prithee, Peg, leave making a noise ! i' faith, 
 thou'lt make my head ache. 
 
 Mar. Noise 1 — why, this is silence to what I 
 intend, I'll talk louder than this every night in 
 ray sleep. 
 
 Sail. The deil shall be your bed-fellow for 
 Saundy, then. 
 
 Mar. I will learn to rail at thee in all languages. 
 Thunder shall be soft music to my tongue. 
 
 Sau. The deil a bit Scots ye gat to brangle 
 in ! Marry, the deil gie ye a clap wi' a French 
 thunderbolt. 
 
 Pet. Very pretty ! Prithee go on. 
 
 Mar. I'll have a collection of all the ill names 
 that ever was invented, and call you over by 'em 
 twice a day. 
 
 Pet. And have the catalogue published for the 
 education of young scolds. Proceed, Peg ! 
 
 Mar. I'll have you chained to a stake at Billings- 
 gate, and baited by the fishwives, while I stand 
 to hiss 'em on. 
 
 Pet. Ha, ha, ha ! Witty Peg ! forward. 
 
 Mar. You shan't dare to blow your nose but 
 when I bid you ; you shall know me to be the 
 master. 
 
 Sau. Wuns, gat her to the stool of repantance, 
 sir. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I believe thou wilt go in breeches 
 shortly. On, on ! What ! have you no more on't 1 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Mar. D'ye laugh, and be hanged ! I'll spoil 
 your sport. [Flies at him. 
 
 Pet. Nay, Peg, hands off ! I thought you would 
 not have disgraced your good parts to come to 
 blows so soon. Prithee, chide on ; thou canst not 
 believe what delight I take to hear thee, it does
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 389 
 
 become thee so well. What ! pumped dry already 1 
 Prithee, talk more, and longer, and faster, and 
 sharper ; this is nothing. 
 
 Mar. I'll see you in the Indies before I'll do 
 anything to please you. D'ye like it ? 
 
 Pet. Extremely ! On, Peg ; you'll cool too fast. 
 
 Mar. Why, then, mark me ; if it were to save 
 thee from drowning or breaking thy neck, I won't 
 speak one word more to thee these two months. 
 
 [Sits sullenly. 
 
 Sail. Ah, gud, an ye do nea lie, madam. 
 
 Pet. Nay, good Peg, be not so hard-hearted. 
 What ! melancholy all o' th' sudden ? Come, get 
 up ; we'll send for the fiddlers and have a dance. 
 Thou'lt break thy elbow with leaning on that hard 
 table. — Sauny, go get your mistress a cushion. — 
 Alas ! I doubt she's not well ; look to her, sister. 
 
 Bian. Are you not well, sister 1 What ails you ? 
 Pray speak, sister. — Indeed, brother, you have so 
 vexed her she'll be sick. 
 
 Pet. Alas, alas ! I know what's the matter with 
 her ; she has the toothache — see how she holds her 
 cheek. The wind has gotten into her teeth, by 
 keeping her mouth open this cold weather. 
 
 Bian. Indeed it may be so, brother ; she uses 
 to be troubled with that pain sometimes. 
 
 Pet. Without all question. Poor Peg, I pity 
 thee. Which tooth is if? Wilt thou have it 
 drawn. Peg? The toothache makes fools of all 
 the physicians ; there is no cure but drawing. 
 What say'st thou ? — Avilt thou have it pulled out ] 
 Well, thou shalt. — Sauny ! run, sirrah, hard by, 
 you know, where my barber lives that drew me a 
 tooth last week ; fetch him quickly ! What d'ye 
 stand staring at 1 Eun and fetch him immediately, 
 or I'll cut your legs off.
 
 390 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Sau. Gud, I'se fetch ean to pull her head off, an' 
 ye Willi. [Exit. 
 
 Win. This Avill make her find her tongue again, 
 or else for certain she has lost it. 
 
 Pet. Her tongue, brother? Alas ! you see her 
 face is so swelled she cannot speak. 
 
 Bian. You jest, brother ; her face is not swelled. 
 Pray let me see, sister ; I can't perceive it. 
 
 Pet. Not swelled ? Why, you are blind, then. 
 Prithee let her alone ; you trouble her. 
 
 Enter Sauny and Barber. 
 
 Here, honest barber, have you brought your in- 
 struments ] 
 
 Bar. Yes, sir. What must I do ? 
 
 Pet. You must draw that gentlewoman a tooth 
 there. Prithee do it neatly, and as gently as thou 
 canst ; and, d'ye hear me, take care you don't 
 tear her gums. 
 
