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                          A SELECT COLLECTION
                                  OF
                          OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.

                ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY
                           IN THE YEAR 1744.

                           _FOURTH EDITION_,

       NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
                WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
                             AND NEW NOTES


                                  BY
                           W. CAREW HAZLITT.

                          BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.

                            [Illustration]

                               New York




                                ELVIRA

                                  OR

                      THE WORST NOT ALWAYS TRUE.




_EDITION._


    _Elvira: Or, The worst not always true. A Comedy, Written
      by a Person of Quality. Licenced May 15th, 1667, Roger
      L'Estrange. London, Printed by E. Cotes for Henry Brome in
      Little-Brittain. 1667. 4º._




INTRODUCTION.


George Digby, Earl of Bristol, was the author of the following
play. He was, as Mr. Walpole[1] observes, "a singular person, whose
life was one contradiction. He wrote against Popery, and embraced
it; he was a zealous opposer of the Court, and a sacrifice for it;
was conscientiously converted in the midst of his prosecution of
Lord Strafford, and was most unconscientiously a prosecutor of Lord
Clarendon. With great parts, he always hurt himself and his friends;
with romantic bravery, he was always an unsuccessful commander. He
spoke for the Test Act, though a Roman Catholic; and addicted himself
to astrology on the birthday of true philosophy." The histories of
England abound with the adventures of this inconsistent and eccentric
nobleman who, amongst his other pursuits, esteemed the drama not
unworthy of his attention. Downes, the prompter,[2] asserts that he
wrote two plays between the years 1662 and 1665, _made out of the
Spanish_; one called "'Tis better than it was," and the other entitled
"Worse and Worse." Whether either of these is the present performance
cannot now be ascertained. It is, however, at least probable to be one
of them with a new title.[3] The same writer says he also joined with
Sir Samuel Tuke in the composition of "The Adventures of Five Hours."
"Elvira" was printed in the year 1667, and Mr Walpole imagines that it
occasioned our author being introduced into Sir John Suckling's Session
of Poets, a conjecture which, however, will by no means correspond with
the time in which Lord Bristol and Sir John Suckling are supposed to
have written the respective works before mentioned. From the notice
taken of him by Sir John Suckling as a poet, he seems to have been
the author of some pieces which are now lost to the world.[4] After a
life, which at different periods of it commanded both the respect and
contempt of mankind, and not unfrequently the same sentiments at one
time, he died, neither loved nor regretted by any party, in the year
1676.

[A MS. note in one of the former editions says: "A play of pure
_intrigue_.--Style feeble and drawling.--Plot extremely complicated,
and quite unintelligible without a most fixed attention, which,
however, the play has not merit enough to excite. _July 1819._"]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] "Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors," ii. 25.

[2] "Roscius Anglicanus," 1708, p. 25.

[3] P. 22.

[4] It is not easy to find out why this inference is drawn, since Sir
J. Suckling only mentions him by name, with three others comparatively
little known.

    "Sands with Townshend, for they kept no order;
    _Digby_ and Shillingsworth a little further."

"Session of the Poets."--_Collier_. [But the Digby here mentioned was
Sir Kenelm Digby, surely.]




_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._


  +Don Julio Rocca.+
  +Don Pedro de Mendoça.+
  +Don Fernando Solis+, _in love with Donna Elvira._
  +Don Zancho de Moneçes+, _in love with Donna Blanca._
  +Fabio+, _servant to Don Fernando._
  +Fulvio+, _servant to Don Pedro._
  +Chichon+, _servant to Don Zancho._
  +A Page.+

  +Donna Elvira+, _a beautiful lady, Don Pedro's daughter._
  +Donna Blanca+, _a lady of high spirit, Don Julio's sister._
  +Francisca+, _Donna Blanca's woman._

_Scene, Valencia._

                                ELVIRA;
                                  OR,
                     THE WORST NOT ALWAYS TRUE.[5]




ACT I.

_The room in the inn._


             _Enter +Don Fernando+, and at another door his
               servant +Fabio+, both in riding-clothes._

    +Don F.+ Have you not been with him, Fabio, and given him
    The note?

    +Fab.+ I found him newly got out of his bed;
    He seem'd much satisfied, though much surpris'd,
    With your arrival; and as soon as possibly
    He can get ready, he'll be with you here.
    He says he hopes some good occasion brings you
    To Valencia, and that he shall not be
    At quiet till he know it. 'Twas not fit
    For me, without your orders, to give him
    Any more light than what your ticket did.

    +Don. F.+ 'Tis well: go now, and see if Donna Elvira
    Be stirring yet, for I would gladly have her
    A witness, even at first, to what shall pass
    Betwixt my friend and me in our concernments:
    If she be still asleep, Fabio, make bold
    To knock, and wake her; w' have no time to lose.
    O, here she comes. Wait you Don Julio.              [_Exit +Fabio+._

                        _Enter +Donna Elvira+._

    +Elv.+ Ah! can you think my cares and sleep consistent?
    Slumber and tears have sometimes met in dreams;
    But hearts, with such a weight as mine opprest,
    Find still the heaviest sleep too light a guest.

    +Don F.+ Madam, though such least pity do deserve,
    Who by their own unsteadiness have drawn
    Misfortune on themselves, yet truly, Elvira,
    Such is my sense of yours and my compassion,
    To see a lady of your quality
    Brought to such sad extremes in what is dearest,
    As makes me even forget my own resentments,
    Granting to pity the whole place of love;
    And at that rate I'll serve you. Yet thus far
    You must allow the eruption of a heart
    So highly injur'd, as to tell you frankly,
    'Tis to comply with my own principles
    Of honour now, without the least relation
    To former passion or to former favours.

    +Elv.+ Those you have found a ready way to cancel;
    Your sullen silence, during all our journey,
    Might well have spar'd you these superfluous words;
    That had sufficiently instructed me
    What power mere appearances have had,
    Without examination, to destroy
    With an umbrageous nature all that love
    Was ever able on the solid'st grounds
    To found and to establish. Yet, methinks,
    A man that boasts such principles of honour,
    And of such force to sway him in his actions,
    In spite of all resentments, should reflect,
    That honour does oblige to a suspense,
    At least of judgment, when surprising chances,
    Yet uninquired into, tempt gallant men
    To prejudicial thoughts of those with whom
    They had settled friendship upon virtuous grounds.
    But 'tis from Heav'n, I see, and not from you,
    Elvira must expect her vindication;
    And until then submit to th' hardest fate
    That ever can befall a generous spirit--
    Of being oblig'd by him that injures her.

    +Don F.+ Nay, speak, Elvira, speak; you've me attentive:
                                     [_With a kind of scornful accent._
    It were a wonder worthy of your wit
    To make me trust my ears before my eyes.

    +Elv.+ Those are the witnesses, indeed, Fernando,
    To whose true testimony's false inference
    You owe my moderation and my silence,
    And that I leave it to the gods and time
    To make appear both to the world and you
    The maxim false, that still the worst proves true.

                            _Enter +Fabio+._

    +Fab.+ Don Julio is without.

    +Don F.+ Wait on him in----                         [_Exit +Fabio+._
                                    And now, Elvira,
    If you'll be pleas'd to rest yourself awhile
    Within that closet, you may hear what passes
    Betwixt my friend and me, until such time
    As I by some discourse having prevented
    Too great surprise, you shall think fit t' appear.
    He is the man (as I have often told you
    During my happy days) for whom alone
    I have no reserves; and 'tis to his assistance
    That I must owe the means of serving you
    In the concernments of your safety and honour;
    And therefore, madam, 'twill be no offence,
    I hope, to trust him with the true occasion
    That brings me hither to employ his friendship;
    Observing that respect in the relation
    Which I shall always pay you.

    +Elv.+ [_Retiring as into the closet._] There needs no management in
        the relation.
    I am indifferent what others think,
    Since those who ought t' have thought the best have fail'd me:
    Sir, I obey, resign'd up to your conduct,
    Till mistress of my own.                                    [_Exit._

          _Enter +Don Julio+: +Don Fernando+ and he embrace._

    +Don J.+ My joy to have my dear Fernando here
    So unexpectedly, as great as 'tis,
    Cannot make Julio insensible
    Of th' injury you have done him, t' have alighted,
    And pass'd a night within Valencia
    At any other place than at his house:
    Donna Blanca herself will scarce forgive it,
    When she shall know it.

    +Don F.+ I hope she's well.

    +Don J.+ She is so, thanks to heaven:
    But I must bid you expect a chiding from her.

    +Don F.+ You both might well accuse me of a failure,
    Did not th' occasion of my coming hither
    Bring with it an excuse, alas! too just,
    As you will quickly find.

    +Don J.+ Nay, then you raise disquiet; ease me quickly,
    By telling me what 'tis. Of this be sure:
    Heart, hand and fortune are entirely yours
    At all essays.

    +Don. F.+ [_After pausing awhile._] It is not new t' ye that
        I was a lover,
    Engaged in all the passion that e'er beauty,
    In height of its perfection, could produce;
    And that confirm'd by reason from her wit,
    Her quality and most unblemish'd conduct;
    Nor was there more to justify my love,
    Than to persuade my happiness in her
    Just correspondence to it, by all the ways
    Of honourable admission, that might serve
    To make esteem transcend the pitch of love.

    +Don J.+ Of all this I have not only had knowledge,
    But great participation in your joys:
    Than which I thought nothing more permanent,
    Since founded on such virtue as Elvira's.

    +Don F.+ Ah, Julio! how fond a creature is the man
    That founds his bliss upon a woman's firmness!
    Even that Elvira, when I thought myself
    Securest in my happiness, nothing wanting
    To make her mine, but those exterior forms,
    Without which men of honour, that pretend
    In way of marriage, would be loth to find
    Greater concession, where the love is greatest;
    As I was sitting with her, late at night,
    By usual admittance to her chamber,
    As two whose hearts in wedlock-bands were join'd,
    And seem'd above all other care, but how
    Best to disguise things to a wayward father,
    Till time and art might compass his consent;
    A sudden noise was heard in th' inner room,
    Belonging to her chamber: she starts up
    In manifest disorder, and runs in,
    Desiring me to stay till she had seen
    What caus'd it. I, impatient, follow,
    As fearing for her, had it been her father:
    My head no sooner was within the room,
    But straight I spied, behind a curtain shrinking,
    A goodly gallant, but not known to me.

    +Don J.+ Heavens, what can this be?

    +Don F.+ You will not think that there, and at that hour,
    I stay'd to ask his name. He ready as I
    To make his sword th' expresser of his mind,
    We soon determin'd what we sought: I hurt
    But slightly in the arm; he fell as slain,
    Run through the body: what Elvira did,
    My rage allow'd me not to mark: but straight
    I got away, more wounded to the heart
    Than he I left for dead.

    +Don J.+ Prodigious accident! where can it end?

    +Don F.+ I got safe home where, carefully conceal'd,
    I sought by Fabio's diligence to learn
    Who my slain rival was, and what became
    Of my unhappy mistress, and what course
    Don Pedro de Mendoça took to right
    The honour of his house.

    +Don J.+ You long'd not more
    To know it then, than I do now.

    +Don F.+ All could be learn'd was this: that my rival,
    Whom I thought dead, was likely to recover,
    And that he was a stranger lately come
    Up to the court, to follow some pretensions:
    His name he either learn'd not perfectly,
    Or did not well retain. As for Elvira,
    That none knew where she was; and that Don Pedro
    Had set a stop to prosecution
    In any public way, with what reserves
    Was not yet known.

    +Don J.+ More and more intricate.

    +Don F.+ I must now come to that you least look for.
    I had but few days pass'd in my concealment
    (Resentment and revenge still boiling in me)
    When late one evening, as I buried was
    In deepest thought, I suddenly was rous'd
    By a surprising apparition, Julio--
    Elvira in my chamber, speaking to me
    With rare assurance thus:--Don Fernando,
    I come not here to justify myself,
    That were below Elvira towards one,
    Whose action in deserting me hath shown
    So disobligingly his rash judgment of me.
    I come to mind you of honour, not of love:
    Mine can protection seek from none but yours.
    I've hitherto been shelter'd from the fury
    Of my enrag'd father by my cousin Camilla:
    But that's no place, you easily may judge,
    For longer stay: I do expect from you
    To be convey'd where, free from violence
    And from new hazards of my wounded fame,
    I may attend my righting from the gods.

    +Don J.+ Can guilt maintain such confidence in a maid?
    Yet how to think her innocent, I know not.

    +Don F.+ 'Twere loss of time to dwell on circumstances,
    Either of my wonder or reply: in short,
    What I found honour dictated, I did.
    Within two hours, I put her in a coach,
    And, favour'd by the night, convey'd her safe
    Out of Madrid to Ocana, and thence
    In three days hither to Valencia,
    The only place where (by your generous aid)
    I could have hopes to settle and secure
    Her person and her honour. That once done,
    Farewell to Spain: I'll to the wars of Milan,
    And there soon put a noble end to cares.

    +Don J.+ Let us first think how to dispose of her,
    Since here you say she is; that done (which presses),
    You will have time to weigh all other things.

    +Don F.+ My thoughts can pitch upon no other way
    Decent or safe for her, but in a convent,
    If you have any abbess here to friend.

    +Don J.+ I have an aunt, ruling the Ursulines,
    With whom I have full power; and she is wise,
    In case that course were to be fix'd upon.
    But that's not my opinion.

    +Don F.+ What can
    Your reason be?

    +Don J.+ Last remedies, in my judgment,
    Are not to be used, till easier have been tried.
    Had this strange accident been thoroughly
    Examined in all its circumstances,
    And that from thence she were convicted guilty,
    Nought else were to be thought on but a cloister;
    But, as things stand imperfectly discover'd,
    Although appearances condemn her strongly,
    I cannot yet conclude a person guilty
    Of what throughout so contradictory seems
    To the whole tenor of her former life,
    As well as to her quality and wit;
    And therefore let's avoid precipitation,
    Let my house be her shelter for awhile;
    You know my sister Blanca is discreet,
    And may be trusted; she shall there be serv'd
    By her and me with care and secrecy.

    +Don F.+ The offer's kind, but nowise practicable,
    And might prove hazardous to Blanca's honour,
    When it should once break out (as needs it must)
    From servants seeing such a guest so treated.

    +Don J.+ That, I confess, I know not how to answer:
    But, could Elvira's mind submit unto it,
    I could propose a course without objection.

    +Don F.+ That she can soon resolve; what is it, Julio?

    +Don J.+ A gentlewoman, who waited on my sister,
    Hath newly left her service for a husband,
    And it is known she means to take another:
    I have a ready way to recommend one--
    By Violante, of whose love and mine
    You are not ignorant, since that ere this
    We had been married, had not kindred forc'd us
    To wait a dispensation for 't from Rome.
    Blanca (I am sure) will readily
    Embrace any occasion of obliging her.

    +Don F.+ That were a right expedient indeed,
    Could but Elvira's spirit brook it.

                  _Enter +Elvira+ as from the closet._

    +Elv.+ You have ill measures of Elvira's spirit,
    Mistaken Don Fernando. Till Heaven's justice
    Shall her entirely to herself restore,
    The lowlier shape her fate shall hide her under,
    The more 'twill fit her humour.
                           [_+Don Julio+ starts back as it were amazed._

    +Don J.+ [_Aside._] O heavens! can guilt with such perfection dwell,
    And put on such assurance? It cannot be.

    +Don J.+ [_Addressing himself to her, and beginning; she
    holding out her hand and interrupting him._] Madam----

    +Elv.+ Spare compliments, and let your actions speak:
    Those may oblige both him and me; your words
    Cannot comply with both.

    +Don J.+ [_Aside._] Did ever yet
    Such majesty with misery combine,
    But in this woman? [_To her._] Madam, I obey,
    And, since you're pleas'd t' approve what I proposed,
    No moment shall be lost in th' execution.

                            [_Exit +Julio+, +Fernando+ accompanying him,
                                                           and +Fabio+._

    +Elv.+ O, how unkindly have the heavens dealt
    With womankind above all other creatures!
    Our pleasure and our glory to have placed
    All on the brink of precipices, such
    As every breath can blow the least light of us
    Headlong into, past all hopes of redemption:
    Nor can our wit or virtue give exemption.
    'Tis true, I lov'd; but justified therein
    By spotless thoughts and by the object's merit,
    I deem'd myself above the reach of malice;
    When in an instant, by another's folly,
    I am more lost than any by her[6] own.
    Accurs'd Don Zancho, what occasion
    E'er gave Elvira to thy mad intrusion?
    Unless disdain and scorn incentives are
    To make men's passions more irregular.
    Ah, matchless rigour of the Pow'rs above!
    Not only to submit our honour's fate
    Unto the vanity of those we love,
    But to the rashness even of those we hate.                  [_Exit._

    _Enter +Donna Blanca+ at one door, reading a paper, with great
        marks of passion and disturbance; and her waiting-woman
        +Francisca+ at another, observing her._

    +Blan.+ Ah, the traitor!

    +Fran.+ What can this mean?                                [_Aside._

    +Blan.+ Was this thy sweet pretension at Madrid,
    Drawn out in length, and hind'ring thy return?
    Thy fair pretence, thou shouldst have said, false man.

    +Fran.+ For love's sake, madam, what can move you thus?

    +Blan.+ For hate's sake, say, and for revenge, Francisca,
    And so thou may'st persuade me to discover
    My shame unto thee. Read, read that letter;
    'Tis from your favourite Chichon.

                           [_+Francisca+ takes the letter and reads it._

    "Madam, to make good my engagements of concealing nothing from
    you during this absence of my master, I am bound to tell you
    that some ten days since, late at night, he was left for dead,
    run through the body by another unknown gallant, in the chamber
    of a famed beauty of the court. Whilst the danger continued,
    I thought it not fit to let you know either the accident or
    the occasion; which, now he is recovered, and thinking of his
    return to Valencia, I must no longer forbear. I hope you will
    have a care not to undo me for being more faithful to you than
    to the master you gave me.--Your creature,

"+Chichon.+"

    +Blan.+ Have I not a worthy gallant, think you?

    +Fran.+ Madam, this comes of being over-curious,
    And gaining servants to betray their masters.
    How quiet might you have slept, and never felt
    What pass'd with your Don Zancho at Madrid!
    His pale and dismal looks at his return,
    Though caus'd by loss of blood in the hot service
    Of other dames, might fairly have been thought
    Effects of care and want of sleep for you,
    And (taken so) have pass'd for new endearments.
    Who ever pry'd into another's letter,
    Or slyly hearken'd to another's whisper,
    But saw or heard somewhat that did not please him?
    'Twas Eve's curiosity undid us all.

    +Blan.+ Away with thy moralities,[7] dull creature!
    I'll make thee see, and false Don Zancho feel,
    That Blanca's not a dame to be so treated.
    But who are those I hear without? Whoe'er
    They be, they come at an unwelcome hour.   [_+Francisca+ looks out._

    +Fran.+ Madam, it is a page of Violante's,
    Ushering [in] a handsome maid.

    _Enter a Page with a letter, and +Elvira+. The Page presents
        the letter to +Blanca+; she addresses herself to +Elvira+,
        and she throws up her veil._

    +Blan.+ This letter is in your behalf, fair maid,
                                             [_Having read the letter._
    There's no denying such a recommender;
    But such a face as yours is needed none.
    Page, tell your lady as much: and you, Silvia,           [_Turning._
    (For so she says you are call'd) be confident
    Y'are fallen into the hands of one that knows
    How to be kind, more as your friend than mistress,
    If your demeanour and good-nature answer
    But what your looks do promise.

    +Elv.+[8] Madam, it is the noble charity
    Of those you cast upon me, not mine own,
    To which I must acknowledge any advantage
    I ever can pretend to, more than what
    Fair Violante's meditation gives me.

    +Blan.+ She's strangely handsome, and how well
    she speaks!                                 [_Aside to +Francisca+._

    +Fran.+ So, so, methinks: you know new-comers, madam,
    Set still the best foot forward.

    +Blan.+ And know as well, that you decaying stagers
    Are always jealous of new-comers, young
    And handsome.

    +Fran.+ You may be as sharp upon me as you please;
    I know to what t' attribute your ill-humour.

    +Blan.+ Francisca, entertain her: I'll go write
    To Violante, and then rest awhile,
    In hopes to ease the headache that hath seiz'd me;
    That done, sweet Silvia, we shall talk at leisure. [_Exit +Blanca+._

    +Fran.+ _Sweet Silvia!_ kind epithets are for new faces.   [_Aside._

    +Elv.+ Now comes the hard part of my task indeed,
    To act the fellow waiting-woman right.
    But, since the gods already have conform'd
    My mind to my condition, I do hope
    They'll teach me words and gestures suitable.
                                [_Aside. +Francisca+ embraces +Elvira+._

    +Fran.+ Let me embrace thee, my sweet sister, and beg you
    To be no niggard of a little kindness:
    A very little serves, with such a face,
    To gain what heart you please.

    +Elv.+ If it can help to gain me yours, I'll take it
    For the best office that it ever did me,
    And love it much the better.

    +Fran.+ Make much on't then, for that 't has done already.

    +Elv.+ If you will have me vain enough to think it,
    You must confirm it by the proof of being
    My kind instructor how to please my lady,
    For I am very raw in service.

    +Fran.+                         O, that
    I were so too, and had thy youth t' excuse it.
    But my experience, sister, shall be yours
    By free communication. Come, let's in,
    And rest us in my chamber; there I'll give you
    First handsel of the frankness of my nature.
                                     [_Exeunt +Elvira+ and +Francisca+._

               _Enter +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+ his man,
                           in riding-habits._

    +Don Z.+ I must confess, Chichon, the very smell
    Of sweet Valencia has e'en reviv'd my spirits.
    There's no such pleasure as to suck and breathe
    One's native air.

    +Chi.+ Chiefly after being in so fair a way,
    As you, of never breathing any more!

    +Don Z.+ Prythee, no more of that; since I have forgot it,
    Methinks thou easily may'st.

    +Chi.+ Faith, hardly, sir, whilst still your ghastly face
    Doth bear such dismal memorandums of it,
    Apter to raise inquisitiveness in those
    Knowing nothing of the matter, than t' allay
    Remembrance in partakers.

    +Don Z.+ Heaven shield us from Donna Blanca's queries!
    No matter for the rest.

    +Chi.+ You would not wish to find her so unconcern'd;
    I'm sure you would not: faith, I long to hear
    Th' ingenious defeats, I make account,
    You are prepar'd to give to her suspicions.

    +Don Z.+ Let me alone for that: but, on thy life,
    Be sure that nothing be screw'd out of thee,
    Neither by her nor by her sly Francisca.

    +Chi.+ Be you, sir, sure, that from your true Chichon
    They'll know no more to-day, than yesterday
    They did; nor thence more to the world's end,
    Than what they did before we left Madrid.

    +Don Z.+ Truly, Chichon, we needs must find the means
    To get a sight of her this very night:
    I die, if I should miss it.

    +Chi.+ Last week left gasping for Elvira's love.
    And scarce reviv'd, when presently expiring
    For Blanca's again! I did not think Don Cupid
    Had been a merchant of such quick returns.

    +Don Z.+ Thou art an ass, and want'st distinctiveness
    'Twixt love and love: that was a love of sport
    To keep the serious one in breath.

    +Chi.+ Faith, sir, I must confess my ignorance,
    That when I saw you grovelling in your blood,
    I thought your love had been in sober sadness.

    +Don Z.+ Prythee, leave fooling, and let's carefully
    Gain the back way into my house unseen,
    That none may know of my return, till Blanca
    Find me at her feet. And be you industrious
    T' observe Don Julio's going forth this evening:
    Doubtless he'll keep his usual hours abroad
    At Violante's, since not married yet.

    +Chi.+ I shall observe your orders punctually.            [_Exeunt._

         _Enter +Don Julio+, and knocks as at +Blanca's+ door._

    +Don J.+ What, sister, at your siesta[9] already? if so,
    You must have patience to be wak'd out of it,
    For I have news to tell you.

                           _Enter +Blanca+._

    +Blan.+ No, brother, I was much more pleasingly
    Employ'd--in serving you; that is, making
    My court to Violante by receiving
    To wait upon me, in Lucilla's place,
    A gentlewoman of her recommending.

    +Don J.+ Where is she? let me see her.

    +Blan.+                                'Twere not safe:
    She is too handsome. You think now I jest?
    But, without raillery, she is so lovely,
    That, were not Violante very assur'd
    Of her own beauty and the strong ideas
    That still upholds within you, one might question
    Her wit to have set her in her gallant's way.
    But what's the news you mean?

    +Don J.+ That our dear friend and kinsman, Don Fernando,
    Is come to town, and going for Italy:
    The secret of it doth so much import him,
    It forc'd him to forbear alighting here,
    And lodging with us, as he us'd to do;
    But yet he says, nothing shall hinder him
    From waiting on you in the dusk of th' evening:
    I hope you'll find wherewith to regale[10] him.

    +Blan.+ As well as you have drain'd my cabinets
    Of late in presents to your mistress, some
    Perfumes will yet be found, such as at Rome
    Itself shall not disgrace Valencia.

    +Don J.+ I know your humour, and that the best present
    Can be given you is to give you the occasion
    Of presenting; but I am come in now
    Only to advertise you, and must be gone;
    Yet not, I hope, without a sight of one
    So recommended and commended so.

    +Blan.+ I should have thought you strangely chang'd in humour,
    Should you have gone away so uncuriously.
    Francisca, ho!                                        [_She knocks._

                          _Enter +Francisca+._

    +Fran.+ What please you, madam?

    +Fran.+ Prythee, tell Silvia I would speak with her.
                                                   [_Exit +Francisca+._
    Well, clear your eyes, and say I have no skill,
    If she appears not t' ye exceeding handsome.

             _Enter +Francisca+ with +Elvira+. +Don Julio+
                             salutes her._

    +Don J.+ Welcome, fair maid, into this family,
    Where, whilst you take a servant's name upon you,
    To do my sister honour, you must allow
    Its master to be yours, and that by strongest ties,
    Knowing who plac'd you here, and having eyes.

    +Elv.+ I wish my service, sir, to her and you
    May merit such a happy introduction.

    +Don J.+ Farewell, sister, till anon: accompanied
    As now you are, I think you'll miss me little.      [_Exit +Julio+._

    +Blan.+ I must confess, I ne'er could better spare you
    Than at this time, but not for any reason
    That you, I hope, can guess at.
    Francisca, you and Silvia may retire,
                                     [_Exeunt +Elvira+ and +Francisca+._
    And entertain yourselves: I'll to my closet,
    And try to rest, or (rather) to vent freely
    My restless thoughts. O, the self-torturing part           [_Aside._
    To force complaisance from a jealous heart!                 [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[5] The errors Dodsley committed, and Reed allowed to remain, in the
course of this play, were very numerous: it has been thought worth
while to point out only a few of them in the notes.--_Collier._

[6] The substitution of _my_ for _her_, in opposition to the authority
of the old copy, till now made this passage unintelligible.--_Collier._

[7] In former editions misprinted--

            "Away with thy _formalities_, dull creature!"--

which destroys all the spirit of the exclamation.--_Collier._

[8] The old copy inserts in the margin opposite Elvira the words _by
the name of Silvia_ merely to show more distinctly that Elvira was to
pass by that name, which is inserted before what she says.--_Collier._

[9] The heat of the day, from noon forwards. So called from Hora Sexta,
noonday, a time when the Spanish ladies retire to sleep.

[10] It is singular that in the old copy the author should here
have inserted the Spanish verb _regalar_ instead of the English
one.--_Collier._




ACT II.


           _Scene changes to the room in the inn. Enter +Don
                      Julio+ and +Don Fernando+._

    +Don J.+ Albricias,[11] friend, for the good news I bring you:
    All has fallen out as well as we could wish.
    As to Elvira's settling with my sister,
    So lucky a success in our first aims
    Concerning her, I trust, does bode good fortune
    Beyond our hopes; yet, in the farther progress
    Of this affair----

    +Don F.+ There's no such thing in nature left as _better_,
    Julio; the worst proves always true with me.
    Yet prythee, tell, how does that noble beauty
    (Wherein high quality is so richly stamp'd)
    Comport her servile metamorphosis?

    +Don J.+ As one whose body, as divine as 'tis,
    Seems bound to obey exactly such a mind,
    And gently take whate'er shape that imposes.

    +Don F.+ Ah, let us mention her no more, my Julio!
    Ideas flow upon me too abstracted
    From her unfaithfulness, and may corrupt
    The firmest reason. Above all, be sure
    I do not see her so transform'd, lest that
    Transform me too: I'll rather pass with Blanca
    Both for unkind and rude, and leave Valencia
    Without seeing her.

    +Don J.+ Leave that to me, Fernando;
    But if you intend the honour to my sister,
    It will be time: the night draws on apace.

    +Don F.+ Come, let's begone then.
                        [_As they are going out, enter +Fabio+ hastily._

    +Fab.+ Stay, sir, for heaven's sake, stay----

    +Don F.+ Why, what's the matter?

    +Fab.+ That will surprise you both, as much as me.
    Don Pedro de Mendoça is below,
    Newly alighted.

    +Don F.+ Ha! What say'st thou, sirrah?
    Elvira's father?

    +Fab.+ Sir, the very same;
    And he had scarcely set one foot to ground
    When he inquired, Where lives Don Julio Rocca?

    +Don J.+ For my house, Fabio? It cannot be;
    I never knew the man.

    +Don F.+ The thing does speak itself and my hard fate.
    What else can bring him hither but pursuit
    Of me and of his daughter, having learn'd
    The way we took? and what's so easy, Julio,
    Here at Valencia, as to know our friendship;
    And then of consequence, your house to be
    My likeliest retreat?

    +Don J.+ 'Tis surely so;
    Let us apply our thoughts to best preventives.

    +Don F.+ Whilst we retire into the inner room
    T' advise together, Fabio, be you sure
    (Since unknown to him) to observe his motions.      [_Exeunt omnes._

    _Scene changes to the prospect of Valencia. Enter +Don Zancho+
        and +Chichon+, as in the street near +Don Julio's+ house._

    +Don Z.+ Newly gone out, say you?
    That is as lucky as we could have wish'd:
    And see but how invitingly the door
    Stands open still!

    +Chi.+ An open door may lead to a face of wood;
                                               [_Aside to +Don Zancho+._
    But mean you, sir, to go abruptly in
    Without more ceremony?

    +Don Z.+ Surprise redoubles (fool) the joys of lovers.
    But stay, Chichon, let's walk aside awhile,
    Till yonder coach be past.                                [_Exeunt._

           _Scene changes to the room in the inn. Enter +Don
                      Julio+ and +Don Fernando+._

    +Don J.+ There's no safety in any other way.
    You must not stir from hence, until w' have got
    Some farther light what course he means to steer.
    Let Fabio be vigilant: I'll get home
    Down that back-stairs, and take such order there
    Not to be found, in case he come to inquire,
    As for this night at least shall break his measures;
    And in the morning we'll resolve together,
    Whether you ought to quit Valencia or no.

    +Don F.+ Farewell, then, for to-night: I'll be alert.
    But see y' excuse me fairly to my cousin.                 [_Exeunt._

            _Scene changes to +Blanca's+ antechamber. Enter
                    +Donna Blanca+ and +Francisca+._

    +Blan.+ As well as Silvia pleases me, Francisca,
    I'm glad at present that she is not well,
    She would constrain me else: she has wit enough
    To descant on my humour, and from thence
    To make perhaps discoveries, not fit
    For such new-comers.

    +Fran.+ If she has wit, she keep it to herself,
    At least from me: of pride and melancholy
    I see good store.

    +Blan.+ Still envious and detracting?

                  _Enter +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+._

    +Fran.+ See who comes there, madam, to stop your mouth!

        [_+Donna Blanca+ casting an eye that way, and +Chichon+
            clinging up close behind his master, and making a
            mouth._

    +Chi.+ Sh' has spied us, and it thickens in the clear.
    I fear a storm: goes not your heart pit-a-pat?
                                                [_To his master, aside._

    +Blan.+ Ah, the bold traitor!--but I must dissemble,
    And give his impudence a little line,
    The better to confound him.

                        [_Advancing to him, and as it were embracing him
                                         with an affected cheerfulness._

    Welcome as unexpected, my Don Zancho.

    +Don Z.+ Nay, then we are safe, Chichon.      [_Aside to +Chichon+._
    Incomparable maid! Heaven bless those eyes,
    From which I find a new life springing in me;
    Having so long been banish'd from their rays,
    How dark the court appear'd to me without them;
    Could it have kept me from their influence,
    As from their light, I had expir'd long since.

    +Blan.+ Y' express your love now in so courtly a style,
    I fear you have acted it in earnest there,
    And but rehearse to me your country mistress.

    +Don Z.+ Ah, let Chichon but tell you how he hath seen me
    During my absence from you.

    +Chi.+ I vow I have seen him even dead for love.
    You might have found it in his very looks,
    Before you brought the blood into his cheeks.

    +Blan.+ E'en dead (you say) for love! but say of whom?

    +Don Z.+ Can Blanca ask a question so injurious,
    As well to her own perfections as my faith?

    +Blan.+ I can hold no longer.               [_Aside to +Francisca+._
    My faithful lover, then it is not you----      [_To him scornfully._

    +Chi.+ She changes tone: I like not, faith, the key,
    The music will be jarring.                   [_Aside to his master._

    +Blan.+ 'Tis not then you, Don Zancho, who, having chang'd
    His suit at court into a love pretension,
    And his concurrents into a gallant rival,
    Fell by his hand, a bloody sacrifice
    At his fair mistress' feet: who was it, then?

        [_+Don Zancho+ stands awhile as amazed, with folded arms.
            +Chichon+ behind his master, holding up his hands, and
            making a pitiful face; +Francisca+ steals to him, and
            holding up her hand threateningly_--

    +Fran.+ A blab, Chichon, a pick-thank, peaching varlet!
    Ne'er think to look me in the face again.     [_Aside to +Chichon+._

    +Chi.+ In what part shall I look thee, hast thou a worse?
    It is the devil has discover'd it--
    Some witch dwells here: I've long suspected thee.
                                                [_Aside to +Francisca+._

    +Fran.+ I never more shall think thee worth my charms.

    +Blan.+ What, struck dumb with guilt? perfidious man!
    That happens most to the most impudent,
    When once detected. Well, get thee hence,
    And see thou ne'er presum'st to come again
    Within these walls, or I shall let thee see
    'Tis not at court alone, where hands are found
    To let such madmen blood.

                             [_She turns as going away, and +Don Zancho+
                                          holds her gently by the gown._

    +Don Z.+ Give me but hearing, madam, and then if----

    +Don J.+ What, ho! no lights below-stairs?       [_Aloud, as below._

    +Fran.+ O heavens! madam, hear you not your brother?
    Into the chamber quickly, and let them
    Retire behind that hanging; there's a place,
    Where usually we throw neglected things.
    I'll take the lights and meet him: certainly
    His stay will not be long from Violante
    At this time of the night; besides, you know,
    He never was suspicious.

        [_+Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+ go behind the hanging, and
            +Donna Blanca+, retiring to her chamber, says--_

    Capricious fate! must I who, whilst I lov'd him,
    Ne'er met with checking accident, fall now
    Into extremest hazards for a man,
    Whom I begin to hate?
              [_Exit, and +Francisca+ at another door with the lights._

               _+Francisca+ re-enters with +Don Julio+._

    +Don J.+ Where's my sister?

    +Fran.+ In her chamber, sir,
    Not very well; she's taken with a megrim.

    +Don J.+ Light me in to her.

        [_Exit +Don Julio+, +Francisca+ lighting him with one of
            the lights. +Chichon+ peeping out from behind the
            hangings._

    +Chi.+ If this be Cupid's prison, 'tis no sweet one.
    Here are no chains of roses; yet I think
    Y' had rather b' in 't than in Elvira's chamber,
    As gay and as perfum'd as 'twas.

    +Don Z.+ Hold your peace, puppy; is this a time for fooling?

            _Enter +Francisca+, and +Chichon+ starts back._

    +Fran.+ [_Coming to the hanging._] Chichon, look out; you may,
        the coast is clear.                      [_+Chichon+ looks out._
    Could I my lady's near concerns but sever
    From yours in this occasion, both of you
    Should dearly pay your falsehood.

    +Chi.+ You are jealous too, I see; but help us out
    This once, and if you catch me here again,
    Let Chichon pay for all, faithful Chichon.

    +Fran.+ Y' are both too lucky in the likelihood
    Of getting off so soon. Stay but a moment,
    Whilst I go down to see the wicket open,
    And see that there be nobody in the way.        [_Exit +Francisca+._

    +Chi.+ It is a cunning drab, and knows her trade.

           _Re-enter +Francisca,+ and comes to the hanging._

    +Fran.+ There's now some witch o' th' wing indeed, Chichon,
    Julio, that never till this night forbore
    To go to Violante's, ere he slept,
    And pass some hours there--Julio, who never
    Inquired after the shutting of a door,
    Hath lock'd the gate himself at 's coming in,
    And bid a servant wait below till midnight,
    With charge to say to any that should knock
    And ask for him, that he's gone sick to bed!
    What it can mean, I know not.

    +Chi.+ I would I did not; but I have too true
    An almanac in my bones foretells a beating
    Far surer than foul weather. He has us, faith,
    Fast in Lob's-pound.[12] Heaven send him a light hand,
    To whom my fustigation shall belong:
    As for my master, he may have the honour
    To be rebuk'd at sharp.

    +Fran.+ May terror rack this varlet; but for you, sir,
    Be not dismay'd, the hazard's not so great.
    Yonder balcony, at farther end o' th' room,
    Opens into the street, and the descent is
    Little beyond your height, hung by the arms:
    When Julio is asleep, I shall not fail
    To come and let you out; I keep the key.
    In the meanwhile, you must have patience.

    +Chi.+ It were a nasty hole to stay in long.
    Did not my fear correct its evil savour.                   [_Aside._
    Dame, you say well for him, with whom I think
    Y' have measur'd length, you speak so punctually
    Of his dimensions; but I see no care
    For me, your pretty, not your proper man,
    Who does abhor feats of activity.                         [_To her._

    +Fran.+ I'll help you--with a halter!
                             [_Exit +Francisca+, and +Chichon+ retires._

    _Scene changes to +Blanca's+ Bed-chamber. Enter +Blanca+ and
        +Elvira+; and soon after +Francisca+, as in +Blanca's+
        chamber, she sitting at her toilet undressing._

    +Blan.+ My brother told me I should see him again,
    Before he went to rest.

    +Fran.+ I think I hear him coming.

    +Blan.+ He'll not stay long, I hope; for I am on thorns
    Till I know they are out. I' th' meanwhile,
    We must persuade Silvia to go to bed,
    Lest some odd chance should raise suspicion in her,
    Before I know her fitness for such trusts.

       _Enter +Don Julio+. +Elvira+ offers to unpin her gorget._

    +Blan.+ I prythee, Silvia, leave, and get thee gone
    To bed: you ha'n't been well, nor are not yet;
    Your heavy eyes betray indisposition.

    +Elv.+ Good madam, suffer me; 'twill make me well
    To do you service.

    +Blan.+ Brother, I ask your help;                       [_To Julio._
    Take Silvia hence, and see her in her chamber.
    This night she must be treated as a stranger,
    And you must do the honour of your house.

                                [_+Julio+ goes to +Elvira+, and taking
                                      her by the hand, leads her away._

    +Elv.+ Since you will not let me begin to serve,
    I will begin to obey.                       [_Making a low curtsey._

    +Fran.+ Quaint, in good faith!                          [_Bridling._

    +Don J.+ My sister's kinder than she thinks, to give me
                                       [_To +Elvira+, as he leads her._
    This opportunity of telling Silvia
    How absolutely mistress in this place
    Elvira is.     [_+Francisca+ whispers all this while with +Blanca+._

    +Elv.+ Good sir, forget that name.   [_Exeunt +Julio+ and +Elvira+._

    +Blan.+ If that be so, what shall we do, Francisca?
    What way to get them out?

    +Fran.+ It is a thing so unusual with him,
    It raises ominous thoughts, else I make sure
    To get them off as well as you can wish;
    But, if already awaken'd by suspicion,
    Nothing can then be sure.

    +Blan.+ O, fear not that: what you have seen him do
    Of unaccustom'd, I dare say relates
    To quite another business.

    +Fran.+ Then set your heart at rest from all disturbance
    Arising from this accident.

    +Blan.+ If you are certain
    To get them off so clear from observation,
    'Twill out of doubt be best: I'll tell my brother
    Don Zancho is return'd, and had call'd here
    This evening to have seen him; for my fears
    Sprang only from the hour and the surprise,
    Warm'd as he then had found me; since you know
    How little apt he is to jealousy.

    +Fran.+ Madam, y' have reason; that will make all sure,
    In case he should be told of's being here;
    The time of's stay can hardly have been noted.

                          _Enter +Don Julio+._

    +Don J.+ As an obedient brother, I have perform'd
    What you commanded me.

    +Blan.+ A hard injunction from a cruel sister,
    To wait upon a handsome maid to her chamber!

    +Don J.+ You see I've not abused your indulgence
    By staying long; nor can I stay indeed
    With you, I must be abroad so early
    To-morrow morning; therefore, dear, good night.

    +Blan.+ Stay, brother, stay; I had forgot to tell you
                                                     [_As he is going._
    Don Zancho de Moneçes is return'd,
    And call'd this evening here t' have kiss'd your hands.
    Francisca spake with him.

    +Don J.+ I hope he's come successful in his suit:
    To-morrow I'll go see him.                      [_Exit +Don Julio+._

    +Blan.+ You see he's free from umbrage on that subject.

    +Fran.+ I see all's well, and may he sleep profoundly--
    The sooner, madam, you are abed the better.

    +Blan.+ Would once my fears were over, that my rage
    Might have its course.

    +Fran.+ I shall not stop it,
    But after it has had its full career
    'Twill pause, I hope, and reason find an ear.             [_Exeunt._

           _Scene changes to the room in the inn. Enter +Don
                        Fernando+ and +Fabio+._

    +Don F.+ Is he gone out?

    +Fab.+ No, sir, not as yet;
    But seeing the servant he had sent abroad
    Newly return'd, I listen'd at his door,
    And heard him plainly give him this account--
    That he had found Don Julio Rocca's house,
    And having knock'd a good while at the door,
    Answer was made him without opening it,
    Don Julio's not at home; whereat Don Pedro
    Impatient rose, and, calling for his cloak
    And sword, he swore he'd rather wait himself
    Till midnight at his door, than lose a night
    In such a pressing business.--This I thought
    Fit to acquaint you with, and that he spake
    Doubtfully of his returning to lodge here.

    +Don F.+ You have done well, but must do better yet,
    In following him, and being sure to lose
    No circumstance of what he does.

    +Fab.+ To dog him possibly might be observ'd,
    This moonlight, by his servant; but since, sir,
    We're certain whither he goes, my best course
    (I think) will be to go out the back-way,
    And place myself beforehand in some porch
    Near Julio's house, where I may see and hear
    What passes, and then do as I shall see cause.

    +Don F.+ 'Tis not ill thought on; but how late soever
    Your return be, I shall expect to see you,
    Before we go to bed.

    +Fab.+ I shall not fail.                                  [_Exeunt._

    _Scene changes to +Donna Blanca's+ antechamber. Enter
        +Francisca+, and goes to the hanging where +Don Zancho+ and
        +Chichon+ are hid._

    +Fran.+ Ho! trusty servant with his faithful master!
    Come out; the balcony's open, lose no time,
    Julio's abed, and fast asleep ere this--
    There's nobody in the street, it is so light
    One may discover a mile; therefore be quick.

        [_+Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+ come out from behind the
            hanging, and follow her, as leading to the balcony._
                                                             [_Exeunt._

        [_And soon after +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+ appear as in
            the balcony, and +Francisca's+ head as peeping out of
            the door into it._

    _Scene changes to the prospect of Valencia. Enter +Fabio+ as in
        the street, and settling himself in a porch._

    +Fab.+ Here is a porch, as if 'twere built on purpose.
                  [+Fabio+, _looking up, perceives them in the balcony._

    Ha! here's a vision that I little dreamt of.
    Stand close, Fabio, and mum!

        [_+Don Zancho+ gets over the balcony, and letting himself
            down at arm's length, leaps gently into the street.
            +Chichon+ offers at the like, but takes a fall as he
            lights, and (rising) counterfeits lameness. +Francisca+
            retires, and locks the balcony._

    +Chi.+ Curse on the drab, I think I've broke my leg.

    +Fab.+ The moon has turn'd my brains, or I have seen
    That person somewhere, and that very lately--
                                      [_He pauses, scratching his head._
    But, sure, I'm mad to think it can be he.

                         [_Exeunt +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+, as turning
                                                  down the next street._

                   _Enter +Don Pedro+ and +Fulvio+._

    +Fab.+ O, now I see my men.              [_Retiring into the porch._

    +Don P.+ This is the street, you say; which is the house?

    +Fulv.+ That fair one, over against the monastery.
    Shall I go knock?

    +Don P.+ What else?
           [_+Fulvio+ knocks at +Don Julio's+ door, and nobody answers._

    +Don P.+ Knock harder.
           [_He knocks again, and one asks as from within_, Who's there?

    +Don P.+ A stranger, who must needs speak with Don Julio,
    Although unknown to him: my business presses.

    +From within.+ Whoe'er you be, and whatsoe'er your business,
    You must have patience till to-morrow, sir.
    Don Julio went sick to bed, and I dare not
    Wake him.

    +Don P.+ Fortune takes pleasure, sure, in disappointing,
    When men are press'd with most impatience;
    But, since there is no remedy, guide, Fulvio,
    Unto the lodging y' have provided for me;
    I hope 'tis near at hand.

    +Fulv.+ Not above three doors from Don Julio's,
    There, where it makes the corner of the street.         [_Pointing._

    +Fab.+ Here I must follow, till I've harbour'd them.
                                 [_Exeunt; +Fabio+ stealing after them._

            _Scene changes to a room in the inn. Enter +Don
                  Fernando+ alone, as in his chamber._

    +Don F.+ It cannot now be long, ere Fabio come,
    And 'twere in vain to go to bed before,
    For rest, I'm sure, I should not--
                                   [_He walks about the room pensively._
    Ah, my Elvira!--Mine? thou dost infect
    My very words with falsehood, when I name thee.
    Did ever mistress make a lover pay
    So dear as I for the short bliss she gave?
    What now I suffer in exchange of that,
    May make mankind afraid of joys excessive.
    But here he comes--

                            _Enter +Fabio+._

                         Have you learn'd anything
    That's worth the knowing?                             [_To +Fabio+._

    +Fab.+ Two things I think considerable, sir:
    The one, that Julio hath found means to gain
    This night to cast your business in, without
    Admitting of Don Pedro, whose pressures
    Might have been troublesome, and urged you
    To hasty resolutions; whereas now
    You've time to take your measures. The other, sir,
    Is that Don Pedro lodges here no more,
    And consequently hath eas'd you of constraint,
    Whilst you rest here, and left the way more free
    For intercourse betwixt Don Julio and you.
    This more I must observe t' ye, that Don Pedro
    Took special care to have his lodging near
    Don Julio's house, whereby 'tis evident,
    That there he makes account his business lies.

    +Don F.+ The news you bring me hath been worth your pains,
    And thanks t' ye for 't. I suppose that is all?

    +Fab.+ Perhaps there's something else.

    +Don F.+ Say, Fabio, what is't?

    +Fab.+ Pray, sir, allow me
    This night to think, whether it be fit or no
    To tell it you; since 'tis a thing relates not,
    As I conceive, to you nor to your business;
    And yet, in the concernments of another,
    May trouble you.

    +Don F.+ Be not o'erwise, I prythee. I will know
    What 'tis, since you have raised curiosity
    By such grimaces.

    +Fab.+ You must be obey'd; but pray remember, sir,
    If afterwards I am call'd fool for my pains,
    Who made me so: but since I do not only
    Expect the fool, but ready to be thought
    A madman too, ere I have done my story,
    In this I will be wilful, not to tell it
    Till y' are abed, that I may run away--
    So if you long to hear it, hasten thither.
                              [_Exit +Fabio+, as to the chamber within._

    +Don F.+ Content, i'faith; you ask no great compliance.     [_Exit._

    _Scene changes to the room in +Zancho's+ house. Enter +Don
        Zancho+; and +Chichon+, as at home, halting._

    +Don Z.+ We're well come off from danger; would we were
    But half as well from Blanca's jealousy.

    +Chi.+ Speak for yourself; I never came off worse.
    A pox upon your venery, it has made me
    Another Vulcan.                        [_He halts about, grumbling._

    +Don Z.+ Go, rest to-night, or grumble, as you please;
    But do not think limping will serve your turn
    To-morrow: faith, I'll make you stir your stumps.
    Think you a lover of my temper likely
    To sit down by it so?

    +Chi.+ I'm sure I am only fit to sit down by it,
    Since I can hardly stand.

                            [_He makes as if he would sit down, and +Don
                               Zancho+ giving him a kick on the breech._

    +Don Z.+ Coxcomb, come away.

    +Chi.+ To-night's to-night: to-morrow's a new day.[13]      [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[11] See an early note to "The Adventures of Five Hours" in the present
volume.

[12] [_i.e._, In a snare. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 200, where
it is shown that the earlier phrase is _Cob's pound_.]

[13] [A common proverbial expression.]




ACT III.


           _Enter +Don Fernando+ and +Fabio,+ as in the room
                              in the inn._

    +Don F.+ Are all things ready, Fabio, in case
    Don Julio, when he comes, conclude with me
    That I should be gone presently?

    +Fab.+ Horses stand ready for you at the posthouse.

    +Don F.+ 'Tis well; attend without.                 [_Exit +Fabio+._

                          _Enter +Don Julio+._

    I see you sleep not in your friend's concerns,
    You are so early; and since so, the sooner
    We fix a resolution, certainly
    'Twill be the better. 'Twas no small point gain'd,
    To frustrate for a night Don Pedro's aims,
    As Fabio tells me you have done; for he
    Ne'er quitted him an inch last night, until
    He had harboured him.

    +Don J.+ What, has he left his lodging?

    +Don F.+ That he has,
    And (which is more considerable) taken one
    Close by your house, which evidences clearly,
    Where his suspicions lie: that being so,
    I'm confident you'll be of my opinion
    For my dislodging from Valencia
    Immediately; for, Elvira being
    Already so well settled, nothing can
    So much endanger her discovery
    As my remaining longer in these parts.

    +Don J.+ Were I but free as yesterday, Fernando,
    To think of nothing but Elvira and your
    Concernments, I must confess your absence
    From hence were to be wish'd: but, cousin,
    There's fallen out this very night a thing,
    Which shows how little I beholden am
    To fortune that, having so newly lent me
    The means of serving handsomely my friend,
    Calls back the debt already, and makes me
    As needing of your aid, as you of mine.

    +Don. F.+ Ho! Fabio, forbid the horses presently.
                                                    [_+Fabio+ looks in._
    The least appearance, Julio, of my being              [_To +Julio+._
    Useful to you by staying puts an end
    To all deliberation for myself;
    Say, what's the accident? you have me ready.

    +Don J.+ Such and of such a nature, my Fernando,
    That, as to be communicated to none
    But you (another self), so I am sure
    It will astonish you with the rehearsal.
    Ah! could you think it possible, that Blanca
    Should raise disturbance in the heart of Julio,
    As to the honour of his family?

    +Don F.+ Heavens forbid!

    +Don J.+ Never was brother so secure as I,
    Or so unalterable in his persuasion,
    Of having a sister of unmatch'd discretion;
    Nor e'er could less than evidence itself
    Have shaken such a confidence.

    +Don F.+ For God's sake, Julio,
    Hold me no longer in such pain of mind.
    But, sure, we shall be better there within,
    Free from the noise of the street.

    +Don J.+ You say well.                              [_Exit +Julio+._

    +Don F.+ [_As he follows him, aside._] This is what Fabio told me
        he saw last night,
    Discovered by some accident to Julio;
    It can be nothing else. O women, women!          [_Exit +Fernando+._

      _Enter +Don Pedro+ and +Fulvio+, as in their new lodgings._

    +Don P.+ I am glad you have lighted on so fit a place
    For all I intend, as this is, Fulvio.
    I shall repair the last night's disappointment
    By early care this morning: in the meanwhile,
    Fail not of your part in the discovery
    Where my enemy dwells, and i' th' observation
    Of all his motions; that's the important part.

    +Fulv.+ Rely, sir, on my care and vigilance.

                                     [_Exeunt +Don Pedro+ and +Fulvio+._

            _Enter +Don Julio+ and +Don Fernando+, as in the
                       outward room of the inn._

    +Don J.+ It is a quarter
    Always reserv'd to my own privacy.
    There lying unsuspected, if, whilst I
    Continue late abroad, under pretence
    Of being at Violante's, you keep watch
    Carefully within, he cannot 'scape us:
    So you be sure to observe punctually
    The sign agreed, and bolting of the doors,
    When he is once within.

    +Don F.+ Since you have so resolv'd and laid your business,
    Dispose of me, and lead the way, whilst I
    Give Fabio his instruction what to do
    During my absence.                 [_Exeunt +Fernando+ and +Julio+._

              _Enter +Donna Blanca+ and +Francisca+, as in
                        +Blanca's+ antechamber._

    +Fran.+ Since the black cloud, that threaten'd you last night
    With such a storm, is luckily blown over
    Without a sprinkling, I hope, madam, you
    Will imitate the Fates, and grow serene
    From all those clouds which so much threaten'd others.

    +Blan.+ Ah! Francisca, canst thou--

                                   [_She stops, seeing +Elvira+ coming._

            _Enter +Elvira+, with a fine basin of flowers._

    But here's Silvia.
    O, the sharp thorns she brings me at this time,
    With flowers in her hand, by the constraint
    Her presence gives me!                                     [_Aside._

    +Elv.+ Madam, I wish the 'ranging of these flowers
    May be to your mind; but alas, I fear
    I am too dull for works of fancy.

    +Blan.+ 'Tis me you find too dull to relish them:
    Anon they may be welcomer.

    +Elv.+ I'll wait that happy hour.
    [_Aside._] She's in ill humour.      [_Exit +Elvira+._

    +Blan.+ But tell me now, didst ever see, Francisca,
    So false and bold a creature? The impudence
    He had to clothe his treachery with new courtships,
    Provokes me most of all.

    +Fran.+ Last night indeed, incens'd as you were, madam,
    I fain would know what air so soft and gentle
    He could have breath'd, would not have blown the flame
    Higher and higher; but methinks your pillow
    Should in so many hours have had some power
    T' allay and mollify: I then complied
    (He present) with your anger; but now, madam,
    You must allow me to speak reason t' you
    In his behalf, before you go too far,
    And put things in your passion past recal,
    Which, that once over, you would give your life
    To have again.

    +Blan.+ Pray, think me not so tame.

    +Fran.+ So tame, say you? I think you wild, I swear,
    To take so much to heart, what at the most
    Deserves but some such sparkling brisk resentment,
    As, once flash'd out in a few choleric words,
    Ought to expire in a next visit's coyness.

    +Blan.+ Make you so slight of infidelity?

    +Fran.+ Cupid forbid! I'd have men true to love;
    But I'd have women, too, true to themselves,
    And not rebuke their gallants by requiring
    More than the nature of frail flesh will bear.
    I'd have men true as steel; but steel, you know,
    (The purest and best-polish'd steel) will ply,
    Urg'd from its rectitude, forsooth; but then
    With a smart spring comes to its place again.

    +Blan.+ Come, leave your fooling, and speak soberly.

    +Fran.+ Why then, in sober sadness, you're i' th' wrong--
    I do not say in being angry with him,
    And nettled at the thing--that's natural.
    We love no partners, even in what we know
    We cannot keep all to ourselves: but, madam,
    To think the worse of him for it: or resolve
    A breach of friendship for a slight excursion,
    That were a greater fault than his, who has
    For one excuse long absence; and in truth
    Another you'd be sorry he wanted--youth.

    +Blan.+ You talk as if----

    +Fran.+ [_interrupting her._] Stay, madam, I beseech you,
    And let me make an end: I have not yet
    Touch'd the main point in his excuse, a suit
    At court, enough I trow for any dog-trick.

    +Blan.+ How like a goose you talk! a court pretension!
    What has that to do, one way or other,
    With his faith to me?

    +Fran.+ So one, displeased to find his crawfishes
    Shrivell'd within and empty, said to his cook
    (Who laid the fault upon the wane o' th' moon):
    What has the moon to do with crawfishes?
    Marry, she has, 'tis she that governs shell-fish;
    And 'tis as true, in courts that love rules business
    By as preposterous an influence.

    +Blan.+ I prythee, make an end, or come to th' point.

    +Fran.+ Why, then, I'll tell you: you may believe me
    (Having been train'd up in my youth, you know,
    In the best school to learn court mysteries,
    An aunt of mine being mother of the maids),
    Love holds the rudder, and steers in all courts.
    How oft, when great affairs perplex the brains
    Of mighty politicians to conjecture,
    From whence sprung such designs, such revolutions:
    Such exaltations, madam, such depressions,
    Against the rules of their mysterious art;
    And when, as in surprising works of nature,
    Reason's confounded, men cry those are secrets
    Of the high pow'rs above, that govern all
    Grave lookers on, stroking their beards, would say,
    What a transcendent fetch of state is this!
    These are the things that wisdom hides and hatches
    Under black cap of weighty jobbernowl;
    I mean Count Olivarez. All the while,
    We female Machiavels would smile to think,
    How closely lurking lay the nick of all
    Under our daughter Doll's white petticoat.

    +Blan.+ All this, I grant you, may be true, and yet
    Ne'er make a jot for his excuse, Francisca.
    His suit had no relation to such matters.

    +Fran.+ Whate'er the thing be, 'tis all one. D' you think
    Suits, be they what they will, can be obtain'd
    By such as pass for <DW2>s, as all young men
    Without a mistress or a confidant
    Are sure to do there? A sharp-pointed hat
    (Now that you see the gallants all flat-headed)
    Appears not so ridiculous as a younker
    Without a love-intrigue to introduce
    And sparkify him there. Madam, in short,
    Allow me once to be sententious:
    It is a thing that always was, and is,
    And ever will be, true to the world's end:
    That, as in courts of justice, none can carry
    On business well without a procurator,
    So none in princes' courts their suits make surer,
    Than those that work them by the best procurer.

    +Blan.+ [_Smiling a little._] Well, hast done, Francisca?

    +Fran.+ Madam, I have.

    +Blan.+ Then letting pass
    Thy fine reflections politic, now vented
    To shew thy skill in courts, I'll tell thee freely,
    I'm not transported in my jealousy
    So far beyond the bounds of reason, as
    Not to know well the difference betwixt
    Such escapades of youth, as only spring
    From warmth of blood or gales of vanity,
    And such engagements as do carry with them
    Dishonour unto those, whose quality
    And love leave little to the serious part,
    Once embark'd by them in a gallantry.

    +Fran.+ I see the clouds disperse. There's no such art
    Of compassing one's ends with those above us,
    As that of working them into good humour
    By things brought in by the by.                            [_Aside._
    Why, surely, madam, unless anger lend you
    Its spectacles to see things, I cannot think
    You judge Don Zancho's fault to be any other
    Than of the first kind, so well stated by you.

    +Blan.+ Francisca, were I otherwise persuaded,
    I am not of an humour that could suffer
    Such parleys for him, much less intercession;
    But since, upon reflection, I find cause
    To think what he has done a sally only
    Of youth and vanity, when I shall find him
    Sufficiently mortified, I may pardon him.

    +Fran.+ Heavens bless so sweet a temper! but, madam,
    Have a care, I beseech you, of one thing.

    +Blan.+ What's that?

    +Fran.+ That, whilst your pride of heart
    Prolongs his readmission, his despair
    Urge him not to some precipitate attempt
    That may expose your honour, safe as yet.
    You see what danger the last night's distemper
    Had like t' have brought you into: transported lovers,
    Like angels fallen from their bliss, grow devils.

    +Blan.+ What, would you have me appear so flexible?
    Is't not enough
    I tell you I may pardon him in due time?

    +Fran.+ Good madam, be advis'd: I do not press you
    For his sake, but your own. Trust my experience,
    To women nought's so fatal as suspense;
    Whose smartest actions ne'er did cast such blot
    On honour as this--shall I? shall I not?

    +Blan.+ I'd rather die, than have him think me easy.

    +Fran.+ Your spirit never can be liable
    To that suspicion. Madam, leave to me
    The conduct of this matter, I beseech you:
    If, ere you sleep, you do not see the gallant
    Sufficiently humbled at your feet,
    Ne'er trust Francisca more.

    +Blan.+ You are so troublesome: do what you will.
                    [_+Blanca+ turns away, and exit as into her closet._

    +Fran.+ What, gone away?
    I'll do what she would have, but dares not say.             [_Exit._

      _Enter +Don Julio+ and +Elvira+, as in +Blanca's+ chamber._

    +Don J.+ Where's my sister, Silvia?            [_Looking about him._

    +Elv.+ In her closet, sir:
    As yet not ready.

    +Don J.+ And where's Francisca?

    +Elv.+ She's with her, dressing her.

    +Don J.+ Why then, Elvira,
    Let me not lose this opportunity
    Of telling you how sad a man I am
    To see you in this posture, and to assure you
    How gladly I would lay down life and fortune
    To serve you in Don Fernando's absence.

    +Elv.+ Your generosity I make no doubt of:
    But is Fernando gone?

    +Don J.+ I cannot say
    That he is gone; for he was not himself,
    With the thought of leaving you, and yet less
    Himself, whene'er he thought of staying near you;
    Tortur'd by two such contrary passions,
    As love and sharp resentment.

    +Elv.+ He is gone then?----                           [_She pauses._
    Ah, generous Don Julio,     [_Putting her handkerchief to her eyes._
    You needs must be indulgent to a weakness
    Which, whilst that he was present, indignation,
    And a just sense of what I am, had pow'r
    To keep within myself; but now I find
    That check remov'd, nature will have its tribute,
    And you must pardon my withdrawing, where              [_She weeps._
    Such grief may pay it with unwitness'd tears.        [_Exit Elvira._

    +Don J.+ Can a demeanour so compos'd, so noble,
    And yet so tender, want true innocence?
    It cannot be. It grieves my heart, I swear,
    T' have given her new affliction; but the secret
    Of Don Fernando's close concealment here
    Is so important, it necessitated
    My saying what I did, since secrets are
    Ever kept best by those that know them least.

                   _Enter +Blanca+ and +Francisca+._

    Now, high dissimulation play, thy part!                    [_Aside._
    Good morrow, sister, have you rested well?
    And do you rise serene, as does the sun?
    Free from distemper, as the day from clouds?
    Your looks persuade it me, they are so clear
    And fresh this morning.

    +Blan.+ The pleasure of seeing you puts life into them,
    Else they'd be dull enough, this ugly headache
    Having tormented me all night. You might
    Have heard me call Francisca up at midnight.

    +Fran.+ That was well thought on, for 'tis possible
    He may have heard some noise.                              [_Aside._

    +Don J.+ How cunning she is!                               [_Aside._
    Faith, now you put me in mind of it (I think)
    'Twixt sleep and waking, I once heard some stirring.

    +Blan.+ The worst of my indisposition is,
    That 'twill, I fear, hinder me again to-day
    From visiting Violante, to thank her
    For Silvia.

    +Don J.+ I charge myself with all your compliments;
    For this whole afternoon, till late at night,
    I needs must pass with her, to make amends
    For yesterday's failings, caus'd, as you know,
    By Don Fernando's being in town.

    +Blan.+ I must not hope to see you then again
    To-day, when once gone out?

    +Don J.+ Hardly; unless to wait on Violante,
    In case she come to see you, as 'tis likely,
    When I shall tell her you are indispos'd:
    And so farewell.                                [_Exit +Don Julio+._

    +Blan.+ All's well, I see, Francisca, as to him:
    I wish my heart were but as much at rest
    In what concerns Don Zancho.

    +Fran.+ It shall be
    Your own fault if it be not quickly so,
    As I'll order the matter.

    +Blan.+ Take heed you make him not grow insolent,
    By discovering to him my facility.

    +Fran.+ I'm too well vers'd to need instructions.

    +Blan.+ I leave all t' you. But how does Silvia
    This morning?

    +Fran.+ I think she has been crying,
    She looks so dull and moped.

    +Blan.+ I'll in and see her.                              [_Exeunt._

           _Scene changes to +Don Zancho's+ house. Enter +Don
                    Zancho+, and +Chichon+ limping._

    +Don Z.+ What, not yet gone, thou lazy, trifling rascal?

    +Chi.+ What juster excuse, sir, for not going,
    Than is a broken leg?

    +Don Z.+ If you find not your own leg quickly, sirrah,
    I shall find you a wooden one.

    +Chi.+ Be as angry as you will, sir, I'll not go
    Till I have made my conditions: the true time
    For servants to stand upon points is, when
    Their masters stand upon thorns.

    +Don Z.+ What are they, owl's face?

    +Chi.+ Assurance, sir, but of free air within,
    With fair retreat upon an even floor;
    And that it shall not be in a slut's power,
    After having kept me in a nasty place,
    To empty me out at window.

    +Don Z.+ Prythee, Chichon,
    Ha' done, and miss not th' opportunity
    By fooling. Unless you take Francisca,
    Just as she comes from mass, this day is lost,
    And I lost with it.

    +Chi.+ Come, I'll hobble to her.
    Expect a sorry account, but yet a true one;
    Truth always comes by the lame messenger.                 [_Exeunt._

    _Scene changes to a fine pleasant apartment. Enter +Don Julio+,
        and knocks, as at the door of his private apartment:
        +Fernando+ opens the door and lets him in._

    +Don F.+ Y' have given me here a very pleasant prison:
    But what news, my Julio? Are things disposed
    For clearing of your doubts? My own concerns
    I cannot think on during your disquiet.

    +Don. J.+ And I come now so strangely mov'd with yours,
    I scarce have sense or memory of my own.
    A heart of adamant could not be hinder'd,
    I think, from liquefaction into tears,
    To 've seen and heard Elvira, as I have done,
    Upon th' occasion of my telling her
    That you were gone.
    A sense so gallant and so tender both
    I never saw in woman.

    +Don. F.+ Can that high heart descend to tenderness?

    +Don J.+ Not whilst (you present) noble pride upheld it;
    But, nature once set free from that constraint,
    O, how pathetic was her very silence!
    And the restraint of tears in her swol'n eyes,
    More eloquent in grief than others' torrents.
    If she be guilty, all her sex are devils.

    +Don. F.+ O, say no more; for were there room but left
    For self-deceit, I might be happy yet.
    Ah! evidence too cruel to deny me that!          [_A noise without._

    +Don. J.+ But what can be the noise I hear without--
    In the next room?          [_+Fernando+ peeps through the key-hole._

    +Don F.+ 'Slife! I see Don Pedro,
    Elvira's father: there's no avoiding him;
    He'd not a' come up so, without being sure
    You are within.

    +Don J.+ Farther put-off would be of little use,
    Since first or last he must be satisfied,
    Being come hither upon such an errand.
    The sooner now we see what 'tis he drives at,
    The sooner we shall take from thence our measures;
    I'll therefore go out to him, and be sure
    To entertain him still so near the door,
    That you may hear what passes.

    +Don F.+ I shall be attentive, and expect the issue
    With much impatience.                           [_Exit +Don Julio+._

    _Scene changes to +Don Julio's+ antechamber. Enter +Don Pedro+
        and his Servant, and +Don Julio+ and a Page._

    +Don P.+ My business, sir, is to Don Julio Rocca;
                                  [_Addressing himself to +Don Julio+._
    If you be he, I shall desire the favour
    Of some few words with you in private.

    +Don J.+ Sir, I am he to serve you. Page, set chairs.

        [_He points to the Page, and makes him set the chairs by
            the door where +Don Fernando+ is, and then the Page and
            +Don Pedro's+ man retire._                [_They sit down._

    +Don P.+ Having not the honour to be known t' you, sir,
    'Tis fit this letter make my introduction:
    'Tis from the Duke of Medina.

        [_He gives +Don Julio+ the letter, which he receives with
            great respect; and going a little aside, reads it._

    "Don Pedro de Mendoça, my kinsman and most particular friend,
    goes to Valencia in pursuit of one who hath highly injured his
    family, whose righting I am so much concerned in, as, could
    it have been done without too much publication of the thing,
    I would have accompanied him myself, but my presence will
    be needless in a place where you have power: I do therefore
    conjure you, and expect from your regard and kindness to me,
    that you employ it thoroughly in his behalf, and what service
    you shall do him, put it upon my account, whom you shall always
    find

    "Your most affectionate cousin to serve you,
                                                 +The Duke of Medina+."

    +Don J.+ [_giving the letter to +Don Pedro+, and he taking it._]
        Sir, it is fit you see how heartily
    The Duke hath recommended your concernments,
    Whose will's a law to me.
                        [_+Don Pedro+ having read it, and restoring it._

    +Don P.+ He told me, indeed, how very sure he was
    Of your friendship and dependence.
    I am proud to find he makes
    So obliging use of it to my advantage.

    +Don J.+ I do avow myself his creature, sir;
    Therefore the sooner you shall let me know
    In what I may be useful t' you, the sooner
    You'll see my readiness to serve you.

    +Don P.+ Your personal reputation, sir, as well
    As your relation to the duke, assur'd me
    Beforehand of what I find; and therefore
    As hard a part as it is for a gentleman
    Of my blood and temper to become
    Relater of his own shame, unreveng'd
    On the author of it, I shall tell you in short:
    I live under an affront of th' highest nature
    To the honour of my family; and the person
    Who did it makes Valencia his retreat.
    'Tis against him, Don Julio,
    That your assistance must support me here:
    I have already got some notice of him,
    And when I shall be ascertain'd, I'll repair
    Again unto you for your friendly aid,
    And for the present trouble you no farther.
                           [_+Don Pedro+ offers to rise, as going away._

    +Don J.+ A little patience, I beseech you, sir.
    I have express'd my readiness, and be sure
    I am a man never to fail, where once
    I have engag'd my word; but, sir, withal
    You must consider with a fair reflection,
    That in this place are all my chief relations
    Of blood and friendship; and though neither shall
    Have power t' exempt me from the serving you
    In any just pretension, yet you know
    That men of honour ever ought to seek,
    How to comply with one duty without
    Violating another.

    +Don P.+ I understand you, sir; and as 'tis that
    Which well becomes a person of your worth
    To have reflected on, so it becomes me
    To satisfy, before I engage you farther.
    Then give me leave to ask you, whether or no
    Don Zancho de Moneçes be of the number
    Of those, towards whom y'are under obligation
    Either of blood or friendship?

                         [_+Don Julio+ showing some little surprise, but
                                                  presently recovering._

    +Don J.+ Don Zancho de Moneçes, say you?

    +Don P.+ Sir, the same--
    He startled at his name.                                   [_Aside._

    +Don J.+ He is a person I have always liv'd
    In friendly correspondence with, without
    Any such tie upon me towards him,
    As ought to hinder my frank serving you.

    +Don P.+ You have reviv'd me; and since I have now nam'd
    My enemy, I can conceal no longer
    The grounds on which he is so. That Don Zancho,
    About a fortnight since, was late at night
    Found in my house, run newly through the body,
    And welt'ring in his blood, ready to expire.
    I by the outcry brought upon the place,
    Surpris'd as you may imagine, and enrag'd,
    Was yet so far master of my passion,
    As to disdain the owing my revenge
    To an unknown hand, perhaps as guilty
    Towards me as was the sufferer. I made
    Him straight be carried to a surgeon, where
    I thought it generous to give him life,
    Then dead, that living I might give him death.
    Recover'd sooner than I thought, he fled,
    And with him, as I have reason to believe,
    My only daughter, who the very night
    Of the accident was missing. O, the curse
    Of men, to have their honours subjected
    To the extravagance of such vile creatures!

    +Don J.+ [_Sighing._] 'Tis our hard fate indeed.

    +Don P.+ I presently employ'd all diligence
    To know what way he took, and having learn'd
    'Twas towards this place, hither I have pursued him;
    Confirm'd in my pursuit by information
    Along the road, that an unknown gallant
    Had, with his servant, guarded all the way
    A conceal'd lady in a coach. And thus, sir,
    You have the story of my injury;
    Whereof I doubt not but your generous heart
    Will wed the just revenge.

    +Don J.+ You may rely on't, sir, without reserves,
    To th' utmost of my power.

    +Don P.+ May the gods reward you
    The life that you renew to these grey hairs!
    I'll take my leave at present, and return t' ye,
    As soon as from the diligences used
    I shall have clearer lights.

    +Don J.+ Here you shall find me waiting your commands.

                          [_Exit +Don Pedro+, +Don Julio+ waiting on him
                                                                   out._

         _Scene changes. Enter +Don Julio+ and +Don Fernando+,
                     as in the private apartment._

    +Don J.+ I hope you overheard us?

    +Don F.+ All distinctly,
    And with surprising joy at his mistake.
    Did ever bloodhound, in a hot pursuit,
    Run on so readily upon the change?

    +Don J.+ I hope it bodes good fortune in the rest.

    +Don F.+ Were e'er two friends engag'd in an adventure
    So intricate as we, and so capricious?

    +Don J.+ Sure, never in this world: methinks it merits
    A special recapitulation.
    You, at the height of all your happiness,
    Supplanted with your mistress by a rival
    You neither knew nor dreamt of, evidence
    Anticipating jealousy.

    +Don F.+ And when that rival, fallen by my sword
    In her own presence, is by miracle
    Revived, and fitter to serve her than I,
    That faithless mistress with the same assurance
    She could have done, had she been true as fair,
    And for my sake expos'd to fatal hazards,
    Flies to my arms for her protection.

    +Don J.+ And whilst that you, refining point of honour,
    In spite of rage expose yourself to serve her,
    She asks and takes, with a vow'd indignation
    To be beholden t' ye, new obligations.

    +Don F.+ I have recourse unto my only friend,
    To help me in protecting my false mistress,
    And he, at the same time, by highest powers [is]
    Impos'd upon to be her persecutor.

    +Don J.+ Whilst the same friend, and by the selfsame pow'rs,
    Is urg'd to act in their revenge against
    The man, on whom you most desire to take it:
    And then, to heighten all beyond invention,
    That very friend is forc'd, even in that instant,
    To a dependence on your only aid,
    In his honour's nearest and most nice concerns.

    +Don F.+ Heaven, sure, delights t' involve us in a kind
    Of labyrinth will pose itself t' unwind.                  [_Exeunt._




ACT IV.


    _Scene changes to the room at +Don Zancho's+. Enter +Don
        Zancho+, and +Chichon+ at another door, halting still with
        a staff._

    +Don Z.+ What, here again already! have you sped?

    +Chi.+ Lame as I am, you see I've made good speed
    In my return, whate'er I've had in my errand.

    +Don Z.+ Leave, fool, your quibbling, and deliver me
    From the disquiet of uncertainty.

    +Chi.+ That's quickly done. Set, sir, your heart at rest
    From the vain hopes of ever seeing Blanca--
    Now you are at ease, I trow?

    +Don Z.+ You'll be at little, unless you leave your jesting
    With such edge-tools. Is banishment from her
    Matter of raillery? Say, sirrah, and say
    Quickly, what hopes?----
    Prythee, if thou lov'st me,                               [_Kindly._
    Hold me no longer in suspense, Chichon.

    +Chi.+ Why, then, for fear--the devil a bit for love--
    I'll tell you, sir, that luckily I met
    The drab Francisca at the capuchin's,
    Lodging behind her lady, I think on purpose;
    For I perceiv'd her eager sparrowhawk's eye,
    With her veil down (ne'er stirs a twinkling-while
    From its sly peeping-hole) had found me straight--
    took my time i' th' nick, but she outnick'd me;
    For trudging on, her face another way,
    With such a voice, as some you have seen have had
    The trick to draw from caverns of their belly,
    And make one think it came from a mile off,
    She made me hear these words: _About twilight
    Fail not to pass by our door, and ask no more
    At this time, varlet._ And thus, sir, you see,
    That neither she nor I have been prolix,
    For this is all. You have leave to make your comment
    On a brief text.

    +Don Z.+ As sweet methinks as short: such words imply
    Little less than a demi-assignation.

    +Chi.+ All puddings have two ends,[14] and most short sayings
    Two handles to their meaning.

    +Don Z.+ I'm sure I'll still lay hold upon the pleasing'st,
    Till it be wrested from me: i' th' meanwhile,
    If any visitants come this afternoon,
    Be sure to tell them I am gone abroad,
    That nothing else embark us at the time.
    You shall not go alone.

    +Chi.+ I thank you for it--
    I cannot go alone.

                     [_Holding up his staff. Exeunt, +Chichon+ halting._

           _Scene changes to +Don Julio's+ private apartment.
                   Enter +Don Fernando+ and +Julio+._

    +Don J.+ All things are rightly laid, for Violante
    Will pass the afternoon with Blanca, and then,
    I waiting on her home in th' evening, Blanca
    Will be secure from me till late at night.
    I shall be where I told you, in full view
    Of those two windows. If the gallant come
    Up the great stairs, he must pass through that room,
    And cannot 'scape your knowledge; if up the back one,
    You needs must see him passing through the entry,
    Close by that door. If this latter way,
    Be sure to set the candle in that window:               [_Pointing._
    If up the other, in that: and in either case,
    As soon as he's within, fail not to bolt,
    On th' inside, th' entry-door, and so he may
    Find no retreat that way, I coming up
    The other.

    +Don F.+ Be assured I shall be punctual,
    As you direct.                                            [_Exeunt._

             _Scene changes to +Don Pedro's+ lodging. Enter
                 +Don Pedro+ and his servant +Fulvio+._

    +Don P.+ Are you sure of what you say?

    +Fulv.+ As sure, sir,
    As my own eyes can make me of what I saw.
    You cannot doubt my knowing him, since 'twas I
    (You may remember) fetch'd the surgeon to him,
    And saw his wounds dress'd more than once or twice.
    The tavern, where I was, looks into his garden,
    And there I left him walking to come tell you.

    +Don P.+ We are well advanc'd then towards my just revenge.
    I found Don Julio as ready to comply
    With all the duke's desires as I could wish;
    And my great fear is over, that Don Zancho
    Might possibly have been some near relation
    Of his own: so that now, Fulvio, if you
    Keep but a careful eye upon his motions,
    And give me notice, he can hardly 'scape us.

    +Fulv.+ Doubt not my diligence.                           [_Exeunt._

    _Scene changes to the garden. Enter +Blanca+ and +Francisca+ as
        in a fine garden with orange-trees and fountains._

    +Blan.+ You must have your will; but know, Francisca,
    If you expose me to his vanity,
    I never shall forgive you.

    +Fran.+ I tell you, madam, I will bring him t' ye
    So mortified, he shall an object be
    For pity, not for anger: you'll need employ
    Kindness to erect the poor dejected knight.

    +Blan.+ It fell out luckily, that Violante
    Came hither; for, my brother now engag'd
    With her, we're safe till ten o'clock at least.

    +Fran.+ But how shall we dispose of Silvia?
    It will be hard to 'scape her observation,
    For she has wit, and of the dangerous kind--
    A melancholy wit. O the unlucky star,
    That leads a lady, engaged in love-intrigues,
    To take a new attendant near her person!

    +Blan.+ 'Twas an unluckiness; but Violante
    Could not be denied, I having told her
    So often that I wanted one; besides,
    Who could have thought sh' had one ready at hand?
    But we must make the best on't for this night:
    'Twill not be hard to busy her, till 't be late,
    In the perfuming-room. This near occasion
    Well o'er, I think it will not be amiss,
    Against another, to say somewhat to her,
    That may, in case she have perceiv'd anything,
    Persuade her she is not distrusted.

    +Fran.+ Madam, take heed of that: whene'er you find
    It necessary to say anything,
    Be sure to say that, that she may think all.
    Take one rule more from my experience:
    Nothing so fatal as a confidence
    By halves in amorous transactions.
    But here she comes--

                           _Enter +ELVIRA+._

    +Blan.+ Come, Silvia, and take your part of this sweet place;
    This is a day indeed to taste its freshness.

    +Elv.+ Madam, I needs must say, within a town
    I never saw so fine a one.

    +Blan.+ In truth
    I think not many sweeter. Those fountains,
    Playing among the orange-trees and myrtles,
    Have a fine mix'd effect on all the senses,
    But think not, Silvia, to enjoy the pleasure
    Without contributing to make it more.

    +Elv.+ How can I be so happy?

    +Blan.+ Francisca tells me she has overheard you
    Warbling alone such notes unto yourself,
    As have not only a good voice betray'd,
    But skill to manage it.

    +Elv.+ It is Francisca,
    That has betray'd a very ill one, madam.

    +Blan.+ Under yon palm-tree's shade, there is a seat
    That yields to none in the advantages
    It lends to music: let's go sit down there.
    For this first time, one song shall satisfy.

    +Elv.+ When you have heard that one, I shall not fear
    Your asking me another.

                         [_They go and sit down under the palm-tree, and
                                                        +Elvira+ sings._

                              +The Song.+

          _See, O, see!
          How every tree,
          Every bower,
          Every flower,
        A new life gives to others' joys;
          Whilst that I,
          Grief-stricken, lie,
          Nor can meet
          With any sweet,
        But what faster mine destroys.
        What are all the senses' pleasures,
        When the mind has lost all measures?_

          _Hear, O, hear!
          How sweet and clear
          The nightingale
          And waters'-fall
        In concert join for others' ears;
          Whilst to me
          For harmony
          Every air
          Echoes despair,
        And every drop provokes a tear.
        What are all the senses' pleasures,
        When the mind has lost all measures?_

    +Blan.+ I thank you, Silvia; but I'll not allow
    One of your youth to nourish melancholy
    By tunes and words so flattering to that passion.

    +Elv.+ The happiness of serving you may fit me
    In time for gayer things.

    +Blan.+ I will not ask another for the present;
    Not for your reason, but because I'll be
    More moderate in my pleasures. Now, Silvia,
    I have a task to give you.

    +Elv.+ Whate'er it be, 'twill be a pleasing one,
    Of your imposing.

    +Blan.+ 'Tis to gather store of
    Fresh orange-flowers, and then carefully
    To shift the oils in the perfuming-room,
    As in the several ranges you shall see
    The old begin to wither. To do it well
    Will take you up some hours; but 'tis a work
    I oft perform myself; and that you may
    Be sure not to mistake, I'll go thither
    With you, and show you the manner of it.

    +Elv.+ I hope I shall not fail, so well instructed.       [_Exeunt._

          _Scene changes to the room at +Don Zancho's+. Enter
                      +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+._

    +Chi.+ Y'are so impatient, sir, you will mar all:
    I tell you that 'tis yet too light by half,
    The sun is hardly set: pray fetch a turn
    Or two more in the garden, ere you go.

    +Don Z.+ You must be governor, I see, to-night,
    You are so proud o' th' service you have done.
    Come away.                                                [_Exeunt._

    _Scene changes to the garden again. +Elvira+ appears in the
        garden, as gathering flowers from the orange-trees, and
        then (with her apron full) going away, says_--

    +Elv.+ The task enjoin'd me is a sweet one, truly,
    But I smell somewhat more in the imposal.
    So far I am happy yet in my misfortune,
    That I am lighted into a lady's service
    Of an obliging humour; but (most of all)
    One that, as kind as she is, I see 's as glad
    To leave me alone, as I to be it. Somewhat
    There is mysterious in her looks and conduct:
    Such motions just, such inequalities,
    Such flatteries to those I trusted least,
    Such pretty employments found to busy those
    I would be rid of, and such arts are these
    To single out her confidant (unnoted),
    I well remember would Elvira use,
    Whilst the unquiet joys of love possess'd her,
    How innocent soever. And, besides,
    Francisca's sitting up so late last night,
    And going up and down so warily,
    Whilst others slept, is evidence enough
    What god reigns here, as well as at the court.
    But I forget myself. Let descants cease,
    Who serves, though she observes, must hold her peace.
                                                      [_Exit +Elvira+._

    _Scene changes to the prospect of Valencia. Enter +Don Zancho+,
             with his cloak over his face, and +Chichon+._

    +Don Z.+ Advance, Chichon, I'll follow at a distance.
    'Tis the right time--just light enough, you see,
    For warn'd expecters to know one another.
    I hope she will not fail you.

    +Chi.+ She fail us!
    No sentinel _perdu_ is half so alert
    As she in these occasions.

    _Enter +Francisca+ veiled, peeping as out of the portal of +Don
                           Julio's+ house._

    +Fran.+ There comes the varlet; and I'm much deceived,
    Or that's his master lagging at a distance--
    I'll give them a go-by, cover'd with my veil.
                                       [_She passes by them heedlessly._

    +Chi.+ By that light, as little as 'tis, 'tis she:
    I'll to her.

    +Don Z.+ And I'll stand close the while--
    When you have broken the ice, I'll take my time.

          [+Chichon+, _going to +Francisca+, lays hold of her veil, and
                                                      she turns about._

    +Chi.+ What signifies a veil to hide my doxy,
    When every motion of a leg or wing
    Darts round perfuming and informing airs?
    Thou art the very cauliflower of women.

    +Fran.+ And thou the very cabbage-stalk of men,
    That never stank to me, as does a blab.

    +Chi.+ Curse on thee, hold thy tongue! Dost thou not see,
    Who stands against that wall?

    +Fran.+ Away, sauce-box!

        [_She, thrusting him off, goes on. +Don Zancho+ sets
            himself just in her way, and makes as if he would lie
            down in it._

    +Don Z.+ Pass, trample on me, do, trample--but hear me!

    +Fran.+ These shoes have been my lady's, and she'd ne'er
    Forgive it, should they do you so much honour.  [_Showing her foot._
    'Tis thou hast caus'd all this.      [_Aside, turning to +Chichon+._

    +Chi.+ Fire on thy tongue!

    +Don Z.+ Ah, my Francisca, if there be no hopes
    Of pardon, nor of pity, yet at least
    Let Blanca, for her own sake, be so just
    As not to give me cruel death unheard:
    Do you your part at least, and do but give her
    This letter from me--
                       [_He offers her a letter, and she starting back_:

    +Fran.+ _Guarda!_ that's a thing
    She has forbidden with such menaces,
    I dare as well become another Porcia,[15]
    And eat red burning coals. I had much rather
    Consent that, now she's all alone at home,
    You should transportedly rush in upon her,
    As following me: so possibly you might
    Attain your end without exposing me
    Who, in that case, know how to act my part
    So smartly against you, as shall keep her clear
    From all suspicion. But I am to blame
    Thus to forget my duty: I'll stay no longer.