 Bar. I warrant you, sir. 
 
 Sau. Hear ye, sir ; could not ye mistake, and pull 
 her tang out instead of her teeth ? 
 
 Bian. I'll be gone ; I can't endure to see her 
 put to so much pain. \Exit. 
 
 Bar. Pray, madam, open your mouth, that I 
 may see which tooth it is. — [She strikes him.] — 
 Why, sir, did you send for me to abuse me 1 
 
 Sail. Gud, be nea angry ; ye ha' nea a' yer pay 
 yet, sir ! Cud ye not mistake and di'aw her tang 
 instead of her teeth, sir ? 
 
 Pet. No, no ; but it seems now she won't have 
 it drawn. Go ; there's something for your pains, 
 however. [Exit Barber. 
 
 Sau. Ye sid ha' taken my counsel, sir. 
 
 JVin. This will not do, sir; you cannot raise 
 the spirit you have laid, with all your arts.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 39 L 
 
 Pet. I'll try ! have at her once more. Winlove, 
 you must assist me ; I'll make her stir if I can't 
 make her speak. — Look, look ! alas ! how pale she 
 is ! She's gone o' th' sudden ! Body o' me, she's 
 stiff, too ! Undone, undone ! what an unfor- 
 tunate man am I. She's gone ! she's gone ! 
 Never had man so great a loss as I. Oh, Win- 
 love, pity me ; my poor Peg is dead. Dear Win- 
 love, call in my fother and the company, that they 
 may share in this sad spectacle, and help my 
 sorrows with their joining griefs. — [Exit Winlove.] 
 — Speak, or by this hand I'll bury thee alive. — 
 Sauny, thou seest in how sad a condition thy poor 
 master is ; thy good mistress is dead. Haste to the 
 next church, and get the bier and the bearers hither ! 
 I'll have her buried out of hand. Eun, Saunj-. 
 
 Sail. An' you'll mak' her dead, we'll bury her 
 deep enough ; we'll put her doon intill a Scotch 
 coalpit, and she shall rise at the Deil's a . . e o' 
 peak.* [Exit. 
 
 Pet. I will see that last pious act performed, 
 and then betake myself to a willing exile ; my own 
 country's hell, now my dear Peg has left it. — Not 
 yet ] Upon my life, I think thou hast a mind to 
 be buried quick. I hope thou hast. 
 
 Enter Winlove, Beaufoy, Sir Lyonel, Wood- 
 all, BiANCHA, Teanio, Jamy, etc. 
 
 Beau. Bless me, son Petruchio, is my dear 
 daughter dead ? 
 
 Pet. Alas, alas ! 'tis but too true. Would I had 
 ta'en her room ! 
 
 Beau. Why, methinks she looks brisk, fresh, 
 and lively. 
 
 * A natural cavern at Castleton, Derbyshire, called one of 
 the wonders of the Peak.
 
 392 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. So much beauty as she had must needs 
 leave some wandering remains to hover still about 
 her face. 
 
 Beau. What could her disease be ? 
 
 Pet. Indeed I grieve to tell it, but truth must 
 out — she died for spite ; she was strangely in- 
 fected. 
 
 Bian. Fie, sister ! for shame, speak ! Will you 
 let him abuse you thus ? 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen, you are my loving friends, and 
 knew the virtues of my matchless wife ; I hope you 
 will accompany her body to its long home. 
 
 All. We'll all wait on you. 
 
 Beau. Thou wilt break her heart indeed. 
 
 Pet. I warrant you, sir, 'tis tougher than so. 
 
 Enier Sauny and Bearers with a bier. 
 
 Salt. I bring you here vera gued men. An' she 
 be nea dead, sir, for a croon more they'll bmy her 
 quick. 
 
 Pet. Oh, honest friends, you're welcome ; you 
 must take up that corpse. How ! hard-hearted 1 — 
 why do ye not weep the loss of so much beauty 
 and goodness 1 Take her up, and lay her upon 
 the bier. 
 
 1 Bear. Why, what d'ye mean, sir ? She is not 
 dead. 
 
 Pet. Rogues ! tell me such a lie to my face ? 
 Take her up or I'll swinge ye. 
 
 Sau. Tak' her up, tak' her up ; we'll mak' her 
 dead, Billy — ye'st ha' twa croons mear. Tak' her 
 her up, man. 
 