        [_He stops her, and, pulling out a purse of money, puts it
            into her hand. +Francisca+ offers to restore the purse,
            but yet holding it fast._

    +Don. Z.+ Spoke like an angel.

    +Fran.+ This is, you know, superfluous with me,
    And shocks my humour; but anything from you!
    Be sure you follow boisterously.

        [_She trudges away, and goes in hastily, as at +Julio's+
            house, and +Don Zancho+ follows her in. +Chichon+ stops
            at the door._

    +Chi.+ I'll bring you no ill-luck a second time.
    If for sport's sake you have projected me
    Another summersault from the balcony,
    Make your account that 'tis already done,
    Here you will find me halting in the street.      [_Exit +Chichon+._

            _Scene changes to +Donna Blanca's+ antechamber.
                            Enter +Blanca+._

    +Blan.+ How true it is that nature cheats mankind,
    And makes us think ourselves the only tasters
    Of pure delight and bliss; when as indeed,
    Oppressing us with pains and griefs, she makes
    Deliv'rance from them pass for solid pleasure!
    Witness in me those images of joy,
    Wherewith she flatters now my expectation:
    What will its highest satisfaction be
    At most, but ease from what tormented me?

                      _Enter +FRANCISCA+ hastily._

    +Fran.+ It now imports you have affected rage
    As ready at hand as usually you have
    Anger in earnest. But, above all, be sure
    You discharge it smartly upon me; for here
    He presses at my heels.

    _Enter +Don Zancho+, and goes to cast himself at +Donna
        Blanca's+ feet, and she starting back from him._

    +Blan.+ What insolence is this? Think not, Francisca,
    That I am to be fool'd! This is your work:
    You shall not stay an hour within these walls--
    By all that's good, you shall not!

    +Fran.+ For heaven's sake, madam, be not so unjust       [_Whining._
    To an old servant, always full of duty.
    But can I govern madmen? Would y' have had me
    Make all the street take notice? There he attack'd me
    With such transportment, the whole town had rung on't,
    Had I not run away. Could I imagine
    A man so wild as to pursue me hither
    Into your presence?

    +Blan.+ It is well, Don Zancho;          [_Severely and scornfully._
    Blanca may be thus used; but he that does it
    Shall find----
             [_She turns away as going out, he holds her by the sleeve._

    +Don Z.+ Pardon this rudeness, madam, but a man
    Made desperate hath nothing more to manage.
    Hither I come to give you satisfaction,
    And if my reasons can't, my heart-blood shall;
    But you must hear me, or here see me dead.

    +Blan.+ Since to be rid of him, Francisca, I see
                                              [_Turning to +Francisca+._

    I must the penance undergo of hearing him,
    Keep careful watch to prevent accidents.

    +Fran.+ Madam, your closet will be much more proper
    For such a conference; for in case your brother
    Should come, Don Zancho has a safe retreat
    From thence down the back-stairs. I shall be sure
    To give you timely notice.

    +Don Z.+ And I know perfectly the passage thorough
    Th' entry; I've come up more than once that way
    During my happy days.

    +Blan.+ I think y' have reason; since I must have patience,
    Light us in thither.

                        [_+Francisca+ takes the lights, and going before
                                                    them, exeunt omnes._

    _Scene changes to the prospect of Valencia. Enter +Don Julio+,
                  as in the portal of his own house._

    +Don J.+ The light was in the farther window; therefore
    He went up this way: now, if Fernando
    Have not forgot to bolt the entry-door,
    He cannot 'scape us, sure, whoe'er he be.
    'Tis the only comfort,
    In such misfortunes, when a man hath means
    To right his honour, without other help
    Than such a friend as is another self,
    And that the shame's even from domestics hid,
    Until it be reveng'd.

                       [_Exit +Don Julio+, as going into his own house._

          _Enter +Chichon+, as coming out of the porch before
                         +Don Julio's+ house._

    +Chi.+ 'Slight! 'tis Don Julio that I saw go in!
    My master's like to pass his time but ill;
    I'll steal in after, and observe: although
    My courage cannot stead him, my wit may,
    As things may possibly fall out.

                         [_Exit +Chichon+, as stealing after +Don Julio+
                                                        into his house._

    _Scene changes to +Donna Blanca's+ closet. Enter +Don Zancho+
        and +Donna Blanca+, as in her closet._

    +Blan.+ As fine a story as may be! No, Don Zancho,
    I, Blanca Rocca, am not carta blanca,[16]
    Fit to receive whate'er impression
    Your art----

                      _Enter +Francisca+ hastily._

    +Fran.+ Your brother's in the hall already;
    Quick, quick, and let him find you in your chamber
    Before your glass, I have set it ready there,
    Whilst he retires the way it was resolv'd.

                                            [_Pointing to +Don Zancho+._

              [_+Francisca+ takes the candle, and exeunt she and +Donna
                                   Blanca+; +Don Zancho+, another way._

    _Scene changes to +Donna Blanca's+ bed-chamber. Re-enter +Donna
        Blanca+ and +Francisca+, as in +Blanca's+ chamber, she
        newly seated at her toilet, and beginning to unpin._

                          _Enter +Don Julio+._

    +Don J.+ Blanca, I thought you had been abed ere this.
    Have you had company to entertain you,
    And keep you up beyond your usual hour?

    +Blan.+ What company can I have, you abroad,
    At this time of the night?

    +Don J.+ I fain would find out some such as might please you.
                                                         [_Ironically._
    Francisca, take a candle and light me in
    To Blanca's closet.

    +Blan.+ Good brother, what's the matter?
    You were not wont to be so curious,
    As thus to pry into my privacies.

    +Don J.+ That you shall know anon. Do as I bid you,
    Francisca.

        [_+Francisca+ takes one of the candles, and going before
            him stumbles, and falling puts out the light. +Don
            Julio+, taking it up, lights it again at the other on
            the table, and going with it himself towards +Donna
            Blanca's+ closet._

    These tropes are lost on me.                                [_Exit._

    +Fran.+ Let him go, now we have gain'd time
    enough.

    +Blan.+ Thanks to thy timely fall!

    +Fran.+ Persons employ'd
    In such trusts must have their wits about them.
    'Tis clear that he suspects, but know--he cannot.
    When once you see all safe, 'twill then import you
    To play the tyrant over him, with reproaches
    For this his jealousy.

    +Blan.+ Let me alone for that.
    But let us follow him in, that we may mark
    His whole demeanour.                                      [_Exeunt._

                   _Enter +Don Zancho+ in disorder._

    +Don Z.+ Curse on't, the entry-door's bolted within,
    What shall I do? [_He pauses._] I must seek a way,
    Through the perfuming-room into the garden.                 [_Exit._

           _Enter +Don Julio+, with a candle in his hand, and
                    passing hastily over the stage._

    +Don J.+ He must be gone this way, there is no other;
    The entry-door was bolted.

            _Enter +Donna Blanca+ and +Francisca+, who pass
           over the stage, as if stealing after +Don Julio+._

    +Fran.+ All's safe: he takes that way. Let him, a God's name,
    Follow his nose to the perfuming-room.

    +Blan.+ He'll fright poor Silvia out of her wits;
    But I'll come to her succour with a peal
    Will ring him.             [_Exeunt +Donna Blanca+ and +Francisca+._

    _Scene changes to the laboratory. Here is to open a curious
        scene of a laboratory in perspective, with a fountain in
        it, some stills, many shelves, with pots of porcelain and
        glasses, with pictures above them: the room paved with
        black and white marble, with a prospect through pillars
        at the end, discovering the full moon, and by its light a
        perspective of orange-trees, and towards that farther end
        +Elvira+ appears at a table, shifting flowers, her back
        turned._

    _Enter +Don Zancho+ hastily: +Elvira+ turning about, they both
        startle, and stand awhile as it were amazed._

    +Don Z.+ O heavens! what is't I see? 'Tis mere illusion,
    Or 'tis the devil in that angel's form,
    Come here to finish by another hand
    The fatal work that she began upon me
    By Don Fernando's.

    +Elv.+ Good gods! Don Zancho here! it cannot be!
    Or 'tis his ghost, come to revenge his death
    On its occasioner; for, were he alive,
    He could not but have more humanity
    Than (having been my ruin at Madrid,
    And robb'd me of my home and honour there)
    To envy me an obscure shelter here.

        [_Whilst they amazed step back from one another, enter +Don
            Julio+, who, seeing +Don Zancho+ with his back towards
            him, drawing his sword, says_--

    +Don J.+ Think not (whoe'er thou art), by flying thus
    From room to room, to 'scape my just revenge.
    Shouldst thou retire to th' centre of the earth,
    This sword should find thee there, and pierce thy heart.

        [_Throwing down the candle, he makes towards +Don Zancho+;
            but upon his turning about towards him, he makes a
            little stop, and says_--

    Nay then, if it be you, I'm happy yet
    In my misfortune, since the gods thus give me
    The means at once, and by the self-same stroke,
    To right my honour, and revenge my friend;
    And, by that action, fully to comply
    With what the Duke requires in the behalf
    Of wrong'd Don Pedro.

        [_+Don Julio+ makes at +Don Zancho+: he draws, and they
            begin to fight; +Elvira+ crying out_, Help! help! _runs
            to part them, and they stop upon her interposing._

            _Enter +Don Fernando+ hastily over the stage, as
                  coming from the private apartment._

    +Don F.+ I hear an outcry and [a] clattering of swords.
    My friend (engag'd) must find me by his side.

                                 [_Exit, and re-enters at another door._

        [_As +Fernando+ comes to the door of the perfuming-room,
            seeing them at a stand, he stops and stands close._

    +Don F.+ They are parleying: let's hear.                   [_Aside._

                             [_+Blanca+ and +Francisca+ passing over the
                                                                 stage._

    +Blan.+ 'Twas Silvia's voice: my heart misgives me somewhat.

    +Fran.+ 'Tis some new accident or some mistake;
    Don Zancho cannot but be safe long since.

    +Blan.+ However let us in, and see.

        [_Exeunt +Blanca+ and +Francisca+, and re-enter as at
            another door of the perfuming-room, and make a stand,
            as surprised with what they see._

    +Blan.+ We are all undone, I fear.

    +Fran.+ A little patience.     [_+Chichon+ stealing over the stage._

    +Chi.+ The noise is towards the perfuming-room,
    I know the back-way to it through the garden.

                      [_Exit +Chichon+, and re-enters at the farther end
                                   of the laboratory, and stands close._

    +Don Z.+ Wit must repair the disadvantages
    I'm under here, and save my Blanca's honour.
    That once secur'd, there will be time enough
    To save Elvira's.                                          [_Aside._

                     [_Whilst this passes, +Elvira+ holds +Julio+ by the
                                      arm, he striving to get from her._

    Since, by this lady's interposing thus,
    You have thought fit our swords should pause awhile,
    It may (I think) consist enough with honour
    So far to seek your satisfaction, sir,
    As to remove mistakes. Know then, Don Julio,
    That, though I have presum'd upon your house,
    I have not wrong'd your honour: it is she,
    With whom you find me, that hath brought me hither;
    Her I have long ador'd, and, having got
    Intelligence that she was here conceal'd,
    My passion (I confess) transported me
    Beyond that circumspection and regard,
    Which men of quality use, and ought t' observe
    Towards one another's dwellings.

    +Don J.+ Good gods, what an adventure's here!
    Yet all
    Is well, so Blanca's honour be but safe.                   [_Aside._
    Sir, you surprise me much; can this be true?
                                                     [_To +Don Zancho+._

    +Blan.+ Francisca, heard you that? had ever man
    So ready a wit in such an exigent?                         [_Aside._

    +Don J.+ [to +Elvira+.] What say you, madam?

    +Fran.+ We're surer lost than ever, unless she
    Have wit and heart to take the thing upon her.             [_Aside._
    Madam, make signs to her, and earnestly.             [_To +Blanca+._
                            [_+Blanca+ makes earnest signs to +Elvira+._

    +Fran.+ [_aside to +Blanca+._] She looks this way,
        as if she comprehended
    Your meaning.

    +Elv.+ I understand her, and I know as well
    What mischief I may bring upon myself;
    But let Elvira still do generously,
    And leave the rest to fate. [_Aside._] Sir, since you press me,
                                                     [_To +Don Julio+._
    My humour ne'er could disavow a truth:
    Don Zancho's passion and transportments for me,
    Beyond all rules of temper and discretion,
    Have been the cause of all my sad misfortunes,
    And still I see must be the cause of more.

    +Don J.+ Unhappy creature! how thou hast deceiv'd
    My prone persuasion of thy innocence!

    +Don Z.+ If that suffice not, sir, you have this ready
    To give you satisfaction.                  [_Holding out his sword._

    +Don F.+ Hell and furies!--but I will yet contain
    Myself, and see how far my friend will drive it.           [_Aside._

    +Don J.+ Stay, Don Zancho,
    And answer me one question. Is this night
    The first of your presuming thus to enter
    My house by stealth?

    +Don Z.+ The query is malicious;
    But I must thorough, as I have begun.                      [_Aside._

    +Blan.+ [_Aside to +Francisca+._] There was a question
        makes me tremble still.

    +Don Z.+ No, sir, it is not: I'll keep nothing from you.
    Last night upon the same occasion----

    +Don J.+ Hold! it suffices.

    +Fran.+ [_Aside hastily to +Blanca+._] All's safe, you see:
        for God's sake, let's away
    Ere Julio perceive us.
    Your presence here can serve for nothing, madam,
    But to beget new chances and suspicions.

                       [_Exeunt +Blanca+ and +Francisca+. +Don Fernando+
                                         rushes out, drawing his sword._

    +Don F.+ Yes, it suffices, Julio, to make
    This hand strike surer than it did before.

    +Elvira.+ Nothing was wanting to my misery,
    But his being here to overhear; but yet
    I must not suffer the same hand to kill him
    A second time, upon a greater error
    Than was the first.

        [_Aside. +Don Fernando+ making at +Don Zancho+; +Elvira+
            steps between, and +Julia+ also offers to stay him._

    +Don F.+ [_Striving to come at +Don Zancho+._]
    Strive to protect your gallant from me, do!
    Strive, but in vain: the gods themselves cannot!
    What, you, Don Julio, too?

        [+Chichon+, _running out from the place where he lurked,
            strikes out both the lights with his hat._

    +Chi.+ I have lov'd to see fighting; but at present
    I love to hinder seeing how to fight.
    Knights, brandish your blades, 'twill make fine work
    Among the gallipots!                                       [_Aloud._
    You have me by your side, sir, let them come;
    They are but two to two.                        [_As to his master._
    Sir, follow me, I'll bring you to the door.
                                [_Aside to his master, and pulling him._

    +Don Z.+ There's no dishonour in a wise retreat
    From disadvantages, to meet again
    One's enemy upon a fairer score.
                [_+Chichon+ pushing his master before him out of door._

    +Chi.+ [_Aside to his master._] There 'tis; advance, sir,
        I'll make good the rear.
                                     [_Exit +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+._

    +Don J.+ Ho! who's without? bring lights.
        [_He stamps._] They annot hear us,
    The room is so remote from all the rest.--
    What a confusion's this! Recall, Fernando,
    Your usual temper, and let's leave this place,
    And that unhappy maid unto its darkness,
    To hide her blushes, since her shame it cannot.

                            [_Exit +Don Julio+ groping, and drawing +Don
                                                    Fernando+ with him._

    +Elv.+ [_Alone._] Darkness and horror welcome, since the gods
    Live in the dark themselves; for had they light
    Of what's done here below, they would afford
    Some ray to shine on injur'd innocence,
    And not, instead thereof, thus multiply
    Obscuring clouds upon it, such as the sun,
    Should he with all his beams illuminate
    Men's understandings, scarce could dissipate.
    I now begin to pardon thee, Fernando,
    Since what thou hast heard in this enchanted place
    Carries conviction in 't against my firmness,
    Above the pow'r of nature to suspend
    My condemnation: unless wrong'd virtue might
    Expect in thee a justice so refin'd,
    As ne'er was found in man to womankind.
    'Tis now, I must confess, the lost Elvira
    Fit only for a cloister, where, secure
    In her own spotless mind, she may defy
    All censures, and without impiety
    Reproach her fate even to the deity.       [_Exit, groping her way._

FOOTNOTES:

[14] [The proverb is, Everything hath an end, and a pudding hath two.]

[15] [The wife of Brutus.]

[16] [_i.e._, A fool. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 38.]




ACT V.


         _Enter +Don Julio+ talking to himself, and at another
           door +Fernando+ who, perceiving it, stands close._

    +Don J.+ Bless'd be the gods that yet my honour's safe
    Amidst such strange perplexities, from which
    Fortune and wit (I think) together join'd,
    With all their strength, could hardly an issue find.
    To temper, comfort, or to serve my friend
    What argument? what means? how to assist
    Don Pedro in his aims, and to comply
    With what I owe the duke, I see as little;
    And less conceive, how to behave myself,
    As ought a gentleman towards a lady,
    With whose protection he hath charg'd himself,
    And brought her to his house on that assurance;
    Whom to expose cannot consist with honour,
    However she may have expos'd her own;
    And (least of all) how to repair to Blanca
    The injury I have done her, whose high spirit,
    I fear, will be implacable. O heavens!
    What a condition's mine?

              [_He stands pausing, and startles, seeing +Don Fernando+._

                        _Enter +Don Fernando+._

    +Don F.+ Pardon, dear cousin, if, to avoid one rudeness,
    I have another unawares committed.
    Whilst fearing t' interrupt, I have o'erheard;
    Yet nothing, cousin, but the self-same things
    My thoughts have been revolving all this night,
    Concern'd for you, much more than for myself;
    For I, upon reflection, find I am
    Much easier than I was; by certainty
    Freed from the sorest weight, perplexity.
    In the first place you must forgive your friend
    The high distemper of last night's transportments:
    I hope you'll find me well recovered from them,
    And that my morning resolutions are
    Such as will make amends.

    +Don J.+ Make no excuses, dear friend: such provocations
    Surprising are above philosophy;
    And 'tis no small experiment of yours,
    If after them you can have brought yourself
    So soon to fix a judgment what to do.

    +Don F.+ I have fix'd on that, which I am sure will serve
    All interests but my own, as heretofore
    I understood my happiness; but now
    I shall no longer place it in anything
    Dependent on the wild caprice[17] of others.
    No, Julio,
    I will be happy even in spite of fate,
    By carrying generosity up to th' height.
    Elvira shall her dear bliss owe to me,
    Not only by desisting, but by making
    Her lov'd Don Zancho marry her: his refusal
    Alone can make me kill him o'er again.

    +Don J.+ Since that unhappy maid, with all her beauty
    And that high quality, hath made herself
    Unworthy of your marriage, certainly
    None but Fernando ever could have pitch'd
    Upon so noble a thought: but think withal,
    What difficulties are likely to obstruct it!

    +Don F.+ Say what occurs to you.

    +Don J.+ Don Zancho is a man of wit and courage;
    And though his passion out of doubt be great,
    Since it hath made him do so wild an action,
    As that of coming twice into my house
    After so strange a manner; yet, Fernando,
    You cannot but imagine such a one
    Likely to have quite different reflections
    Upon Elvira's conduct for a wife,
    From what he has upon it for a mistress:
    They are two notions very differing.
    Besides, should the proposal but appear
    In the least kind to spring from your desire,
    Whose former commerce with her's not unknown,
    It were the only way to drive him off
    Past all recal. I think few have accepted
    Wives recommended to them by their rival.

    +Don F.+ In that y' have reason, I confess; but, Julio,
    Think of the way; for marry her he must,
    Or die, and by no other hand but mine.

    +Don J.+ [_Pausing._] I am thinking of it, and, I hope, to purpose.[18]
    What interposer can be found so fit
    As Blanca in this business, since Don Zancho
    Has long been her particular acquaintance?
    And what can be more natural, than for her
    To take to heart Elvira's chief concernment,
    Whom he finds here retir'd in her misfortune,
    As to her surest friends?

    +Don F.+ Y' have lighted, cousin, on the only way;
    And lose no time, I beg you.

    +Don J.+ The least that may be; but you must consider
    In what a predicament I am likely
    To be with Blanca at present.

    +Don F.+ I understand you (since the jealousy
    You expressed of her); but 'tis to be hoped
    The peace will not be long a-making.

    +Don J.+ You little know her spirit, once inflam'd.
    But as I'll lose no time, so I'll omit
    No art to bring her to a temper fit
    To hear and to advance the proposition.

    +Don F.+ Heaven give you good success!

    +Don J.+ [_Turning back to +Fernando+._]
        I had forgot to tell you that I think
    It will be necessary that, as soon
    As I have weather'd Blanca's storm, I make
    A visit to Don Pedro, to prevent
    His coming hither to disorder us,
    Before we have set [all] things right.

    +Don F.+ 'Twas not ill thought on: and till you return
    I shall keep close in your apartment;
    For Blanca has not seen me, and Elvira
    Has too great cares upon her to be curious.               [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Blanca+ and +Francisca+; +Blanca+ with a gay
                      air, as in her antechamber._

    +Blan.+ Say, my Francisca, can romances equal
    Our last night's adventure? was there ever
    Such a come-off! Our sex has us'd to boast
    Presence of mind in exigents of love;
    But I believe none of us ever match'd
    Don Zancho's readiness in an occasion
    So sudden and so critical.

    +Fran.+ Ever give me the man of ready parts.

    +Blan.+ But prythee, whilst we give Don Zancho 's dues,
    Let us be just, too, to poor Silvia's merit;
    Was ever anything so generous
    Or so obliging to a mistress!

    +Fran.+ So it appears, madam, I must confess;
    But the excess of it makes it suspicious.

    +Blan.+ Fie, leave this humour of detracting still,
    And call her to me, that I may embrace,
    And thank her; that done, consider how
    To bring her off, who's brought us off so well. [_Offers to go out._

                          _Enter +Don Julio+._

    +Fran.+ Stay, I beseech you, and compose yourself
    To act a part quite of another nature;
    Here comes Don Julio, towards whom I hope
    You'll tune yourself to a far differing key
    From that of thanks and kindness.

    +Blan.+ Let me alone for that: I'll play the dragon.

        [_As +Don Julio+ advances, +Blanca+ turns from him with a
            furious countenance, and flies out of the room, +Don
            Julio+ following her._

    +Don J.+ Dear sister, stay, and hear me.

    +Blan.+ Detested brother, leave me.
                    [_She makes as if she were going, and he holds her._

    +Don J.+ Hear me but, Blanca, and then vent your passion
    Against a brother that condemns himself
    As much as you can do; but hear me speak.

    +Blan.+ Your actions, Julio, have spoke loud enough
    To echo through the world your shame and mine.
    Has all the tenor of my life been such,
    With such exactness of unblemish'd conduct,
    That malice might have stain'd the noonday sun
    More easily than tarnish'd Blanca's honour,
    And must that honour now be prostitute
    By the caprice of an unworthy brother?
    Should any other have invaded it,
    Had not you righted her, she has a heart
    Would have found ways to right herself; but you
    Th' aggressor, what remedy but rage?
                                        [_She flings from him and exit._

    +Fran.+ She acts it rarely.                                [_Aside._

    +Don. J.+ Was ever man so unfortunate as I?       [_To +Francisca+._
    I must confess she has reason, and the sense
    She thus expresses of my fault becomes her;
    But it must be your work, my dear Francisca,
    To pacify. When once you shall but know
    All that has pass'd these nights, I am certain
    You'll say no human confidence could e'er
    Be proof against such circumstances.

    +Fran.+ Alas! my offices can signify
    But little. But I'm sure the occasion
    Gives me a sad heart. O my dear lady!      [_As if she were crying._

    +Don J.+ I love good-nature; but I prythee, leave,
    And come in with me, that I may tell thee all.            [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Don Pedro+ and +Fulvio+, as in his lodging._

    +Don P.+ A' God's name, Fulvio, what has been thy meaning,
    To make me sit up almost all last night
    Expecting thee, when such impatience held me?
    Thou wert not wont to be so negligent
    In things of so great weight.

    +Fulv.+ Nor have I been it now: 'tis overcare
    Of your commands hath held me so long from you.
    You know the orders that you gave me, sir,
    To watch Don Zancho's motions? accordingly
    I sat all day in my observing-place,
    Till about twilight I saw him and 's man
    Steal as it were abroad: I as warily
    Dogg'd them from street to street, till, sir, at length
    He made a stand up close against a wall,
    Whilst that his servant entertain'd a woman
    Close-veil'd, who was come out, I think, on purpose,
    From an adjacent house; soon after, he
    Accosted her himself. Their conference
    Lasted but little; she made haste away
    To th' house from whence she came, and he as much
    To follow her in.

    +Don P.+ Where was't? and why cam'st thou not presently,
    To give me notice, as you were directed?

    +Fulv.+ At that you will not wonder, when you know
    Whose house he enter'd; but at this you'll wonder--
    It was Don Julio's.

    +Don P.+ [_Starting._] Ha! Don Julio's, say'st thou?--  [_He pauses._
    But, now I think on't, 'tis no marvel, Fulvio,
    Since newly come to town; for I remember
    Don Julio told me, that Don Zancho and he
    Had always liv'd in friendly correspondence.

    +Fulv.+ Visits, sir, only of fair civility,
    After long absence, are not usually
    Begun by twilight in such cautious manner;
    Nor usher'd in by female veil'd conductors.
    But pray, sir, hear the rest.

    +Don P.+ What can this be? [_Aside._] Say on then quickly.
                                                        [_To +Fulvio+._

    +Fulv.+ I presently concluded with myself
    That, since Don Julio was the friend on whose
    Assistance you relied against Don Zancho,
    You ne'er would think, sir, of attacking him,
    As he came out from thence: I judg'd it, therefore,
    My wisest course to stay, and mark the issue.
    And stay I did, till it was after midnight;
    About which time, walking from side to side,
    That I might see both issues of the house,
    It being as light almost as day, I saw
    The gallant and his man leap from the wall
    Of Julio's garden, and from thence in haste
    Make home.

    +Don P.+ 'Sdeath, man, thou dream'st! Don Zancho from Don Julio's
    In that manner? Awake, fool, and speak sense.

    +Fulv.+ I say but what I saw, as I see you.

    +Don P.+ O, the devil! what, the same villain
    Found the affronter of my friend too here
    In the same kind! Give me my cloak and sword,
    I must know the bottom of this.                           [_Exeunt._

        _Enter +Blanca+ and +Francisca+, as in her antechamber._

    +Blan.+ I come from seeing and caressing Silvia;
    But with most strange surprise at her comportment
    Towards me.

    +Fran.+ How, madam!

    +Blan.+ My words and actions both expressing to her,
    Not only highest gratitude and kindness,
    But a solicitude in the concerns
    Of her honour, equal to what she had shown
    In mine, they were receiv'd with such a coldness,
    With such an air of melancholy pride,
    With half replies, and those not half to th' purpose,
    As make me with amazement to conclude,
    That either she has lost her understanding,
    Or that there's somewhat in't we understand not.

    +Fran.+ She is a maid of an odd composition;
    And besides that, I needs must tell you, madam,
    That having had my observation freer
    Than you, perhaps, during last night's adventure,
    I remark'd somewhat, both in her demeanour
    And in Don Zancho's, makes me confident
    They met not there strangers to one another,
    As you imagine. But there's time enough
    To think and talk of that: what presses now,
    Is your right ordering of Don Julio:
    You have begun as well as can be wish'd.

    +Blan.+ Say, did I not do my part?                       [_Jollily._

    +Fran.+ Beyond imagination;
    But take heed now of overdoing it,
    'Tis time to tack about to reconcilement,
    And thought of drawing those advantages
    From the embroilment, as may for the future
    Secure you from like accidents.

    +Blan.+ You say well; but how?

    +Fran.+ The first step must atonement be between you,
    Of which he hath so earnestly conjur'd me
    To be an instrument that, you consenting
    To give him a hearing through my mediation,
    I am made for ever, and settled in the power
    Of serving you by better cosening him:
    Besides, he tells me, he hath that to say
    And to propose unto you, as shall not only
    Excuse him with you, but prevent all danger
    Of prejudicial rumours, which might rise
    From last night's accident.

    +Blan.+ Agreed; let's in,
    And play the second part.                                 [_Exeunt._

            _Enter +Don Zancho+ and +Chichon+, as in his own
                                house._

    +Don Z.+ Were we not born with cauls upon our heads?[19]  [_Jollily._
    Think'st thou, Chichon, to come off twice a-row
    Thus rarely from such dangerous adventures?

    +Chi.+ Rather, I think, with combs, so oft to venture.

    +Don Z.+ Thou coxcomb, say, had I not my wits about me?

    +Chi.+ 'Twere too uncomplaisant to deny that.
    You know I love not to talk seriously,
    But tell me now in earnest, are you satisfied
    To have come off so? is there no qualm remaining
    Upon your gentle heart for leaving i' th' suds
    A poor distressed virgin? Who she is,
    I neither know nor care; but I am sure,
    Had generous Chichon, to save his life,
    Play'd a sweet innocent lady such a trick,
    He would have pass'd but for a recreant knight;
    And much the more, she having shown herself
    So gallant as, to save her lady's honour,
    T' expose her own. Say, true Don Galor,[20] say,
    Were your part found in a romance or play,
    Whose character would it not dislustre?

    +Don Z.+ How soon a fool's bolt's shot without distinction?
    Of what's the mark! Thou censur'st without knowing,
    Who th' exposed lady is. Know, then, Chichon,
    And wonder! 'tis Elvira!--that Elvira
    For whom I sighed like to have sigh'd my last,
    On her score at Madrid--Don Pedro's daughter.

    +Chi.+ You raise enchanted castles in the air;
    But were it as you say, that makes the thing
    More inexcusable. You had been to blame
    T' have us'd a stranger so; but so t' have serv'd
    A lady[21] you had once profess'd to love,
    Raises the fault above all heightening.

    +Don Z.+ Nay, then, I see I must once play the fool,
    In answering a fool seriously.
    The things thou say'st are heightenings indeed,
    Not of my fault, but merit in the action,
    Towards my Blanca; since, to save her honour,
    I did not only sacrifice Elvira's,
    But thus expose mine own. Time may recover
    Elvira's fame, and mine this quickly shall.
                                      [_Clapping his hand on his sword._
    Here, take this letter, and employ your wit
    In finding out the means with secrecy
    To give it Don Fernando unobserv'd.
    I shall not stir from home, till I've his answer.

    +Chi.+ You found him, sir, a man of quick dispatch,
    In your last business with him at Madrid!      [_Exit +Don Zancho+._

    How honourable 'tis to serve a Don!
    What petty Basque on t' other side the mountains
    Durst have aspir'd to the high dignity
    Of carrying a cartel? A monsieur
    Would sooner have put up a twinge by the nose,
    Than sent a challenge by a serving-man.                     [_Exit._

    _Enter +Blanca+ furiously, and, running to the cabinet, takes
        out thence a stiletto; and +Francisca+ earnestly after her,
        as in +Blanca's+ closet._

    +Blan.+ Villains shall find I am not unprovided
    Wrongs to revenge, that cannot be forgiven.

    +Fran.+ I thought the strange constraint upon herself,
    Wherewith she heard her brother, would serve in the end
    But to make rage break out with greater fury;
    Yet it is well she kept it in so long
    As to get rid of him.                                      [_Aside._
    Good madam, moderate yourself a little.

    +Blan.+ Preach temper to the damned souls in hell,
    That they may teach the traitor moderation,
    When I have sent him thither with his devil.

    +Fran.+ I do confess the provocation such,
    As more than justifies all these transportments;
    And therefore I beseech you think not, madam,
    In what I say, I can the least aim have
    Of saving him from the extremest fury
    Of your resentment, or preserving her,
    Who has had the impudence to abuse you so,
    Under pretence of serving. May they perish!
    But let it be in such a way, as may not
    Draw a more dismal ruin on yourself:
    Let swift destruction seize them; yet let not,
    Madam, your hand, but head dispense their fate.
    What can the issue be of such an action,
    As that of which I see that shining steel
    And flaming eyes of yours the threat'ning comets?
    I beg but the reflection of a moment!

        [_+Blanca+ walking upon the stage with enraged gestures
            pauses, at length sheathing and putting her stiletto in
            her sleeve with a sober, composed, tone_:

    +Blan.+ Francisca, I thank you for recalling me
    Thus to myself: I will be temperate,
    [_Aside._] But it shall be to make revenge the surer.

    +Fran.+ Her tone nor gestures cannot cosen me,
    They both seem to disguise a black design;
    But I shall watch you: 'tis a half-gain'd cause
    In fury's course to have begot a pause.                    [_Aside._

    +Blan.+ Do what I bid you presently, Francisca.
    Send to Don Zancho, and let him know from me,
    I earnestly desire to speak with him.

    +Fran.+ Lord, madam, what d'ye mean?

    +Blan.+ To make the pleasing proposition to him,
    As I told my brother I would. Say, am I not moderate?
    But do without reply, what I command.

    +Fran.+ Madam, I shall obey. But [_aside_] observe you so withal,
    As to prevent the mischief, if I can.           [_Exit +Francisca+._

    +Blan.+ Ye gods, assist me in my just revenge,
    Or you will make an atheist. My first work
    Must be, before Don Zancho comes, to speak
    With his sweet mistress; and with words and looks,
    As false as hers have been, so to delude her
    With hopes of what she wishes, that they both
    May jointly fall my honour's sacrifice.                     [_Exit._

               _Enter +Don Fernando+, as in +Don Julio's+
                          private apartment._

    +Don F.+ Since generosity hath so far got
    The mastery, as to have made me fix
    Upon a resolution so unheard of,
    I long to see it executed. But stay:
    I think I hear Elvira's voice without,
    And Blanca's too. Here curiosity
    To overhear is pardonable.

                     [_He makes as if he hearkened, and then exit, as to
                                           go where he may better hear._

          _Enter +Elvira+ and +Blanca+ as in the antechamber,
             and +Fernando+ peeping as from behind a door._

    +Don F.+ Here not a word can 'scape me.

    +Elv.+ Madam, you wrong my zeal in serving you,
    Whilst you attribute to any other motive
    My yesterday's behaviour.

    +Blan.+ Such niceties, Elvira, are, out of season.

                           [_In a tone that may show what she says to be
                                                                forced._

    I seek your satisfaction in a love,
    Wherein it seems you have been long engag'd.
                [_+Elvira+ looking round, and +Fernando+ starting back._

    +Don F.+ I hope she did not see me.                        [_Aside._

    +Elv.+ My satisfaction, say you, in my love?
    Of whom, for heaven's sake? If you mean Don Zancho,
    Y'are very far from guessing at my thoughts.

    +Don F.+ By heaven, sh' has seen me, and plays the devil still.
                                                              [_Aside._

    +Elv.+ By all that's good, I am far from loving him--
    I say not worse [_aside_], because I know she loves him.

    +Don F.+ Ah, Elvira! this is too much, yet not enough
    To change in me a noble resolution.                        [_Aside._
                     [_A noise is heard, as of people coming up stairs._

    +Blan.+ I hear some coming up stairs: should it  be Don
    Zancho, I am not yet ready for him.--
                                                              [_Aside._
    I see we are likely to be interrupted here,          [_To +Elvira+._
    Elvira, we shall be better in my closet.           [_Exit +Blanca+._

    +Elvi.+ Madam, I'll follow you.
    What can she mean? since that she needs must think
    I know the passion she herself[22] has for him.

        [_+Elvira+ having stayed awhile behind, as she is going
            to follow +Blanca+, enter her father +Don Pedro+ and
            +Fulvio+: she starts, and stands confounded; he, seeing
            her, draws out his dagger, and makes at her._

    +Don P.+ Vile stainer of my blood, have I here found thee?

        [_+Elvira+ perceiving the door a little open, where +Don
            Fernando+ is, flies thither, and gets in._

    +Don F.+ This makes it clear she saw me.
                                      [_Aside, as +Elvira+ thrusts in._

        [_+Don Pedro+ seizes the door, before it be quite shut, and
            they struggle, he to pull it open, and +Don Fernando+
            to shut it: after some contest, +Don Fernando+ gets it
            close, and bolts it within: +Don Pedro+, as an enraged
            person, pulls and bounces at the door._

    +Don P.+ In vain should mountains interpose between
    Her and her punishment.

                         [_He bounces still, as to break down the door._

                           _Enter +Blanca+._

    +Blan.+ What Bedlam have we here, and where's Elvira?

    +Don P.+ You have one here will know how to revenge
    Conspiracies t' affront him: and you, lady,
    Whoe'er you are, that seem to take upon you,
    Y' had best produce the wicked thing you've named,
    Or by this steel--                            [_+Blanca+ cries out._

    +Blan.+ Ho! brother, brother! help against a madman!

                          _Enter +Don Julio+._

    +Don J.+ Peace, Blanca, peace, you know not what you say:
    Don Pedro is master here.

    +Blan.+ I know not your Don Pedro; but I'm sure
    One to be tied in chains could do no more,
    That he has done.

    +Don J.+ Have patience, sister: 'tis Elvira's father,
    With cares enough upon him to justify
    Any distemper.

    +Blan.+ Precious! Elvira's father?--
    Nay, then I leave you.           [_+Blanca+ flings out of the room._

    +Don F.+ O the unluckiness of his coming
    So unseasonably! 'Twas to prevent that,
    I went abroad to seek him.                                 [_Aside._

    +Don P.+ What's this, Don Julio? can a gentleman
    Of blood and honour use another thus?
    What, after such engagements to the Duke
    And to myself to be my friend and helper,
    To prove the shelter of my shame's chief author?
    I do not wonder now Don Zancho himself
    Should have been here at midnight.

    +Don J.+ I am hard put to't: help, wit, to bring us off.   [_Aside._
    Be as distemper'd as you please, Don Pedro,
    It shall not alter me! but yet methinks
    It would not ill become your gravity,
    To think a while, before you make a judgment,
    And rashly frame injurious conclusions
    From things, wherein a friend has merited from you.
    Do but consider, and then say, what Julio
    Could do of more advance to what you wish,
    Than, having found your daughter, to have brought her
    To his own house, where she might be with honour
    Accompanied, and serv'd as such by Blanca,
    Until such time as, things maturely weigh'd,
    You should a final resolution take.
    And since Don Zancho's being here last night,
    I see 's no secret t' ye, methinks you ought
    T' have been so just to me, as to believe
    That, since I admitted him within these walls,
    It was in order to the serving you.

    +Don P.+ Noble Don Julio, you must pity have
    Of an old man's distemper in affliction.
    I see I was in the wrong; pray, pardon it.

    +Don J.+ O, this is more than needs. And now, good sir,
    If you'll be pleas'd to walk a turn or two
    I' the garden, I'll there give you a full account
    How I have laid things for your satisfaction.

    +Don P.+ I'll wait on you.

    +Don J.+ Go, sir, there lies your way;
    And you, boy, fail not, when Don Zancho comes,
                                                 [_Turning to the Page._
    To give me notice of it in the garden.                    [_Exeunt._

    _Enter +Don Zancho+, and passes over the stage with +Chichon+
        after him: and enter +Francisca+, and pulling +Chichon+,
        stays him._

    +Fran.+ Stay, stay, Chichon, a word w' ye: it imports--
                                              [_She whispers with him._

    +Chi.+ I hope you are not in earnest.

    +Fran.+ By my soul, I am--
    There is no other way, but for us both
    To get up the back-way, and there to watch
    The time to interpose.

    +Chi.+ Can she be such a fury? her looks are
    All milk and honey.

    +Fran.+ You cannot fancy anything so tragic,
    But she is capable of executing,
    When once provok'd in point of love and honour
    Beyond her bounds of temper.

    +Chi.+ Lead the way--
    I'll have the pleasure to bold up the fright               [_Aside._
    She's in, since I am sure there is no danger,
    Knowing, as I do, my master's mind towards Blanca:
    Besides, 'tis to be hop'd, that these disorders
    May produce somewhat that may put an end
    To my master's quarrel, or afford me means
    To give Fernando his letter.                              [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Don Fernando+, +Elvira+ lying upon the couch
                       in the private apartment._

    +Don. F.+ This last dissimulation moves me more
    Than all the rest; but yet it must not alter
    What honour hath inspir'd. See, how she lies,
    And how, scarce brought to life from her dismay,
    She resumes scorn, to have been sav'd by me!
    But multiply what injuries thou wilt,
    Perfidious maid, thou shalt not disappoint
    Fernando of the glory that he aims at:
    Of making thy proud heart, Elvira, owe
    Its happiness to him. But I hear again                   [_He peeps_
    A noise without--It is Don Zancho,
    And I see Blanca coming towards him.
    This falls out luckily, that I may hear
    What passes; for certainly their meeting
    Avowedly thus can be no other subject,
    But what Don Julio has proposed to Blanca.    [_Exit as to hearken._

         _Enter +Don Julio+ and +Don Pedro+, as in the garden._

    +Don J.+ That's all the remedy, that in these cases
    The wisest can propose unto themselves:
    His fortune's strait, 'tis true.

    +Don P.+ That's what I least regard in this occasion,
    So honour be but safe: the less they have,
    The more will be her penance for her folly.
    But should Don Zancho, upon any umbrage
    From what has pass'd between them, prove so insolent
    As to reject the marriage, then I trust--

    +Don J.+ O, say no more of that: rely upon't,
    Should he be guilty of that horrid outrage,
    This sword should pierce his heart, though th' only friend
    I have i' the world should interpose his own.
    And, sir, to let you see my frank proceeding,
    Come along with me; I'll bring you to a place
    Where, jointly overhearing all that passes
    'Twixt him and Blanca, should he play the villain,
    His life may pay for't, ere he stir from thence.

    +Don P+. May heaven repay such generous acts of friendship! [_Exeunt._

         _Enter +Don Zoncho+, and +Fernando+ appears as behind
                               the door._

    +Don Z.+ For her so suddenly and so avowedly
    To send for me hither, is very strange:
    What can it mean?

                           _Enter +Blanca+._

    +Blan.+ Now lend me temper, Heaven, but for a moment,
    Till calmly I have drawn him to pronounce
    The sentence of his own too noble death
    For such a traitor--                                       [_Aside._
    I think you come not without some surprise,
                                [_To him with an affected cheerfulness._
    Don Zancho, at my sending for you so:
    But let's sit down, for I have much to say t' ye.

        [_She takes him by the hand and seats him in one chair, and
            she sits herself in the other close to him on his right
            hand, and fumbles in her sleeve._

    I'm so well plac'd I cannot miss the mark.                 [_Aside._

    +Don Z.+ Good madam, what's the matter? for I see
    Disorder in you: put me out of pain.

    +Blan.+ That I shall quickly do:                           [_Aside._
    Know then, Don Zancho,
    In the first place, you must not interrupt me,
    Whatever you shall hear; I'll take it ill else.
    When I have done, then speak your mind at leisure.
    I come not to argue, but conclude.

    +Don Z.+ Your will's a law to me;
    But whither tends all this?                                [_Aside._

    +Blan.+ I do for once allow you to remember
    All that has pass'd between us:
    The folly of my love, the falsehood of yours;
    That done, and never to be thought on more--

    +Don Z.+ For Heaven's sake, madam--

    +Blan.+ Break not the rule was set:
    Know I instructed am in all your story,
    And am so far grown mistress of myself,
    That I, who th' other day could scarce o'ercome
    The sense of a slight failure at Madrid,
    Can here at home suffer indignities,
    And tell you calmly and with unconcern'dness,
    Be you Elvira's and Elvira yours.
    I come to do a part you little look'd for
    From Blanca's spirit: I must make the marriage.
    All things are ready, and her father here.
    Now you may speak, Don Zancho; but the thing
    Admits of no delay.

    +Don Z.+ But can this be in earnest? sure, it cannot.
    What needs these trials of so firm a faith?       [_Pausing awhile._

    +Blan.+ Leave trifling; 'tis no longer time for tricks.
    It is not in the pow'r of fate to alter
    The resolution taken.                        [_+Don Zancho+ pauses._

    +Don. F.+ She has put it home.                             [_Aside._

    +Don Z.+ Madam, you use me hardly; this demeanour
    Passes my skill, to judge from whence it springs.
    You say it is not in the pow'r of fate
    To change your resolutions; but I'm sure,
    If they be such, 'twill less be in its pow'r
    To alter mine: but yet, before I die,
    You must be left without excuse by knowing
    The truth of all.

    +Don F.+ Here it imports indeed to be attentive.           [_Aside._

    +Don Z.+ Madam, 'tis true that, absent at Madrid,
    The custom of the court and vanity
    Embark'd me lightly in a gallantry
    With the most fam'd of beauties there, Elvira:
    Those and no other the true motives were
    To all my first addresses, till her scorns,
    Which should have stopp'd them, had engag'd me more,
    And made a love in jest a point of honour.
    I bore all her disdains without transportment,
    Till, having gain'd her waiting-woman's kindness,
    I learn'd from her that all Elvira's slightings
    She would have thought had sprung from severe maxims
    And preciousness of humour, were th' effects
    Of deep engagement in another love
    With a young gallant, Don Fernando Solis,
    With whom the cruel dame was so far gone,
    As to admit him almost[23] every night
    Into her chamber.

    +Don F.+ Bless'd gods, what do I hear?                     [_Aside._

    +Don Z.+ [_continuing_] I, scarce believing the thing possible,
    Urg'd my intelligencer to do for me
    That which her lady for another did,
    And to admit me to her chamber where,
    By being eye-witness of her lady's actions,
    I might transfer my entire love to herself.
    She granted my request, and late one night,
    Somewhat before the gallant's usual hour,
    She brought me a back-way up to[24] her chamber,
    Within Elvira's. My stay had not been long,
    When, having found the truth of what she'd told me,
    Converting rage into appearing kindness
    To my informer, and expressing it
    Uncautiously, we made a sudden noise,
    With which Elvira alarm'd, and coming in,
    Follow'd by Don Fernando, that fell out,
    Which you have heard before.

                          [_+Don Julio+ beckoning +Don Pedro+ after him,
                                  passing over one corner of the stage._

    +Don J.+ By this time, I suppose, she will have made
    The proposition to the full, and we
    Shall come at the just time to hear his answer.
                                  [_Exeunt +Don Pedro+ and +Don Julio+._

    +Don Z.+ [_Continuing._] If since that hour I have ever seen
    Or thought upon her, till last night's surprise,
    May I for ever perish: and methinks
    The use of that to your advantage
    Might challenge from you a more just construction.

    +Blan.+ I told you at first, I came not here to argue,
    But to conclude. Say, will you marry her?

                          [_+Don Julio+ and +Don Pedro+ peep out as from
                                                    behind the hanging._

    +Don J.+ W'are come, you see, just as we could have wish'd. [_Aside._

    +Don P.+ His fate hangs on his lips.                       [_Aside._

    +Don Z.+ You are mistress of your words and actions, madam,
    And may use me as you please; but this hand
    Shall sooner pierce this heart than e'er be given
    In marriage to Elvira.

        [_+Don Pedro+ and +Don Julio+ rush in with their swords and
            daggers drawn, and +Don Zancho+ draws too._

    +Don P.+ Then, villain, die! Heav'n is too weak to save thee
    By any other means.        [_+Don Fernando+ draws, and rushing out._

    +Don F.+ But here is one that shall--
    Or all by his side.

    +Don P.+ O heavens! what's this?
    Don Fernando Solis protecting him!
    Nay, then the whole world conspires against my honour.

    +Blan.+ For heaven's sake, gentlemen!   [_+Blanca+ runs in between._

    +Chi.+ Now, by my grandame's pantable,[25] 'tis pretty!
                                                        [_From behind._
    I'll brush their coats, if once it come to fighting.
    Fernando's of our side.

             +Francisca+, _and +Chichon+ with a long broom,
                 run out also from behind the hanging._

    +Don J.+ What frenzy's this, Fernando? was't not you
    Engaged me to effect the marriage? Sure, w'are all
    Bewitch'd.

    +Don F.+ Stay, my Don Julio, stay,
    And let Don Pedro have patience but to hear me--
    'Tis true; but you know well upon what grounds:
    Those are quite chang'd by my having overheard
    All that hath pass'd; for my Elvira, Julio,
    Proves spotless in her faith, as in her beauty,
    And I the only guilty, to have doubted.
    What have I then to do, but here to prostrate
    Myself at her offended father's feet,
    And beg his pardon? that obtain'd, t' implore
    His help to gain me hers, as to a person
    In whom respect for him hath always held
    Proportion with my passion for his daughter.

    +Don P.+ You know, Don Julio, when I spake with you,
    The terms of estimation and respect,
    Wherewith I mention'd t' ye this gentleman;
    And, therefore, since in his address t' Elvira
    There was no other fault, but making it
    Unknown to me, and that I see his thoughts
    Are truly noble, honour thus engaged,
    That ought to be forgot, and I to think
    Myself most happy in such a son-in-law.
    But where's Elvira?

    +Don F.+ She's there within, where I dare not appear
    Before her, knowing now such guilt upon me.
    If Blanca would employ her interest
    And eloquence, perhaps she might prevail
    To get her hither, when she shall have told her
    What changes a few minutes' time have wrought.

    +Blan.+ I never went on a more pleasing errand.    [_Exit +Blanca+._

    +Fran.+ I am struck dumb with wonder.                       [_Exit._

    +Don F.+ Now Blanca is away, I'll take this time
    To spare her blushes, Julio, and tell you,
    Though I have broke one marriage for Don Zancho,
    You needs must give me leave to make another;
    To which, unless I'm very much deceiv'd,
    You'll find on neither part repugnancy.

    +Don J.+ I understand you; and I thank the gods
    They did not make me understand the wrong,
    Till they have made it none, since I observe
    Don Zancho's looks joining in your desires.

    +Don Z.+ A heart so full of love, as mine for Blanca,
    Does best express itself when it speaks least.

    _Enter +Donna Blanca+, +Donna Elvira+, and +Francisa.+ +Elvira+
        casts herself at her father's feet._

    +Elv.+ Now that the justice of the gods at length
    Hath clear'd me from suspicions derogatory
    To th' honour of your blood, I hope a cloister
    May expiate my fault as to a father.

    +Don P.+ Rise, child. The enclosure I condemn you to [_Raising her._
    Is Don Fernando's arms: give him your hand.

    +Elv.+ 'Tis yours, sir, to dispose of, I confess,
    And if it be your will, I must submit;
    But let him know, who could suspect Elvira,
    She never could be his but by obedience.

    +Don F.+ I am thunderstruck.        [_+Elvira+ giving him her hand._

    +Elv.+ Be not dismay'd, Fernando,
    Since I profess this a mere act of duty;
    Another duty may Elvira move
    To reinflame on better grounds her love.

    +Don J.+ [_ironically._] Blanca, I fear you'll hardly be persuaded
    To give yours to Don Zancho; but a brother
    For once may play the tyrant. Give it him:
    It must be so.                                   [_They join hands._

    +Don F.+ I now renounce old maxims: having you,
    Elvira, I am sure the very best proves true.

    +Chi.+ Hold there, I beg you, sir: that will appear
    By that time you have married been a year.                [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[17] Without any sufficient reason, and to the evident injury of the
metre, of which the author has nowhere been very careful, he here and
elsewhere preferred the Spanish word _capricho_, to the English word
_caprice_.--_Collier._

[18] Dodsley and Reed very absurdly gave this line to Don Fernando,
when it is evidently a reply by Don Julio to the request of his friend.
The old copy did not mislead the former editors.--_Collier._

[19] _Cauls_ are little membranes, found on some children, encompassing
the head, when born. The vulgar opinion has generally been, that every
person possessed of one of these _cauls_, whether originally belonging
to him, or obtained by purchase, would be fortunate, and escape
dangers. "Lampridius tells us, that the midwives sold _cauls_ at a good
price to the advocates and pleaders of his time; it being an opinion,
that while they had this about them, they should carry with them a
force of persuasion which no judge could withstand: the canons forbid
the use of it, because some witches and sorcerers, it seems, had abused
it."--See ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, iii., 139-42.]

Sir T. Brown ("Vulgar Errors," b. v., ch. 21) quotes "the life
of Antonius delivered by Spartianus" on the subject. The caul,
a "sillyhow" (as Sir T. Brown terms it), is still considered a
preservative against danger, and especially against drowning. Notices
of the sale of them used to be daily posted on the Royal Exchange, and
they are bought by captains of ships and others going to sea, and great
prices given for them. The _Times_ newspaper of March 17, 1827, has the
following advertisement:--"A child's caul, well worth £20, to be sold
for £14. Apply at Academy," &c.--_Collier._

[20] He calls him Sir Galor in reference to the character this knight
sustained in the old romances. He was sometimes known by other
names.--_Collier._ [More properly, Sir _Galaor_. He was a brother of
Amadis of Gaul.]

[21] [Old copy, _lady whom_, which injures the metre. The latter,
however, is not very regular or correct in this play.]

[22] _Herself_, omitted by Dodsley and Reed.--_Collier._

[23] _Almost_ omitted by Dodsley and Reed.--_Collier._

[24] [Old copy _into_.]

[25] Or _pantofle_. In "Damon and Pithias" [iv. 67,] we have seen it
called _pantacle_.--_Collier._




THE MARRIAGE NIGHT.




_Edition._


    _The Marriage Night. Written by the Lord Viscount Fawkland._

    _Scientia non habet Inimicum
    Præter Ignorantiam._

    _London. Printed by W. G. for R. Crofts at the Crown in
    Chancery-Lane under Sergeants-Inne._ 1664. 4º.

The "Marriage Night" was excluded from the second and third editions
of Dodsley's collection. The punctuation of the old copy, and of the
reprint of 1744, is very corrupt; but the text itself seems to be
unusually free from errors.




DODSLEY'S PREFACE.


+Henry Cary+, +Viscount Falkland+, was the son of him who is commonly
called the Great Lord Falkland. He was a person very eminent for his
extraordinary parts and heroic spirit. When he was first elected to
serve in Parliament, some of the members opposed his admission, urging
that he had not sowed his wild oats. "Then it will be the best way,"
replied he, "to sow them in the House, where there are geese enough
to pick them up." He died in 1643, being cut off in the prime of his
years, as much missed when dead, says Langbaine, as beloved when
living. I am informed from very good hands, that it was he who wrote
the epilogue to Lord Rochester's "Valentinian." And I believe the same
person wrote the copy of verses, which is prefixed to Sandys' tragedy,
entitled, "Christ's Passion," translated, or rather imitated, from the
Latin of Hugo Grotius.




_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._


  +The King.+
  +De Bereo+,       _a duke, brother to the king._
  +De Castro+, }
  +Dessandro+, }    _counts, brothers._
  +De Flame+,       _a count._
  +Pirez+,   }
  +Sampayo+, }      _two lords._
  +De Loome+,    }
  +La Gitterne+, }  _attendants to the duke._
  +Silliman+,       _steward to the duchess._
  Two Judges.

  +Claudilla+,      _a duchess._
  +Cleara+,         _sister to De Flame._
  +Torguina+, }
  +De Prate+, }     _ladies to the duchess._
  Attendants.

                           _Scene, Castile._

                          THE MARRIAGE NIGHT.




ACTUS PRIMUS, SCENA PRIMA.


                     _Enter +Pirez+ and +Sampayo+._

    +Pir.+ Is't possible?
    Dessandro quit from his command o' th' citadel?
    So sharply too? Brushing times, my lord!
    Pray, by virtue of what offence?

    +Samp.+ It may be treason to ask their wisdoms that;
    But the huge mountebank, the vulgar rout,
    Quarrel'd with's religion; 'cause 'tis not in the
    Smallest print: and the king----was to say nothing.

    +Pir.+ Good King! I could wish something;
    And heartily, if I durst: Well, from grave hypocrisy
    And beardless wisdom, good heaven deliver us!
    Nothing in his great father's memory to hold him
    Worthy of his place.

    +Samp.+ That makes him taste it
    To the extremity of sense and anger.

    +Pir.+ Let us but slight some gull; or his gay dress,
    Whose clothes and folly are his sense of honour;
    How will it conjure up his blood, and bend his brow?
    And can Dessandro want a just and valiant anger
    To feel the merits of so brave a father,
    And his own too (kept at a noble height)
    Rendered disgraced and sullied? He may believe
    H' has deserv'd better, both in himself and father:
    But how does his resolution take it?

    +Samp.+ As fire and air compress'd when (struggling) they
    Break forth in thunders; or the vexed wind, amongst
    A grove of trees, spending his scorn and rage.

    +Pir.+ Men of his soul and constitution cannot
    Play with their passions, and stroke 'em tame,
    When so provok'd. The duke!

    _Enter +Duke De Bereo+, passing over the stage, +De Castro+
        whispering with him, +De Loome+, +La Gitterne+, and other
        Attendants._

    +Duke.+ Let him be confident of me, in something
    More worthy of himself than the command
    H' has lost; and bid him use my promise.

    +De C.+ We are the creatures
    Of your favour; and but own our lives
    T' acknowledge it.                                        [_Exeunt._

    +Pir.+               Here's state embroidery!
    But pray'e, what holiday things be they that spread
    So in his train? I don't remember I left
    Such faces in the court.

    +Samp.+                    The first of them
    Stalks in a knighthood, like a boy
    In a Dutch burgher's doublet; and 'tis as much
    Too wide for him; he has travell'd, and speaks languages,
    As a barber's boy plays o' th' gittern; and those gay clouts, sir,
    Came out of's father's shop.

    +Pir.+ His remnants.
    The other? That looks like the age to come,
    Which must be worse than this.

    +Samp.+                          His fortune and industry
    Has preferr'd him to be barber and pimp;
    Two men's places, till of late our noblemen,
    Growing frugal, do find one may do
    Both the employments.

    +Pir.+ It is both thriving and genteel.

    +Samp.+ Genteel indeed; for they have produc'd knights,
    And made statesmen of broken citizens with the help
    Of a wife. But he, whose youth and sorrow shows him
    Like a fair day, set in a cloudy evening is----

    +Pir.+ The Lord de Castro--I know him: and methinks
    Some sparks of his father, great Velasco's, character
    Shines in this young man through all the darkness
    Of his fate.

    +Samp.+ That name alone has glory enough
    To make him a brave presage to us.
    The duke's father's character was deriv'd,
    And circled in himself; and a full age
    Of men shall rarely show another of
    So much great and balanc'd man in't.

    +Pir.+ They are all court-fancies; pageants of state:
    And want allowance both of brain and soul,
    To make their blood and titles weight

    +Samp.+ He was strangely
    Shuffled to the block.

    +Pir.+ That blow did bleed Castile too weak,
    And left us in a faint and sickly pang.

    +Samp.+ The pulse, sir, of Castile beats in another temper,
    Than when you left it.

    +Pir.+ I find it: The city wears a cap, and looks
    As if all were not right there.

    +Samp.+ Except their wives.

    +Pir.+ The court, methinks, has strangely chang'd
    Complexion too.

    +Samp.+ Those that deride us say the clergy
    Has catch'd the falling-sickness: the court, a deep
    Consumption; and that the commons have the spleen.

    +Pir.+ I know not what disease the court has; but the Lords
    Look as if they had oversat themselves at play,
    And lost odds, so scurvily--

    +Samp.+ How does your lordship find
    The ladies?

    +Pir.+ I ha' not been amongst 'em yet
    To take up my arrears: only had the court-happiness
    To kiss her hand, who in herself contracts them all
    For grace and lustre, the widow-duchess Claudilla.

    +Samp.+ Why, there my admiration leaves you; I grant her
    A brave and courtly girl; has trim and dazzle,
    Enough of white and red, to attract the eye,
    Like an indifferent copy, flourish'd with golden trails.
    But place your judgment nearer, it retreats,
    And cries you mercy for the mistake. At distance,
    She is a goodly landskip.

    +Pir.+ Alas, her blooming beauties
    Yet languish and pine o'er her husband's hearse,
    Like roses scatter'd from the morning's brow
    Into the day's parch'd lap.

    +Samp.+ Their spring will shine again; grow glorious
    And fruitful in the arms of her De Flame;
    It is my hearty wish to their affections;
    That count does bear an honour'd character
    From all that know him.

    +Pir.+ A brave young man; and one that is more honour
    To his title, than it to him. But when
    Must their hymeneal tapers flame, and she
    Offer her turtle pantings at the altar,
    Purpling the morn with blushes, as she goes;
    And scatter such bright rays, as the sun may
    Dress his beams with for that day's glory?

    +Samp.+                                      After
    He has deliver'd his sister to Dessandro's hand,
    He will not defer those minutes long; and he thinks himself
    Behind in some expression of their friendship,
    Until the knot meet there.

    +Pir.+                       Cleara is a lady
    Of a sweet and honour'd fame.

    +Samp.+                         All other of her sex
    Are dull and sullied imitations, pale glimmerings,
    Set by her. Whate'er the modest fictions
    Of sweet'ned pens has meant, she is their moral.

    +Pir.+ You speak like one that knows what virtue is,
    And can love it.

              _Enter +De Castro+ and +Dessandro+ to them._

    +Des.+ I thank the duke; he has a right soul.
    But, prythee, no more of these sad consolations;
    They hang upon my heart like pond'rous weights
    At trembling wires; or like the dull labourings
    Of that clock, which groan'd out our dear father's
    Fatal minute.

    +De C.+ I have done.

    +Des.+ I could chide this tame and phlegmy vapour
    From my blood. Our passions melt into soft
    Murmurs, like hollow springs:
    The manhood of cold hinds would not be tempted
    To this sense, but leap with rage into their eyes;
    Brother, it would; and wake 'em into tempests.
    A wretched fly would show its spleen.

    +De C.+ This anger will but show men, where you bleed,
    And keep the wound still green.

    +Des.+ The scar will stick for ever.
    O, the dark hypocrisy and juggling of our times!
    Great men are slaves to slaves; and we are theirs:
    The law's a tame wolf cowards and fools
    May stroke with giving hands: while he shall
    Couchant lie, and wag the tail; but show
    His fangs at you and I. A noble wish
    Is dangerous: is't not, my lord?

    +Pir.+ What, Dessandro?

    +Des.+ The vulgar's a kennel of black-mouth'd dogs,
    That worry men's deserts and fame: my curse
    Fester in their temples!

    +De C.+ Prythee, Dessandro, collect these scatter'd thoughts.

    +Des.+ I'll hollow them through all the world, and say't
    Again. Worth and honour now are crimes, and giants
    'Gainst the state. My lords, shall's be merry,
    And talk something the hangman may thank
    Us for?

    +Pir.+ Treason? I vow, Dessandro, I speak the worst
    _Ex tempore_ of any man living.

    +Samp.+ I could mutter it well enough; but I'm to marry
    A city widow, and buy a place at court.

    +Pir.+ When I have sold my land, we'll venture on
    A merry catch, and ever subscribe your servant,
    Noble Dessandro.

    +Des.+ I shall find a time and place to pay your lordship
    The accompt of my engagements.

    +De C.+ Brother, my attendance calls me to the king;
    I'll wait upon your lordship, if y'are for the court.

    +Pir.+ Your lordship's servant thither.                   [_Exeunt._

    +Des.+ So streams divide, and ruffle by their banks.
    My brother's of a safe contracted bosom:
    Can strangle his labouring rages in their thought;
    When they do tug like poisons at my breast,
    Until I give them air. But I'll observe,
    And creep into men's souls: hug my dear anger
    To myself, until it gnaw my entrails through,
    That men may court my patience and discourse,
    As now they shun it.
    And when black night has stretch'd her gloomy limbs,
    And laid her head upon some mountain-top,
    Bound up in foggy mists, then keep my haunts
    By some dull-groaning stream, with screeching owls
    And bats; there pay my broken thoughts
    Unto thy ghost, Velasco!----
    Echo shall wake, and midnight, to help me curse their souls
    That thrust thee to thy grave; whilst I will hang
    About night's neck, until the moon do wake
    To rescue her.

                          _Enter the +Duke+._

    +Duke.+ Dessandro,
    You must not be angry my power came short
    Of my desires to serve you: we'll try some other way.
    You see by what engines the times move;
    The king refers all to his council; and though
    They do not tie his hands, they hold 'em by a strange
    Courtesy. I'm but a single looker-on: perhaps
    They may take notice of me for his brother;
    That is, when they please, too; but this
    Came nearest to me; upon the engagement of my honour
    To deny my friend, and one, whose single faith
    Had been enough for all the kingdom's safety--
    The holding of such a trifle as the citadel.

    +Des.+ It has recompens'd me in part to know, where
    That close annoy lay which wounded me i' th' dark:
    I shall now collect myself against it; and know,
    My lord, where my poor life and powers are
    To be prostrate. Could I enlarge them to my wish,
    They might appear, sir, to your highness' use.

    +Duke.+ I know how far you can, bravest man;
    Your worth has taken fire here, where I will
    Preserve it in a noble flame.
    My greatest thirst of fame is my expression
    To men of your merit, who cannot want
    A friend, whilst I have power to be one:
    But I am scanted and weak'ned in my desires,
    Else fam'd Velasco had not yet slept in his dust
    To please the common hangman; nor men of glorious
    Parts live shrouded in obscure homes, like
    Pamphlets out of date.

    +Des.+ You are the patron of our honoured actions,
    And all their glory meets and circles in
    Your fame.

    +Duke.+ I will disengage you from this forc'd compliment:
    It keeps me at too great a distance from that
    Bosom, where I would lodge a friend, Dessandro:
    I must take't unkindly too, that in the scroll
    Of all your friends I stand dash'd out, a stranger
    To your joys.

    +Des.+ My lord!

    +Duke.+ But you shall not steal the day so: I'll be
    One at the ceremony, though the bride tell me
    In a blush, I came unwish'd-for.

    +Des.+ 'Tis but the busy voice that, like the nightmare,
    Rides men, and can find strange shapes and prodigies
    I'th' clouds. I must confess, Cleara has the
    Engagement of all her virtues and a brother's on me.
    When it concerns me nearer, it must not be a secret
    To your highness, to whom all that's deriv'd
    To my poor life and fortune is a just debt.

    +Duke.+ You know the way unto a friend--if you can think
    I have power enough to make me so.

    +Des.+ Sir, I was only showed to the world to be talk'd on:
    Fortune (I thank her) has given me many knacks
    To play with in her mood, but taken 'em away again scurvily,
    To tell me I was not born to any real purpose;
    And I wish nothing she can give me.

    +Duke.+ She will acknowledge her mistake, and put
    On her smiles to court your merits.
    La Gitterne, is the king come from's sport?  [_+La Gitterne+ waits._

    +La G.+ He dines abroad, my lord.

    +Duke.+ Colonel, this day you shall bestow on me:
    I owe the Duchess Claudilla a visit;
    Make ready straight; we'll spend a dinner-time
    There, and the afternoon at tennis.                       [_Exeunt._

                               +A Song.+

    _That done, +Claudilla+ and +De Flame+ discovered sitting in a
        rich couch; at each end a lady waiting._

    +De F.+ This does but find our melancholy out,
    And cast it in a minute's trance; when one
    Soft accent from Claudilla's voice leaves nought
    That's earth about me. My soul's in her Elysium,
    And every sense immortal, dilated into joys:
    Heaven becomes attentive, and the soft winds
    Put on their perfum'd wings to hover near those lips.
    That blush does show the sparkles of some incensed thought!
    My poor expressions rob ye; but I appeal
    To this white hand for pardon.

    +Claud.+ Sir, my thoughts are all acknowledgments of that delight
    I hear and see you with, what dress soe'er you please
    To send your courtship in to try 'em;
    We have outliv'd those arts and common charms,
    And need not seek our hearts in scatter'd flames;
    As those, whose lesson yet is at the hand or eye;
    Our hearts have read Love's deep divinity
    And all his amorous volumes over; we must write
    Stories of our love, my lord.

    +De F.+ And chaste ones, madam:
    How glorious the frontispiece would show
    With great Claudilla's name, tried in a true
    Love's knot to her De Flame's! Though the
    Great distance of your shining attributes both
    Of blood and virtue, consider'd in the poverty of mine,
    Would draw squint eyes and envy to my stars;
    But speak your name great as the example of your
    Goodness, and make it worth the imitation
    Of all noble minds, that shall but read your love
    And sweetness, which (most excellent of your sex)
    Condescended unto me, who else had
    Languish'd in a heap of ashes.

    +Claud.+ My lord, you have found an easy way into
    My heart, and won me from myself, ere I
    Could call my thoughts [forth] to resistance;
    Such strength brought your deserts! But now
    I hope, nay, can be confident (best sir), they are
    Treasured in a breast, whose virtues will
    Preserve them with themselves.

    +De F.+ O madam!

    +Claud.+ It may be, some discourse that, when first
    I entertain'd your love, I had not yet given
    The world and my dead husband's earth a full
    Accompt of sorrow, or paid his memory
    A year's just rent of tears: but I appeal
    To my own heart; and you, my lord, can say----

    +De F.+ Your heart has been but too severe unto itself;
    And I can say I have not seen a beam break
    From those eyes, but through dark clouds and showers;
    Or like the sun, drench'd in the swelling main;
    Nor a look with the least comfort of a smile in't.
    Nay, divinest madam, now you do but chide
    Heaven in your tears, and cannot raise the dead.

    +Claud.+ True, sir.

    +De F.+ Tears are but shallow murmurs of our grief.
    I envy not his grave a tear, but owe all
    Noble mention to't; yet, madam, I did hope
    You had discharg'd the smart and cruelty of grief
    From your soft breast, and would call your beauties
    [Back] to their natural springs.
    Look on yourself, rare lady, in this change:
    With what high flame and rapture it becomes you:
    So breaks the morning forth of a crystal cloud,
    And so the sun ascends his glittering chair,
    And from his burnish'd locks shakes day about.
    The summer puts not on more delights and various
    Glory, than shines in bright Claudilla;
    And shall the grave exhaust their pride
    And youth?

                          _Enter +Torguina+._

    +Tor.+ Madam, the king's brother gives you a visit.

    +De F.+ Who's with him?

    +Tor.+ The colonel your lordship calls friend.

    +De F.+ Dessandro?

    +Claud.+ Let's meet 'em, sir.                             [_Exeunt._




ACTUS SECUNDUS, SCENA PRIMA.


          _Enter the +Duke+, +Duchess+, +Cleara+, +De Flame+,
                       +Dessandra+, Attendants._

    +Duke.+ I'm in arrears yet unto your grace.

    +Claud.+ A widow's entertainment, sir, you please to honour.

    +Duke.+ I wish the hours but short, that bring the night
    You are to lose that name in; and then, to what
    Length your own desires would spin 'em,
    Widow! Madam, there's disconsonancy in
    The name, methinks. Claudilla widow!
    Duchess, and still widow (like a cypress
    Cast o'er a bed of lilies) darkens your other titles:
    'Tis a weed in your garden, and will spoil the youth
    And beauty it grows nigh: a word of mortality
    Or a _memento mori_ to all young ladies,
    And a passing-bell to old ones. Indeed, it is
    A mere privation; and all widows are in
    The state of outlaws, till married again.

    +Claud.+ Your highness holds a merry opinion of us
    Poor widows.

    +De F.+ I say virgins are the ore: widows,
    The gold tried and refin'd.

    +Duke.+ A fair young lady and widow is
    A rich piece of stuff rumpled: an old one's
    A blotting-paper a man shall never
    Write anything on--she sinks so.
    Dessandro, your comment.

    +De F.+ Friend, you are dull o' th' sudden.

    +Cle.+ He is not well.

    +Claud.+ Not well, sir?

    +Des.+ Not well, madam.

    +Duke.+ Dull! Shall's to tennis? I have some pistolets
    Will pay your borrow'd time, Dessandro.

    +Des.+ Your pardon, sir: I am unfit to wait on you.
    My life hangs in a dew upon me;
    And I have drunk poison.

    +De F.+ Ha!
    A physician with all speed! Dessandro!

    +Cle.+ Dear sir!

    +Des.+ Cleara! Lend me thy hand: so--
    I'm struck upon a rock.                                   [_Swoons._

    +Cle.+ He's dead; I shall not overtake him.

    +Duke.+ Look to the lady.

    +Claud.+ He swells like a stopp'd torrent or a teeming cloud;
    Have I no servants there?                          [_Carry him off._

    +De F.+ What a sudden storm is fallen?

    +Duke.+ How fares the lady?

    +Claud.+ Madam!

    +Cle.+ As you are tender-natur'd, let no hand
    Close his eyes but mine: I am come back
    Thus far to take my farewell on his cold lip. [_+De Flame+ returns._

    +De F.+ Sister, let thy warm blood flow back:
    Thy Dessandro lives, my girl!

    +Cle.+ O, may I not see him?

    +De F.+ You shall.                                        [_Exeunt._

    Duke. Give me leave to make this opportunity happy
    On your hand. How! Not vouchsafe it?          [_+Duchess+ goes off._
    What a tyranny shot from her scornful eye!
    Where have I lost myself and her?
    There's a cross and peevish genius haunts my hopes;
    A black and envious cloud; and I must get above it.
    Not kiss your hand? Is your blood surfeited? I'll quit
    This scorn; indeed I will, coy madam!
    Thou, that are lord of my proud horoscope;
    Great soul of mysteries, kindle my brain
    With thy immortal fires!
    That if I fall, my name may rise divine:
    So Cæsar's glory set, and so set mine!                      [_Exit._

          _Enter +Silliman+, a bottle tied in a riband to his
                                pocket._

    +Sil.+ Brave canary, intelligent canary,
    That does refresh our weak and mortal bodies!
    I will have thee canonis'd Saint Canary at
    My own charge, and call my eldest son
    Canary. Yet for a man to love thee at
    His own cost is damnable, very damnable;
    And I defy it.
    And Siss is the blithest lass in our town,
    For she sells ale by the pound and the dozen;
    Ale! Hang ale!

                         _Enter a +Messenger+._

    +Mes.+ By your worship's leave, I would speak with
    Signior Silliman, the Duchess's steward, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ Wou'd you speak with Signior Silliman, an't like ye?

    +Mes.+ Please God and your worship, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ In what language wou'd you speak with him, hum?

    +Mes.+ Yes, verily, I would speak with him, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ At what posture?

    +Mes.+ Marry, from a friend, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ Very good, my friend. Didst ever say thy           [_Drinks._
    Prayers in the canary tongue?

    +Mes.+ My prayers, an't like ye? Your worship's dispos'd
    To be merry: I have a wife and seven small
    Children, an't like ye, to wind and turn as they say,
    Simple as your worship sees me here, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ Pox o' wives; I'll not give a gazet for thy wife;
    She's tough, and too much powder'd. Fetch me
    Thy daughter, thy youngest daughter, sirrah!
    If the creature be a virgin, and desirable:
    Look ye! there's money to buy her clean linen.
    I'll have a bath of rich canary and Venus' milk;
    Where we will bathe and swim together, like
    So many swans, and then be call'd Signior
    Jupiter Sillimano. But is she man's meat?
    I have a tender appetite, and can scarcely digest
    One in her teens.

    +Mes.+ Does your worship think I wou'd be a Judas, an't like ye?
    She's as neat a girl, and as tight at her business
    As the back of your hand, an't like ye; but heaven
    Bless ye, and cry ye mercy, if you be his worship,
    Here's a letter from the Lady de Prate, an't like ye.

    +Sil.+ The Lady de Prate (mark me, sirrah) is a
    Noble lady; we say so----                         [_Reads a letter._

        _I never knew what bondage was till now;
      I fear the gilded heart you sent me was
      Enchanted_--(O, O)--_I long to see you_--
      (Hum--hum)--_therefore let me have the happiness
      To know the place and time_--(even so)--_as
      You love her, that blushes to write this_----

    Yes, yes, I'll enchant ye! I'll time and place ye!
    Surely, there's something more about me, than I can
    Perceive. Grant that I may bear my fate
    Discreetly! _I never knew what bondage was_                 [_Reads.
    Till now_. Well; 'tis heaven's goodness! For what am I,
    Silly wretch, to such a lady, as she that writes so
    Pitifully unto me? It wou'd overcome e'en a heart
    Of flint: Good gentlewoman!                                 [_Weeps.
    As you love her, that blushes to write this_--             [_Reads._
    Hum--yes, yes; she knows I love her: it
    Will work--I can't contain my good-nature.      [_Drinks and weeps._

                 _Enter +La Gitterne+ and +De Loome+._

    +De L.+ Here he is; and stands like a map of
    Sundry countries.                                          [_Aside._

    +La G.+ One wou'd take him for some foreign beast,
    And that fellow to show him. How the gander
    Ruffles and prunes himself, as if he would
    Tread the goose by him!

    +De L.+ 'Tis a pure goat!

    +La G.+ And will clamber a pyramid in scent of's female.

    +De L.+ The wenches swear, he kisses like a giant still;
    And will ride his heats as cleanly as a dieted
    Gelding. Let's fall in. Signior Silliman!
    My best wishes kiss your hand.

    +La G.+ Continue me worthy of the title of your servant, sir.

    +Sil.+ I am very glad to see you well; and hope you are
    In good health and sound, gentlemen.

    +La G.+ And when shall's draw cuts again for a
    Wench, signior, ha?

    +Sil.+ Your pleasure [is] to say so.

    +De L.+ The slave's rose-drunk, o' my life.

    +Sil.+ Please you to take notice of my worthy friend here.

    +De L.+ Your admirer, sir.                   [_Salutes +Messenger+._

    +La G.+ Slave to your sedan, sir.

    +Mes.+ God bless the good duchess, and all that love the
    King, I say, gentlemen, an't like ye.

    +De L.+ Pray, sir, what news abroad, or at court?

    +Mes.+ News, quotha! Indeed, sir, the truth is I am a
    Shoemaker by my trade; my name is Latchet,
    And I work to some ladies in the house here,
    Though I say't myself; and yet the times were
    Never harder, nor leather dearer.

    +De L.+ This winter will make amends;
    You shall have horsehides cheap, horsehides dog-cheap.

    +Latch.+ Cheap, quotha! Why, sir, I'll tell you, (for you
    Look like a very honest gentleman), I am put to
    Find a pike myself; and must, the parish swears,
    Or lose all the shoes in my shop.

    +De L.+ 'Tis very brave! Why, you look like a champion;
    And have a face the parish may confide in.

    +Latch.+ Fide, quotha! sir; be judge yourself, if ever
    You knew the like. I have been at the trade
    This forty years, off and on; and those children's
    Shoes, I have sold for sixpence or a groat upon some
    Occasion, we now sell for twelvepence, as they say.

    +De L.+ Then the misery is, you get the more.

    +Latch.+ More, quotha! Pray, sir, a word. You are a
    Courtier, if I may be so bold. They say we must
    All be fain to shut up shop, and mortgage
    Our wives to the soldiers. D'ye hear any
    Such talk, sir?

    +De L.+ Some buzzing: but the blades will not accept 'em
    Without special articles and a flock of money and
    Plate, to keep the babies they shall beget valiant.

    +Latch.+ Valiant, quoth-a! Truly, sir, I'll tell ye,
    On the truth of a poor man, my Lady de Prate's foot
    Is but of the sixes: and yet we pay five pistoles
    A dicker.

    +Sil.+ My lady's foot but o' the sixes? you lie, sirrah!
    By Saint Hugh! there's never a lady i' th' land has a
    Prettier foot and leg; if you ha' not spoil'd 'em
    With your calf's-skin, sirrah.

    +La G.+ Why, the sixes is a good handsome size for a lady.

    +Latch.+ Lady, quotha! my life for her's, there's few ladies
    I' the court go more upright, nor pay better:
    I'll say that.

    +Sil.+ You say that? foh! I scorn to wear an inch
    Of leather thy nasty flesh shall handle.

    +De L.+ O, your worthy friend, signior; and an elder in's parish;
    A pikeman too for the republic. Come, come,
    He shall be shoemaker to us all. Canst trust?

    +Latch.+ Trust, quotha! My name's Latchet, sir. I
    Serv'd eleven years to my vocation, before I
    Could be free, and have drunk many a good bowl
    Of beer i' th' duchess's cellar since that.

    +De L.+ I like a man can answer so punctually
    To a thing.

    +Latch.+ Thing, quotha! it is our trade, sir.

    +De L.+ Spoke like the warden of the company!             [_Exeunt._

                _Enter +Claudilla+, and +Dessandro+ in a
                              nightgown._

    +Claud.+ I am at extremity of wonder.

    +Des.+ The story may deserve it, lady; when you shall
    Cast your thoughts upon the man it treats on;
    The circumstances and progress of my love:
    Nay, it may raise your anger higher than your wonder;
    And work the modest pantings of your breast
    Into a hectic rage. I saw this tempest
    Gather'd in a cloud, dismal and black, ready to break
    Its womb in storms upon me; and I have cast
    My soul on every frown and horror you can arm
    Your passion with. I have held conflict with the wilder
    Guilt and tremblings of my blood to rescue it; but
    Heaven and my angry fate has thrown me grovelling
    At your feet; and I want soul to break the charm.

    +Claud.+ This is a strange mystery, to betray my virtue
    With your own; and I shall sin to hear it.

    +Des.+ If pity be a sin, lock up those beauties
    From the view of men; or they will damn all the
    Eyes that look upon you.

    +Claud.+ Has your blood lost all the virtue it should inherit?
    And think you by this treacherous siege to take
    My honour in? Let me shun you, or you will
    Talk me leprous.

    +Des.+ Do, madam.
    Tear up the wounds your eyes have made----
    I'll keep them bleeding sacrifices to your cruelty.
    And when cold Death has cast his gloomy shade
    O'er this dust, perhaps you may bestow one gentle
    Sigh to hallow it: when you shall know
    The height of my desires was but to die worthy
    Of your pardon, without the ambition of a bolder thought:
    And still had scorch'd and smother'd here without
    A tongue, only to beg your mercy to my grave.

    +Claud.+ Play not yourself into a shame will rūst your brightest
    Worths, and hide your dust in curses and black fame:
    I now shall think your valour flatter'd, that can
    Sink it to such effeminate and lovesick crafts,
    For our stale women to mollify the usher with.
    Dessandro has a fame, high and active as the voice
    It flies on; and could you wander from your
    Religious self in such a dream as this?
    Cleara's virtue has an interest near your heart,
    Should wake you to your first man again.

    +Des.+ Cleara still is here in the first sculpture of
    Her virtues; and I their honourer.

    +Claud.+ No more!----
    My grief and shame are passionate, to find
    So much bad man got near your heart; and shows
    This sick complexion in your honour, more
    Tainted than the face of your imposture.----
    You have play'd the excellent counterfeit, and your skill
    Does make you proud: you cannot blush--                     [_Exit._

    +Des.+ She's gone;--
    A star shot from her eye, and light'ned through
    My blood. I must provide for thunder and
    Thy revenge, De Flame, as horrid as thought can
    Shape it.

                           _Enter +Cleara+._

    +Cle.+ Sir!

    +Des.+ Proud love, I'll meet thee with burning sighs
    And bleeding turtles at thy shrine.                        [_Aside._

    +Cle.+ This is too bold a hazard for your health,
    Which yet sits wan and troubled on your cheek.

    +Des.+ Madam!

    +Cle.+ Indeed, I'll chide ye.                              [_Aside._

    +Des.+                        O, cry ye mercy!
    Some retired meditations.

    +Cle.+ I shall observe 'em;
    Let me but leave you with the joy to know
    I stand not in the hazard of that frown.

    +Des.+ We'll kiss next time.

    +Cle.+ Sir!

    +Des.+ Or never.

    +Cle.+ Ha! d'ye know me?

    +Des.+ So well, methinks we should not part so soon:
    Our hearts have been more ceremonious, and hung
    In panting sighs upon our lips, to bid adieu.
    One kiss must now sum up all; and seal their
    General release. I know Cleara more constant
    To her virtue and brave mind, than to ask heaven
    Idle questions. 'Tis fate, not will.                        [_Exit._

    +Cle.+ So.
    I feel thy marble hand lie here: 'Tis cold, and heavy!
    How my poor heart throbs under it, and struggles to
    Find air! not one kind sigh lend thee a gale
    For yonder haven! It's gone! quite vanish'd!
    Beshrew me, it was a most horrible apparition!
    I wou'd not see it again
    In such a cruel look for all my hopes;
    Yet it held me gently by the hand, and left a warm farewell there,
    As my Dessandro us'd. As my Dessandro, said I?
    O, how fain my hopes would mock my apprehension;
    And that my sorrow!----
    I'll woo thy pity with my groans, kind earth!
    And lay my throbbing breast to thine!
    Until I am dissolv'd into a spring,
    Whose murmurs shall eternally repeat
    This minute's story.

                          _Enter +De Flame+._

    +De F.+ Ha!
    Cleara, drown'd in her own tears? Sister! Cleara!

    +Cle.+ I had a gentle slumber; and all the world
    (Methought) was in a midnight calm.

    +De F.+ Dear girl,
    Clear up those sad eyes and my cold doubts.
    Prythee, tell me, is our Dessandro dead?

    +Cle.+ Heaven defend!

    +De F.+ No! what then, in all the volumes of black destiny
    And nature, can throw you into this posture?
    Unkind Cleara, why dost dissemble it? I see him
    Breathless on thy cheek, and lost.

    +Cle.+ Lost for ever.

    +De F.+ My fears did prompt me so. For ever!
    There's horror and amazement in the thought.
    See, Cleara, my eyes can overtake thee.
    Gone at so short a farewell, friend? Death,
    Thou art the murderer of all our joys and hopes.

    +Cle.+ Sir, Dessandro's well, very well; we parted
    Even but now.

    +De F.+ What!

    +Cle.+ O brother, I have lost a jewel that he gave me;
    I shall vex my eyes out.

    +De F.+ Beshrew this serious folly; you have vex'd my
    Blood into a sullen fit.

    +Cle.+ You shall not chide me;
    Tell me, didst ever in thy life meet with a grief
    That made thy poor heart sick, and did divide
    Thy sleeps and hours into groans and sighs?

    +De F.+ Never, [I] thank my indifferent fate.

    +Cle.+ Nor in the legend of some injur'd maid,
    That made thine eye to pause, and with a tear
    Bedew it?

    +De F.+ I cannot untie riddled knots, Cleara.

    +Cle.+ Come, I'll but dry mine eyes, and tell you a story,
    That shall deserve a groan.                               [_Exeunt._




ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA.


                  _Enter +De Castro+ and +Dessandro+._

    +Des.+ Tush! they had only tongue
    And malice; and that great zeal they
    Seem'd to owe to Rome was unto themselves
    And their own estates. What were they but wranglers
    In schools and law? and studied words to make men
    Guilty. They liv'd at ease; and slept in purples and
    Warm furs; but bold-minded Catiline threat'ned
    Their wise sleeps.

    +De C.+ There was too much attempt and fact in't.

    +Des.+ 'Twas fact then to look sour on a gownman:
    They were mere citizens, jealous of their wives
    And daughters--that condemn'd 'em too!
    De Castro, there's a lethargy in our blood:
    We sleep and dream away our lives. If such
    Wore purple for well-talking, what shall he merit,
    That cures the wounds and smart his country groans with?

    +De C.+ The people shall enshrine his name with reverence;
    And fill their temples with his statues. 'Tis
    The great end we are all born to.

    +Des.+ Which can't be, whilst by-respect shall closely
    Wound the bosom of our laws and freedom:
    For what was't less, that took our father's life?

    +De C.+ In whose blow the heads of all brave men were
    Threat'ned.

    +Des.+ Then, if we dare not do a general good,
    Yet let us secure our own dear lives and honours.

    +De C.+ The State is full of dangerous whispers.

    +Des.+ There's an imposthume swells it.

    +De C.+ Wou'd 'twere lanc'd!

    +Des.+ Spoken with the soul of Cassius! We have the cure,
    And may do it with a little stir. But then
    We must deal like true physicians of state;
    And where we find it ulcer'd (though in ourselves,
    Friends and allies), not lay soft effeminate hands on't.
    Nature has made us nearest to ourselves:
    And I would pay the last warm drop of blood
    From all these veins, to see the hopes and honours of our blood
    (That's now benighted in our father's fate)
    Dawn on De Castro's youth again.

    +De C.+ No, Dessandro; these hopes are lost upon a high
    And angry sea; and I must see fools and stale
    Parasites (whose progeny ne'er bled one drop, nor had
    A valiant thought to serve their country) begin
    A spurious issue on my birthright, that will on tiptoes,
    Collossus-like, bestride us, and grasp our fate.

    +Des.+ Take me into thy bosom, brave man; we meet
    Like amorous streams, and as we ought;
    Our honour, life and fortunes have but one heart.
    Give me thy hand, De Castro. This sword                    [_Draws._
    Our father hath oft made glorious in the blood
    Of De Castro's foes; and I'll not doubt,
    How much it prompts thy valiant soul.
    O brother, tears, and some sad discourse,
    Is all that we have paid him yet. Strangers
    Can be far braver in their sense unto his fame.
    The tears we ought to shed ought to be blood, De Castro!
    Blood, warm from their veins, that made us weep
    In streams, and mingle it with the dust of vulgar
    Feet, as they did his. Swear by all the glorious acts
    Of our great ancestry, their hallowed urns,
    Our father's injur'd memory, and all
    The hopes and honour we derive from them,
    To pay his blood a sad account in some
    Revenge, worthy his ghost and our bold hands.

    +De C.+ All which religiously I vow to.

    +Des.+ And I. So now we are brothers by as strong
    Divinity as nature. I'll not break open the
    Design, till we shall hear't confirm'd by higher warrant:
    Anon meet at the Duchess-Dowager's.

    +De C.+ Claudilla's?

    +Des.+ Yes; where you shall hear something worthy the
    Encouragement of our father's spirit in thee.
    I am now to wait upon the duke: he
    That keeps us what we are.

    +De C.+ The duke!----I have the game in view,
    And now discern what I must pay him for my place.

    +Des.+ You are full of thoughts, my lord!

    +De C.+ Brother, our lives are on the cast; but 'tis not that
    Does interpose 'em. There's something in my fears
    Still presents Cleara. Take heed, Dessandro;
    A virgin's tears leave sad and fatal prints.

    +Des.+ Your wishes are a brother's; but those dreams
    Chill not my sleeps. Think on that concerns us
    Near, and be active.

    +De C.+ I shall not fail ye. Farewell!          [_Exit +De Castro+._

                            _Enter +Pirez+._

    +Pir.+ Colonel Dessandro!

    +Des.+ Your lordship's pardon: Which way walk you?

    +Pir.+ As you please to dispose me; my business
    Now designs it so: 'Tis there, in short.
                              [_Gives a paper, which +Dessandro+ reads._
    I love this gallant mastery of a man's self:
    I look'd his temper would have flam'd about my ears.
    Not a sparkle in his brow, nor the least change of blood.
    Strange! I have seen him ruffl'd into a storm,
    And all fury: now, not a frown nor smile!

    +Des.+ De Flame? Well,
    My lord, this is a down-flat challenge.

    +Pir.+ I brought it for one.

    +Des.+ I accept it, with thanks to your lordship, and shall be
    Ready to serve you in any power I have.

    +Pir.+ 'Tis not worth it, colonel.

    +Des.+ The Lord de Flame's angry, it seems, that Fortune should
    Give me right without his hand in't; he has turn'd his style
    High and strangely on me: But I shall coolly respite
    That, till we have room to argue it. That he is
    Far more worthy his expectations in the duchess, I can
    Confess: that's no assent, sir, to my quarrel, nor yet
    A law to her. For those, whom her thoughts please
    To think most worthy, are so to her.

    +Pir.+ But does not bind the opinion of another.

    +Des.+ Nor that opinion her freedom.

    +Pir.+ Yet there be rules in virtue, from which all noble
    Judgments should take their level, even in love itself.

    +Des.+ If it be thought she's too partial in her grace
    To me, I shall dispute it, as 'tis question'd.

    +Pir.+ I come not to add exceptions, or to make any.

    +Des.+ I stand not in so cheap a rank, but that her
    Favour may make my services as meritorious
    As his lordship's, and can engage as much blood and
    Fame for't.

    +Pir.+ You know him of a noble breast, and one
    That will not flatter weak pretences into truths;
    Nor let 'em work with such impressions on his soul,
    Did not his honour bleed in't. Sir, I come,
    As one that ever honour'd your great parts,
    And wish that you could think on't o'er again.
    Think how black you must expect that morn to rise
    Upon your wishes, when you lead her to the altar;
    Where the faint lights with blue and ghastly flames
    Will receive ye; and all the things of holy ceremony
    Present pale glimmerings to your eyes, to fright your bride
    Back unto her first vows. And then, methinks,
    Each tear and groan the fair Cleara sends
    To overtake ye, should show a speaking fury
    To untwine your trembling hands.

    +Des.+ No; nor all the squadrons hell can spare
    To aid them--though her brother led them on,
    And you brought up the rear!

    +Pir.+ Sir!

    +Des.+ Pish! the meanest thought Claudilla
    Pleases to bestow here (under this humble guard)
    Must be without the affright (my lord) of all the
    Dangers in his muster, stare they like giants
    On me, and in armies. As for Cleara,
    If she held flattering glasses to her thoughts
    Which render'd 'em wide and airy, they must not forfeit
    Me. You may deserve her better. I'll not start, sir,
    A scruple from his demands and yours. Expect it,
    And so farewell.                                       [_Going off._

    +Pir.+ Farewell.----The time?

    +Des.+ I shall think on't.

    +Pir.+ Shall? It must not so tamely be thought on.

    +Des.+ How?

    +Pir.+ I spoke it, sir.

    +Des.+ Are you sent to own the quarrel?

    +Pir.+ No; but look on't with so much soul, as I think't
    An honour to wear a sword in't.

    +Des.+ Go, go hang it in your mistress's chamber!
    It stinks, sir, of perfume.

    +Pir.+ It may, sir (for destiny has many ways to the wood[26]),
    Cut your throat; and then I'll give't your footboy.

    +Des.+ My throat, Pirez! that saucy thought has
    Ruin'd thee.                                               [_Fight._

                   _Enter +Sampayo+ and +De Loome+._

    +Samp.+ Hold, hold, colonel.

    +De L.+ My lord, y'are hurt.                          [_To +Pirez+._

    +Pir.+ I must owe him this for't.

    +Des.+ Canst talk yet?

    +Samp.+ Command your passion; see how the common herd
    Come gazing in. Do not become their talk
    And wonder. Noble Dessandro! put up, my lord!
    Thank ye.                                              [_They part._

    +De L.+ Sir, my lord duke sent me to tell you
    He expects your company.

    +Des.+ I wait on him. [_To +Pirez+._] Bid the ladies tear
    Their clean smocks to wrap you in.

    +Pir.+ Insolent man!                             [_Offers to fight._

    +Samp.+ Again!                                            [_Exeunt._

                _Enter three +Townsmen+, as the Watch._

    +1st T.+ Was not I about to tell you so? They
    would be afraid of true men, when we came.

    +2d T.+ By'r lady; but that mun not serve their
    turns; for we must know flatly which was plantan
    and which defendam,[27] or we shall discharge but a
    sorry conscience to the king's justice.

    +1st T.+ I'll take my oath upon the corporal Bible,
    I saw two glittering swords run a tilt, and two to
    that, if need be.

    +2d T.+ Neighbours, I cannot tell; we are old
    men, or should be at least; some of us have lived
    threescore years and upwards in a parish, as they
    say; I name nobody; and therefore it is good to be
    sure, and make all our tales _bonum fidrum_: for we
    are not all one man's children. And yet, if I be
    not mistaken, I am sure I saw three more, and
    glittering ones indeed, as you call them. God bless
    every good man and woman from the like! They
    e'en yearned my heart; and yet, by my fay, I am
    a hundred and two, come the time.

    +3d T.+ You talk like sucking infants. Neighbours,
    I'll be sworn, if I were to take my oath before
    the best man living, high or low, there was
    twenty drawn swords, little and great. I'm sure,
    I might ha' seen 'em, like a fool, had I been worth
    my head, but my little boy Jack did.

    +1st T.+ La, there; and that same's a murrain
    wise boy, if you mark him, and will see a thing, I
    warrant you, as soon as the wisest of us all, were
    he twice as old again.

    +3d T.+ I could ha' seen too at his bigness, for all
    I'm lame now, God help us! You remember the
    Powder Plot?

    +2d T.+ Powder Plot, quotha! I shall not forget
    it, while the world stands.

    +1st T.+ Nor I, were I to die a thousand deaths.

    +3d T.+ That very day was I working in our garret.

    +2d T.+ Say you so?

    +1st T.+ Nay, neighbours, beshrew me, this may
    be true; for I have known this man here able to
    do as tight a day's work by noon, as the tallest
    fellow the king keeps (God bless him!) take him
    from top to toe.

    +3d T.+ All's one for that. Mark me! there has
    not been a glass window there time out of mind:
    since I came nor after; and I tell you truly (I'm
    a false liar else) I smelt the powder as hot as if it
    had been done the next day.

    +1st T.+ See, see, the wind! the wind, neighbours,
    is much; God bless us!

    +3d T.+ Go to; I am no made fool, though a born
    fool, my masters. True, the wind may be something,
    as you say. But if there had not been
    something else, I would not give a fart for't. I did
    not work at court with a master-carpenter for
    nothing, my boys; and see the king's grace fasting
    and full, as I did, to a hairsbreadth, as they
    say. Let me alone for casting my cards, give me but
    ground enough; and yet I can neither write nor
    read, heaven make me thankful!

    +2d T.+ Heaven make us all thankful! I have seen
    the king too in my prime, and gave him a beck
    upon his milk-white steed; as near as one should
    say, what's this? and all his royal lords and ladies
    sporting.

    +1st T.+ Ay, ay, those were the days (peace be
    with 'em!) a poor man's tale might be heard at court.
    There are some lords and ladies now were lousy then.

    +3d T.+ Go thy ways, by the rood! Nay, he'll have
    his old talk, for all the world, up and down.

    +1st T.+ It was ever my condition; I care not who
    knows it; and yet I never scathed the least sucking
    child that begs his bread; but little does
    another man know where the king's shoe wrings
    him, but those that wear it, as my mother would
    often say; and she lived long enough to know it.

    +3d T.+ Nay, that's certain; the king's but a man,
    as we three are; no more is the queen, if you go
    to that. Did you never hear of my uncle's observations?
    He's but a poor knave (as they call him),
    but such a knave as cares neither for king nor
    kæsar, the least on 'em.

    +1st T.+ Then he may be hanged, neighbour Palmer.

    +3d T.+ If he be, he's not the first that has been
    hanged for treason, I hope.                               [_Exeunt._

                  _Enter the +Duke+ and +Claudilla+._

    +Duke.+ That frown was shot with pretty tyranny
    From your brow; but this kiss shall sacrifice
    Me to my Claudilla's bosom.

    +Claud.+ You'll sully your honour in't; widows
    are but rumpled stuff.

    +Duke.+ That again! By all my hopes and by
    thyself, the next and greatest--

    +Claud.+ Your brother's crown's betwixt us.

    +Duke.+ I did [that] but to sharp De Flame into some
    Expression of his wit and love.

    +Claud.+ Alas! he sighs all.

    +Duke.+ And, like some crude chaplain, spits most
    Of his mind.

    +Claud.+ Yet the tame dove can tire me sometimes
    With penn'd speeches, when we're alone, and flatter.
    I'm resolv'd to bestow him on my woman.

    +Duke.+ Now he can come to hand. Ha, ha, thinking men never
    love heartily, unless they be dank powder.

    +Claud.+ His courtship is like thick embroidery upon
    Slight stuff. I must confess, I never
    Lov'd the man, only as a rich gown out of
    Fashion, for a day's change sometimes at home,
    When I take physic.

    +Duke.+ You may wear him as you please, and to what
    Purpose; his honest nature was meant you so;
    But Dessandro is the man of men (I must confess),
    That I could wish most near you now.

    +Claud.+ Dessandro!

    +Duke.+ And suddenly, before your honour blush too palpably:
    I have discovered him and his devotions.

    +Claud.+ Then your brains were in his plot.

    +Duke.+ 'Twas his own.

    +Claud.+ Stol'n from some romance or play! but
    For De Flame----

    +Duke.+ One wheel will move another to the period.

    +Claud.+ Methinks, his soft and easy spirit should be
    The fitter engine, and more pliant to your aim.

    +Duke.+ He has too much of Venus in his mixture; all his
    Desires would be at home still in the circle of those
    Eyes: the other is all fire, and thinks that fame
    Too cheap, that's found so near; and there will
    Want such men abroad.

    +Claud.+ But where's my honour, duke?

    +Duke.+ Lock'd in my heart and cares: the king must die,
    Claudilla, to smoothe the way, and lift us to our wishes.

    +Claud.+ That still is talk'd on.

    +Duke.+ His last glass is now turn'd, and runs apace.
    He gives thee to Dessandro, and is your guest; and
    That night receives eternal thanks for't. Then
    (My fair) Dessandro cannot want lustre and honour for
    Your bed, nor thy commands, what all Castile can give.

    +Claud.+ I understand not, sir.

    +Duke.+ Thou shalt in time. O my Claudilla! my best and nearest
    Joy, our loves have been entire as a flame: one centre
    To our thoughts and wishes; and crown our bosoms with
    Delight and safety. But they are come.

                  _Enter +De Castro+ and +Dessandro+._

    +Claud.+ I have not known so little of his fame
    To be a stranger to his worth. Sir, I honour it:
    Nor am I so proud and dark in my opinion,
    To think I stand upon myself, but stoop in
    Honour to one of his deserts and blood. This is
    The way, my lord, I ever summ'd up man, and set
    His titles down but for cyphers.

    +De C.+ Observe.                                           [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ Which will most clearly show his merits, and heighten
    Them in value to you; for, madam, look on him
    In the spring of his deserts; and you'll say, titles
    Are but narrow spheres; and if honoured actions
    Be the soul and breath, he's then above them,
    And stands in the first rank of men.

    +Des.+ I shall want life to pay this debt.                 [_Aside._

    +Claud.+ But, with your grace's favour, I must be tender here:
    For I stand a tall mark to voice and censure;
    And need not tell your highness, with what strong
    Expectation the Count de Flame hath long
    Time visited me.

    +Duke.+ If you will stand engaged, madam,
    I am silent.

    +Claud.+ No, sir--but----

    +Duke.+ You expect honour and fortune to your bed:
    I know Castile owns not a subject (I'll not
    Except myself; and had I another's freedom, I should
    Not speak my wishes in a second person) that
    Looks not with ambition on you: but, madam, weigh
    Them all; take but off their grains of fortune,
    He shall hoist them into the air; and to my
    Wish he's come. Dessandro, your name was
    Mentioned--happily, I hope. Let me present
    His value to your grace's hand; and to a sister,
    Madam, I would say, her bosom.

    +De C.+ You purchase our poor lives too highly, sir.

    +Duke.+ I would have rich jewels set to their worth;
    And shall be proud to give any advantage unto his.
    The Duchess shall not slight me in't: I will be
    Heard against the proudest courtship that shall
    Charm her. Come, my lord, what sport will you
    Win some ducats at?

    +De C.+ I will lose some at any your grace pleases.

    +Duke.+ My brother has got a fortunate hand of late
    'Gainst all the court: I cannot rise at even terms
    From him.

    +De C.+ I saw him draw deep from your grace last night.

    +Duke.+ Two thousand ducats; but I expect 'em
    with interest again.

    +Des.+ I cannot pawn myself to the unworthy ends
    Of flattery and compliment; but this honour
    Outbids the value of a thousand lives:
    What this poor glimpse of expression can show me in;
    Saints are not more unfeigned in their prayers,
    Than I to serve you.

    +Claud.+ I shall not doubt, how much I may be indebted
    To your noble wishes; but let me add, sir, he that
    Lays out for me without my warrant, shall scarcely
    Put it on my account for thanks--much less, debt.

    +Des.+ Not good devotions!

    +Claud.+ Them I desire, and shall repay.

    +Des.+ Then pay back mine.

    +Claud.+ I'm not to learn my prayers, sir.

    +Des.+ Teach me yours, that I may turn the virtue
    Of their charms back to your bosom.

    +Claud.+ Colonel, mine would hardly please you;
    I never pray for wars.

    +Duke.+ You have back-friends, my lord?

    +De C.+ That some malignant cloud does interpose
    The king's cheerful favour, I am most sensible.

    +Duke.+ It wou'd spread to me too, if they durst.

    +De C.+ Had they but so much virtue left, they durst
    Own their names by, I should make pale envy blush.

    +Duke.+ Come, we'll to cards, and leave them to parl.     [_Exeunt._

    +Des.+ Madam, but mean it in a smile.

    +Claud.+ What!

    +Des.+ Love.

    +Claud.+ Fie!

    +Des.+ Yet stay; the air has busy wings. But give
    The thought consent, and I will take it in soft
    Whispers from your lip.

    +Claud.+ You will?

    +Des.+ I feel it creep in flames through all my blood!

                          _Enter +De Flame+._

    +Claud.+ Sir, the Count de Flame!

    +Des.+ With a black evening in his face!

    +De F.+ O my faithful Achilles, I came
    To give you joy!

    +Claud.+ Who! me, sir?

    +De F.+ My virtuous friend and you.

    +Claud.+ Of what?

    +De F.+ Of your entertainment under him. Y' have a brave commander,
    And he a--I cannot be angry enough to tell you what.

    +Claud.+ I begin to doubt his wits; he looks so ghastly.

    +De F.+ Yes, I see a devil in those eyes, that makes my hair
    Stare upward. False woman, my love durst scarce
    Doubt before, what now I find and tremble at.
    But heaven has wrath in ambush and scorpion-stings!

    +Claud.+ For what, my lord?

    +De F.+ Duchess, thy perjury and warm engagements
    To this, this huge impostor!

    +Claud.+ Sir, he has crack'd his brains with poetry;
    Pray, forgive him----

    +Des.+ Count, you know what privilege this roof can give
    You on my anger, or else I should make your frenzy
    Tongueless. Don't requite it barbarously on her,
    That gives you leave to live by it. Gather your
    Scatter'd wits up; go home, sir, and repent.

    +De F.+ Privilege!
    I'll meet thee in a ring of flames, or on the tempest
    Of some billow, upon whose back the raging north wind strides:
    Yet I'd not ha' thee lose one spark of thy full man in noise
    And air; that when next we greet, I may find thee worthy
    My revenge. This frailty now protects thee.

    +Claud.+ Uncivil man, know the way back, or I shall
    Let that justice loose upon you you deserve.

    +De F.+ Your centaur there, you mean; he must
    Stare bigger to move a hair of mine.

    +Claud.+ You sha' not stir, sir; as you love me, do not:
    Let him die mad.

    +De F.+ Do kiss him, and clap his cheek.

    +Claud.+ And circle him in my arms from your pale envy.
    Does that make you foam? Look ye--            [_Kisses +Dessandro+._

    +De F.+ He shall not blossom there.

    +Claud.+ He shall, though thou dost bribe the Furies
    With thy soul.

    +Des.+ Madam, your commands will hold me, till I scorch away!
    I am in flames and torment, and there's not so much
    Mercy under heaven, but your own, would let him use
    That tongue a minute longer. Thou has seen this
    Sword reeking from hilt to point, and sweating
    Showers of blood o'er thy head; whilst I bestrid thy
    Life, and rescu'd it 'gainst many gallant foes:
    And durst thou tempt it to thine own throat now?
    Prythee, begone; and let us meet no more.
    There's something in thy youth I still can love,
    And will forget to call thee to account for this.
    Be wise unto thyself, and ask this lady pardon.

    +De F.+ O my blood! Must I bear this! I am
    More cold than marble, sure!

    +Claud.+ Within there! Where's his grace?

                           _Enter +Servant+._

    +Serv.+ At cards, madam.

    +De F.+ O, cry you mercy! your bak'd meats sha' not cool for me;
    I only wish that they may choke ye. That paper, sir,
    I sent, wou'd be worth your noble answer.

    +Des.+ 'Tis there again, and has stopp'd the use I took it for.

    +De F.+ Ha! I'll make thy name a boy's play,
    And kill thee on the threshold of thy door.

    +Des.+ Go, go, take your rest! When you are
    Recovered, I may own you.

    +De F.+ Thou hast not blood enough to answer this.        [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Pirez+ and +Sampayo+._

    +Samp.+ You tell me strange ones.

    +Pir.+ But true ones.

    +Samp.+ Nice windings!

    +Pir.+ This duke can strangely back his purposes,
    Where they like him. 'Tis a fair lift
    To Dessandro's fortune; his stars shin'd.

    +Samp.+ True; she has a spacious fortune; but I shall
    Tell your lordship what perhaps you know not.

    +Pir.+ You may.

    +Samp.+ She has no blood. From her first, an honest
    Tradesman's wife, who left her very rich and
    Handsome, the duke (as he still keeps a
    Kennel for that purpose) had her presented
    To him for his game; remov'd her from the
    Cuckoo's nest into another sphere; but with all
    Caution and private sleight; and you must
    Imagine, now she spreads a larger wing;
    Stirs not abroad, but studded like the night
    With flames; and at length becomes the court's
    Discourse and wonder; but still keeps[28] the
    Country her retiring place.

    +Pir.+ Unknown!

    +Samp.+ Or unsuspected, as the duke's instruments dealt it;
    And the young Henrique being in those parts
    With our king's brother for sport, casually (as 'twas plotted)
    Visits her house, falls in love, and marries her. This
    Is the epitome.

    +Pir.+ I hope the Duke Bereo had no dull hand in't.

    +Samp.+ 'Tis thought (only by me, sir,) [he] keeps his
    Acquaintance to this day.

    + Pir.+ It must be fatally answer'd somewhere;
    Heaven has a justice.

    +Samp.+ The preparation makes huge noise.

    +Pir.+ 'Tis well the king's a guest; their triumph
    Might miscarry else.

    +Samp.+ The king gives her in church. Methinks
    The Count de Flame must needs be all a-flame at it:
    And I believe, sir, your affront bleeds freshly in him.

    +Pir.+ It must be put to an account somewhere.

    +Samp.+ To return his challenge and honour with such a scorn
    Must work such a spirit to high extremes.

    +Pir.+ The saddest story is his sister.

    +Samp.+ A rose new-blown, and flung aside to wither in
    Her sweets! Poor innocence! that has much chang'd
    My opinion of Dessandro.

    +Pir.+ His resolution and ambition are like vast trees,
    Whose spreading tops hide their own roots
    From the kind sun.

    +Samp.+ Let out unto so vast a pride, as shades all his natural
    Virtues, or makes 'em grow up rank and sour.
    The event will tell us all.

    +Pir.+ I wish it without blood. Your lordship's for the solemnity?

    +Samp.+ My attendance ties me to his majesty's person.

    +Pir.+ My best wishes to your lordship.                   [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[26] [The common saying is, "There are more ways to the wood than one."]

[27] [Plaintiff and defendant.]

[28] [Old copy, _kept_.]




ACTUS QUARTUS, SCENA PRIMA.


                             _Loud Music._

    _Enter the +King+, +Cardinal+, +Duke+, +Duchess+, +Dessandro+,
        +De Castro+, +Sampayo+, ladies bearing up her train,
        voices, lutes: they pass over._

                 _Manent +De Loome+ and +La Gitterne+._

    +De L.+ So by this time the confines ring
    Of our great solemnity.

    +La G.+ She became his hand bravely, and with so skilful a brow,
    As if the first fruits of her honour were to be gathered yet.

    +De L.+ Our duke will lick his lips at this night's sport.

    +La G.+ And wind her up for him, 'twill go hard else.

    +De L.+ That shall not hinder our sport, I hope.

    +La G.+ Expect the steward and his bottles; I'll warrant you.

    +De L.+ The ladies too! we shall not tickle heartily else.

    +La G.+ Where are the great ones bedded?

    +De L.+ I' th' old place.

    +La G.+ I' th' corner lobby?

               _Enter +De Flame+ and +Cleara+ disguised._

    +De F.+ You belong to the Duke de Bereo, sir?

    +De L.+ Who told you so?

    +De F.+ A friend that wou'd commend me with a poor suit
    Unto you, sir, if you be Signior de Loome.

    +De L.+ But this is no year for suit, sir.

    +De F.+ Mine brings thanks ready-told, sir; look ye:
    All double pistoles, signior.

    +De L.+ Sir, I shall try my power, and be ready in any
    Service t' ye, for my friend's sake.

    +De F.+ D' ye know who 'tis?

    +De L.+ Hum! no matter; I'll undertake your business.

    +De F.+ Sir, can you please to pardon some light gold?

    +De L.+ You shall find me a gentleman in anything for my friend's sake.

    +De F.+ Nay, sir, it weighs a hundred pound at all, peradventures.

    +De L.+ And I'll tell you one thing of myself, sir, more than
    Perhaps my friend rememb'red: I am very honest, where
    I take; and every man is not to be trusted in matters
    Of such consequence. A very fair purse, I assure you!

    +De F.+ Nest and birds are all your own.

    +De L.+ Your business is done, believ't, sir; please you to kiss
    The king's hand into the bargain?

    +De F.+ At fitter opportunity, let me be ambitious of your
    Offer: but I shall woo your courtesy to be only a
    Looker on now.

    +De L.+ Anything, sir, you can make worthy your request. Nay--I
    hope, you do not wish me [to] forfeit good manners--as I'm
    virtuous.                                [_Compliment for the door._

    +De F.+ I am a stranger to the way.
        Gentlemen, know yourselves, I beseech you.

    +La G.+ To obey you, signior.

    +De L.+ Sir, you need not speak on't to this man:
    He's but my lord's barber. Since you command it so--
                                 [_Exeunt +De Loome+ and +La Gitterne+._

    +De F.+ Light, light, revenge! heave up thy gloomy tapers!
    That thou may'st see thy smeared altar shine
    In blood. Come, my Cleara! my better soul!
    Whose gallant mind will leave thy name
    In the first place of women, and raise thee temples.
    Bravest of thy sex, I could expire on thy cheek,
    And pay thee reverence, my most excellent sister.

    +Cle.+ Just heaven and your brave virtue (my dearest brother)
    Has waken'd my dull breast and trembling sex:
    I do not feel one pale or coward thought;
    But all [are] high and active to my wish.

    +De F.+ I see it lovely in thy brow: like the gleaming
    Dawnings of the morn, when day first kindles;
    Yet our presage is fair.

              _Enter +Duke+, whispering with +De Castro+._

    +Cle.+ The Duke!

    +De F.+ Now, innocence, guard thyself! the wolf is up:
    See, how mischief teems and quickens on their brow:
    Some black thing is spawning: night must be midwife to't:
    If we stay, my poniard will break loose.                  [_Exeunt._

    +Duke.+ Who's that?

    +De C.+ Some of the duchess's servants, I believe, sir.

    +Duke.+ Your hand will lay a new foundation to a kingdom;
    And I am busy how to divide it with thee, when
    We can call it ours.

    +De C.+ 'Tis his last night with mankind; the poison, sir,
    Will do't so subtlely: whilst he but holds the
    Knife, the least warmth attracts, and so dispreads
    Itself through his blood and spirits. Not any
    Struggling for't with nature; his life steals from
    Him in a gentle slumber.

    +Duke.+ Grow in my bosom, till you spread to the first honours
    Of your wish. My fortune is too narrow for your
    Merits, to whom I owe it and all my power, brave friend.  [_Exeunt._

           _Enter +Steward+, +Butler+, +Cook+, and +Maids+._

    +Stew.+ Come, my masters: the great ones shall not
    Have all to themselves: we'll have a civil
    Bout or two to get us a stomach to bedward,
    My sweethearts.

    +Cook.+ Noble master steward!

    +But.+ Brave master steward!

    +Cook.+ The fire of my respects shall ne'er go out unto you.

    +But.+ Nor mine be quench'd.

    +Stew.+ Here, cook, here's a bit for you to lick your lips at:
    And here's a clean napery for you, butler.    [_Gives each a wench._

    Take it.                                                 [_A dance._

    +Stew.+ So, so; I am almost spent; every man to his function.
                                                             [_Exeunt._

            _Enter +King+, +Cardinal+, +Dessandro+, +Duke+,
                        +Duchess+, attendants._

    +King.+ The night begins to frown at our uncivil stay;
    And Hymen's tapers do burn out apace:
    Good night; you shall not stir a foot, Dessandro.

    +Duke.+ All the wishes of a bridal bed crown
    your wishes and embraces!

    +Card.+ And all the blessings of true joy.

    +Duke.+ To bed, to bed!                                   [_Exeunt._

             _Enter +De Loome+, +De Flame+, and +Cleara+._

    +De L.+ You are as melancholy as [the] day, when sun sets:
    I hope you do not doubt my promise?

    +De F.+ No.

    +De L.+ Ye sha' not: I'll not leave you, till the grant be yours.
    Be confidant; and that's more than a courtier is bound
    To by his oath. Sir, where are you? Why, you were
    Living but e'en now; could speak--had sense, too:
    Ha' you seen anything against nature or stomach?
    Hum! sweetheart, has thy master any fits o' th' mother [_To +Cleara+._
    Or falling-sickness? Pretty knave! 'tis pity
    This face was made for breeches.

    +De F.+ Ha!

    +De L.+ I am glad you are come to yourself again.

    +De F.+ You are pleasant.

    +De L.+ I would ha' you so: I have provided some mirth
    And good company for you. Please you, but spare an
    Idle hour from your sleep, we'll allow't again in
    The total of your business (I must not lose his
    Money). If you can smile, you shall not want a
    Subject: Besides, we shall have the wit of a
    Handsome lady or two, and hear their voices.

               _Enter +Steward+, and a man with bottles._

    Look ye, sir, here's the _imprimis_ of the house:
    Master steward himself, whose company may be worth
    Your observation. Signior Silliman, this gentleman
    Is a friend of my lord duke's: pray, let him know he's welcome.

    +Stew.+ I am but the duchess's poor steward, sir, but my
    Place is at your command, sir. You shall not have
    Me claim kindred of her for all that; yet
    Sir Thomas de Loome here can say something,
    If he please, sir.

    +De F.+ Thank ye, sir.

    +Stew.+ Look ye, Sir Thomas, I never fail; here be the
    Perquisites of life and good company. There's that
    Will elevate voices. Come, disburthen thyself in
    That lobby, my honest rational camel!
    Is this gentleman dumb? He can say nothing but
    _Thank you, sir._

    +De L.+ I fear he's planetstruck.

    +Stew.+ 'Tis great pity; yet he makes very gentle signs.

    +De F.+ I'm got into a dark and slippery labyrinth, and
    Grope but by a spark; whilst every pause is fatal.
    No. It had miscarried; and the king's presence
    Was a sacred guard: now, to break in upon them were
    To betray our lives to nothing. Sure, heaven will not
    Lose the glory of such a justice, and by a hand so
    Justly engaged.

           _Enter +La Gitterne+, +Torguina+, and +La Prate+._

    +De L.+ The ladies! Good girls, this deserves a double
    Thanks. Here's a gentleman, whose merits may
    Invite him to your acquaintance, ladies.

    +Tor.+ I shall ever study that due honour, by all the
    Ambitiousness of your humble servant, sir.

    +La P.+ You may please to pardon her, whose demerits
    Make her modest in her expressions to honour
    You, noble sir.

    +De F.+ You engage a poor life to your virtue.

    +De L.+ What, ladies, have you put 'em together
    for a brave boy to-night?

    +La P.+ That's as the dice run, sir.

    +La G.+ The colonel will find a piece of service on't to-night.

    +La P.+ If he put her to the worst, 'twill be worth her pardon,
    being so tried a soldier.

    +Tor.+ If his valour should be shortbreath'd, a retreat may be
    honourable sometimes.

    +La P.+ If he fight not flat coward, and make it in policy.

    +Tor.+ Sir, we have read over Aristotle's _Politics_ and
    Polybius to that purpose.

    +La P.+ Who calls policy the very breath of all war.

    +Tor.+ And so, by your ladyship's good licence, in all
    battalions, leaguers, skirmishes, sieges, invasions, parleys,
    treaties, truces, and other cessations.

    +De F.+ Excellent ladies!

    +De L.+ For the theoric.

    +La P.+ We can say something to the practic too, signior.

    +Tor.+ Both concerning your postures and motions, as
    Which may be necessary for service: her ladyship has
    Written a small tract for her private experience,
    To show how they may be reduced, and a man
    Exercis'd with far less trouble, but with as much
    Activity and proportion of comfort.

    +La P.+ For body and service, madam?

    +Tor.+ I mean so: I warrant you this gentleman
    Understands me.

    +De F.+ And will not your goodness bestow it on the public?
    It would rank your name amongst the illustrious
    Benefactors of the general cause.

    +La P.+ I know not what I may, sir, when the press is fit
    For a woman of quality. Is this gentleman a soldier?

    +De F.+ That ambition has grown with me from the
    Cradle, madam.

    +La P.+ I shall render myself with more endearment to
    Your worth, and ever subscribe to soldiers as the bravest men.

    +De L.+ The duchess, I hope, will be of your opinion;
    But, madam, had I the use of that key for an
    Hour or two, I would take some notes in shorthand
    Behind the hangings.

    +La P.+ You wou'd?

    +De L.+ Yes, indeed, my precious wit, I shou'd.

    +De F.+ That key!

    +Tor.+ Signior, pleaseth you to think our humble
    Invitation worthy the grant of your society.

    +De F.+ I could wish the trouble of ten lives more, to be
    Accepted in your command, fairest of ladies,

    +La P.+ Were all our days multiplied into years, and
    Those years to lives, 'twere but a span of time
    To study our thanks in.----      _Exeunt._

                  _Manent +Silliman+ and +La Prate+._

    +Sil.+ Madam! lady!
    _I never knew what bandage was until now:
    I fear the golden heart you sent me was
    Enchanted: I long to see you._----

    +La P.+ What d'ye mean, sir?

    +Sil.+ Ha, ha, ha! hum! nothing, madam, but there
    Be them that love a good nature with all their heart;
    That have four hundred pounds a year, and money
    In their purse to be knighted, if need be.

    +La P.+ Wit and opportunity assist me!
    The thing will make an excellent husband for the
    Times; and four hundred pounds a year is a
    Considerable fortune to boot. I must take him at
    His bond, or perhaps die in the list of stale chambermaids:
    A court-plague for a misspent youth and service.

    +Sil.+ I am a gentleman already, else the heralds took my
    Money for nothing: and methinks, madam, you
    And I might----

    +La P.+ What, signior?

    +Sil.+ Be as wise as our forefathers.

    +La P.+ You and I?

    +Sil.+ Yes, what say ye to _you and I_? Is not _you and I_
    Good Spanish? Why, madam, I am able to warm
    My own sheets, and get children without the help of
    A doctor; and can kiss as warm and close:
    And you shall swear my breath is sweet.

    +La P.+ Y'are merry, sir, beyond my apprehension.

    +Sil.+ Pardon me, lady, if I be: I mean no harm,
    I protest.

    +La P.+ Very witty!

    +Sil.+ I am what I am: but I was never beholden to any
    Living thing for thus much wit: I might
    Have been an arrant younger brother, but for my mother----
    Thereby hangs a tale, madam, and yet I cou'd ha' danc'd
    My cinque pace in Greek at a dozen. Alpha,
    Beta, Gamma, Delta, cost me five shillings:
    Can you believe me, lady? By this light, you shall
    Wear this diamond! There; sha't, sha't ha't:
    Sha't, sha't, sha't ha't.

    +La P.+ There is such sorcery in your words!

    +Sil.+ No, no, no; troth, love me: come, thou shalt;
    By this----nay, never sigh, my dear; they are
    All orient, sweet wench: Thou art worth all Spain
    For a good disposition----

    +La P.+ You will undo me, master steward.

    +Sil.+ Pish! who? I undo thee? my life! thou dost wrong
    Me: canst find in thy heart to think so? away, away.

    +La P.+ But is this profession honourable, sir?

    +Sil.+ I scorn to deal upon dishonourable terms. Do I
    Kiss like a man that would propound dishonourable
    Conditions?

    +La P.+ Men are so nice and cunning!

    +Sil.+ Do'st think me a Jew; swear me to anything.

    +La P.+ Well, you have taken a poor heart at
    advantage; and make me blush to confess it.

    +Sil.+ Kiss me; here's my hand, till death us do part:
    Thine more than mine own, Signior Bouche
    Ouverte Sillimano: seal'd and deliver'd; but
    I hope, lady, there is no quit rent to be paid out of this copyhold.

    +La P.+ Not for your life, sir.

    +Sil.+ Lawful possession then, and thou'rt mine own.      [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +De Flame+ and +Cleara+._

    +De F.+ So, let 'em drench their souls in laughter: kindle
    Thy noble heart into a flame, my sister!
    Fate cannot give nor we ask more unto
    Our cause: all things conspire and prompt us to't.
    Just and divine revenge!
    I'll strew thy midnight haunts with cypress wreaths,
    And wear thee in rich medals. Propitious goddess!
    This night thy wan and meagre cheek shall blush,
    And smile with warm and wanton blood. Night grows heavy-ey'd,
    And drops her slumbering head in her dark bosom:
    And now their rage and lust will make them ripe
    To bleed. Let us embrace, and interchange
    A sigh or two, Cleara: whate'er become of me,
    Thou wilt wear chaplets in Elysium.

    +Cle.+ My hopes and joys are yours, dear sir, and heaven,
    I hope, will not divide them.
                                [_Unlocks the door, and discovers them._

    +De F.+ See, what a modest blush
    Sleep has cast o'er their guilt!

    +Cle.+ Here is a look
    Tyrants would bashfully gaze at, and fear
    To think it mortal. Glorious hypocrisy!
    Virtue is at wonder in herself, and looks pale,
    To own what she has given.

    +De F.+ I should mock heaven's justice, to let 'em dream
    Their souls away in such a calm: we'll startle
    Them into horror of their sin, and then
    Let 'em see the vengeance they deserve.

    +Cle.+ Ye chaster powers, to whom I and my virginity
    Groan, may every drop breathe incense to your justice?
    Whilst thus I break their springs open.        [_Stabs +Claudilla+._

    +Claud.+ O Dessandro! O, whose hand's that?

    +Cle.+ Cleara's, Cleara's! carry that name in thy last breath
    Down to the shades of lust and perjury.

    +De F.+ So quick and brave, Cleara?

    +Claud.+ O!                                              [_Expirat._

    +Des.+ Cleara! madam, madam! your sleeps are troubled----
    Who's there? De Flame!

    +De F.+ Raise not thy voice an accent: if thou dost, by my
    eternal hopes and soul! this strikes it back unto thy heart.
    See'st thou revenge sit pale upon the point? 'Tis steeled with
    virgin's curses, and shall fly like lightning through thy
    blood; and it is a justice thy vast pride hath lost thee to.

    +Des.+ O, what hast thou done?
    A deed that flinty Scythians and curl'd Ethiops
    Would hide their eyes from.

    +De F.+ Our revenge shall wear a glorious title. Know'st
    Thou that injur'd face? It is Cleara's, injur'd Cleara's.

    +Des.+ Cleara!

    +De F.+ What see'st thou on that brow?

    +Des.+ Murder!

    +De F.+ Horror and guilt unto thy soul.

    +Des.+ I'll not be tamely butcher'd, coward. Without there!
    Help, help, help!

    +De F.+ Whirlwinds and earthquakes cannot do it.
    Think on thy sin.

    +Cle.+ Thy perjury.

    +De F.+ Thy lust.                          [_+Cleara+ stabs at him._

    +Des.+ Cleara! O, thou hast a skilful hand in
    Murder. Help, help! murder!

    +De F.+ So falls a wretched statue from its haughty station,
    when Fate would make it ominous and fright a state. What a
    thick cloud steams from his tainted blood! The air shrinks
    back, and with dull wings fans it from heaven.

           _Enter +De Loome+, +La Gitterne+, +Torguina+, &c._

    +Tor.+ Murder, murder! 'twas his voice.

    +De L.+ It was his voice.

    +Tor.+ The key?

    +La G.+ Gone!

    +Tor.+ Cut from my side! I'm betray'd!

    +De L.+ Look, search the room: where's the stranger?

    +La G.+ The door is fast.                                 [_Knocks._

    +De F.+ You may come in: make up your wonder there. [_Opens the door._

    +Tor.+ My lady murder'd!

    +De L.+ You have astonish'd heaven.

    +Tor.+ And pull'd eternal curses on your head.

    +De F.+ They'll fall like brittle shafts upon my shield.

    +Cle.+ Unjust Dessandro! yet on thy lip I'll
    Tender my last vows, that the world may tell
    I loved thee dead--and this--and this----
                                      [_Kisses him, then stabs herself._

    +De F.+ Hold, hold that cruel hand! Cleara! sister!

    +De L.+ Cleara! This is a horrid scene, my lord.

    +De F.+ 'Twould not be worth my name, did it not strike
    Amazement through your souls, and leave a paleness
    On his cheek that hears it. But here, here I
    Could melt, transfuse my brains through my sad eyes,
    Till they wept blood, and dropp'd their jelly forth:
    She was a jewel too rich for our dull orb.

                         _Enter more servants._

    You need not multiply your fears; I am
    Too proud of my revenge to start from it:
    Let the law frown, and fall in tempests on me.
    Cowards repent,
    When valiant blood ne'er pales at the event.              [_Exeunt._




ACTUS QUINTUS, SCENA PRIMA.


                    _Enter +Pirez+ and +De Loome+._

    +De L.+ A sad court indeed, my lord.

    +Pir.+ As sad a kingdom! Where the news is spread, men that
    hear it stand struck, as if their own passing-bells did call
    unto them.

    +De L.+ Kings' glasses are as brittle as their meanest
    subjects', their footings as slippery and uncertain. He was a
    brave prince, and his life will be memorable in Castile.

    +Pir.+ His death is much admired for the sudden strangeness of
    it. What opinion give the physicians on't?

    +De L.+ They've a hard name for't, if I could think on't.

    +Pir.+ Not suspicion of poison?

    +De L.+ How, my lord! by whom would you suspect it?

    +Pir.+ Nay, I dare suspect none, nor don't; but such quirks of
    state I have read of in the days of old.

    +De L.+ I never saw him discount a day with more content and
    freedom; his very thoughts were hearty.

    +Pir.+ 'Twas a fatal one, and will give a sad discourse to our
    posterity, and leave it on record in bleeding characters.

    +De L.+ The count's resolution had too much blood and cruelty
    in't.

    +Pir.+ Dessandro urged as much as mortal sense could groan with.

    +De L.+ I now call to mind, still as he spake and glanced upon
    Cleara's face, I had strange startlings in me.

    +Pir.+ As the times have.

    +De. L.+ The times, my lord? for what?

    +Pir.+ The king's death, sir.

    +De L.+ Why, my lord, the times are not of the worst presage,
    though that may cloud them a little.

    +Pir.+ I am no Booker, sir, nor Lilly to prognosticate what
    seven years may travail with; but I could wish the price of
    knaves may fall.

    +De L.+ Your lordship's virtues command not a more humble and
    observant creature.                                         [_Exit._

    +Pir.+ This fellow must be muzzled.

                           _Enter +Sampayo+._

    +Samp.+ Who's that?

    +Pir.+ The duke's thing, his trifle-broker.

    +Sano.+ The king's now.

    +Pir.+ Castile did never hear more news, I fear.

    +Samp.+ We shall now see the fine turns and games of the state.

    +Pir.+ When fools and knaves chase trump.

    +Samp.+ Now heads and points will be the sport.

    +Pir.+ The king will have the heads then, I believe.

    +Samp.+ Observe 'em.

    +Pir.+ So near?

          _Enter +Bereo+, nobles soliciting him with papers._

    +All.+ Heavens bless your majesty! Heavens keep your majesty!
                                                             [_Within._
    Please you hear your most faithful subjects?

    +Duke.+ Who are they, that bark so?

    +De L.+ A rout of porters, prentices, and sailors' wives,
    with such a spawn, who are modest petitioners your majesty
    would give 'em leave to govern you in some matters of state,
    and humbly pray to be admitted of your privy council. Here's
    another, sir, from the most reverend bags of the city to
    purchase all the churches of your majesty for warehouses; and
    this, sir, from the corporation of weavers, cobblers, and
    feltmakers: that you would please to give 'em leave to fire all
    universities and schools of learning, that the profane might
    better see the truth.

    +Duke.+ No more. Their stinking breath will stifle me! Keep
    back their clamour. Wealth and ease have made the rascals
    wanton, and profane their allegiance. My lord [_De Castro
    kneels_], you need not kneel in a cause, that equally concerns
    us with you; and the groans of your brother's wounds echo
    unto our sleeps. Our honour and the laws bleed in them, until
    a justice stop their issues, which our own care shall take a
    speedy account of. Sampayo!                             [_Whispers._

    +Samp.+ I shall, my lord.                                   [_Exit._

    +Duke.+ O my lords, we are circled in a tide of grief,
    Where every billow threatens a grave: but in your loves
    Our hope takes new life, which we as zealously
    Shall sacrifice again to you and yours.
    Let me be beholden t' you for a minute's conference
    With my own sad thoughts.                                 [_Exeunt._
    So take breath, my hopes.
    Whilst we with pride look upon the world behind us,
    And then survey the glory of our progress
    And success, the print of every step is glorious,
    And methinks we stand like Rome herself, in midst
    Of all her triumphs, when her threat'ned head
    Lean'd on the spangled breast of heaven, and
    Jostled with the gods; from whose imperious frown
    The world took all her laws and dooms. Yet her
    Vast story shall look pale to mine; and time
    Begin his great example here.
    Castile, thou now shalt blush for thy neglect:
    I'll print thy scorns on thy own brow, till my revenge
    Look lovely as did Rome's, in her bright flames,
    To Nero; and Nature shall repent, that she
    Mistook the man Fortune meant thine. Then up,
    My soul, and from thy glorious stand see
    Thy proud hopes and wishes court thee! Thou hast
    Been bashful yet, and hid in blushes. Make
    Room for thy more spacious thoughts, and let
    The petty world know this: all things
    Depend upon the breath of gods and kings.                   [_Exit._

                        _Enter two +Officers+._

    +1st Off.+ There, there! Lay that in the place; so, so; here,
    help to spread this carpet. Quick, quick!

    +2d Off.+ Will our new king be here to give the forked herd an
    oration?

    +1st Off.+ An halter! Thou dost so fumble! But what's the
    general voice of the king's death? Here's the mourning for that
    bar.

    +2d Off.+ Marry, some think he died against his will; and
    others, that his brother--Where stands this?--will bury him
    very royally----

    +1st Off.+ Hum! and others think if thou wert hanged, when
    'tis thy due, there would be quickly a knave less. Despatch,
    despatch! I hear them coming.

    _Enter +Judges+, the two Ladies, +DE LOOME+, +LA GITTERNE+, and
        others. +De Flame+ stands at the bar._

    +Off.+ Pray, by your leave; make way; give back there! For
    shame, sir; you press so hard upon the judges, they scarce have
    liberty to breathe. Clear the bar; peace!

    +1st Judge.+ My lord, here's none but knows you, and I believe
    do grieve to see you stand thus, and for a fact of such a
    bloody nature. A gentleman of your fair hopes and fortunes,
    blood and spirit, and other excellent parts, all cast upon
    untimely hazards by such an act (as indeed I know not how to
    name it). You needs must, therefore, be worthy our grief; and
    I presume you are not now to know the laws and customs of this
    your country, with what religious care they look unto the
    safety of our lives and our estates, and with what strictness
    on perpetrations of such a dye----

    +2d Judge.+ Especially, where innocent blood is shed; and
    therefore we, being but the tongues of the law (my lord), may
    hope you will interpret the justice of it clearly from our
    mouths.

    +De F.+ Please you, most reverend lords, is there aught else
    but this I am to stand accused for?

    +2d Judge.+ Not that we know.

    +De F.+ Then, my good lords, you need not labour much to find
    out circumstances to condemn me; nor do I wish or think, my
    lords, to satisfy the law by talking in my own defence. Nor
    will I brand myself with such a fear, much less hope, as to
    bespeak a melting tear. That were to wish the act undone, and
    rob my justice of a glory I would be torn to atoms for. No,
    I come to meet the law; and if your wisdoms can contract the
    spacious volumes of it into one doom, I shall not startle, or
    divide my breast. My resolution was above it, when first I
    undertook to be my own law and judge.

    +1st Judge.+ I grieve to hear this language from you: it takes
    much from the man that you have seemed, my lord; stain not your
    noble and religious fame with such an atheism.

    +2d Judge.+ Look back into the deed, my lord. See, what a tide
    of blood pursues you, and breaks upon your soul in angry seas.

    +De F.+ Look back to our fame, grave lords, the blood and
    honour of our family; nor think it my vainglory to urge it
    here, since the cause does. There has not yet, in all the ages
    it hath served the state, one stain fallen on our escutcheon;
    and although, my lords, these honours are derived to us in
    a vast circle of time and blood, the passage must be still
    through our veins, and so are treasured here as heat in fire;
    so as the least taint in us reflects a blush on the first
    virtue of our great ancestors. And what has man called sacred
    but his honour? That dwells not in the smiles of Fortune; nor
    can she place the fool or coward in that rank. And can your
    wisdoms think ours so cheap, as to become the scorn of such?

    +2d Judge.+ My lord, 'twould better satisfy all those that know
    you to hear your grief than passion.

    +De F.+ O, cry ye mercy! He was your lordship's kinsman; yet I
    will add, he basely did betray a love and innocence more noble
    than a thousand of their lives. Poor Cleara! perjured his
    faith and honour, and quite dissolved their holy ties in the
    lascivious arms of her, whose name shall not take honour from
    my breath.

    +2d Judge.+ We spend time; pray, give those ladies leave to
    speak.

                          _Enter +De Castro+._

    +De C.+ My lords, the king is come to sit amongst ye.

    +Off.+ Stand back there, ho! you, Goodman Roundhead, you'd best
    breathe in the king's face: pull back your horns, sir!--D' you
    mutter? Take that, and crowd further. The rogues are as hollow
    as a vault, and sound like one with a blow.

         _Enter +Bereo+, +De Castro+, attendants; at the other
                       door, the +King+ himself._

    [_Within._] The king, the king! Whoo?

    +1st Judge.+ What's the matter?

    +Duke.+ De Castro, is this a mask or apparition?

    +King.+ Seize on the traitor!

    +Duke.+ Ha!

    +King.+ Hence, monstrous thing!

    +Duke.+ Traitor!

    +King.+ Yes; and a foul one. My lords, suspend
    Your wonder. We thank ye. Prodigy to thy blood,
    We have given you leave to wanton in your guilt
    And see at what mighty impiety it would reach;
    To fasten you the surer in your toil.
    Take your places. Durst thou derive the glory
    Of our grandsires to thyself, whilst with unnatural hands
    Thou tear'st their graves up; mingling blood and shame
    With their bless'd dust? Have we not shar'd our kingdom with thee:
    Let thee into our heart nearer than nature,
    If possible? And could all this beget
    No better thanks than poison? The very thought
    Unnerves my joints.

    +Duke.+ Treason? Who dares avow it, sir,
    Or charge the least stain upon my loyal bosom,
    And make it good? I challenge all mankind,
    And envy from the nether hells; 'tis but
    Some engine to betray me to you.

    +De C.+ I did but quit a sin,
    Which would have betray'd us both eternally,
    And bore so sad a shape of horror,
    As it affrighted all within me, and, like a frenzy,
    Held me, till I had purged it from my bosom.

    +Duke.+ Had thy revenge no other way but this,
    To undermine the virtue of nature against itself?
    My lords, there's forgery in't, poison, and treason!
    It did amaze my innocence. Sounds, that my blood
    Do shiver at. And did not I see his father's treason
    Blush yet upon his brow, I should not think
    Castile infected with the thought.

    +1st Judge.+ My Lord De Castro,
    What proof or circumstance have you to urge
    This clearer to his highness?

    +Duke.+ Grave patriots of the law,
    Give me your leave in this, that would blemish
    The honour of my fame for ever. Let him produce but any
    That may accuse me to your reverend judgments,
    And Bereo will lay down his head to the block.
    But I know your wisdoms will discern a plot in't:
    And how far he stands incompetent against me
    In faith and honour.

    +King.+ What say you, my lord?

    +De C.+ Sir, what I have told your Majesty--my life
    Shall make good on my torture: my brother being dead,
    Heaven only and my conscience can clear it:
    And to quit my innocence of malice, your own conscience
    Must tell you, my lord, that when first you used my brother
    To ensnare me, and press'd it in the duchess's garden,
    How much I argued to divert you; but then--

    +Duke.+ My lords, I desire justice and reparation
    On the villain.

    +2d Judge.+ My Lord. De Castro,
    The king has pleased to give us your relation,
    In which (though the least tenderness cannot be
    Impertinent to his sacred safety) there's nothing
    That can raise the law to any argument, which may reach
    The Duke, scarce as a peer, which looks upon him
    As the second man in whom all our safeties and hopes are stor'd:
    Not to be touch'd with every jealousy,
    But at a high and reverend form of proof.

    +Duke.+ Let me appeal unto yourself, dread sir;
    Which of my actions or services of state
    Can be suspected? And do you not perceive
    That where his father left, his treason would begin?

    +De C.+ Help me, dear truth, or else I shall suffer
    For my loyalty. Great sir, be pleased----

    +Duke.+ That most judicious judge has well observ'd,
    There is an envy in his soul would reach
    From you to your succession, and leave the character
    Of his father's treason on it in blood and ruin.
    Wretched man, trust me, I grieve for thy slidefrom piety;
    And when I look upon the love and pity
    I have cast away on such a thing, I repent
    My easy faith. Good heaven! what will men fall to?

    +King.+ Take the Count unto the citadel, and let none
    Be admitted to him upon peril--          [_Exeunt with +De Castro+._
    Brother, they were no easy insinuations
    That did engage our fears to this: but such
    As nam'd a higher proof and circumstance.
    And, we confess, it struck our nature with some passionate strugglings:
    Not that the wish of our ambition is fix'd here,
    And would revive a term of years
    To rob ye of one minute's glorious trouble:
    Yet, my lord, if our laws take care
    To preserve the meanest subject's life, our own
    Ought not to be look'd on with less providence:
    And fears are happy cautions many times.
    But mine retire.
    Let our desires meet, and reconcile me to your arms----  [_Embrace._
    His merit shall find the justice it has scandall'd,
    If it stand guilty.

    +Duke.+ If, my lord? Can yet that scruple stay behind?

_Returns with +De Castro+ and +Dessandro+. A physician and chirurgeon, &c._

    +De C.+ See, royal sir, I have met a miracle,         [_They kneel._
    That heaven has preserv'd and sent to guard your
    Sacred highness and the truth.

    +De F.+ Dessandro risen from the dead?

    +King.+ Dessandro!

    +Des.+ The vilest wretch alive, who throws himself
    At your feet in tears of blood, and so much
    Horrid guilt as calls for all the wrath of
    This and the other world: not daring to
    Lift my hopes to any pardon. O sir!
    'Twas he (back'd by that bad Prince and other giddy
    Hopes) that would have seduc'd my brother to
    That act against your sacred life.

    +King.+ Would it went no further? Duke de Bereo,
    Can now your brow change colour?

    +Duke.+ 'Tis all imposture.

    +King.+ Fie, fie; don't glory against heaven, that hath
    Left thy sin to subterfuge.

    +Duke.+ You would not fright me from myself?

    +King.+ Well; our guard!

    +Doct.+ May it please--                                   [_Kneels._

    +King.+ Rise, What would you say, sir?

    +Doct.+ Under your gracious licence this. We found our
    princely lady and the lady Cleara cold in their clodded gore:
    this Colonel so spent in expense of blood, as we could not
    say alive; for that half spark of heat left in his veins was
    then e'en going out. Our care having preserved and kindled it
    to life again, after his shattered faculties could pant and
    breathe, he called for pen and ink, and caused us to write what
    is there contained.                                [_Gives a paper._

    +Des.+ Of too much truth; and I blush for those few
    Drops of blood I have left to expiate.

    +Duke.+ I am betrayed and lost!
    Could'st be in love with that saint life, for one
    Poor minute's smile, to betray it to ignominy and law?
    I could trample on thy skull, until thy reeking
    Brain sparkled about the dust. See how busily
    They contract their dusky brows! Consult things
    Safely, and let some reverend statute be ordained
    In honour of all cowards. [_Aside._] De Castro! for this good
    Service know, 'twas I that laid thy father's head
    Upon the block: complotted with the Portuguese
    To make him guilty to the King: and envying that
    He spread with so much shadow in the state, by a close
    Faction rend'red him odious to the people: an engine,
    I knew could not fail. I hurried thee to the Duchess's
    Wanton bed, Dessandro, knowing De Flame's high
    Blood would quit the debt I owed thee----

    +Des.+ He's proud all mischief can call him patron.

    +Duke.+ Nor had I shar'd the pleasure of a kiss to you
    Or him, but that our purpose needs would have it so.

    +De F.+ Sir!

    +Duke.+ The language is plain and true.

    +De F.+ Then Claudilla was your court-mistress, Duke?--
    'Twere profanation to say whore!

    +Duke.+ Young lord, I can forgive that language
    In a suffering man.

    +De F.+ Forgive it!

    +Duke.+ Forgive it; and had De Flame himself
    Enjoy'd her bed, and reap'd the scattered minutes
    Of our love, he must have found another gloss more
    Safe and honourable.

    +De F.+ Must! What saw you in me did promise
    So tame a thing, as to feed on your high scraps?
    Glorious mischief!

    +Des.+ My lord, I beg your mercy; and to deserve it
    Will weep the remnant of this unworthy life
    Unto Cleara's name.

    +De F.+ All mankind has my peaceful wish, but this
    Black speckled serpent, whose load doth make
    The earth to groan and sweat.

    +Duke.+ My fair Claudilla, methinks I see thee
    Lovely in that ghastly trim of death, while
    Yet thy soul was struggling through thy cruel
    Wounds.

    +De F.+ The day begins to frown and creep into
    Eternal night: we'll bed together in one grave, Cleara.
    Castile shall hide us in a golden heap, and name me
    With her patriots for taking this foul monster
    From her bosom.

    +Duke.+ I'll find thee in the myrtle groves below,
    And leave a story that shall tell the world,
    How much I lov'd thee.                      [_They stab each other._

    +King.+ Desperate atheists!

    +Duke.+ You were beforehand, sir.

    +De F.+ You've overtaken me: the world is hid in a
    Cloud, and shrinks to chaos. O, whither
    Must I wander in this mist? So, so--
    I feel thee glide away, and leave me sunk
    Upon a quicksand.                                        [_Expirat._

    +King.+ What a thirst of blood burnt up their hearts,
    That they must quench it in their own?

    +Duke.+ Hast thou not air enough, my panting soul?
    O, what a stitch is coming!                              [_Expirat._

    +King.+ Wou'd thou had'st better lov'd thyself and us:
    For while thou priz'd the honour of that blood,
    We priz'd thee with it. O ambition!
    The grandame of all sin, that strikes at stars
    With an undaunted brow, whilst thus thy feet
    Slide to the nether hell! Like some vast stream,
    That takes into its womb all springs that neighbour by it,
    And would proudly carry all their currents in its own:
    Swells o'er its banks, and wantons like a tyrant.
    Take hence the sight: it stirs our indignation.
                                               [_Exeunt cum corporibus._

    +Omnes.+ Long live the great and good King of Castile!

    +King.+ We thank ye, and just heaven which hath (unto wonder)
    Unknotted all these mischiefs, and kept us safe:
    And because we do not love to use the laws
    In their extremity, or execute with blood,
    Where we can moderate without; but chiefly,
    Dessandro, to endear ye more to heaven
    In your acknowledgment, we do enjoin you
    To some religious house of Orders, there
    By an humble life to expiate your guilt.

    +Des.+ Upon my knees I do acknowledge
    Your God-like mercy.

    +King.+ De Castro
    Our thanks shall make your loyalty
    Exemplary to all times: nor wish we to live longer
    Than to gain the faith of all; that we may find
    Ourself and title most secure, and greatest
    In your loves; which gives us more
    Than giddy fortune can----

        +This is our fate, and to the wise is known;
        All goods without us are, not (sure) our own.+

        In tenui labor est; at tenuis non gloria.




THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.




_EDITIONS._


    _The Adventures of Five Hours. A Tragi-Comedy._--Non ego
      Ventosæ Plebis suffragia venor. _Horat. Fʳ. 21º, 1662.
      Imprimatur, John Birkenhead. London. Printed for Henry
      Herringman, at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New
      Exchange, 1663. fol.[29]_

    _The Adventures of Five Houres: a Tragi-Comedy. As it is acted
      at His Royal Highness the Duke of York's Theatre. The third
      impression. Revised and corrected by the author, Sir Samuel
      Tuke, Kt. and Bart._ Nonumque prematur in Annum. _Horat. de
      Art Poet. London: Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, at
      the sign of the Blew Anchor, on the Lower Walk of the New
      Exchange._ 1671. 4º.[30]

FOOTNOTES:

[29] The title of the copy of 1664 is precisely the same as that of the
first edition. It is in 4to.

[30] There was a fourth impression in 1704.




PREFACE.


Sir Samuel Tuke, of Temple Cressy, in the county of Essex, was a
colonel of horse in the king's army, and served against the Parliament,
as long as the affairs of his master had any prospect of success. He
was very active in that rising in the county of Essex which ended
fatally to some of the chief actors in it. From the prologue to the
present play, spoken at court, it appears that he intended to retire
from business soon after the Restoration, but was diverted from that
design for some time by his Majesty's recommending him to adapt a
Spanish play[31] to the English stage, which he executed with some
degree of success. On the 31st March,[32] 1664, he was created a
baronet. He married Mary, the daughter of Edward Sheldon, a lady who
was one of the dressers to Queen Mary, and probably a Roman Catholic,
of which persuasion our author seems also to have been.[33] He died
at Somerset House, on the 26th of January 1673, and was buried in the
vault under the chapel there. Langbaine, by mistake, says he was alive
at the time he (Langbaine) published his "Lives of the Dramatic Poets."

Sir Samuel did not escape the censure of his brother poets.[34] One of
them, speaking of Cowley, says he

            Writ verses unjustly in praise of Sam Tuke.[35]

And in the same poem--

    Sam Tuke sat, and formally smiled at the rest;
      But Apollo, who well did his vanity know,
    Call'd him to the bar to put him to the test,
      But his muse was so stiff, she scarcely could go.

    She pleaded her age, desir'd a reward;
      It seems in her age she doated on praise:
    But Apollo resolv'd that such a bold bard
      Should never be grac'd with a per'wig of bays.

There is some reason for assigning to Sir Samuel Take part authorship
of "Pompey the Great," which is generally supposed to have been
translated by Waller, Lord Dorset, Sir C. Sedley, and Godolphin, and
printed in 1664. At the end of an edition of Sir John Denham's poems,
"printed by J. M. for H. Herringman," 1684, is a catalogue of other
works published by the same bookseller, and among them this entry:--"By
Samuel Tuke, and several persons of honour. Pompey."

Sir Samuel was one of the first members of the Royal Society, and wrote
a history of the ordering and generation of green Colchester oysters,
printed in Spratt's "History," p. 307.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] [By Calderon. It is supposed that the Earl of Bristol, author of
"Elvira," assisted Tuke.--See Halliwell's "Dictionary of Old Plays,"
1860, in v. Halliwell there quotes a passage from Evelyn's "Diary,"
where Evelyn, by a slip of the pen, speaks of Sir _George_ Tuke, an
oversight which is left uncorrected.]

[32] Heylin's "Help to History."

[33] Wood's "Ath.," vol. ii. p. 802.

[34] Dryden's "Miscellanies," vol. ii. p. 92.

[35] These were prefixed to the edition of "The Adventures of Five
Hours," printed the year after the author was made a baronet, but
without bearing on the title any mark of his advancement. He is there
called only Colonel Tuke.




TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY HOWARD

OF NORFOLK.[36]


Since it is your pleasure, Noble Sir, that I should hold my fortune
from you, like those tenants, who pay some inconsiderable trifle
in lieu of a valuable rent, I humbly offer you this poem, in
acknowledgment of my tenure: and I am well pleas'd with this occasion
to publish my sense of your favours, since it seems to me a kind of
ingratitude to be thankful in private.

It was bred upon the terrace-walks in your garden at Albury; and if I
mistake not, it resembles the place where it was brought up: the plot
is delightful, the elevations natural, the ascents easy, without any
great embellishments of art.

I designed the character of Antonio, as a copy of your steady virtue;
if it appear to those, who have the honour to know you, short of the
original, I take leave to inform them, that you have not sat to me
long; 'tis possible hereafter I may gratify my country, for their
civility to this essay, with something more worthy of your patronage
and their indulgence.

In the interim, I make it my glory to avow that, had Fortune been just
to me, she could not have recompensed the loyal industry of my life
with a more illustrious title than that which you have been pleased to
confer upon me, of Your Friend. To which (as in gratitude I am bound) I
subjoin that of

  Your most humble servant,
                                          S. TUKE.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] This dedication, and the prologue and epilogue which follow, are
only found in the first and second edition.--_Collier._




THE FIRST SCENE IS THE CITY OF SEVILLE.

    _The +Prologue+ enters with a play-bill in his hand, and
        reads_--This day, being the 15th of December, shall
        be acted a new play, never play'd before, call'd _The
        Adventures of Five Hours._


A NEW PLAY.

    Th' are i' the right, for I dare boldly say,
    The English stage ne'er had so new a play;
    The dress, the author, and the scenes are new.
    This ye have seen before ye'll say; 'tis true;
    But tell me, gentlemen, who ever saw
    A deep intrigue confin'd to five hours' law?
    Such as for close contrivance yields to none:
    A modest man may praise what's not his own.
    'Tis true, the dress is his, which he submits
    To those who are, and those who would be wits;
    Ne'er spare him, gentlemen; for to speak truth,
    He has a per'lous cens'rer been in's youth;
    And now grown bald with age, doating on praise,
    He thinks to get a periwig of bays.
    Teach him what 'tis, in this discerning age,
    To bring his heavy genius on the stage;
    Where you have seen such nimble wits appear,
    That pass'd so soon, one scarce could say th'were here.
    Yet, after our discoveries of late
    Of their designs, who would subvert the state,
    You'll wonder much, if it should prove his lot
    To take all England with a Spanish plot;
    But if, through his ill conduct or hard fate,
    This foreign plot (like that of eighty-eight)
    Should suffer shipwreck in your narrow seas,
    You'll give your modern poet his writ of ease;
    For, by th' example of the King of Spain,
    He resolves ne'er to trouble you again.




THE PROLOGUE AT COURT.

HE ADDRESSES HIMSELF TO THE PIT.


[Sidenote: This refers to the author's purpose of retirement, at that
time when his Majesty recommended this plot to him.]

    As to a dying lamp one drop of oil
    Gives a new blaze, and makes it live awhile;
    So th' author, seeing his decaying light,
    And therefore thinking to retire from sight,
    Was hindered by a ray from the upper sphere,
    Just at that time he thought to disappear.
    He chanced to hear his Majesty once say,
    He lik'd this plot; he stay'd, and writ the play:
    So should obsequious subjects catch the minds
    Of princes, as your seamen do the winds.
    If this attempt then shows more zeal than light,
    'T may teach you to obey, though not to write.

[Sidenote: He looking up, and seeing the King, starts.

He kneels. He rises.]

      Ah! he is there himself. Pardon my sight,
    My eyes were dazzled with excess of light;
    Even so the sun, who all things else displays,
    Is hid from us i' the glory of his rays.
    Will you vouchsafe your presence? You, that were given
    To be our Atlas, and support our heaven?
    Will you, dread sir, your precious moments lose
    To grace the first endeavours of our muse?
    This with your character most aptly suits,
    Even heaven itself is pleas'd with the first-fruits.




PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.


Having been desired by a lady, who has more than ordinary favour for
this play, though in other things very judicious, to make a song, and
insert it in that scene where you may now read it, I found it more
difficult to disobey the commands of this excellent person, than to
obtain of myself to write any more upon subjects of this nature.

This occasioned the revising of this piece, upon which I had not cast
my eyes since it was first printed; and finding there some very obvious
faults (with respect to their judgments who have been pleased to
applaud it), I could not well imagine how they came to escape my last
hand; unless poetic rage, or (in a more humble phrase) heat of fancy,
will not at the same time admit the calm temper of judgment; or that,
being importuned by those for whose benefit this play was intended, I
was even forced to expose it before it was fit to be seen in such good
company.

This refers only to the dress, for certainly the plot needs no apology;
it was taken out of Don Pedro Calderon,[37] a celebrated Spanish
author, the nation of the world who are the happiest in the force
and delicacy of their inventions, and recommended to me by his sacred
majesty as an excellent design, whose judgment is no more to be doubted
than his commands to be disobeyed. And therefore it might be a great
presumption in me to enter my sentiments with his royal suffrage; but
as secretaries of state subscribe their names to the mandates of their
prince, so at the bottom of the leaf I take the boldness to sign my
opinion, that this is incomparably the best plot that I ever met with.
And yet, if I may be allowed to do myself justice, I might acquaint the
readers that there are several alterations in the copy which do not
disgrace the original.

I confess, 'tis something new that trifles of this nature should have a
second edition; but if in truth this essay be at present more correct,
I have then found an easy way to gratify their civility who have been
pleased to indulge the errors in the former impressions.

If they who have formerly seen or read this play should not perceive
the amendments, then I have touched the point, since the chiefest art
in writing is the concealing of art; and they who discover 'em, and
are pleased with them, are indebted only to themselves for their new
satisfaction, since their former favour to our negligent Muses has
occasioned their appearing again in a more studied dress; and certainly
those labours are not ungrateful with which the writers and readers are
both pleased.

And since I am upon the subject of novelties, I take the boldness to
advertise the reader that, though it be unusual, I have in a distinct
column prefixed the several characters of the most eminent persons in
the play, that, being acquainted with them at his first setting out, he
may the better judge how they are carried on in the whole composition.
For, plays being moral pictures, their chiefest perfections consist in
the force and congruity of passions and humours, which are the features
and complexion of our minds; and I cannot choose but hope that he will
approve the ingenuity of this design, though possibly he may dislike
the painting.

As for those who have been so angry with this innocent piece, not
guilty of so much as that current wit--obscenity and profaneness--these
are to let them know that, though the author converses with but few,
he writes to all; and aiming as well at the delight as profit of his
readers, if there be any amongst them who are pleased to enter their
haggard muses at so mean a quarry, they may freely use their poetic
licence, for he pretends not to any royalty on the mount of Parnassus;
and I dare answer for him, that he will sing no more till he comes into
that choir where there is room enough for all; and such, he presumes,
is the good-breeding of these critics, that they will not be so
unmannerly as to crowd him there.

                                                             +Farewell.+

FOOTNOTES:

[37] [Don Pedro Calderon della Barca appears to have been born at
Madrid, of a good family, in 1601. Like Lope de Vega, his contemporary,
he signalised his dramatic genius at a very early date, producing his
"Carro del Cielo" at the age of thirteen. He devoted the better part of
his life to the military profession, but afterwards took holy orders,
and became a canon of Toledo. He is supposed to have died in 1681. His
plays were printed at Madrid between 1683 and 1691, in 9 vols. 4º; but
the best edition, according to Brunet, is that published at Madrid,
1760-63, 11 vols. 4º. Some of Calderon's dramas were never printed, and
have perished.]




PROLOGUE.


SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.[38]

    If we could hit on't, gallants, there are due
    Certain respects from writers and from you:
    Which, well observ'd, would celebrate this age,
    And both support and vindicate the stage.
    If there were only candour on your part,
    And on the poets', judgment, fancy, art;
    If they remember that their audience
    Are persons of the most exalted sense;
    And you consider well the just respect
    Due to their poems, when they are correct;
    Our two houses then may have the fate
    To help to form the manners of the state:
    For there are crimes arraign'd a' th' poets' bar,
    Which cannot be redress'd at Westminster.
    Our ancient bards their morals did dispense
    In numbers, to insinuate the sense,
    Knowing that harmony affects the soul,
    And who our passions charm, our wills control.
    This our well-meaning author had in view,
    And, though but faintly executed, you
    Indulg'd th' attempt with such benevolence,
    That he has been uneasy ever since;
    For though his vanity you gratified,
    The obligation did provoke his pride.
    But he has now compounded with ambition
    For that more solid greatness, self-fruition;
    And, going to embrace a civil death,
    He's loth to die indebted to your breath.
    Therefore he would be even w' you, but wants force;
    The stream will rise no higher than the source.
    And they, who treat such judges, should excel;
    Here 'tis to do ill, to do only well.
    He has, as other writers have, good-will,
    And only wants (like those) nature and skill;
    But, since he cannot reach the envied height,
    H' has cast some grains in this to mend the weight;
    And, being to part w' you, prays you to accept
    This revived piece as legacy or debt.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] This prologue first appeared in the edition of 1671, after the
revival of the play.--_Collier._




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +PERSONS.+        +RELATIONS.+              +CHARACTERS.+

  +Don Henrique+,   _In love with Camilla,    Choleric, jealous,
                    but rejected.             revengeful._

  +Don Carlos+,     _Near kinsman to Don      A well-natured, moral
                    Henrique.                 gentleman._

  +Don Octavio+,    _In love with Porcia,     A valiant and
                    but feigning to be in     accomplished cavalier.
                    love with Camilla._

  +Don Antonio+,    _Contracted to Porcia     A soldier, haughty, and
                    by proxy, before he saw   of exact honour.
                    her._

  +Porcia+,         _Sister to Don Henrique.  Ingenious, constant,
                                              and severely virtuous._

  +Camilla+,        _Sister to Don Carlos.    Susceptible of love,
                                              but cautious of her
                                              honour._

  +Diego+,          _Servant to Octavio,      A great coward, and a
                    bred a scholar.           pleasant droll._

  +Flora+,          _Waiting-woman to Porcia. Witty, contriving,
                                              and faithful to her
                                              mistress._

  +Ernesto+,        } _Servants to Don
  +Sancho+,         } Antonio._

  +Silvio+,         }
  +Geraldo+,        }
  +Pedro+,          } _Servants to Don
  +Bernardino+,     } Henrique._
  +Jago+,           }

                          _The Corregidor and
                           Attendants._[39]

                         _The Scene, Seville._

                  THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.[40]




ACT I.

+Scene+--_Don Antonio's house._


                        _Enter +Don Henrique+._

    +Don H.+ How happy are the men of easy phlegm,
    Born on the confines of indifference:
    Holding from nature the securest tenure,
    The peaceful empire o'er themselves; which we,
    Th' unhappy men of fire, without the aids
    Of mighty reason or almighty grace,
    Are all our lives contending for in vain,
    'Tis evident, that solid happiness
    Is founded on the conquest of our passions;
    But since they are the favourites of sense,
    Self-love bribes reason still in their defence:
    Thus in a calm I reason; but when cross'd,
    The pilot quits the helm, and I am toss'd.

                           _Enter +Silvio+._

    +Sil.+ Sir, Don Carlos is without.

    +Don H.+ Wait on him in.

                         _Enter +Don Carlos+._

    +Don C.+ Cousin, methinks this day hath longer seem'd
    Than usual; since 'tis so far advanc'd
    Without our seeing one another.

    +Don H.+ If I had not been hinder'd by some business,
    I should, ere this, have seen you, t' have told you
    Some pleasing news I lately have receiv'd:
    You have so often borne with my distempers,
    'Tis fit that once, at least, you should partake
    Of my good-humour.

    +Don C.+ What cause soever has produc'd this change,
    I heartily rejoice in the effect;
    And may it long continue.

    +Don H.+ I can inform you by experience now,
    How great a satisfaction 'tis to find
    A heart and head eas'd of a weighty care;
    For a gentleman of my warm temper,
    Jealous of the honour of his family,
    (As yet ne'er blemish'd) to be fairly freed
    From the tuition of an orphan sister,
    Rich, beautiful and young.

    +Don C.+ You know, Don Henrique, for these thirteen years,
    That I have been with the like province charg'd:
    An only sister, by our parents' will
    (When they were call'd from all[41] their cares below)
    Committed to my trust, much more expos'd
    To the great world than yours; and, sir, unless
    Nearness of blood deceive me, short of few
    In those perfections which invite the gallants:
    Yet, thanks to my temper, cousin, as well
    As to her virtue, I have seen her grow,
    Even from her childhood to her dangerous age,
    Without the least disturbance to my rest;
    And when with equal justice I reflect
    On the great modesty and circumspection
    Of lovely Porcia, I conclude that you
    Might well have slept as undisturb'd as I.

    +Don H.+ Sir, I complain not of my sister's conduct;
    But you know well, young maids are so expos'd
    To the invasion of audacious men,
    And to the malice of their envious sex,
    You must confess the confines of their fame
    Are never safe till guarded by a husband.
    'Tis true, discreet relations ought to use
    Preventions of all kinds; but, dear Carlos,
    The blemish once receiv'd, no wash is good
    For stains of honour but th' offender's blood.

    +Don C.+ Y' are too severe a judge of points of honour.

    +Don H.+ And therefore, having not long since receiv'd
    The news that Don Antonio de Mendoza
    Is likely to be here this night from Flanders,
    To whom my sister, by th' intervention
    O' th' Marquis d'Olivera, is contracted,
    I will not close these eyes, till I have seen
    Her and my cares safe lodg'd within his arms.

    +Don C.+ I find your travels, cousin, have not cur'd you
    Of that innate severity to women,
    Urg'd justly as a national reproach
    To all of us abroad. The rest o' th' world
    Lament that tender sex amongst us here,
    Born only to be honourable prisoners;
    The greater quality, the closer kept:
    Which cruelty is reveng'd upon ourselves,
    Whilst, by immuring those whom most we love,
    We sing, and sigh only to iron gates.
    As cruel is that overcautious custom
    By proxy to contract parties unknown
    To one another; this is only fit
    For sovereign princes, whose high qualities
    Will not allow of previous interviews:
    They sacrifice their love to public good,
    Consulting interest of state and blood;
    A custom which as yet I never knew
    Us'd amongst persons of a lower rank
    Without a sequel of sad accidents.
    Sir, understand me right; I speak not this
    By way of prophecy: I am no stranger
    To Don Antonio's reputation,
    Which I believe so just, I no way doubt
    Your sister's being happy in him.

    +Don H.+ Don Carlos, let us quit this argument:
    I am now going to our noble friend
    And kinsman, the corregidor, to see
    If he'll oblige us with his company
    At my sister's wedding. Will you come along?

    +Don C.+ Most willingly, as soon as I have brought
    My sister hither, who has given this evening
    To her cousin Porcia.

    +Don H.+ I have business, cousin, by the way;
    I'll go before, and wait you i' th' Piazza.
    Your servant, sir.
          [_+Don Henrique+ waits on him to the door. Exit +Don Carlos+._

    +Don H.+ This kinsman is my bosom friend; and yet,
    Of all men living, I must hide from him
    My deep resentments of his sister's scorn.
    That cruel maid, to wound me to the heart,
    Then close her ears against my just complaints!
    But though as yet I cannot heal my wound,
    I may by my revenge upon my rival
    Divert the pain; and I will drive it home.
    There's in revenge a balm which will appease
    The present grief, till[42] time cure the disease.
                                                [_Exit +Don Henrique+._

                           _Enter +Porcia+._

    +Por.+ My heart is so oppress'd with fear and grief,
    That it must break, unless it finds relief;
    The man I love is forc'd to fly my sight,
    And like a Parthian[43] kills me in his flight:
    One, whom I never saw, I must embrace,
    Or else destroy the honour of my race.
    A brother's care, more cruel than his hate:
    O, how perplex'd are the intrigues of fate!

                  _Enter +Don Carlos+_ and +Camilla+.

    +Don C.+ Cousin, I thought my sister's company
    Would not displease you, whilst I wait upon
    Your brother in a visit.

    +Por.+ Sir, you oblige me with a welcome favour.
    I rather should have styl'd it charity
    To bring a friend to her, whose cruel fate
    Has robb'd her of herself.                                 [_Aside._

    +Cam.+ Methinks, 'tis pity that a wall should make
    The houses two of friends so entirely one
    As you and I, and our two brothers, are.

    +Por.+ If it be true that lovers live much more
    There where they love than where they breathe, I'm sure
    No walls can sever us: we're still together.

    +Don C.+ Were I not much engag'd, I would not quit
    So sweet a conversation; but, sister,
    At my return I'll wait upon you home.

    +Por.+ For this night, cousin, pray let her be mine,
    I beg it of you both.

    +Don C.+ You may command; we are both yours.   [_Exit +Don Carlos+._
                         [_+Porcia+ throws herself on +Camilla's+ neck._
    Where, freely breathing out my grief, I might
    Some mitigation from thy pity find!
    But since there's no true pity without pain,
    Why should I ease by thy affliction gain?

    +Cam.+ Ah, Porcia! if compassion suffering be,
    And to condole be pain, my destiny
    Will full revenge in the same kind afford,
    Should I but my unequall'd griefs relate,
    And you but equally participate.

    +Por.+ If yours, as mine, from love-disasters rise,
    Our fates are more allied than families.

    +Cam.+ What to our sex and blooming age can prove
    An anguish worthy of our sighs but love?

    +Por.+ 'Tis true, Camilla, were your fate like mine,
    Hopeless to hold, unable to resign.

    +Cam.+ Let's tell our stories, then we soon shall see
    Which of us two excels in misery.

    +Por.+ Cousin, agreed.

    +Cam.+ Do you begin then.

    +Por.+ You know, Camilla, best how generously,
    How long, and how discreetly, Don Octavio
    Has serv'd me; and what trials of his faith
    And fervour I did make, ere I allow'd him
    The least hope to sustain his noble love.
    Cousin, all this you know: 'twas in your house
    We had our interviews, where you were pleas'd
    To suffer feign'd addresses to yourself,
    To cover from my watchful brother's eyes
    The passion which Octavio had for me.

    +Cam.+ My memory in this needs no refreshing.

    +Por.+ And how one evening (O that fatal hour!)
    My brother, passing by Don Carlos' house
    With his great friend and confidant, Don Pedro,
    Did chance to see th' unfortunate Octavio
    In your balcony entertaining me:
    Whom not believing there he took for you;
    My back being towards him, and both dress'd alike.
    Enraged with jealousy, this cruel man
    (To whom all moderation is unknown)
    Resolves to stamp all your neglects of him
    In's suppos'd rival, poor Octavio's, heart.
    They take their stand i' th' corner of our street;
    And after some little time Octavio,
    Free from suspicion as design of ill,
    Retires: they assault him, and in's own defence
    He kills Don Pedro, and is forc'd to fly.
    My brother cruelly pursues him still
    With such insatiate thirst after revenge,
    That nothing but Octavio's blood can quench:
    Covering his ill-nature and suspicion
    With the resentment of Don Pedro's death.

    +Cam.+ Is this the sum of your sad story, Porcia?
    Is this all?

    +Por.+ No, no, Camilla, 'tis the prologue only:
    The tragedy will follow. This brother,
    To whose impetuous will my deceas'd parents
    (May their souls rest in peace!) having condemn'd
    Me and my fortune, treats me like a slave:
    So far from suffering me to make my choice,
    That he denounces death if I refuse;
    And now, to frustrate all my hopes at once,
    Has very lately made me sign a contract
    To one in Flanders whom I never saw,[44]
    And is this night (they say) expected here.

    +Cam.+ Is such a rigour possible, dear Porcia?

    +Por.+ Was ever misery like mine, Camilla?
    Reduc'd to such extremes, past all relief?
    If I acquaint my brother with my love
    T' Octavio, the man whom he most hates,
    I must expect the worst effects of fury:
    If I endeavour to forget Octavio,
    Even that attempt renews his memory,
    And heightens my disquiet: if I refuse
    To marry, I am lost: if I obey,
    I cast Octavio and myself away.
    Two such extremes of ill no choice admit.
    Each seems the worst; on which rock shall I split?
    Since, if I marry, I cannot survive,
    And not to marry were to die alive.

    +Cam.+ Your story, I confess, is strangely moving;
    Yet if you could my fortune weigh with yours
    In scales of equal sensibility,
    You would not change your sufferings for mine.

    +Por.+ What can there be in Nature more afflicting,
    Than to be torn from th' object of my love,
    And forc'd t' embrace a man whom I must hate?

    +Cam.+ Have you not known that object of your love,
    And entertain'd the person you esteem?
    Have you not heard, and answer'd to his sighs?
    Has he not borne his part in all your cares?
    Do you not live and reign within his heart?

    +Por.+ I doubt no more his faith than my hard fate.

    +Cam.+ Tell me, dearest Porcia--if I love one,
    Whom I shall never see: suff'ring as much
    Without the means of e'er expressing it,
    As what I suffer is above expression;
    If all my sighs wander in fleeting air,
    And ne'er can reach his ears for whom they're form'd;
    If all my passion, all my killing cares,
    Must be for ever to their cause unknown;
    If their sad weight must sink me to my grave
    Without one groan, that he can ever hear,
    Or the least hope that I should e'er obtain
    Ease by's pity or cure by his disdain--
    If this the state of my misfortune be
    (As heaven, that has decreed it, knows it is)
    Say, dearest Porcia, do you envy me?