 1 Bear. Dead or alive, all's one to us, let us but 
 have our fees. 
 
 Pet. There. Nay, she is stiif ; however, on with 
 her. — Will you not speak yet ] — So, here, take
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 393 
 
 these strings and bind her on the bier ; she had 
 an active, stirring body when she lived, she may 
 chance fall off the hearse now she's dead. So, 
 now, take her up and away ! Come, gentlemen, 
 you'll follow 1 I mean to carry her through the 
 Strand as far as St. James' ; people shall see what 
 respect I bore her, she shall have so much cere- 
 mony to attend her now she's dead. There my 
 coach shall meet her and carry her into the coun- 
 try. I'll have her laid in the vault belonging to 
 my family. She shall have a monument. Some 
 of you inquire me out a good poet to write her 
 epitaph suitable to her birth, quality, and condi- 
 tions — pity the remembrance of so many virtues 
 should he lost. March on ! I would say more, but 
 grief checks my tongue. 
 
 Mm: Father, sister, husband ! are you all mad 1 
 Will you expose me to open shame 1 Kogues ! set 
 me down, you had best. 
 
 Pet. A miracle ! a miracle ! She lives ! Heaven 
 make me thankful for 't. Set her down ! — Liv'st 
 thou, my poor Peg 1 
 
 3far. Yes, that I do, and will, to be your tor- 
 mentor. 
 
 Sau. Out, out, gea her nea credit ; gud, she's 
 as dead as mine grannam. Tak' her, away with 
 her, sir ! 
 
 Pet. Bless me, my hopes are all vanished again ; 
 'tis a demon speaks within her body ! Take her 
 up again ; we'll bury 'em together. 
 
 Mar. Hold, hold, my dear Petruchio ; you have 
 overcome me, and I beg your pardon. Henceforth 
 I will not dare to think a thought shall cross your 
 pleasure. Set me at liberty, and on my knees I'll 
 make my recantation. 
 
 All. Victoria, victoria ! the field is won !
 
 394 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. Art thou in earnest, Peg 1 — may I believe 
 thee? 
 
 Sail. You ken very well she was a'ways a lying 
 quean when she Avas living, and wull ye believe 
 her now she's dead 1 
 
 Mar. By all that's good, not truth itself truer. 
 
 Pet. Then thus I free thee, and make thee mis- 
 tress both of myself and all I have. 
 
 Sau. 'Sbreed, bo ye'll nea gi Saundy tuU her, 
 sir? 
 
 JFood. Take heed of giving away your power, 
 sir. 
 
 Pet. I'll venture it, nor do I fear I shall repent 
 my bargain. 
 
 Mar. I'm sure I will not give you cause. You've 
 taught me now what 'tis to be a wife, and I'll still 
 show myself your humble handmaid. 
 
 Pet. My best Peg, we will change kindness, and 
 be each other's servant. Gentlemen, why do you 
 not rejoice with me ? 
 
 Beau. I am so fidl of joy I cannot speak. May 
 you be happy. This is your wedding day. 
 
 Sau. Shall Saundy get her a bridecake and 
 brake o'er her head, sir ? — and we's gat us a good 
 wadding dunner ? 
 
 'O 
 
 Enter Geraldo. 
 
 Ger. Save ye all, gentlemen ! Have ye any 
 room for more guests ? I am come to make up the 
 chorus. 
 
 Pet. My noble friend, welcome ! "Where have 
 you been so long ? 
 
 Ger. I have been about a little trivial business ; 
 I am just now come from a wedding. 
 
 Pet. What wedding, I pray, sir ?
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 395 
 
 Ger. Troth, e'en my own ; I have ventured 
 upon 't at last. — Madam, I hope you'll pardon me ? 
 
 Blan. Yes, sir ; and so will this gentleman, 
 
 Sau. Are not you a gentleman hampdresser 1 
 
 Pet. 'Tis e'en so ; this proves to be Winlove in 
 earnest. 
 
 Ger. Good gentlemen, undo this riddle ; I'm all 
 in the dark. 
 
 Pet. You shall know anon, in the meantime 
 believe it, gentlemen. We want another woman, 
 or we might have a dance. 
 
 Ger. My Widow is within ; she'll supply you. 
 
 Bc'tm. Good Peg, go and wait on her ! and you, 
 Biancha, too. [Exeunt Margaret and Biancha. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Geraldo, never had man so 
 obedient and loving a wife as I have now. I defy 
 the world to equal her. 
 
 Win. Nay, brother, you must except her sister. 
 
 Ger. You must except mine too, or I shall 
 have a hard bargain of it ; my Widow is all 
 obedience. 
 
 Pet. I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll 
 hold you ten pieces,* to be spent in a collation on 
 them, that mine has more obedience than both 
 them ; to try which, each send for his wife, and if 
 mine come not first I'll lose my bet. 
 