    +Por.+ What overcruel laws of decency
    Have struck you dumb? Have you misplac'd your love?
    On such a party as you dare not own?

    +Cam.+ No, no, the cause is worthy of th' effect:
    For though I had no passion for this person,
    I were ungrateful if I should not give
    The first place in my heart to such high merit.

    +Por.+ If he had been so happy to deserve
    Your love, why are not you so just to let
    Him know it?

    +Cam.+ 'Tis impossible. Ah, that dismal word
    Clearly states the difference of our fortunes!
    You in your first adventure have been cross'd,
    But I, before I can set out, am lost.

    +Por.+ Pray, make me comprehend this mystery.

    +Cam.+ It is t' open my wounds afresh, dear Porcia;
    But you must be obey'd----                  [_After a little pause._
    His excellence the Conde d'Oniate,
    Being sent ambassador to th' emperor,
    We, having the honour to be near allied
    To's lady, went with him. My brother
    Was desir'd by her to make that journey:
    Whose tenderness for me not suffering him
    To let me stay behind, I was engag'd,
    And treated by th' ambassadress my cousin
    With more respect than I could ever merit.

    +Por.+ She is a lady fam'd for great civility.

    +Cam.+ We had not pass'd much time i' th' emperor's court,
    When my dear brother unexpectedly
    By urgent business was call'd back to Seville.
    In our return (passing too near a garrison
    Of th' enemy's) our convoy was surpris'd
    And routed by a party of their horse----

    +Por.+ Camilla, you begin to raise my fears.

    +Cam.+ We, being pris'ners, were hurried straight away
    To th' enemy's quarters, where my ill fate
    Made me appear too pleasing to the eyes
    Of their commander, who at first approach
    Pretends to parley in a lover's style,
    Protesting that my face had chang'd our fortunes,
    And him my captive made: but finding soon,
    How little he advanc'd in his design
    By flattery and his feign'd submission,
    He shifts his person, calls me his prisoner,
    And swears my virgin treasure was his prize:
    But yet protests he had much rather owe it
    To my indulgence than his own good-fortune.
    And so, through storms and calms, the villain still
    Pursues his course to his accursed end;
    But finding me inflexible to his threats
    As well as fawnings, he resolves to use
    The last and uncontrolled argument
    Of impious men in power--force.

    +Por.+ Ah, poor Camilla! where was your dear[45] brother
    At a time of such distress?

    +Cam.+ My brother? he, alas! was long before
    Borne away from me in the first encounter;
    Where having certainly behav'd himself
    As well became his nation and his name,
    Remain'd sore wounded in another house.

    +Por.+ Prythee, make haste to free me from this fright.

    +Cam.+ The brute approaches, and by violence
    Endeavours to accomplish his intent:
    I invocate my guardian angel, and resist,
    But with unequal force, though rage supplied
    Those spirits which my fear had put to flight.
    At length, grown faint with crying out and striving,
    I spied a dagger by the villain's side,
    Which snatching boldly out, as my last refuge,
    With his own arms I wound the savage beast:
    He at the stroke unseiz'd me, and gave back.
    So guilt produces cowardice. Then I,
    The dagger pointing to my breast, cried out,
    Villain, keep off, for, if thou dost persist,
    I'll be myself both sacrifice and priest:
    I boldly now defy thy lust and hate;
    She, that dares choose to die, may brave her fate!

    +Por.+ O, how I love and envy thee at once!
                              [_+Porcia+ starts to her, and kisses her._
    Go on, brave maid.

    +Cam.+ Immediately the drums and trumpets sound,
    Pistols go off, and a great cry, _To arms,
    To arms!_ The lustful satyr flies. I stand,
    Fix'd with amazement to the marble floor,
    Holding my guardian dagger up aloft,
    As if the ravisher had threaten'd still.

    +Por.+ I fancy thee, Camilla, in that brave posture,
    Like a noble statue which I remember
    To have seen of the enraged Juno,
    When she had robb'd Jove of his thunderbolt.

    +Cam.+ Freed from this fright, my spirits flow'd so fast
    To the forsaken channels of my heart,
    That they, who by their orderly access
    Would have supported life, by throngs oppress:
    O'ercharg'd with joy, I fell into a swoon,
    And that, which happen'd during this interval,[46]
    Is not within the circle of my knowledge.

    +Por.+ Y' have rais'd me to a mighty expectation:
    Will the adventure answer it, Camilla?

    +Cam.+ At my return to life, op'ning my eyes,
    Think, dearest Porcia, how I was astonish'd
    To find there, kneeling by my side, a man
    Of a most noble form, who bowing to me:
    Madam (says he) y' are welcome to the world:
    Pardon, I pray, the boldness of a stranger,
    Who humbly sues t' you to continue in it:
    Or, if you needs will leave us, stay at least
    Until I have reveng'd your wrongs, and then
    I'll wait upon you to the other world;
    For, you withdrawn, this will a desert seem,
    And life a torment.

    +Por.+ High gallantry, cousin, for the first address!

    +Cam.+ 'Twas so surprising, that my confusion
    Check'd my reply; but I suppose my looks
    Did speak the grateful language of my heart;
    For I perceiv'd an air of joy enlighten
    His manly face; but, O, how soon 'twas clouded
    By fresh alarms! we heard the soldiers cry,
    Where's Antonio? the enemy is rallied,
    And coming on to give a second charge!
    He started up, and with a mien that mark'd
    The conflict 'twixt his honour and his love,
    Madam (says he) the soul was never yet
    With such convulsion from the body torn,
    As I from you; but it must ne'er be said
    That Don Antonio de Mendoza
    Follows those in dangers whom he ought to lead.
    Thus the vanquish'd conqueror disappear'd,
    Leaving that image stamp'd upon my heart
    To which I all the joys must sacrifice
    Of the poor remnant of my wretched life;
    If properly to live I may be said,
    When all my hopes of seeing him are dead.
                               [_She puts her handkerchief to her eyes._

    +Por.+ Though you have kept this part of your adventure
    Still from me--

    +Cam.+ And from everybody living.

    +Por.+ I have observ'd the signs of smother'd grief:
    I've often seen those lovely eyes much swoll'n.
    Those are true tears, Camilla, which are stol'n.
    But what said you was his name, Camilla?

    +Cam.+ Antonio de Mendoza.

    +Por.+ O heavens! Antonio de Mendoza!

                        _Enter +Don Henrique+._

    +Don H.+ I'm pleased to find you speaking of your husband.

    +Cam.+ What's that I hear? her husband!                    [_Aside._

    +Don H.+ Have you the letter ready I desir'd you
    To write to him? I'll send a servant with it
    To meet him on the way; 'twill show respect.

    +Por.+ You know my obedience, brother.

    +Don H.+ 'Tis well, sister.

                           _Enter +Silvio+._

    +Sil.+ Sir, here's a servant of Don Antonio
    Newly alighted at the gate: he's come
    Post from his master, charg'd with letters for you.

    +Don H.+ I could not have receiv'd more welcome news.
    Go, bring him in. Sister, you may withdraw.

                                       [_Exeunt +Porcia+ and +Camilla+._

                    _Enter +Ernesto+ and +Silvio+._

    +Ern.+ Sir, Don Antonio kisses your hands,
    And sends me to present this letter to you.

        [_He gives a letter to +Don Henrique+. +Don Henrique+ opens
            it, and, having read it to himself, says_--

    +Don H.+ I'm glad to find by's letter he's in health;
    Yet methinks, friend, he writes but doubtfully
    Of's being here this night, as I expected.

    +Ern.+ His letter, I suppose, sir, speaks his purpose.

    +Don H.+ I'll answer't, and despatch you presently:
    In the meanwhile, go: make him welcome, Silvio.
                                       [_Exeunt +Silvio+ and +Ernesto+._
    I would to heaven he were arriv'd; I grow
    Each minute more impatient. As bodies
    Near the centre move with more violence,
    So when we approach the ends of our designs,
    Our expectations are the more intense,
    And our fears greater of all cross-events.   [_Exit +Don Henrique+._

     _Enter +Silvio+, +Ernesto+, +Geraldo+, +Pedro+, +Bernardino+,
                 +Jago+, with some cups of chocolate._

    +Sil.+ Methinks, camerade, a sup of chocolate
    Is not amiss after a tedious journey--
    Your master's health, sir.                             [_He drinks._

    +Ern.+ I'll do you reason, sir.[47]

    +Sil.+ Pray, how long is't, brother, since you left Spain?

    +Ern.+ 'Tis now five years and upwards since I went
    From Seville with my master into Flanders,
    The king's fencing-school, where all his subjects
    Given to fighting are taught the use of arms,
    And notably kept in breath.

    +Sil.+ Your master, I am sure, has got the fame
    To be a per'lous man in that rough trade.

    +Ern.+ He's a brave soldier, envy must confess it.

    +Ped.+ It seems so, faith, since merely by the force
    Of his great reputation he can take
    Our bright young mistress in without a siege.

    +Ern.+ If I mistake not, she will be reveng'd
    On him ere long, and take him too by th' force
    Of her rare wit and beauty.

    +Ped.+ Sh' has a fair
    Portion, sir, of both, I dare assure you.

    +Sil.+ But prythee, brother, instruct us a little;
    Tell us, what kind of country is this Holland,
    That's so much talk'd of, and so much fought for?

    +Ern.+ Why, friend, 'tis a huge ship at anchor, fraught
    With a sort of creatures made up of turf
    And butter.

    +Ped.+ Pray, sir, what do they drink in that country?
    'Tis said, there's neither fountains there
    Nor vines.

    +Ern.+ This is the butler, sure, by his apt question.      [_Aside._
    Friend, they drink there a certain muddy liquor,
    Made of that grain with which you feed your mules.

    +Ped.+ What, barley? can that juice quench their thirst?

    +Ern.+ You'd scarce believe it could, did you but see
    How oft they drink.

    +Ped.+ But methinks that should make them drunk, camerade?

    +Ern.+ Indeed most strangers are of that opinion;
    But they themselves believe it not, because
    They are so often.

    +Ger.+ A nation, sure, of walking tuns, the world
    Has not the like.

    +Ern.+ Pardon me, friend, there is but a great ditch
    Betwixt them and such another nation;
    If these good fellows would but join, and drink
    That dry, i' faith they might shake hands.

    +Ger.+ Prythee, friend, can these Dutch Borachios[48] fight?

    +Ern.+ They can do even as well, for they can pay
    Those that can fight.

    +Sil.+ But where, I pray, sir, do they get their money?

    +Ern.+ O sir, they have a thriving mystery;
    They cheat their neighbouring princes of their trade,
    And then they buy their subjects for their soldiers.

    +Sil.+ Methinks our armies should beat these butter-boxes.
    Out of the world.

    +Ern.+ Trust me, brother, they'll sooner beat our armies
    Out of their country: why, ready money, friend,
    Will do much more in camps, as well as courts,
    Than a ready wit, I dare assure you.

    +Ger.+ Methinks, camerade, our king should have more money
    Than these Dutch swabbers; he's master o' th' Indies,
    Where money grows.

    +Ern.+ But they have herrings which, I assure you,
    Are worth our master's mines.

    +Ger.+ Herrings! why, what a devil, do they grow
    In their country?

    +Ern.+ No, faith, they fish 'em on the English coast,
    And fetch their salt from France; then they pickle 'em,
    And sell 'em all o'er the world.

    +Ger.+ 'Slife, these rascals live by cookery!

    +Ern.+ This is the coddled cook, I've found him out.       [_Aside._

    +Ber.+ What kind of beds, sir, have they i' that country?

    +Ern.+ This, I dare swear, 's the groom o' th' chamber.    [_Aside._
    Sir, they have certain niches in their walls,[49]
    Where they climb up o' nights; and there they stew
    In their own grease till morning.

    +Jago.+ Pray, sir, give me leave to ask you one question:
    What manner of women have they in that country?

    +Ern.+ The gentleman-usher, upon my life!                  [_Aside._
    Pray excuse me, sir: we gentlemen-soldiers
    Value ourselves upon our civility
    To that soft sex; and in good faith they are
    The softest of that sex I ever met with.

    +Jago.+ Does any of our Spaniards ever marry
    With'em?

    +Ern.+ Yes, some lean families, that have a mind
    To lard their progeny.

    +Sil.+ What, a' God's name, could come into the heads
    Of this people to make them rebel?

    +Ern.+ Why, religion; that came into their heads
    A' God's name.

    +Ger.+ But what a devil made the noblemen
    Rebel? they never mind religion.

    +Ern.+ Why, that which made the devil himself rebel--
    Ambition.

    +Sil.+ This is a pleasant fellow.                          [_Aside._
    I find you gentlemen-soldiers want no wit.

    +Ern.+ When we're well paid, sir, but that's so seldom,
    I find that gentleman wants wit that is
    A soldier. Your company's very good,
    But I have business which requires despatch.

    +Ped.+ Will you not mend your draught before you go?

    +Ern.+ I thank you, sir, I have done very well.

    +All.+ Your servant, your servant, &c.                    [_Exeunt._

                 _Enter +Camilla+, +Porcia+, +Flora+._

    +Por.+ Was e'er disaster like to mine, Camilla?

    +Cam.+ Was e'er misfortune, Porcia, like to mine?

    +Por.+ That I must never see Octavio more?

    +Cam.+ That I again must Don Antonio see,
    Yet never see him mine?

    +Por.+ I, to be married to the man I hate!

    +Cam.+ And I, to have the man I love torn from me!

    +Por.+ I am, by robbing of my friend, undone!

    +Cam.+ I, for not hind'ring of the theft, am lost!

    +Por.+ Ye powers, who these entangled fortunes give,
    Instruct us how to die or[50] I how to live.      [_She weeps._

    +Cam.+ Cousin, when we should act, then to complain
    Is childishly to beat the air in vain.
    These descants on our griefs only perplex;
    Let's seek the remedy. You know, our sex
    This honour bears from men, in exigents
    Of love never to want expedients.

    +Por.+ You have awaken'd me, give me your veil:
         [_+Porcia+ takes off +Camilla's+ veil, and puts it on herself._
    Quickly, dear cousin, quickly; and you, Flora,
    Run presently, and see whether my brother
    Be settled to despatch Antonio's man.               [_Exit +Flora+._

    +Cam.+ What mean you, Porcia?

    +Por.+ If once my brother be set down to write,
    I may securely reckon one hour mine;
    For he is so extravagantly jealous,
    That he distrusts the sense of his own words,
    And will weigh a subscription to a scruple,
    Lest he should wrong his family by his style:
    Therefore, I'll serve myself of[51] this occasion
    To see Octavio, and to let him know
    That all our hopes are ready to expire,
    Unless he finds some prompt expedient
    For our relief.

    +Cam.+ Pray, how and where d' you hope to speak with him?

    +Por.+ At his own house, where he lies yet conceal'd:
    'Tis not far off, and I will venture thither.

    +Cam.+ D' you know the way?

    +Por.+ Not very well; but Flora's a good guide.

                        _Enter +Flora+ hastily._

    +Flo.+ O madam! he's coming already.

    +Por.+ Ah, spiteful destiny! Come, let's retire
    Into my chamber, cousin.           [_Exeunt +Porcia+ and +Camilla+._

                 _Enter +Don Henrique+ and +Ernesto+._

    +Don H.+ If you desire to see her, friend, you may.

    +Ern.+ I should be glad to acquaint my master, sir,
    That I have had the honour to see his bride.

    +Don H.+ Where's your lady, Flora?

    +Flo.+ She's in her chamber, sir.

    +Don H.+ Tell her, Antonio's man attends her here,
    To do his duty to her ere he goes.                  [_Exit +Flora+._
    Stay here: you'll find her with a kinswoman,
    In her home dress without a veil; but you
    Are privileg'd by your relation for this access:
    I'll go despatch my letter.                      [_Exit +Henrique+._

    _Enter +Camilla+, +Porcia+, and +Flora+. +Ernesto+ addresses
        himself to +Camilla+, seeing her without a veil._

    +Ern.+ Madam, I have been bold to beg the honour
    Of seeing your ladyship, to make myself
    More welcome to my lord at my return.

    +Por.+ A rare mistake! further it, dear Camilla!
    Who knows what good this error may produce?                [_Aside._

    +Cam.+ Friend, in what state left you your lord and mine?

    +Ern.+ As happy as the hopes of being yours
    Could make him, madam.

    +Cam.+ I would the master were as easily deceiv'd.         [_Aside._
    I pray present my humble service to him;
    And let him know that I am very glad
    He has pass'd his journey so successfully--
    Give him the letter, Flora.[52] Farewell, friend.
                             [_Exeunt +Camilla+, +Porcia+, and +Flora+._

    +Ern.+ Now, by my life, she is a lovely lady;
    My master will be ravish'd with her form.
    I hope this blind bargain, made by proxy,
    May prove as happy a marriage as those
    Made after th' old fashion, chiefly for love,
    And that this unseen beauty may have charms
    To bring him back to his right wits again
    From his wild ravings on an unknown dame,
    Whom, as he fancies (once upon a time)
    He recover'd from a trance, that's to say
    From a sound sleep, which makes him dream e'er since.
    I'll hasten to him with this pleasing news.       [_Exit +Ernesto+._

    +Cam.+ My melancholy could hardly hinder me
    From laughing at the formal fool's mistake.
    But, tell me, did not I present your person
    With rare assurance? The way for both to thrive
    Is to make me your representative.

    +Por.+ Most willingly; and I am confident,
    When you your charms shall to his heart apply,
    You all your rivals safely may defy.

    +Cam.+ I wish I could be vain enough to hope it.
    But, cousin, my despairs are so extreme,
    I can't be flatter'd, though but in a dream.

    +Flo.+ Madam, do we go, or what do you resolve on?

    +Por.+ I must resolve, but know not what to choose.

    +Cam.+ Cousin, take heed, I am afraid you venture
    Too much: your brother cannot tarry long,
    And if at his return he finds you missing----

    +Por.+ Y' have reason; th' opportunity is lost.
    What is't o'clock, Flora?

    +Flo.+ I think, near seven, for the clock struck six
    Just as Camilla enter'd the chamber.

    +Por.+ Quick then, Flora, fetch your veil; you shall carry
    My tablets to Octavio; there he'll find
    The hour and place where I would have him meet.     [_Exit +Flora+._

    +Cam.+ 'Tis well resolv'd; but where do you design
    Your meeting.

    +Por.+ In the remotest part of all the garden,
    Which answers, as you know, to my apartment;
    And Flora has the key of the back-door.

    +Cam.+ As the case stands, you choose the fittest place.
                                             [_+Flora+ returns veiled._

    +Por.+ Cousin, I beg your patience whilst I write.
                                      [_+Porcia+ writes in her tablets._

    +Cam.+ You, Mistress Flora, by this accident
    May chance to see your faithful lover Diego.

    +Flo.+ He is a faithful lover of himself--[53]
    Without a rival, madam.

    +Cam.+ Damsel, your words and thoughts hardly agree;
    For could we see his image in your heart,
    'Twould be a fairer far than e'er his glass
    Reflected.

    +Flo.+ Madam, I am not yet so very old,
    That I should doat.

    +Cam.+ Nor yet so very young but you may love:
    Dotage and love are cousin-germans, Flora.

    +Flo.+ Yes, when we love and are not lov'd again;        [_Smiling._
    For else I think they're not so near akin.

    +Cam.+ I have touch'd a nettle, and stung myself.          [_Aside._

    +Por.+ Make all the haste you can, pray, Flora.

    +Flo.+ Madam, I'll fly.
    Should I not play my part, I were to blame,
    Since all my fortune's betted on her game.                 [_Aside._
    Madam, has Octavio the other key
    Belonging to the tablets?

    +Por.+ Yes, yes; I pray, make haste.                [_Exit +Flora+._

    +Cam.+ Cousin, pray, call for Mirabel, and let her
    Divert us with a song.

    +Por.+ Who waits there?


    Page, bid Mirabel come in, and Floridor
    With his lute, and send in somebody with chairs.

    +Cam.+ Pray, cousin, let her sing her newest air.

    +Por.+ What you please.

    +Cam.+ Tell me, prythee, whose composition was it?

    +Por.+ Guess, and I'll tell you true.       [_They bring in chairs._

    +Cam.+ Octavio's?

    +Por.+ Y' are i' th' right.

                   _Enter +Mirabel+ and +Floridor+._

    +Por.+ Mirabel, sing "Mistaken Kindness."

                            +The Song.+[54]

            _Can Luciamira so mistake,
              To persuade me to fly?
            'Tis cruel-kind for my own sake
              To counsel me to die;
    Like those faint souls, who cheat themselves of breath,
            And die for fear of death._

            _Since love's the principle of life,
              And you the object lov'd,
            Let's, Luciamira, end this strife,
              I cease to be remov'd.
    We know not what they do are gone from hence,
            But here we love by sense._

            _If the Platonics, who would prove
              Souls without bodies love,
            Had, with respect, well understood,
              The passions i' the blood,
    Th' had suffer'd bodies to have had their part
            And seated love i' the heart._
                                     [_Exeunt +Mirabel+ and +Floridor+._

    +Por.+ What discord there's in music, when the heart,
    Untun'd by trouble, cannot bear a part!

    +Cam.+ In vain we seek content in outward things;
    'Tis only from within where quiet springs.                [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[39] In this list of characters three very unimportant personages,
Mirabel, Floridor, and a Page, are omitted.--_Collier._

[40] This play, in the third edition from which it is here printed,
received some additions and improvements. The first performance of
it was at court; and on its appearance on the stage at the Duke's
Theatre it met with great applause, and was acted thirteen nights
successively. Echard, in the preface to his translation of Terence,
gives it this general character, that it "is one of the pleasantest
stories that ever appeared upon our stage, and has as much variety of
plots and intrigues, without anything being precipitated, improper or
unnatural, as to the main action." In the year 1767, Mr Hull made some
alterations in it, with which it was acted at Covent Garden Theatre
about nine nights, under the title of "The Perplexities." To the second
edition were prefixed complimentary verses by James Long, J. Evelyn, A.
Cowley Jasper Nedham, M.D., Lod. Carlile, Chr. Wase, William Joyner,
and one copy signed Melpomene. In Sir Wm. Davenant's Works, p. 339, is
a prologue written by him, addressed to the Lord Chancellor, on the
acting of this play at the Inner Temple.

[41] Till now the measure was spoiled by the omission of the word
_all_. The four editions read the line as it now stands. The play has
been hitherto very carelessly printed, and a few of the errors are
pointed out in the notes.--_Collier._ [But it must be added that even
Mr Collier left the text and (more particularly) the punctuation in so
corrupt a state, that many passages were unintelligible.]

[42] [Former edits., _and_.]

[43] Prior has adopted this image--

    "So when the Parthian turn'd his steed,
      And from the hostile camp withdrew,
    He backward sent the fatal reed,
      Secure of conquest as he flew."

--Poems, i. 40, edit. 1778.

[44] This speech is very much altered from the first and second
editions, where it stands that Don Henrique has already married Porcia

                          "By proxy
    To one in Flanders."

--_Collier._

[45] This word was omitted by Reed and Dodsley.--_Collier._

[46] The author has not been very strict in the observance of his metre
in any part of the play, and in this respect the changes he made in the
third edition were sometimes injurious. Thus in the two earlier copies
this line, which would have read very well if _in_ had been substituted
for _during_, is given as follows--

"And what was done in this parenthesis."

It was a point gained, however, to get rid of the figure.--_Collier._

[47] [I'll pledge you. See Nares, edit. 1859, p. 216.]

[48] [Literally a bottle. See Halliwell in _v._]

[49] [Cupboard beds, similar to those still used throughout Holland
among the humbler classes.]

[50] [Former edits., _and_.]

[51] [Former edits., _on_.]

[52] This is hardly intelligible, as it stands here and in the third
edition. In the two earlier copies, Porcia says to Flora on entering--

    "If thou lov'st me, get him away quickly
    Before my brother come, and give him this.
                                        [_She gives +Flora+ a letter_."

--_Collier._ [There does not appear to be any obscurity here. In a
subsequent scene, Ernesto delivers the letter handed to him by Flora
from Camilla, whom he mistakes for Porcia.]

[53] [_Of himself_ seems to be used here in the sense of by himself,
_per se_, standing alone.]

[54] The song, and its introduction, were new in the copy of
1671.--_Collier._




ACT II.

+Scene.+--_The city of Seville._


         _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Sancho+, in riding-clothes._

    +San.+ Sir, we are arriv'd in very good time.

    +Don A.+ I did not think it would have been so soon
    By an hour at least; but lovers ride apace.
    Why smile you, Sancho?

    +San.+ Faith, at the novelty of your amours,
    To fall in love with one you hardly saw,
    And marry one you never saw: 'tis pretty;
    But we poor mortals have another method.

    +Don A.+ Y' are very pleasant, friend; but is not this
    The market-place, behind the Jacobins?

    +San.+ Yes, sir.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis here I charg'd Ernesto to expect me.

    +San.+ Since you are here, sir, earlier than you thought,
    Why might you not go shift you at the post-house,
    And be return'd before Ernesto come?
    Howe'er, 'tis better that he wait for you,
    Than you for him, in the open street.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis well thought on; come, let's go then.       [_Exeunt._

                   _Enter +Don Octavio+ and +Diego+._

    +Don O.+ Come, Diego, 'tis now time to quit our dens,
    And to begin our chase.

    +Diego.+ Of what, sir? bats or owls, now the sun's set?
    Call you this making of love? why, methinks,
    'Tis more like making of war: marching all night
    In arms, as if we design'd to beat up
    The enemy's quarters.

    +Don O.+ Why, would not you venture as much for Flora?

    +Diego.+ No, in good faith, sir; I shall venture enough,
    If e'er I marry her: I'll run no hazard
    By my good-will beforehand.

    +Don O.+ That's from your fear, not prudence, Diego.

    +Diego.+ Sir, you may call it what you please; but I
    Dare boldly say, there lives not in the world
    A more valiant man than I, whilst danger
    Keeps its distance; but when saucily
    It presses on, then, I confess, 'tis true,
    I have a certain tenderness for life,
    Which checks my ardour, and inclines my prudence
    Timely to withdraw.

    +Don O.+ Your style is wondrous civil to yourself;
    How you soften that harsh word call'd cowardice.
    But the danger is not always evident,
    When you are pleas'd, my friend, to run away.

    +Diego.+ It may be so, sir--not to vulgar eyes;
    But I have such a piercing sight, that I
    Discover perils out of others' ken;
    Which they, not seeing soon enough to shun,
    Are forc'd t' encounter; and then their struggling
    Is by th' unwary world taken for courage.

    +Don O.+ Who's truly valiant will be always so.

    +Diego.+ Who's wisely valiant will avoid the foe.

    +Don O.+ You have more light, Diego, I see, than heat;
    But I'll allow your wit and honesty
    To come to composition for your want
    Of courage.

    +Diego.+ I have courage enough for the profession
    To which my parents did design me.

    +Don O.+ Why, what was that?

    +Diego.+ An advocate. I could have acted choler
    In my client's sight, and, when his back was turn'd,
    Have hugg'd the lawyer of the adverse party;
    And, if I mistake not, they sell their breath
    Much dearer than you soldiers do your blood.
    'Tis true, you get honour, a fine light food
    For delicate complexions; but I have
    Known some captains of plain stomachs starve upon't.

    +Don O.+ The varlet's i' the right. [_Aside._] How came't about
    You were not of this thriving trade?

    +Diego.+ After I had spent seven years at Salamanca,
    My father, a rich merchant of this city,
    Was utterly undone by that damn'd Englishman,
    With whom we fright our children.

    +Don O.+ Who, Captain Drako? Was he a pirate?

    +Diego.+ He had been so on this side of the line.

    +Don O.+ 'Tis strange that war and peace should have degrees
    Of latitude: one would have thought they should
    Have been the same all o'er the world. But what's this
    To my amours? I trifle away my time.
    Was ever lover's fate so rude as mine?
    Condemn'd to darkness, forc'd to hide my head,
    As well as love; and, to spite me the more,
    Fortune has contradictions reconcil'd:
    I am at once a pris'ner and exil'd.

                  _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Sancho+._

    +Don A.+ Methinks Ernesto should not tarry long,
    If not already come. Sancho, how call you
    The street there just before us, where you see
    Yon gentleman with his cloak o'er his face?
    I have lost all my measures of this town.

    +Sancho.+ I am as much to seek as you, sir.

    +Don A.+ Let us go to him, Sancho, and inquire:
    He has a notable good mien: I ne'er
    Saw an air more like [to] Octavio's.

    +Don O.+ Unless my eyes do very much deceive me,
    That's Don Antonio; if it be he, Diego,
    There is no danger in his knowing us:
    He was my comrade when I first bore arms.
              [_+Don Octavio+ lets fall his cloak from before his face._
    Tis he.

    +Don A.+ You injure me, Octavio, to be so long
    A-knowing one who's so entirely yours.              [_They embrace._

    +Don O.+ Your presence in this place, noble Antonio,
    Was so unexpected, I hardly durst
    Believe my eyes. When came you to this town?

    +Don A.+ I am just now arrived.

    +Don O.+ I joy to see you here, but should have thought
    It likelier to have heard of you at court,
    Pursuing there the recompenses due
    To your great merit.

    +Don A.+ That is no place for men of morality:
    I have been taught, Octavio, to deserve,
    But not to seek, reward, that does profane
    The dignity of virtue. If princes,
    For their own interests, will not advance
    Deserving subjects, they must raise themselves
    By a brave contempt of fortune.

    +Don O.+ Rig'rous virtue! which makes us to deserve,
    Yet suffer the neglect of those we serve.

    +Don A.+ Virtue to interest has no regard:
    Nor is it virtue, if w' expect reward.

    +Don A.+ If for their service kings our virtues press,
    Is no pay due to valour and success?

    +Don O.+ When we gave up our persons to their will,
    We gave with those our valour, fortune, skill.

    +Don O.+ But this condition tacitly was meant,
    Kings should adjust reward and punishment.

    +Don A.+ Kings are the only judges of deserts,
    And our tribunal's seated in their hearts.

    +Don O.+ But if they judge and act amiss, what then?

    +Don A.+ They must account to th' powers above, not men.[55]

    +Don O.+ Then we must suffer?

    +Don A.+ Yes; if we reject
    Their power as too great, we must erect
    A greater to control them; and thus we,
    Instead of shrinking, swell the tyranny.

    +Don O.+ W' obey for fear, then?

    +Don A.+ True: 'tis only above,
    Where pow'r is justice, and obedience love.

    +Don O.+ I'm glad to find in you the seeds yet left
    Of steady virtue; may they bring forth fruit,
    Fit to illustrate and instruct the age.
    Let me once more embrace you: welcome, brave man,
                                             [_Embraces +Don Antonio+._
    Both the delight and honour of your friends.

    +Don A.+ You will give me leave, sir, to distinguish
    Betwixt your judgment and civility.

    +Don O.+ He has not liv'd i' th' reach of public fame,
    Who is a stranger to your character.
    This is my house; be pleas'd, sir, to go in,
    And make it yours, though truly at present
    I am but in an ill condition
    To receive the honour of such a guest,
    Having, by an unlucky accident,
    Been forc'd of late to keep myself conceal'd.

    +Don A.+ I humbly thank you, sir, but cannot yet
    Receive your favour; for I must stay here,
    Expecting the return of one I sent
    Before me to my brother-in-law's.

    +Don O.+ Have you a brother-in-law in Seville?
    You surprise me much.

    +Don A.+ It is most true, Octavio, I come hither
    A married man, as much as friends can make me.

    +Don O.+ Since it imports you not to miss your servant,
    Let us stay here without until he comes,
    And then go in and rest yourself awhile.
    But how go our affairs in Flanders?

    +Don A.+ I left our armies in a better state
    Than formerly.

    +Don O.+ And your governor, the Duke of Alva,
    I suppose, in great[er] reputation?

    +Don A.+ The honour of our country and the terror
    Of others: Fortune consulted Reason
    When she bestow'd such favours upon him.

    +Don O.+ And yet 'tis said, he loses ground at court.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis possible: under a jealous prince
    A great's as prejudicial as an evil fame.

    +Don O.+ They say he's cruel, even to barbarity.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis mercy, that which they call cruelty.
    In a civil war, in fertile provinces
    (And the sun sees not richer than are these),
    The soldier, especially the auxiliary,
    Whose trade it is to fight for salary,
    Is brib'd by gain the rebels' lives to spare,
    That mutual quarter may prolong the war;
    Till this slow fever has consum'd their force,
    And then they'll fall to our rival France, of course.
    War made in earnest maketh war to cease,
    And vigorous prosecution hastens peace.

    +Don O.+ Y' have made me comprehend his conduct: he's sure
    As great a politician as a soldier.

    +Don A.+ Loyalty's his centre, his circumf'rence, glory;
    And t' after ages he'll show great in story.

    +Don O.+ And is our good friend, the Marquis d'Olivera,
    In high esteem?

    +Don A.+ The boast of [all] our army: h' has exceeded
    Hope, and made flattery impossible.

    +Don O.+ They say he did wonders at the siege of Mons.[56]

    +Don A.+ You mean, as I suppose, at the pursuit
    O' th' German army, led by the Prince of Orange?
    Indeed his courage and his conduct there
    Were very signal.

    +Don O.+ You'll much oblige me if, whilst you expect
    Your servant here, I might learn from yourself
    Some few particulars of your own actions;
    Fame speaks loudly of them, but not distinctly.

    +Don A.+ Fame, like water, bears up the lighter things,
    And lets the weighty sink. I do not use
    To speak in the first person; but if you needs
    Will have a story to fill up the time,
    I'll tell you an adventure of my own,
    Where you'll find love so intermix'd with arms,
    That, I am confident, 'twill raise your wonder,
    How, being prepossess'd with such a passion,
    I should, upon prudential motives only,
    Be engag'd, as now you find me, to marry
    A lady whom I never saw.

    +Don O.+ The person and the subject, sir, both challenge
    My best attention.

    +Don A.+ [_After a little pause._]
        The following evening to that glorious day,
    Wherein the Duke of Alva gain'd such fame
    Against the cautelous Nassau, some horse
    Were sent from the army under my command.
    To cover the Limbourg frontiers, much expos'd
    To th' enemy's inroads. My troops scarce lodg'd,
    I receiv'd intelligence that a party
    Of th' enemy, about two hundred horse,
    Were newly come t' a village three leagues off,
    Intending there to lodge. Immediately
    We sounded to horse, and march'd[57] to their surprise
    So lustily,[58] that by the break of day
    Their quarters were on fire.

    +Don O.+ You had been taught, sir, by your wise general,
    That diligence in execution is
    (Even above fortune) mistress of success.

    +Don A.+ They made but faint resistance: some were slain,
    Some perish'd in the fire, others escap'd,
    Giving the alarm in quarters more remote
    To their companions drown'd in sleep and wine
    Who, at the outcry and the noise of trumpets,
    Methinks I fancy starting from their beds,
    As pale and wan, as from their dormitories
    Those the last trump shall rouse: diff'ring in this,
    That those awake to live, but these to die.

    +Don O.+ O, how unsafe it is to be secure!

    +Don A.+ Finding no more resistance, I made haste
    To a lofty structure which, as I conceiv'd,
    Was the likeliest quarter for their officer;
    Led thither by desire to rescue both--
    Him from the soldier's rage, that from the fire.

    +Don O.+ A care most worthy of a gallant leader.

    +Don A.+ But think, Octavio, how I was surpris'd
    When, entering a pavilion i' th' garden,
    I found a woman of a matchless form,
    Stretch'd all along upon the marble floor.

    +Don O.+[59] I easily can divine how such a heart,
    As harbours in the brave Antonio's breast,
    May suffer at so sad a spectacle.

    +Don A.+ At the first sight I did believe her dead;
    Yet in that state so awful she appear'd,
    That I approach'd her with as much respect
    As if the soul had animated still
    That body which, though dead, scarce mortal seem'd.
    But as, the sun from our horizon gone,
    His beams do leave a tincture on the skies,
    Which shows it was not long since he withdrew:
    So in her lovely face there still appear'd
    Some scatter'd streaks of those vermilion beams,
    Which us'd t' irradiate that bright firmament.
    Thus did I find that distress'd miracle,
    Able to wound a heart as if alive,
    Uncapable to cure it as if dead.

    +Don O.+ I no more doubt your pity than your wonder.

    +Don A.+ My admiration did suspend my aid,
    Till passion join'd to pity made me bold.
    I kneel'd, and took her in my arms, then bow'd
    Her body gently forward; at which instant
    A sigh stole from her. O the ravishing sound!
    Which being a symptom of remaining life
    Made me forget that 'twas a sign of grief.
    At length she faintly opens her bright eyes:
    So breaks the day, and so do all the creatures
    Rejoice, as I did, at the new-born light:
    But as the Indians, who adore the sun,
    Are scorch'd by's beam, ere half his race be run,
    So I, who did adore her rising eyes,
    Found myself wounded by those deities.

    +Don O.+ I am big with expectation; pray
    Deliver me.

    +Don A.+ From her fair hand a bloody poniard fell,
    Which she held fast during her trance, as if
    Sh' had only needed arms whilst she did sleep,
    And trusted to her eyes when she did wake.
    What I said to her, being a production
    Of mere ecstasy, I remember not.
    She made me no reply; yet I discern'd,
    In a serener air of her pale face,
    Some lines of satisfaction mix'd with fear.

    +Don O.+ Such looks in silence have an eloquence.
    But pray go on.

    +Don A.+ Rais'd from the ground, and to herself return'd,
    I stepp'd a fitting distance back, as well
    To gaze upon that lovely apparition,
    As to express respect; when at that instant
    The trumpets sound a charge; my soldiers cry,
    Where is our leader? Where's Antonio?
    My love awhile disputed with my honour,
    But that, being the longer-settled power,
    O'ercame; I join'd my troops, left in reserve,
    As they were ready to receive a charge
    From divers squadrons of fresh horse who, being
    Quarter'd in neighbouring villages, had taken
    Hotly th' alarm, and came, though then too late,
    In succour of their friends. Honour and love
    Had so inflam'd my heart, that I advanc'd
    Beyond the rules of conduct, and receiv'd
    So many wounds, that I with faintness fell.

    +Don O.+ How can this story end?

    +Don A.+ My soldiers beat the enemy, and brought me off,
    Where surgeons quickly cur'd my outward wounds;
    But the remembrance of that heroine
    My inward hurts kept bleeding still afresh;
    Till, by the business of the war constrain'd
    T' attend my charge i' th' army, my despair
    Of ever seeing her again conspiring
    With the strong persuasions of Olivera,
    I was at length even forc'd to an engagement
    Of marriage with a lady of this city,
    Rich, noble, and, as they say, beautiful.
    And so you have me here, come to consummate
    Those nuptial rites to which my interest,
    And the importunity of trusty friends,
    O'errule my judgment, though against my heart.

    +Don O.+ A wonderful adventure! but pray, sir,
    May I not take the liberty to ask you,
    Who may this noble lady be, to whom
    The fates have destin'd so much happiness?

    +Don A.+ I have no reserves for you, Octavio,
    'Tis the sister of----

          _Enter +Ernesto+, and +Don Octavio+ retires hastily,
                  and covers his face with his cloak._

    +Don A.+ [_Nodding to +Octavio+._] It is my servant, sir.

    +Don O.+ Step to Antonio, Diego, and desire him
    To send him off.          [_+Diego+ goes to +Antonio+ and whispers._

    +Don A.+ I will immediately. Well, Ernesto,
    What good news? speak freely.

    +Ern.+ Sir, as you charg'd me, I told your brother-in-law
    I thought you hardly could be there this night.
    He kisses your hands, and bad me tell you,
    That he expects your coming with impatience.
    This letter's from Don Henrique, th' other's from
    Your beauteous bride, the most accomplish'd person
    I ever saw: my being of your train
    Gave me the privilege of a domestic,
    To see her in her chamber-dress without
    A veil, either to cover faults or hide
    Perfections.

    +Don A.+ Tell me truly, is she so very handsome?

    +Ern.+ Handsomer far, in my opinion, sir,
    Than all those Brussels beauties, which you call
    The finish'd pieces: but I say no more;
    Let your own eyes inform you; here's a key
    Of the apartment that's made ready for you;
    A lower quarter, very nobly furnish'd,
    That opens on St Vincent's Street.

    +Don A.+ Give it me, and go to the post-house,
    And take care that my things be brought from, thence.
                                                     [_Exit +Ernesto+._
    Octavio, will you go along with me,
    And be a witness of my first address?

    +Don O.+ Sir, you choose in me an ill companion
    Of lovers' interviews or nuptial joys:
    One whose misfortunes to such sad extremes
    Are heighten'd, that the very mentioning
    Of happy hours serves only to embitter
    The memory of my lost joys.

    +Don A.+ So very deep a sense of your misfortunes
    Holds no proportion with Octavio's mind.

                      _+Enter+ +Flora+ in haste._

    +Flo.+ Where's your master, Diego?

    +Diego.+ There's some ill towards, when this bird appears. [_Aside._
    Do you not see him? y' have liv'd too long a maid.

    +Flo.+ Sir, I have something to say t' you in private,
    That requires haste.

    +Don O.+ What new accident brings you hither, Flora?

    +Flo.+ These tablets will inform you, sir.       [_+Flora+ retires._

    +Diego.+ Will you not stay for an answer, damsel?

    +Flo.+ 'Tis a command, not a question, Diego.

    +Diego.+ Short and sweet, Flora.

    +Don O.+ Good Flora, stay a minute. I much fear
    It is some new misfortune.

    +Diego.+ Nay, sir, you may be sure 'tis some disaster,
    Else it would ne'er have come so easily,
    And so unsought for.

    +Don O.+ Will you allow me for a moment, sir,
    To step into my house, and read a letter?    [_Bowing to +Antonio+._

    +Don A.+ I'll wait upon you in, and stay your leisure.
                                             [_Exeunt all but +Diego+._

    +Diego.+ These little black books do more devils raise
    Than all the figures of the conjurors.
    This is some missive from the heroine:
    If it ends not in fighting, I'll be hang'd;
    It is the method of their dear romances,
    And persons of their rank make love by book.
    Curse o'[60] th' inventor of that damn'd device
    Of painting words, and speaking to our eyes!
    Had I a hundred daughters, by this light,
    Not one of 'em should ever read or write.

            _Enter +Flora,+ and seems to go away in haste._

    Here she comes again. 'Twas a quick despatch.
    A word, Flora, or a kind glance at least;
    What, grown cruel?

    +Flo.+               Diego, nobody w' you?[61]
    This is no time for fooling, friend.

    +Diego.+ Nay, if you be so serious, fare you well.
    But, now I think on't better, I'll do th' honours
    Of our street, and bring you to the end on't.

    +Flo.+ I shall be well help'd up with such a squire.
    If some wandering knight should chance to assault you,
    To bear away your damsel, what would you do?

    +Diego.+ I'd use no other weapon but a torch:
    I'd put aside your veil, show him your face,
    That, I suppose, would guard us both.

    +Flo.+ Why, d' you think 'twould fright him, Diego?

    +Diego.+ O no, 'twould charm him, Flora.

    +Flo.+ Well, such as 'tis, I'll venture it without
    Engaging your known valour: [so,] good night.       [_Exit +Flora+._

                _Enter +Don Octavio+ and +Don Antonio+._

    +Don O.+ What may this be? I swear I cannot guess;
    The warning's short; but she must be obeyed.
    The hour draws near. I must go seek a friend,
    Her words seem to imply need of a second:
    'Twere barbarous to engage Antonio,
    Newly arriv'd, and come on such an errand.                 [_Aside._
    Noble Antonio, my confusion's great,        [_Addressing +Antonio+._
    To tell you thus abruptly I must leave you;
    Th' occasion's indispensable.

    +Don A.+ I must not quit you, sir, I know too well
    The laws of honour to desert you now:
    When I perceive my friend in such disorder,
    And[62] all the marks that he is call'd to danger,
    To leave him then----

    +Don O.+ It is a summons from a lady, sir,
    Whom I have lov'd with passion and success,
    To meet her in her garden presently.
    All is propitious on her part and mine;
    But she's so guarded by a tyrant brother,
    So naturally jealous, and so incens'd
    By a late accident which I shall tell you,
    That to assure you there would be no danger
    In this adventure, were (sir) to abuse you:
    But for that very reason I am bound
    Not to consent you should embark yourself
    In a business so directly opposite
    To the occasion which has brought you hither.

    +Don A.+ I like the omen: at my first arrival
    To have the honour to serve so brave a friend.

    +Don O.+ You from a life of perils hither come
    To find a nuptial-bed, not seek a tomb.

    +Don A.+ My friend engag'd, it never must be said
    Antonio left him so to go to bed.

    +Don O.+ Y' are married, and expose what's not your own.

    +Don A.+ Wedded to honour, that must yield to none.

    +Don O.+ Honour makes me refuse your aid; we must
    As well to friends as to ourselves be just.

    +Don A.+ He ought not to pretend to friendship's name,
    Who reckons not himself and friend the same.

    +Don O.+ Friendship with justice must not disagree,
    That were to break the virtue's harmony.

    +Don A.+ Friendship is justice; for whene'er we give,
    We then receive: so 'tis commutative.

    +Don O.+ So great's your friendship, you your friend oppress:
    To make it juster, you must make it less.

    +Don A.+ Friendship can never err in the extent:
    Like Nile, when't overflows, 'tis most beneficent.

    +Don O.+ I find, Antonio, you will still subdue.

    +Don A.+ I owe my triumph to my cause, not you.
    Come, we lose time; your mistress must not stay.

    +Don O.+ Who's so accompani'd, needs not fear his way.    [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[55] It may be mentioned here, that throughout the third edition
certain sententious passages, and moral and political apothegms, are
printed in italics. This ultra-loyal line, and some others of the same
kind so distinguished, were first inserted in the copy of the play
published two years before the death of the author.--_Collier._

[56] In the year 1572 the town of Mons, in Hainault, was surprised by
Count Lodowicke, who fortified himself in it, intending to hold it
against the power of Spain. It was soon after invested by the Duke of
Alva, and surrendered to him after a long siege, notwithstanding the
Prince of Orange, who came before it with an army, with which he some
time harassed his enemy, but without effecting his principal design.

[57] [Former edits., _march_.]

[58] [Former edits., _luckily_.]

[59] In the third edition, by an error, this speech is not
distinguished from Antonio's description, but it would evidently belong
to Octavio, even if, in the two earlier copies, the same mistake had
been committed.--_Collier._

[60] [_i.e., On._ Former edits., _of_.]

[61] [In former edits. this line is given to Diego.]

[62] [Perhaps we should read _With_.]




ACT III.

+Scene.+--_+Don Henrique's+ house._


        _+Camilla,+ +Porcia,+ and +Flora+ appear in a balcony._

    +Por.+ Come, cousin, the hour assign'd approaches.

    +Cam.+ Nay, more than so; for 'tis already night.

    +Flo.+ And, thanks to your stars, sufficiently dark.

    +Por.+ _To the clouds_ you would say, Flora; for stars,
    In this occasion, would not much befriend us.
    Pray, cousin, when Octavio shall arrive,
    Do you and Flora watch above with care;
    For if my cruel brother should surprise us----

    +Cam.+ Let us alone to play the sentinels.

    +Flo.+ I'm confident he's abroad, and will not
    Suddenly return; for I heard him say
    He'd pass the evening at the corregidor's:
    And thence, you know, he seldom comes home early.

    _Enter +Antonio+, +Octavio+, and +Diego+, with their cloaks
        over their faces, and their swords undrawn in their hands._

    +Don A.+ Is it not something early for adventures
    Of this nature.

    +Don O.+ 'Tis the hour she appointed.

    +Don A.+ How dark 'tis grown o' th' sudden! there's not one
    Star appears in all the firmament.

    +Diego.+ So much the better; for when I must fight,
    I covet no spectators of my prowess.                       [_Aside._

    +Don O.+ Stay you here, Antonio; I'll step before,
    and give the sign. When you hear the door open,
    then come on, and follow me in.

          _Enter at the other side of the stage +Don Henrique+
                           and +Don Carlos+._

    +Don H.+ The corregidor's is a sweet place.

    +Don C.+ The walks and fountains so entice me, I still
    Weary myself before I can retire.

    +Don H.+ Indeed we have stay'd longer than we thought,
    And therefore let's go home the shorter way:
    The back-door of my garden's here at hand.

    +Don C.+ It will be better than to go about.

    +Por.+ Would he were come, I fear the rising moon
    Will give us little time.

          [_Above in the balcony. +Octavio+ knocks upon the hilt of his
                                                                sword._

    I think I hear his usual knock. Who's there?

    +Don O.+ 'Tis I.

    +Por.+ I hope y' are not alone.

    +Don O.+ No; here's Diego with me, and a friend.

    +Por.+ 'Tis well. I'll open the door presently.

    +Don H.+ Come, we are now hard by the garden-gate.

    +Don O.+ Let's to the door; sure, she's there by this time.
    Be not afraid, Diego.

    +Diego.+ You had as good command me not to breathe.

    +Don O.+ Come on; what are you thinking on?

    +Diego.+ That I see company, or that my fear does.

    +Don O.+ Y' are i' th' right; let's, to avoid suspicion,
    Walk on at large till they are out of distance.
                                                 [_The noise of a lock._

    +Don C.+ I think I heard your garden door open.

    +Don H.+ I think so too; ha! at this time of the night?
    Why, what a devil can this mean? 'Tis so.

    +Don A.+ They have open'd this door: 'tis time for me
    To follow; surely Octavio is gone in.
                                     [_+Antonio+ goes towards the door._

    +Por.+ What stay you for?             [_Holding the door half open._

    +Don H.+ What is't I hear? sure, 'tis Porcia's voice.

    +Por.+ What mean you to stand there? come in, I say.

    +Don H.+ Hell and furies!              [_He goes to draw his sword._

    +Don C.+ Be patient, sir, and you will make a clearer
    Discovery of your affront.

    +Por.+ You may come in securely, Octavio.  [_Setting open the door._

    I have set those will watch my brother's coming.

    +Don A.+ Madam, I am not Octavio.

    +Por.+ Not Octavio! who are you then, and who's
    That shadow there?

    +Don H.+ I can hold no longer. [_Aside._] I'm thy destiny,
                                                    [_Draws his sword._
    Vile woman, and his mortal enemy.

    +Don A.+ Ha, my mortal enemy?

    +Don H.+ Yes, villain. Whoe'er them art, thou shalt pay
    This treachery with thy life.

    +Don A.+ Vain man! whoe'er thou art, know [that] the life
    Thou threaten'st is guarded by a trusty sword.
          [_+Don Carlos+ draws, and they all enter the garden fighting._

    +Don H.+ Make fast the door.                     [_To +Don Carlos+._
    Thou art some desperate villain hir'd to murder.
                              [_+Octavio+ and +Diego+ come to the door._

    +Don A.+ Hir'd by friendship, and honour's my salary. [_In the garden._

    +Don O.+ That's Antonio's voice within the garden:
                                 [_Runs to the door and finds it shut._
    What, the door shut! my friend engaged, and I
    Excluded! cursed fate! this tree may help me
    To climb o'er; if not, I'll fly t' him.             [_He climbs up._

    +Diego.+ You may do so; your sprightly love has wings,
    And's ever fledg'd;[63] 'tis moulting-time with mine:
    Yet I'll up too; the hazard's not in climbing.
                                             [_+Diego+ climbs the tree._
    Here I will sit, and out of danger's reach
    Expect the issue.

          _Scene changes to a garden, out of which they issue
                               fighting._

    +Don O.+ Courage, brave friend; you have Octavio by you.

    +Don A.+ So seconded, a coward would grow firm.

    +Don H.+ What, is there more of your crew? then 'tis time
    To call for help. Ho! Silvio, Geraldo,
    Pedro! come forth, and bring out torches with you.

                _Enter +Silvio+, with his sword drawn._

    +Sil.+ Here am I, sir, my camarades[64] will follow   [_They fight._
    As soon as they have lighted their torches.

    +Don A.+ How I despise these slaves, Octavio,
    Having you by me!

    +Diego.+ Their swords do clatter bravely in the dark. [_In the tree._

    +Sil.+ I'm slain.

        [_+Silvio+ falls. +Don Henrique+, stepping back, falls over
            +Silvio+, and loses his sword, and Carlos runs in to
            him._

    +Don C.+ What,[65] are you hurt?

    +Don H.+ No, I fell by chance; help me to find my sword.

    +Don O.+ What, do you give back? you do well to take breath,
    Whilst you have any left; 'twill not be long,
    Now that the rising moon lends us some light.

          [_The rising moon appears behind the scene. +Porcia+ runs out
                                                         to +Octavio+._

    +Por.+ O Octavio, let not this moment slip
    To free me from my cruel brother's fury,
    Or never hope to see me any more
    Amongst the living.          [_+Octavio+ leads her away by the arm._

    +Don O.+ Ah, noble maid! he that is once possess'd
    Of such a treasure, and defends it not,
    Let him live wretched, and detested die.
    Where's my brave friend?

    +Don A.+ You have me by your side: lead off your mistress;
    I'll secure your retreat.

    +Diego.+ That, doubtless, is my master who, victorious,
                    [_In the tree, pointing to those who are going off._
    Is bravely marching off with his fair prize:
    I'll down and follow.

    +Don C.+ But whilst I was engag'd to succour you,
                                     [_Having helped up +Don Henrique+._
    Our enemies, I fear, are got away:
    I heard the door open, and see none here:
    Although the night's much brighter than it was.
    I'll follow, and trace the villains, if I can,
    To their dens: meanwhile take care of your sister:
    And pray, till my return, be moderate.

    +Don H.+ How! moderation in this case?--what, ho!
    Geraldo, Pedro! Ah, ye cursed rogues!

                     _Enter Servants with torches._

    Durst ye not show your heads till they were gone?
    Geraldo, light me in, whilst Pedro looks
    To his hurt companion. Ah, Porcia, Porcia!

                          [_Exeunt +Don Henrique+ and +Geraldo+: +Pedro+
                            carries out Silvio fainting with his hurts._

    _Scene changes to the city of Seville. Enter +Don Octavio+,
        +Porcia+, +Don Antonio+, and a little after +Diego+, and
        after them +Don Carlos+._

    +Diego.+ Sure, that's Antonio bringing up the rear?
    Sir, th' are but just before; my master bears her
                                        [_Looking back to +Don Carlos+._
    Most gallantly away: lose not sight of me.

    +Don C.+ This rogue takes me for one of his own crew;
    He will by his mistake help me to harbour 'em.            [_Exeunt._

          _+Camilla+ and +Flora+ appear in the balcony. Scene
                  changes to +Don Henrique's+ house._

    +Cam.+ Was there ever such a disaster, Flora?
    Sure, th' are all dead, so great's the silence.
    Porcia! Porcia! Nobody answers.

    +Flo.+ Madam, let us go down into the garden.

    +Cam.+ Excuse me; that were to involve myself
    In this unlucky scandal. 'Tis possible,
    Affrighted with the scuffle, she's return'd
    Into her quarter by the other door;
    Let's away thither.                  [_They go down upon the stage._

    +Flo.+ O madam! I see a light, and Don Henrique coming this way
    with his sword drawn; what shall we do?

    +Cam.+ Peace; let us hide ourselves behind the door
                                            [_They go behind the door._
    Till we discover his intentions.

    _Enter +Don Henrique+ and +Geraldo+ with a torch, and +Pedro+
        with a light: +Don Henrique+ and +Geraldo+, their swords
        drawn._

    +Ped.+ Sir, I have search'd all the rooms of the house,
    And cannot find her.

    +Don H.+ Base, infamous woman! maybe, she's fled
    To the quarter order'd for Antonio.

    +Ped.+ That door is lock'd, and's servant has the key.

    +Don H.+ Ah, this cursed vagabond! thus to rob         [_He stamps._
    A brother of the fruits of all his care,
    And cast this stain on th' honour of our house!
    But if ever I get the fugitive
    Within my reach, I'll sacrifice her blood
    To the offended spirits of my ancestors.

    +Flo.+ Madam, d' you hear?

    +Cam.+ Yes, and tremble, Flora.

    +Don H.+ Call for her woman.

    +Ped.+ Flora! Flora!

                            _Enter +Flora+._

    +Flo.+ My good angel guard me! What's your pleasure, sir?

    +Don H.+ Where's your mistress, hussy?

    +Flo.+ She told me, sir, about half an hour since,
    She would go down into the garden.                  [_Exit +Flora+._

    +Don H.+ My shame is certain. Ah! the sad condition
    Of us men of honour! how unequally
    Our crosses and our comforts mingled are!
    Our orphan sisters are no sooner grown
    Above the follies of their childish age
    (During which season custom does exact
    Our watchful caution over all their actions),
    But they are grafted on some stranger stock,
    Where they do change both their abodes and names
    Without the least reflection on their kindness,
    Who pain'd themselves to cultivate their youth;
    Or else remain to exercise our fears.
    O unjust heavens! why suffer you that they,
    Who to our joys of life such bubbles are,
    Should add such weight unto our griefs and care?
    Ah, Porcia, Porcia!.

                         _Enter +Don Carlos+._

    +Don C.+ Don Henrique, if I am not much mistaken,
    I have in this short time made a great progress
    Towards your redress: I come from harbouring
    The villains who have done you this affront.

    +Cam.+ [_behind._] It imports to be attentive now.

    +Don H.+ O, you revive me! May I but once enjoy
    The pleasure of my revenge, though the next
    Moment were the last period of my life,
    I should depart contented. Are the villains
    Within our reach?

    +Don C.+ Be patient, sir, and I'll inform you fully.
    You were no sooner up, but I pursu'd
    Your flying enemies, hoping the night,
    Grown somewhat lighter, might help me to discover
    The place of their retreat. One of their party
    Who was behind the rest, mistaking me
    For one of his camerades, bad me come on,
    Saying his master was but just before;
    That he had borne his mistress bravely off,
    And put her champion brother out of combat.

    +Don H.+ Insolent rascal!                              [_He stamps._

    +Don C.+ We had not pass'd above a street or two,
    Before he stopp'd, and at the second house
    Beyond the church, in Saint Iago's Street,
    He enter'd and desired me to follow him.
    I making a stand, he grew suspicious,
    And from my silence guessing his mistake,
    He slipp'd into the house, and lock'd the door.
    When I had well observ'd the street and house,
    I came with speed to give you this account.

    +Flo.+ O madam, this is Don Octavio's house:
    Without all doubt, they've carri'd Porcia thither.
                                        [_To +Camilla+ behind the door._

    +Cam.+ Peace, Flora, and listen to the sequel.

    +Don H.+ Come, cousin, we lose time--Heigh! who waits there?
    I will besiege the house; if they refuse
    To render, I'll reduce that theatre
    Of my shame to ashes, and make their fort
    Both theirs and its own sepulchre. There are
    Such charms in vengeance, that I do not wonder
    It is reserv'd for him who form'd the thunder.

    +Don C.+ Have patience, cousin, and consult your reason;
    'Twill soon convince you how unpracticable
    And vain your proposition is t' attempt,
    At this time of night, a house so guarded
    In a well-govern'd city: that would prove
    Very like thunder, which the cloud destroys,
    Wherein 'twas form'd, producing only noise.
    What can the issue be, but to alarm
    The town, expose your person and your fortune
    To th' rigour of the law, publish your shame,
    And frustrate your revenge for ever?

    +Don H.+ What! would you have me tarry till these villains,
    Who have invaded my house, affronted
    My person, murder'd my servant, and robb'd
    Me of a sister, may evade my vengeance?           [_Spoken hastily._

    +Don C.+ No, fear not that; let me alone to find
    A certain way to hinder their escape.
    I'll instantly to the corregidor,
    And beg the assistance of his authority
    To secure these criminals for the present,
    That afterwards the law may punish them.

    +Don H.+ A fine proposal! Why, cousin, can you think
    That I'll submit a personal injury
    To th' tame decision of the formal law?
    And, having been affronted by the sword,
    To pray the aid of the long robe, and take
    An advocate for second? Reliev'd by law!

    +Don C.+ Since we all parties are in making laws,
    We must not judges be in our own cause:
    We hold it infamous to break our words,
    Yet cancel the great charter with our swords.

    +Don H.+ They by their insolence the laws invade.

    +Don C.+ But you by your revenge the laws degrade.

    +Don H.+ Honour obliges me to take revenge.

    +Don C.+ Honour is justice, rightly understood:
    Your idol honour's only heat of blood.

    +Don H.+ Honour's opinion, which rules all the world.

    +Don C.+ Opinion, Henrique, only governs fools;
    Reason the wise and truly valiant rules.

    +Don H.+ Reason's opinion; for every one
    Stamps reason on his own opinion.

    +Don C.+ Then, by your argument, when people join
    In making laws, because they all opine,
    Laws are reasonable, and bind us all----

    +Don H.+ Curse on your sophistry, to treat a friend
    With figures, that's raging in a fever!
    You may as well pretend to teach a man
    To sing his part, that's stretch'd upon a rack.
    No, sir, I'll sooner lose this irksome life,
    Than e'er consent to publish my disgrace
    Before I have reveng'd it--to assist
    At the funeral of my own honour!                       [_He stamps._

    +Don C.+ What a wild creature is a choleric man!           [_Aside._
    'Tis far from my intent; all my design
    Is only how we may conceal your shame,
    Till we have got these villains in our power;
    Which can be brought about by no such means,
    As by demanding justice against those
    Who did assault your person, and have wounded
    Your servant--a very plausible pretence!
    Will this content you? Trust my conduct, cousin:
    Is not my interest the same with yours?

    +Don H.+ Well, since it must be so, I pray, make haste.

    +Don C.+ Doubt not my diligence; by this I'll prove
    Friendship has fire and wings, as well as love.

    +Don H.+ If you could fly, you'd move with too much leisure;
    Ah, tedious minutes, which revenge does measure!   [_Exit +Carlos+._

    +Flo.+ Madam, y' have heard their mischievous design?

    +Cam.+ Yes, Flora, out of question Porcia's there,
    And, if they find her, she is lost for e'er.

    +Flo.+ I'll try to hinder it, though I were certain
    To perish in th' attempt. I'm confident
    The house at present is in such confusion,
    I may run thither without being miss'd.

    +Cam.+ 'Tis well thought on; in the interim, I'll retire
    To Porcia's chamber.                 [_Exeunt from behind the door._

                           _Enter +Geraldo+._

    +Ger.+ Sir, Don Antonio is just arriv'd.

    +Don H.+ Ha! what's that you say, sirrah?

    +Ger.+ That Don Antonio, sir, your brother-in-law,
    Is without, walking i' th' hall, and bad me
    Give you notice of it. Shall he come in?

    +Don H.+ Antonio arrived! O heavens, this circumstance
    Was only wanting to complete my shame!
    When he desires to see his wife, shall I
    Myself inform a person of his quality
    That she is run away? Where shall I find
    A heart, a tongue, a voice: or breath, or face,
    To utter this unparallel'd disgrace?              [_Spoken hastily._
    O this fantastic sense of honour!
    At my own tribunal stand assoil'd,[66]
    Yet, fearing others' censure, am embroil'd.

    +Ger.+ What is your pleasure, sir? 'tis possible
    That Don Antonio may think it long.

    +Don.+ H. Wait on him in, but at the same time tell him
    You cannot find me. I will leave my house
    And the discovery of my shame to fate,
    And any censure rather undergo
    Than be the reporter of my own disgrace;
    Till first I have my honour's ransom paid
    In the vile blood of this perfidious maid.       [_Exit +Henrique+._

                  _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Ernesto+._

    +Don A.+ My friend and his fair mistress safely lodg'd,
    And free from their adventure, 'tis now fit
    To mind my own engagement. But, Ernesto,
    What can the meaning be of this rude usage,
    In suffering me to stay without thus long
    Upon my first arrival? Come, let's go on
    Into the other rooms.

    +Ern.+ I swear, sir, I'm amazed at this great change.
    'Tis not above two hours since I found here
    A numerous and well-order'd family,
    In all appearance. Now I see the pages
    Bolt out of the doors, then start back again
    Into their holes, like rabbits in a warren!
    The maids lie peeping at the garret-windows,
    Like th' upper tier of ordnance in a ship;
    All looks disorder'd now; nor can I guess
    What may have caus'd so great an alteration.
    But there I see the servant you sent in.

                           _Enter +Geraldo+._

    +Don A.+ Friend, where's your master?

    +Ger.+ I cannot tell, sir.

    +Don A.+ Where is his sister?

    +Ger.+ In truth, I know not, sir; we men-servants
    Have little to do in the ladies' quarters.        [_Exit +Geraldo+._

    +Don A.+ This looks but oddly. Are you sure, Ernesto,
    Y' have not misguided me to a wrong house?

    +Ern.+ If you are sure, sir, that we are awake,
    Then I am certain this is the same house,
    Wherein this afternoon I saw and spoke with
    Don Henrique and your bride: by the same token,
    There was a lady with her in a veil,
    And this very room is the antechamber
    To her apartment.

    +Don A.+ I should be finely serv'd if, after all
    This negotiation and a tedious journey,
    My pains and patience should be cast away
    On some such wither'd sybil for a wife,
    As her own brother is asham'd to show me.

    +Ern.+ You'll soon be freed from that fear, sir.
                                      [_+Ernesto+ goes toward the door._

    +Don A.+ How so?

    +Ern.+ Because I see her in the inner room,
    Lying along upon her couch, and reading.
    Her face is turn'd the other way; but yet
    Her shape and clothes assure me 'tis the same.

    +Don A.+ Art certain that 'tis she?

    +Ern.+ There are not many like her.

    +Don A.+ If thou be'st sure 'tis she, I'll venture in
    Without her brother's presence t' introduce me.

    +Ern.+ She's coming this way, sir.

                       _Enter +Camilla+ reading._

    +Cam.+ Y' have reason, Dido, and 'tis well remark'd--
                       [_She shuts her book; and after a little pause_--
    The woman who suffers herself to love
    Ought likewise to prepare herself to suffer.
    There was great power in your charms, Æneas,
    T' enthral a lady's heart at first approach,
    And make such early and such deep impressions,
    That nothing but her death could e'er deface.
    Alas, poor Dido!--

    +Don A.+ O heavens! what's that I see?--or do I dream?
             [+Antonio+, _seeing her, starts, then stands as if amazed._
    Sure, I am asleep, and 'tis a vision
    Of her who's always present to my thoughts;
    Who (fearing my revolt) does now appear
    To prove and to confirm my constancy.
    When first I saw that miracle, she seem'd
    An apparition; here it must be one.
    What fit of frenzy's this?

    +Ern.+                       Sir, 'tis Porcia:
    A lovely, living woman, and your bride.

    +Don A.+ The blessing is too mighty for my faith.

    +Ern.+ Faith! Ne'er trouble your faith in this occasion;
    Approach her boldly, sir, and trust your sense.

    +Don A.+ As when we dream of some transporting pleasure,
    And (finding that we dream) we fear to wake,
    Lest sense should rob us of our fancy's treasure,
    And our delightful vision from us take,
    Bless'd apparition, so it fares with me.
    That very angel now once more appears,
    To whose divinity long since I rais'd
    An altar in my heart, where I have offer'd
    The constant sacrifice of sighs and vows.
    My eyes are open, yet I dare not trust 'em!
    Bliss above faith must pass for an illusion.
    If such it be, O, let me sleep for ever,
    Happily deceiv'd? But, celestial maid,
    If this thy glorious presence real be,
    O, let one word of pity raise my soul
    From visionary bliss, and make me die
    With real joy instead of ecstasy.
    Speak, speak, my destiny; for the same breath
    May warm my heart, or cool it into death.

    +Ern.+ 'Slife! he's in one of his old fits again--
    Why, what d' you mean, sir? 'tis Porcia herself.

    +Cam.+ I am that maid, who to your virtue owes
    Her honour then and her disquiet since;
    Yet in my pain I cannot but be pleas'd
    To find a passion, censur'd in our sex,
    Justifi'd by so great an obligation.
    'Tis true I blush, yet I must own the fire,
    To which both love and gratitude conspire.

    +Don A.+ Incomparable creature! can it be
    That, having suffer'd all which mighty love
    Did e'er inflict, I now should be repaid
    With as full joys as love could ever give?
    Fortune, to make my happiness complete,
    Has join'd her power, and made me find a bride
    In a lost mistress: but with this allay--
    Of leaving me no means my faith to prove,
    Since chance anticipates the pains of love.

    +Cam.+ The servant's error has misled the master,
    He takes me too for Porcia. Bless'd mistake!
    Assist me now, artful dissimulation.                       [_Aside._
    But how can that consist with so much passion?
    'Tis possible, the sense of my distress'd
    Condition might dispose a noble heart
    To take impressions then, which afterwards
    Time and your second thoughts may have defac'd;
    But can a constant passion be produc'd
    From those ideas pity introduc'd?
    Let your tongue speak your heart; for, should y' abuse me,
    I shall in time discover the deceit:
    You may paint fire, Antonio, but not heat.

    +Don A.+ Madam!

    +Cam.+ Hold. Be not too scrupulous, Antonio;
    Let me believe it, though it be not true;
    For the chief happiness poor maids receive
    Is when themselves they happily deceive.

    +Don A.+ If, since those conquering eyes I first beheld,
    You have not reign'd unrivall'd in my heart,
    May you despise me now you are my own;
    Which is to me all curses summ'd in one.
    But may your servant, madam, take the boldness
    To ask if you have ever thought of him?

    +Cam.+ A love, so founded in a grateful heart,
    Has need of no remembrancer, Antonio;
    You know yourself too well: those of your trade
    Have skill to hold as well as to invade.

    +Don A.+ Fortune has lifted me to such a height
    Of happiness, that it may turn my brain
    When I look down upon the world.
    What have I now to wish but moderation
    To temper and to fix my joys?

    +Cam.+ I yield as little t' you, noble Antonio,
    In happiness as affection; but still
    Porcia must do as may become your bride,
    And sister to Don Henrique, in whose absence
    A longer conference must be excused:
    Therefore I take the freedom to withdraw.
    Should I have stay'd until Don Henrique came,
    His presence would have marr'd my whole design.
                                               [_Aside. Exit +Camilla+._

    +Don A.+ Where beauty, virtue, and discretion join,
    'Tis heaven, methinks, to find that treasure mine!

                        _Enter +Don Henrique+._

    +Don H.+ Sure, Don Antonio, having long ere this
    Found out th' infamous flight of my vile sister,
    Will be retir'd to meditate revenge
    Upon us both. Ah, curse! he is there still.          [_He sees him._
    I'll slip away. But it is now too late;
    He has perceiv'd me.

    +Don A.+ How, Don Henrique! avoid your friend that's come
    So long a journey t' embrace you, and cast
    Himself at the feet of your fair sister?

    +Don H.+ Noble Antonio, you may well imagine
    The trouble I am in, that you should find
    My house in such disorder, so unfit
    To receive th' honour of so brave a guest.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis true, Don Henrique, I am much surpris'd
    With what I find: I little did expect
    Your sister Porcia should have been----

    +Don H.+ O heavens! I'm lost, he has discover'd all.       [_Aside._
    'Tis not, Antonio, in a brother's power
    To make a sister of a better paste
    Than heav'n has made her.

    +Don A.+ In your case 'specially; for without doubt
    Heaven never made a more accomplish'd creature.

    +Don H.+ What means the man?                               [_Aside._

    +Don A.+ I come just now from entertaining her,
    Whose wit and beauty so excel all those
    Of her fair sex whom I have ever known,
    That my description of her would appear
    Rather detraction than a just report
    Of her perfections.

    +Don H.+ Certainly he mocks me: he never could
    Have chosen a worse sufferer of scorn;
    But I will yet contain myself awhile,
    To see how far he'll drive it. [_Aside._] Say you, sir,
    That you have seen and entertain'd my sister?

    +Don A.+ Yes, Don Henrique; and with such full contentment,
    So rais'd above expression, that I think
    The pains and care of all my former life
    Rewarded with excess in the delight
    Of those few minutes of her conversation.
    Tis true that satisfaction was abridg'd
    By her well-weigh'd severity to give me
    A greater pleasure in the contemplation
    Of her discreet observance of the rules
    Of decency, not suffering me, though now
    Her husband, any longer to enjoy
    So great a happiness, you not being by.

    +Don H.+ I am confounded; but I must dissemble
    My astonishment till I can unfold
    The mystery. [_Aside._] She might have spared that caution:
    But I suppose you'll easily forgive
    An error on the better side.

    +Don A.+ Sir, I have seen so much of her perfection
    In that short visit, I shall sooner doubt
    Our definitions in morality
    Than once suppose her capable of error.

    +Don H.+ This exposition makes it more obscure,
    I must get him away. [_Aside._] Sir, is't not time
    To wait on you to your chamber? It's late,
    And I believe [that] you have need of rest.

    +Don A.+ I should accept your offer, sir, with thanks,
    If I were not oblig'd, as late as 'tis,
    To see a friend before I go to bed.

    +Don H.+ I'll bear you company, if you'll give me leave.

    +Don A.+ I humbly thank you, sir, but can't consent
    To give you so much trouble; I'll return
    Within an hour at farthest.

    +Don H.+ Whene'er you please; y' are wholly master here.

    +Don A.+ I never saw a man so discompos'd,
    Whate'er the matter is.                                    [_Aside._
    Ernesto, I must make a step to see
    A friend near-hand; bid Sancho follow me,
    And stay you in my chamber till I come.
                                      [_Exeunt +Antonio+ and +Ernesto+._

    +Don H.+ Your servant, sir. [_+Don Henrique+ waits on him to the
        door._] This sudden sally hence
    At this time of the night, newly arriv'd
    From a long journey, and not to suffer me
    To wait upon him, does embroil me more.
    But now I will not long be in suspense;
    I'll to my sister's chamber.

            _Enter +Don Carlos+, as +Don Henrique+ is going
                       into +Porcia's+ chamber._

    +Don C.+ Ho! Don Henrique! come away, all's prepar'd.
    Our kinsman the corregidor is ready
    With a strong band of serjeants, and stays for you.

    +Don H.+ Speak softly, Don Antonio is arriv'd,
    And some of his may overhear us.

    +Don C.+ That's very unlucky; but does he know
    Your sister's missing?

    +Don H.+ I think not yet.

    +Don C.+ Come, let's away; we have no time to lose.

    +Don H.+ Pray, stay awhile. I labour with a doubt
    Will burst me, if not clear'd before I go.

    +Don C.+ What, cousin, will you lose an opportunity
    Never to be recover'd? Are you mad?
    Will you permit the villains to escape,
    And laugh at us for ever? Come away.                [_He pulls him._

    +Don H.+ Well, I must go, and let him make it out;
    The worst estate of human life is doubt.                  [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[63] [Former edits., _fledge_.]

[64] [So for metre's sake, instead of _comrades_.]

[65] [This is printed by Mr Collier, _Wat are you hurt_?]

[66] Absolved, discharged. Fr. _absoudre_. Lat. _absolvere_.--_Junius._

See likewise note to Lodge's "Wounds of Civil War" [vii.
169].--_Collier._

"Then had the Monkes aucthoritie to preache, baptyse, and assoyle from
synne, which they never had afore."--Bale's "Acts of English Votaries,"
fol. 35, edit. 1550.

See also "World of Wonders," 1607, part i. p. 32.--_Gilchrist._




ACT IV.

+Scene.+--_+Don Octavio's+ house._


           _Enter +Don Octavio+ angrily, pushing +Diego+, and
                          +Porcia+ following._

    +Don O.+ Villain, thou hast undone us! cursed villain!
    Where was thy soul I had fear quite banish'd it,
    And left thee not one grain of common sense?

    +Por.+ Was there ever so fatal an accident?

    +Don O.+ Why, traitor, didst thou not let me know it
    As soon as we were come into the house?

    +Diego.+ What would y' have done, if you had known it then?

    +Don O.+ I would have sallied out and kill'd the rogue,
    In whose pow'r thou hast put it to destroy us.
    Can it be doubted but that long ere this
    He has acquainted Henrique where we are,
    From whose black rage we must immediately
    Expect t' encounter all the worst extremes
    Of malice, seconded by seeming justice?
    For the unfortunate are still i' th' wrong.
    Curse on all cowards! better far be serv'd
    By fools and knaves: they make less dangerous faults.

    +Diego.+ Am I in fault because I'm not a cat?
    How could I tell i' th' dark whether that rascal
    Were a knight-errant or a recreant knight?
    I thought him one of us, and true to love.
    Were it not for such accidents as these,
    That mock man's forecast, sure, the Destinies
    Had ne'er been plac'd amongst the deities.

    +Don O.+ Peace, cowardly slave! having thus play'd the rogue,
    Are you grown sententious? Did I not fear
    To stain my sword with such base blood, I'd let
    Thy soul out with it at a thousand wounds.

    +Diego.+ Why, then, a thousand thanks to my base blood
    For saving my good flesh.                                  [_Aside._

    +Don O.+ Pardon, my dearest mistress, this excess
    Of passion in your presence.

    +Por.+ What shall we do, Octavio? if we stay here,
    We are undone for ever: my brother
    Will be instantly upon us. Alas!
    My own life I value not, Octavio,
    When yours, my better life, such hazard runs;
    But, O my honour! O my innocence!
    Expos'd to scandal: there's my deepest sense.

    +Don O.+ Though the complexion of your brother's malice
    Resemble hell, it is not black enough
    To cast a stain upon your virgin innocence.
    Sure, two such diff'rent branches ne'er did spring
    From the same stock. To me't seems very strange,
    Our middle natures, form'd of flesh and blood,
    Should have such depths of ill, such heights of good,
    An angel sister and a devil brother!

    +Por.+ He's my brother, and I know no defence
    For injur'd innocence but innocence.
    Fly, fly, Octavio! leave me to my fate.

    +Don O.+ Your kindness, generous maid, confutes itself.
    To save my life, you counsel me to fly,
    Which is at once to bid me live and die.

    +Por.+ What then, for heaven's sake, d' you resolve to do?

    +Don O.+ I must resolve, and suddenly, but what,
    I swear, I know not: there have been such turns
    In my misfortunes, they have made me giddy.

    +Por.+ You must determine; time wastes, Octavio.

    +Don O.+ Madam, if I should lead you through the streets,
    And chance to meet the officers of justice,
    I not daring to avow my person,
    For that unlucky accident you know of,
    You might, I fear, by that means be in danger:
    We must not venture't. Run, rascal, and fetch
    A chair immediately.

    +Diego.+ A pretty errand at this time o' th' night!
    These chairmen are exceedingly well-natur'd;
    Th' are likely to obey a servant's orders
    After nine of [the] clock!      [_Exit +Diego+._

    +Don O.+ Ye pow'rs above, why do ye lay so great
    A weight on human nature, and bestow
    Such an unequal force to bear our loads?
    After a long pursuit, through all those stories,
    Which hell-bred malice or the pow'r of fate
    Could ever raise t' oppress a noble love,
    To be at length possess'd of a rich mine,
    Where nature seem'd to have lodged all her treasure,
    And in an instant have it ravish'd from me,
    Is too rude a trial for my patience
    To sustain: I cannot bear it.

    +Por.+ My sense of this misfortune equals yours;
    But yet I must conjure you to submit
    To the decrees of those who rule above:
    Such resignation may incline their justice
    Th' impending mischief to divert; besides,
    In human things there's such vicissitude,
    Where hope should end we hardly can conclude.

    +Don O.+ Weak hope the parent is of anxious care,
    And more tormenting far than fix'd despair:
    This makes us turn to new expedients,
    That languish 'twixt desire and diffidence.

    +Por.+ Fortune will blush for shame when she shall find
    Her best-aim'd darts can never touch your mind.

    +Don O.+ Ah, Porcia! though my mind be far above
    The reach of fate, 'tis level unto love.
    Urge it no more: I'll die a thousand deaths,
    Ere I'll consent to part with you.            [_Strikes his breast._

    +Por.+ I shall be always yours; for though we're forc'd
    To separate, yet we are not divorc'd.

    +Don O.+ Whilst our souls act by organs of the sense,
    'Twixt death and parting there's no difference.

    +Por.+ Consult your reason, then you will comply,
    Making a virtue of necessity.

    +Don O.+ Ah, lovely maid! 'twas not allowed to Jove
    To hold at once his reason and his love.

                            _Enter +Diego+._

    +Diego.+ The chair is come, sir, just as I expected.

    +Don O.+ Where is it?

    +Diego.+ Even where it was: they are deeply engag'd
    _A las Pintas_,[67] and will not leave their game,
    They swear, for all the dons in Seville.

    +Don O.+ A curse upon these rogues! I'll make 'em come,
    Or make their hearts ache.                [_+Don Octavio+ runs out._

    +Diego.+ Madam, though I was never yet unkind
    To my own person, I am so much troubled
    At the disquiet my mistake has brought you,
    That, could I do't conveniently, i' faith,
    I would even cudgel myself.

    +Por.+ Away, buffoon! is this a time for fooling?

                  _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Sancho+._

    +Don A.+ Where is my noble friend Octavio?

    +Diego.+ Did you not meet him at the door, sir?

    +Don A.+ No.

    +Diego.+ He went out, sir, just as you came in.

    +Don A.+ Madam, I might have gone to bed, but not
                                      [_Addresses himself to +Porcia+._
    To rest, without returning to inquire
    Of yours and of my noble friend's condition,
    And once more to offer you my service.

    +Por.+ I take the boldness, in Octavio's absence,
    To return his with my most humble thanks,
    For your late generous assistance of us,
    And for this new addition to our debt.

    +Don A.+ Though I have not th' honour to be known t' you,
    The service of your sex in their distresses
    Is the first vow of those of our profession;
    And my constant friendship for Octavio
    Is of so old a date, that all occasions,
    By which I may express the fervour of it,
    Are most welcome to me.

                    _Enter +Flora+ in great haste._

    +Flo.+ O madam, I am cut of breath with running.

    +Por.+ What accident, Flora, brings you hither?

    +Flo.+ A sad one, madam, and requiring haste,
    To give you timely notice on't. Don Carlos,
    Assisted by the light o' th' rising moon,
    And by a mistake of some of your train,
    Has trac'd you to this house, and in my hearing
    Inform'd your brother of the place and manner
    Of your retreat: who is now coming hither
    Accompanied with the corregidor,
    To seize on whomsoever shall be found
    Within these walls, upon pretence of murder.

    +Por.+ O cruel accident!

    +Flo.+ Madam, make haste: get out of the backdoor,
    Or you will certainly be met with.

    +Por.+ How vile a creature am I now become!
    For, though in my own innocence secure,
    To the censorious world who, like false glasses,
    Mingling their own irregular figures,
    Misreflect the object, I shall appear
    Some sinful woman, sold to infamy.

    +Don A.+ Your own clear mind's the glass, which to yourself
    Reflects yourself; and, trust me, madam,
    W' are only happy then, when all our joys
    Flow from ourselves, not from the people's voice.

    +Flo.+ Madam, they'll instantly be here.

    +Por.+ O, that Octavio should just now be absent!
    But to expect till he return were madness.

    +Don A.+ Y' have reason, madam; and, if you dare trust
    Your person to the conduct of a stranger,
    Upon my honour, lady, I'll secure you,
    Or perish in th' attempt.

    +Por.+ Generous sir, how shall a wretched maid,
    Abandon'd by her fate to the pursuit
    Of an inhuman brother, e'er be able
    Either to merit or requite your favours?

    +Don A.+ I am th' oblig'd, if rightly understood,
    Being o'erpaid by th' joy of doing good.

    +Por.+ Sir, I resign myself to your protection
    With equal gratitude and confidence.

    +Don A.+ Come, madam, we must lose no time--
    Diego, find out your master presently,
    And tell him that, the danger not allowing
    Our stay till his return, I shall convey
    His mistress safely to a nunnery.

    +Por.+ And, Flora, stay you here to bring me word
    What he resolves to do in this our desperate
    Condition.                                          [_Exit +Diego+._

    +Flo.+ Madam, I shall.

    +Don A.+ But stay--I swear I'd like to have committed
                                                 [_Going out, returns._
    A foul mistake: the monastery gates
    Will not be open'd at this time o' th' night
    Without a strict inquiry into the cause;
    Besides, 'tis possible that, once lodg'd there,
    She may be out of my friend's pow'r or mine
    Ever to get her thence, if it be known.
    It must not be. I have thought better on't.
                                               [_He pauses, and thinks._
    I will convey you to my brother-in-law's,
    A person of such quality and honour,
    As may protect and serve you with his credit:
    And there my wife may have the happiness
    T' accompany you, and pay the offices,
    Due to your virtue and distress'd condition:
    And, going to a house that's so much mine,
    Make account, madam, 'tis to your own home.
    Sancho, stay you here to attend Octavio,     [_Turning to +Sancho+._
    And guide him the next way to my apartment:
    Here is the key, I shall have little use on't,
    Having Ernesto waiting for me there.
    One word more, Sancho: let Octavio know
    'Tis my advice, that he come in a chair.
    He by that means may possibly escape
    Examination, if he should be met with.

    +Por.+ Flora, I pray, do you continue here,
    And if by any accident Octavio
    Should be hinder'd from coming after us,
    Observe his motions well, and where he fixes;
    Then return home, and I shall find some way
    Of sending to you to inform myself.

    +Flo.+ I shall not fail t' observe your orders, madam.

    +Don A.+ Madam, I am ready to attend you.

    +Por.+ Ah, cruel brother! ah, my dear Octavio!
    How am I tortur'd betwixt love and hate!

    +Don A.+ W' had better suffer than deserve our fate.
                                    [_Exit +Don Antonio+ and +Porcia+._

    +San.+ 'Tis no small compliment my master makes
    Your lady and her gallant, at this time
    O' th' night to quit his brother-in-law's, and leave
    So fair a bride as Porcia all alone.

    +Flo.+ What, is his mistress's name Porcia too?

    +San.+ Yes; and if she has as fair a handmaid
    As yourself, I shall soon forget my damsels
    In the Low Countries.

    +Flo.+ If your Low-Country damsels resemble us,
    You would not be put to't to forget first.
    But I believe that you are safe enough:
    I have not heard such praises of their wit,
    But that we may suppose they have good memories.

                            _Enter +Diego+._

    +Diego.+ Is not my master yet return'd?

    +Flo.+ No.

    +Diego.+ Well, now have we an honourable cause
    To wear the beadle's livery: faith, Flora,
    If your tender sex had not been privileg'd
    From this harsh discipline, how prettily
    Would the beadle's crimson lace show upon
    Your white back!

    +Flo.+ 'Twon't do so well as on a darker ground:
    'Twill suit much better with your tawny hide.

    +San.+ I pray, camerade, is it the mode in Seville
    To be whipp'd for company?

    +Diego.+ O sir, a well-bred soldier will ne'er refuse
    Such a civility to an old friend;
    This is a new way of being a second,
    To show your passive courage.

    +San.+ We soldiers do not use to show our backs.

    +Diego.+ Not to your enemies; but, sir, the beadle
    Will prove your friend; for, your blood being heated
    With riding post, the breathing of a vein
    Is very requisite.

    +San.+ Would t' heaven that I were i' the camp again:
    There we are never stripp'd till we are dead.

      _Enter +Don Octavio+, and the Chairmen appear at the door._

    +Don O.+ Be sure you stir not thence, till I return.
                                                    [_To the Chairmen._
    Sirrah, where's Porcia?

    +Diego.+ She's fled away i' th' dark with a young man
    Of your acquaintance.

    +Don O.+ Rascal, leave your fooling.

    +Diego.+ There's none i' th' case, sir: 'tis the wisest thing
    She ever did; had she stay'd your return,
    She would have fallen into those very clutches
    In which you will immediately be gripp'd,
    Unless you make more haste. Flora is come
    With all the speed she could, to let you know
    Th' are coming with the justice, to lay hold
    Of all within this house; pray be quick, sir,
    And save yourself. She's safe in a nunnery,
    Conducted thither by Antonio.

    +Don O.+ Peace, screech-owl! fire consume that tongue of thine!
    What say'st thou, villain! in a nunnery?
    Porcia in a nunnery? O heavens! nothing
    But this was wanting to make me desperate.
    What hope's there left ever to get her thence,
    After such accidents as these made public?
    Ah, Flora, is it true that my dear Porcia
    Is gone into a nunnery?

    +Flo.+ Once, sir, 'twas so resolv'd, and Diego sent
    To give you notice on't; but afterwards,
    He being gone, they chang'd their resolutions.
    There's one can tell you more.              [_Pointing to +Sancho+._

    +San.+ My master bad me stay, to let you know
    He has convey'd her to his own apartment
    In his brother-in-law's house, a person
    So eminent in quality and credit,
    That the imagining him in her and your
    Protection, sir, may much avail ye both:
    Besides, she'll have the satisfaction there
    Of being treated by my master's bride.
    There he'll expect you, and advises you
    To come in a chair, to avoid questioning,
    In case of any encounter.

    +Don O.+ I'll take his counsel: he's a generous friend.
    Come, chairmen, away; pray, friend, do you guide us. [_To +Sancho+._

    +Diego.+ Up with your burden, beasts, and fall forthwith
    To your half-trot.

                          [_Exeunt. The chair is carried over the stage;
                                 +Diego+, +Sancho+, and +Flora+ follow._

    _A noise within._ Follow, follow, follow! _Enter +Don Carlos+,
        the +Corregidor+, and +Sergeants+, pursuing +Sancho+,
        +Flora+, and +Diego+._

    +Diego.+ This is one of Don Cupid's pretty jests:
    W' are struck upon a shelf before we could
    Put out to sea.

    +Don C.+ You find, sir, my conjecture's not ill-grounded.
                                               [_To the +Corregidore+._

    +Cor.+ What are you, sirrah?

    +Diego.+ A living creature, very like a man:
    Only I want a heart.

    +Cor.+ Y' are pleasant, sir; pray heaven your mirth continue.
    Who is that woman with the veil?

    +Diego.+ Let her answer for herself, sh' has a tongue;
    Set it but once agoing, and she'll tell
    All that she knows, and more.

    +Cor.+ Make her uncover her face.
                     [_One of the +Sergeants+ goes to lift up her veil._

    +Don C.+ Hold, friend. Cousin, if it should be Porcia,
                                       [_Turning to the +Corregidore+._
    It were not fit to expose her here.

    +Cor.+ 'Tis very well consider'd. Go you to her.
    And speak to her in private.   [_+Don Carlos+ goes towards +Flora+._

    +Flo.+ 'Tis I, sir, Flora who, being commanded
    By my lady----

    +Don C.+ Speak softly, prythee, Flora, 'tis enough;
    I understand the rest, and pity her:
    Bid her sit still i' th' chair, I'll do my best
    To save her from dishonour.

    +Flo.+ He thinks 'tis Porcia there; a good mistake;
    It may secure Octavio from the hands
    Of this rude rabble.                                       [_Aside._
    They take you for my mistress, sir; sit still,
                                       [_To +Don Octavio+ in the chair._
    I'll follow the chair, and watch all occasions
    To further your escape.

    +Don C.+ We have found our wand'ring nymph, sir.

    +Cor.+ Was it Porcia?

    +Don C.+ No, sir, 'twas her waiting-woman, Flora, following the
    chair, wherein they were conveying her lady to some other place.

    +Cor.+ We arriv'd luckily: had we but stay'd a moment longer,
    they had all been fled.

    +Ser.+ Will you have us see, sir, who's i' th' chair?

    +Cor.+ Forbear, fellow!
    Her own folly is punishment enough               [_To +Don Carlos+._
    T' a woman of her quality, without
    Our adding that of public shame.

    +Don C.+ 'Twas happily thought on, when you oblig'd
    Don Henrique to expect us at your house;
    For had he come and found his sister here,
    'T had been impossible to have restrain'd
    His passion from some great extravagance.

    +Cor.+ I could not think it fit to let him come;
    For one of such a spirit would ne'er brook
    The sight of these had done him these affronts
    And's better that a business of this nature,
    Especially 'twixt persons of such quality,
    Should be compos'd, if it were possible,
    By th' mediation of some chosen friends,
    Than brought t' a public trial of the law;
    Or, which is worse, some barbarous revenge.

    +Don C.+ This fellow, if I am not much[68] mistaken,
                                               [_Looking upon +Diego+._
    Is Don Octavio's man.

    +Cor.+ Who do you belong to, friend?

    +Diego.+ To nobody, sir.

    +Cor.+ Do not you serve?

    +Diego.+ Yes, sir; but my master is not himself.

    +Cor.+ Take his sword from him, sergeant.
                          [_The +Sergeant+ goes to lake away his sword._

    +Diego.+ Diego, disarm'd by any other hand
    Than by his own? Know, friend, it is a weapon
    Of such dire execution, that I dare not
    Give it up but to the hands of justice.

                        [_The +Corregidor+ receives the sword, and gives
                                    it to the hands of his +Sergeants+._

    Pray call for't, sir, as soon as you come home,
    And hang't up in your hall, then underwrite,
    This is bold Diego's sword. O, may it be
    Ever from rust, as 'tis from slaughter, free!

    +Cor.+ Thou art a fellow of a pleasant humour.

    +Diego.+ Faith, sir, I never pain myself for love,
    Or fame, or riches; nor do I pretend
    To that great subtlety of sense, to feel
    Before I'm hurt; and for the most part
    I keep myself out of harm's way.

    +Don C.+ The definition of a philosopher!

    +Cor.+ Come, leave your fooling, sirrah. Where's your master?

    +Diego.+ The only way to leave my fooling, sir,
    Is to leave my master; for, without doubt,
    Whoever has but the least grain of wit
    Would never serve a lover militant:
    He had better wait upon a mountebank,
    And be run through the body twice a week
    To recommend his balsam.

    +Cor.+ This fellow is an original.

    +Diego.+ But of so ill a hand, I am not worth
    The hanging up, sir, in my master's room,
    Amongst the worst of your collection.

      _Enter +Sergeants+, with two Footmen and two Maid-servants._

    +Ser.+ An't please your worship, we have search'd the house
    From the cellars to the garrets, and these
    Are all the living cattle we can find.

    +Cor.+ Friends, take a special care of that same varlet
    And the waiting-woman: we'll find a way
    To make them tell the truth, I warrant you.

    +Flo.+ O Diego! must we be prisoners together?

    +Diego.+ Why, that's not so bad as the bands of wedlock, Flora.

    +Cor.+ Come, let's away; but whither to convey her?
    To her own house certainly were not fit,
    Because of her incensed brother.

    +Don C.+ If you approve on't, cousin, I'll carry her
    To mine; for since we seek (if possible)
    To compose the business, she will be there
    With much more decency and satisfaction,
    Being in a kinsman's house, and where she'll have
    My sister to accompany her.

    +Cor.+ This business cannot be in better hands
    Than yours; and there I'll leave it, and bid you
    Good night.

    +Don C.+ Your servant, cousin; I wish you well at home.
    You may be pleas'd to take your sergeants with you;
                                      [_As the +Corregidor+ goes out_--
    There are without two servants of Don Henrique's,
    They'll be enough to guard our prisoners,
    And with less notice.

    +Cor.+ Come, sergeants, follow me.

    +Don C.+ Well, ye may go about your business, friends.
                                           [_To the Footmen and Maids._
    I am glad we did not find Octavio here;
    For, though I might justly pretend ignorance,
    I would not have him suffer, though by chance.   [_Exeunt Servants._

    +San.+ Well, I am now sufficiently instructed,
    And, since there is no notice ta'en of me,
    I'll fairly steal away, and give my master
    An account of this misfortune.                     [_Exit +Sancho+._

    +Don C.+ Take up the chair, and follow me.
                                              [_They take up the chair._

    +Diego.+ A lovely dame they bear: 'tis true, she's something
    Hairy about the chin, but that, they say, 's
    A sign of strength. It tickles me to think
    How like an ass he'll look when, op'ning the shell,
    His worship finds within so rough a kernel.               [_Exeunt._

    _Scene changes to +Don Antonio's+ apartment in +Don Henrique's+
        house. Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Porcia+._

    +Don A.+ Madam, banish your fear: you are now safe
    Within these walls: be pleas'd to remain here
    Till I shall bring some lights, and acquaint Porcia
    With th' honour she'll receive in entertaining
    So fair a guest.

    +Por.+ Who is't you say you will advertise, sir?

    +Don A.+ My wife Porcia. Have but a little patience,
    And she'll attend you, madam.                     [_Exit +Antonio+._

    +Por.+ Is her name Porcia too? Pray heaven send her
    A better fate than her distress'd name's-sake.
    But whither am I brought? What house is this?
    What with my fears and darkness of the night,
    I have lost all my measures: I can't guess
    What quarter of the town it is w' are in;
    For, to avoid the meeting with my brother
    And his revengeful train, we have been forc'd
    To make so many turnings, I am giddy.
    But, thanks to providence, I have this comfort,
    That now I'm in a place out of his reach.

          _Enter +Don Antonio+ with two lights, and sets them
                             on the table._

    +Don A.+ Madam, my wife will suddenly attend you;
    Pardon, I pray, my absence for a moment.          [_Exit +Antonio+._

    +Por.+ Now I begin to hope my sighs and tears
    Have in some measure with just heaven prevail'd
    At length to free me. But what do I see!
                                       [_Looking about her, she starts._
    Am I awake, or is it an illusion?
    Bless me, is not this my brother's house? this,
    The quarter joining to my own apartment?
    There is no room for doubt; and my misfortunes
    Are always certain and without redress.
    Unerring powers, arbiters of fate,
    Teach me my crimes, and how to expiate
    Your wrath! Alas! I know not what I have done
    To merit this continued persecution!
    But how came I here I brought by Octavio's friend,
    One on whose virtue I did so rely,
    That I my brother's malice durst defy.
    Can he betray me? sure, I'm in a dream.
    But if Octavio--O vile suspicion!
    Octavio false?--No, truth and he are one.
    'Tis possible his friend may guilty be,
    But to what end so base a treachery?
    And if perfidious, how could he be his friend?
    I am confounded with the various forms
    Of my misfortunes, heighten'd still the more,
    The less I can their hidden cause explore.
    This only's evident, that I must fly
    Immediately this fatal place. But why
    Struggle I thus with fate, since, go or stay,
    Death seems alike to wait me every way.                [_She weeps._

                  _Enter +Don Antonio+ and +Camilla+._

    +Cam.+ I wonder much what lady this can be
    Antonio mentions.                                          [_Aside._

    +Don A.+ Pardon, I beseech you, madam, the liberty
    Which I so early take; but I presume
    Such is your generous tenderness to those
    Whose spiteful fortunes, not their fault, has brought
    Into distress, that you will think yourself
    Oblig'd to him who gives you the occasion
    T' exercise those virtues, which only visit
    Others, but reside with you. This fair lady--
    But she will best relate her own sad story,
    Whilst I seek out Don Henrique, and engage him
    T' employ his power and int'rest for her service.

        [_Exit +Don Antonio+. Upon +Camilla's+ approach +Porcia+
            takes the handkerchief from her eyes._

    +Cam.+ Ha! what is that I see? Stay, stay, Antonio,
                                             [_She runs after Antonio._
    It is not fit Don Henrique--but he's gone,
    And we are lost for ever!

    +Por.+ O heavens! is this Antonio, the same man,
    To whom I am betroth'd? then my destruction
    Is inevitable.

    +Cam.+ Are you an apparition, or are you
    Porcia herself? speak; that when y' have said it thrice,
    I may not yet believe you.

    +Por.+ You well may doubt even what you see, Camilla,
    Since my disasters are so new and strange,
    They sever truth from credibility.

    +Cam.+ How is it possible you should be here?

    +Por.+ I know not how: only of this I'm sure,
    I have not long to expect the dismal end
    Of my sad tragedy; since 'tis evident,
    The person that hath led me to this place,
    This fatal place, is the abus'd Antonio,
    Who has conspir'd with my unnatural brother
    To take away my wretched life, and chose
    This scene as fittest for their cruelty.
    And thus, strange fate! (through ignorance betray'd)
    I have sought protection from the same party
    Whom I have injur'd, and have made my husband
    The only confidant of his own affront:
    Who, to accomplish his too just revenge,
    As well upon my family as person,
    Gives me up to be murder'd by my brother;
    So, whilst I'm branded as a faithless bride,
    He'll be detested as a parricide.

    +Cam.+ Prodigious accident! but wert thou blind,
    Not to know thine own house, unhappy Porcia?

    +Por.+ Alas! how could I, in so dark a night,
    In such confusion, and so full of fear?
    Besides, he brought me in by the back-way,
    Through his own quarter, where was neither light,
    Nor any creature of the family.

    +Cam.+ Although I cannot comprehend the steps
    Of this your strange adventure, yet, dear cousin,
    Your case, as I conceive, is not so desperate.

    +Por.+ We easily persuade ourselves to hope
    The things we wish. But, cousin, my condition
    Will not admit self-flattery, and what
    Can you propose to temper my despair?

    +Cam.+ Don't you remember, how this afternoon
    Antonio's man, finding me in your quarter
    Without a veil, you having put on mine,
    That he applied himself to me, and I,
    By your command, assum'd your person?

    +Por.+ Yes, very well.

    +Cam.+ The master since has, by the man's mistake,
    Been happily led into the same error:
    I have not disabus'd him yet, in hopes
    It might produce advantage to us both.

    +Por.+ O, he has spoken with my brother since,
    Who (sure) has undeceiv'd him long e'er this.
    No, without doubt, they, having found themselves
    Affronted both, have both conspir'd my death.

    +Cam.+ How, cousin, can that be, if Don Antonio
    Has engag'd himself in your protection,
    And is Octavio's friend?

    +Por.+ Cousin, if you impartially reflect
    On the affront which I have done Antonio,
    You will not wonder much if he recede
    From the scarce-trodden path of rigid honour
    To meet with his revenge, and to that end
    Proceeds thus cautelously, still pretending
    He knows not me, that he may disavow,
    Both to Octavio and to all the world,
    Th' infamy of betraying a poor maid
    To loss of life and honour.

    +Cam.+ Misfortunes make you rave: this vile suspicion
    Is inconsistent with Antonio's fame.
    You may as well believe that nature will
    Reverse the order of the whole creation,
    As that Antonio, a man whose soul
    Is of so strong and perfect a complexion,
    Should e'er descend to such a slavish sin.      [_Spoken with heat._
    And if we had the leisure, I could give you
    Such reasons to convince you of your error,
    That you would both acknowledge and repent it.

    +Por.+ Alas! I had forgot her near concernments
    For Antonio. [_Aside._] Pardon and pity me, Camilla;
    My mind is so distracted by afflictions,
    I know not what I should, or should not, fear.

    +Cam.+ I pity thee with all my heart. But, cousin,
    If Antonio, not knowing you nor your
    Relations, should chance to find your brother,
    And tell him unawares all that has pass'd,
    And that h' has brought the distress'd party hither,
    He'll presently imagine it is you,
    And then, I fear, 'twill be impossible
    (Though he should interpose with all his power)
    To stop the torrent, or divert his rage
    From breaking in, and executing on us
    That horrid parricide which, though too late,
    It may be he himself would execrate.

    +Por.+ There's too much ground for what you fear, Camilla;
    But if I could secure myself this night,
    'Tis very possible that to-morrow
    We might engage Antonio and your brother
    To find out some expedient to relieve me.

    +Cam.+ Were you only in pain for your security
    This night, I know an easy remedy
    For that.

    +Por.+ Which way, my dearest?

    +Cam.+ Why, what does hinder us from making use
    On this occasion of the secret door,
    By which, you know, you have so often pass'd
    Into your house upon more pleasing errands?
    By this we shall obtain these benefits--
    [A] safety from your brother's present fury,
    And time to try if Carlos and Antonio
    May be engag'd to mediate in this business;
    And I have cause to think you will not find
    Antonio so implacable as you
    Imagine.

    +Por.+ I conceive you, cousin. Fool that I was,
    To think a heart once conquer'd by your eyes
    Should e'er become another virgin's prize!

                         _Enter +Don Antonio+._

    +Don A.+ So late! a guest in's house, that's come so far
    On such a business, and not yet come home!
    There's something in't I cannot comprehend.                [_Aside._
    Madam, I han't as yet found out your brother,
    But (sure) 'twill not be long ere he return;
    Then I'll acquaint him with the accident
    Has made his house this lady's sanctuary.

    +Por.+ Here is a glimpse of comfort, for I see
    He takes my cousin for Don Henrique's sister.              [_Aside._
    O bless'd mistake, so luckily continu'd!

    +Cam.+ I am by his permission mistress here;
    And since that I am pleas'd, sir, 'tis enough,
    Without our troubling him with the account
    Of her sad story.

    +Don A.+ True, madam, as to her reception here;
    But yet 'twere very fit he knew it too,
    That we might serve ourselves of his advice
    And credit for this lady's service.

                        _Enter +Don Henrique+._

    +Don H.+ Though I did promise the corregidor
    Not to stir from his house till his return,
    Yet I could not obtain it of myself;                       [_Aside._
    I'm so impatient to unfold the riddle
    Of Don Antonio's seeing of my sister,
    And entertaining her in her own lodgings.
    I shall not now be long i' th' dark. O heavens!      [_He sees her._
    'Tis she herself, and Camilla with her.
    Were all my servants mad, or all agreed
    T' abuse me in affirming she was fled?
    But Don Carlos, was he mad too to swear
    That he had trac'd her to another house?
    Certainly I or they must be possess'd,
    Or some enchantment reigns within these walls.

    +Don A.+ O, here comes Don Henrique: now I'll acquaint him
    With your sad story, madam.

    +Cam.+ I fear we are undone.

    +Don A.+ Don Henrique!

    +Por.+ I'm dead if he proceed, but how to hinder him----

    +Don A.+ Here's a lady with your sister Porcia----

    +Don H.+ Yes, sir, I see who 'tis.

    +Don A.+ Since you know her, sir, you will the easier
    Excuse my boldness.

    +Don H.+ Boldness! in what, sir?

    +Don A.+ To have been th' occasion of your finding her
    Here with your sister at this time o' th' night.

    +Don H.+ Lord, sir, what do you mean?

    +Don A.+ There was in truth such a necessity in it,
    That 'twill, I hope, excuse my humble suit to you
    In her's and my behalf.

    +Por.+ Now all comes out.

    +Don H.+ I understand you, sir; she does desire
    To pass this night with Porcia, to assist her
    In th' ordering of her nuptial ceremonies.
    Let her stay, a' God's name.

    +Por.+ If he does not dissemble, my condition
    Is not so desperate as I imagin'd.                         [_Aside._

    +Don A.+ I hope you'll pardon this great liberty:
    So early a confidence will need it, sir.

    +Don H.+ 'Tis more than enough that you desire it;
    Th' occasion, too, does justify her stay.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis most true, sir, th' occasion did enforce me
    Thus boldly to presume upon your friendship.

    +Don H.+ Ha' done, for heaven's sake: is it a novelty,
    Think you, for Porcia and her cousin-german
    To pass a night together?

    +Don A.+ Is she so near a kinswoman of his?
    Strange inadvertence in her not to tell me
    Her relation to him when I nam'd him first.
    I'd made fine work on't, had I told him all.               [_Aside._

    +Don H.+ She knows I owe her many a good turn
    Upon Octavio's score, and hope ere long
    To be able to repay her to the full.

                         [_Looking on the ladies, and spoken aside, that
                                          +Antonio+ might not hear him._

    +Por.+ Can he declare his mind in plainer terms?

    +Cam.+ I cannot tell which of us two he means:
    These words may be applied to either of us;
    But I begin to fear that he knows all.

    +Don H.+ Since 'tis so late, pray give the ladies leave
    To retire to their chambers. Go in, sister.

    +Don A.+ My brother's words and his behaviour
    Imply some mystery; but I must be silent
    Till I discover more.                                      [_Aside._

    +Por.+ Let us be gone; w' are lost if we stay here.
    I'm confident he counterfeits this calm
    To cover his revenge, until Antonio
    And the rest of the house are gone to bed.

    +Cam.+ But we shall ne'er be able to get out,
    Whilst they continue in the outward rooms.

    +Por.+ Yes, by the garden door; but I'm afraid
    'Tis shut.

    +Cam.+ No, now I think on't, Flora went that way,
    And left it open.

    +Por.+ Come, let's be gone: I hope heaven will ordain
    Ease by that door which first let in my pain.
                                       [_Exeunt +Porcia+ and +Camilla+._

    +Don A.+ I'll only make a step, sir, to my chamber,
    And then return to you immediately.

    +Don H.+ Pray, sir, give me leave to wait on you.

    +Don A.+ I humbly thank you, sir; I know the way,
    And shall not stay above a moment from you.

    +Don H.+ What you please, sir; you command here.

    +Don A.+ I'll now go see whether my servant Sancho
    Has brought Octavio to my lodgings,
    As I directed him.                            [_Exit +Don Antonio+._

    +Don H.+ Heavens! was there ever so strange a mystery!
    Don Carlos, he affirm'd that those we fought with
    Had convey'd Porcia away; and when I come
    To seek her in the house, I find her missing:
    To second this, her waiting-woman Flora
    Tells me that she went down, about that time,
    Into the garden: Antonio, not long after,
    Affirms that he both saw and entertain'd her
    In her own apartment, where I now find her,
    And Camilla with her. What can this be?
    These, sure, are riddles to pose an Œdipus;
    But if, by my own sense, I am assur'd
    My honour safe, which was so much in doubt,
    What matter is it how 'tis brought about?

FOOTNOTES:

[67] At cards. From _pinta_, a spot or mark.--_Sp._

Although _Pintas_ mean _cards_ generally, yet the word is applied to a
particular game in Spain, which we call _Basset_.--_Collier._

[68] _Much_ was omitted by previous editors.--_Collier._




ACT V.

+Scene.+--_+Don Carlos's+ house._


         _Enter +Diego+, +Flora+, and +Pedro+, accompanying the
                    chair, groping as in the dark._

    +Ped.+ Dame Flora and Signior Diego, go in there; and you, my
    friends, set down the chair, and let the lady out; go, there's
    money for you. I'll go fetch a candle.

        [_+Diego+ and +Flora+ go in, and the chair being set in the
            door, +Octavio+ goes out into the room: +Pedro+ claps
            to the door, and goes away._

       _Enter +Don Octavio+, +Diego+, +Flora+, at another door._

    +Don O.+ What! put in all alone here i' th' dark,
                                              [_Groping as in the dark._
    And the door shut upon me! Diego! Flora!

    +Diego.+ Here am I, sir, and Mistress Flora too,
    Unless my sense of feeling fails me.

    +Don O.+ I can't conjecture where we are. I durst not
    So much as peep out of the chair since Flora
    Gave me the warning; but, where'er I am,
    'Tis better far than in the sergeants' hands.

    +Flo.+ Though now i' th' dark, I know well where we are.
    I have too often walk'd the streets, Octavio,
    From your house hither, upon Cupid's errands,
    Not to know the back-door of Carlos his
    Apartment: 'tis there, I'm sure, w' are now.

    +Don O.+ Curse on thee, Flora! hadst thou lost thy wits,
    Not to let me know it sooner?

    +Diego.+ A gipsy told me by my palm, long since,
    A sour-fac'd damsel should be my undoing.

    +Flo.+ Suspend awhile your apprehensions, sir;
    You may escape before the candles come.
    The door was wont to open on this side;
    If not, I have another way in store.  [_+Octavio+ goes to the door._

    +Don O.+ Flora, I cannot make the lock go back.

        [_+Pedro+ unlocks it on the other side, and coming in with
            a candle, meets with +Octavio+, and starting back and
            stumbling, lets the candle fall, then running out
            again, double-locks the door._

    +Diego.+ Nay then, i' faith, w' are fast: I heard him give
    The key a double turn.               [_+Diego+ takes up the candle._
    Here's a fair trial for your maiden breath!
    Flora, blow't in again; let's owe your mouth
    More light than yet your eyes could e'er impart.

    +Flo.+ Light's cast away on such an owl as you;
    But yet I'll try.                    [_+Flora+ blows the candle in._

    +Diego.+ Thanks, gentle Flora, to your virgin puff;
    'Tis a strong breath that can o'ercome a snuff.            [_Aside._
    But I had rather't had been let alone:
    If I must needs be kill'd, unless it were
    Behind my back, I'd have it i' th' dark;
    For I hate to be kill'd in my own presence.

    +Don O.+ What must we do, Flora I all my hope's in you.

    +Flo.+ W' have yet some room for hope. There's a back-stairs
    Beyond that inner chamber, which goes down
    Into the garden: if the door be open,
    As certainly it is, the way is easy.

    +Don O.+ Come, let's lose no time. Prythee, guide us, Flora. [_Exeunt._

            _Scene changes to +Don Henrique's+ house. Enter
                            +Don Henrique+._

    +Don H.+ As well pleas'd as I am to find my honour
    Less desperate than I thought, I cannot rest
    Till I have drawn from Porcia a confession
    Of the whole truth before she goes to bed.
    She's in her chamber now, unless by new
    Enchantments carried thence.

           _As he is going towards +Porcia's+ chamber, enter
                        +Don Carlos+ in haste._

    +Don O.+ I can't imagine what should make Don Henrique
    Quit the corregidor's till we return'd:
    One of his servants tells me he's come home.
    O, here he is, Now shall I raise a storm
    Which (if we do not take a special care)
    Will scarce b' allay'd without a shower of blood;
    Yet I must venture't, since it so imports
    Our friendship and the honour of our house.                [_Aside._
    Happiness is such a stranger to mankind
                                        [_Addressing to +Don Henrique+._
    That, like to forc'd motion, it is ever strongest
    At the first setting out; then languishing
    With time, grows weary of our company:
    But to misfortunes we so subject are,
    That, like to natural motion, they acquire
    More force in their progression.

    +Don H.+ What means this philosophical preamble?

    +Don C.+ You'll know too soon, I fear.

    +Don H.+ Don Carlos, I am so well recover'd
    From all m' inquietudes, that for the future
    I dare defy the malice of my stars
    To cause a new relapse into distemper.

    +Don C.+ Cousin, I'm much surpris'd with this great change:
    But since y' are such a master of your passions,
    I'll spare my ethics, and proceed to give you
    In short the narrative of our success.
    Our worthy kinsman the corregidor,
    Forward to serve you in th' affair I mention'd,
    Was pleas'd to go along with me in person
    With a strong band of sergeants to the place
    Where I, attended by your servants, led him.
    Cousin, 'twas there;--it wounds my heart to speak it,
    And I conjure you summon all your patience--
    'Twas there I found----

    +Don H.+ Whom, cousin, did you find? for since I'm sure
    You found no Porcia there, my concernments
    In your discoveries are not very likely
    To discompose me.

    +Don C.+ I would to heaven we had not found her there!

    +Don H.+ What's that you say, Don Carlos? My sister there?

    +Don C.+ Yes, sir, your sister.

    +Don H.+ My sister? that's good, i' faith; ha, ha, ha!

    +Don C.+ Why do you laugh! Is the dishonour of
    Our family becoming a laughing matter?
    This is a worse extreme, methinks, than t'other.

    +Don H.+ How can I choose but laugh, to see you dream?
    Awake, for heaven's sake, and recall your senses.
    Porcia there, said you?

    +Don C.+ Yes, sir, Porcia, I say; your sister Porcia;
    And, which is more, 'twas in Octavio's house.

    +Don H.+ Why, sure, y' are not in earnest, cousin?

    +Don C.+ As sure as y' are alive, I found her there.

    +Don H.+ Then you transport me, sir, beyond all patience.
    Why, cousin, if she has been still at home,
    Antonio seen and entertain'd her here,
    Accompani'd by Camilla; if even now
    I left them there within, is't possible
    You should have found her in Octavio's house?
    To be here and there too at the same time!
    None, sure, but Janus with his double face
    Can e'er unfold this mystery.

    +Don C.+ Let me advise you, abuse not yourself;
    I tell you positive'y, I found her there:
    And, by the same token, her waiting-woman
    Flora was there attending her.

    +Don H.+ Flora! Dear cousin, do not still persist
    Thus to affirm impossibilities.

    +Don C.+ Sure, you are making some experiment
    Upon my temper, and would fain provoke
    My patience to some such high disorder,
    That I should ne'er hereafter have the face,
    When you are in your fits, to play the stoic.

    +Don H.+ Cousin, I swear to you upon my honour,
    'Tis not above a quarter of an hour
    Since I did speak with Porcia and your sister
    In that very apartment, and am now
    Returning to them in my sister's chamber.

    +Don C.+ And, sir, I swear to you upon my honour,
    'Tis not above a quarter of an hour,
    Since I left Porcia carrying in a chair
    From Don Octavio's house, and your man Pedro
    Leading the chairmen to mine, and follow'd
    By Flora; whilst I came to find you out,
    To acquaint you with this unpleasing news,
    But fit for you to know as soon as might be.

    +Don H.+ This question, cousin, may be soon decided:
    Pray, come along, her chamber's not far off.

    +Don C.+ And my house but the next door; let's go thither.

    +Don H.+ You'll quickly find your error, cousin.

    +Don C.+ And you'll as soon be undeceiv'd. But stay:
    Here comes your servant, whom I left to guard her:
    He'll instantly convince you of the truth.

                            _Enter +Pedro+._

    +Ped.+ O sir!----

    +Don H.+ What brings yon hither, Pedro?

    +Ped.+ Give me my albricias,[69] sir; I bring you
    The rarest news: your enemy Octavio--
    I'm quite out of breath----

    +Don H.+ What does the varlet mean?

    +Ped.+ Sir, I suppose Don Carlos has inform'd you
    That he left me to see your sister Porcia,
    With Flora and Diego, Oetavio's man,
    Safely convey'd t' his house.

    +Don C.+ See now, Don Henrique: who was i' the right!

    +Ped.+ I did as he commanded me, and put them
    All three into Don Carlos's antechamber,
    Porcia in the same chair which brought her thither,
    And for more safety, double-lock'd the door,
    Whilst I went down in haste to fetch some candles.

    +Don H.+ As sure as death, this madness is infectious;
    My man is now in one of Carlos's fits.

    +Ped.+ Returning with some lights a moment after,
    I no sooner open'd the door, but, heavens!
    Who should I see there, standing just before me,
    In the selfsame place where I had left Porcia,
    But Octavio, your enemy Octavio.

    +Don H.+ Here is some witchcraft, sure. What can this mean?

    +Ped.+ Amaz'd at this sight, I let the candle fall,
    And clapp'd the door to; then double-lock'd it,
    And brought away the key.

    +Don C.+ But how could he get in, if you be sure
    You lock'd the door when you went out for lights?

    +Ped.+ I know not whether he was there before,
    Or got in after; but of this I'm sure,
    That there I have him now, and safe enough.

    +Don H.+ Let's not, Don Carlos, now perplex ourselves
    With needless circumstances, when and how;
    Those queries are too phlegmatic for me:
    If the beast be i' th' toil, it is enough;
    Let us go seize him, for he must die.

                         _Enter +Don Antonio+._

    +Don A.+ Pray, brother, what unhappy man is he
    Whom you so positively doom to death?
    I have a sword to serve you on all occasions
    Worthy of you and me.

    +Don H.+ His intervening, Carlos, is unlucky.
    How shall we behave ourselves towards him
    In this business, so unfit for his knowledge?

    +Don C.+ Cousin, you should consider with yourself
                                    [_+Carlos+ draws +Henrique+ aside._
    What answer to return him: he's not a man
    To be put off with any slight pretences;
    Nor yet to be engag'd in such an action
    As bears th' appearance rather of brutality
    Than true honour. You know Antonio needs
    No fresh occasions to support his name.
    Who danger seek, are indigent of fame.

    +Don H.+ I beg your patience, sir, but for one word
    With this gentleman my friend.

                              [_+Don Henrique+ addresses himself to +Don
                                                              Antonio+._

    +Don A.+ I'll attend your leisure.
    I find my coming has disorder'd 'em,                       [_Aside._
    There's something they would fain conceal from me:
    All here is discompos'd, whate'er's the matter.

    +Don H.+ I am a rogue, if I know what to do.

    +Don C.+ Since the event's so dangerous and doubtful,
    'Tis best, in my opinion, sir, to temporise.

    +Don H.+ How easily men get the name of wise!
    To fear t' engage, is call'd to temporise:
    Sure, fear and courage cannot be the same,
    Yet th' are confounded by a specious name;
    And I must tamely suffer, because fools
    Are rul'd by nice distinctions of the schools.
    How I hate such cold complexions!                      [_He stamps._

    +Don C.+ Why so transported? as if vehemence
    Were for your passion an approv'd defence.

    +Don H.+ Who condemns passions, Nature he arraigns.

    +Don C.+ Th' are useful succours, when they serve in chains:
    But he who throws the bridle on their necks,
    From a good cause will produce ill effects.

    +Don H.+ Be th' effects what they will, I am resolv'd.
    I doubt not of your kind concurrence, sir,
                                         [_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._
    In all the near concernments of a person
    Allied to you as I am; but, noble brother,
    It were against the laws of hospitality
    And civil breeding to engage a guest
    (Newly arriv'd after so long a journey)
    In an occasion where there may be danger.

    +Don A.+ If such be the occasion, I must then
    Acquaint you freely, that I wear a sword,
    Which must not be excluded from your service.
    I'm sure you are too noble to employ yours
    In any cause not justifi'd by honour.

    +Don H.+ Though with regret, I see, sir, I must yield
    To your excess of generosity,
    This only I shall say to satisfy
    Your just reflections, that my resentments
    Are grounded on affronts of such a nature
    That, as nothing but the offender's life
    Can e'er repair 'em, so, as to the forms
    Of taking my revenge, they can't admit
    Of the least scruple.

    +Don A.+ Honour's my standard, and 'tis true that I
    Had rather fall, than blush for victory;
    But you are such a judge of honour's laws,
    That 'twere injurious to suspect your cause.
    Allow me, sir, th' honour to lead the way.
                             [_Exeunt +Don Antonio+ and +Don Henrique+._

    +Don C.+ If Porcia be there too (as I believe)
    'Twill prove, I fear, a fatal tragedy;
    But should she not be there, yet 'tis too much
    For such a heart as mine, through ignorance
    To have betray'd a gentleman, though faulty,
    Into such cruel hands. I must go with them;
    But so resolv'd as, in this bloody strife,
    I'll salve my honour, or I'll lose my life.                 [_Exit._

             _Scene changes to +Don Carlos's+ house. Enter
          +Don Octavio+, +Diego+, and +Flora+ with a candle._

    +Flo.+ O th' unluckiness! I vow t' you, sir,
    I have scarce known that door e'er lock'd before.

    +Don O.+ There's no remedy, Flora: I am now
    At the mercy of my enemies.

    +Diego.+ Having broken into another's ground,
    'Tis just, i' faith, you should be put i' th' pound.

    +Don O.+ The tide of my ill fate is swoll'n so high,
    'Twill not admit increase of misery;
    Since, amongst all the curses, there is none
    So wounds the spirit as privation:
    For 'tis not where we lie, but whence we fell;
    The loss of heaven's the greatest pain in hell.
    When I had sail'd the doubtful course of love,
    Had safely gain'd my port, and (far above
    My hopes) the precious treasure had secured
    For which so many storms I had endur'd:
    To be so soon from this great blessing torn,
    That's hard to say, if 'twere first dead or born,
    May doubtless seem such a transcendent curse,
    That even the Fates themselves could do no worse:
    Yet this I bore with an erected face.
    Since fortune, not my fault, caus'd my disgrace;
    But now my eyes unto the earth are bent,
    Conscious of meriting this punishment:
    For trusting a fond maid's officious care,
    My life and honour's taken in this snare;
    And thus I perish on this unseen shelf,
    Pursu'd by fate, and false unto myself.
    Flora, when I am dead, I pray present   [_He pulls out his tablets._
    These tablets to your lady; there she'll find
    My last request, with reasons which I give,
    That for my sake she would vouchsafe to live.
    Give me the candle, Flora.

                        [_+Octavio+ sets the candle on a table, and sits
                                          down to write in his tablets._

    +Diego.+ A double curse upon all love in earnest,
    All constant love: 'tis still accompanied
    With strange disasters, or else ends in that
    Which is the worst of all disasters--marriage.

    +Flo.+ Sure, you could wish that everybody living
    Had such a soul of quicksilver as yours,
    That can fix nowhere.

    +Diego.+ Why' 'twould not be the worse for you, dear Flora;
    You then might hope in time to have your turn,
    As well as those who have much better faces.

    +Flo.+ You, I presume, sir, would be one o' th' latest,
    Which I should hear of; yet 'tis possible
    That one might see you before you should be
    Welcome.

    +Diego.+ She has wit and good-humour, excellent
    Ingredients to pass away the time;
    And I have kindness for her person too;
    But that will end with marriage, and possibly
    Her good-humour; for I have seldom known
    The husband and the wife make any music,
    Though when asunder they can play their parts.
    Well, friend Diego, I advise you to look
    Before you leap, for if you should be coupled
    To a yoke, instead of a yoke-fellow,
    'Tis likely you may wear it to your grave.
    Yet, honest Diego, now I think on't better,
    Your dancing and your vaulting days are done:
    Faith, all your pleasures are three storeys high,
    They are come up to your mouth; you are now
    For ease and eating, the only joys of life;
    And there's no cook, no dry-nurse, like a wife.

    +Don O.+ Here, take my tablets, Flora: sure, they'll spare
    Thy life for thy sex's sake; but for poor Diego----

    +Diego.+ Why, sir, they'll never offer to kill me?
    There's nothing in the world I hate like death.

    +Don O.+ Since death's the passage to eternity,
    To be for ever happy we must die.

    +Diego.+ 'Tis very true; but most that die would live,
    If to themselves they could new leases give.

    +Don O.+ We must possess our souls with such indifference,
    As not to wish nor fear to part from hence.

    +Diego.+ The first I may pretend to, for I swear
    I do not wish to part: 'tis true, I fear.

    +Don O.+ Fear! why, death's only cruel when she flies,
    And will not deign to close the weeping eyes.

    +Diego.+ That is a cruelty I can forgive,
    For I confess I'm not afraid to live.

    +Don O.+ We shall still live, though 'tis by others' breath--
    By our good fame, which is secur'd by death.

    +Diego.+ But we shall catch such colds, sir, under ground,
    That we shall never hear Fame's trumpet sound.

    +Don O.+ 'Tis but returning, when from hence we go,
    As rivers to their mother-ocean flow.

    +Diego.+ We know our names and channels whilst w' are here;
    W' are swallow'd in that dark abyss when there.

    +Don O.+ Engulf'd in endless joys and perfect rest,
    Unchangeable, i' th' centre of the bless'd.

    +Diego.+ Hark, I hear a noise--

        [_The noise of the opening of a door. +Diego+ runs to the
            door, looks into the next room, then comes running to
            +Octavio+._

    +Diego.+ O sir, w' are lost! I sea two female giants
    Coming most terribly upon us.

    +Don O.+ Away, you fearful fool----

         _Enter +Camilla+ and +Porcia+, the one with a key, the
                         other with a candle._

    +Por.+ I'm confident nobody saw us pass
    From th' other house.

    +Cam.+ However, let us go through my brother's quarter,
    And open the back-door into the street;
    'Tis good in all events t' have a retreat
    More ways than one.      [_A door claps behind, and both look back._

    +Por.+ O heavens, our passage is cut off!
    The wind has shut the door through which we came.

    +Cam.+ The accident's unlucky: 'tis a spring lock,
    That opens only on the other side.

    +Por.+ Let's on the faster, and make sure of th' other--
                                        [_Seeing +Octavio+, she starts._
    Octavio here!                  [_+Octavio+ hearing them, starts up._

    +Don O.+ Porcia in this place! may I trust my senses,
    Or does my fancy form these chimeras?

    +Diego.+ Either we sleep, and dream extravagantly,
    Or else the fairies govern in this house.
                                            [_+Flora+ runs to +Porcia+._

    +Flo.+ Ah, dearest mistress! you shall never make me
    Quit you so again.

    +Por.+ But can that be Octavio?

    +Don O.+ I was Octavio; but I am at present
    So much astonish'd, I am not myself.

    +Cam.+ What can the meaning of this vision be?
                                   [_+Don Octavio+ approaches +Porcia+._

    +Don O.+ My dearest Porcia, how is't possible
    To find you in this place, my friend Antonio
    Having so generously undertaken
    Your protection?

    +Por.+ Did he not yours so too? and yet I find
    Octavio here, where he is more expos'd
    Than I to certain ruin. I am loth
    To say 'tis he who has betray'd us both.

    +Don O.+ Antonio false? It is impossible.

    +Diego.+ 'Tis but too evident.

    +Don O.+ Peace, slave! he is my noble friend, of noble blood,
    Whose fame's above the level of those tongues
    That bark by custom at the brightest virtues,
    As dogs do at the moon.

    +Por.+ How hard it is for virtue to suspect!
    Ah, Octavio! we have been both deceiv'd.
    This vile Antonio is the very man
    To whom my brother without my consent
    Or knowledge has contracted me in Flanders.

    +Don O.+ Antonio the man to whom you are contracted?
    Porcia the bride whom he is come to marry?

    +Por.+ The very same.

    +Don O.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner?

    +Por.+ Alas! I have not seen you since I knew it;
    But those few hours such wonders have produc'd
    As exceed all belief, and ask more time
    Than your unsafe condition in this place
    Will allow me to make you comprehend it.

    +Cam.+ Cousin, I cannot blame your apprehensions,
    Nor your suspicion of Antonio's friendship;
    But I am so possess'd with the opinion
    Of his virtue, I shall as soon believe
    Impossibilities as his apostasy
    From honour.

    +Don O.+ What's her concernment in Antonio, Porcia?

    +Por.+ O, that's the strangest part of our sad story,
    And which requires most time to let you know it
         [_A blaze of light appears at the window, and a noise without._
    See, Flora, at the window, what's that light
    And noise we hear.                    [_+Flora+ goes to the window._

    +Flo.+ O madam, we are all undone! I see
    Henrique, Carlos, and their servants, with torches
    All coming hither; and, which is wonderful,
    Antonio leading them with his sword drawn.

    +Cam.+ Thou dream'st, distracted wench? Antonio false?
    It is impossible----

                             [_+Camilla+ runs to the window, and turning
                                                           back, says_--

    All she has said is in appearance true.
    There is some hidden mystery, which thus
    Abuses us; for I shall ne'er believe
    Antonio can transgress the rules of friendship.

    +Don O.+ Friendship's a specious name, made to deceive
    Those whose good-nature tempts them to believe:
    The traffic of good offices 'mongst friends
    Moves from ourselves, and in ourselves it ends:
    When competition brings us to the test,
    Then we find friendship is self-interest.

    +Por.+ Ye pow'rs above! what pleasure can ye take
    To persecute submitting innocence?

    +Don O.+ Retire, dear Porcia, to that inner room:
    For should thy cruel brother find thee here,
    He's so revolted from humanity,
    He'll mingle thine with my impurer blood.

    +Por.+ That were a kind of contract. Let him come,
    We'll meet at once marriage and martyrdom.

    +Don O.+ Soul of my life, retire.

    +Por.+ I will not leave you.

    +Don O.+ Thou preserv'st me by saving of thyself:
    For they can murder only half of me,
    Whilst that my better part survives in thee.

    +Por.+ I will die too, Octavio, to maintain
    That different causes form the same effects:
    'Tis courage in you men, love in our sex.

    +Don O.+ Though souls no sexes have, when w' are above,
    If we can know each other, we may love.

    +Por.+ I'll meet you there above: here take my word.
                          [_+Don Octavio+ takes her hand and kisses it._
    This Porcia knows the way of joining souls,
    As well as th' other, when she swallow'd coals.

        [_They retire to the other room, +Porcia+ leaning on
            +Camilla+, and +Octavio+ waits on them to the door._

    +Diego.+ Nay, if y' are good at that, the devil take
    The hindmost. 'Tis for your sake, fair Flora,
                                          [_Taking +Flora+ by the hand._
    I shun these honourable occasions.
    Having no weapon, sir, 'tis fit that I
    March off with the baggage.

                              [_Turning to +Don Octavio+. Exeunt +Diego+
                                                           and +Flora+._

    +Don O.+ I'm now upon the frontiers of this life,
    There's but one step to immortality;
    And, since my cruel fortune has allow'd me
    No other witness of my tragic end
    But a false friend and barbarous enemy,
    I'll leave my genius to inform the world
    My life and death was uniform: as I
    Liv'd firm to love and honour, so I die.         [_Draws his sword._
    Look down, ye spirits above; for if there be
    A sight on earth worthy of you to see,
    'Tis a brave man, pursu'd by unjust hate,
    Bravely contending with his adverse fate.       [_Waving his sword._
    Stay till this heaven-born soul puts off her earth,
    And she'll attend ye to her place of birth.

    _Enter +Don Antonio+, +Don Henrique+, +Don Carlos+, and
        +Pedro+, their swords drawn; +Don Antonio+ before the rest._

    +Don A.+ Where is the man whose insolence and folly
    Has so misled him to affront my friend?

    +Don O.+ Here is the man thou seek'st, and he whom thou
    So basely hast betray'd.

    +Don A.+ O heavens! what is't I see? It is Octavio,
    My friend.

    +Don O.+ Not thy friend, Antonio, but 'tis Octavio,
    Who by thy perfidy has been betray'd
    To this forlorn condition; but, vile man,
    Thou now shalt pay thy treachery with thy life.
                                [_+Don Octavio+ makes at +Don Antonio+._

    +Don A.+ Hold, Octavio! though thy injurious error
    May transport thee, it shall not me, beyond
    The bounds of honour. Heaven knows I thought
    Of nothing less than what I find--Octavio
    In this place.

    +Don H.+ What pause is this, Antonio? All your fervour
    In the concernments of a brother-in-law
    Reduc'd to a tame parley with our enemy?
    Do all the promises you have made to me,
    T' assist my just revenge, conclude in this?

    +Don O.+ Do all the promises you have made to me,
    T' assist my virtuous love, conclude in this?

    +Don H.+ Where is your wonted bravery?
    Where your kindness to such a near ally?

    +Don O.+ Where is your former honour? where your firmness
    To such an ancient friend?

    +Don A.+ What course shall my distracted honour steer,
    Betwixt these equal opposite engagements?                  [_Aside._

    +Don H.+ What, demur still? nay, then I'll right myself.

                           [_+Don Henrique+ makes at +Don Octavio+; +Don
                                Antonio+ turns on +Don Octavio's+ side._

    +Don A.+ Who attacks Octavio must pass through me.

    +Don C.+ I must lay hold on this occasion.                 [_Aside._
    Good cousin, I conjure you to restrain
    Your passion for awhile. There lies conceal'd
    Some mystery in this which, once unfolded,
    May reconcile this difference.

    +Don H.+ Sweetly propos'd, sir; an accommodation!
    Think'st thou my anger's like a fire of straw,
    Only to blaze and then expire in smoke?
    Think'st thou I can forget my name and nation,
    And barter for revenge, when honour bleeds?
    His life must pay this insolence, or mine.
           [_He makes at +Don Octavio+ again; +Don Antonio+ interposes._

    +Don A.+ Mine must protect his, or else perish with him.

    +Don H.+ Since neither faith nor friendship can prevail,
    'Tis time to try what proof you are, Antonio,
    Against your own near interest. Know that the man,
    Whom you protect against my just revenge,
    Has seconded his insolence to me
    By foul attempts upon my sister's honour,
    Your Porcia's, sir. If this will not inflame you----

        [_+Don Antonio+ turns from +Don Octavio+ and beholds him with a
                                                    stern countenance._

    +Don O.+ How! I attempt your sister's honour, Henrique?
           [_+Don Antonio+ turns and looks sternly upon +Don Henrique+._
    The parent of your black designs, the devil,
    Did ne'er invent a more malicious falsehood;
    'Tis true that I have serv'd the virtuous Porcia
    With such devotion and such spotless love,
    That, though unworthy, yet she has been pleas'd
    To recompense my passion with esteem;

                            [_+Don Antonio+ turns and looks sternly upon
                                                         +Don Octavio+._

    By which she has so chain'd me to her service,
    That here I vow either to live her prize,
    Or else in death to fall love's sacrifice.

    +Don A.+ O heavens! what's that I hear? Thou blessed angel,
    Guardian of my honour, I now implore
    Thy powerful assistance, to preserve
    That reputation which I hitherto
    By virtuous actions have maintain'd unblemish'd.
    In vain, Don Henrique, you design to change
                           [_He pauses a little, and rubs his forehead._
    My resolutions: it must ne'er be said
    That passion could return Antonio
    From the strict rules of honour. Sir, I tell you,
    Nothing can make me violate my first
    Engagement.

    +Don H.+ Nay, then, thou shalt die too, perfidious man.
    Ho! Geraldo, Pedro, Leonido!

    _Enter +Geraldo+, +Pedro+, and +Leonido+, with their swords
        drawn; they join with +Don Henrique+; +Don Carlos+
        interposes._

    +Don C.+ For heaven's sake, cousin, draw not on yourself
    The horrid infamy of assassinating
    Persons of noble blood by servile hands!

    +Don H.+ Do you defend them too? Kill 'em, I say.

    +Don A.+ Retire, Octavio, I'll sustain their shock.

    +Don O.+ Octavio retire!

    +Don A.+ Trust me, you must, they will surround us else;
    Through that narrow passage they'll assail us
    With less advantage.

        [_They retire, fighting, off the stage, +Don Henrique+ and
            his men pursuing them, and +Don Carlos+ endeavouring to
            stop +Don Henrique.+_

    +Don H.+ What, d'ye give back, ye mighty men of fame?

    +Don A.+ Don Henrique, you shall quickly find 'tis honour,
    Not fear, makes me retire.                                [_Exeunt._

            _Enter presently +Don Antonio+ and +Don Octavio+
              at another door, which +Don Antonio+ bolts._

    +Don A.+ Now we shall have a breathing while at least,
    Octavio, and time to look about us.
    Pray, see yon other door be fast.

        [_+Don Octavio+ steps to the door where they went out, and
            +Don Henrique+ bounces at the door they came in at._

    +Don H.+ Geraldo, fetch an iron bar to force
    The door.

                             [_Within, aloud. +Don Antonio+ goes to both
                                     the doors, to see if they be fast._

    +Don A.+ So, 'tis now as I could wish it.

    +Don O.+ What do you mean, generous Antonio?

    +Don A.+ To kill thee now myself:--having perform'd
    What my engagement did exact from me
    In your defence 'gainst others, my love now
    Requires its dues, as honour has had his.
    There's no protection for you from my sword
    But in your own, or in your frank renouncing
    All claim to Porcia; she is so much mine,
    That none must breathe and have the vanity
    Of a pretension to her whilst I live.

    +Don O.+ I never will renounce my claims to Porcia,
    But still assert them by all noble ways:
    Yet, sir, this hand shall never use a sword
    (Without the last compulsion) 'gainst that man
    Who has so much oblig'd me. No, Antonio,
    You are securely guarded by the favours
    Which you so frankly have conferr'd upon me.

    +Don A.+ Pray, sir, let not your pretended gratitude
    Enervate your defence: 'tis not my custom
    To serve my friends with prospects of return.

    +Don O.+ And, sir, 'tis not my custom to receive
    An obligation, but with a purpose,
    And within the power of my return.
    Friendship, Antonio, is reciprocal.
    He that will only give, and not receive,
    Enslaves the person whom he would relieve.

    +Don A.+ Your rule is right; but you apply it wrong.
    It was Octavio, my camerade in arms
    And ancient friend, whom I design'd to serve;
    Not that disloyal man who has invaded
    My honour and my love. 'Tis the intent
    Which forms the obligation, not th' event.

    +Don O.+ I call those pow'rs, which both discern and punish,
    To witness for me that I never knew
    You e'er pretended to Don Henrique's sister,
    Before I came within these fatal walls:
    This I declare only to clear myself
    From th' imputation of disloyalty,
    And to prevent the progress of your error.

    +Don A.+ How can I think you should speak truth to me
    Who am a witness y' have been false to her,
    To whom you now profess so high devotion?

    +Don O.+ I false to Porcia! take heed, Antonio,
    So foul an injury provokes too much.
    But, sir, I must confess I owe you more
    Than the forgiveness of one gross mistake.

    +Don A.+ Rare impudence! I must not trust my senses.

    +Don O.+ If we cannot adjust this competition,
    Let's charge our envious fortunes, not our passions,
    With this fatal breach of friendship.

    +Don A.+ Leave your discourses, and defend yourself;
    Either immediately renounce all claims
    To Porcia, or this must speak the rest.        [_Shaking his sword._

    +Don O.+ Nay, then I must reply.

                [_They fight. A noise, as if the door were broken open._

          _Enter +Don Henrique+, +Don Carlos+, +Leonido+, and
                  +Geraldo+, with their swords drawn._

    +Don H.+ What's this! Antonio fighting with Octavio?
    This bravery is excessive, gallant friend,
    Not to allow a share in your revenge
    To him who's most concern'd: he must not fall
    Without some marks of mine.

                            [_+Don Henrique+ makes at +Don Octavio+, and
                           +Don Antonio+ turns to +Don Octavio's+ side._

    +Don A.+ Nay, then my honour you invade anew,
    And, by assaulting him, revive in me
    My pre-engagements to protect and serve him
    Against all others.

    +Don H.+ Why, were not you, Antonio, fighting with him?
    Were you not doing all you could to kill him?

    +Don A.+ Henrique, 'tis true; but finding in my breast
    An equal strife 'twixt honour and revenge,
    I do, in just compliance with them both,
    Preserve him from your sword, to fall by mine.

    +Don C.+ Brave man, how nicely he does honour weigh!
    Justice herself holds not the scales more even.

    +Don H.+ My honour suffers more as yet than yours,
    And I must have a share in the revenge.

    +Don A.+ My honour, sir, is so sublim'd by love,
    'Twill not admit comparison or rival.

    +Don H.+ Either he must renounce all claims to Porcia,
    Or die immediately.

    +Don A.+ Y' are i' the right: that he must do, or die;
    But by no other hand than mine.

    +Don O.+ Cease your contention, and turn all your swords
    Against this breast! whilst Porcia and I have breath,
    She must be mine, there's no divorce but death.

    +Don H.+ I'll hear no more, protect him if thou canst:
    Kill the slave, kill him, I say!

                                 [_+Don Henrique+ makes at him, and +Don
                                       Carlos+ endeavours to interpose._

    +Don C.+ For heaven's sake, hold a moment! certainly
    There's some mistake lies hidden here, which (clear'd)
    Might hinder these extremes.

        [_+Don Henrique+ and his servants press +Don Antonio+ and
            +Don Octavio+. +Flora+ peeps out, and, seeing them
            fight, cries out_ Camilla! Porcia! _+Camilla+ and
            +Porcia+ looking out, both shriek, and then run out
            upon the stage._

          _Enter +Porcia+ and +Camilla+ from the inner room._

    +Por.+ Don Henrique!

    +Cam.+ Antonio! Carlos!

    +Por.+ Octavio!

    _+Cam.+ and +Por.+ together_. Hear us but speak! hear us but speak!

    +Don H.+ By heavens, 'tis Porcia! why, how came she here?

    +Don C.+ Why, did not I tell you she was brought hither
    By my directions? you would not believe me.

    +Don H.+ But how then could Octavio come hither?

    +Don C.+ Nay, that heaven knows, you heard as well as I
    Your man's relation.

    +Don H.+ Ah, thou vile woman, that I could destroy
    Thy memory with thy life!

                           [_He offers to run at +Porcia+: +Don Antonio+
                                                            interposes._

    +Don A.+ Hold, sir, that must not be!

    +Don H.+ What, may not I do justice upon her
    Neither?

    +Don A.+ No, sir: although I have not yet the honour
    To know who this lady is, I have this night
    Engag'd myself both to secure and serve her.

    +Don C.+ He knows not Porcia. Who was i' the right,
    Don Henrique, you or I?

    +Don H.+ He not know Porcia! why, 'tis not an hour
    Since I saw him entertaining her at home,
    Sure w' are enchanted, and all we see's illusion.

    +Cam.+ Allow me, Henrique, to unspell these charms.
    Who is't, Octavio, you pretend to? speak.

    +Don O.+ You might have spar'd that question, madam: none
    Knows so well as you, 'tis Porcia I adore.

    +Don A.+ Porcia's my wife! disloyal man, thou diest.
                                    [_Offers to make at +Don Octavio+._

    +Cam.+ Hold, sir! which is the Porcia you lay claim to?

    +Don A.+ Can you doubt of that? why, sure, you know too well
    The conquest that you made so long ago[70]
    Of my poor heart in Flanders.

    +Don C.+ Conquest! poor heart! Flanders! what can this mean?

    +Don H.+ New riddles every moment do arise,
    And mysteries are born of mysteries.

    +Don C.+ Sure, 'tis the pastime of the destinies
    To mock us for pretending to be wise.

    +Cam.+ Thanks be to heaven, our work draws near an end.
    Cousin, it belongs to you to finish it.

    +Por.+ To free you from that labyrinth, Antonio,
    In which a slight mistake, not rectifi'd,
    Involv'd us all, know the suppos'd Porcia,
    Whom you have lov'd, is the true Camilla.

    +Cam.+ And you, Don Henrique, know that Don Octavio
    Has always been your sister's faithful lover,
    And only feign'd a gallantry to me
    To hide his real passion for my cousin
    From your discerning eyes.

    +Don A.+ Generous Octavio!

    +Don O.+ Brave Antonio! how happy are we both.      [_They embrace._
    Both in our loves and friendships!

    +Don A.+ Ah, how the memory of our crosses pass'd
    Heightens our joys when we succeed at last!

    +Don O.+ Our pleasures in this world are always mix'd:
    'Tis in the next where all our joys are fix'd.

                            [_+Camilla+ takes +Don Antonio+ by the hand,
                                         and leads him to +Don Carlos+._

    +Cam.+ This, my dear brother, is that brave commander
    To whom you owe your life and liberty;
    And I much more--the safety of my honour.

    +Don C.+ Is this that gallant leader who redeem'd us
    With so much valour from the enemy?

    +Cam.+ The very same.

    +Don C.+ Why did you not acquaint me with it sooner?
    'Twas ill done, Camilla.

    +Cam.+ Alas! my dearest brother, gratitude,
                                          [_Drawing +Don Carlos+ aside._
    Conspiring with the graces of his person,
    So soon possess'd him of my heart, that I,
    Asham'd of such a visionary love,
    Durst never trust my tongue with my own thoughts.

    +Don C.+ 'Tis enough. Here, sir, take from me her hand,
                                        [_Addressing to +Don Antonio+._
    Whose heart your merit has long since made yours.
                 [_+Don Antonio+ takes +Camilla's+ hand and kisses it._

    +Don A.+ Sir, with your leave and hers, I seal the vows
    Of my eternal faith unto you both.

    +Don C.+ But let's take heed, Antonio, lest, whilst we
    Are joying in our mutual happiness,
    Don Henrique's scarcely yet composed distemper
    Revive not, and disorder us afresh:
    I like not his grim posture.

    +Don A.+ 'Tis well thought on; let's approach him.

                          [+Don Octavio+, _holding +Porcia+ by the hand,
                                       advances towards +Don Henrique+._

    +Don O.+ Here with respect we wait your confirmation
    Of that which seems to be decreed above,
    Though travers'd by unlucky accidents.
    This lady, your incomparable sister,
    Can witness that I never did invade
    Your passion for Camilla; and Pedro's death
    Happen'd by your mistaken jealousy.
    The causes of your hate being once remov'd,
    'Tis just. Don Henrique, the effects should cease.

    +Don H.+ I shall consult my honour----

    +Don C.+ You cannot take a better councillor
    In this case than your own and sister's honour;
    What, to secure them both, could have been wish'd
    Beyond what fate has of itself produc'd?

    +Don H.+ How hard it is to act upon constraint!
    That which I could have wish'd, I now would fly,
    Since 'tis obtruded by necessity.
    'Tis fit that I consent, but yet I must
    Still seem displeas'd, that m' anger may seem just         [_Aside._

    +Don A.+ Noble Don Henrique, you may reckon me
    To be as truly yours by this alliance,
    As if a brother's name subsisted still.

    +Don H.+ Well, I must yield, I see, or worse will follow.  [_Aside._
    He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
    To turn the current of a woman's will:
    Since fair Camilla is Antonio's lot,
    I Porcia yield to Don Antonio's friend.
    Our strength and wisdom must submit to fate:
    Stripp'd of my love, I will put off my hate.
    Here take her hand, and may she make you, sir,

                            [_+Don Henrique+ takes +Porcia+ by the hand,
                                        and gives her to +Don Octavio+._

    Happier than she has done me.

                     _+Diego+ and +Flora+ advance._

    +Flo.+ Had e'er disorders such a rare come-off?
    Methinks 'twould make a fine plot for a play.

    +Diego.+ Faith, Flora, I should have the worst of that;
    For, by the laws of comedy, 'twould be
    My lot to marry you.

    +Don O.+ Well thought on, Diego, tho' 'tis spoke in jest:
    We cannot do a better thing in earnest
    Than to join these who seem to have been made
    For one another. What say'st thou to it, Flora?

    +Flo.+ Troth, I have had so many frights this night,
    That I am e'en afraid to lie alone.
                                       [_+Diego+ takes her by the hand._

    +Diego.+ Give me thy hand, sweet Flora, 'tis a bargain,
    I promise thee, dear spouse, I'll do my best
    To make thee first repent this earnest jest.

    +Flo.+ You may mistake: we have a certain way,
    By going halves, to match your foulest play.

    +Don C.+ Since this last happy scene is in my house,
    You'll make collation with me, ere you part.

    _+Don A.+ and +Don O.+_ Agreed, agreed, agreed!

    +Don A.+ Thus end the strange Adventures of Five Hours,
    As sometimes blust'ring storms, in gentle showers.[71]
                                               [_Addressing to the Pit._

    +Don O.+ Thus, noble gallants, after blust'ring lives,
    You'll end as we have done, in taking wives.

    +Diego.+ Hold, sirs, there's not an end as yet; for then
    Come your own brats and those of other men.

    +Don H.+ Besides the cares of th' honour of your race
    Which, as you know, is my accursed case. [_Addressing to the Boxes._

    +Cam.+ You, ladies, whilst unmarried, tread on snares:
    Married, y' are cumber'd with domestic cares.

    +Por.+ If handsome, y' are by fools and fame attack'd;
    If ugly, then by your own envy rack'd.

    +Flo.+ We by unthrifty parents forc'd to serve,
    When fed are slaves, and when w' are free, we starve.

    +Don C.+ Which put together, we must needs confess,
    This world is not the scene of happiness.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] A reward or gratuity given to one that brings good
news.--Stevens's "Spanish Dictionary."

[70] All the copies have it _so long ago_, but Reed followed Dodsley in
the absurd error of substituting _some days ago_.--_Collier._

[71] Here the play ended until the third edition which, as has been
already noticed, varies materially from those that preceded it. The
third edition also omits the original epilogues at the theatre and
at court, which, as they are worth preserving, are now inserted in a
note.--_Collier._

                             THE EPILOGUE.

     _+Diego+ comes stealing in, and is followed by +Henrique+, who
                    stays at the door and listens._

    +Diego.+ Come, gentlemen!
    Let the _Dons_ and _Monsieurs_ say what they will,
    For our parts, we are for _Old England_ still.
    Here's a fine Play indeed, to lay the scene
    In three houses of the same town, O mean!
    Why, we have several plays, where I defy
    The devil to tell where the scene does lie:
    Sometimes in _Greece_, and then they make a step
    To _Transylvania_, thence at one leap
    To _Greece_ again: this shows a ranging brain,
    Which scorns to be confined t' a town in _Spain._

                          _Then for the Plot._

    The possible _Adventures of Five Hours_!
    A copious design! why, in some of ours
    Many of the adventures are impossible,
    Or, if to be achiev'd, no man can tell
    Within what time: this shows a rare invention,
    When the design's above your comprehension;
    Whilst here y' are treated with a romance-tale.
    And a plot cover'd with a _Spanish_ veil.

                          _As for the Style._

    It is as easy as a proclamation,
    As if the play were penn'd for the whole nation.
    None of those thund'ring lines, which used to crack
    Our breaths, and set your wits upon the rack.
    Who can admire this piece, or think it good?
    There's not one line but may be understood.

                            _The Raillery._

    As innocent as if't had pass'd the test
    Of a full synod: not one bawdy jest!
    Nor any of those words of double sense,
    Which make the ladies, to show their innocence,
    Look so demure, whilst by a simp'ring smile
    The gallant shows he understands the style.
    But here you have a piece so subtly writ,
    Men must have wit themselves to find the wit.
    Faith, that's too much; therefore by my consent,
    We'll damn the play.

    +Henrique.+ Think'st thou, impertinent,
    That these, who know the pangs of bringing forth
                                                 [_Pointing to the Pit._
    A living scene, should e'er destroy this birth?
    You ne'er can want such writers, who aspire
    To please the judges of that upper tier.
    The knowing are his peers, and for the rest
    Of the illiterate crowd (though finely dress'd),
    The author hopes he never gave them cause
    To think he'd waste his time for their applause.
    You then (most equal judges) freely give
    Your votes, whether this play should die or live.

                        THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.

    We've pass'd the lords and commons, and are come
    At length, dread sir, to hear your final doom.
    'Tis true your vassals, sir, may vote the laws.
    Their sanction comes from your divine applause.
    This shining circle then will all sit mute
    'Till one pronounce from you _Le Roi le veut_.[72]

[72] These are the words still used by ancient usage whenever the royal
assent is given to any bill that has passed through both Houses of
Parliament.--_Collier._




EPILOGUE.


BY MR SMITH.

    Our poet, gentlemen, thought to steal away,
    Hoping those wretched rhymes, i' th' end o' th' play,
    Might serve for epilogue; for truly he
    Takes epilogues for arrant bribery.
    H' observes your poet in our modern plays,
    Humbly showeth, and then as humbly prays;
    So that it can't be said, what they have writ
    Was without fear, though often without wit.
    He trusts (as ye say <DW7>s do) to merit;
    Leaves you (like quakers) to be mov'd by th' spirit.
    But since that epilogues are so much in vogue,
    Take this as prologue to the epilogue.


BY MR HARRIS.

    Some, as soon as th' enter, we wish 'em gone,
    Taking their visit as a visitation:
    Yet when they go, there are certain grimaces
    (Which in plain English, is but making faces)
    That we, for manners' sake, to all allow.
    The poet's parting; don't rise, but smile and bow;
    And's back being turn'd, ye may take the liberty
    To turn him, and all h' has writ to raillery.
    Now, as I shall be sav'd, were I as you,
    I'd make no bones on't--why, 'tis but his due.
    A <DW2>! in this brave, licentious age,
    To bring his musty morals on the stage?
    Rhyme us to reason, and our lives redress
    In metre, as Druids did the savages?
    Affront the freeborn vices of the nation?
    And bring dull virtue into reputation?
    Virtue! would any man of common sense
    Pretend to't? why, virtue now is impudence;
    And such another modest play would blast
    Our new stage, and put your palates out of taste.
    We told him, Sir, 'tis whisper'd in the pit
    This may be common sense, but 'tis not wit;
    That has a flaming spirit, and stirs the blood
    That's bawdry, said he, if rightly understood;
    Which our late poets make their chiefest tasks,
    As if they writ only to th' vizard-masks.
    Nor that poetic rage, which hectors heaven,
    Your writer's style, like's temper, 's grown more even;
    And he's afraid to shock their tender ears.
    Whose God, say they, 's the fiction of their fears;
    Your moral's to no purpose. He replied,
    Some men talk'd idly just before they died,
    And yet we heard them with respect. 'Twas all he said.
    Well, we may count him now as good as dead;
    And since ghosts have left walking, if you please,
    We'll let our virtuous poet rest in peace.




ALL MISTAKEN;

OR,

THE MAD COUPLE




_EDITION._


    _All Mistaken; Or The Mad Couple. A Comedy, Acted by His
      Majestyes Servants, at the Theatre Royal. Written by the
      Honorable James Howard, Esq.; London, Printed by H. Brugis,
      for James Magnes in Russel-street, neer the Piazza, in
      Covent-garden, 1672. 4º._

This play formed part of the collection as originally published by
Dodsley in 1744, but was excluded from the second and third editions.
In the copies of 1672 and 1744, the arrangement of the lines was found
very irregular, and the metre correspondingly corrupt. In the present
reprint the text has been, to a large extent, reconstructed.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +The Duke.+

  +Ortellus+,                   _next of kin to the Duke; of an
                                ambitious and treacherous nature._

  +Arbatus+,                    _supposed brother to Artabella._

  +Philidor+,                   _a mad kinsman of the Duke's, in love
                                with Mirida._

  +Zoranzo+,                    _the Duke's prisoner of war, in love
                                with Amarissa._

  +Pinguister+,                 }
  +Lean-man+,                   } _two ridiculous lovers of Mirida._

  _Doctor to Pinguister._

  _Tailor to Lean-man._

  _Jailor._

  _Servant to Philidor._

  _Boy._

  _Clown._

  _Guard and attendances._

  +Amphelia+,                   _in love with the Duke._

  +Artabella+,                  _the Duke's sister, but taken for the
                                sister of Arbatus._

  +Mirida+,                     _Philador's mad mistress._

  +Amarissa+,                   _in love with Zoranzo._

  _Six Ladies._

  _Three Nurses with children._

                            _Scene, Italy._

                             ALL MISTAKEN.




ACT I., SCENE I.


    _Enter +Duke+ from war, in triumph, leading in his hand
        +Artabella+, a woman of that country from whence he came,
        with +Arbatus+ her brother, and +Zoranzo+ prisoner; and on
        the other side +Amphelia+, +Ortellus+, and Guard._

    +Duke.+ Madam, I need not say y'are welcome to this
    Country, since 'tis mine.

    +Art.+ Sir, leaving my own for yours
    Speaks my belief of that, and all things else
    You say.

    +Duke.+ The same unto your worthy brother,
    Besides, my thanks to you, sir, for letting
    Your sister take this journey.

    +Arb.+ Your highness hath so nobly express'd
    Yourself unto my sister, that I
    Consented to her coming with you; so
    Highly I esteem'd your princely word,
    That I have let her trespass on the
    Bound of common modesty in this
    Adventure: for when this hasty judging
    World shall see you have brought a woman
    From her own country, and not your
    Wife, how soon will every tongue give her
    Another title!

    +Duke.+ Sir, my sudden actions shall prevent all
    Tongues or thoughts either to name or think her
    Anything but my duchess; therefore
    All that owe duty or respect to me, pay it
    To her. What, Amphelia, did you believe
    The world so barren of good faces, that
    Yours only does enrich it? or did you think
    It was men's fates only to doat on yours?
    Look on this lady, and you'll see your error;
    Mark well her face, and you will find
    In every line beauty sits empress there.
    These are the eyes, Amphelia, now, that dart
    Obedience through my heart; are not you vex'd
    To see I am no constant fool, and love
    You still?

    +Amph.+ Vexed at what? to see a man I hate
    Love another? a very great vexation!
    Know, sir, this breast has only room for joy
    And love to brave Ortellus--
    Forgive my heart that 'twas not yours before,
    Since you have long deserv'd it.

    +Ort.+ Madam, no time was long enough to wait
    This blessed hour.

    +Amph.+ Alas, great duke! instead
    Of pining for your change, you find me midst
    A thousand joys in this new choice.

    +Duke.+ So you do me, Amphelia, amidst
    Ten thousand; not all the glories that
    Attend a conquering soldier can create
    One joy so great in me,
    As being conquer'd here in my own triumphs.
    I am but a slave;
    Nor does my victory over thousands please
    Me so much, as being overcome by
    One--by this fair one, whose eyes, by shining
    On my triumph only, make it glorious.

    +Amph.+ Well, sir, we will not change our happy states;
    You cannot brag of happiness so great
    To make me envy: I am only sorry for
    This lady, that had nothing else to do
    With her heart but to give it you. Madam,
    If your breast had been crowded with some twenty
    Or thirty hearts, and amongst these one very
    Ill, you might have
    Made present of that to this mighty duke.

    +Duke.+ Madam, does not this lady's discourse make you
    Afraid of me.

    +Art.+ Not in the least, sir.

    +Duke.+ Where's this bold prisoner?

    +Guard.+ Here, and [it] please your highness.

    +Duke.+ Well, sir, tho' you did attempt to kill me
    In our camp, after you were our prisoner,
    You shall not die, since you are of the same
    Country this lady is; therefore thank her
    And fortune for your life.

    +Zor.+                       I'd sooner curse them both.
    Shall I thank any for my life, but heaven
    That gave it me? I'd rather give it to
    A cat. A noble death were far more welcome
    To me, than a mean life at second hand.
    My being here I owe unto the gods.
    When they think fit to lend it me no longer,
    They know the way to take it from me. I scorn
    To run in debt unto a mortal duke for two
    Or three days' breath.

    +Amph.+                  Brave captive!                    [_Aside._

    +Duke.+                                 You're
    Very high, considering you are in chains.

    +Zor.+ Why, sir, think you these fetters can confine
    My mind as they do my legs, or that my
    Tongue is your prisoner, and dares only say:
    May it please your highness? How much are you
    Mistaken? Know, sir, my soul is
    Prompter to my tongue, and gives it courage to say
    Anything that heaven will not frown at. We
    Should detract from those great pow'rs above,
    If we pay fears to any here below.
    Perhaps you think I'll beg my life now upon
    A pair of bent petitioning knees? No, sir;
    Had I a hundred lives, I'd give them all
    To sharpest deaths, rather than beg for one.

    +Duke.+ You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter,
    When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him
    To the closest prison where, if you have any
    Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast
    Them up before your death.

    +Zor.+                       Your sentence brings me
    Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set!
    'Twill cut my head and chains both off together.
    Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring
    Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king.      [_Exit with a Guard._

    +Duke.+ Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied
    You, that it is time to show you the way
    To your lodgings, and leave you to your
    Repose.

    +Guard.+ Make way there for the duke!

    +Amph.+ My lord, you had best attend the duke, because
    'Tis a respect due to him.

    +Ort.+                       I shall, madam,
    At your command.                                          [_Exeunt._

    +Amph.+ How has my tongue belied my too true heart,
    In speaking hate unto
    The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke?
    So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest.
    How could my lips give passage to such words,
    And not have clos'd for ever?
    Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that
    So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had
    Not pride and reason kept it here from this
    Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away
    To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to
    His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love
    This man, that shows me nothing but contempt
    And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think
    Of that; think of it always, so by degrees
    'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time
    Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost
    Affections. O, it is not true that all
    Our sex love change, then I might find one path
    That leads to it;
    That womanish vice were virtue now in me,
    'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.

                            _Enter +Duke+._

    See, where he comes again; O, how I love
    And hate that man! Now help me, pride, and fill
    My breast with scorn; and pr'ythee, tongue, take heed
    You do not falter: hear not, my heart, that will
    Distract thy speech, and so betray my feign'd
    Unkindness.

    +Duke.+ What, Amphelia all alone?
    Weary of your new love already? can't
    You pass away the time with him one hour?

    +Amph.+                                     Were he
    No finer man than yourself, to be with him
    A minute, I should think a
    Seven years' penance.
    Good heart, lie still, and let my tongue alone.            [_Aside._
    I wonder what a woman can see in you,
    Or hear from you, to make her love you.
    (I was just going to have said, hate him.)                 [_Aside._
    O, what a task is this! therefore let me
    Advise you to have a mean opinion
    Of yourself.

    +Duke.+ Methinks that advice might serve
    For yourself. Ha, ha, ha!

    +Amph.+ Have patience, heart, I know I lie: thou need'st
    Not tell me so--I had better then confess
    My love. [_Aside._] Do you laugh, duke? [i']faith
    So could I at you, till the tears ran down
    My cheeks--that they would quickly do, for grief
    Would fain unload my eyes.
    I must begone,
    I cannot longer act this part, unless
    I had a heart as hard as his.                              [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ What, you are going
    Now to your love Ortellus?

    +Amph.+ I am so,
    And going from you to him, is pleasure double,
    Not only pain, to quit, but joy to meet.

    +Duke.+ Make haste then, for your departure will oblige
    Me too, so we shall be all pleas'd!

    +Amph.+ Haste I will make, but with unwilling feet:
    For every step from him my grief repeats.            [_Aside. Exit._

    +Duke.+ She's gone, and after her my heart is flown,
    'Tis well it has no tongue to make its moan;
    Then 'twould discover what my pride conceals,
    A heart in love (though slighted) love reveals.
    Yet though I love her still, she shall not know;
    Her hate shall seem my joy, which is my woe.
    My constancy I'll outwardly disguise,
    Though here within I am not half so wise.
    Yet rather than disclose my doating fate,
    I'll wound my heart by counterfeiting hate.
    To whine, it wou'd the worst of follies prove,
    Since women only pity when they love.
    With how much scorn she gave me welcome home,
    Ortellus in her hand, to show my doom!
    Me and my triumphs she did so despise,
    As if they'd been unworthy of her eyes.
    'Tis well to her I show'd as much disdain;
    I'd rather perish than she guess my pain.
    But O, the horrid act she makes me do,
    To fool a woman that is young and true!
    So damn'd a sin, that hell could not invent,
    It is too foul for any punishment;
    To question those above I am afraid,
    Else I would ask them, why they woman made.

                          _Enter +Philidor+._

    O my mad cousin, your servant.
    Whither so fast?

    +Phil.+ So fast, sir? why,
    I have been hunted by a pack of hounds
    This three hours,
    And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than
    Three couple of nurses, three couple
    Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them
    Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir.
    They have rung me such a ring this morning
    Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy
    House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand
    Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run,
    But that they wou'd have presently digged me
    Out with their tongues.

    +Duke.+                   Faith, Philidor,
    'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee
    From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these
    Children were all your bastards, and your nurses
    Coming to dun you for money?

    +Phil.+ Something of that's in it, I think, sir.

    +Duke.+ Well, coz, I'll leave thee to thy wildness; a fitter
    Companion much for thee than I at this time.

    +Phil.+ Why, sir, I hope nothing has happened
    To trouble you?

    +Duke.+ No, no;
    My grief, alas! is far beyond express;
    To tell it to a friend can't make it less.                  [_Exit._

    +Phil.+ Wou'd I were at the wars again: I fear
    No sword half so much as the tongue of one
    Of these nurses; and the youling of th' children
    Are more dismal to my ears than the groans
    Of dying men in a battle. I am
    At this time in law with six or seven
    Parishes about fath'ring of bastards;
    Tis very fine truly! and yet me thinks
    'Tis a hard case that I should be sued for
    Multiplying the world,
    Since death makes bold with bastards,
    As well as other children. The very picture
    Of a nurse and child in her arms wou'd fright
    Me now. O, from that sight deliver me!

              _Enter Nurse and Child as he is going out._

    Ha! and here they come: pox on't, what luck have
    I after saying my prayers? it shall be a
    Fair warning to me; now am I started
    Again, and must go run t'other course.        [_Offers to run away._

    +1st Nurse.+ 'Squire Philidor, 'Squire Philidor!
                                                  [_She runs after him._

    +Phil.+ How deaf
    Am I now! 'tis well I know this by-way
    To avoid her.

                  _Enter Second Nurse and meets him._

    Ha! S'death, another?
    The devil appearing here too?

    +2d Nurse.+ O my proper
    Young 'squire, stay, stay, d'ye hear, sir?

    +Phil.+ No, indeed, won't I. Yet I know one way
    More to avoid them.

                          _Enter Third Nurse._

    Ha! another coming
    Here too? Nay then, I find I am in hell,
    Before I thought I shou'd. What will become
    Of me now?

    +3d Nurse.+ O 'squire, I thought I should
    Never have spoken with your worship.

    +Phil.+ No, by this
    Light, shou'd you not, if I could have holp it.            [_Aside._

    +1st Nurse.+ I wonder, 'squire, at your conscience, t'avoid
    Your pretty babes as you do.

    +Phil.+ So, now it
    Begins, I am like to have sweet music
    From the comfort of these nurses' tongues.

    +1st Nurse.+ Saving your presence, sir, I think here are
    Three as sweet babes as ever sucked teat,
    And all born within the year too, besides
    Three more that your worship has in our street.

    +Phil.+ A very hopeful generation! sure,
    This was a great nut year![73]
    Well, if all trades fail, I may go
    Into some foreign plantation, where
    They want people, and be well paid for my
    Pains: wou'd I were there now!

    +1st Nurse.+                     Codge, codge,
    Dos a laugh upon a dad? In conscience, sir,
    The child knows your worship.

    +Phil.+                         A very great comfort!

    +1st Nurse.+ My young master here is as like your worship
    As e'er he can look; has your tempting eyes
    To a hair: I cou'd not choose but smile
    To myself t'other day; I was making him clean
    About the secrets, to see that[74] God had sent him
    In a plentiful manner; it put me half
    In mind of your worship. I am sure I
    Have been at double the expense of other
    Nurses, in eating choice meat, to make my
    Milk good for my young master, because I
    Would not spoil the growth of any one of his
    Members.

    +2d Nurse.+ Nay, for that, neighbour, I have ate
    As good, or better, meat than you, every day
    In the week: I never touch'd a bit of
    Salt meat, for fear of spoiling my child's blood.

    +Phil.+ Considering how well 'tis born.                    [_Aside._

    +3d Nurse.+ Nay, neighbours, for that I have been at greater
    Charge than either of you, in choice diets,
    To breed good milk for my young mistress here.

    +1st Nurse.+ You lie.

    +2d Nurse.+           You are a quean.

    +1st Nurse.+                           And you're a whore.
    Marry, your husband is the notedest
    Cuckold in all our street.

    +2d Nurse.+ You lie, you jade,
    Yours is a greater.

    +Phil.+               Hiss! Now for a battle
    Royal.

    +1st Nurse.+           If I lay the child out of my
                                  [_Lay their children down, and fight._
    Arms, I'll pull off your head-clothes, you--
    Carrion!

    +2d Nurse.+ Marry, come, if thou durst.

    +Phil.+ 'Tis best for me to be a coward,
    And march off from this bloody fight.

    +All Nurses.+ Hold, hold, the 'squire is going away.

    +Phil.+ So, nothing could have parted them this three
    Hours, but the fear of losing me.                          [_Aside._

    +1st Nurse.+ What, wou'd
    Your worship have left us without paying us
    For nursing your children? you have a conscience,
    With a pox to you!

    +Phil.+              So, now will they end
    Their war in vollies of shot upon me.
    I have but one thing now to do. With ev'ry
    One of these hags have I been forc'd to lie,
    Which they took as satisfaction for payment
    For two months' nursing. Perhaps, rather
    Than they will have it known to one another,
    They'll hold their tongues and leave me?
    Well, my three sweet harmonious nurses, what is due to you?

    +1st Nurse.+ Due! why, there was twelve months
    Due for nursing; 'tis true, two months your squireship
    Satisfied me for.

    +2d Nurse.+         And me too.

    +3d Nurse.+                     And me
    Likewise.

    +Phil.+ Harkye, if you will not be gone,
    I'll tell.

    +1st Nurse.+ No, marry, won't I, till I have
    My money.

    +2d Nurse.+ Don't think to fright me, but pay me.

    +3d Nurse.+ I fear you not; pay me my money.

    +Phil.+ Pox on't, 'twill not do, I must try another
    Way.--Boy, was the wolf fed to-day?

    +Boy.+ No, sir.

    +Phil.+ Go fetch him quickly, to dine with these ladies.
                                                    [_Exeunt +Nurses+._
    So! I thought I should set them going. He!
    The devil, they have left the children behind them.
    This was a very cunning device of mine.
    Now am I in a pretty condition. Troth, a
    Very noble Anabaptist progeny!
    For the devil a one of these were ever
    Christen'd; for I have run so much upon
    Tick to the parsons for christening of
    Children, that now they all refuse to make
    Any bastards of mine a Christian
    Without ready money; so that I'll have
    This boy bred up a parson, that he may
    Christen himself and the rest of his sisters
    And brothers. What shall I do, when these infants,
    Begin to be hungry, and youl for th' teat?
    O, that a milk-woman wou'd come by now!
    Well, I must remove my flock from hence. Small
    Coal, small coal, will you buy any small coal?
    Pox on it. I could never light of any
    But fruitful whores. Small coal, small coal!                [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[73] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, 275.]

[74] [Old copy, _what_.]




ACT II.


                    _Enter +Zoranzo+, as in prison._

    +Zor.+ Sure, 'tis not kind of those great pow'rs above,
    To add these chains to me that am in love.
    As to my bed of straw, I am content,
    Since any bed from her is punishment.
    To lie on down of swans would be hard rest,
    Could I not make my pillow on her breast.
    O Amarissa, wert thou here with me,
    I would not sell these bonds for liberty.
    Ransoms that prisoners give to be set free,
    I'd give as much to lie in chains by thee.
    Here is her picture. O, thou too like shade,
                                               [_Pulls out her picture._
    To look on it my eyes are half afraid,
    It so presents my joy and misery;
    Since 'tis the nothing of that all to me.
    The greatest pain to any lover's heart,
    Is to remember when they are apart;
    For thoughts of joys, when there's a bar betwixt,
    Are worse than poison with a cordial mix'd.