 Sau. Gud, ye'U lose your siller sure enough, sir. 
 
 Both. A match ! 
 
 Wood. I'll be your halves, Geraldo, and yours, 
 Mr. Winlove, too. 
 
 Win. Jamy, go tell your mistress I desire her 
 to come hither to me presently. [Exit Jamy. 
 
 Pet. A piece more she does not come. 
 
 Beau. You'll lose, son, you'll lose ! I know she'll 
 come. 
 
 * Pounds. Ed. 1708.
 
 39 G SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Pet. I know she won't. I find by instinct I 
 shall win my wager. 
 
 Enter Jamy. 
 
 Jamy. Sir, she says she's busy, and she can't 
 leave Mr. Geraldo's lady. 
 
 Pet. Look ye there, now ! Come, your money ! 
 
 Ger. Prithee go again and tell my wife I must 
 needs speak with her immediately. [Exit Jamy. 
 
 Pet. I shall win yours too, as sure as in my 
 pocket. 
 
 Ger. I warrant you no such matter. What will 
 you give to be off your bet % 
 
 Pet. I won't take forty shillings. — 
 
 Enter Jamy. 
 
 How now ? 
 
 Jamy. Sir, she says you have no business Math 
 her ; if you have, you may come to her. 
 
 Pet. Come, produce ! I knew 'twould be so. — 
 Sauny, go and tell Peg from me I command her 
 to come to me instantly. 
 
 Sau. I'se gar her gea wuth me, sir, or Pse put 
 my durk to the hilt in her weam. 
 
 IFood. Yet you won't win; Pll hang for't if 
 she'll come. 
 
 Pet. Yes, but she will, as sure as you gave fort}^ 
 pieces to court Biancha. I'll venture them to 
 twenty more upon't with you. 
 
 Wood. Nay, I have lost enough already. 
 
 Enter Margaret and Sauny. 
 
 Pet. Look ye here, gentlemen ! 
 
 Sau. 0' my saul, she's ean a daft gued lass. 
 
 • Guineas. Ed. 1708.
 
 SAUNY THE SCOT. 397 
 
 She's at your beck; streake her and kiss her, 
 man. 
 
 Mar. I come to receive your commands, sir. 
 
 Pet. All I have to say to thee, Peg, is to bid 
 thee demand ten pounds of these two gentlemen ; 
 thou hast won it. 
 
 Mar. I, sir 1 — for what 1 
 
 Pet. Only for being so good-natured to come 
 when I send for you. 
 
 Mar. It was my duty, sir. 
 
 Pet. Come, pay, pay ; give it her ! I'll not bate 
 ye twopence. 
 
 Ger. There's mine. 
 
 Win. And mine, sister ; much good may it do 
 ye. 
 
 Beau. Well, Peg, I'll find thee one thousand 
 pound the more for this. 
 
 Sau. Bo what wull ye gie Saundy, that halpt 
 to mak' her gued and tame % Wuns, she was as 
 wild as a Galloway colt ! 
 
 Enter Biancha ami Widow. 
 
 Win. Look ! here they come at last. 
 
 Bian. What did you send for me for ] 
 
 Win. Why, to win me five pounds, if you had 
 been as obedient as you should ha' been. 
 
 Bian. You have not known me long enough to 
 venture so much upon my duty. I have been my 
 sister's scholar a little. 
 
 Sau. Bo put her to Saundy to teach ; gud, I'se 
 mak' her sea gentle ye may streake her and handle 
 her all o'er, sir. 
 
 Ger. You might have got me five pounds if you 
 had done as you should do. 
 
 Wid. Were it to do again, you should be sure 
 to lose.
 
 398 SAUNY THE SCOT. 
 
 Mar. Fie ! ladies, for shame ! How dare you 
 infringe that duty which you justly oAve your hus- 
 bands % They are our Lords, and we must pay 'em 
 service. 
 
 Beau. Well said, Peg ! you must be their tutor. 
 Come, son, if you'll have a dance, dispatch it 
 quickly ; the music's ready, and the meat will be 
 spoiled. 
 
 Pet. Come, then, play, play ! 
 
 DANCE. 
 
 Now let us in and eat, the work is done, 
 Which neither time nor age can wear from 
 
 memory ; 
 I've tamed the shrew, but "will not be ashamed 
 If next you see the very tamer tamed. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 MOBRAT AND GIBE, EDINBURGH, 
 PRINTERS TO HER SIAJESTT's STATIONERY OFFICE.
 
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