                    _Enter +Amphelia+ and +Jailor+._

    +Amph.+ Well said, jailor, here's for thy pains. Brave pris'ner,
    Perhaps this visit may appear but strange
    To you, till you have heard me speak--Know then,
    When you receiv'd the sentence of your death, you seem'd
    To meet it with so brave a soul, as if
    The sound had not displeas'd your ears. Thus did
    Your courage fill my eyes with wonder, and
    My heart with pity.
    Straight I resolv'd to give you all my helps
    To set you free, which now I offer to
    You.

    +Zor.+ Madam, could I tell you what to say I
    Wou'd begin; I have nothing but poor thanks
    To offer to you, and those, though millions, were
    Not half enough. Compassion shown unto
    The miserable heaven can only recompence;
    Therefore, in my dying prayers, I will beg from thence
    A blessing to reward your pity.

    +Amph.+                           Sir,
    The joy of your escape will pay my pains;
    All my endeavours I will set at work:
    The time is short, therefore I must make haste.
    Expect to hear of me again with speed.

                _Enter +Ortellus+, as she is going out._

    +Zor.+ What can this mean? heaven grant she does not
    Love me; I wou'd not wish so brave a heart
    So great a punishment, since my love's fix'd already.

    +Ort.+ Madam, I have been seeking you; pray, whence
    Came you? This is no usual place to find you
    In.

    +Amph.+ I was only walking this way, sir.

    +Ort.+ I'll wait on you presently.--I suspect
    She has been at the prison; I will inform
    Myself by the jailor; and yet perhaps
    She has bid him to deny it.             [_Steps back to the Jailor._
    The lady
    Amphelia says she has left one of
    Her gloves behind her in the prison, and
    Has sent me for it.

    +Jail.+ I'll go see straight, sir.

    +Ort.+ She has been there, it seems, then. Madam, I
    Fancy you have been to see the prison.

    +Amph.+ Who, I?
    What makes you think so?

    +Ort.+ Why, am I mistaken?

    +Amph.+ Yes; what should I do there?

    +Ort.+ Nay, that's the question,
    But there you have been just now, and with the
    Pris'ner too.

    +Amph.+         Sure, you dream.

    +Ort.+                           She's false, I find:
    I'll try her love to me.                                   [_Aside._
    Madam, since you
    Have been pleased to show your kindness publicly
    To me, I take this time to beg my happiness,
    Which is, that a priest may join our hands.

    +Amph.+ I will not marry yet.

    +Ort.+ Why, pray, madam?

    +Amph.+ For a very good reason, because I ha'n't
    A mind to't.

    +Ort.+ Will you give me another reason?

    +Amph.+ I need not: that's sufficient.

    +Ort.+ You love me, do you not?

    +Amph.+ You know I have declar'd it.

    +Ort.+ But (sure) you'll not deny me twice?

    +Amph.+ Not, if you ask but once.

    +Ort.+ Fie, fie, this modesty's a thief to lovers,
    And robs them of their time. Come, come,
    Say aye, and blush.

    +Amph.+               I'll not say aye, nor blush.

    +Ort.+ If you had any modesty, you wou'd.

    +Amph.+ You said
    Just now I had too much.

    +Ort.+ Too much
    Of impudence, you mean.

    +Amph.+                   What's that to say?

    +Ort.+ Why, truth.

    +Amph.+            Get you out, and wash your tongue:
    'Tis foul.

    +Ort.+       'Tis like you heart then,
    But that it cannot lie as much.

    +Amph.+                           Most valiant lord,
    To give the lie to petticoats!

    +Ort.+ Why did you
    Deny your being in prison?

    +Amph.+                      Not for fear of you;
    I was with the brave prisoner,
    What then?

    +Ort.+       You went to make love to him.
    You had best use your time well; 'twill
    Be short and sweet: your dear will not be so
    Proper a man by the head within this
    Two days. False woman! you've a heart that flies
    From one man's breast to another: all the
    Inconstancy of your sex is constancy
    To this of yours: you have deceived the duke
    Already; that might have been my warning.

    +Amph.+                                 Faith, and so
    It might; th' duke in all things so far excels
    You, that you were a fool to think, when once
    My heart bid him farewell, that it design'd
    No better a change than you. Troth, your mistaken;
    It had a farther journey to make, and so
    Took your breast for an inn only, to lie
    By the way.

    +Ort.+        Base woman! is't not enough that you
    Have fool'd me, but you must mock me too? Heaven
    Hold my hand from murdering thee!

    +Amph.+                        Fright those that fear you.  [_Exit._

    +Ort.+ Curses of all fool'd men (like me) light heavy
    On thee! Revenge begins to fill my heart,
    And I will pour it out on this base woman.
    I know the way: I'll to the duke.

                            _Enter +Duke+._

    I am
    Glad I have met your highness, for I have
    Business to impart to you that concerns your life.

    +Duke.+                                         What is't, Ortellus?

    +Ort.+ Know, sir,
    Amphelia, that----

    +Duke.+              Loves you?

    +Ort.+                          No, sir, she loves
    The pris'ner.

    +Duke.+         'Tis impossible.

    +Ort.+                           'Tis very true, sir,
    I caught her coming from him! she's designing
    His escape, and for aught I know, her love
    To him may put other thoughts into her head.

    +Duke.+ What d'ye mean?

    +Ort.+                  She may design your life;
    A woman that is ill, exceeds a man
    In mischief.

    +Duke.+         My lord, I thank your care. If you
    Can track her farther, pray let me know; in the
    Meantime I shall prevent her ill intentions.

    +Ort.+ My diligence shall not be wanting. So,
    Since I can have no love, revenge shall be
    My mistress.                                    [_Aside.      Exit._

    +Duke.+         O Amphelia! why dost
    Thou take such pains to break my heart, when 'tis
    So easily done? She needs not secretly
    Contrive my death, since half a word from her
    Commands my life: her face and heart (sure) can
    Not be akin; nature mistook, or else
    She was to blame to give one woman two
    So great extremes.

                           _Enter +Arbatus+._

    See, here comes the brother
    To wronged Artabella: th' horror of
    That sin grows bigger in me,
    That I with a deluding love should fool
    An innocent, to show an outward scorn
    To false Amphelia; for when I heard
    She lov'd
    Ortellus, I straight made love to this young
    Woman, and brought her from her own country,
    Only to make Amphelia think I lov'd
    Another.

    +Arb.+      I hope I don't disturb your highness.

    +Duke.+ No, Arbatus, you are always welcome
    To me.

    +Arb.+   Sir, I should ask you a question.

    +Duke.+ You freely may.

    +Arb.+ Not but
    I think my sister far unworthy, either
    In birth or fortune, to be call'd your wife;
    Yet since you have been pleas'd to grace her with
    Your love so far, as saying she shall be your
    Duchess, be pleas'd to tell me why it is
    Not so? she has been here so long, that people
    Now begin to say you mean her for your mistress;
    Should my ears meet that sound from any tongue,
    I'd----

    +Duke.+     Hold, Arbatus, I'm sure I have given
    No cause as yet to doubt my kindness to
    Your sister.

    +Arb.+ Pardon me, sir, in your delay you have.
    My sister has no dowry but her virtue,
    Youth, and some small stock of beauty. These if
    You lov'd her for, you would not waste,
    By letting time rob her and you at once.

    +Duke.+ Sir, business of great importance has
    Hitherto deferr'd my marriage; believe
    Me, you shall find me just.

    +Arb.+ A prince's word
    Must not be question'd; I have done.

    +Duke.+ O Amphelia! what dost thou make me do?              [_Exit._

    +Arb.+ Let him take heed; if he does fool my sister,
    Were he ten thousand dukes, I'd cut his throat.             [_Exit._

                       _Enter +Philidor+ alone._

    +Phil.+ I have been quite at t'other end o'th' town,
    To put my children out to new nurses,
    For I am known to every nurse hereabout;
    That they will as soon nurse a cat's kitten
    As any child of mine. This is a very
    Pleasant life I lead, neither is this the
    Worst part of it; for there are a certain
    Flock of women that I have promis'd marriage,
    I expect a volley of shot from them too,
    Soon as they find me out. Would wives and children
    Were as hard to come by as money, then would
    I turn usurer, and let 'em out to use;
    For, to say truth, I have enough to spare.

                _Enter six +Ladies+, one after another._

    So, here comes one of my promis'd Virgins!
    Nay, a second too--a third--a fourth--a fifth--
    A sixth--Welcome, blessed half-dozen; now will I go
    Muster my nurses and children too, and go
    Against the Great Turk. I am glad to see
    They have brought ne'er a coffin, for I expect
    Nothing but death from them. I wonder they don't
    Begin to ring my funeral peal. See every
    One of them beckons to me, as much as to say,
    I'd speak with you in private; but the devil
    Take me if e'er a one of them do; I find
    By this they would not have their business known
    To one another; this may be a means for me
    To get off for this time--Ladies, you all
    Look as if you had something to say to
    Me; pray make me so happy as to let
    Me know what 'tis. They dare not speak aloud. [_Aside._] Will you,
    Madam? or you? or you, madam? or you,
    Madam? [What] not one of you tell me what
    The honour of these visits mean? I see
    I am troublesome to you all? therefore
    I'll not be longer rude; and so I take
    My leave--This was good luck, that they should come
    All together; for I had rather be                     [_Beckon him._
    Alone six hours with the devil, than with
    E'er a one of them an half hour--I'll stand close
    In this corner till they are all gone.

    +1st Lady.+ Now the pox take him for a cunning rogue!

    +2d Lady.+ A plague take him!

    +3d Lady.+           The devil take him!

    +4th Lady.+ If there be e'er a devil worse than another,
    Take him thou!

    +5th Lady.+ O, that I had him alone!

    +6th Lady.+ Was there ever such a rascal?
                                             [_Exeunt at several doors._

    +Phil.+ So the coast is clear again--                  [_Peeps out._

                           _Enter +Mirida+._

    S'death, here comes another--O, 'tis none
    Of that gang, though.

    +Mir.+ I'll lay my head, ne'er a girl in Christendom
    Of my age, can say what I can; I'm now
    But five years i'th' teens, and I have fool'd
    Five several men.

    +Phil.+ A brave wench, by this light!
    Sure, it is I in petticoats.

    +Mir.+                         My humour
    Is to love no man, but to have as many
    Love me as they please, come cut or long tail.

    +Phil.+ A most divine wench!

    +Mir.+ 'Tis a rare diversion, to see what several
    Ways my flock of lovers have in being
    Ridiculous; some of them sigh so damnably,
    That 'tis as troublesome as a windy day.
    There's two of them that make their love together,
    By languishing eye-casts; one of them has
    One eye bigger than another, and looks
    Like a tumbler; and that eye's like a musket
    Bullet, and I expect every minute when he
    Will hit me with it, he aims so right at me.
    My other lover looks a-squint, and to
    See him cast languishing eyes, would make a
    Woman with child miscarry. There is also
    A very fat man, master Pinguister, and
    A very lean man that loves me; I tell the
    Fat man I cannot marry him till he's
    Leaner, and the lean man I cannot marry
    Him till he's fat: so one of them purges
    And runs heats every morning, to pull down
    His sides, and th' other makes his tailor stuff
    His clothes to make him show fatter. O, what
    Pleasure do I take in fooling of mankind!

    +Phil.+ Was there ever so witty a wench? 'tis the
    Woman of women for my turn. I'll to her--
    Thou most renowned female! I cannot hold--

    +Mir.+ From what?

    +Phil.+ From kissing thee, [from] loving thee, or what
    Thou wilt.

    +Mir.+ Troth, y'are very well acquainted, consid'ring
    You never saw me before!

    +Phil.+ Saw thee! I have
    Heard thee talk this hour, like an angel of light.

    +Mir.+ Well, d'ye love me for what you heard me say?

    +Phil.+ Yes, faith, do I; why, you are just of my
    Humour; when I heard thee say how many
    Men you had fool'd, I was very glad to hear
    You come one short of me, for I have fool'd
    Six women, and you but five men.

    +Mir.+ Why,
    If you love me, you will be the sixth fool,
    To make up my half dozen too.

    +Phil.+ No, I
    Won't, and yet I love thee too.

    +Mir.+ Why, how will
    You help it?

    +Phil.+ Thus: you and I
    Will love one another.

    +Mir.+ What, whether I will or no?

    +Phil.+ Nay, hear me, we two will love how we please,
    When we please, and as long as
    We please: do not
    These propositions tickle your heart a little?

    +Mir.+ I don't mislike them--Now could I take him
    About the neck and kiss him for this humour
    Of his. And do you say you will love me!                   [_Aside._

    +Phil.+ Yes, marry, will I.

    +Mir.+             Nay, hold, I won't marry
    You.

    +Phil.+ Nor I thee, for all the world.

    +Mir.+ And yet
    You say you will love me?

    +Phil.+ I tell you
    I will: make no more words on it.

    +Mir.+ Why then,
    Hark you, to be as absolute as you,
    I will love you too, that is to say,
    Upon the aforesaid conditions.

    +Phil.+ With all my heart; prythee, don't think
    That I
    Will love thee upon any other terms. But come,
    We must seal this
    Bargain with hands, hearts, lips.

    +Mir.+ No, no; no lips; we will only shake hands
    Upon't, that's enough for so weighty a contract
    As this of ours.

    +Phil.+ But, prythee, let us seal
    The bargain.

    +Mir.+ No, no, sir, I use no wax
    To my lips.

    +Phil.+ Nay, by my troth, I care not
    A pin to kiss thee.

    +Mir.+ No? look upon me well,
    And see if you can say so again.

    +Phil.+ Hum--yes,
    Faith, I will give two-pence to kiss thee
    Now.

    +Mir.+ Well, sir, when I do kiss you, I'll 'bate you
    A penny of that.

    +Phil.+ Now you and I will sing this song.              [_He sings._

        _My love and I a bargain made,
          It is well worth a telling:
        When one was weary, we agreed
          To part, should both be willing._

    +Mir.+ Nay, here I'm for you too.                      [_She sings._

        _And thus our loves will longer last,
          Than fools that still are pining:
        We'll spend our time in joy and mirth,
          Whilst doaters do in whining._

    +Phil.+ Faith, you and I sing very well; we are
    Alike in that too: I see either nature
    Or the devil, somebody or something, made
    Thee and me for one another. Well,
    But let us
    Remember our conditions: imprimis, I
    Will love you.

    +Mir.+ Item, so will I you.

    +Phil.+ I
    Will not say how long.

    +Mir.+ Item, nor I neither.

    +Phil.+ Item, it may be I can love you but
    A week.

    +Mir.+ I don't care if't be but a day.

    +Phil.+ I'll ne'er be tied to any thing.

    +Mir.+ Item, thou shalt be tied to what thou wilt
    But me.

    +Phil.+ Item, I will come when I please,
    And go when I please.

    +Mir.+ Item, thou shalt drown
    Thyself when thou wilt, or hang thyself when
    Thou wilt, or go to the devil when thou wilt.

    +Phil.+ Item, if I should like another woman, I
    Will have the liberty of leaving you, without
    Any ceremony, but just saying
    Good-bye.

    +Mir.+ Item, if I should like any
    Man better than you, I'll leave you without saying
    So much as good-bye.

    +Phil.+ Item, the first that
    Sighs of us two, shall fast a week.

    +Mir.+ Item, the first
    That looks but melancholy of us two,
    Shall be starv'd to death.

    +Phil.+ To conclude, we will
    Both be as mad as we please.

    +Mir.+ Agreed,
    And the devil take the tamest!

    +Phil.+ A bless'd bargain!
    But hark you, there's one thing I have forgot.

    +Mir.+ What's that?

    +Phil.+ Have you had as many children as I?

    +Mir.+ No, indeed, ha'nt I.

    +Phil.+ Why, then you must let me help you to 'em,
    That you may be even with me there too.

    +Mir.+ Hold, sir, that bargain's yet to make.

    +Phil.+                                       Pox on't!
    That should have been one of our articles.

    +Mir.+ Well, I can stay no longer with you now.

    +Phil.+ Nay, prythee, hold, thou shalt not go yet; I
    Can't part with you so soon.

    +Mir.+ Ay, but I have
    A mind to go, and that is one of our
    Articles.

    +Phil.+ Well, but shan't we put that other
    Article in, before we part?

    +Mir.+ No, no, good-bye to you.

    +Phil.+ Farewell, mettle--                                  [_Exit._

            _Enter +Pinguister+, +Doctor+, and +Servants+._

    +Mir.+ Look you, master Pinguister, this is the
    Measure must meet about your waist, before
    I marry you.

    +Pin.+ This? why it will not come
    About the small of my leg.             [_Tries the measure himself._

    +Mir.+ Sir, I am sorrier
    For it: but it must compass your middle before
    You can be my dear chuck: your servant, sir,
    I am in haste.

    +Pin.+ Prythee, thou damnable
    Pretty rogue, let me have some comfort from thee,
    Before thou goest, either from thy eyes,
    Thy cheeks, mouth, or nose, or some part about thee
    Consider what a dissolution I
    Must undergo for love of thee.

    +Mir.+ I do indeed, sir; but your servant for this time.    [_Exit._

    +Pin.+ Worthy doctor, my hopes are all in you now,
    I have tried many physicians already
    To make me lean enough for that
    Tormenting, pretty fairy devil.

    +Doctor.+ Truly, sir, your case is very desperate;
    But if any man in the world can drain
    Your fat from you, 'tis I: sir, we'll begin
    Your course out of hand.

    +Pin.+ Do you hear, be sure
    I have at least two dozen of napkins ready
    Upon the spot, to rub me at every turn;
    Therefore come you all along with me--
    Have mercy on me, I have love and fat
    Enough to furnish a whole nation.                         [_Exeunt._




ACT III.


                _Enter +Amphelia+, going to the prison._

    +Amph.+ How false a woman to all eyes I seem,
    Because I still will hide my constant love!
    This way I take will bravely break my heart,
    To tell the duke were sneakingly to die:
    Since, if he knew that I did love him still,
    With basest scorns he'd laugh my soul to death;
    Such friendship to this pris'ner I will show,
    Shall make the duke believe my heart is there.
    To set him free I'll use my utmost art----.
    Would I could do as much for this poor heart!
    This way my love with my designs complies,
    Thus one in chains another's chains unties.
    I have made the jailor mine already,
    By promising him these hundred pieces--
    'Tis now about the time I appointed
    To be here--

                           _Enter +Jailor+._

    O, yonder's the jailor expecting me--
    Here, jailor, here's for thy
    Honesty: may the business be done now?

    +Jailor.+ O madam, never at a fitter time; take you
    The key and go in to the prisoner;
    Whilst I go see the passage clear,
    Stand you at th' door, and when I beckon
    To you, come away.

    +Amph.+ Honest jailor?

    +Jailor.+ So, now I am just i' th' fashion; I have taken
    Money to do her business, and instead
    Of doing it I have undone it.

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Ortellus+._

    +Ort.+ 'Tis so, sir.
    The jailor has discover'd all to me. Here
    He comes.

    +Jailor.+ And please your highness to stand close
    Here, for the lady Amphelia is now
    With the prisoner; I have given her a
    Key to convey him through this private passage;
    As soon as I beckon to her, she will come
    Away with him.                                       [_Beckons her._

    +Amph.+ Come, sir, give me your hand;
    The jailor beckons me; the way is clear.

    +Duke.+ Hold, lady, and your love, we must shorten
    Your journey a little.

    +Amph.+ Ha! the duke and Ortellus!
    I am betray'd! O villain jailor!

    +Ort.+ Sir,
    I fear we've interrupted them; it may be
    They were going to be married; ha, ha, ha!

    +Amph.+ If I were, 'twas what I refused you,
    Ortellus; that makes you so mad.

    +Duke.+ Well, madam,
    If you have a mind to be married, a priest
    Shall not join your hands, but you shall go both
    Back to the prison, and th' jailor shall tie you
    Both hands and legs together.

    +Amph.+ Know, sir,
    A prison with this brave gentleman
    Will be greater paradise to me, than to
    Be mistress of your palace. What do I say?                 [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ Well you shall have your desire then; ye shall live
    Together, and die together. How could
    I speak that word to her?                                  [_Aside._

    +Zor.+ She die, sir!
    Wou'd you destroy so great a world of virtue?
    Rather invent two deaths for me, that I
    May die for her too. You'll rob
    Your dukedom of your greatest treasure to take
    Away so blest a life as hers: let not
    An axe part such a head and body,
    Lest heaven frown and call you murderer. You'll pull
    Upon your head all mankind's curse: when nature
    Sees her bounty thus rewarded, she will
    Turn miser, and will give no more such blessings
    To th' world as this fair saint.

    +Duke.+ Well, sir,
    I'm satisfied ye like one another, so you
    Shall both return back to your straw beds, there you
    May lie as close together as you please.

    +Amph.+ No, sir, virtue shall lie betwixt us.

    +Duke.+ You will want a pillow, till you come both
    To execution, then you shall have one--
    A block to lay your heads on.

    +Amph.+ Know, [O] duke,
    My head will rest better with his upon a block,
    Than with yours on the softest pillow. How
    Many lies must I confess, before I die.                    [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ Indeed, you'll sleep pretty soundly. See, her scorn
    To me makes death a pleasure to her.                       [_Aside._
    My lord, give order that she may be brought
    Immediately to her trial; in the meantime,
    Jailor, take them into your custody;
    Lay 'em in shackles both. Cousin, many thanks
    To you for this timely discovery.
    I must leave you awhile.                                    [_Exit._

    +Ort.+ Duke, you shall have
    Less to thank me for, else I am deceiv'd.
    I've found out he loves Amphelia still,
    So she does him. Now will I go possess
    Arbatus of this, and tell him how the duke
    Intends to fool his sister. He has the
    Character of so strict a brother, and so brave
    A spirit, that his soul will never digest
    This injury without the duke's blood.
    Will join with him, and tell him how
    The business may be done.
    By this, one of these three things shall I have
    Either a mistress, dukedom, or a grave.

                   _Enter +Arbatus+ and +Artabella+._

    See, here comes Arbatus and his sister
    Artabella; they talk very earnestly.

    +Arb.+ Sister, I do not like it; the duke will
    Fool ye.

    +Art.+ Indeed, brother, I am amaz'd
    At this delay.

    +Arb.+ How does he carry himself
    To you?

    +Art.+ With all respect imaginable.

    +Arb.+ Then there must be something more in't,
    That he defers his marriage thus.

    +Ort.+ There is
    So, sir.

    +Arb.+ My lord, heark'ning's but a base office;
    But if you have heard it, 'tis no treason.

    +Ort.+ No, sir, but it is falseness in the duke,
    To use your worthy sister thus. I came
    To tell you upon my knowledge, he never
    Intended to marry her.

    +Arb.+ My lord, though I believe it, you must pardon
    Me, if I wonder at this information
    From your lordship, that is his near cousin.

    +Ort.+ Sir, you have the character of so brave
    A gentleman, conscience and honour
    Bids me discover this to you and your sister:
    Think of a way of being reveng'd, and here's
    My hand and heart to help you.

    +Arb.+ Pardon
    Me, that I cannot thank you truly, because
    I needs must doubt this offer from your lordship.

    +Ort.+ What can I say to confirm you? will the
    Word and honour of a gentleman do't?

    +Arb.+ To me those are things of great value.

    +Ort.+ Then here
    I give them both.

    +Arb.+ But what to do, my lord?

    +Ort.+ What you will.

    +Arb.+ Perhaps you think I'd have you
    Ask some place about the court for me, in
    Recompense of this injury to my sister?

    +Ort.+ No, sir, had you been such a person, I
    Should not have trusted you thus far with what
    I have said. I say [it] again, I am
    Your friend; if you doubt it, you wrong my honour.

    +Arb.+ Why then, my lord, to be short, nothing will
    Satisfy me, but the duke's----

    +Ort.+                  What?

    +Arb.+                        Blood.

    +Ort.+ Why,
    Thou shalt have it all, if I can help thee
    To't; this night will I convey you privately
    Into his bed-chamber. Come along with me,
    And I will tell you all.                                    [_Exit._

    +Arb.+ My lord, I follow you.
    Sister, go to your chamber.

    +Art.+ O brother!
    Heaven preserve you in this danger.

    +Arb.+ Now
    It comes into my head, I need not doubt
    This lord's truth; he is next heir to the dukedom,
    If the duke die without issue.
    'Tis base in him the duke's life to pursue,
    His blood is only to my sister due.                         [_Exit._

    +Art.+ False duke, thou justly hast deserv'd thy death;
    To cheat the innocent is a double crime;
    I had no cunning guard about this heart
    To keep it safe from a seducing tongue.
    I have lost my heart, which he by falseness won;
    How soon is truth and innocence undone!                     [_Exit._

                          _Enter +Philidor+._

    +Phil.+ Pray remember the poor prisoners, pray
    Remember the prisoners. Well, had I
    Not taken this course with the regiment
    Of women that I have promis'd to marry,
    I should have been devour'd by 'em by this
    Time. They came just now into my chamber,
    One by one, hoping to have found me alone,
    To have preach'd matrimony to me; but,
    To my blest deliverance, no sooner
    One was there, but another came; so I
    Persuaded them one by one, to slip up
    Into a garret: so still as one knock'd
    At the door, the t'other ascended; there
    Have I secur'd them with this key, and there
    Must I keep them till I have made
    Conditions with them.

                           _Enter +Mirida+._

    O, here comes Mirida.
    Pray remember the poor prisoners, pray
    Remember the poor prisoners.

    +Mir.+ Who the devil's that, Philidor?

    +Phil.+ The very same, my mettled female.

    +Mir.+ Why,
    What mad prank art thou playing now?

    +Phil.+                                Alack-
    A-day, I have great cares upon me; I
    Must provide meat for half-a-dozen ladies,
    That shou'd have been my spouses. Look up yonder;
    In that very garret, for aught I know, they
    Must dine and sup at my charge as long as
    They live; and thus must I be their cook every
    Day, and beg their first and second course.

    +Mir.+ I am sorry to hear this, because 'tis
    A wilder trick than I have done lately
    To any of my lovers. Prythee, let's
    Go under the window, and call to them.

    +Phil.+ Come away, you shall hear what vollies we shall
    Have from the castle. Most excellent
    Amazonian ladies, look out, and behold
    Your labouring purveyor, what pains he
    Takes to victual your castle,
    Because he knows you must be long there.          [_Women look out._

    +1st Lady.+ Rogue!

    +2d Lady.+         Rascal!

    +3d Lady.+                 Villain!

    +4th Lady.+                         Dog!

    +5th Lady.+                              Slave!

    +6th Lady.+                                     Hell-hound!

    +Phil.+ Methinks you represent the hemisphere,
    Because you are enthron'd so high; your eyes
    Appear like stars to us poor mortals here
    Below.

    +1st Lady.+ Villain, if we had thee here, thou
    Should'st find it hell.

    +Mir.+ Pray, ladies, what makes you
    So angry? Methinks the gentleman is
    Your friend, and has holpt you nearer heaven
    Than perhaps e'er a one of you would ever
    Have been.

    +2d Lady.+ What's that you say, little piss-a-bed?

    +Mir.+ Sweet angels, will never a one of you
    Please to descend?

    +3d Lady.+ Thou little devil,
    If we had thee here, we'd throw thee down again
    With such a swing, we'd knock that rascal's brains
    Out with thy fall.

    +Mir.+               Then, angry ladies, I
    Shall stay here--see, has not that lady
    A very fair nose at this distance?

    +Phil.+ Has
    Not t'other there a mouth, that when she opens it
    To scold, looks like a giant's cave?

    +4th Lady.+                            S'life, we'll
    Not be abus'd thus; here's a Hercules' statue,
    Let's throw it down upon their heads.

                [_+Mirida+ runs away, and meets +Pinguister+ and stops._

                   _Enter +Pinguister+ and +Doctor+._

    +Mir.+ Hold, Philidor, we shall have some new sport
    Of my making now; here comes my fat lover,
    Let us stand close and hear a little.

    +Ping.+ Doctor,
    Pray, how many stools may I happily have
    This morning by this purgation, already
    Taken by me?

    +Doctor.+ Doubtless, one hundred, sir.

    +Ping.+ Save me, 'twill swinge my bum-gut then: but how
    Much fat may it bring away?

    +Doctor.+ Peradventure,
    Half-a-dozen pounds.

    +Ping.+ Love! what dost thou make
    Me do? But, worthy doctor, from what parts of
    My continual purg'd body is this store
    Of fat extracted?

    +Doctor.+ Chiefly from your waist
    And calves of your legs.

    +Ping.+ And how many purges
    May make my waist and legs' calves, alias, calves
    Of my legs, delightful to her eye, sir?

    +Doctor.+ Sir, some ten purges: that is to say, you
    Must have a thousand stools to drain your treasure
    Of fat _totaliter_ from ye.

    +Ping.+ O love!
    O Mirida, for thee I daily purge:
    For thee I daily stink. I find
    I must keep company with the bears, that I
    May be able to endure my own stink the better.

    +Doctor.+ Come, sir, I think you had best begin to run
    Your heats.

    +Ping.+ O me! nothing cou'd e'er a made
    A footman of me but love. Well, I must
    Put on my pumps.

    +Phil.+ By this light, this is the
    Pleasantest scene as e'er I saw.

    +Ping.+ Nay, doctor,
    If you mean I should run, lend me your hand
    To help me up.                                 [_Puts on nightcaps._
    Now, in the name of love,
    I most unwillingly start.

    +Phil.+ S'death! he runs
    Like a duke.    [_He runs round, and sometimes goes out to untruss._

    +Mir.+ His stools come very quickly upon
    Him, one after another.

    +Ping.+ I must run
    With my breeches in my hand, my purge visits
    My bum-gut so intolerably often.

    +Doctor.+ Now, sir, for a cheerful loose.

    +Ping.+ By my heart,
    Master Doctor, I wonder at your cruelty,
    To ask a cheerful loose of me; am not
    I loos'd sufficiently by
    Your furious purgations?

                  _Enter +Lean-man+ and his +Tailor+._

    +Mir.+ O, here comes
    My lean lover.

    +Lean.+ Tailor, do I look gross
    Enough now?

    +Tailor.+ Yes, I'll assure you, you seem
    Very corpulent.

    +Lean.+ Well, I am sure if thou
    Hast not made me large enough, thou wilt thy bill.
    Now have at Mistress Mirida! sure, my
    Person will take her. Why, how now, cousin,            [_To +Ping+._
    What makes you running a heat?

    +Ping.+ I must not stop
    To speak with you, but come run by me,
    And I will tell you. Why, I see
    You know nothing. Mistress Mirida has a
    Great kindness for me, but cannot marry me
    Before I am leaner.

    +Lean.+ She fools him; her kindness is for me,
    And bids me make myself fatter, before
    We marry.                                                  [_Aside._

    +Ping.+ But pray, coz, what makes you stuff yourself so
    To appear big?

    +Lean.+ Yes, I do it to please
    Mistress Mirida's eye; she bid me.

    +Ping.+ So she makes
    An ass of him.                                             [_Aside._

    +Lean.+ Well, I won't hinder you
    In your exercise,
    Farewell. Now I'll to Mistress Mirida.                      [_Exit._

    +Ping.+ Good bye, good bye.
    God's fish, my purge again! O, O!

         _Enter +Clown+ with a cudgel, and beats him in again._

    +Clown.+ A nasty rogue, when a man's asleep,
    To come and do it just in his mouth! I'll swinge ye.

    +Ping.+ O, hold, good sir, 'twas the violence of my physic;
    Would my paunch were out, if I saw you!

    +Phil.+ Hold,
    What do ye mean to beat a
    Gentleman thus?

    +Clown.+ Let
    Him learn more manners, then, against next time.

    +Ping.+ O Mistress Mirida, I have been purg'd
    And beaten most extremely for your sake;
    Sure, I'm lean enough now to marry you.

    +Mir.+ That I cannot tell; but I have the measure
    In my pocket of what compass you were
    About when you first were in love with me,
    And also the measure to that you must
    Fall before I marry you. Here was your full
    Bigness, which was three yards about: let me see;
    You are fallen a yard.

    +Ping.+ Well, and won't you marry me then?

    +Mir.+ That you'll see presently; for here's the measure
    Must compass you about before I do.
    This wants a yard yet.

    +Ping.+ Well, and d'ye think it's possible
    For me ever to become such a grig
    As that measure will meet about me?
    Why, to do that you must embowel me, and then
    Shave the remaining rolls of fat off from
    My melting sides.

    +Doctor.+ Here, pray, sir, throw this blanket
    About you; you will catch your death.

    +Ping.+                                 Look you,
    Unreasonable mistress, thus am I
    Fain to do every day, because I would
    Melt myself into a husband for you:
    You may hear my guts at this time boiling
    Within me; I am confident they will
    Have the same fat as a kettle full of
    Black puddings that are over-boiled, and so
    Broken.

    +Doctor.+ Come, sir, you must needs go to bed.

    +Ping.+ That is to say, I must go swim; for that
    I do constantly in a sea of sweat.

    +Mir.+ Ay, pray, sir, I wou'd not for all the world
    You should miscarry.

    +Ping.+ Indeed, I look as
    If I were with child. Lady, if you have
    Any thoughts of going to heaven, have
    Mercy on me.

    +Mir.+         Farewell, garbage.

    +Ping.+ O heat! O fat! O love! what will you
    Do with me?                                   [_Exit with +Doctor+._

    +Phil.+ Was there ever such sport as we have seen?

    +Mir.+ Heaven send thee and I many a fair
    Year to be mad together in.

    +Phil.+ Ay, as
    You say, give us but time enough, and when
    We grow tame, let the bell toll for us.
    But stay, let us return
    Back to my virgins, that I may
    Make my conditions with 'em,
    Before they get out of prison.

                _Enter all the +Ladies+ and bind them._

                                   S'death! they
    Are all got out already.

    +1st Lady.+ O, have we
    Met with you now, ye pair of devils? we'll lay
    You fast enough. So good night to you, lie
    There till we come again.                          [_Exit +Ladies+._

    +Phil.+ Pox on't, was there
    Ever such luck as this? There was a trap-
    Door in the garret, which they found and got
    Out at.

    +Mir.+ What think ye now of this day's sport
    Philidor?

    +Phil.+ Plague on it, well enough; if
    They had not bound us back to back together,
    We might have pass'd away the time.
    Malicious jades! no way of bridling us
    But this? Pr'ythee turn about thy head, and let
    Us try if we can kiss one another
    A little.

    +Mir.+      No, no, we won't
    Try for fear you should put your neck out of
    Joint with turning it too much of one side.

    +Phil.+ Well, fortune should be more careful
    Of accidents of this nature, and not
    Contrive them so cross.

                             _Enter +Boy+._

    +Phil.+ O, here comes a boy. Here, sirrah, come hither.

    +Boy.+ What say you, master?

    +Phil.+ Here, prythee, unbind us, I'll give thee a
    Shilling.

    +Boy.+ Why, sir, can't you unbind yourselves?

    +Phil.+ Simple boy, thou seest we can't.

    +Boy.+ And have ye a mind to be unbound?

    +Phil.+ Yes, yes, we are in great torments
    To lie thus.

    +Boy.+ Then, sir, you shall give me a piece,
    And your hat, because I have never
    A one, or else farewell.

    +Phil.+ Well, stay, here take it out of my pockets.

    +Boy.+ Yes, that I will do, before I unbind you,
    And your hat too.                                           [_Exit._

    +Phil.+ The rogue's too nimble for me.

    +Mir.+ Well, Philidor, farewell, I must
    Go put
    On a clean handkerchief.

    +Phil.+                   And I
    Must go see if I can find a believing
    Haberdasher, else I shall be very
    Ceremonious to every one I meet.                            [_Exit._

                           _Enter +Fiddler+._

    +Mir.+ A fiddle! nay, then I am made again;
    I'd have a dance, if I had nothing but my
    Smock on. Fiddler, strike up, and play my jig,
    Call'd, _I care not a pin for any man._

    +Fid.+ Indeed I can't stay: I am going to
    Play to some gentlemen.

    +Mir.+ Nay, thou shalt stay
    But a little.

    +Fid.+ Give me half-a-crown then.

    +Mir.+ I have no money about me. But here, take
    My handkerchief.                                  [_Dance and Exit._




ACT IV.


           _Enter +Ortellus+ and +Arbatus+, as going into the
             +Duke's+ bed-chamber, and the +Duke+ in bed._

    +Ort.+ So, I will keep the door, whilst you
    Dispatch him.

    +Arb.+          My lord,
    I find you truly noble. Why, duke; why, duke! I say.
    Methinks my voice should wake his guilty soul,
    Nothing but innocence can sleep secure;
    Then why, good heaven, does he take
    Such rest?
    Awake, thou drowsy devil! Duke, my sister's
    Wrongs do call thee from thy sleep; methinks
    The sound of those should pierce thy ears. Why, duke!

    +Duke.+ What bold voice is that?

    +Arb.+ One that will be more
    Bold with you.

    +Duke.+ Who is't so impudent as
    To break my sleep?

    +Arb.+ 'Tis I, Arbatus, that
    Will put thee into a wonder.

    +Duke.+ Ha! what means
    That dagger in thy hands?

    +Arb.+ Canst thou ask that
    Question? it is to tickle thy false heart.

    +Duke.+ Ha, ha, ha! you jest, you jest.

    +Arb.+ What,
    Does the conceit on't make you laugh already?
    I was resolved to wake thee, before
    I sent thee to hell, because thou may'st know
    Of whose errand thou goest.

    +Duke.+ Come, come, leave
    Your foolery, lest you heat my blood.

    +Arb.+ If
    I do, I will let it out all, and that
    Will quickly cool it. I would give thee time
    To say thy prayers now, but that I know
    Thy sin to be so great, that heaven will
    Not pardon thee.

                          _Enter +Artabella+._

    +Ort.+ Who's that?

    +Art.+ 'Tis I, my lord:
    Artabella. Let me in quickly, that I
    May have one stab at his false heart, before
    My brother has put him past feeling.

    +Ort.+ And so thou shalt, brave girl.

    +Arb.+ Now, duke, good night to you, and the devil
    Send you good rest.

    +Art.+                Hold, brother.

    +Arb.+                               Who's that?

    +Art.+ 'Tis I thy injur'd sister, come to make
    The first hole in that base duke's heart; it is
    My right.

    +Arb.+ Begin, begin then, that I may
    Make an end.

    +Art.+ Stay, brother, not too fast,
    Has he said his prayers?

    +Arb.+ His pray'rs! why none
    But the devil will hear them. Come, come, sister,
    Give me the dagger again; you waste time.

    +Art.+ And so I will, the duke shan't die.

    +Arb.+ How, not die?

    +Art.+ Not die, I say.

    +Arb.+ Then you are his whore all this while, and wou'd
    Have him live, that you may be so still.

    +Art.+ Brother,
    Another word so foul, I'll strike this dagger
    Through your heart,
    Therefore hear me speak. Know then,
    'Tis I that cannot love the duke, which he
    Would never tell you, knowing 'twould make you angry
    With me.

    +Arb.+ Nay then I'll kill you for fooling
    A brother and your reputation thus.

    +Duke.+ Hold, Arbatus, she says it but to save
    My life. 'Tis I have fooled you both, therefore
    Strike here.

    +Arb.+ And so I will, then.

    +Art.+ Hold, brother;
    Pull not a load of sins upon your head;
    'Tis I have been to blame, indeed I have,
    With loving him too much.

    +Arb.+ Then thou shalt die.

    +Duke.+ Hold, sir, heaven will frown on you for ever,
    If you shed one drop of that pure blood; upon
    My word, 'tis I.

    +Arb.+ Keep not my tortur'd soul
    Thus in suspense. One of you tell me true,
    And that quickly too, else I will destroy
    You both, and that's the surest way not
    To mistake.

    +Duke.+ Then be assur'd 'tis I.

    +Art.+ Brother,
    'Tis not, 'tis I.

    +Arb.+ Heyday! heyday! I know
    Not what to do or say.       [_Throws down his sword and goes away._

    +Ort.+ So, he is dead,
    I hope.

    +Arb.+ No more than you are.

    +Ort.+                       How so?

    +Arb.+                               Come,
    My lord, as you go, I'll tell you.
                                     [_Exeunt +Arbatus+ and +Ortellus+._

    +Duke.+ O Artabella, why didst take my sin
    Upon thyself, hiding thy innocence
    With a face of guilt? My death had been not
    Punishment enough, because I have wrong'd
    So fair a life as yours. Which way to ask
    Forgiveness, I can't tell; there are no pardons for
    Such sins as mine; the only way to do
    Thee right, is this.                      [_Offers to kill himself._

    +Art.+ Hold, sir, my life
    Shall follow yours, if you strike.

    +Duke.+ Why would'st thou
    Have me live?

    +Art.+ Because I love you, sir.

    +Duke.+ And that's the only reason I would die.

    +Art.+ Why, would it be kindly done to show
    My eyes your blood?

    +Duke.+ Yes, far more kind than live, and show
    Thy heart no love. O Artabella, that thou wert
    My sister!
    Nothing but brother's love were then
    Thy due; and I could richly pay thee in
    That coin, a million more than ever brother did.

    +Art.+ Wou'd nature then had made me so, or else
    Had given me never a heart.

    +Duke.+ What wou'dst
    Thou have me do, poor Artabella?

    +Art.+ Nothing
    But love me, sir.

    +Duke.+ See, what thou doest ask
    A man, a god wou'd do; and yet I can't;
    'Tis not thy want of beauty, but my fate.
    Angels themselves, to look upon thy face,
    Wou'd take a journey twice a day from heaven.

    +Art.+ If you would come, though far a shorter way,
    You shou'd be much more welcome.

    +Duke.+ Sweet tongue, lie still, offer no more such love,
    As gods themselves to have wou'd think a bliss,
    Since all thy kindness does but wound my heart,
    To see thine shipwreck'd in a sea of love,
    And cannot give it harbour in my breast.

    +Art.+ Sir, let me beg one thing of you then.

    +Duke.+ With all my soul, be it my dukedom, and
    'Tis thine.

    +Art.+        'Tis no such great request;
    'Tis only when you meet me, say: I hate
    Thee, Artabella.

    +Duke.+ Why, could that word please thee?

    +Art.+ No; but to hear it said by you, would bring
    My death, then I wou'd thank you for my rest.
    Would you not come unto my grave, sir?

    +Duke.+ O yes, and make thy coffin float with a sea
    Of tears.

    +Art.+ Fair sir, of what?

    +Duke.+                    Of grief.

    +Art.+                               O me!
    A sea of tears, and yet not one of love!
    Waste not such precious drops upon my grave, it will
    Not satisfy my hovering soul to see
    Your eyes drop pity without love. Farewell, sir.
    O for a grave, that were a resting place;
    Good heart, be kind, and break apace!                       [_Exit._

    +Duke.+ Heaven love thee for me! Base Amphelia,
    Thou art the author of my horrid sin.                       [_Exit._

                    _Enter +Philidor+ and +Mirida+._

    +Phil.+ Thou talk'st of sport, Mirida; if all the
    Sport we have had already with our lovers,
    Come not short of this, hang me. You say you have
    Invited them already to my funeral.

    +Mir.+ Yes, yes.            [_+Philidor+ is laid out like a corpse._

    +Phil.+ So, so, methinks my body lies
    In great state, to see the tribe that will come
    By-and-by; here will be half a dozen
    Chief mourners, which should have been my wives, and
    Some three or four sons and heirs, besides three
    Or four hopeful daughters; these, with
    The congregation of nurses, will howl me
    A pleasant dirge. Mirida, you being my
    Executrix, must carry yourself very gravely;
    Here's my will, which you must read to 'em; I'll be
    The priest myself. Hark, somebody knocks           [_Knocks within._
    At the gate.

                             _Enter +Boy+._

    +Boy.+ Sir, they are all
    Come.

    +Phil.+ Let 'em in.--Now, Mirida, manage
    Your business well.

    +Mir.+ Let me alone, I'll warrant ye.

                     _Enter +Ladies+ and +Nurse+._

    +All Ladies.+ Ah! my poor dear, dear.

    +All Nurses.+ Ah! my poor dear master! ah, child,
    Cry for thy poor dad.                            [_Kiss the hearse._

    +Phil.+ What a dog-kennel's here! how they howl!           [_Aside._

    +Mir.+ When
    The passions of your grief are over, pray
    Hear me speak, because it concerns you all.

    +Phil.+ Pox of thy gravity, Mirida.                        [_Aside._

    +Mir.+ Nay, hold your tongue; if
    You set me once a laughing, I shall spoil
    Your funeral.                                              [_Aside._

                  _Enter +Pinguister+ and +Lean-man+._

    So here comes my fat lover and my
    Lean one! Welcome, gentlemen, I
    Was afraid I shou'd not have had your company.

    +Ping.+ Really, sweet lady, I have taken a purge
    To-day (as I do constantly, for love
    Of you) which has retarded me,
    By reason of its operation, neither can
    I say it has yet finished.

    +Mir.+ Sir, please you
    To sit down, and you,
    Master Pinguister.

    +Ping.+ Lady, I shall embrace your offer, and shall
    Press your chair. By my heart, madam, this chair
    Was fitter for a jackdaw than [for] me.
                                      [_Sits down and breaks the chair._
    Nay, they make such chairs now-a-days, that had I
    A grudge to an upholsterer, I would
    Desire no greater revenge than to sit
    Down upon every chair in his shop.

    +Mir.+ Truly,
    Sir, I am sorry for your fall.
    Ladies and gentlewomen, pray give your
    Attention to my dear deceas'd cousin's
    Will. Poor young man! he was kill'd yesterday
    By a duel:
    He liv'd but two hours after he was hurt,
    Which time he made use of, to settle something
    On all you here, his worthy friends.

    +Omnes.+ A good young man.

    +Mir.+ Imprimis, I bequeath my soul, as other
    People use to do, and so my body.

    Item, I give to Mistress Mary, for a reason that she knows,
    £500. Item, £500 to Mistress Margaret, for a reason she knows.
    Item, £500 to Mistress Sarah, for a reason she knows. Item,
    £500 to Mistress Martha, for a reason she knows. Item, £500 to
    Mistress Alice, for a reason she knows. Item, £500 to Mistress
    Eleanor, for a reason she knows. And so to all the rest. Item,
    To my nurses, I leave each of them £20 a year apiece for their
    lives, besides their arrears due to them for nursing. These
    sums [_speaks low_] of money and legacies I leave to be rais'd
    and paid out of my manor of Constantinople, in which the Great
    Turk is now tenant for life.

    If they should hear how their legacies              [_Laughs aside._
    Are to be paid, how they'd fall a-drumming on
    His coffin!

    Item, I leave to Master Pinguister,
    A very fat man.--

    +Ping.+ I am so.

    +Mir.+ An infallible
    Receipt to make him lean.

    +Ping.+ So I hope the
    Dead may do what the living cannot.

    +Mir.+ I leave to a certain lean gentleman,
    Whom I have seen in my cousin Mirida's
    Company, a sure receipt to make him fat.

    +Lean.+ I find he knew I was to marry his cousin.

    +Mir.+ I desire my body to be carried to the
    Grave by the six aforesaid gentlewomen.--
    So, ladies, now you have heard his will,
    Be pleased to take up the body: nurses,
    You are to follow next; now which o' you
    Will lead me?

    +Ping.+ I will, madam.

    +Lean.+ By my bones, but you shan't.

    +Ping.+ By my fat, but I will, sir.

    +Mir.+ Nay, gentlemen, pray, fall not out. Well, one
    Of you lead me one half of the way.                       [_Exeunt._

    +Ping.+ Agreed,
    Sir, take you her hand first,
    A very timely proposition, for my purge
    Works again. Save me!
    Whereabouts is the closet?          [_Goes out, and comes in again._
    What a loose must I run to overtake them
    Now! else I shall not lead my mistress the last
    Half-way. Deliver me from love and purges!

             _Enter all again with a coffin; +Philidor+ and
                  +Mirida+ shut them into the vault._

    +Phil.+ So, there let 'em converse with the dead a
    While; I would rather have 'em there than above
    Ground: here will I keep 'em till they have
    All quitted me under their hands and seals.

    +Mir.+ O, the sport that we shall have by-and-by!
    Well, but I must go home a little, my
    Father will miss me: where shall we meet
    Again?

    +Phil.+ Just here.

    +Mir.+              I will not fail.                      [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Amarissa+ just arrived._

    +Ama.+ I'm come too late, and yet too soon am here,
    Since dear Zoranzo's death is now so near.
    On the same block with him I'll lay my head,
    That our two bodies may have but one bed.
    Thus are our nuptial joys decreed by fate,
    Our wedding and our burial bear one date.
    Sure, I'm the first of maids that ever gave
    Her body to her lover in a grave.
    Alas! in cold embraces we must meet,
    With icy kisses in a winding-sheet.
    Yet though this life denies us time to love,
    The other life will not so cruel prove;
    Our souls so fast in lovers' knots we'll tie,
    That when the headsman strikes, they both shall fly,
    Twined in one another through the air,
    And be at rest, whilst other souls despair.

                           _Enter +Jailor+._

    This is the prison,
    And here's the jailor, I believe. Pray, sir,
    Do you belong unto the prison?

    +Jailor.+ Belong!
    Yes, I am the keeper of it.

    +Ama.+ Is not
    Here one Zoranzo a prisoner?

    +Jailor.+ Yes,
    But he won't be here long, for he is
    To die anon.

    +Ama.+ Ah me! sir, I am his
    Sister; pray help me to him, that I may speak
    With him before that cruel hour; I love
    Him so, that I must needs die with him; I'll
    Petition the duke that I may; sure, he'll not
    Deny me that request.

    +Jailor.+ I can tell you a way that you may be sure
    To have that favour granted.

    +Ama.+ Tell it me, and I'll thank ye.

    +Jailor.+ Why, if you'll try to convey him out of prison,
    As another lady has already, you may
    Bear them company too.

    +Ama.+ Why, has there any lady endeavour'd it?

    +Jailor.+ Yes, one that is his mistress, and they are
    Both to die together.

    +Ama.+ Ha! what is't I hear? his mistress, say you?

    +Jailor.+ Yes, mistress; they both lie as contentedly
    By one another, as if they were not two.

    +Ama.+ Curse him, good heaven, ye cannot throw too many
    Curses on him. Here, jailor, take this,
    And let me speak with the prisoner.

    +Jailor.+ Madam,
    You shall.

            _Enter +Zoranzo+ and +Amphelia+ as in prison, in
                                chains._

    +Zor.+ Amarissa! are my eyes false, or is it
    Truly she?

    +Ama.+ Your eyes are true; but 'tis your heart that's false.

    +Zor.+ I am deceiv'd! that cannot be her tongue.

    +Ama.+ Should it speak otherwise to thee, I'd tear
    It out, devil, Zoranzo; cursed pair
    Of vipers, that in chains of death can practise
    Lust, as if no end were nigh. Do not
    My wrongs startle thy guilty soul, to think
    Of all the torments it must have, that could
    With so much falseness murder love? When thou
    Art gone to hell, as go thou must, 'twill be
    A task for all the devils there,
    To torture thee enough. Thy sin is such,
    Were I thy headsman, when thou com'st to die,
    I'd be a week a-cutting off thy head,
    'Twixt every stroke I'd stop; and then I'd hollow
    Amarissa in thy ears; thy guilt would be
    An echo to my wrongs, and answer to
    My cry: wrong'd Amarissa;
    Which injur'd name repeated to thy ears,
    Would make thy soul think hell not half such pain.
    Farewell, Zoranzo, I'll come to see your
    Head struck off, and your lady's.

    +Zor.+ Base Amarissa, that can conclude me
    False, because she saw this lady lie in
    Chains by me, and could not ask me how we
    Came together. Thus to revile me, and
    Not know the truth: I'll scorn to tell her now!

                            _Enter +Duke+._

    +Ama.+ O sir, be pleas'd to hear a maid's petition,
    Though a stranger to you.

    +Duke.+ Fair maid, what is't?

    +Ama.+ Zoranzo that's condemn'd to die, may----

    +Duke.+ Not
    Live; if that be your request, pray do not
    Ask; I shan't grant it.

    +Ama.+ No, sir, 'tis that he
    May have a thousand deaths, instead of one;
    Or one that has more pain than thousands.

    +Duke.+ What makes you thus incens'd against him?

    +Ama.+ Heaven knows I have too much cause, sir. I have
    Lov'd him long, and the day he was your prisoner,
    Should have been our wedding. News being brought
    To me in my own country, that he was
    To die, in flying haste I took this tedious
    Journey; with sorrow and with joy I here
    Arrived; tears in my eyes for his approaching
    Death, smiles on my cheeks to think of dying
    With him; but when I came unto the prison gate
    I met the jailor, and he told me all,
    Then let me in, and to
    Rejoice my eyes, I saw two devils lie
    In chains together, and not half so fast
    As chain'd in love.
    All my intended kisses then I chang'd
    Into as many curses on his heart,
    Which with my eyes I spoke as well as tongue.

    +Duke.+ Alas! poor injur'd maid, we must be one
    Another's
    Petitioners; thy fate is mine;
    That woman which you saw with him has prov'd
    As false to me, as he to you.

    +Ama.+ For heaven's
    Sake, sir, let 'em die both; no sight would please
    Us like their blood; the jailor
    Told me they lie as close together all day
    As if they were not two.

    +Duke.+                    O, curse on 'em!

    +Ama.+ O, the devil take 'em! pray, sir, give order
    That they may be brought immediately
    To execution.

    +Duke.+ I will.

    +Ama.+ I'll go call the jailor, sir.         [_Steps to the prison._

                           _Enter +Jailor+._

    +Duke.+ Jailor, let the prisoners be brought to
    Execution straight, I'll be there myself.

    +Ama.+ And I too, sir.

    +Duke.+ You shall; we'll go together.                     [_Exeunt._




ACT V.


            _Enter +All Ladies+, +Nurses+, +Pinguister+, and
          +Lean-man+, as in the vault; +Philidor+ as a Crier._

    +Phil.+ _O yes, O yes, O yes! did any man hear tale_
    Or tidings of three nurses, called Three Flanders
    Mares, with three sucking colts?--

    +All Nurses.+ Hark, we are cried
    In the streets.

    +Phil.+ And also six maiden ladies, that should
    Have been married to a certain
    Promising gentleman?--

    +All Ladies.+ Devil! we are
    Cried too.

    +Phil.+ Also a very lean gentleman,
    That must be fatter before he's married?--

    +Lean-man.+ Hark, that is I?

    +Phil.+ And the hugest loss of
    All is one Master Pinguister, a lovely
    Fat gentleman, whom all that knew him, doubt him
    To be dead upon some privy-house; because
    He purged every day for love, by reason
    Mistress Mirida would not marry him till
    A certain measure that she[75] has will come
    About his waist--

                           _Enter +Mirida+._

    +Ping.+ Crier, I am here, I am here.

    +Phil.+ If any can bring news of the six aforesaid
    Virgin ladies, or of the three Flanders nurses
    And colts, to one Master Philidor, a very
    Conscientious young man--

    +Omnes.+                    A pox take him!

    +Phil.+ They shall be extremely paid for their pains.
    Again, if any can bring tidings of this
    Master Pinguister to Mistress Mirida,
    She will be very bountiful in her
    Reward: the poor soul weeps most bitterly
    For him.

    +Ping.+ Does she so, poor wretch? [_Cries aloud._] Prythee, good
    Crier, go tell her I am not dead, though
    I have been buried a great while in the
    Vault.
    Mercy of my bum-gut, my purge again?

    +Omnes.+ You nasty rogue, turn your breech out of the
    Gate then.

                          [_Goes to do so, +Philidor+ kicks him down, he
                                                             roars out._

    +Mir.+ Philidor, I have broke a vein
    With laughing, to hear thy rogueries. I'll call
    To Pinguister. Master Pinguister? My
    Love, my dear, sure, I hear thy voice?

    +Ping.+ Who's that,
    My dear female?

    +Mir.+ The same, fat love.

    +Ping.+ O, prythee raise me from the dead.

    +Phil.+ Well, ladies and gentlewomen, how d'ye
    Like your crier now?

    +Omnes.+ The devil take thee, was it you?

    +Phil.+ The very same.

    +2d Lady.+ Well, won't you let us out? pray howsoever,
    Take away this fat gentleman from us;
    For he has such a coming looseness, and
    'Tis so dark here, that he has
    Shit upon every one of us.

    +Omnes.+ Well, but won't you let us out?

    +Phil.+ Yes, if you ladies would set your hands
    To this paper, to quit me as to all promises,
    I will; and also, my reverend nurses,
    You must set your hands to this discharge,
    To quit me from all arrears of nursing:
    Else farewell t'ye--

    +Omnes.+ Well, well, stay; we will.              [_Set their hands._

    +Phil.+ So, now you may go take the air
    Again; there's the key to let yourselves out.

    +Omnes.+ A cheating rogue!

    +Phil.+ Come, Mirida, let's run away, for if
    They catch us, murder is the best we can
    Hope for.                                    [_Exit, with +Mirida+._

    +1st Nurse.+ They went this way; let's run after
    Them, some one way and some t'other.              [_Exeunt +Women+._

    +Ping.+ So you may, but if I run away, then
    Hang me; I am glad of my resurrection
    Howsoever. On my conscience, no green
    Carcase ever stunk as I did; to my best
    Remembrance I went to stool some
    Threescore times in the vault, _ergo_
    I was beaten threescore times; the
    Unmerciful nurses, with their huge
    Palm'd hands, every time I went to't,
    Play'd at hot-cockles[76] all the while upon
    My buttocks. Well, I hope I shall ne'er be
    Buried again whilst I live, and so with
    That prayer I'll go to bed.

                           _Enter +Mirida+._

    +Mir.+ My dear fat love, little dost thou think how many
    Tears I have shed for all thy sufferings; that rogue
    Philidor put a trick upon us all.

    +Ping.+ Well, and has physic, heats, burial,
    Nor resurrection, made me yet lean
    Enough to be thy husband? why, I have
    Lost as much grease as would furnish
    A whole city with candles for a twelvemonth
    And all for the love of thee, sweet Mirida.       [_Cries and sobs._

    +Mir.+ Dear love, come sit thee in my lap,
    And let me try if I can enclose thy world
    Of fat and love within these arms:
    See, I cannot nigh encompass my
    Desires by a mile.

    +Ping.+ How is my fat a rival to my joys!                  [_Cries._
    Sure, I shall weep it all away.

    +Mir.+ Lie still, my babe, lie still and sleep,
    It grieves me sore to see thee weep:
    Wer't thou but leaner, I were glad;
    Thy fatness makes thy dear love sad.
    What a lump of love have I in my arms!

    +Ping.+ Nay, if I had not taken all these courses
    To dissolve myself into thy embraces,
    One would think my looking on thee
    Were enough; for I never see thee but
    I am like a fat piece of beef roasting
    At the fire, continually drop, drop, drop.
    There's ne'er a feature in thy face, or
    Part about thee, but has cost me many
    A pint of fat, with thinking on thee;
    And yet not to be lean enough for
    Thy husband--O fate! O fate!
    O fat!                                         [_She lets him fall._

    +Mir.+ O Lord, sir, I have let you fall,
    How shall I do to get you up again!

    +Ping.+ Nay, that is more than all the world can tell.

    +Mir.+ I'll e'en lie down by thee then.

    +Ping.+ Nay,
    But prythee lie near me; thou hadst
    As good lie a league off, as that distance.

    +Mir.+     Were I thy wife, fat love, I would.

                             _+She+ sings._

    _My lodging upon the cold floor is,
    And wonderful hard is my fare,
    But that which troubles me more, is
    The fatness of my dear.
    Yet still I do cry, O, melt, love,
    And I prythee now melt apace;
    For thou art the man I should long for,
    If 'twere not for thy grease._

                         _+Pinguister+ sings._

        _Then prythee don't burden thy heart still,
        And be deaf to my pitiful moan;
        Since I do endure the smart still,
        And for my fat do groan;
        Then prythee now turn, my dear love,
        And I prythee now turn to me;
        For, alas! I am too fat still
        To roll so far to thee._

    +Mir.+ That were not modesty in me to turn
    To you; but if you can roll to me within
    This hour, I'll marry you in spite of all
    Your fat.

    +Ping.+ Agreed, then I shall gain thee yet;
    You must lie still then.

    +Mir.+ Yes, yes.

    +Ping.+ Sure, I am
    Sysiphus's stone, for as fast as I turn
    Over, I think I turn back again, else I
    Must needs have been come to my journey's end
                             [_He rolls to her, and she rolls from him._
    By this time; for I am of such a breadth,
    That every roll I give I pass over
    An acre at least. Thou liest still, my love,
    Dost thou not?

    +Mir.+ Yes, I long to have thee here.

    +Ping.+ I doubt I shan't be with thee, though,
    This two hours.

    +Mir.+ Then my heart will break.

    +Ping.+ I'm sure mine will before I get to thee.
    O woman, O woman, O woman!
    They talk of woman in travail, I'm
    Sure I know a man in travail at
    This time, in more pain by half.     [_She rises and laughs at him._

    +Mir.+ Why, my most extreme fat ass, dost
    Thou not find that I have fool'd thee
    All this while?

    +Ping.+ Why, hast thou?

    +Mir.+ Yes, indeed have I.

    +Ping.+ O thou woman! may'st thou grow
    Fat, that thy breast and belly may
    Meet together, so that all the fat
    Hostesses in Christendom may appear
    But eels to thee.

    +Mir.+ Farewell, my lowly love.

    +Ping.+ Why, wilt thou not help me up, before
    You go?

    +Mir.+ What to do? to run heats again for love?

    +Ping.+ No, to fight with thee.

    +Mir.+ Fight with me? by this light, would we
    Had two swords. I'd have one pass
    At all thy tripes.

                   _Enter +Cutler+ with two swords._

    Faith, and yonder's a fellow with two swords:
    Friend, lend me but thy swords one minute.

    +Cut.+ I am going to carry them to two gentlemen.

    +Mir.+ O, this will not hinder thee; thou shalt
    See rare sport. Go, help that gentleman
    Up that lies yonder, and give that sword
    Into his hand. Come, are ye ready, sir?

    +Ping.+ Why, you dare fight then, it seems?
    Though thou art so ungodly a chit, as
    To say no prayers, before thou beginn'st,
    I will, I assure thee.
    Good--I pray and desire ye, if I
    Do miscarry in this duel, that I may
    Meet with no woman in the other
    World. Now, thou worst of females,
    Have at thee.

    +Mir.+ Come, I'll let out all your fat and love at
    One thrust.                           [_Fight, and she disarms him._
    Now ask thy life, and confess thou art an ass.

    +Ping.+ I am an ass, and ask my life.

    +Mir.+ Then I, thy conquering Cæsar, take my leave
    With this conclusion: _veni, vidi, vici._
    And so farewell. O fate, O love, O fat!                     [_Exit._

    +Ping.+ After all my miseries, would I were
    Up again, else the next man that comes
    Will make a roller of me, for to roll
    Bowling-greens.
                 [_Makes several attempts to rise, and at last gets up._
    So, now I have a mile home at least,
    And every toilsome step I take, I will
    Curse women.                                                [_Exit._

            _Enter +Zoranzo+ and +Amphelia+ lying upon straw
                               together._

    +Zor.+ Most bless'd of women, I must tell you truth;
    And yet I fear that truth will----

    +Amph.+ Will what? I doubt he loves me--                   [_Aside._
    Speak it, sir, nothing from you can
    Be unwelcome.

    +Zor.+ O yes, it will.

    +Amph.+ I'll warrant you; out with it, sir.

    +Zor.+ Then know, I----'Twill come no farther.

    +Amph.+ Unhappy man! 'tis so, he loves me.                 [_Aside._
    O sir, I have sadder truth to tell to you
    Than yours can be to me----I dare not
    Speak it.

    +Zor.+ My fears are true; she loves me.                    [_Aside._
    Pray tell me, what it is?

    +Amph.+ Tell yours first, sir.

    +Zor.+ Alas! you saw I tried, but could not get
    It past my lips.

    +Amph.+ If I should try, mine would not come so far.

    +Zor.+ Would I knew yours, I could tell it for you.

    +Amph.+ So could I yours, [and] yet I can't my own.

    +Zor.+ Alas! she loves me.                                 [_Aside._

    +Amph.+ Poor Zoranzo! I see he loves me.                   [_Aside._
    But, sir, consider we are going to die;
    Let us die undeceiv'd in one another.

    +Zor.+ O, that some one that knows each of our hearts,
    Would hearken to our griefs, and bid
    An angel come and speak for both!

                           _Enter +Jailor+._

    +Jailor.+ Come, have you done your discourse? you must go
    To execution.

    +Zor.+ A little patience, jailor: [_To her_] see, we are
    Called unto our deaths, pray tell me, what
    You mean.

    +Amph.+ I cannot; first do you begin.

    +Zor.+ Nor I.

    +Amph.+ Let us tell both together then, that one
    May not blame the other.

    +Zor.+ Agreed: are you ready now to speak!

    +Amph.+ Yes--O no, I am not--well, now I am--
    Are you?

    +Zor.+ Yes, I am; begin--O, stay, I cannot yet.

    +Jailor.+ Come, come, I can give you no longer time.

    +Amph.+ Nay, then we must tell.

    +Zor.+ Poor Amphelia! 'tis Amarissa that
    I love.

    +Amph.+ O Zoranzo, I love the duke!

    +Zor.+ Then I am joy'd, I was afraid 'twas me
    You lov'd.

    +Amph.+ And so was I that you lov'd me.
    Now we shall both die happy, never was
    Two such friends as you and I.

    +Jailor.+ Come, come.

    +Amph.+ Good jailor, we go most willingly now.            [_Exeunt._

        _Enter as on a scaffold, +Duke+, +Amarissa+, +Ortellus+,
          +Zoranzo+, +Amphelia+, +Jailor+, and +Executioner+._

    +Ama.+ Jailor, why didst thou let them stay so long?

    +Jailor.+ They had so much to say to one another,
    That still they begged one minute, and then
    Another.

    +Ama.+ D'ye hear, sir? pray let the jailor
    Be turn'd out of his place, for letting them speak to
    One another.

    +Amph.+ See, Zoranzo, where they sit
    In triumph o'er our deaths.

    +Ama.+ S'life, sir, they are
    Whispering, d'ye see
    Yonder? Executioner, why don't you
    Strike off their heads, and let them whisper then.
    Sir, you're melancholy.

    +Duke.+                   I am indeed.

    +Zor.+ Now, Amphelia, to heaven and you I truly
    Vow, my love is still the same to cruel Amarissa.

    +Amph.+ Heaven and you witness the same for me:
    My heart is still that undeserving duke's.

    +Exec.+ Come, which of you will die first?

    +Zor.+ Hast thou not
    Skill enough to strike our heads off together?

    +Ama.+ Executioner, let them not have that
    Satisfaction; pray, sir, let that woman
    Die first, that damned Zoranzo may have
    Two deaths; it will be one to him to see
    Her die; shall it be so, sir?

    +Duke.+ What you please.

    +Exec.+ Come, lady, you must lay down your head
    First, the duke says.

    +Amph.+ That word's the sharpest axe
    That I shall feel.

    +Exec.+             Have you said all?  [_Both kneel as at prayers._

    +Amph.+                                 To earth I have,
    But not to heaven.
    Farewell, dear friend, for one short minute.

    +Zor.+ My soul
    Shall hasten after yours.

    +Ama.+ S'life! jailor, will you
    Let them speak to one another again?

    +Amph.+ Executioner, now I am ready.

    +Duke.+ Hold,
    The prisoner shall die first.

    +Zor.+ With all my
    Heart, I am ready.

    +Duke.+ Nay, it is not you
    I mean, sir; rise; 'tis I that am the prisoner,
    I will make you a present, take your life,
    Your love; nay, and my dukedom too: and to
    Oblige you most of all, executioner,
    Strike off my head, for I am weary of it.

    +Amph.+ Not for ten thousand worlds, sir,
    Whate'er you mean.

    +Duke.+ Know then, I have lov'd you
    All this while, but seeing your hate so great to me,
    I have dissembled scorn to you.                       [_She swoons._
    Why dost thou swoon, Amphelia?

    +Amph.+ Did not I hear some voice just now,
    That said the duke does love me still?

    +Duke.+ Thou didst; 'twas he himself that said so.

    +Amph.+ If 'twere from heaven, good heaven, say it again!

    +Duke.+ 'Twas I myself, I tell thee--and I will
    Ne'er speak another word, if that displease thee.

    +Amph.+ O, I am in heaven then, it seems, and 'tis
    Some god that is telling me how the duke
    Loved me still.

    +Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, 'tis I
    That loves thee, tells thee so.

    +Amph.+ Hark, now there is a god that says he loves
    Me too; blest god, I'm sorry if you do.
    Since I have heard the duke does love me still,
    He must be your rival, indeed I cannot
    Help it. O, let me fly down to the earth
    Again, only to hear him say he loves me.
    I cannot promise when I shall return:
    That very word from him would keep me there.

    +Duke.+ I must answer her no more: they say
    'Twill keep 'em longer in a trance.                  [_He rubs her._

    +Ort.+ I am but in a scurvy condition now, if
    She comes to life again, for they will
    Examine one another, how the mistake
    Came between them, and then I am
    Sure it must come to light.                                [_Aside._

    +Amph.+ Who's that,--duke Archimedes?

    +Duke.+ The same, sweet angel.

    +Amph.+ O sir, I am come from heaven to see you,
    Since there I heard you love me still.

    +Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, thou hast dream'd all this while;
    Heaven, 'tis true, is where thou art, but 'twas
    My voice that said I love thee.

    +Amph.+ Was not my head struck off just now?

    +Duke.+ Canst thou ask that, while I have
    A head and heart?

    +Amph.+ Why, have you lov'd me still?

    +Duke.+ With as much truth as ever lover did.

    +Amph.+ So have I you with equal constancy.

    +Ama.+ Well, sir, now you are satisfied, pray let
    Me be so too, and let Zoranzo's head
    Be struck off quickly,
    I see he's mean as well as false, to quit
    Me for a woman that does not love him.

    +Amph.+ Hold, Amarissa, hear me speak, before
    Zoranzo dies; and be assur'd he loves
    You still.

    +Ama.+ Would you deceive me too?

    +Amph.+ Indeed I don't; when we were going to die,
    You may remember that we whispered,
    Then we called heaven and ourselves to witness,
    That both our loves were true,
    Mine to Archimedes, and his to you.

    +Ama.+ You can forgive me, sir?                           [_Kneels._

    +Zor.+ I cannot answer yet;
    Thy civility has took away my speech.

    +Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, how came this sad mistake
    'Twixt you and I?

    +Amph.+ I'll tell you, sir, in part;
    When you were in this last war, my woman
    Receiv'd a letter from one of the gentlemen
    Of your chamber, wherein he did assure
    Her that you had a new mistress in that
    Country, and therefore bid her tell me
    Of it, that I might by degrees wean my
    Affections from so false a man as you.

    +Duke.+ Here has been some foul play; for this very man
    You spoke of, receiv'd a letter from your woman,
    Wherein she bid him assure me, that you
    Were prov'd false in my absence, and lov'd my
    Cousin Ortellus. Guard, go fetch them both
    Hither immediately; they shall die
    Without mercy.

    +Ort.+ Nay, then, I had as good
    Discover, 'twill fall th' heavier on me else.
    Sir, let the guard stay,
    And I will tell you all.
    'Tis I have sow'd the seeds of this mistake.
    I long have lov'd Amphelia, for which cause
    I tried this way to draw her heart from you.
    I knew this gentleman of your bed-chamber
    Was in love with Amphelia's woman,
    Therefore I brib'd her to write to him,
    To assure the duke that Amphelia lov'd me,
    And that she should also charge him, to write
    Another letter to her, wherein he
    Should complain of the duke's falling in love
    With another woman in that country.
    I knew your spirits both to be so great that
    Neither of you would stoop to one another,
    When you were both possess'd of either's falseness:
    And so it prov'd.
    For when the duke heard you lov'd me, he brought
    A fair new mistress over with him, to
    Let you see he did contemn you; and so
    Amphelia, sir, when she heard you lov'd
    Another, assur'd me then that she lov'd me,
    Which now I see was only to make you
    Think how much she scorn'd you, though still her heart
    Was true, and so was yours. Now, sir,
    I humbly beg your pardon.

    +Duke.+ 'Twill be in vain, my lord; I cannot grant it.
    O Amphelia, how many hours of joy
    We two have lost!

    +Amph.+ Base lord!

                          _Enter +Artabella+._

    +Art.+ O sir, I heard that people were to die
    To-day; let me be one, I pray.

    +Amph.+ Not for
    The world, sweet innocent.

    +Art.+ O madam, you are she
    The duke loves. Pray spare your pity, sir; can
    You have the heart to let me live, and see
    You married to another?

    +Amph.+ Have patience,
    Sweet young maid, I will not marry him; you won't
    Blame me, if I love him, though?

    +Art.+ No;
    For then I should condemn my fault in you.

    +Duke.+ But sure, Amphelia, you did but jest,
    In telling her you would not marry me?

    +Amph.+ Indeed, sir, I am in earnest; consider
    It is but justice; she loves you as well
    As I: her heart was quiet till you troubled
    It.

    +Duke.+ All this is true; but how will your
    Love show, if you refuse to marry me?

    +Amph.+ Not less at all, but make my pity more.

    +Duke.+ If I would marry her, I can't believe,
    That she would be thus kind to you.

    +Amph.+ Yes, I dare say she would; ask her and try.

    +Duke.+ Well, Artabella, will you marry me?

    +Art.+ You never hated me till now; can you
    Believe I'd wrong so blest a woman as
    Amphelia?

    +Amph.+ See, sir, would it be justice now in me?
    She will not wound my heart; should I kill hers?

    +Duke.+ But consider, 'tis you I love, not her.

    +Amph.+ That's her misfortune, sir, yet she deserves.
    As much as I: I can but love you, so
    Does she.

    +Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, marry me.

    +Amph.+ I cannot
    Out of pity, sir.

    +Duke.+ Talk not of pity, if
    Thou wilt show me none.

    +Amph.+ My pity is her due:
    My love is yours.

    +Duke.+ O Amphelia, this was
    A cruel way to make me happy. Thou'st
    Better still have kept my joys unknown, than let
    The knowing of it be my death. Once more,
    My dear Amphelia, marry me.

    +Amph.+ Do not
    Petition her; you may command in any
    Thing but this.

    +Duke.+ Monster of villains, thou hast caus'd
    All this! Executioner, immediately strike
    Off his head.

    +Ort.+ I'm sure you will not let me die.

    +Duke.+ Impudent villain, dispatch him straight.

    +Ort.+ Hold, sir, 'tis only I can make you
    Three happy, which if you do not confess,
    When you have heard me speak, then let me die.

    +Duke.+ Well, let's hear it.

    +Ort.+ Promise me my life
    First, if I do.

    +Duke.+ Well, you shall have it.

    +Ort.+ Then know, the lady Artabella is
    Your sister.

    +Duke.+ Ha!

    +Ort.+ I say, your sister;
    You do remember that you had one once?

    +Duke.+ Yes, I do, but she was lost at three years old.

    +Ort.+ 'Tis true it was thought so; but thus it is:--
    When 'twas reported you were slain in th' battle,
    I straight convey'd away this lady, then
    A child, because she should not stand 'twixt me
    And the dukedom. I being then acquainted
    With the mother to Arbatus, I brought
    This lady, and gave her a sum of money,
    T' adopt her for her child. With willingness
    My offer she embrac'd, the more, because
    Her son Arbatus had been lost about
    Seven years, thought to have been cast away
    At sea, though afterwards returned home:
    I had enjoin'd her secrecy, which she
    Kept, therefore she told Arbatus 'twas his
    Sister.

                           _Enter +Arbatus+._

    +Duke.+ And is she then my sister? O
    Arbatus, welcome, welcome! I've a crowd
    Of joys about my heart to tell thee.

    +Arb.+ What! that you have broken my sister's heart?

    +Duke.+ Thou hast no sister; 'tis I [that] possess that
    Blessing; Artabella is my sister.
    How blest a sound is _sister_ to my ears!
    I'll give command no other word but _sister_
    Shall be spoke throughout my dukedom; I'll have it
    Taught to infants; so that when nature lends
    Their sucking tongues a means to speak one word,
    They shall all babble _sister_, 'stead of _nurse._
    I'll have the name engrav'd in gold [up]on
    Every post and pillar in the streets, and passers-
    By shall worship it.

    +Arb.+ I am amazed.

                    _Enter +Philidor+ and +Mirida+._

    +Duke.+ Welcome, Philidor.

    +Phil.+ I am glad
    To see joy in your looks again, sir;
    The time is long since I have seen you smile.

    +Duke.+ Philidor, all that is joy I have within
    This breast; it overflows
    And runs into my eyes. This is my sister!
    (O, what a word is sister!) and this my dear
    And true Amphelia.
    Come, Mirida shall be thine to-day too.            [_To +Philidor+._

    +Mir.+ Hold, sir, I forbid that banns.

    +Phil.+ Troth, so do I too; you always
    Take the words out of my mouth.
    You and I marry, quotha!

    +Mir.+ No, faith, we'll be hang'd first. I'd
    Rather hear a long sermon, than
    Hear a parson ask me: _Mirida,
    Will you have this man for your
    Wedded husband, to have and to hold,
    From this day forward_, and so forth.

    +Phil.+ Right, _for better for worse, in
    Sickness or in health._

    +Mir.+ Ay, and perhaps after we have been
    Married half a year, one's
    Husband falls into a deep consumption,
    And will not do one the favour to
    Die neither, then we must be
    Ever feeding him with caudles.
    O, from a husband in a consumption
    Deliver me!

    +Phil.+ And think how weary I should be
    Of thee, Mirida, when once we were
    Chain'd together: the very name of
    Wife would be a vomit to me: then
    Nothing but, _where's my wife? call
    My wife to dinner, call my wife to supper_;
    And then at night, _come, wife, will you
    Go to bed_?

    +Mir.+ Ay, and that would be so troublesome
    To be call'd by one's husband every night
    To go to bed. O, that dull, dull
    Name of husband!

    +Duke.+ Indeed you two are well met,
    The world has not two more such,
    I am confident.

    +Mir.+ The more the pity, sir.

    +Phil.+ No, sir, if you please, never propose
    Marrying to us, till both of us have
    Committed such faults as are death
    By the law; then instead of
    Hanging us, marry us.

    +Mir.+ And then you shall hear how
    Earnestly we shall petition your
    Highness to be hang'd rather than
    Married.

    +Duke.+ No man can judge which is the
    Wildest of these two.
    Now, brave Arbatus, in all my dukedom
    There is but one gift worthy thy
    Receiving, and that's my sister;
    Here, sir, take her as freely as heaven
    Gave her me.

    +Arb.+ D'ye forgive me, sir?

    +Duke.+ Or not myself, Arbatus.
    This day Hymen shall light his torch for all.

    +Phil.+ With your pardon, sir, not for me
    And my female?

    +Mir.+ No, faith, I'll blow it out,
    If he does.

    +Art.+ Sir, though in my own desires
    I should have chose the man that you have given me,
    Yet I beg we may not marry yet; we have
    Call'd brother and sister so long, that yet
    We needs must think we are so still.

    +Arb.+ Pray, madam,
    Let's think so as little a while as we can,
    That fancy may not keep my joy in prison.

    +Duke.+ Let's to the temple now, and there thank
    Heaven for these unexpected joys.
    Each day the gods shall lend me in this life,
    I'll thank them for a sister and a wife.                  [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[75] [Old copy, _he_.]

[76] [See Thoms' "Anecdotes and Traditions," 1839, p. 95.]




HISTORIA HISTRIONICA.




_EDITION._

    _Historia Histrionica. An Historical Account of the
      English-Stage; showing the Ancient Uses, Improvement, and
      Perfection of Dramatic Representations, in this Nation. In
      a Dialogue, of Plays and Players._--Olim meminisse juvabit.
      _London. Printed by G. Croom, for William Haws, at the Rose
      in Ludgate-Street._ 1699. 8º.


This tract is said to have been the production of James Wright of New
Inn, afterwards of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law, who was the
son of Abraham Wright, a well-known miscellaneous writer (1645-70).
The former was the author of "The Antiquities of Rutlandshire," and
some poems; particularly (1) "An Essay on the Present Ruins of St
Paul's Cathedral." To which is annexed, "The Misfortunes of St Paul's
Cathedral," in heroic verse, 4º. 1668; reprinted with two other poems
under the title of (2) "Three poems of St Paul's Cathedral; viz., The
Ruins, The Rebuilding, The Choire,[77] Fo. 1697," and (3) "Phœnix
Paulina, a Poem on St Paul's Cathedral, 4º. 1709."[78] He was alive
in 1710, being mentioned by Mr Hearne in his preface to Leland's
"Itinerary," in this manner; "I could have supply'd more Lacunæ, and in
all likelyhood have render'd this performance more perfect, if I had
had the use of a very good transcript of Mr Leland's 'Itinerary,' taken
about the time of Queen Elizabeth (before the originals took wet, as is
suppos'd) and was formerly in possession of James Wright, of the Middle
Temple, Esq., the worthy author of the 'Antiquities of Rutlandshire;'
but this, with a multitude of other valuable curiosities, was unhappily
burned in the fire at the Middle Temple, in the year 1698, as Mr Wright
has been pleased to inform me." Anthony Wood says, he wrote an elegy on
the death of Mr John Goad, Master of Merchant Taylor's School, who died
1689. (See Wood's "Athenæ," vol. i. p. 839.)

FOOTNOTES:

[77] British Topography, vol. 1. p. 610.

[78] Catalogue of pamphlets in the Harleian Library, p. 140.




THE PREFACE.[79]


Much has been writ of late _pro_ and _con_ about the stage, yet the
subject admits of more, and that which has not been hitherto touched
upon; not only what that is, but what it was, about which some people
have made such a bustle. What it is we see, and I think it has been
sufficiently displayed in Mr Collier's book; what it was in former
ages, and how used in this kingdom, so far back as one may collect any
memorials, is the subject of the following dialogue. Old plays will be
always read by the curious, if it were only to discover the manners and
behaviour of several ages, and how they altered. For plays are exactly
like portraits, drawn in the garb and fashion of the time when painted.
You see one habit in the time of Charles I., another quite different
from that, both for men and women, in Queen Elizabeth's time; another
under Henry VIII. different from both; and so backward, all various.
And in the several fashions of behaviour and conversation there is as
much mutability as in that of clothes. Religion and religious matters
were once as much the mode in public entertainments as the contrary
has been in some times since. This appears in the different plays of
several ages: and to evince this the following sheets are an essay or
specimen.

Some may think the subject of this discourse trivial, and the persons
herein mentioned not worth remembering. But besides that I could name
some things contested of late with great heat, of as little or less
consequence, the reader may know that the profession of players is not
so totally scandalous, nor all of them so reprobate, but that there has
been found under that name a canonised saint in the primitive church,
as may be seen in the "Roman Martyrology" on the 29th March: his name
_Masculas_, a master of interludes (the Latin is _Archimimus_, and the
French translation _un Maître comedien_) who, under the persecution
of the Vandals in Africa by Geisericus the Aryan king, having endured
many and grievous torments and reproaches for the confession of the
truth, finished the course of this glorious combat, saith the said
"Martyrology."

It appears from this and some further instances in the following
discourse, that there have been players of worthy principles as to
religion, loyalty, and other virtues; and if the major part of them
fall under a different character, it is the general unhappiness of
mankind, that the _most_ are the _worst._

FOOTNOTES:

[79] This preface was omitted by Mr Reed, probably because his copy was
not perfect. It is reprinted from the first edition in 1699, which the
former editor had not been able to procure.--_Collier._




A DIALOGUE, &c.


                         +Lovewit+, +Trueman+.

    +Love.+ Honest old cavalier, well met! faith, I'm glad to see
    thee.

    +True.+ Have a care what you call me: old is a word of disgrace
    among the ladies; to be honest is to be poor and foolish (as
    some think); and cavalier is a word as much out of fashion as
    any of 'em.

    +Love.+ The more's the pity. But what said the fortune-teller
    in Ben Jonson's "Masque of Gipsies," to the then Lord Privy
    Seal?--

                        _Honest and old!
        In those the good part of a fortune is told._

    +True.+ Ben Jonson! how dare you name Ben Jonson in these
    times, when we have such a crowd of poets of a quite different
    genius, the least of which thinks himself as well able to
    correct Ben Jonson as he could a country schoolmistress that
    taught to spell!

    +Love.+ We have, indeed, poets of a different genius, so are
    the plays; but, in my opinion, they are all of 'em (some few
    excepted) as much inferior to those of former times, as the
    actors now in being (generally speaking) are, compared to
    Hart, Mohun, Burt, Lacy, Clun, and Shatterel; for I can reach
    no farther backward.

    +True.+ I can, and dare assure you, if my fancy and memory are
    not partial (for men of my age are apt to be over-indulgent to
    the thoughts of their youthful days), I say the actors that I
    have seen before the wars--Lowin, Taylor, Pollard, and some
    others--were almost as far beyond Hart and his company as those
    were beyond these now in being.

    +Love.+ I am willing to believe it, but cannot readily; because
    I have been told that those whom I mentioned were bred up under
    the others of your acquaintance, and followed their manner of
    action, which is now lost: so far that, when the question has
    been asked why these players do not revive the "Silent Woman"
    and some other of Jonson's plays (once of highest esteem),
    they have answered, "Truly, because there are none now living
    who can rightly humour those parts; for all who related to the
    Blackfriars (where they were acted in perfection) are now dead
    and almost forgotten."

    +True.+ 'Tis very true, Hart and Clun were bred up boys at
    the Blackfriars, and acted women's parts. Hart was Robinson's
    boy or apprentice; he acted the Duchess in the tragedy of the
    "Cardinal," which was the first part that gave him reputation.
    Cartwright and Wintershal belonged to the Private House in
    Salisbury Court; Burt was a boy, first under Shank at the
    Blackfriars, then under Beeston at the Cockpit; and Mohun and
    Shatterel were in the same condition with him at the last
    place. There Burt used to play the principal women's parts,
    in particular Clariana, in "Love's Cruelty;" and at the same
    time Mohun acted Bellamente, which part he retained after the
    Restoration.

    +Love.+ That I have seen, and can well remember. I wish they
    had printed in the last age (so I call the times before the
    Rebellion) the actors' names over against the parts they acted,
    as they have done since the Restoration, and thus one might
    have guessed at the action of the men by the parts which we now
    read in the old plays.

    +True.+ It was not the custom and usage of those days, as it
    hath been since. Yet some few old plays there are that have the
    names set against the parts, as "The Duchess of Malfy," "The
    Picture," "The Roman Actor," "The Deserving Favourite," "The
    Wild-Goose Chase" (at the Blackfriars), "The Wedding," "The
    Renegado," "The Fair Maid of the West," "Hannibal and Scipio,"
    "King John and Matilda" (at the Cockpit), and "Holland's
    Leaguer" (at Salisbury Court).

    +Love.+ These are but few indeed. But pray, sir, what
    master-parts can you remember the old Blackfriar's men to act
    in Jonson, Shakespeare, and Fletcher's plays?

    +True.+ What I can at present recollect, I'll tell you.
    Shakespeare (who, as I have heard, was a much better poet than
    player), Burbage, Hemmings, and others of the older sort,
    were dead before I knew the town; but in my time, before
    the wars, Lowin used to act with mighty applause Falstaff,
    Morose, Volpone, and Mammon in the "Alchymist," Melantius
    in the "Maid's Tragedy;" and at the same time Amyntor was
    played by Stephen Hammerton (who was at first a most noted
    and beautiful woman-actor, but afterwards he acted with equal
    grace and applause a young lover's part); Taylor acted Hamlet
    incomparably well; Jago, Truewit in the "Silent Woman," and
    Face in the "Alchymist." Swanston used to play Othello. Pollard
    and Robinson were comedians; so was Shank, who used to act Sir
    Roger in the "Scornful Lady:" these were of Blackfriars. Those
    of principal note at the Cockpit were Perkins, Michael Bowyer,
    Sumner, William Allan, and Bird, eminent actors, and Robins, a
    comedian. Of the other companies I took little notice.

    +Love.+ Were there so many companies?

    +True.+ Before the wars there were in being all these
    play-houses at the same time. The Blackfriars and Globe on the
    Bank-side, a winter and summer house, belonging to the same
    company, called the King's Servants; the Cockpit or Phœnix, in
    Drury Lane, called the Queen's Servants; the Private House, in
    Salisbury Court, called the Prince's Servants; the Fortune,
    near Whitecross Street;[80] and the Red Bull, at the upper end
    of St John's Street: the two last were mostly frequented by
    citizens and the meaner sort of people. All these companies
    got money, and lived in reputation, especially those of the
    Blackfriars, who were men of grave and sober behaviour.

    +Love.+ Which I admire at; that the town, much less than at
    present, could then maintain five companies, and yet now two
    can hardly subsist.

    +True.+ Do not wonder, but consider that, though the town was
    then, perhaps, not much more than half so populous as now, yet
    then the prices were small (there being no scenes), and better
    order kept among the company that came; which made very good
    people think a play an innocent diversion for an idle hour
    or two, the plays themselves being then, for the most part,
    more instructive and moral. Whereas, of late, the play-houses
    are so extremely pestered with vizard-masks and their trade
    (occasioning continual quarrels and abuses), that many of the
    more civilised part of the town are uneasy in the company, and
    shun the theatre as they would a house of scandal. It is an
    argument of the worth of the plays and actors of the last age,
    and easily inferred, that they were much beyond ours in this,
    to consider that they could support themselves merely from
    their own merit, the weight of the matter, and goodness of the
    action, without scenes and machines; whereas the present plays,
    with all that show, can hardly draw an audience, unless there
    be the additional invitation of a Signer Fedeli, a Monsieur
    l'Abbé, or some such foreign regale expressed in the bottom of
    the bill.

    +Love.+ To waive this digression, I have read of one Edward
    Alleyn, a man so famed for excellent action, that among
    Ben Jonson's epigrams I find one directed to him, full of
    encomium, and concluding thus--

        _Wear this renown; 'tis just that who did give
        So many poets life, by one should live._

    Was he one of the Blackfriars?

    +True.+ Never as I have heard (for he was dead before my time).
    He was master of a company of his own, for whom he built
    the Fortune Playhouse from the ground, a large round brick
    building. This is he that grew so rich, that he purchased a
    great estate in Surrey and elsewhere; and having no issue, he
    built and largely endowed Dulwich College in the year 1619[81],
    for a master, a warden, four fellows, twelve aged poor people,
    and twelve poor boys, &c. A noble charity!

    +Love.+ What kind of play-houses had they before the wars?

    +True.+ The Blackfriars, Cockpit, and Salisbury Court were
    called private houses, and were very small to what we see now.
    The Cockpit was standing since the Restoration, and Rhodes's
    company acted there for some time.

    +Love.+ I have seen that.

    +True.+ Then you have seen the other two in effect, for they
    were all three built almost exactly alike for form and bigness.
    Here they had pits for the gentry, and acted by candlelight.
    The Globe, Fortune, and Bull were large houses, and lay partly
    open to the weather, and there they always acted by daylight.

    +Love.+ But prythee, Trueman, what became of these players when
    the stage was put down, and the Rebellion raised?

    +True.+ Most of them, except Lowin, Taylor, and Pollard (who
    were superannuated) went into the king's army, and, like good
    men and true, served their old master, though in a different,
    yet more honourable capacity. Robinson was killed at the taking
    of a place (I think Basing House) by Harrison, he that was
    after hanged at Charing Cross, who refused him quarter, and
    shot him in the head when he had laid down his arms; abusing
    Scripture at the same time in saying, _Cursed is he that doth
    the work of the Lord negligently_. Mohun was a captain, and
    (after the wars were ended here) served in Flanders, where he
    received pay as a major. Hart was a lieutenant of horse under
    Sir Thomas Dallison, in Prince Rupert's regiment; Burt was
    cornet in the same troop, and Shatterel quartermaster. Allen of
    the Cockpit was a major, and quartermaster-general at Oxford.
    I have not heard of one of these players; of any note that
    sided with the other party, but only Swanston; and he professed
    himself a Presbyterian, took up the trade of a jeweller, and
    lived in Aldermanbury, within the territory of Father Calamy.
    The rest either lost or exposed their lives for their king.
    When the wars were over, and the Royalists totally subdued,
    most of 'em who were left alive gathered to London, and for a
    subsistence endeavoured to revive their old trade privately.
    They made up one company out of all the scattered members of
    several; and in the winter before the king's murder, 1648, they
    ventured to act some plays, with as much caution and privacy as
    could be, at the Cockpit. They continued undisturbed for three
    or four days; but at last, as they were presenting the tragedy
    of the "Bloody Brother" (in which Lowin acted Aubery: Taylor,
    Rollo; Pollard, the Cook; Burt, Latorch; and, I think, Hart,
    Otto), a party of foot-soldiers beset the house, surprised 'em
    about the middle of the play,[82] and carried 'em away in their
    habits, not admitting them to shift, to Hatton House, then a
    prison, where, having detained them some time, they plundered
    them of their clothes, and let 'em loose again. Afterwards,
    in Oliver's time, they used to act privately, three or four
    miles, or more, out of town, now here, now there: sometimes in
    noblemen's houses, in particular, Holland House at Kensington,
    where the nobility and gentry who met (but in no great numbers)
    used to make a sum for them, each giving a broad piece, or the
    like. And Alexander Goffe, the woman-actor at Blackfriars (who
    had made himself known to persons of quality), used to be the
    jackal, and give notice of time and place. At Christmas and
    Bartholomew Fair, they used to bribe the officer who commanded
    the guard at Whitehall, and were thereupon connived at to
    act for a few days at the Red Bull,[83] but were sometimes,
    notwithstanding, disturbed by soldiers. Some picked up a
    little money by publishing the copies of plays never before
    printed, but kept up in manuscript. For instance, in the year
    1652, Beaumont and Fletcher's "Wild-Goose Chase" was printed
    in folio, for the public use of all the ingenious, as the
    title-page says, and private benefit of John Lowin and Joseph
    Taylor, servants to his late majesty; and by them dedicated
    to the honoured few lovers of dramatic poesy, wherein they
    modestly intimate their wants, and that with sufficient cause;
    for whatever they were before the wars, they were after reduced
    to a necessitous condition. Lowin, in his latter days, kept an
    inn, the Three Pigeons at Brentford, where he died very old,
    for he was an actor of eminent note in the reign of King James
    I.; and his poverty was as great as his age. Taylor died at
    Richmond, and was there buried. Pollard, who lived single, and
    had a competent estate, retired to some relations he had in the
    country, and there ended his life. Perkins and Sumner of the
    Cockpit kept house together at Clerkenwell, and were there
    buried. These all died some years before the Restoration; what
    followed after, I need not tell you; you can easily remember.

    +Love.+ Yes; presently after the Restoration, the king's
    players acted publicly at the Red Bull for some time, and
    then removed to a new-built play-house in Vere Street, by
    Clare Market. There they continued for a year or two, and
    then removed to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, where they
    first made use of scenes, which had been a little before
    introduced upon the public stage by Sir William Davenant, at
    the Duke's Old Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, but afterwards
    very much improved, with the addition of curious machines,
    by Mr Betterton, at the New Theatre in Dorset Garden, to the
    great expense and continual charge of the players. This much
    impaired their profit o'er what it was before; for I have been
    informed by one of 'em, that for several years next after the
    Restoration every whole sharer in Mr Hart's company got £1000
    _per ann._ About the same time that scenes first entered upon
    the stage at London, women were taught to act their own parts;
    since when we have seen at both houses several actresses,
    justly famed, as well for beauty as perfect good action.
    And some plays, in particular the "Parson's Wedding," have
    been presented all by women, as formerly all by men. Thus it
    continued for about twenty years, when Mr Hart, and some of the
    old men, began to grow weary, and were minded to leave off.
    Then the two companies thought fit to unite; but of late, you
    see, they have thought it no less fit to divide again, though
    both companies keep the same name of His Majesty's Servants.
    All this while the play-house music improved yearly, and is now
    arrived to greater perfection than ever I knew it. Yet for
    all these advantages, the reputation of the stage and people's
    affection to it are much decayed. Some were lately severe
    against it, and would hardly allow stage-plays fit to be longer
    permitted. Have you seen Mr Collier's book?

    +True.+ Yes, and his opposers'.

    +Love.+ And what think you?

    +True.+ In my mind, Mr Collier's reflections are pertinent,
    and true in the main; the book ingeniously wrote, and well
    intended; but he has overshot himself in some places, and his
    respondents perhaps in more. My affection inclines me not to
    engage on either side, but rather mediate. If there be abuses
    relating to the stage--which, I think, is too apparent--let
    the abuse be reformed, and not the use, for that reason only,
    abolished. 'Twas an old saying, when I was a boy--

               _Absit abusus, non desit totaliter usus._

    I shall not run through Mr Collier's book; I will only touch a
    little on two or three general notions, in which, I think, he
    may be mistaken. What he urges out of the primitive councils
    and fathers of the Church seems to me to be directed against
    the heathen plays, which were a sort of religious worship
    with them, to the honour of Ceres, Flora, or some of their
    false deities. They had always a little altar on their stages,
    as appears plain enough from some places in Plautus. And Mr
    Collier himself, p. 235, tells us out of Livy that plays were
    brought in, upon the score of religion, to pacify the gods.
    No wonder, then, they forbid Christians to be present at
    them, for it was almost the same as to be present at their
    sacrifices. We must also observe that this was in the infancy
    of Christianity, when the Church was under severe and almost
    continual persecutions, and when all its true members were
    of most strict and exemplary lives, not knowing when they
    should be called to the stake, or thrown to wild beasts.
    They communicated daily, and expected death hourly; as their
    thoughts were intent upon the next world, they abstained almost
    wholly from all diversions and pleasures (though lawful and
    innocent) in this. Afterwards, when persecution ceased, and
    the Church flourished, Christians, being then freed from their
    former terrors, allowed themselves, at proper times, the lawful
    recreations of conversations, and among other, no doubt, this
    of shows and representations. After this time, the censures of
    the Church indeed might be continued or revived upon occasion
    against plays and players; though, in my opinion, it cannot
    be understood generally, but only against such players who
    were of vicious and licentious lives, and represented profane
    subjects, inconsistent with the morals and probity of manners
    requisite to Christians, and frequented chiefly by such loose
    and debauched people as were much more apt to corrupt than
    divert those who associated with them. I say, I cannot think
    the canons and censures of the fathers can be applied to
    all players, _quatenus_ players; for if so, how could plays
    be continued among the Christians, as they were, of divine
    subjects and scriptural stories? A late French author, speaking
    of the Hotel de Bourgogne, a play-house in Paris, says that
    the ancient dukes of that name gave it to the Brotherhood of
    the Passion, established in the church of Trinity Hospital,
    in the Rue St Denis, on condition that they should represent
    here interludes of devotion; and adds, that there have been
    public shows in this place six hundred years ago. The Spanish
    and Portuguese continue still to have, for the most part, such
    ecclesiastical stories for the subject of their plays; and if
    we may believe Gage, they are acted in their churches in Mexico
    and the Spanish West Indies.

    +Love.+ That's a great way off, Trueman; I had rather you would
    come nearer home, and confine your discourse to Old England.

    +True.+ So I intend. The same has been done here in England;
    for otherwise, how comes it to be prohibited in the 88th Canon,
    among those passed in convocation, 1603? Certain it is that our
    ancient plays were of religious subjects, and had for their
    actors, if not priests, yet men relating to the Church.

    +Love.+ How does that appear?

    +True.+ Nothing clearer. Stow, in his "Survey of London,"
    has one chapter _Of the Sports and Pastimes of old time used
    in this City_; and there he tells us, that in the year 1391,
    which was 15 Richard II., a stage-play was played by the parish
    clerks of London, at the Skinner's Well beside Smithfield,
    which play continued three days together, the king, queen, and
    nobles of the realm being present. And another was played in
    the year 1409, 11 Henry IV., which lasted eight days, and was
    of matter from the creation of the world, whereat were present
    most part of the nobility and gentry of England. Sir William
    Dugdale, in his "Antiquities of Warwickshire," p. 116, speaking
    of the Grayfriars or Franciscans at Coventry, says: "Before the
    suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for
    the pageants that were played therein upon Corpus-Christi Day;
    which pageants, being acted with mighty state and reverence by
    the friars of this house, had theatres for the several scenes
    very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all
    the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of
    the spectators, and contained the story of the New Testament,
    composed in old English rhyme." An ancient manuscript of the
    same is now to be seen in the Cottonian Library, _Sub Effig.
    Vesp. D. 8_. Since the Reformation, in Queen Elizabeth's time,
    plays were frequently acted by quiristers and singing-boys; and
    several of our old comedies have printed in the title-page,
    "acted by the children of Paul's" (not the school, but the
    church); others, "by the children of her majesty's chapel:" in
    particular, "Cynthia's Revels" and "The Poetaster" were played
    by them, who were at that time famous for good action. Among
    Ben Jonson's epigrams you may find an epitaph on S. P. (_Sal.
    Pavy_), one of the children of Queen Elizabeth's chapel, part
    of which runs thus--

        _Years he counted scarce thirteen,
          When fates turn'd cruel,
        Yet three fill'd zodiacs he had been
          The stage's jewel;
        And did act (what now we moan)
          Old men so duly,
        As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one,
          He play'd so truly._

    Some of these chapel-boys, when they grew men, became actors
    at the Blackfriars; such were Nathan. Field[84] and John
    Underwood. Now I can hardly imagine that such plays and
    players as these are included in the severe censure of the
    councils and fathers; but such only who are truly within the
    character given by Didacus de Tapia, cited by Mr Collier, p.
    276, viz., _The infamous playhouse; a place of contradiction
    to the strictness and sobriety of religion; a place hated by
    God, and haunted by the devil_. And for such I have as great an
    abhorrence as any man.

    +Love.+ Can you guess of what antiquity the representing of
    religious matters on the stage hath been in England?

    +True.+ How long before the Conquest, I know not, but that it
    was used in London not long after, appears by Fitz-Stephen, an
    author who wrote in the reign of King Henry the Second.[85]
    His words are, _Londonia pro spectaculis theatralibus, pro
    ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, representationes
    miraculorum, quæ sancti confessores operati sunt, seu
    repræsentationes passionum quibus claruit constantia martyrum._
    Of this the manuscript which I lately mentioned, in the
    Cottonian library, is a notable instance. Sir William Dugdale
    cites this manuscript by the title of _Ludus Coventriæ_;
    but in the printed Catalogue of that library, p. 113, it is
    named thus, A Collection of Plays in Old English Metre; h.
    e. _Dramata sacra, in quibus exhibentur historiæ Veteris et
    N. Testamenti, introductis quasi in scenam personis illic
    memoratis, quas secum invicem colloquentes pro ingenio fingit
    poeta. Videntur olim coram populo, sive ad instruendum, sive
    ad placendum, a fratribus mendicantibus repræsentata_. It
    appears by the latter end of the prologue, that these plays or
    interludes were not only played at Coventry, but in the other
    towns and places upon occasion. And possibly this may be the
    same play which Stow tells us was played in the reign of King
    Henry IV., which lasted for eight days. The book seems by the
    character and language to be at least 300 years old. It begins
    with a general prologue, giving the arguments of 40 pageants or
    gesticulations (which were as so many several acts or scenes)
    representing all the histories of both testaments, from the
    creation to the choosing of St _Matthias_ to be an apostle. The
    stories of the New Testament are more largely expressed, viz.,
    the Annunciation, Nativity, Visitation; but more especially
    all matters relating to the Passion, very particularly, the
    Resurrection, Ascension, the Choice of St _Matthias_. After
    which is also represented the Assumption, and Last Judgment.
    All these things were treated of in a very homely style, as we
    now think, infinitely below the dignity of the subject; but
    it seems the _goût_ of that age was not so nice and delicate
    in these matters; the plain and incurious judgment of our
    ancestors being prepared with favour, and taking everything
    by the right and easiest handle. For example, in the scene
    relating to the Visitation:

    Maria.[86] _But, husband, of oo thyng I pray you most mekely,
    I have knowing that our cosyn Elizabeth with childe is,
    That it please yow to go to her hastyly,
    If ought we myth comfort her, it were to me blys._

    Joseph. _A Gods sake, is she with child, sche?
    Than will her husband Zachary be mery.
    In Montana they dwelle, fer hence, so mot y[87] the,
    In the city of Juda, I know it verily;
    It is hence, I trowe, myles two a fifty,
    We ar like to be wery, or we come at that same,
    I wole with a good will, blessyd wyff Mary;
    Now go we forth then in Goddys name_, &c.

    A little before the Resurrection:--_Nunc dormient milites, et
    veniet anima Christi de inferno, cum_ Adam _et_ Eva, Abraham,
    John Baptist, _et aliis._

    Anima Christi. _Come forth, Adam, and Eve with the,
    And all my fryndes that herein be,
    In paradys come forth with me
      In blysse for to dwelle.
    The fende of hell that is your foo
    He shall be wrappyd and woundyn in woo:
    Fro wo to welth now shall ye go,
      With myrth evyrmore to melle._
    Adam. _I thank the, Lord, of thy grete grace
    That now is forgiven my gret trespace,
    Now shall we dwellyn in blyssful place, &c._

    The last scene or pageant, which represents the day of
    judgment, begins thus:[88]

    _Michael._ Surgite, _All men aryse_,
    Venite ad judicium,
    _For now is set the High Justice,
    And hath assignyd the day of dome:
    Rape you redyly to this grett assyse.
    Both gret and small, all and sum,
    And of yowr answer you now avise,
    What you shall say, when that yow com, &c._

    These and such like were the plays, which in former ages were
    presented publicly. Whether they had any settled and constant
    houses for that purpose, does not appear; I suppose not. But
    it is notorious that in former times there was hardly ever any
    solemn reception of princes or noble persons, but pageants,
    that is, stages erected in the open street, were part of the
    entertainment: on which there were speeches by one or more
    persons, in the nature of scenes; and be sure one of the
    speakers must be some saint of the same name with the party to
    whom the honour is intended. For instance, there is an ancient
    manuscript at Coventry, called the "Old Leet Book," wherein is
    set down in a very particular manner, p. 168, the reception of
    Queen Margaret, wife of Henry VI. who came to Coventry; and, I
    think, with her young son, Prince Edward, on the Feast of the
    Exaltation of the Holy Cross, 35 Hen. VI. 1456. Many pageants
    and speeches were made for her welcome; out of all which I
    shall observe but two or three in the old English, as it is
    recorded:--

    St. Edward. _Moder of mekenes, dame Margarete, princes most excellent,
    I king Edward wellcome you with affection cordial,
    Testefying to your highnes mekely myn entent.
    For the wele of the king and you hertily pray I shall,
    And for prince Edward my gostly chylde, who I love principal,
    Praying the, John Evangelist, my help therein to be,
    On that condition right humbly I give this ring to the._

    John Evangelist. _Holy Edward, crowned king, brother in verginity,
    My power plainly I will prefer thy will to amplefy.
    Most excellent princes of wymen mortal, your bedeman will I be.
    I know your life so vertuous that God is pleased thereby.
    The birth of you unto this reme shall cause great melody:
    The vertuous voice of prince Edward shall dayly well encrease,
    St Edward his Godfader, and I shall prey therefore doubtlese._

    St. Margaret. _Most notabul princes of wymen earthle,
    Dame Margarete, the chefe myrth of this empyre,
    Ye be hertely welcome to this cyte.
    To the plesure of your highnesse I will set my desyre;
    Both nature and gentlenesse doth me require,
    Seth we be both of one name, to shew you kindnesse;
    Wherefore by my power ye shall have no distresse._

    _I shall pray to the prince that is endlese
    To socour you with solas of his high grace_;
    _He will here my petition, this is doubtlesse,
    For I wrought all my life that his will wace.
    Therefore, lady, when you be in any dredfull case,
    Call on me boldly, therof I pray you,
    And trust in me feythfully, I will do that may pay you._

    In the next reign, as appears in the same book, fol. 221,
    another Prince Edward, son of King Edward IV., came to Coventry
    on the 28th of April, 14 Edward IV. 1474, and was entertained
    with many pageants and speeches, among which I shall observe
    only two; one was of St Edward again, who was then made to
    speak thus:--

    _Noble Prince Edward, my cousin and my knight,
    And very prince of our line com yn dissent,
    I St Edward have pursued for your faders imperial right,
    Whereof he was excluded by full furious intent.
    Unto this your chamber, as prince full excellent,
    Ye be right welcome. Thanked be Crist of his sonde,
    For that that was ours is now in your faders honde._

    The other speech was from St George, and thus saith the book:--

    "---- _Also upon the condite in the Croscheping was St George
    armed, and a king's daughter kneling afore him with a lamb, and
    the fader and the moder being in a towre aboven beholding St
    George saving their daughter from the dragon, and the condite
    renning wine in four places, and minstralcy of organ playing,
    and St George having this speech underwritten_"--

    _O mighty God, our all succour celestiall,
    Which this royme hast given in dower
    To thi moder, and to me George protection perpetuall_:
    _It to defend from enimys fer and nere,
    And as this mayden defended was here
    By that grace from this dragons devour,
    So, Lord, preserve this noble prince and ever be his socour._

    +Love.+ I perceive these holy matters consisted very much of
    praying; but I pity poor St Edward the Confessor who, in the
    compass of a few years, was made to promise his favour and
    assistance to two young princes, of the same name indeed, but
    of as different and opposite interests as the two poles. I know
    not how he could perform to both.

    +True.+ Alas! they were both unhappy, notwithstanding these
    fine shows and seeming caresses of fortune; being both
    murdered, one by the hand, the other by the procurement, of
    Richard, Duke of Gloucester. I will produce but one example
    more of this sort of action or representations; and that is of
    later time, and an instance of much higher nature than any yet
    mentioned; it was at the marriage of Prince Arthur, eldest son
    of King Henry VII., to the Princess Catherine of Spain, ann.
    1501. Her passage through London was very magnificent, as I
    have read it described in old MS. chronicle of that time.[89]
    The pageants and speeches were many; the persons represented,
    St Catherine, St Ursula, a senator, noblesse, virtue, an
    angel, King Alphonse, Job, Boetius, &c. Among others, one is
    thus described:--_"When this spech was ended, she held on
    her way tyll she came unto the standard in Chepe, where was
    ordeyned the fifth paygend made like an hevyn, theryn syttyng
    a personage representing the fader of hevyn, beyng all formyd
    of gold, and brennyng beffor his trone vii candyilis of wax
    standyng in vii candylstykis of gold, the said personage beyng
    environed with sundry hyrarchies off angelis, and sytting in
    a cope of most rich cloth of tyssu, garnishyd wyth stoon and
    perle in most sumptuous wyse. Foragain which said pagend upon
    the sowth syde of the strete stood at that tyme, in a hows
    wheryn that tyme dwellyd William Geffrey habyrdasher, the king,
    the queene, my lady the kingys moder, my lord of Oxynfford,
    wyth many other lordys and ladys, and perys of this realm, wyth
    also certayn ambassadors of France lately sent from the French
    king: and so passyng the said estatys, eyther guyving to other
    due and convenyent saluts and countenancs, so sone as hyr grace
    was approachid unto the sayd pagend, the fadyr began his spech
    as folowyth"_

      Hunc veneram locum, septeno lumine septum.
      Dignumque Arthuri totidem astra micant.

      _I am begynyng and ende, that made ech creature.
    My sylfe, and for my sylfe, but man especially
    Both male and female, made aftyr myne aun fygure,
    Whom I joyned togydyr in matrimony,
    And that in paradyse, declaring opynly
    That men shall weddying in my chyrch solempnize,
    Fygurid and signifyed by the erthly paradyze._

      _In thys my chyrch I am allway recydent
    As my chyeff tabernacle, and most chosyn place,
    Among these goldyn condylstikkis, which represent
    My catholyk chyrch shynyng affor my face,
    With lyght of feyth, wisdom, doctryne, and grace,
    And mervelously eke enflamyd toward me
    Wyth the [un]extyngwible fyre of charyte._

    _Wherefore, my welbelovid dowthyr Katharyn,
    Syth I have made yow to myne awn semblance
    In my chyrch to be maried, and your noble childryn
    To regn in this land as in their enherytance,
    Se that ye have me in speciall remembrance:
    Love me and my chyrch yowr spiritual modyr.
    For ye, dispysing that oon, dyspyse that othyr._

      _Look that ye walk in my precepts, and obey them well:
    And here I give you the same blyssyng, that I
    Gave my well beloved chylder of Israell;
    Blyssyd be the fruyt of your bely;
    Yower substance and frutys I shall encrease and multyply;
    Yower rebellious enimyes I shall put in yowr hand,
    Encreasing in honour both yow and your land._

    +Love.+ This would be censured now-a-days as profane to the
    highest degree.

    +True.+ No doubt on't: yet you see there was a time, when
    people were not so nicely censorious in these matters, but were
    willing to take things in the best sense; and then this was
    thought a noble entertainment for the greatest king in Europe
    (such I esteem king Henry VII. at that time) and proper for
    that day of mighty joy and triumph. And I must farther observe
    out of Lord Bacon's "History of Henry VII." that the chief man
    who had the care of that day's proceedings was Bishop Fox, a
    grave counsellor for war or peace, and also a good surveyor
    of works, and a good master of ceremonies; and it seems he
    approv'd it. The said Lord Bacon tells us farther that,
    whosoever had those toys in compiling, they were not altogether
    pedantical.

    +Love.+ These things, however, are far from that which we
    understand by the name of a play.

    +True.+ It may be so; but these were the plays of those times.
    Afterwards, in the reign of King Henry VIII., both the subject
    and form of these plays began to alter, and have since varied
    more and more. I have by me a thing called "A Merry Play
    between the Pardoner and the Friar, the Curate and Neighbour
    Pratt." Printed the 5th of April 1533, which was 24 Henry VIII.
    (a few years before the dissolution of monasteries.) The design
    of this play was to ridicule Friars and Pardoners. Of which
    I'll give you a taste. To begin it, the Friar enters with these
    words:[90]

    Deus hic; _the holy trynyte
    Preserve all that now here be._

    _Dere bretherne, yf ye will consyder
    The cause why I am com hyder,
    Ye wolde be glad to knowe my entent:
    For I com not hyther for mony nor for rent,
    I com not hyther for meat nor for meale,
    But I com hyther for your soules heale_, &c.

    After a long preamble he addresses himself to preach, when the
    Pardoner enters with these words:

    _God and St Leonarde send ye all his grace,
    As many as ben assembled in this place_, &c.

    and makes a long speech, showing his bulls and his reliques, in
    order to sell his pardons, for the raising some money towards
    the rebuilding

    _Of the holy chappell of sweet saynt Leonarde,
    Which late by fyre was destroyed and marde._

    Both these speaking together with continual interruption, at
    last they fall together by the ears. Here the curate enters
    (for you must know the scene lies in the church):

    _Hold your hands; a vengeance on ye both two,
    That ever ye came hyther to make this ado,
    To polute my chyrche_, &c.

    Friar. _Mayster Parson, I marvayll ye will give lycence
    To this false knave in this audience
    To publish his ragman rolles with lyes.
    I desyred hym ywys more than ones or twyse
    To hold his peas tyll that I had done,
    But he would here no more than the man in the mone._

    Pard. _Why sholde I suffre the, more than thou me?
    Mayster Parson gave me lycence before the.
    And I wolde thou knowest it I have relykes here,
    Other maner stuffe than thou dost bere:
    I wyll edefy more with the syght of it,
    Than with all thy pratynge of holy wryt;
    For that except that the precher himselfe lyve well,
    His predycacyon wyll helpe never a dell_, &c.

    Par. _No more of this wranglyng in my chyrch:
    I shrewe yowr hertys bothe for this lurche.
    Is there any blood shed here between these knaves?
    Thanked be God they had no stavys,
    Nor egotoles, for then it had ben wronge,
    Well, ye shall synge another songe._

    Here he calls his neighbour Prat, the constable, with design
    to apprehend 'em, and set 'em in the stocks. But the Friar
    and Pardoner prove sturdy, and will not be stocked, but fall
    upon the poor Parson and Constable, and bang them both so
    well-favouredly, that at last they are glad to let 'em go at
    liberty: and so the farce ends with a drawn battle. Such as
    this were the plays of that age, acted in gentlemen's halls at
    Christmas or such like festival times by the servants of the
    family or strollers who went about, and made it a trade. It is
    not unlikely that the[91] lords in those days and persons of
    eminent quality had their several gangs of players, as some
    have now of fiddlers, to whom they give cloaks and badges.
    The first comedy that I have seen, that looks like regular,
    is "Gammer Gurton's Needle," writ,[92] I think, in the reign
    of King Edward VI. This is composed of five acts, the scenes
    unbroken, and the unities of time and place duly observed. It
    was acted at Christ's College in Cambridge, there not being as
    yet any settled and public theatres.

    +Love.+ I observe, Trueman, from what you have said, that plays
    in England had a beginning much like those of Greece; the
    Monologues and Pageants, drawn from place to place on wheels,
    answer exactly to the cart of Thespis, and the improvements
    have been by such little steps and degrees as among the
    ancients, till at last, to use the words of Sir George Buck
    (in his "Third University of England"), "Dramatic poesy is so
    lively express'd and represented upon the public stages and
    theatres of this city, as Rome in the auge (the highest pitch)
    of her pomp and glory, never saw it better performed, I mean
    (says he) in respect of the action and art, and not of the
    cost and sumptuousness." This he writ about the year 1631. But
    can you inform me, Trueman, when the public theatres were first
    erected for this purpose in London?

    +True.+ Not certainly; but I presume about the beginning of
    Queen Elizabeth's reign. For Stow, in his "Survey of London"
    (which book was first printed in the year 1598), says--"Of
    late years, in place of these stage-plays (_i.e._, those
    of religious matters) have been used comedies, tragedies,
    interludes, and histories, both true and feigned: for the
    acting whereof certain public places, as the Theatre, the
    Curtine, &c., have been erected." And the continuator of
    "Stow's Annals," p. 1004, says that in sixty years before the
    publication of that book (which was Ann. Dom. 1529), no less
    than seventeen public stages, or common playhouses, had been
    built in and about London. In which number he reckons five
    inns or common hostelries to have been in his time turned into
    playhouses--one Cockpit, Saint Paul's Singing-school, one in
    the Blackfriars, one in the Whitefriars, and one in former
    time at Newington Butts. And adds: Before the space of sixty
    years past, I never knew, heard, or read of any such theatres,
    stages, or playhouses, as have been purposely built within
    man's memory.

    +Love.+ After all, I have been told that stage-plays are
    inconsistent with the laws of this kingdom, and players made
    rogues by statute.

    +True.+ He that told you so strained a point of truth. I
    never met with any law wholly to suppress them: sometimes,
    indeed, they have been prohibited for a season; as in times of
    Lent, general mourning, or public calamities, or upon other
    occasions, when the government saw fit. Thus, by proclamation
    7th of April, in the first year of Queen Elizabeth, plays and
    interludes were forbid until All-hallow-tide next following.
    Hollinshed, p. 1184.[93] Some statutes have been made for
    their regulation or information, not general suppression.
    By the stat. 39 Eliz. cap. 4[94] (which was made for the
    suppression of rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars) it is
    enacted "_That all persons that be, or utter themselves to be,
    proctors, procurers, patent gatherers, or collectors for goals,
    prisons, or hospitals, or fencers, bearwards, common players of
    interludes and minstrels, wandering abroad (other than players
    of interludes belonging to any baron of this realm, or any
    other honourable personage of greater degree, to be authoris'd
    to play under the hand and seal of arms of such baron or
    personage) all juglers, tinkers, pedlars, and petty chapmen,
    wand'ring abroad, all wand'ring persons, &c., able in body,
    using loytering, and refusing to work for such reasonable wages
    as is commonly given, &c. These shall be adjudged and deemed
    rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars, and punished as such_."

    +Love.+ But this privilege of authorising or licensing is taken
    away by the stat. Jac. I., ch. 7, s. 1., and therefore all of
    them, as Mr Collier says, p. 242, are expressly brought under
    the aforesaid penalty without distinction.

    +True.+ If he means all players, without distinction, 'tis a
    great mistake. For the force of the queen's statute extends
    only to wandering players, and not to such as are the king or
    queen's servants, and established in settled houses by royal
    authority. On such the ill character of vagrant players (or,
    as they are now called, strollers) can cast no more aspersion,
    than the wandering proctors, in the same statute mentioned,
    on those of Doctors'-Commons. By a stat. made 3 Jac. I.[95]
    ch. 21, it was enacted, "_That if any person shall, in any
    stage-play, interlude, shew, may-game or pageant, jestingly or
    prophanely speak or use the holy name of God, Christ Jesus,
    or of the Trinity, he shall forfeit for every such offence_
    10_l._" The stat. 1 Charles I. ch. 1,[96] enacts, "_That no
    meetings, assemblies, or concourse of people shall be out
    of their own parishes, on the Lord's day, for any sports
    or pastime whatsoever, nor any bear-baiting, bull-baiting,
    interludes, common-plays, or other unlawful exercises and
    pastimes used by any person or persons within their own,
    parishes_." These are all the statutes that I can think of,
    relating to the stage and players; but nothing to suppress
    them totally, till the two ordinances of the Long Parliament,
    one of the 22d of October 1647, the other of the 11th [9th]
    of Feb. 1647;[97] by which all stage-plays and interludes are
    absolutely forbid; the stages, seats, galleries, &c., to be
    pulled down; all players, tho' calling themselves the king or
    queen's servants, if convicted of acting within two months
    before such conviction, to be punished as rogues according
    to law; the money received by them to go to the poor of the
    parish; and every spectator to pay five shillings to the use of
    the poor. Also cock-fighting was prohibited by one of Oliver's
    Acts of 31st March 1654. But I suppose nobody pretends these
    things to be laws. I could say more on this subject, but I must
    break off here and leave you, Lovewit; my occasions require it.

    +Love.+ Farewell, old Cavalier.

    +True.+ 'Tis properly said; we are almost all of us now gone
    and forgotten.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] This is afterwards said to be a large round brick building.
Mr Steevens supposes, from the extent of it, that all the actors
resided within its precincts. It was pulled down about the time of the
Restoration, soon after the appearance of the following advertisement
in the _Mercurius Politicus_, Tuesday, Feb. 14, to Tuesday, Feb. 21,
1661. "The Fortune Playhouse, situate between Whitecross Street and
Golding Square, in the parish of St Giles, Cripplegate, with the ground
thereunto belonging, is to be let to be built upon; where twenty-three
tenements may be erected, with gardens; and a street may be cut through
for the better accommodation of the buildings." (See edition of
Shakespeare, 1778, i. 267.) From the following passage of "The English
Traveller," by Heywood, 1633, sig. I 3, we find there was a picture or
statue of Fortune before the building.

                "I'le rather stand here
    Like a statue in the forefront of your house
    For ever; like the picture of Dame Fortune
    Before the Fortune Play-house."

[81] The Letters Patent under the Great Seal bear date the 21st June
1619.

[82] This is confirmed by Kirkman who, in his preface to "The Wits;
or, Sport upon Sport," 1672, says, The small compositions of which his
work was made up, being scenes and parts of plays, were at this period
"liked and approved by all, and they were the fittest for the actors
to represent, there being little cost in cloaths, which often were in
great danger to be seized by the then soldiers; who, as the poet sayes,
_Enter the red coat, exit hat and cloak_, was very true, not only in
the audience but the actors too, who were commonly not only stripp'd,
but many times imprisoned, till they paid such ransom as the souldiers
would impose upon them: so that it was hazardous to act any thing that
required any good cloaths: instead of which painted cloath many times
served the turn to represent rich habits."

[83] "When the publique Theatres were shut up, and the actors forbidden
to present us with any of their tragedies, because we had enough of
that in earnest: and comedies, because the vices of the age were too
lively and smartly represented; then all that we could divert ourselves
with, were these humours and pieces of plays which, passing under
the name of a merry conceited fellow, called "Bottom the Weaver,"
"Simpleton the Smith," "John Swabber," or some such title, were
only allowed us, and that but by stealth too, and under pretence of
rope-dancing or the like; and these being all that was permitted us,
great was the confluence of the auditors; and these small things were
as profitable and as great get-pennies to the actors as any of our late
famed plays. I have seen _the Red Bull Playhouse_, which was a large
one, so full, that as many went back for want of room as had entered;
and as meanly as you may now think of these drols, they were then acted
by the best comedians then and now in being; and I may say by some that
then exceeded all now living, by name, the incomparable Robert Cox, who
was not only the principal actor, but also the contriver and author of
most of these farces."--Kirkman's Preface to "The Wits, or Sport upon
Sport," 1672.

[84] [Concerning Field the actor and dramatist, see introduction to his
"Woman is a Weathercock," &c., xi. 3-6, 89-91, and Collier's "Memoirs
of Actors," p. 206, _et seq._]

Nathaniel Field, on the authority of Roberts the player (see his answer
to Mr Pope's preface to Shakespeare), has been considered as the author
of two plays: "A Woman is a Weathercocke," 1612, and "Amends for
Ladies," 1618. He is also supposed to be the same person who assisted
Massinger in "The Fatal Dowry." I suspect that Roberts was mistaken
in these assertions, as I do not find any contemporary writer speak
of Field as an author; nor is it mentioned by Langbaine, who would
have noticed it, had he known the fact. It seems more probable that
the writer of these plays was Nathaniel Field, M.A., Fellow of New
College, Oxford, who wrote some Latin verses, printed in "Oxoniensis
Academiæ Parentalia, 1625," and who, being of the same university
with Massinger, might join with him, while there, in the composition
of the play ascribed to them. Nathaniel Field above mentioned was
celebrated in the part of "Bussy D'Ambois," first printed in 1607. On
the republication of that play in 1641, he is thus spoken of in the
Prologue:--

                                "_Field_ is gone,
    Whose action first did give it name, and one,
    Who came the neerest to him, is denide
    By his gray beard to shew the height and pride
    Of D'Ambois youth and braverie; yet to hold
    Our title still a foot, and not grow cold
    By giving it o're, a third man with his best
    Of care and paines defends our interest;
    As Richard he was lik'd, nor doe wee feare,
    In personating Dambois, hee'le appeare
    To faint, or goe lesse, so your free consent
    As heretofore give him encouragement."

[85] P. 73, 4º. Edit. 1772.

[86] [This and the other quotations were not correctly printed. See
Halliwell's "Ludus Coventriæ," 1841, p. 121.]

[87] [_Ibid._, p. 343.]

[88] [See Halliwell's "Ludus Coventriæ," 1841, p. 401.]

[89] [See a description of the espousals in Stow's "Chronicle," ed.
1615, fol. 483-4.]

[90] [Compare vol. i. pp. 199, 201, &c.]

[91] Till the twenty-fifth year of Queen Elizabeth, the queen had not
any players; but in that year twelve of the best of all those who
belonged to several lords were chosen, and sworn her servants.--_Stow's
Annals_, p. 698.

[92] [An error. This play, which has been long known not to be the
first regular comedy, was probably performed about 1566.]

[93] [See "English Drama and Stage," edit. Hazlitt, p. 19.]

[94] [_Ibid._, p. 37.]

[95] ["English Dramas and Stage," p. 42.]

[96] [_Ibid._, pp. 59, 60.]

[97] [But see _Ibid._, pp. 63-70.]




ERRATA


  VOL.     I.  Page      62,  for  _goodness_    read _goddess_.

  VOL.    II.  ...      135,  ...  _knotted_     ...  _notted_.[98]

          ...  ...      216,  ...  _noboby_      ...  _nobody_.

  VOL.   III.  ...   58,[99]  ...  _oppose_      ...  _appose_.

          ...  ...       59,  ...  _maketh_      ...  _keepeth_.

          ...  ...       71,  ...  _fault_       ...  _faults_.

          ...  ...       82,  ...  _so sore_     ...  _to fore_.

          ...  ...     _ib._  ...  _be fed_      ...  _to be fed_.

          ...  ...    83, l.  17.  The correspondent thinks this
                                   line belongs to _Omnes Famulæ_.

          ...  ...       88,  for  _had chid_    read _chid_.

          ...  ...       95,  ...  _I ever_      ...  _ever I_.

          ...  ...       97,  ...  _wage-pasty_  ...  _way-pasty_.[100]

          ...  ...       99,  ...  _he_          ...  _ye_.

          ...  ...     _ib._  ...  _ield_        ...  _yelde_.

          ...  ...      105,  ...  _to please_   ...  _it please_.

          ...  ...      108,  ...  _a master_    ...  _an M_.

          ...  ...      117,  ...  _as much_     ...  _so much_.

          ...  ...      118,  ...  _make a_      ...  _make me a_.

          ...  ...      121,  ...  _another      ...  _another but_.
                                   than_

          ...  ...     _ib._  ...  _readiness_   ...  _a readiness_.

          ...  ...      122,  ...  _other's_     ...  _others'_.

          ...  ...     _ib._  ...  _point        ...  _point
                                   whereof_           wherefore_.

          ...  ...      125,  ...  _draw ye_     ...  _draw we_.

          ...  ...      128,  ...  _thou goose_  ...  _you goose_.

          ...  ...      139,  ...  _Not if all   ...  _Nor if all the_.
                                   the_

          ...  ...      140,  ...  _where or     ...  _where nor how_.
                                   how_

          ...  ...      158,  ...  _all men_     ...  _of all men_.

          ...  ...      178,  ...  _halse-aker_  ...  _half-acre_.[101]

  VOL.     V.  ...      115,  ...  _Alvearic_    ...  _Alvearie_.

          ...  ...      285,  ...  _Got_         ...  _Get_.

  VoL.    IX.  ...       98,  ...  _collection_  ...  _collation_.

          ...  ...    _ib._}  ...  _moldash_     ...  _molash_.

          ...  ...     332,}  ...  _moldash_     ...  _molash_.

          ...  ...      205,  ...  _Amoretta_    ...  _Amoretto_.

  VOL.     X.  ...      274,  ...  _Foresaw_     ...  _Foreseen_.

  VOL.    XI.  ...      436,  ...  _Sir Thomas_  ...  _St. Thomas_.

FOOTNOTES:

[98] See Nares. ed. 1859, _v._ Nott. We still have the vulgarism _nut_
for the head; but it more properly means a head with the hair cut close.

[99] These errors in "Ralph Roister Doister" have been pointed out by
a correspondent, who states that he has detected them on a personal
collation of the original copy at Eton College. But many of the
variations noticed by this gentleman have been intentional corrections
of the old copy.

[100] Yet in "Jack Juggler" (ii. 141), _wage-pasty_ occurs.

[101] So in "Appius and Virginia" (iv. 136)--

        "Hard by Hodge's half-acre, at Gaffer Miller's stile."




INDEX TO NOTES.


                          INDEX TO THE NOTES.

  Abhominable, ii. 69

  Abraham-men, iii. 171

  Absolutions, tariff for, xi. 465

  Accointenance, i. 79

  Accombred, i. 299

  Accomplished Woman, 1656, xiv. 483

  Acquaince, i. 105

  Actors' Remonstrance, x. 348

  Addison, Joseph, ix. 490

  Address, xiv. 326

  Adonai, i. 109

  Adultery, punishment for, xiv. 475-6

  Adventures of Five Hours, a play, xv. 185-320

  Adventures or insurances, xi. 137

  A friend in court is worth a penny in purse, prov. i. 178

  After kissing comes greater kindness, prov. xiii. 114

  Agnes' Eve, St, xii. 21

  Aim, to cry, v. 225

  Ajax Oïleus, x. 132

  Albricias, xv. 292

  Albumazar, a play, xi. 294-421

  Alcazar, battle of, xi. 213

  Alder speed, i. 135

  Alimony, Lady, a play, xiv. 273-367

  Ale, i. 161, 185
    -- Derby, xi. 234

  Ales, church and other, xiii. 503

  Alestake, i. 191

  Alexander and Lodwick, a play, xi. 239

  Algates, i. 237

  Almond for a parrot, an, x. 534

  Alva, Duke of, xv. 231

  Amadis of Gaul, xv. 91

  Amain, xiv. 182

  Ambergris, xiii. 490

  Ambree, Mary, xi. 111

  Amends for Ladies, a play, xi. 88-172

  America, viii. 406;
    xii. 135

  Amias [Emaas], i. 333

  Amphitruo of Plautus, xi. 314

  Anagrams, xiv. 483

  Ancients, xiii. 291

  Andromana, a play, xiv. 194-271

  Angoulême, Earl of, viii. 251

  Antiquary, the, a play, xiii. 411-523

  Apollo Shroving, a play, xi. 196

  Apollonius of Tyana, xi. 310

  Appaireth, i. 101

  Appius and Virginia, a play, 1575, iv. 100-55

  Apple-squires, xiii. 125

  Appoline, St, vi. 74

  Apricocks, xiv. 344

  Arcadia, Sydney's, xiii. 468

  Aretine's pictures, xiii. 309

  Argiers, xiv. 327

  Argosies, xii. 100

  Aristippus, iv. 15 _et seq._, v. 286

  Aristophanes, ix. 376

  Armada, the Spanish, vi. 447

  Arrayed (or rayed), i. 78, 178

  Arride, xiii. 445

  Artemisia (or southernwood), xii. 144

  Arthur, King, iv. 255 _et seq._

  Arundel, xi. 70

  As brisk as a body-louse, prov. iii. 209

  Asinigo, xiii. 519

  Assoil, vii. 169;
    xv. 253

  As soon goeth to market the lamb's fell as the sheep's, prov. i. 78

  Astræa, D'Urfe's, xiii. 468

  Astrology, xi. 301-2 _et seq._

  As true as the skin between thy brows, prov., iii. 244

  Athelwold, vi. 27

  At nale, i. 166

  Audience, direct allusions to, from the stage, vi. 288, 327;
    viii. 456

  Aums ace, ii. 35;
    xii. 243

  Aunt, xiii. 70, 160;
    xiv. 448

  Autolycus, xiii. 486

  Automatons, xiii. 230

  Avoutry, i. 175;
    iii. 151, &c.

  Away the mare, i. 57

  A young man's darling, an old man's warling, prov., x. 303


  Babylon, i. 162

  Backare, quod Mortimer to his sow, iii. 65

  Backrag (or Baccarach), xiii. 216

  Bacon, Francis, iv. 251;
    xiii. 462

  Bacon, Friar, vii. 357;
    xi. 84, 252

  Baker, Henry, an actor, viii. 78

  Bale, John, i. 278 _et seq._

  Bale or pair of dice, xi. 221

  Bales, Peter, viii. 41

  Ball, John, xiv. 488

  Balloon, a game, vii. 50

  Banbury, xii. 248

  Bandello, M., x. 115

  Bands, starched, xi. 328-9

  Bankes's horse, xiv. 508-9

  Barbary, xi. 213, 215

  Barclay, Alexander, viii. 47

  Barkley (or Barclay), Sir R., xii. 538
    ---- Sir W., xii. 538-627

  Barrey, Lodowick, x. 266-380

  Bate me an ace, quoth Bolton, prov., iv. 77

  Batteries, xiii. 218

  Bayard, xiii. 94

  Bay-window, xiv. 403

  Bear and Ragged Staff, viii. 174

  Bear in hand, to, x. 303

  Beau Disconu, Le, a romance, i. 401

  Beaumont and Fletcher, xii. 19;
    xiv. 194

  Bedlams, iii. 170-1

  Beer, broken, xii. 228
    ---- four and six shilling, xiii. 12, 43

  Beggars, frauds of, xii. 108

  Beggars'-bush, vii. 335

  Behight, i. 248

  Behu, Mrs, ix. 469;
    xiii. 178

  Bell, book, and candle, x. 309

  Bells, to ring the, backwards, xiii. 230

  Belsavage, the, a sign, viii. 116

  Belvidere, or the Garden of the Muses, 1600, ix. 111

  Benchers, xiii. 290-1

  Benefit of clergy, viii. 244

  Benlowes, E., xiv. 11

  Berew, i. 246

  Bergen-op-Zoom, ix. 293

  Bermondsey, i. 335

  Bermudas, the, xi. 137;
    xiv. 333

  Bestial, i. 12, 13

  Betso, xiii. 460

  Betterton, Tho., xv. 196

  Bevis of Hampton, xi. 70

  Beyond Lawrence of Lancashire, prov., xi. 85

  Bias, xiv. 454

  Biggon, xiii. 288

  Bilboa blades, x. 218

  Bill of the plague, xiv. 449

  Bills, x. 342;
    xi. 469

  Birdbolt, xi. 200

  Black, note on the word, xii. 245

  Blackfriars, xi. 111

  Black's her eye, prov., ix. 78

  Blank, the, ii. 35

  Ble, i. 251

  Blind eats many a fly, the, prov., x. 503

  Blind [men] can judge no colour, prov., v. 293

  Blowpoint, xiii. 435

  Blue coats or badges, x. 349

  Boccaccio, Gio. xiii. 105

  Bodenham, John, ix. 112

  Booker, John, xiv. 396-7

  Book-holder, viii. 17, 87

  Boot, the Scotch, xi. 66

  Bold, v., i. 182

  Bonduca, a play, xii. 19

  Bonerly, i. 243

  Bongrace, Master, ii. 113

  Bonner, Bp. iv. 244

  Borachio, xv. 215

  Bordella's blouses, xiv. 344

  Boston, our Lady of, i. 337

  Bothwell, Lord, xi. 224

  Botolph, St, i. 334

  Boulogne, our Lady of, iii. 199-200

  Bourbonne-les-Bains, xiv. 52

  Bowyer, Mich., xiii. 102

  Brach, i. 185

  Brai, the story of the physician of, vi. 207

  Brandt, Sebastian, viii. 47

  Brathwaite, R., xii. 23

  Brennus, xii. 449 _et seq._

  Brewen (or Bruin), Alderman, xii. 91, _et seq._

  Brigand harness, i. 251

  Bright, Dr Timothy, viii. 41

  Brimstone, quick, i. 179

  Bristol, George Digby, Earl of, xv. 1-107, 187

  Britain, ancient divisions of, xii. 516

  Brome, Richard, xiv. 480

  Bromfield, Mr, xiii. 209

  Broom, i. 65
    ----, "A new broom sweeps clean," prov., iv. 21

  Brothers of the blade, xiv. 330

  Browne, Robert, xiii. 227

  Buck, Paul, vi. 13

  Buckets, fire, names inscribed on, xiii. 230

  Buckingham, Duke of, v. 15, 37

  Burbage, R., xi. 5

  Burport--"taw halts of Burport," i. 158

  Butcher (or Boucher), Richard, xiii. 413

  Butler, S., xiii. 329

  Butler's box, the, ix. 103;
    x. 299

  Buxton, i. 334

  Buzzardism, xiv. 357

  Bye and main, xiv. 427

  By the lock, a phrase, xiii. 168


  Cacus, xii. 516

  Calderon, Pedro, xv. 187, 193-4

  Calisto and Meliboea, i. 52 _et seq._

  Calvary, Mount, i. 332

  Calvinists, exiled, xiii. 295

  Camoëns, Lois de, x. 468

  Camomile, xiii. 138

  Candles, holy, iii. 188

  Cannon Street, x. 547

  Cape, i. 162

  Caperhay, vii. 421

  Cap of maintenance, xii. 109

  Caracts, xiv. 325

  Carew, Thomas, xi. 510;
    xiv. 372

  Carfax, vii. 333

  Carouches, x. 336; xi. 202

  Carpet-knight, viii. 173

  Carry-coals, a phrase, viii. 417

  _Carta blanca_, xv. 72

  Cartwright, W., xii. 204-318;
    xiii. 203

  Cary, Henry, Viscount Falkland, xv. 111

  Case, Thomas, xiv. 516

  Cassandra, x. 132

  Castara [Lady Lucia Herbert], xiii. 324

  Casti, Luigi, xiv. 480

  Cat in pan, to turn, a phrase, iv. 41

  Cats, gibbed or gib, xiii. 31

  Catwade, i. 341

  Cauls, xv. 90-1

  Caveare, xii. 236

  Cervantes, xiii. 105

  Chadders, xiii. 231

  Chains of gold worn by persons of quality, xi. 324-5

  Chalk, to sin in, xiii. 287;
    xiv. 331

  Challenges, etiquette of, xi. 224, 389

  Chamberlain, Robert, xiv. 3, 9

  Chanticleers, the London, a play, xii. 320-60

  Charles I., xii. 206
    ---- II., xv. 194

  Charmers, xii. 505

  Chase, the, vii. 41

  Chaucer, Geffrey, xii. 240-2, 286

  Chelsea College, xii. 277-8

  Cherry-pit, i. 246

  Chess, game of, ix. 387

  Cheston [Cheshunt] nunnery, x. 215

  Chettle, Henry, viii. 95-6, 200-327

  Chopines, x. 367

  Christ-cross, ix. 42

  Christmas, xiii. 20-1

  Chrysome, xiii. 280

  Churchyard, T., ix. 118

  Cicero's treatise, "De Republica," xiii. 476

  Citizenship, xii. 136

  City Match, a play, xiii. 200-320

  City Nightcap, the, a play, xiii. 99-197

  Clerkenwell Green, xi. 98

  Cloak for every rain, to have a, prov., xiii. 56

  Clocks, German, xii. 231

  Cloth, flinching of, xii. 259

  Cloth-dealers in Watling Street, iv. 243

  Clouds, the, by Aristophanes, ix. 376

  Clown, the, in plays, iv. 160

  Coaches, x. 336-7

  Cob's pound, xv. 32

  Cockatrice, xiii. 499-500

  Cock-sure, vi. 67

  Cole, old, vii. 476

  Coll my dog, iii. 8, 9

  Cologne, three kings of, iii. 200

  Combat, laws of, x. 129

  Complaisant Companion, the, a jest-book, x. 115

  Comptes du Monde aventureux, xiv. 480

  Conduits, speeches delivered from, xiii. 243

  Constable, Henry, ix. 113-14

  Content--"To go look content," a phrase, xiii. 141

  Contention between Liberality and Prodigality, a play, viii. 330-83

  Convey, i. 159

  Cooke, John, xi. 174-289

  Cooke, Joshua, ix. 2

  Cool his heels, to, a phrase, xiii. 52

  Cooling card, xiii. 505

  Coomb House, xiii. 14, 16

  Cooper's "_Thesaurus_" referred to, x. 218

  Copernicus, i. 38

  Copesmate, xiii. 30

  Copland, Robert, viii. 19

  Corbet, Bp., xii. 248

  Cornelia, a play, v. 176-252

  Cornelys, St, i. 336; vi. 74

  Corner-cap, iii. 11

  Corney, Bolton, ix. 100;
    xiii. 203

  Coryat, Thomas, iii. 200;
    xi. 313; xii. 227

  Costermongers, xiii. 125

  Cotswold or Cotsol, iii. 137

  Cotterel, Sir Clement, i. xv.

  Counters, the London, x. 344;
    xiii. 41

  Coventry Mysteries, the, i. 374

  Cow-cross, xi. 98

  Cowley, Abr., xv. 199

  Coxcomb Park, xiii. 14

  Crabbed age and youth, &c., a song, quoted, xiii. 89

  Cramp-rings, xii. 255-6

  Crane, Sir Francis, xiii. 233

  Cranes in the Vintry, the three, iv. 87;
    vii. 357

  Creature, i. 123

  Creeping to the cross, x. 236;
    xii. 255-6

  Cries of London, xi. 436

  Crofts, Cecilia, xiv. 372

  Crome, i. 341

  Cromwell, Oliver, ix. 334, 348;
    xii. 316;
    xiv. 475-6

  Cross, red, houses marked with a, xiv. 405

  Crotchets, xiii. 15

  Crowned cups, xii. 39

  Croydon sanguine, iv. 80

  Crystals, pair of [the eyes], xiii. 55

  Cucking-stool, xii. 127

  Cue, xi. 225

  Cuerpo, xiii. 278

  Cupboard-beds, xv. 216

  Cupid's arrows, fable of, xii. 31

  Cupid's Revenge, a play, xiv. 194

  Curfew-bell, the, x. 251

  Curtains at theatres, xiv. 97

  Curtal, iii. 211

  Cushion, beside the, x. 237

  Custom, xiv. 74

  Cut, xiii. 85

  Cut and long tail, xiii. 84-5

  Cutpurse, Moll, xi. 90

  Cutter, xiii. 16, 17


  Dagenham, i. 336

  Daisy, to leap at a, iii. 251

  Danes, red-haired, v. 121

  Daniel, S., ix. 114;
    xi. 449;
    xiii. 438

  Danter, John, ix. 120

  Darby's bands, ii. 362

  Darius' doleful strain, King, iv. 159

  Daubing--"There is craft in daubing," prov., i. 159

  Davenant, Sir W., xi. 504;
    xv. 199

  Davenport, Robert, xiii. 99-197;
    xiv. 7

  David's, St, i. 339

  Davies, Sir John, ix. 115

  Daw, a fool, i. 8

  Day, John, ix. 100

  Daylight, to burn, prov., v. 115

  Day's-man, iii. 14

  Death, to die the, i. 291-2

  Deboshed, xiii. 195

  Dedekindus, viii. 73

  Deep Ditch, xii. 127

  Dejanira, ix. 169

  Delayed, i. 81;
    xiii. 114

  Demains, xiv. 346

  Denham, Sir John, xiv. 245

  Denis, St, i. 339

  Derby ale, xi. 234

  Deuce-ace, ii. 35

  Devil, the, as a character in plays, ii. 307;
    iii. 205
    ----, "The devil is in the horologe," prov., iii. 101
    ----, "Who dips with the devil hath need of a long spoon," prov.,
        iv. 118
    ----, a tavern so called, xiii. 22;
    xiv. 454
    ----, "The devil is dead," prov., xiii. 141

  Dewes, Sir Simonds, xiii. 21

  Dice, bale or pair of, xi. 221

  Digby, Sir Kenelm, xii. 245, 362;
    xv. 4
    ---- George, Earl of Bristol, xv. 1-107, 187
    ---- Lady Venetia, xii. 362

  Dionysius of Syracuse, iv. 29

  Dismissed, xiv. 350

  Divining-rod, the, v. 402

  Doccy, i. 188

  Dod, John xii. 299

  Dod's blessing, xii. 299

  Dodsley, R., i., xv., _et alibi_;
    xi. 360-1

  Dodsley's Plays, note on the edit. of 1825-8, vi. 4

  Dogberry, Shakespeare's, xiv. 333.

  Dole, xi. 208-9

  Dolent, i. 82

  Dormer, Sir Clement, i., xv.

  Dottrel, the, iv. 68

  Dovercourt in Essex, viii. 399

  Downton, Thomas, viii. 19

  Drake, Sir F., xiii. 256

  Drawers at taverns, xiii. 19

  Dreaming of husbands on St Agnes' Eve, xii. 21

  Drolleries and interludes, xv. 410

  Drought, great, of 1592, viii. 37

  Drunkenness, statute against, x. 335, 354
    ----, excess of, xi. 251, 345

  Dryden, John, vii. 7-8, 78

  Ducarel, Dr, xiii. 419

  Ducie family, xiv. 4

  Ducking, xii. 127

  Duels in England, xi. 390

  Dulwich College, xv. 408

  Dumb Knight, the, a play, x. 108-200

  Duns Scotus, x. 57

  Dunstan, St, viii. 391 _et seq._

  Duppa, Brian, xiii. 201

  Duretta, xiii. 222

  D'Urfé, Honoré, xiii. 468

  Dutch, the, iii. 325

  Dyer, Sir Edward, viii. 73;
    ix. 455


  Eagles, young, v. 319

  Earle's Microcosmography, xiii. 475

  Early up, and never the near, prov., xi. 146

  Echineis, the, xiii. 525

  Echo poetry, vii. 148; xi. 477

  Ecstasy, xiii. 511

  Edmondsbury, St, i. 337

  Edmund Ironside, xii. 287

  Edward I., xii. 309

  Edward VI., i. 431

  Edwards, Richard (the elder), iv. 3-104;
    viii. 387

  Eggs for money, xiii. 92

  Elements, Interlude of the Four, i. 4-50

  Elfrid, vi. 27

  Elfrida, vi. 27

  Elinor, Queen, xii. 309

  Elizabeth, Q., viii. 22; ix. 161;
    x. 487;
    xv. 427-30

  Elms, the, in Smithfield, iii. 324

  Eltham, Sir John, viii. 105

  Elvira, a play, xv. 1-107

  Embalming, i. 60

  England--"If England to itself," &c., xii. 468

  Englishmen for my Money, a play, x. 470-564

  Ennewed, i. 62

  Erastus and Perseda, v. 255

  Erragon, i. 162

  Eschewed, i. 77

  Essex man, an, xiv. 467

  Eterne, i. 11

  Eudoxus of Cnidus, xiii. 452

  Eulenspiegel, vii. 358

  Euphorbium, i. 178

  Euripides, the "Hecuba" of, iv. 263

  _Euripus Euboicus_, vii. 37

  Evans, Dr, xii. 20

  Evelyn, John, xi. 251;
    xv. 199

  Everichone, i. 138

  Every Man, the Summoning of, an interlude, i. 94-142

  Exchange, the Royal, x. 487

  Eyes, kissing the, xi. 396
    ----, eloquence of the, xiii. 438


  Fabell, Peter, x. 207

  Faces about, xiv. 380

  Fagaries, xiv. 289

  Fair Quarrel, A, a play, xi. 139

  Fair words maketh fools fain, prov., i. 117

  Falantado (or Falanta), viii. 22

  Falkland, Henry, Viscount, xv. 111-184

  Fall, _v._, i. 285
  Falstaff originally called _Oldcastle_, xi. 152

  Farewell, fortypence, prov., x. 526

  Far fetched and dear bought is good for ladies, prov., iii. 223

  Fast and loose, xiii. 174

  Faustulus, xii. 490

  Favell, i. 164

  Fere, i. 188

  Fescennine poetry, xii. 312

  Field, Nathaniel, xi. 2-172;
    xv. 416

  Fifteens, x. 299-300

  Firedrakes, ix. 572

  Fisher, Jasper, xii. 446-536

  Fishes, strange, xiii. 248, 259, 267

  Fit, i. 246;
    ii. 48

  Fitz-geoffrey, Charles, x. 110

  Flageolet, the, viii. 31

  Flemings, iii. 325

  Fletchers' Company, iv. 19;
    xiii. 40

  Fliegen, Eve, story of, xiii. 236-7

  Floods, notices of, viii. 38

  Floralia, xiii. 435

  Flout, xiv. 190

  Flower, Francis, iv. 251

  Flowers, language of, xii. 144

  Flute, the, viii. 31

  Fodes, i. 243, 247

  Foist, xiv. 385

  Fool, i. 71

  Fools--Begging for a fool, xiii. 246
    ---- bauble, xi. 57
    ---- coat, xiii. 30

  Fools have fortune, xiv. 474

  Fordoth, i. 68

  Fortune theatre, xi. 136, 434;
    xv. 406

  Foster, Sir Stephen, xii. 90, _et seq._

  Found, i. 244

  Fountain, the, a tavern, xiii. 14

  Fox, a sword, xiv. 387

  Fox, intoxicate, xiii. 28

  Free jug or bottle, the, xii. 336

  French, broken, &c., put into the mouths of speakers (often
        improperly), vi. 200;
    vii. 139, 162
    ---- pedlars, vi. 202;
    viii. 169

  Friar Fox and Gillian of Brentford, a play, viii. 19

  Friars-Limiters, i. 216

  Fuimus Troes: the True Trojans, a play, xii. 446-536

  Fulbeck, W. iv. 251

  Fullam, xii. 124

  Fulwell, Ulpian, iii. 304-59;
    ix. 367

  Funeral customs, xiii. 81-2

  Funeral of Richard Cordelion, a play, viii. 206


  Galaor, Sir, xv. 91

  Gale, Samuel, xiii. 419

  Galileo, xi. 317

  Gallant, treatise of a, i. 174

  Gallo-belgicus, xi. 513

  Games, statute against unlawful, iii. 9
    ---- noticed, ix. 387-8;
    xii. 120-1;
    xiii. 238-9

  Gaming at Christmas, xiii. 20-1

  Gammer Gurton's Needle, a comedy, iii. 164-256;
    x. 427

  Garden-houses, xii. 119

  Garlands, xiii. 37

  Garlic, supposed to be a play or ballad, xi. 434

  Gamier, Robert, v. 178 _et seq._

  Gazet, xiii. 477

  George, the, at Waltham, xiv. 405

  George-a-Green, viii. 151

  Gerbier, Charles, xiv. 7

  Gillivors, xii. 144

  Girdle--"May my girdle break," a phrase, xiii. 10

  Give a thing, and take a thing, xiv. 463

  Glass House, the, xiv. 449

  Glaucus and Seilla, x. 507

  Gleek, a game, xiv. 396

  Goad, Dr John, xv. 400

  God, i. 100
    ---- is a good man, ii. 73
    ---- refuse me, xiii. 5

  God's sonties, an oath, xiv. 145

  Godfrey of Boulogne, xii. 137

  Golding Square, xv. 406

  Gold used in medicine, xii. 116

  Gomersall, Robert, xiv. 488

  Good, i. 152

  Goodman, Nicholas, xiii. 414

  Goshawk, haggard, xiii. 161

  Got--"be got," i. 107

  Gough, John, x. 384;
    xiv. 10
    ----, Robert, x. 384

  Grandmother, to see one's, xiii. 33

  Grange, Laird of, xi. 224

  Gredaline petticoat, xiv. 418

  Green gowns, to give, a phrase, viii. 25-6

  Greene, Robert, viii. 5, 8, 10-11;
    xi. 519; xiii. 105
    ----, Thomas, actor, xi. 176 _et seq._

  "Green's Tu Quoque," a play, xi. 174-289

  Gresham, Sir T., x. 487
    ---- family, xi. 503

  Grim the Collier of Croydon, a play, viii. 386-470

  Groom, i. 252;
    iv. 283

  Groom-porter or box-keeper, xii. 121

  Grotius, Hugo, xiii. 254

  Guardon, i. 206

  Guilpin, Edward, vi. 15

  Gwendoline, xii. 521

  Gypsies, xiii. 174


  Habington, Thomas, xiii. 323
    ----, W., xiii. 321-409

  Hair, combing the, on the stage, xiv. 394

  Haled, xiv. 479

  Hales, blood of, i. 338

  Half-moon, xiv. 456

  Hall, Old, viii. 24

  Hampden, John, xii. 316

  Handsel, vi. 403

  Happily, xiii. 362

  Happy man, happy dole, prov., iv. 21

  Harbinger, xi. 307

  Harlot, i. 253

  Harlotry, viii. 351

  Haro, clameur de, xii. 253

  Harold Harefoot, viii. 233

  Harpocrates, xii. 469

  Harry groats, xiii. 232, 256

  Harvey, Gabriel, viii. 3, 4 _et seq._ 10, 11

  Haslewood, Joseph, i. 391-3

  Hats worn by women, x. 16

  Hatton, Sir Chr., vii. 75

  Haught, xiv. 442

  Haughton, W., x. 470-564

  Hawkins, Sir Richard, xiii. 256
    ----, W., xi. 196

  Haxter, xiv. 282, 322

  Hay, the, a dance, xii. 341

  Haydigee, xii. 507

  Hazard, a game, ii. 34

  Hazlitt, W., x. 205

  Heal, i. 212

  Health-drinking, practices at, xiii. 441

  Hearne, Thomas, xv. 400

  Heart of grace, xii. 212

  Hector, xi. 447

  Heildom, xiii. 43

  Heir, the, a play, xi. 502-84

  Heirlooms, xi. 354

  Hele, i. 129

  Helmets plumed with ostrich feathers, xiv. 45

  Hend, i. 250

  Hengistus, xii. 287

  Henslowe, P., xi. 4, 55

  Herbs and flowers strewed at weddings, x. 366

  Hercules and Lychas, xiii. 515

  Hercules, x. 169; xii. 516

  He who sups with the devil has need of a long spoon, prov., viii. 460-1

  Heywood, John, i. 196-238, 325 _et seq._
    ----, Thomas, i. 329;
    iv. 348;
    xi. 177, 179;
    xii. 95

  Hickscorner, an interlude, i. 143-95

  Hieronimo, part of, iv. 361
    ----. See _Jeronymo_

  Highgate, viii. 380

  High men and low men, xii. 244

  Hight (or hyght), i. 129

  Highwayman, xiv. 382

  Hill, Aaron, vi. 27

  Historia Histrionica, xv. 400-31

  Histriomastix, Prynne's, xiii. 226

  Hobby-horse, viii. 24; xi. 267
    ----, "The hobby-horse is forgot," xi. 267

  Hofman, Goody, xiii. 228

  Hogsnorton, ii. 31

  Holland's Leaguer, xiii. 414

  Holt, i. 148

  Homer, xi. 303

  Hoodman-blind, x. 221

  Horse-stealing, viii. 27

  Hot-cockles, ix. 102;
    xv. 381

  How a Man may Choose a Good Wife from a Bad, a play, ix. 2-96

  Howard, Mr Henry, xv. 189-90

  How can that be? xiv. 458

  Howleglass, Tyl, vii. 358

  Hudson, Thomas, ix. 116

  Huggermugger, x. 90

  Hughes, Thomas, iv. 251

  Humorous, xiv. 296

  Humphrey, to dine with Duke, vi. 553;
    xiii. 31, 264

  Hundred Merry Tales, A, a story-book, i. 25

  Hungarians, x. 227, 244

  Huntley, Dick, viii. 17

  Hussey, xiv. 331

  Hymen's Triumph, a masque, xi. 449


  I am sorry for thee, but I cannot weep, prov., vi. 319

  Iceland (or Isling) dogs, x. 321

  If you know not me, you know nobody, prov., vii. 213

  Image of Idleness, viii. 72

  In danger, iii. 62

  Indies, West, xi. 213

  In dock, out nettle, prov. iii. 90

  Ingelend, Thomas, ii. 266-320

  Ingenious and ingenuous, xiii. 53;
    xiv. 281

  Inkhorn phrases, viii. 70

  Ink in the pen, ii. 92

  Ink-pot terms, viii. 70

  Inns of Court, Christmas at the, xiii. 20-1

  Intellection, i. 124

  Intreat, i. 237

  Ireland, xi. 187

  Irish, ii. 34

  Irish earth, properties of, xii. 486

  Irish footmen, xi. 121

  Irus, xi. 548

  Isle of Dogs, a play, viii. 6-8

  Italian poets, study of the, viii. 5, 29, 72


  Jack, the, at bowls, xii. 165

  Jack Drum's Entertainment, prov., vi. 324

  Jack Juggler, an interlude, ii. 104-57

  Jack o' Lent, xi. 262

  Jack Straw, a play, vi. 376-414

  Jack will be a gentleman, prov., xii. 156

  Jacob and Esau, an interlude, ii. 186-264

  Jacques, Holy, xiv. 65

  James I., ix. 114;
    xi. 328-9

  James in Gales, St, i. 336

  Janty, xiv. 401

  Jehosaphat, i. 332

  Jeronimo, a play in two parts, iv. 346-96;
    v. 3-173;
    xiv. 82
    ----, go by, go by, v. 109

  Jet, i. 69

  Jews furnished with large noses on the stage, x. 481

  Jis (for Jesus), iii. 225

  John, King, Shakespeare's play of, xiv. 136

  John, Sir, ii. 25;
    x. 224-5

  Jonson, Ben. iv. 361;
    v. 3, 4, 56, 70, 103, 147;
    viii. 97;
    ix. 393;
    xi. 504

  Jordan, Thomas, xiv. 9

  Judas colour, v. 121

  Julian (or Jyl) of Brentford, viii. 19

  Jumped, xiv. 248

  Jump out, to, xiii. 62-3


  _Ka kob_, jackdaw's, ii. 215

  Kempe, W., viii. 4, 7;
    ix. 194

  Kest, i. 179

  Killigrew, Anne, xiv. 375
    ----, Henry, xiv. 375
    ----, Sir Robert, xiv. 371
    ----, Thomas, xiv. 370-535
    ----, Sir Will., xiv. 375

  Kind-heart, a dentist, xii. 139

  Kind will creep, &c., prov. i. 113

  King and queen chosen on Twelfth Day, xii. 132

  King's-evil, xii. 256

  Kirkman, Francis, xv. 410-11

  Kirksley, Prioress of, viii. 248

  Knack, a, to Know a Knave, a play, vi. 504-91

  Knight, J., xiv. 13

  Knight of the Bath, creation of a, iv. 349
    ---- Post, vi. 533
    ---- Sun, x. 322;
    xii. 12;
    xiii. 42;
    xiv. 478

  Knights, King James I.'s, x. 272;
    xi. 59

  Knowles, Sir Robert, xii. 193

  Knox, John, xii. 300;
    xiii. 228

  Kyd, Thomas, iv. 346-96;
    v. 3 _et seq._;
    xiv. 82


  Ladies' garden, xiv. 343

  Lamb, Charles, x. 87

  Lame, to do, i. 252

  Lamphire, John, xiii. 203

  Lance-prisado, xiv. 328

  Lapis lasuli, viii. 239

  Latten, i. 183;
    ix. 393

  Lattice, the red, viii. 241;
    ix. 510

  Laud, i. 131

  Laundress, x. 275, 317;
    xiii. 231

  Lawrence of Lancashire, xi. 85

  Lay the country, to, xiii. 253

  Lead apes in hell, to, prov. x. 518

  Leather, to cut thongs out of other people's, xiv. 315

  Le Brun, Hugh, Earl of March, viii. 251

  Legs, to make, viii. 81;
    xiv. 443

  Leicester, Earl of, viii. 174

  Leman, xiii. 499

  Leme, i. 64

  Lesing, i. 159, 246

  Lest, i. 80, 247

  Let the cat wink, prov. i. 265

  Levite's Revenge, the, xiv. 488

  Lewt, i. 255

  Libbards, xiii. 282;
    xiv. 325

  Lieger, xiii. 271

  Lightening before death, the, viii. 266

  Like lettuce, like lips, prov., iii. 23

  Lincolnshire bagpipes, vi. 393

  Lind, i. 255

  Lindabrides, xiv. 478

  Lingua, a play, ix. 332-463

  Liripup, iii. 322

  Litchfield, Rich, _pseud._ viii. 67

  Lithgow, W., xii. 226

  Little John, viii. 106, _et seq._

  Loave-ears, xiv. 321

  Lob's pound, xv. 32

  Locrine, a play, xii. 484

  Lodge, Thomas, vii. 98, _et seq._;
    ix. 114

  Lok (or Lock), Henry, ix. 116

  Lombards, i. 266

  London Bridge, the building of, on wool-packs, xii. 341

  Longeth, i. 254

  Long Meg, a play, xi. 115, 434

  Look about you, a play, vii. 386-506

  Lost Lady, the, a play, xii. 538-627

  Love me little, and love me long, prov., viii. 83

  Loves, for all the, iii. 254

  Lucan, v. 244

  Ludgate prison, xii. 127, 192-3

  Ludus Coventriæ, xv. 418

  _Lues Venerea_, x. 10;
    xii. 296

  Lug, i. 231

  Lust's Dominion, a play, xiii. 178;
    xiv. 93-192

  Lute-strings and grey paper, viii. 26

  Luxur, x. 8

  Lye, xiii. 38

  Lyly (or Lily), John, viii. 45


  Machiavelli, N., viii. 72, 391

  Machin, Lewis, x. 108-200

  Macke, the, a play, ix. 388

  Macquerellas, xiv. 296

  Magisterium, i. 359

  Mahomet and the mountain, vi. 410

  Mahometans, xi. 318

  Maids say nay and take, prov., viii. 308;
    x. 140

  Maked, i. 252

  Malacoton, xii. 236

  Mandevile, Sir John, xii. 227

  Mandubratius, xii. 508

  Man of war, i. 185

  Mantichora (or Mandragora), ix. 559

  Mantle, Sir Thomas, viii. 105

  Mapes, Walter, xii. 240

  Marchpanes, xii. 235

  _Mare Liberum_ and _Mare Clausum_, xiii. 254

  Marian, Maid, viii. 113 _et seq._

  Marius and Sylla, Wars of, vii. 105 _et seq._

  Markham, Gervase, x. 108-200
    ----, Robert, x. 111

  Mark's at Venice, St, i. 340

  Marlowe, Chr., viii. 8;
    ix. 117;
    xiv. 93-6

  Marmion, Shakerly, xiii. 411-523

  Marriage customs, xiii. 81-2

  Marriage Night, the, a play, xv. 111-184

  Marriage of Wit and Science, an interlude, ii. 322-94

  Marshall, Mrs, an actress, xiv. 377
    ----, Stephen, xiv. 516

  Massinger, Philip, xi. 3

  Marston, John, ix. 116

  Master of the game, xiv. 441

  Match at Midnight, a play, xiii. 1-98

  Matron, i. 72

  Maw, a game, x. 539

  Maw, the, a play, ix. 388

  May, Richard, xi. 503
    ----, Sir Thomas, xi. 503
    ----, Thomas, xi. 502-84;
    xii. 2-83

  Mayfield Place, Sussex, xi. 503

  Mayne, Jasper, xiii. 200-320

  Mayor of London, Lord, his inauguration sermon, xiii. 214
    ---- show, xiii. 214

  Mean, i. 62

  Medoro, a hero of romance, xiv. 62

  Meet with one, to, xiii. 62

  Meg of Westminster, Long, iii. 215;
    xi. 111

  Merchant, i. 69; ii. 255;
    xiii. 97, &c.

  Merchants' marks, xii. 100

  Mercuries (early newspapers so called), xi. 513

  Meriell, John, xiv. 13

  Merlins or Marlins, iv. 70-1

  Mermaid, the, a tavern, xiii. 263

  Merry Devil of Edmonton, a play, x. 202-64

  Meve, i. 244

  Microcosmos, ix. 336

  Middleton, T., xii. 89, 94-5

  Mightly, i. 248

  Milton, John, iv. 273;
    xiii. 193

  Mirror of Knighthood, x. 322;
    xi. 70;
    xiii. 42

  Miseries of Enforced Marriage, a play, ix. 466-576

  Miss, i. 186

  Mistress, the, at bowls, xii. 165

  Mistrist, i. 203

  Misusing, i. 193

  Mitre tavern in Bread Street, x. 313;
    two taverns of this name, xiii. 48

  Mole, the French, x. 10

  Mons, siege of, xv. 231

  Monsieur Mingo, a song, viii. 55

  Montague, the Hon. Walter, xiv. 413

  Moorgate Prison, xii. 127, 192-3

  Mooting and Reading Days, xii. 276

  More, Sir Thomas, a play, ii. 269

  Morglay, xi. 70;
    xii. 286

  Mortlake, xiii. 233

  Morvidus, xii. 520

  Motions, xiii. 420

  Mouchatoes, xiv. 305

  Mount-saint, a game, x. 186

  Mow, i. 246; x. 493

  Mucedorus, a play, vii. 200-60;
    xi. 164

  Much in my nock, Nichols, prov., vi. 242

  Mulmutius Dunwallo, a play, xii. 484, 495

  Mumblecrust, Jack, iii. 69

  Munday, Anthony, viii. 94-327

  M. under your girdle, to have an, x. 531

  Mundungo, xiv. 291

  Muscadel, xi. 491

  Music between the acts of plays, iii. 211

  Musicians, itinerant, x. 347-8

  Muswell, i. 341


  Naked, i. 44;
    xiv. 334, 511

  Nash, Thomas, viii. 3-92;
    ix. 119

  Neale, Richard, Bp. of London, i. 342

  Need maketh the old wife trot, prov. iii. 43

  Needlework, xiii. 227

  Nemesis, xiv. 188

  Nessary, i. 253

  Nessus, xiv. 533

  Nevile, Henry, xi. 503

  Newcastle, xiv. 446

  New Custom, an interlude, iii. 2-52

  New England, xii. 316;
    xiii. 228

  New-found-island (or Newfoundland), i. 162;
    xii. 165

  New guise, the, ii. 260

  Newington theatre, xi. 55, 115, 434

  New Queen Street, iv. 87

  Next, i. 194

  Nice Wanton, an interlude, ii. 160-84

  Niggler, iv. 313

  Nineveh, the sight of, a show, ix. 406

  Nipitaty, viii. 60

  Noble--"To bring a noble to ninepence," prov. iii. 344

  Noel (or Nowell), Henry, vii. 50

  Noise of fiddlers, xii. 281

  Nonsense verses, i. 49, 50

  Novem (or Novum), a game, xi. 219

  Nowl, hairy, iii. 23

  Nuddled, xiv. 62

  Nuns, change of name by, x. 240


  Oaths, viii. 304-5, 307

  Odd holes, xiii. 224

  Oldcastle the original name of Falstaff, xi. 152

  Old Couple, the, a play, xii. 2-83

  Old fish and young flesh, xiii. 432

  Olived, a term of cookery, xii. 239

  Olivet, Mount, i. 332

  One-and-thirty, a game, ii. 34

  Onions--"Who'll buy my rope of onions?" a cry, xi. 436

  Orange, Prince of, xv. 231

  Ordinary, the, a play, xii. 204-318

  Orlando, a phrase, xiv. 62

  Ostend, siege of, ix. 170

  Our Lady in the Oak, i. 342
    ---- of Boston, i. 337
    ---- of Boulogne, iii. 199-200

  Outcry, xiv. 445

  Out of his danger, i. 54, 132. _Compare_ iii. 62

  Out of his peril, i. 132

  Overbury, Sir Thomas, xi. 328-9

  Owe, i. 202

  Oyster, a cant term, xiv. 463


  Palermo, razors of, iv. 80;
    vii. 190

  Palmer, i. 331

  Palmerin of England, viii. 99

  Pancridge (Pancras), viii. 380

  Pancridge parson, xi. 33

  Pantofle, iv. 67;
    xv. 105

  Pardoner, i. 343

  Paris (or Parish) Garden, viii. 124

  Parismus, xii. 12

  Parson's Wedding, the, a play, xiv. 370-535

  Part, i. 243

  Pasquil, x. 163

  Passage, a game, i. 266;
    xi. 431

  Passing measures pavin, ix. 408

  Passions (love-poems), xi. 200

  Pastance, i. 79;
    iii. 88

  Patch, iii. 186-7;
    x. 493

  Patrick's Purgatory, St, i. 337

  Paul's, St, x. 341;
    xi. 313, 407;
    xiii. 264;
    xv. 400

  Pee-dee, xiv. 289

  Pembroke, William, Earl of, xiii. 326, 329

  Peele, George, xii. 309

  Pennycuicke, Andrew, xiii. 101

  Pericles, a play, ix. 467;
    xi. 239, 428

  Pepper in the nose, to take, xiii. 166

  Perplexities, the, a play, xv. 199

  Petticoat, to have on the, a phrase, ii. 252

  Phantasia of Memphis, xi. 303

  Pheer (or Fere), xiii. 425

  Phlegm, vii. 193.

  Pickthatch, xi. 19, 119

  Pigeon-holes, a game, xii. 101

  Pight, i. 249

  Pilgrim, i. 331

  Pimlico, xi. 233;
    xiii. 243-4

  Pin of the wheel, xiv. 65

  Pinder (or Pinner), of Wakefield, viii. 151

  Pintas, a game, xv. 265

  Pinion, ii. 35

  Pink, ii. 35

  Piot, Lazarus, pseud., viii. 99

  Pirates, execution of, xi. 188

  Pirate, the, a play, xiii. 101

  Pissing-while, a, iii. 224

  Pitiful, i. 81

  Plagues, notices of, viii. 90;
    x. 342;
    xiv. 487

  Plantain-leaf, xi. 399

  Platform, xiii. 336

  Platonists, xiv. 441

  Plautus, xi. 314

  Plays, Latin, performed at Cambridge, xi. 295, 299
    ----, old, corrupt texts of, xii. 192

  Plutarch's Lives, North's translation of, a Shakespeare book, vii. 105

  Point-device, i. 44

  Poking (or poting) sticks, viii. 161

  Polydorus, xiii. 512

  Pomanders, ix. 419

  Pompey the Great, a play, xv. 188

  Pope, Alex., xii. 19, 42

  Porta, Battista, xi. 301

  Porter, Henry, vii. 262-383

  Portous, ii. 74;
    iii. 24;
    viii. 393

  Poser, ix. 139

  Possems, xiv. 296

  Possess (inform), ix. 483;
    xiii. 144

  Post, a game, ii. 35

  Posts, i. 75
    ---- set up at the sheriffs' doors, xii. 107

  Powis, William, Lord, xiii. 324

  Prague, Battle of, xiii. 45

  Praty, i. 71

  Prayers at the end of plays, iii. 51-2, 157-8;
    vi. 11.

  Prefe, i. 179

  Preston, Tho., ii. 158-248

  Prest, i. 248

  Prevent, xiii. 473

  Primero, a game, xi. 363

  Print well, i. 16

  Prior, M., xii. 19;
    xiv. 421;
    xv. 204

  Prisons, divisions of the old, ix. 514

  Privy Seals, xiii. 267

  Progresses, royal, customs at, xi. 330

  Pro in my purse, to put, a phrase, iv. 60

  Prologues, speakers of, xiii. 299-300

  Promise is debt, prov. i. 137

  Prompter (or book-holder), viii. 17, 87

  Properties, theatrical, xi. 360;
    xiii. 274-5

  Property, xiv. 78

  Propriety, xiv. 364

  Provand, xiv. 385

  Proverbs on concealment of love, xi. 73

  Prynne, W., xiii. 226

  Ptolemy the geographer, xii. 226-7

  Pudder, xiv. 444

  Pudding--"You may draw me about the town with a pudding," ii. 78
    ----, "In pudding-time," prov., iii. 319
    ----, St Stephen's, xii. 235

  Pudding, white, xi. 20
    ----, "Everything hath an end," &c., xv. 61

  Puddle Dock, xiii. 69

  Puff (or Face), Captain, a character, x. 268

  _Pueriles confabulatiunculæ_, a school-book, viii. 444.

  Pugle, i. 162

  Punto, xiv. 284

  Purganti, Paulo, xiv. 421

  Puritans, xi. 111;
    xii. 248, 316;
    xiii. 14


  Q, ix. 195;
    x. 298

  Quadragesimal wits, xii. 268

  Quarry, xiv. 379

  Quatre and trey, terms at dice, xii. 122

  Quaver, xiii. 15

  Queen of Arragon, the, a play, xiii. 321-409

  Queen's-game, the, ii. 34

  Quit, i. 132


  Ragman-rolls, i. 234, 241-2

  Ram-Alley, a play, x. 266-380
    ----, a place so called, x. 271

  Randolph, T., v. 54

  Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune, a play, vi. 144-243

  Ravenscroft, E., vi. 27

  Rawlins, T., xiv. 1-92

  Readers at Inns-of-Court, xiii. 290-1.

  Reason, to do one, xv. 214

  Rebellion, the, a play, xiv. 1-92

  Recorder, the, an instrument, viii. 31

  Red Bull theatre, xi. 175

  Redburn, i. 338

  Reed, i. 179

  Refuse me! an oath, xiii. 5

  Regent, the, a ship, i. 371

  Rehearsal, the, a play, v. 15, 37

  Return from Parnassus, a play, viii. 8;
    ix. 98-217;
    x. 267

  Revenger's Tragedy, the, a play, x. 3-105

  Richards, Nath., xiv. 6

  Reynard the Fox, xiii. 58

  Ridley, Samuel, viii. 19

  Ring Irish, vii. 497

  Rings, wedding, xiv. 417

  Ris, i. 252

  Roaring boys, xi. 125, 135;
    xii. 102

  Robert of Sicily, King, i. 255

  Robin Goodfellow, viii. 442 _et seq._

  Robin Hood, plays upon the history of, viii. 95-327

  Robinson, Richard, an actor, x. 451;
    xiii. 102

  Rock, i. 65

  Rock (or Roch), St, i. 342;
    vi. 74

  Roger de Coverley, Sir, ix. 490

  Rogues, vagabonds, &c., statutes against, iii. 195

  Rome--"To go to Rome with a mortar on one's head," prov., iii. 80

  Rood of Dovercourt, the, viii. 399

  Rosamond, Fair, ballad of, xiii. 50

  Rosemary, x. 342;
    xiii. 81-2, 296

  Rose royals, xiii. 232

  Roses of Poestum, x. 186

  Rowena, xi. 487

  Rowley, Ralph, xii. 87-8
    ----, S., xii. 87
    ----, W., ix. 467;
    xi. 139, 178;
    xii. 86-202;
    xiii. 1-98

  Rub, rub! an exclamation in bowling, xi. 54

  Ruddock, iv. 72

  Ruffs, long story about, xi. 192-3

  Rumbelow, i. 162

  Rush, Friar, iii. 213

  Rushes, viii. 87;
    x. 213

  Rutter, Joseph, xii. 362-444


  Sack with sugar, ix. 516-17

  Sacring-bell, x. 235

  Sadness, i. 187

  Saints, list of unregistered, vi. 74

  Sale, i. 243

  Salisbury Plain, iii. 326

  Salt-cellars, xi. 403

  Samers, i. 251

  Sasarara, x. 76

  Saunce-bell, x. 422

  Saw, old, xiii. 8

  Scaledrake, xiv. 290

  Scathlock, viii. 151 _et seq._

  Schemers, the, 1755, xiii. 209

  Scholastic discipline, early, ii. 270-4

  Scogin, vi. 340;
    viii. 16, 462

  Scolds, punishment of, xii. 127

  Sconce, xiii. 47

  Se, i. 244

  Second Maiden's Tragedy, x. 383-468

  Selden, John, xiii. 254

  Sellenger's round, ix. 195, 409;
    xiii. 492

  Seller, i. 157

  Seneca, the "Thyestes" of, iv. 263, 291

  Servant, xiv. 407

  Set a beggar on horseback, &c., prov., x. 17

  Seymour, Queen Jane, i. 431

  Shakespeare, W., note on his "Measure for Measure," iv. 174
    ----, v. 54, 109, 139;
    ix. 101, 202, 393, 467;
    x. 158-9;
    xi. 246;
    xii. 88, 626;
    xiii. 89

  Shaking of the sheets, a dance, x. 365;
    xiii. 59

  Sheldon, Will., xiii. 233

  Shepherds' Holiday, a play, xii. 362-444

  Ship, the, a play, xi. 115

  Shirley (or Sherley) Brothers, the, xi. 213
    ---- James, xiv. 194

  Shit, i. 183

  Shoe, flinging an old, xiv. 501

  Shoemaker of Bradford, the, viii. 151

  Shoes, xiii. 217

  Shooter's Hill, i. 185.

  Shope, i. 163

  Shoreditch, xii. 195

  Shorn at Canterbury, Master John, i. 340

  Shrove-Tuesday, xi. 195-6, 436-7

  Sick man's salve, the, x. 153-4

  Sickness, the, xiv. 486

  Sidney, Sir Philip, viii. 63;
    ix. 114;
    xiv. 194

  Siesta, xv. 22

  Sims's, a house of entertainment, xiv. 453

  Sin, i. 76, 175

  Skelton, Merry Tales of, a story-book, i. 33;
    viii. 39, 105, _et seq._

  Skeltonical verse, viii. 110

  Sleepers, the Seven, i. 362

  Slot, xiv. 520

  Smith, Wentworth, xi. 425

  Soft fire makes sweet malt, prov., iii. 70

  Soldiers, sham or swaggering, viii. 69;
    xi. 68

  Solf, i. 71

  Solyman and Perseda, a play, v. 254-374

  Songs in old plays, iii. 70, 72, 189, 339, 358;
    xi. 146;
    xiv. 328-31;
    346-7

  Sons, literary, xi. 9

  Sooner named, sooner come, prov., vi. 66

  Sophy, the, a tragedy, xiv. 245

  South, Robert, xiii. 203

  Southwell, our Lady of, i. 341

  Spain, xi. 213

  Spanish Lady's Love, the, a ballad, xiii. 92

  Spanish Tragedy, the, a play, v. 3-173;
    ix. 196;
    x. 370;
    xi. 12, 29, 248, 331, 386

  Speck (or spick) and span, xi. 334;
    xiv. 433

  Spectatrix, xiii. 513

  Spere, i. 321

  Sports, Book of, xii. 212, 316

  Springal, xiii. 159.

  Spring Garden, xiv. 350

  Spurs, iii. 207
    ---- gilt, ix. 469

  Stafford, Robert, xii. 226

  Stage, construction of the, ix. 540

  Staniel, xiv. 284, 357

  Stanielry, xiv. 351

  Starch, yellow, xi. 328-9

  Statist, xiii. 421

  Stench, xiv. 329

  Still, John, iii. 164-256;
    xv. 427

  Stilo novo, xiii. 478

  Stirling, W. Alexander, Earl of, xi. 477

  Stirrups, i. 184

  Stitchel, xiv. 357

  St Nicholas' clerks, xiii. 15

  Stowe, John, xiii. 209

  Stra, i. 255

  Strabo, xii. 226

  Strain'd, xiii. 9

  Strange (coy), xiii. 61

  Strene, i. 55

  Strow, xiv. 311

  Stubbes, Katherine, xii. 272
    ----, Philip, xii. 272

  Studs, Andalusian, xiv. 342

  Stukeley, Captain, xi. 213, 215

  Successive, xiv. 325

  Suckling, Sir John, xii. 4;
    xiii. 414;
    xv. 4

  Summer's Last Will and Testament, viii. 15-92

  Summers (or Sommers), Will., viii. 15 _et seq._;
    xi. 535;
    xiv. 473

  Super naculum, viii. 58

  Surplices, xiii. 14

  Sussex, Countess of, v. 179

  Sutcliffe, Dr Matthew, xii. 277

  Swearing, form of, borrowed from the Old Testament, vii. 92

  Sweat, the, an epidemic, iv. 119

  Swetnam, Joseph, xiv. 278

  Swinnerton, Sir John, xi. 425


  Tag, rag, and bobtail, xiii. 84-5

  Tailor, Robert, xi. 424-599

  Tailors, Italian, xi. 21

  Talc, xiii. 225

  Tallies, xii. 138

  Tampion, i. 370

  Tancred and Gismunda, vii. 27 _et seq._

  Tane, i. 254

  Tapestry, ancient, v. 121;
    xiii. 233

  Tappes, my Lord, ix. 421

  Tappis, xiv. 322

  Tarlton, Richard, his "Jig of the Horseload of Fools," vi. 12
    ----, vi. 396-8;
    viii. 16

  Tatham, John, xiv. 12

  Taverns, list of, vii. 286;
    xiv. 342

  Tax of the Roman Chancery, xi. 565

  Taylor, John, the water-poet, xi. 6
    ----, Joseph, xiv. 505

  Tene, i. 251

  Terence, versions of, viii. 263
    ---- referred to, xv. 199

  Termagant, x. 322-3

  Terrent, Mr, xii. 205

  Tester, xii. 125

  That would I see, quod blind Hew, prov., i. 232

  The, _v._, i. 155

  Theatres, closing of the, xv. 410-11

  The devil is good when he is pleased, prov., viii. 425

  Theon, ix. 205

  There are more maids than Malkin, prov., viii. 266

  There are more ways to the wood than one, prov., ix. 352;
    xv. 142

  There goes the hare away, prov., v. 108;
    xiv. 321

  Thersites, an interlude, i. 389-431;
    iii. 145;
    iv. 176

  Thing of nothing, iii. 22

  This seven year, i. 47

  Thomas of Kent, St, i. 249

  Thornton, Roger, xiv. 446

  Threatened men live long, prov., vii. 495

  Three Ladies of London, a play, vi. 246-370

  Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, a play, vi. 372-502

  Three men's songs, viii. 48

  Three merry men, and three merry men, &c., x. 298

  Thrist, i. 138

  Thule, xii. 459

  Tice, i. 116

  Tide, i. 249

  Tiresias, x. 283

  'Tis better to be a shrew than a sheep, prov., viii. 425

  Titles of old plays hung up, v. 157

  Toad, the, xi. 399

  Tobacco, xiii. 441

  Toll-book, x. 44

  Tom Essence, a play, xiv. 3

  Tomkis, John, xi. 294-421
    ----, Thomas, musician, xi. 295

  Tom Titivile, iii. 58

  To-morrow is a new day, prov., i. 86;
    xv. 41

  Tooth-drawers, xii. 139

  Top, William, xii. 205

  Torture, instruments of, xi. 66, 97

  Tourneur, Cyril, x. 3-105

  Toy, supposed to be an actor, viii. 59

  Tracy, Little, viii. 105 _et seq._

  Tray-trip, a game, xiii. 238-9

  Treatment, xiv. 350

  Trencher-analects, xii. 269

  Trenchmore, x. 316

  Trentals, xiv. 170

  Treygobet, ii. 34

  Trinobantes, &c., xii. 516

  Trial of Treasure, an interlude, iii. 258-301

  Trithemius, Johannes, xii. 218-19

  Triump (or Trump), ii. 34;
    iii. 199

  Trott, Nicholas, iv. 251 _et seq._

  Trouchman, xiii. 344

  Trow, i. 62

  Trump, iii. 199

  Trumpets sounded at theatres and shows, xiii. 250

  Trumpington, ii. 30

  Trundletail, xii. 121

  Trunnion, St, i. 334

  Tuck, Friar, viii. 105 _et seq._

  Tuke, Sir Samuel, xv. 4, 184

  Turbervile, George, iv. 9

  Turnbull (or Turnmill) Street, xi. 98

  Turner, Mrs, xi. 328-9

  Twelfth-Day, xii. 132

  Twin, i. 244


  Udall, Nicholas, ii. 274;
    iii. 54-161

  Uncumber, St, i. 334

  Undeserved, i. 71

  Unfortunate Jack, History of, xii. 329

  Unhappily, xiv. 243

  Unicorn, i. 81

  Unready, xiii. 79

  Upse, xiv. 471

  Up-se-frieze, viii. 58

  Usurers, practices of, viii. 26

  Utopian trunks, xiii. 86


  Vanbrugh, Sir J., xii. 20

  Venue (or Veney), xiii. 169-70

  Verse, blank, vi. 20

  Vice, the, ii. 307;
    iv. 160;
    vii. 386

  Villiers, Colonel George, xii. 19

  Vine-dee, xiii. 272

  Vinegar used to represent blood, iv. 217;
    ix. 106

  Virginia, xi. 187

  Vortigern, xi. 487

  Vox Piscis, or the Book-Fish, 1627, xii. 90


  Wage, to take, i. 247

  Waggons and other carriages impressed, xi. 330

  Wait, i. 248

  Waking Man's Fortune, a story, iv. 8

  Walsingham, our Lady of, i. 335

  Waltham, cross at, i. 335

  Wanion, xiii. 158-9

  Wapping, xi. 188

  Warning for Fair Women, a play, v. 123

  Wase, Chr., xv. 199

  Wassail, xi. 487;
    xii. 285

  Watch and ward, v. 75

  Watching-candle, xi. 352

  Watling Street, iv. 243;
    xi. 207

  Watson, Thomas, v. 36-7;
    ix. 114

  Wat Tyler, v. 376 _et seq._

  Wax, to bite the, xii. 256

  Weakest goeth to the wall, prov., x. 124

  Wealth, i. 73

  Webbe, W., vii. 7, 13

  Webster, John, xii. 89

  Wed, i. 165

  Weeping-Cross, vii. 337

  Wenefrid (or Winifred), St, i. 337

  Went, i. 119

  Werewolf, the, ix. 351

  Wever, R., ii. 42-102

  Whales in maps, xiii. 267

  Wheels laid for pike, xiii. 267

  Whe'r for whether, xiii. 47

  Whetstone, to throw the, a phrase, viii. 28

  Whiffler, xiii. 244

  White, to hit the, xiii. 177-8;
    xiv. 144

  Whitecross Street, xv. 406

  Whittington and his cat, xiv. 446

  Who can sing so merry a note, &c., a ballad, viii. 28

  Widow's phrase, the, x. 306;
    xi. 142

  Wild, i. 245

  Wildness, i. 149

  Wilkins, George (the elder), ix. 466-576

  Willesden, i. 341

  Willowby, Lady (the rod), ix. 27

  Wilmot, Robert, vii. 3 _et seq._

  Wilson, Robert, vi. 246-502

  Wilson's "Art of Rhetoric," passage from "Ralph Roister Doister,"
        cited in, iii. 112

  Wily Beguiled, a play, ix 220-330

  Wind--"Let the world wind," i. 20

  Wine at marriages, xiii. 82

  Wines, xi. 194;
    xiii. 82, 93, 216, 441, 500

  Wisdom, Robert, xii. 271

  Wished, xiii. 65

  Wisp, xii. 127

  Witch, the term applied to both sexes, xiii 259

  Witched, xiii. 453

  Witches, viii. 65

  With a wet finger, prov., vi. 180

  Wits, the Five, i. 130

  Wizard, xiv. 358

  Wizzel, xiii. 271

  Woman, a, is a Weathercock, a play, xi. 2-86

  Woman Never Vexed, a play, xii. 86-202

  Women, note on the occupations, &c., of, _temp_ Eliz. ix. 538

  Women are forgetful, &c., prov., xii. 200

  Wondersly, i. 16

  Wood, i. 351

  Woodes, Nath. vi. 4-9, 30 _et seq._

  Woodman, Richard, iii. 35

  Wood Street counter, xii. 179

  Woollen manufacture, xiii. 295

  World and the Child, the, an interlude, i. 241-75

  World, it is a, a phrase, i. 35

  Worthies, the Nine, xi. 447

  Wrapped in his mother's smock, xiii. 74

  Wreaths, oaken, xiii. 459

  Wright, Abraham, xv. 400
    ----, James, xv. 400-431

  Wrought, i. 249


  Yellow, to wear the, vii. 474

  Yeomen of the collar, i. 157

  Ying, i. 245

  Young, Edward, xiii. 178

  Youth, Interlude of, ii. 5-40




GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

                           GLOSSARIAL INDEX,

                        BY RICHARD MORRIS, LL.D.

  A, _in_, i. 49;
    xv. 217;
    viii, 313;
    _of_, viii. 369;
    _he_, iii. 241;
    vi. 183

  Abashed, _downcast_, i. 88

  Abide, _to remain_, xi. 456;
    _to endure_, i. 308

  Abide,    }
  Abi, Aby, } _to atone for_, xi. 38;
    i. 406;
    iii. 95

  Abiden, _endured_, ix. 425

  Abject, _an abject creature_, vi. 95

  Aboarding, _coming to the coast_(?), v. 265

  About, _round_, i. 19

  Aboven, _above_, xv. 422

  Abroach, _on broach_, xiii. 93

  Abusion, _abuse_, ii. 89

  Accointance, _acquaintance_, i. 79

  Accompt, _account_, xv. 119

  Accomptant, _accountant_, xiv. 325

  Accord, _to agree_, i. 229

  Accumber, _to destroy_, i. 299

  Accumbred, _troubled_, iii. 133

  Acold, _cold_, iii. 189

  Acquaince, _acquaintance_, i. 105

  Acquittance, _quittance_, i. 127

  Acrook, _crookedly_, iii. 125

  Adamant, _a magnet, loadstone_, v. 300

  Adauntrely (= avauntlay), _a hunting term_, ix. 149

  A doors, "forth a doors" = _out of doors_, x. 561

  Adrabbing, _a-wenching_, vii. 348

  Adreamed, _dreamed_, x. 241;
    xiii. 169

  Adry, _dry_, vi. 568

  Advenient, _coming, future_, vii. 158

  Advertise, _to warn_, xv. 23

  Advertisement, _counsel_, i. 293

  Advisement, _advice_, i. 106;
    vii. 109;
    _consideration_, i. 292

  Advoutress, _adultress_, iii. 151

  Advoutry, _adultery_, xii. 301

  Af, _of_, vi. 73

  Afeard, _afraid_, i. 110

  Affect, _to love_, xi. 141, 453;
    xiv. 303

  Affected, _well disposed_, xi. 454, 518

  Affiance, _trust_, i. 107

  Affine, _lastly_, iii. 246;
    _lastly_, i. 266

  Affright, _frightened_, v. 213

  Affront, _to face, to meet face to face_, v. 211;
    xi. 265;
    xii. 469

  Agate, _agoing, on the road_, ii. 25, 306;
    ix. 400

  Aggress, _to approach_, iv. 172

  Aggrievance, _grievance_, xiv. 309

  Aggrieves, _grievances_, xiv. 309

  Aglet, _point of a tag_, v. 113

  Ago, _gone by_, i. 107, 167, 168

  Agone, _ago_, i. 28

  Agood, _goodly_, iii. 116

  Agooding, _agadding_(?), iii. 317

  Ahungry, _hungry_, vi. 296

  Akenning, _being discerned_, v. 354

  A las pintas, _note_, xv. 265

  Alate, _late, lately_, ii. 114;
    ix. 164;
    x. 444.

  Alchochoden, _an astronomical term_, xi. 345

  Alder of all, i. 135

  Ale, _to heel_, i. 161, 185

  Alestake, _sign of an alehouse_, i. 191

  Alfridaria, _a term used in astronomy_, xi. 344

  Algate,  }
  Algates, } _always_, i. 237;
    xii. 288

  Alimonial, _pertaining to alimony_, xiv. 314

  Almicantarath, _astronomical term_, _note_, xi. 326

  Almight, _Almighty_, i. 147

  Alms, _a charity_, i. 72;
    ii. 285

  Almuten, _astronomical term_, _note_, xi. 345

  Alonely, _only_, i. 67

  Along on, _on account of_, ix. 101

  Alouten, _utterly_, xii. 241

  Aloyse, iv. 79

  Altogether (for), _once for all_, iii. 135

  Alum-plumb, i. 178

  Aly, _holy_ (?), _but see note_, iii. 66

  Amain, _fast_, vii. 281

  Amate, _to daunt, confound_, vii. 79, 137

  Amaze, _amazement_, x. 133

  Ambassadress, xv. 208

  Ambassage, _embassy_, vi. 463

  Ambages, _ambiguous, equivocal sayings_, v. 30;
    ix. 265

  Ambergrease, xi. 341;
    xiii. 490

  Ambitiousness, _ambition_, xv. 161

  Ambrosiac, xiv. 316

  Ambry, _pantry_, vi. 412.

  Amebly, _trotting_(?), xii. 284

  Amend, _to mend_, iii. 176

  Ames ace, _note_, xii. 243;
    xiii. 118

  Ameved, _moved_, iii. 240

  Amiss, _fault_, vi. 525

  Among, _now and then, at intervals_, i. 71

  Amorist, _a lover_, xiii. 376

  Amort, _melancholy_, viii. 198;
    ix. 305;
    x. 310

  Amuse, _musing_, x. 175

  An, and, _if_, i. 142;
    xii. 259;
    xiii. 80;
    xv. 128;
    _on_, ii. 193

  Ancient, _ensign_, viii. 174; xiii. 58

  Anent, _along_, iv. 313

  Angerly, _angrily_, iv. 136

  Annoy, _annoyance_, iv. 317;
    xv. 120

  Antiphon, _alternate singing_, xii. 503

  Apace, _quickly_, i. 88

  Apaid, _pleased_, i. 175;
    iii. 18

  Apluck, _in pluck_, _lustily_, i. 146;
    ii. 368

  Apoplex, _apoplexy_, x. 182

  Appair, _to impair_, i. 100

  Appealed, _accused_, i. 70

  Appetite, _desire_, ii. 47

  Apply, _to apply one's self_, ii. 284

  Appointed, _accoutred_, _equipped_, i. 376;
    xii. 213

  Apprehensive, _perceptive_, xii. 505

  Approbate, _approved_, i. 7

  Approve, _to prove_, x. 117

  Arayed,  {
  Arrayed, { _defiled_, _soiled_, _disfigured_, i. 78, 178;
    iii. 175;
    _disconcerted_, ii. 119

  Areadiness, _readiness_, iv. 234

  Arear, _back_, i. 166

  Argosies, _merchant ships_, xii. 100

  Armipotent, _powerful in arms_, iii. 282

  Aroom, _abroad_, i. 154

  A-row, _in succession_, xv. 91

  Arre, _to snarl_, viii. 44

  Arride, _to please_, xiii. 445

  Arsyversy, xii. 137

  Articulated, _put down as articles of a treaty_, v. 67

  Ascendant, _note_, xi. 309

  Ashen, _ashes_, xii. 240

  Asinigo, _a fool_, xiii. 519

  Aslake, _to assuage_, i. 400

  Aspect (of planets), vii. 185

  Aspy, _to spy_, i. 156

  Assail, _to essay_, ii. 241

  Assay, _to essay, try_, i. 19; ii. 389

  Assoil, _to remove doubts, explain_, i. 70, 75, 179;
    vii. 169;
    xv. 253

  Assurance, security, xii. 153

  Assure, _to make sure of_, x. 139

  Astonied, _thunderstruck_, vii. 80;
    ix. 570

  At, _with_, x. 123

  At odds, _at variance_, ix. 457

  At one (with), _to reconcile to_, iii. 139

  Atrust, _on trust_, x. 308

  Attach, _to seize_, vii. 24, xii. 503

  Attournment, x. 218

  Aunt, _a bawd_, xiii. 70;
    xiv. 448

  Autocousticon, _note_, xi. 314

  Ayenst, _against_, i. 149

  Azimuth, _note_, xi. 326


  Bab, _babe_, vi. 73

  Babble, _to talk like a child, to prate_, i. 8

  Babbling, _chattering_, i. 19

  Baberlipped, _thick-lipped_, ix. 404

  Bable, _bauble_, vii. 359

  Backside, _backyard_, x. 341;
    xi. 233;
    _a house in the rear of another_, x. 341

  Backster, _a female baker_, i. 424

  Baconpig, v. 104

  Bade, _an abode_, iv. 307

  Badst, _invitedst_, viii. 290

  Baffle, xii. 174;
    xiv. 305

  Balance, (_pair of_) _scales_, viii. 408

  Bale (of dice), _pair_, xi. 221;
    xii. 121

  Balk, _beam of a house_, iii. 173

  Balladising, _ballad-making_, viii. 258

  Ban, _to curse_, iii. 181

  Band, _bound_, ix. 569;
    _bond_, iii. 361

  Banding, _bandied_, vii. 116

  Bandoliers, xii. 229

  Bandy, _game at tennis_, ix. 381

  Bane, _death_, v. 262

  Banket, _a banquet_, i. 44;
    ii. 82

  Bankrout, _bankrupt_, x. 361

  Bannerets, v. 213

  Bannings, _curses_, viii. 315

  Bare, _did bear_, i. 165

  Barm, _yeast_, xii. 269

  Barmuthes, _Bermudas_, xi. 137

  Barmy, _yeasty_, ix. 110

  Barnacles, _spectacles_, iv. 81

  Barren (of), _devoid_ of, vii. 288

  Barricado, _to barricade_, x. 260

  Barrow gutlings, _a pig's guts_, x. 347

  Base (at), _game of base_, viii. 400

  Baseful, _low_, ix. 176

  Bashaw, _pashaw_, v. 150

  Basilisk, _a piece of ordnance_, x. 325

  Bass, _to kiss_, i. 74, 181

  Baste, _to beat_, xiv. 305

  Bat,  { _to abate, decline in courage_, x. 33;
  Bate, { _to flutter_, xi. 353

  Bate, _to debate_, xii. 524

  Batteries, xiii. 218, _note_

  Battoon, _a staff_, xii. 238

  Bawson, _badger_, ix. 452

  Bayard, _a bay horse_; "blind as bayard," iv. 118

  Bay, _by_, vi. 71

  Be, _been_, i. 413

  Bead, _prayer_, x. 234;
    viii. 393

  Bead-folk, _pensioners_, i. 85

  Bead-roll, _a list of persons to be prayed for_, v. 197

  Bear in hand, x. 303

  Beastly, _like a beast_, i. 30

  Bebang, _to bang_, vii. 309

  Beck, _a beckoning (with the hand)_, xi. 262, 307;
    _a nod_, viii. 88;
    _salutation_, i. 373

  Bedlam, _a madman_, iii. 245;
    _mad_, ii. 131

  Bedstaff, xi. 337; xiii, 35

  Bedward, _bed-time_, xi. 333

  Beetle-browed, _having overhanging brows_, ix. 404

  Beforne, _before_, i. 273

  Behete, _to promise_, i. 258

  Behyht, _promised_, i. 248

  Being, _existence_, _state_, _welfare_, xi. 454, 464

  Being that, _since_, x. 262

  Beknave, i. 430

  Beldam, _old_, xi. 247

  Belike, _perhaps_, xi. 245

  Belith, _belongs_, i. 258

  Belive, _quickly_, viii. 158;
    xii. 507

  Bemonster, _to make a monster of_, x. 157

  Benedicite, i. 54

  Benison, _blessing_, ii. 230

  Bent, _biassed_, x. 118

  Benters, _coal-sacks_, iv. 77

  Beray, _to dirt, mess_, iii. 197, 329

  Berew, _by row_, _a-row_, i. 246

  Beseem, _to suit_, xii. 505

  Beshrew, _to curse_, i. 20

  Beside herself, _out of her wits_, i. 66

  Beslaver, _to slobber over_, ix. 121

  Besnow, _cover with snow_, xii. 457

  Bestial, _animal_, i. 12

  Bet, _beaten_, iii. 237;
    _do better_, ii. 127;
    _better_, xii. 257

  Betruss'd, _hanged_, viii. 199

  Bever, _luncheon_, ix. 366

  Bevy, i. 20;
    _a bevy_, vii. 322

  Bewray, _to betray_, ii. 241;
    xi. 239

  Beyond, _over_, i. 152

  Bias, _term in game of bowls_, vii. 283

  Bib, _to drink_, x. 335

  Bickering, _fighting_, iii. 217

  Bid, _did abide_, vii. 296

  Bidden, _refrained_, ii. 218

  Bidding prayer, viii. 393

  Bide, _to endure_, iv. 185;
    _to suffer_, vi. 588;
    _to abide_, _stay_, i. 137

  Bidene, _forthwith_, _together_, i. 268

  Biggon, _see note_, xiii. 288

  Bilbo, _sword_, xiii. 35

  Bill, _a petition_, viii. 378

  Birdbolt, _an arrow_, xi. 200

  Birdsnie, _term of endearment_, xiii. 124

  Bis, _fine silk_, i. 252

  Bitched (ale), i. 254

  Bitter, _a bittern_, i. 424

  Bi wi ye, (_good_) _bye_, vii. 312

  Blackguard, iii. 323

  Blackjack, viii. 57;
    ix. 471;
    xi. 470

  Blank, _white of a target_, ii. 35

  Blather, _a bladder_, vi. 114

  Ble, _complexion_, i. 251

  Blea, _to bleat like a kid_, ii. 237, 239

  Blest, iii. 243

  Blin, _to cease_, i. 248, 424;
    viii. 320

  Blive, _quick_, xii. 311;
    _to be quick_, xii. 507

  Bloat, _a bloater_ (_herring_), xiii. 5

  Blot, _a term used in card-playing_, vii. 276

  Blot, _to defile_ iii. 202;
    _defame_, iv. 143

  Bluebottle, _a liveried servant_, ix. 471

  Bluster, _to blow_, xii. 219

  Bob, _a blow_, iv. 81;
    vii. 168;
    _to strike_, iv. 121;
    vii. 456, 490;
    _taunt_, iv. 81;
    vii. 309;
    _to send away empty_, xi. 435.

  Bob (for eels), xii. 166

  Bobb'd, _beaten, baffled_, x. 358;
    _tricked_, xiii. 129

  Bode, _to portend_, viii. 47

  Bodkin, _a dagger_, vii. 335

  Body politic, xii. 230

  Bold, _to encourage_, i. 182

  Boll, _bowl_, i. 179

  Bombard, _a drinking-vessel_, xi. 24;
    _a piece of ordnance_, i. 370

  Bomfay, _by my faith_, iii. 272

  Bonable, _abominable_, iii. 212

  Bona robas, _note_, ix. 530

  Bone, "a bone in your hood," ii. 169, 170

  Bonerly, bonnerly, _debonairly_, _mannerly_, i. 243, 250

  Bones, _dice_, xiii. 124;
    "make no bones," _make no delay_, i. 398

  Bongrace,  }
  Boongrace, } _a bonnet_, _hood_, i. 203;
    vi. 466

  Boon, _good_, ix. 147

  Boon sparks, _fine fellows_, xii. 270

  Boot, _remedy_, _medicine_, i. 84

  Boots, _avails_, xi. 81

  Bord, _jest_, _game_, iii. 78

  Borrels, _peasants_, xii. 567

  Borrow, _to preserve, save, secure_, i. 269; ii. 120

  Botkin, _a dagger_, ii. 301

  Bots, _worms_, ii. 300;
    x. 491;
    _venereal disease_, vi. 257

  Bottle, _a bundle_, xi. 22;
    vi. 176;
    vii. 208;
    "bite bread out of a bottle," i. 411

  Bottom, _a vale_, i. 371;
    x. 247;
    _foundation_, i. 17

  Bonget, _cask, bucket_, iv. 72

  Bought, _redeemed_, i. 141

  Bounce, _to beat_, iii. 218;
    _bang_, ix. 263

  Bound, _boon_, iv. 143

  Bounty, _goodness_, i. 248

  Bountyhood, _bounty_, viii. 36

  Bow, _to bend_, i. 77

  Bowr, "ball and bowr," i. 247

  Bowyer, _a maker of bows_, viii. 152;
    xiii. 60

  Box, _note_, xii. 121

  Boying, _playing the boy_, ii. 211

  Brachs, _shelves_, _shoals_, i. 185

  Brachygraphy, _shorthand_, viii. 41

  Brag, _fine_, ii. 108, 336;
    iii. 209;
    vi. 394

  Brainpan, _skull_, vii. 309

  Brangled, _encumbered_, x. 228

  Brast, _burst_, i. 148, 252

  Brave, _fine_, _well dressed_, iii. 28;
    iv. 81;
    x. 125

  Bravely, _finely_, xiii. 129

  Bravery, _finery_, ix. 17;
    x. 125

  Brawl (=broll), _brat_, _child_, iii. 201

  Brawn, _muscle_, ii. 209

  Brawnfallen, _chapfallen_, v. 207

  Bray'd, _pounded_, xi. 333

  Break up, _to open_, vii. 132

  Breast, _breath_, _voice_, i. 353;
    iii. 61

  Breech, _to flog, whip_, viii. 21;
    x. 282;
    xi. 148

  Bren, _to burn_, i. 12, 54, 58, 211

  Breviates, _briefs_, x. 166

  Brewis, _broth_, vii. 218;
    x. 478

  Brigand (harness), i. 251

  Briggen (irons), i. 402

  Brims, _top of a hill_, i. 371;
    _fierce_, iii. 138

  Brocket, _a hart of two years_, ix. 148

  Broderd, _embroidered_, iv. 243

  Broideries, _embroideries_, x. 199

  Brokage, xiv. 314

  Broke (=broken), _spoken with_, iv. 483

  Broken beer, xii. 228

  Broken-bellied, _ruptured_, xii. 215

  Brook, _to endure_, xi. 456

  Broom, _rushes, twigs of broom_, i. 65

  Brothel, _a wicked woman_, _whore_, _a wretch_, i. 82, 255

  Brunt, _burnt_, vi. 76

  Brusten, _burst_, iii. 197

  Budge, _to stir_, ix. 525

  Buffling, _foolish_, x. 370

  Bug, _a goblin_, iv. 72;
    v. 172

  Bugle-gown, x. 347

  Bugle-horn, viii. 47

  Buke, _a book_, vi. 73

  Bulchin, _a bull calf_, viii. 369

  Bulk, _body_, iv. 357;
    xi. 356

  Bullbeggar, _a bogy_, _goblin_, xii. 122

  Bully, _a term of endearment_, x. 260;
    _fellow_, ix. 494, 515;
    _friend_, xii. 120

  Bum, _by my_, iv. 62;
    viii. 364;
    (?) _to brand_, vii. 466;
    (?) _bumping_, iv. 122

  Bumbard, _a cannon_, xi. 263

  Bumbast, _to fill out_, xii. 181

  Bumbasting, _stuffing out_, x. 357

  Bumfay, }
  Bumvay, } _by my faith_, ii. 375;
    iv. 219

  Bumming, _drinking_, xiii. 8

  Bunny, _a term of endearment_, ix. 252

  Bur, _by our_, viii. 338

  Burbolt(= bird-bolt), _an arrow_, iii. 101.

  Burden (of a song), i. 49

  Burgh, _a town_, i. 338

  Bursemen, xii. 120

  Bursting, _breaking_, iii. 180

  Burtherous, _burdensome_, vi. 108

  Busk, _fine, trim_, x. 235;
    _a bush_, iii. 81;
    _part of a dress_, ix. 17, _note_;
    ix. 368;
    xiii. 334

  Buskle, _to buckle_, v. 242

  Buss, _to kiss_, iv. 233;
    ix. 244;
    xii. 308;
    _voice_ (?), iv. 81

  But, _without_, x. 187

  Buzzes, _gossamers_, xi. 37

  Buzzing, _spreading about rumours_, iv. 366

  B' w' y', _be with you_, vi. 532;
    _God be with you_, _good-bye_, xii. 297

  By (=aby), _atone for_, _pay for_, iii. 139

  Bye and main, _on all sides_, xiv. 427

  By kind, _naturally_, vii. 294

  By-word, _a proverb_, vi. 47


  Caitiff, _vile_, xii. 10

  Calf, _a fool_, ii. 288, 305

  Caliver, xiii. 345

  Callet, _a drab_, iii. 209, 215, 217;
    xiii. 499;
    x. 501;
    _craven_, iii. 219

  Calverd (salmon), xiv. 450

  Camerade, _comrade_, xv. 213, 215

  Camp, _to wrangle_, _nag_, ix. 251.

  Can, _knows_, i. 7;
    _to acknowledge_, i. 147, 364

  Can (thanks) _to acknowledge_, iii. 66

  Can of Catowe, _Khan of Cathay_, i. 32

  Canicular, xiv. 336

  Cannibal, _the venereal disease_, xi. 247.

  Canst, _knowest_, i. 261;
    v. 129

  Cant, _to sing_, xiv. 356

  Capric (wine), i. 24

  Caracts, _ships_, xiv. 325

  Carantoman, xiv. 300

  Caraways, _caraway comfits_, ii. 300

  Carbonadoe, vii. 505

  Carcanet, _necklace_, _bracelet_, v. 261

  Card (to cool), _note_, xiii. 505

  Care, _sorrow_, i. 120, 250

  Carefully, _sorrowfully_, ii. 318

  Cargo, _courage_, ix. 533

  Cargohai, _note_, xi. 421

  Cark, _care_, i. 225

  Carl, _a churl_, viii. 50;
    ix. 215

  Carlishness, _churlishness_, xii. 311

  Carouch, }
  Caroch,  } _a coach_, x. 336;
    xi. 202

  Carping, _talking_, i. 267

  Carriage, _behaviour_, xi. 117

  Carriages, _deeds_, xiv. 202

  Carta blanca, _a fool_, xv. 72

  Cartel, xv. 92

  Cartiff, _wretch_, i. 29, 106

  Case, "if case," _if it be_, iv. 123

  Casques, _helmets_, v. 243

  Cassock, _a riding-coat_, ix. 372

  Cassy, _Cassia_, i. 366

  Cast, _sleight_, ii. 113;
    _to vomit_, vii. 303;
    _to contrive_, x. 312;
    _suppose_, iii. 68, 90;
    _cast off_, x. 341

  Casten, _cast_, xiv. 290

  Casting, _spitting_, _expectoration_, xi. 43

  Casting-bottle, _note_, xi. 339.

  Cataclysm, _deluge_, xii. 468

  Cat-a-mountain, _a panther_, xi. 67

  Catch, _a song_, xv. 119

  Catchpole, _thief-catcher_, i. 156;
    _a policeman_, x. 330

  Catchpole-bribed = _bribed to be a catchpole_, viii. 118

  Cater, _caterer_, xii. 122

  Cates, _dainties_, xi. 486;
    xii. 25

  Cat in the pan, iv. 41

  Caul, xv. 90, _note_

  Cautelous, _cautious_, xi. 15

  Cautelously, _cautiously_, xv. 280

  Cautility, _deceit_, iii. 284

  Caveary, xii. 236

  Caviare, ix. 366

  Cazimi, _the sun's centre_, xi. 344

  Cees, _note_, iv. 367

  Censing, _incensing_, iii. 11

  Censings, _incensings_, ii. 66

  Ceremonious, _religious_, xi. 449

  Certain, _for certain_, _certainly_, i. 32, 129

  Certify, _to assure_, xiii. 81

  Cha, _I have_, iii. 179

  Chad, _I had_, iii. 75;
    viii. 362

  Chafe, _a chafing, anger_, iv. 382;
    viii. 412

  Chafen, _to chafe_, iii. 39

  Chalk, "sin in chalk," xiii. 287

  Chall, _I will_, iii. 182

  Challenge, _to claim_, xi. 34

  Cham, _I am_, iii. 175;
    viii. 338

  Champion, _a level field_, vii. 282

  Champion-haxter, xiv. 322

  Channot, _I cannot_, iii. 195

  Chap, _jaw_, iv. 353;
    vi. 389

  Chapfallen gums, x. 339

  Chapman, _a dealer_, _merchant_, xi. 183;
    xii. 158;
    xiv. 427

  Char, _business_, _job_, _turn of work_, ii. 375

  Char'd, _done_, iii. 375

  Chargeable, _expensive_, xii. 101

  Charger, _a dish_, xi. 339

  Charity, St., i. 112

  Charmer, _enchanter_, xii. 505

  Chat, _jaw_, _jangling_, iii. 243

  Chave, _I have_, iii. 178

  Chawbon, _jawbone_, i. 424

  Che, _I_, viii. 388

  Cheap, _bargain_, i. 184

  Cheapen, _to buy_, xi. 183, 190

  Cheaping, _market_, i. 260

  Cheard, _I heard_, iii. 205

  Cheatee, _one cheated_, xi. 404

  Check, _to cheek, abuse_, ii. 315, 347

  Checks, _reproofs_, vii. 156

  Cheerly, _cheerfully_, xi. 72

  Cherry-pit, i. 246

  Chests, _chess_, ix. 387

  Chieve, _to achieve_, iii. 74

  Chill, _I will_, iii. 184;
    iv. 219

  Chirurgeon, _surgeon_, xi. 363

  Chitterlings, iii. 310

  Chittyface, _having face like a chit_, viii. 188.

  Choose, _to help_, xi. 251

  Chop logic, x. 126.

  Chope, _I hope_, iii. 205

  Chopines, _high shoes_, x. 367

  Choploge, _chop logic_, iii. 101

  Chops, _jaws_, xi. 67

  Chrisom clethes, _chrisom clothes_, vi. 72

  Christcross row, _alphabet_, vii. 324

  Christen'd, _baptized_, i. 148

  Chrysome, _note_, xiii. 280

  Chuck (= chick), _a term of endearment_, ix. 499;
    xii. 214

  Chud, _I would_, viii. 347

  Chuff, _a churl_, viii. 367

  Churchman, _a parson_, xii. 110

  Chwas, _I was_, iii. 75; iv. 73

  Chwere, _I were_, iii. 179

  Chwine, _I ween_, iii. 75

  Chwould, _I would_, iii. 177

  Cinque, _term in dancing_, ii. 91

  Cinque-pace, _name of a dance_, xi. 478

  Clang, _withered_, i. 269

  Clap dish,  }
  Clapperjaw, } _a chatterer_, viii. 446;
    xi. 274

  Clap hands, xi. 42

  Cary (wine), i. 24

  Clave, _did cleave_, i. 147

  Claw, _to scratch_, x. 122

  Clean, _quite_, _altogether_, i. 25, 213

  Clear, _quit_, v. 379;
    _clearness_, vii. 118

  Clenchpoop, _a fool_, vi. 256

  Clepe, _to call_, i. 245

  Cleped, _called_, i. 200;
    viii. 347, 394

  Clept, _called_, vi. 515

  Clerk, _a scholar_, i. 6, 7;
    iii. 190;
    _a parson_, xii. 112

  Clerkish, _learned_, ii. 9

  Clerks (St Nicholas'), _thieves_, xiii. 15

  Cling, _to embrace_, xvi. 22;
    (?), x. 22.

  Clip, _to embrace_, ii. 180;
    ix. 254;
    x. 173;
    xiii. 182

  Clock, _to cluck_, ix. 480

  Cloister, _to imprison_, xiv. 190

  Close, _secret_, viii. 64;
    xi. 61

  Closely, _secretly_, viii. 62;
    xi. 306

  Closeness, _secrecy_, xiv. 213

  Clotter'd, _clotted_, vii. 82

  Cloudy, _gloomy_, xi. 485

  Clout, _to patch_, i. 183;
    _a patch_, iii. 181;
    _centre of a target_, xi. 249;
    _used contemptuously of clothes_, xv. 114

  Clouted, _clothed_, xi. 197

  Clownical, _clownish_, xi. 237

  Clubbish, _blockish_, ii. 192

  Clutchfist, _a miser_, xii. 238

  Clyppen, _to call_, xii. 241

  Coals (to carry), _to bear injury_, viii. 417

  Coat, _escutcheon_, viii. 296

  Cobblestones, _pebblestones_, iii. 210

  Cock, _God_, iii. 71

  Cock and pie (by), _an oath_, v. 274

  Cock's, _God's_, i. 155

  Cockatrice, xiii. 500, _note_

  Cocker'd, _pampered_, xi. 254

  Cockerill, _a little cock_, _a term of contempt_, iv. 68

  Cockering, _indulgence_, iii. 8

  Cocking, _cock-fighting_, xi. 364

  Cockle, vi. 46

  Cockney, i. 403;
    _a pet_, viii. 360

  Cocksure, x. 309

  Cod's, _God's_, iv. 221

  Coddled, xv. 216

  Cog, _to cheat_, vi. 257;
    viii. 416;
    x. 497;
    _to flatter, deceive_, viii. 157;
    _falsity_, viii. 134

  Cogfoist, _a cheat_, ix. 239

  Cogging, _cheating_, ix. 238

  Coggled, _swallowed_ (?), ii. 215

  Coifs, xi. 181

  Coil, _cuff_, iii. 130;
    _noise_, iii. 124;
    x. 123

  Coil'd, _torn_, iv. 232

  Coistrell, viii. 339

  Coll, _name of a dog_, iii. 8

  Collar, "yeoman of the collar," _prisoners' chains_, i. 157

  Collaud, _to praise_, xi. 235

  Collet, _part of a ring in which a stone is set_, x. 18

  Colloge, _to talk_, xi. 256

  Collop, _a slice_, v. 334

  Colphise, _to beat_, _buffet_, iv. 60

  Come off, _to pay dearly for_, ix. 185

  Comen, _come_, i. 202

  Commandment, _committal_, vi. 488

  Commendadore, xiii. 521

  Commerce, _intercourse_, xiv. 198

  Commix, _to mix_, i. 11, 12

  Commodious (to), _according (to)_, ii. 271;
    _fit, proper_, ii. 318

  Commodity, _interest_, iii. 52

  Common, _to commune_, vi. 33

  Commutative, _exchangeable_, xv. 240

  Compact, _compacted_, viii. 76

  Companion, _equal, fellow_, vi. 179;
    x. 119

  Compare, _comparison_, vii. 72;
    x. 119

  Comparisons are odious, xiv. 147

  Compass, _to achieve_, _comprehend_, xi. 435, 553;
    xv. 12

  Compeer, _equal_, ii. 13

  Complement, _requisite_, ix. 367

  Complet, _crown_, vii. 241

  Complexion, _nature_, i. 287;
    xv. 281

  Complice, _an accomplice_, xiv. 305

  Complot, _a plot_, x. 519

  Comport, _to bear_, _behave_, xv. 25

  Comportment, _behaviour_, xv. 89

  Composition, _terms_, _agreement_, x. 208;
    xv. 226

  Compound, _compounded_, i. 12

  Con, _to acknowledge_, iii. 198;
    ix. 257

  Conceit, _thought_, _imagination_, i. 7, 10;
    v. 409;
    x. 178

  Conceive, _to understand_, xi. 562;
    _think, conceive_, viii. 82;
    xii. 101

  Concent, _adherent_, iv. 147

  Concerner, xiii. 210

  Concernment, _concern_, xv. 10, 40, 45;
    _importance_, xiv. 217

  Concertation, _a meeting_, i. 409

  Concordance, _agreement_, xiii. 119

  Concurrents, xv. 29

  Conditions, _terms_, xv. 52

  Conduct, _a guide_, xiv. 337

  Conduyter, _conductor_, i. 126

  Coney, _a rabbit_, _a term of endearment_, ii. 286;
    iii. 150

  Coney-catching, xii. 125

  Coneygreen, _a rabbit-burrow_, vii. 336

  Congies, _good-byes_, x. 121

  Congruence, i. 285

  Conjoin, _to unite_, xii. 114.

  Conjuration, _adjuration_, xiv. 240

  Connant, _covenant_, i. 265

  Conserve, _to preserve_, vii. 56.

  Conserver, _preserver_, xiv. 135

  Consiliadory, xiii. 108

  Consort, _concert_, xii. 355

  Content, _contentment_, xi. 452, 459

  Contentation, _contentment_, iii. 290;
    xi. 526

  Continent, _chaste_, x. 141

  Contrivement, _contrivance_, xii. 214

  Controlment, _control_, vii. 69

  Controversy, _litigation_, xi. 467

  Conveniency, _convenience_, xiv. 395, 506

  Convenient, _fit_, ii. 302

  Conversation, _life_, iii. 270

  Converse, _conversation_, xi. 484

  Convey, _to put_, _place_, xi. 484;
    _steal_, i. 159

  Conveyance, _theft_, iii. 135, 136

  Convince, _to conquer_, iii. 267;
    iv. 174

  Convinced, _convicted_, vi. 94

  Cope, _to exchange_ vi. 331

  Copesmate, _companion_, vi. 395;
    vii. 449;
    xiii. 30

  Corner-cap, iii. 11

  Cornute, _a cuckold_, x. 173

  Corporal, _corporeal_, i. 12

  Corregidor, xv. 203

  Correspondent (to), _according_ (_to_), iv. 12.

  Corrigidor, v. 125

  Corrival, _a rival_, xi. 100

  Corse, _body_, iv. 341;
    _corpse_, i. 408

  Corsive, _corrosive_, ix. 558

  Coscinomancy, xi. 338

  Cosenage, _cheating_, x. 276;
    xi. 80, 547

  Cosener, _a cheat_, xi. 582

  Cosmography, _geography_, i. 7, 10, 27

  Cost, "do cost," i. 156;
    "not worth a cost" (_cost_ = _coss_ = _curs_), _not worth a cress_,
        i. 259

  Costard, _apple_, ii. 119;
    _pate_, _head_, i. 168:
    iii. 121;
    vii. 167;
    x. 552;
    xiv. 164

  Costermonger, _an applemonger_, xii. 340;
    xiii. 125

  Costomable, _usual_, i. 312

  Costreling, iii. 82

  Cot, _cottage_, i. 30

  Coted, ix. 149

  Cothurnal, xiv. 183

  Cotswold lion, _sheep_, iii. 137

  Cotton, _to agree_, iv. 215;
    _succeed_, xi. 204

  Couch, _to crouch in fear_, i. 84;
    _to collocate_, xi. 303

  Couch-quarl, _a game_, i. 396

  Counsel, _secresy_, iii. 199

  Count, _a reckoning_, i. 103

  Countenance, _pretence_, i. 65

  Counter, _a term in hunting_, ix. 454.

  Counter-check, _to oppose_, v. 45, 329;
    xiv. 115

  Counter-checking, _reproving_, vii. 203

  Counterfeit, _likeness_, iv. 376;
    vi. 565;
    vii. 466;
    xi. 562;
    _to imitate_, xiii. 127

  Counterly, iv. 233

  Counter-match, xi. 320

  Counter-mine, xiv. 167

  Counter-puff, _a return blow_, v. 243

  Counter-scarp, ix. 362

  Counter-vail, _to make up for_, _balance_, vi. 96;
    viii. 30;
    xii. 8, 41

  Counterview, vi. 464

  Counting-book, i. 105

  County, _count_, vii. 23

  Courage, _devotion_, i. 27

  Court-martialist, xiii. 158

  Coutelace, _cutlass_, v. 240

  Covent, _convent_, i. 252;
    viii. 240

  Coverture, _covering_;
    viii. 77;
    x. 178

  Covet, _to desire_, i. 257

  Covetise, _covetousness_, i. 100, 206;
    v. 184;
    viii. 77

  Covin, _deceit_, xii. 284

  Cowardish, _cowardly_, i. 401

  Cowr, _to bend_, _crouch_, iii. 177

  Cox, _a coxcomb_, iii. 250

  Coy, _to act coy_, v. 47

  Crack'd, _bankrupt_, xii. 167

  Crackrope, _a term of contempt_, iv. 63

  Crake, _boast_, i. 410, 430;
    ii. 385

  Craker, _a boaster_, iv. 67

  Cramping, xii. 255, _note_

  Crazed, _broken_, iv. 337

  Cream (holy), ii. 65

  Create, _created_, i. 12, 54

  Creature, _Creator_, i. 123, 263

  Credit, _to believe_, x. 123

  Creke, _see_ crik, iv. 222

  Cresset-light, vi. 450

  Crevis, _crawfish_, iv. 118

  Crik, "to cry crik," _to be afraid_, _to desist_, i. 399

  Crinkled, _shrunk_, x. 339

  Crishcross, _alphabet_, ix. 42

  Crismatory, vi. 71.

  Crispy, _rippled_, v. 229

  Croak, _a croaking_, xii. 160

  Croch, iii. 280

  Crock, _a pot_, xii. 351

  Crone, _an old woman_, xi. 105

  Crotchets, _devices_, x. 366

  Crouch-cross, ii. 65

  Crowded, _crowed_, iii. 201

  Crown'd cup, _a bumper_, xii. 39

  Cruel (garters), (_garters_) _of fine worsted_, vii. 286

  Crust, _curst_, _ill-tempered_, _cross_, ii. 179;
    _crushed_, iii. 242;
    _a term of abuse_, vi. 539

  Crusty, _angry_, iv. 184

  Cry aim, _to consent_, v. 225

  Crystals, _eyes_, xiii. 55

  Cuckally, _cuckoldy_, vi. 200

  Cucking-stool, xii. 127, _note_

  Cuckold, _to make a cuckold of one_, xi. 119

  Cuckoldy, _like a cuckold_, xi. 110

  Cuerpo, xiii. 278

  Cues, _note_, iv. 367

  Cullies, _fine broths_, ix. 366

  Culling, _thrashing_, _beating_, iv. 120

  Cullion, _a base fellow_, iii. 239

  Cullon, _cullion_, ii. 305

  Culm, _top_, iv. 313

  Culver, _a dove_, x. 153

  Culverings, x. 325

  Cumber'd, _troubled_, i. 54, 101

  Cumbrance, _encumbrance_, i. 256

  Cunning, _knowledge_, _learning_, i. 7, 10;
    _learned_, i. 7

  Cunningly, _learnedly_, i. 37

  Curchy, _to crouch_, _bend_, iii. 272

  Cure, _care_, i. 13, 294

  Curmudgeonly, vi. 380

  Curst, _ill-tempered_, _angry_, iii. 278;
    vii. 474

  Cursy, _courtesy_, viii. 339

  Curtain lectures, xiv. 303

  Curtal horse, _a short-tailed horse_, iii. 210;
    viii. 124

  Cusp, see _note_, xi. 344

  Customage, _freight_, xii. 99

  Cut, _a short-tailed horse_, _a term of abuse_, iii. 216;
    x. 224;
    xi. 69

  Cut and long-tail, xiii. 84

  Cuts, _lots_, xv. 130

  Cutter, _swaggerer_, xiii. 16


  Dad, _father_, x. 359

  Daintrels, _dainties_, iii. 192

  Dainty, _rare_, i. 365

  Dalliance, _gossip_, i. 293, 355;
    iii. 167;
    xii. 240

  Dally, _vb. trs._, vii. 134

  Dallying, _toying_, xi. 58

  Dam and brat, _mother and child_, viii. 284

  Damn, "a damn-me," _a swearer_ xi. 139

  Dandiprat, _dwarf_, ix. 390

  Danger, _control_, i. 54;
    _power_, iii. 62

  Dangerous, _suspicious_, iii. 309

  Dapper, _spruce_, _smart_, iv. 84;
    ix. 229

  Darby's bands, ii. 362

  Dare net, _a net for frightening birds into_, x. 149

  Darkling, _in the dark_, iii. 105;
    vii. 339, 358

  Daster, _a dastard_, i. 395

  Date, _end or term of life_, vii. 90;
    viii. 465

  Daubing, _deceit_, i. 159

  Daw, _a fool_, i. 8;
    ii. 285

  Dawcock, _a fool_, iv. 119

  Day's eyes, _daisies_, viii. 31, 33

  Daysman, _an umpire_, iii. 14

  Dazzle, _a dazzling array_, xv. 116

  Dealt, _distributed_, xi. 470

  Debate, _strife_, i. 411;
    vi. 178

  Deboshed, _debauched_, xiii 195;
    _spoilt_, xii. 512

  Decard, _to throw away a card_, x. 187

  Decay, _ruin_, i. 293

  Deepness, _depth_, i. 18;
    ii. 263

  Defail, _to fail_, x. 128

  Defame, _defamation_, vii. 56, 376;
    x. 311;
    xii. 104

  Defend, _to forbid_, iv. 143

  Defendam, xv. 143

  Deft, _handy, dexterous_, ix. 394

  Defy, _to deny_, in. 228;
    _refuse_, viii. 199

  Degenerous, _degenerate_, xii. 507

  Deject, _dejected_, i. 101

  Delayed, _checked_, i. 81;
    _diluted_, xiii. 114

  Dele, _whit_, xii. 284;
    xv. 426

  Delibate, _to taste of_, xiii. 468

  Delicates, _delicacies_, ii. 220

  Delices, _delicacies_, ix. 171

  Deliver, _active_, viii. 197

  Dell, _deal_, _bit_, _part_, i. 235

  Delve, _to dig_, iii. 183

  Demand, _to ask_, _question_, i. 85;
    vi. 80

  Demanding, _a request_, i. 84

  Demean, _to behave_, vii. 290

  Demeaning, _behaviour_, i. 84

  Demesnes, _estates_, ix. 473

  Demi-assignation, xv. 61

  Demi-culverings, x. 325

  Demi-deity, _demi-god_, xiv. 74

  Denay, _to deny, refuse_, i. 257;
    vii. 52, 330

  Dent, _dint_, iv. 215

  Deny, _to refuse_, vii. 298

  Depardieu, _by God_, xii. 240

  Depart, _to separate, part_, i. 129, 404;
    ii. 6;
    viii. 134;
    ix. 479

  Deprave, _to depreciate_, _defame_, i. 32;
    iv. 257;
    viii. 64;
    xi. 119;
    xiii. 172

  Dere, _to injure_, i. 252

  Dern, _secret_, xii. 284, 311

  Derogate, _to detract from_, xi. 479

  Derogation, _detraction_, _depreciation_, xi. 499

  Descant, _a musical term_, v. 218;
    ix. 407

  Descried, _discovered_, vii. 344

  Descrive, _to describe_, i. 32

  Desertful, _meritorious_, viii. 186

  Desertfully, _meritoriously_, viii. 132

  Designments, _designs_, xiv. 147

  Desperateness, _despair_, x. 149

  Despite, "in despite of," _in spite of_, i. 132;
    vii. 153;
    _to treat cruelly_, vi. 150;
    _spite_, _cruelty_, xi. 478

  Despiteful, _cruel_, _spiteful_, v. 22

  Devoir, _duty,_ ii. 231;
    x. 128

  Dice, _to lose by dice_, xi. 94

  Dicker, _ten_, "_a dicker of hides_," vii. 303;
    _name of a coin_, xv. 131

  Dict, _a saying_, i. 54

  Dight, _prepared_, _arrayed_, i. 24, 227, 252, 409;
    _arraign_ (?), i. 274

  Dighter, _preparer_, i. 422

  Digne, _worthy_, xii. 242

  Diligence, _a spy_, xv. 58

  Ding'd, _struck_, v. 26

  Dis, _Pluto_, x. 349

  Disaster, _disastrous_, vii. 481

  Disbowelled, _disembowelled_, vii. 83

  Disburse, _disbursement_, x. 199

  Discern'd, _distinguished_, xi. 481

  Discommend, _to dispraise_, i. 343

  Disconsonancy, _unfitness_,(?), xv. 125

  Discurtain, xiv. 280

  Disdain, _to treat disdainfully_, ii. 167

  Disease, _distress_, _trouble_, i. 87;
    _to trouble_, _disturb_, i. 203;
    ii. 191

  Disfeature, _to deform_, xiv. 291

  Disgest, _digest_, vii. 310

  Dishonest, _to disgrace_, ix. 258

  Dishonurate, _dishonourable_, viii. 297

  Dismissed, _dispersed_, xiv. 350

  Disobediency, _disobedience_, xi. 464

  Dispilled, _spilled_, i. 251

  Disport, _sport_, i. 45;
    ii. 111

  Dispose, _disposal_, vi. 556

  Dispossess, _to disinherit_, xiv. 190

  Disquietness, _unrest_, vii. 304

  Disrank, _to disarray_, xi. 264

  Disrelish, _dislike_, xiv. 314, 352

  Dissard, }
  Dizard,  } _a fool_, ii. 304;
    ix. 383

  Dissemblance, _a dissembling_, ix. 285

  Distain'd, _stained_, vii. 111, 1791

  Distaste, _displeasure,_ xi. 454;
    xiv. 242

  Distemper, _to disturb_, vii. 64, 123;
    _ill-temper_, xi. 197;
    xiv. 206

  Distemperature, _distemper_, ix. 453;
    x. 116

  Distemper'd, _unreasonable_, x. 209

  Distempering, viii. 113

  Distinctiveness, _power of distinguishing,_ xv. 22

  Distraught, _distracted_, v. 113

  Distressful, _distressed_, v. 68

  Diversely, _differently_, i. 14

  Divinity, _divine institution_, i. 133

  Do, _done_, i. 156

  Doat, _to rave_, _be mad_, iii. 211;
    _to act the fool_, xiv. 185

  Doccy, _doxy_, _a loose wench_, i. 188

  Dock, _tail_, i. 247, 425

  Documents, _teachings_, ii. 50

  Doff (= do off), _a put-off_, _the cold shoulder_ (?), ix. 276

  Dog's, _God's_, _an oath_, ii. 84

  Dole, _lot_, iv. 21;
    _allowance to poor_, xi. 208;
    _grief,_ vii. 205

  Dolent, _invalid_, _sufferer_, i. 82

  Doll, _mistress_, _sweetheart_, ii. 169

  Dolour, _pain_, _grief_, i. 55, 119;
    ii. 314

  Dolt, _a fool_, iii. 343

  Dolted, _acted-like a dolt_, iii. 19

  Doltish, _foolish_, ix. 440

  Don, _a lord_, xiv. 285

  Done, _to do_, xii. 257

  Doom, _judgment_, "day of doom," i. 111

  Dop, _to dip_, i. 318

  Dossers, _panniers_, x. 224;
    _a basket_, xi. 43

  Dotard, _a fool_, xii. 190

  Dottrel,  }
  Dotterel, } _a fool_, xiii. 43;
    xiv. 300, 319

  Doubt, _fear_, i. 252, 256, 257;
    vii. 400

  Doughty, _doughtily_, i. 252

  Dowdy, _a slattern_, vii. 475

  Down, _a hill_, i. 250

  Down-flat, _plain_, xv. 140

  Doxy, _a whore_, _a loose wench_, xiv. 281, 286, 291;
    xv. 68

  Drab, _a loose woman_, _a term of abuse_, iii. 202

  Draff, _dregs_, _rubbish_, i. 25

  Drawlatch, _a thief_, ii. 222;
    xi. 249

  Dreariment, _dreariness_, vii. 152

  Drench, _potion_, _drink_, vii. 303

  Drifts, _devices_, xii. 52

  Drivel, _slave_, _wretch_, _fool_, i. 222;
    iv. 119

  Drolling, _droll_ (?), xiv. 278, 356

  Dronel, _a drone_, iv. 151

  Drumble, _a sleepyhead_, iv. 118

  Drumsler, _a drummer_, v. 303

  Drunk as a mouse, ii. 300

  Duck, _to make a salutation by bending the head_, iii. 78;
    xiv. 125

  Ducks and drakes, xi. 212;
    xii. 150

  Dudgeon, _a dagger_, v. 271

  Duello, _a duel_, xi. 44

  Dulcet, _sweet_, iv. 143

  Dulsome, _sweet_, ii. 297

  Dump, _the dumps_, iii. 180

  Dumps, iii. 87;
    xii. 214

  Duns, _writings of Duns Scotus_, iii. 19;
    _one versed in writings of_, iii. 20;
    _Duns Scotus_, x. 57

  Dup, _to do up_, iv. 69

  Durance, _a kind of cloth_, vi. 344

  Duretta, _a kind of cloth_, xiii. 222

  Dust, _a broil_. "a doughty dust," ii. 390

  Duteous, _dutiful_, vii. 400;
    xi. 452


  Eachwhere, _everywhere_, vi. 88

  Eanlings, _lambs_, ix. 480

  Earst, _first_, iv. 12

  Eaths, _easily_, v. 209

  Ecstasy, xiii. 511, _note_

  Eftsoons, _soon again_, _forthwith_, i. 11;
    ii. 246;
    vi. 47;
    ix. 355

  Egg, _to urge on_, iv. 67

  Eighths, _octaves_, xii. 507

  Eild, _to requite_, iii. 240

  Eke, _also_, i. 203;
    iv. 11

  Eld, _age_, vii. 121

  Eldeth, _troubleth_, i. 414

  Elect, _elected_, i. 101

  Election, _choice_, x. 131

  Elemental, _elementary_, i. 11

  Elfish, _elf-like_, i. 399

  Embalming, _using cosmetics_, i. 60

  Embas'd, _dishonoured_, v. 210

  Embossed, _a hunting term_, xi. 406

  Embowelled, _embedded_, vii. 275

  Embracement, _embrace_, v. 208

  Empery, _empire_, _rule_, v. 191, 233;
    xii. 520;
    xiv. 105

  Enamoret, xi. 289

  Endamage, _to damage_, viii. 76

  Endark, _to cause to be dark_, i. 62

  Endeavour, _to try to bring about_, x. 156

  Endentus (=entendu), _understood_, iii. 263

  Ends, "no ends of," xi. 547

  Ene, _one_, vi. 72

  Enfeoff, _to endow_, ix. 256

  Enforcement, _compulsion_, ix. 506

  Engeuder'd, _produced_, i. 11

  Enginer, _engineer_, xi. 63

  Engorged, _disgorged_, ix. 211

  Engraven, _engraved_, iv. 296

  Enlumine, _to illumine_, i. 126

  Ennewed, _painted_, i. 62

  Ensample, _example_, i. 70

  Ensconced, _hidden_, xiii. 47, _note_

  Ensuing, _following_, in. 264

  Ensure, _to assure_, i. 62

  Ensured, _plighted_, _affianced_, iii. 90

  Enthronised, _enthroned_, xi. 485

  Entituled, _entitled_, ii. 10

  Entreat, _entreaty_, viii. 140

  Entreative, ix. 341

  Environ, _all round_, i. 6

  Envy, _hatred_, x. 58;
    xiii. 355

  Ephemeris, xi. 320

  Epitaph, _to write an epitaph_, xii. 506

  Epitheton, _epithet_, v. 266

  Epythite, _a beggar_, ix. 527

  Equivalence, _an equivalent_, vi. 96

  Ere, _before_, i. 31

  Eremite, _a hermit_, xii. 231

  Erewhile, _previously_, _formerly_, i. 32;
    vii. 211

  Errant, _arrant_, xi. 57

  Erst, _before_, iv. 125

  Eschew, _to avoid_, i. 89;
    xii. 24

  Eschieved, _achieved_, _gained_, i. 77

  Espied, _discerned_, i. 78

  Essay, _to try_, i. 181

  Essex man, _a fool_, xiv. 361, 467

  Estate, _state_, i. 7

  Estridge, _an ostrich_, xiv. 41

  Eterne, _eternal_, i. 11

  Eternised, _made eternal_, v. 234

  Evenness, _indifference_, _impartiality_, xiv. 200

  Ever-each, _every_, v. 242

  Everichone, {
  Everychone, { _every one_, i. 38, 163 (_the note is wrong_)

  Every deal, _every whit_, i. 33

  Excuse, _defence_, ix. 494

  Exigent, _exigency_, vi. 546;
    xiv. 325;
    xv. 78

  Expectance, _expectation_, xi. 95;
    xiv. 365

  Explicate, _to explain_, iv. 236

  Expound, _expounded_, i. 37

  Express, _expression_, xv. 332

  Expression, _a proverb_, xii. 262

  Expulsed, _expelled_, i. 59

  Extinct, _put out_, i. 375

  Extirp, _to extirpate_, v. 226

  Extromers, _astronomers_, i. 78

  Exulcerate, _to form an ulcer_, xiv. 362

  Eyen, }
  Eyne, } _eyes_, i. 254;
    iii. 217;
    xii. 311


  +Fable+, _lie_, i. 224;
    _to lie_, i. 29;
    _cajole_, i. 68;
    _deceive_, i. 199

  Fabler, _liar_, x. 47

  Fablyng, _lying_, i. 78

  Face, _pretence_, iii. 17

  Face-physick, _a cosmetic_, xi. 133

  Faces about, _changes_, xiii. 463

  Facts, _deeds_, in. 66;
    iv. 167

  Fader, _a father_, xii. 99

  Fadge, _to go_, _proceed_, _succeed_, vii. 418;
    x. 230;
    _do_, _suit_, x. 481

  Fadock, _faggot_, vi. 77

  Fagaries, _vagaries_, xiv 289

  Fair, _beauty_, viii. 255

  Fairings, viii. 225

  Fall, _to come_, _fall out_, i. 852;
    _cadence_, ix. 406

  Fall (the French), x. 122

  Famine, _hunger_, vii. 64

  Famish (to), ii. 217

  Famishment, _death by starving_, viii. 319

  Fand, _found_, ii. 15

  Fantastic show, _fancy_ (?), xii. 81

  Fantasy, _fancy_, i. 7, 312

  Far, _for_, vi. 71

  Farcing, _stuffing_, ii. 236

  Fardingale, ix. 426

  Fare, _to go_, i. 251;
    "fare fore," _to go before_, xiii. 154;
    _to play_, ii. 115

  Farfet, _farfetched_, xi. 401

  Farforth, _far_, i. 207

  Far-forth day, _late in the day_, ii. 312

  Faring, _playing at dice_, ii. 115

  Fat, _to fatten_, xii. 451;
    "to feed fat" = _to fatten_, xi. 515

  Fatting, _fattening,_ ix. 516

  Faulted, _faulty_, x. 157

  Favelle, _flattery_, i. 164

  Favour, _look_, _appearance_, i. 78;
    x. 340

  Favoured (ill), _lookling_, xi. 520

  Fay, _faith_, i. 111, 133;
    iii. 113

  Faynd, _find_, vi. 74

  Fear, _to terrify_

  Feard, _terrified_, i. 83

  Feat, _neat_, i. 62

  Featly, _neatly_, i. 266;
    ii. 375

  Fea'ty, _fealty_, _fidelity_, i. 54, 173

  Feebled, _enfeebled_, x. 117

  Fegary, _vagary_, _trick_, x. 366

  Fell, _cruel_, _fierce_, i. 252;
    v. 36;
    xi. 556;
    _skin_ i. 78

  Fellness, _fierceness_, iv. 323

  Felt, _felt hats_, xi. 268

  Feofee, xii. 33

  Ferdegew, iii. 92

  Fere, "in fere," _in company_, i. 247

  Feres, _a-do_, i. 168

  Ferk, _to urge on_, _hasten_, x. 254

  Fescennine, _note_, xii. 312

  Festination, _haste_, iv. 216

  Fet, _to perform_ (?), ii. 384;
    _to fetch_, i. 43, 83;
    _fetched_, i. 381;
    vii. 165

  Fetch, _a trick_, ii. 309;
    xii. 79

  Fete, _feet_, i. 31

  Fetting, _fetching_, ii. 234

  Feutred, _equipped_, i. 376

  Fewl, _foul_, xii. 507

  Fib, _a liar_, ii. 254

  Fierse, _verse_, vii. 190

  Fifteens, x. 299

  Figary, _vagary_, xiii. 166

  File, _to defile_, ii. 216;
    iv. 110;
    ix. 511

  Filed, _flattering_, iv. 102

  Filth, _a term of abuse_, iii. 244

  Finden, _to find_, ix. 119

  Fined, _refined_, iii. 363

  Fines, _defines_, ii. 80

  Fire-drake, viii. 168;
    _will-o'-the-wisp_, ix. 572

  Firk, _to cheat_, _trick_, xiv. 391;
    x. 291, 292, 328

  Firk'd, _beaten_, iv. 64

  Firker, _a cheat_, xii. 165

  Firmable, _firm_, vi. 282

  Fisher, _a fisherman_, iv. 164;
    xii. 115

  Fish-hooks, ii. 378

  Fit, _air_ (_in music_), i. 246;
    song, iii. 92;
    _to suit_, xi. 456

  Fivepence, "as fine as fivepence," iv. 118

  Flags, _a term used in falconry_, xi. 341

  Flanting, _flaunting_, xiii. 150

  Flap-dragon, xiii. 44

  Flashy, _fiery_, iv. 149

  Flat, _plain_, _plainly_, iii. 19, 20;
    xi. 304;
    xiv. 398, 399

  Flatcap, _a term of abuse_, xi. 152

  Flative, _flatulent_, ix. 454

  Flaw, _a blast_, vii. 149

  Flayn, _flayed_, i. 416

  Flecken, _spotted_, xii. 241

  Fleet, _to skim_, viii. 443

  Flet (=fleeth), _flee ye_, xii. 287

  Fletcher, _an arrow-maker_, xiii. 40

  Flicker, _to flutter_, xii. 477

  Flim-flam, _a flam_, ii. 335

  Flinch, _to shrink_, xii. 259

  Flincher, _a coward_, xi. 470, 491

  Flit, _to depart_, iv. 336;
    ix. 124

  Flout, _to scoff_, _mock_, iv. 119;
    xi. 39;
    xii. 313;
    xiv. 190;
    _a scoff_, _mock_, x. 523

  Flush, ii. 78

  Fly-flops, xii. 331

  Fode, _person_, i. 243, 247

  Foggy, _flabby_, viii. 371

  Foil (of a jewel), vii. 288;
    _a defeat_, iv. 322;
    _to defeat_, iv. 332

  Foils, _set-offs_, xiii. 148

  Foin, _thrust_, _push_, ii. 389, 392;
    _to fence_, xii. 285

  Foist, _to cheat,_ xi. 67;
    _a cheat_, _deception_, vi. 257;
    xiv. 359

  Fold, _bend_, i. 135

  Folt, _a fool_, ii. 304

  Fond, _foolish_, iv. 125;
    x. 192;
    xi. 129

  Fondly, _foolish_, vii. 63

  Fondness, _folly_, iv. 55;
    xii. 8

  Fong, _to take_, i. 257, 259

  Fool, _a term of endearment_, i. 71, 72

  For, _by_, i. 85;
    _from_, i. 135

  Forbode, _prohibition_, "God's forebode" = _God forbid_, i. 68;
    _forbidden_, i. 212, 226;
    _forbad_, i. 285

  Force, _to care,_ i. 34;
    iii. 39;
    _matter_, _worth_, i. 8, 47;
    iii. 129;
    "of force," _necessarily_, iii. 255;
    iv. 19;
    vii. 503

  Forceth, _it matters_, i. 214

  Fordoth, _ruins_, i. 68

  Fordull, _very dull_, ii. 368

  Fore, _before_, i. 343

  Foredulled, _very dull_, vii. 32

  Forefend, _to defend_, iv. 377;
    _to forbid_, vii. 18

  Foreflow, xiv. 287

  Forepassed, _overpassed_, ii. 386;
    xi. 475

  Forespoken, _bewitched_, vii. 465

  Forethink, _to repent_, ii. 6

  Foretop, _forelock_, xiv. 311

  Foreween, _to think of beforehand_, iv. 302

  Forfeit, _forfeited_, x. 196

  Forfend, _to forbid_, vii. 168, 411;
    x. 255

  Forge, _to frame_, _mould_, i. 84

  Forged, _fabricated_, iv. 102

  Forked crest, xiv. 140

  Forlet, _to stop_, iv. 152

  Forlore, }
  Forlorn, } _ruined_, _lost_, i. 147, 172, 269

  Formosity, _beauty_, iv. 111

  Forne, _before_, ix. 104

  Forsworn, _perjured_, xiii. 148

  Forth, _out_, _from_, ix. 564;
    xii. 174;
    xi. 485

  Fortitude, _an astrological term_, xi. 319

  Fortunates, _an astrological term_, xi. 319

  Fortune, _to happen_, ii. 111

  Foster, _fosterer_, iv. 143

  Foulter, _to falter_, iv. 314, 327

  Found, _kept_, _supported_, i. 244

  Fox, _a sword_, vii. 318;
    xiv. 387;
    _to intoxicate_, xiii. 28

  Foxed, _drunk_, xi. 448, 524

  Foyson, _plenty_, xi. 380

  Frame, _to put_, iii. 21;
    _to turn out will_, iii. 70;
    _to try_, iv. 190;
    xi. 12;
    _the gallows_, i. 158

  Franion, _a loose fellow_, iv. 60;
    vi. 179

  Frappet, _a pet_, ix. 548

  Fraudful, _fraudulent_, v. 363

  Fraught, _laden_, xi. 471

  Fraughtage, _freight_, xii. 141

  Fraughted, _freighted,_ xiv. 353;
    _laden_, viii. 337

  Fray, _affray_, _fight_, i. 41;
    _to terrify_, iii. 131;
    vii. 313;
    _to scare_, x. 412

  Frayd, _terrified_, v. 201

  Frea, _from_, vi. 71

  Free, _destitute of money_, iii. 347

  Freedom, _generosity_, i. 84

  Freely, _nobly_, i. 244

  Fremman, _a stranger_, ii. 210

  French hood, iii. 28

  Frere, _friar,_ i. 155, 200;
    _brother_, i. 188

  Fright, _to frighten_, viii. 389

  Friscols, _friskings_, ii. 367, 384

  Friskas, _friskings_, i. 44

  Friskin, _friskingly_, xiv. 125

  Fro, _from_, i. 185

  Frolic (to) v. 15;
    viii. 158

  Frolicsome, vii. 173

  Front, _face_, xiv. 42

  Frontisterion, _entrance to a house_, xi. 310

  Frontless, xiv. 284

  Froutlet, _forehead_, i. 350

  Frounced, iv. 321

  Frumping, _frumpy_, xi. 104

  Fucus, xiv. 290;
    _paint used as a cosmetic_, x. 274

  Fullam, _note_, xii. 124

  Fume, _passion_, xii. 423

  Fumishness, _anger_, i. 400

  Furbish, _to clean clothes_, ix. 553

  Furmenty, _frumenty_, ix. 155

  Furnycard, ii. 78

  Furth, _forth_, ii. 46

  Fustigation, xv. 32


  Ga, _gave_, iii. 193

  Gaberdine, _a long frock_, xiv. 125

  Gaffer, _godfather_, vi. 399

  Gage, _pledge_, iii. 233;
    vi. 311

  Gaged, _gauged_, i. 148

  Gagtooth, _a large tooth_, viii. 119

  Gainful, _advantageous_, viii. 35;
    xi. 547;
    _meritorious_, xiv. 117

  Gallant, _to act the gallant_, x. 125

  Galley-foist, _a pleasure-boat_, xiv. 385

  Galliard, _a dance_, ii. 117, 372

  Gallon, _gallant_, viii. 344

  Gallow-tree, _the gallows_, ii. 15;
    viii. 189

  Gallymawfries, _cowards_ (_properly a dish of remnants_), xii. 166

  Gambawds, _gambols_, i. 44

  Gan, _did_, xii. 242

  Gang, _to go_, xii. 257

  Gape, _to desire_, iv. 353;
    ix. 519

  Gar, _to cause_, _mate_, vi. 70;
    xii. 507;
    _to force_, x. 363

  Gard, _welt_, vii. 213

  Garded, _laced_, xi. 366

  Garden-house, x. 135

  Garden-plot, v. 155

  Gardings, _trimmings of a dress_, x. 121

  Garish, _gay_, _fine_, x. 199

  Gash, _tear in a garment_, iii. 176

  Gauding, _toying_, iii. 109

  Gaudish, _gaudy_, i. 286

  Gaurdon, _reward_, _recompense_, i. 206

  Gauds, _gauderies_, x. 175;
    _gaudy toys_, iv. 130

  Gazet, _name of a coin_, xv. 128

  Gear, _matter_, _business_, ii. 302;
    xi. 204;
    _costume_, iii. 28

  Geason, _scarce_, ii. 319;
    iv. 138;
    vii. 130

  Gelt, _gelded_, xiv. 396

  Generate, _generated_, i. 13

  Genman, _a gentleman_, iii. 160

  Gentle, _gentle hearer_, iv. 396;
    _noble_, i. 81, 147

  Gergon, _jargon_, _talk_, xii. 241

  German clock, xii. 231

  Gewgaw, xiv. 291

  Gib, _a term of contempt_, iii. 215

  Gibb'd, _castrated_, xiii. 31

  Gibe, _to taunt_, iv. 330;
    _to mock_, viii. 365

  Gibridge, _gibberish_, viii. 75

  Gif, _if_, vi. 75;
    xii. 507

  Gimmal, _a ring_, ix. 372

  Gin, _a snare_, xii. 232;
    _a trick_, xii. 242;
    _a wire trap_, xi. 134;
    _contrivance_, i. 246

  Gin, _to begin_, x. 338;
    _do_, xii. 507

  Ging, _a gang_, viii. 145

  Gingerly, _delicately_, i. 147;
    _mincingly_, ii. 22.

  Gi'r (= give her), iii. 217

  Gird, "at a gird," _in a trice_, ii. 331;
    _to strike_, i. 429

  Girl, _a roebuck two years old_, ix. 148

  Gis, _Jesus_, ii. 129;
    iii. 225

  Gittern, iii. 87;
    ix. 444;
    xv. 114

  Give aim, _to incite_, x. 85

  Glad, _to gladden_, xi. 516

  Glassing (= glassen), _of glass_, i. 62

  Glave, x. 358;
    _a sword_, ix. 362;
    xii. 477

  Glay, _a dirty wench_, iii. 176

  Gleek, _three_, xi. 217, 364;
    _a term used in card-playing_, xi. 395

  Gleering, _leering_, ix. 191

  Glister, _to glitter_, _to shine_, i. 252;
    xi, 432, 485;
    x. 218

  Gloming, _lowering_, iii. 59

  Glooming, _sultriness_, iii. 220

  Glorify, _to boast_, i. 68

  Glose, _to flatter_, i. 7;
    _gloss_, iii. 12

  Gloser, _a flatterer_, iii. 224;
    _liar_, iii. 43

  Glosing, _flattering_, vii. 165

  Gloss, _to glose_, i. 199

  Glossing, _commenting_, iii. 198

  Glustering, _glistering_, xii. 351

  Go-by, "a go-by," xv. 17

  Go forth, _to proceed_, i. 17

  Go prig, x. 288

  Gob, _mouthful_, x. 273

  God-a-marsy, _God of mercy_, iii. 313

  God-a-mercy, xi. 452

  God Mary mother, _marry_! vii. 405, 489

  God's dear holy bread, viii. 267

  God's Mary, _marry_! vii. 472

  God's nigs, _an oath_, xiv. 422

  God's so (=God's sonties), _God's sanctities_, xiv. 145

  Gog, "on gog," _agog_, iv. 302

  Gog's, _God's_, i. 20, 42

  Gog's nails, _an oath_, i. 41

  Gold the nerves of war, xii. 61

  Goliardis, _a buffoon_;
    _note_, xii. 240

  Goll, _hand_, _fist_, x. 92, 357

  Golpol, _a term of endearment_, ii. 260

  Good, _goods_, i. 152

  Goodden, _good even_, x. 544

  Gooseling, _a gosling_, xiv. 356

  Gorbelly, _a glutton_, ix. 434

  Gorboil, _turmoil_, x. 287

  Goreblood, _gore_, ii. 273

  Gorget, xiv. 464

  Gorse, _furze_, v. 190

  Goss, i. 232, 233; iii. 113

  Gostly, _spiritual_, xv. 420

  Got, _begotten_, i. 107

  Governance, _control_, i. 150, 164

  Government, _control_, x. 122

  Gracious, _graceful_, ix. 342

  Graff, _graft_, ii. 173;
    _to graft_, iii. 58

  Gramercy, _great thanks_, i. 250;
    ix. 192

  Grandsire, _great_ (?), iv. 130

  Grannam, ix. 251; _grandmother_, _grand-dame_, xii. 329

  Grate, viii. 241

  Graved, _troubled_ (?), iv. 143;
    _buried_, ix. 124

  Gravel, _to sand_, x. 21

  Gravelled, xiv. 204

  Gredaline, _pucker'd_, xiv. 418

  Greedy, _greed_, iv. 193;
    "greedy fates," iv. 302

  Grenning, _gnashing_, iv. 323

  Grief, _ill-will_, _grievance_, iii. 153

  Gripe, _to grasp_, iii. 273;
    _vulture_, vii. 60;
    _to pinch_, xi. 63

  Griping, _a grasp_, xii. 231

  Grisly, _dreadful_, i. 252;
    iv. 302;
    _horrible_, xii. 25, 502

  Gristless, _without muscle_, viii. 278

  Gromaly-seed, _gromuiell seed_, i. 422

  Groom, _man_, i. 252;
    iv. 283;
    ix. 128

  Grope, _to search_, iii. 184, iv. 176, 216

  Gross, _coarse_, ii. 212

  Ground, _a musical term_, ix. 338

  Grutch, _to grudge_, _murmur_, _to grumble_, i. 63;
    iii. 133

  Gude, _good_, vi. 71

  Guerdon, _a reward_, iv. 337;
    vii. 122;
    ix. 448;
    xii. 311, 476

  Guerdonless, _rewardless_, viii. 343

  Guess, _to deem_, i. 57;
    _a guest_, viii. 180

  Guid, _guide_, iv. 137

  Guider, _a guide_, i. 172

  Guise, _mode_, _way_, _fashion_, i. 73;
    ii. 260, 312

  Gulch, _a pool_, ix. 452

  Gumm'd, _dimmed_, v. 132

  Gush, _to weep_, xi. 30

  Guzzle, _throat_, xii. 349

  Gyre, _a circle_, ix. 358

  Gyve, _a fetter_, i. 170, 171;
    vii. 79

  Gyved, _fettered_, i. 156


  Habergeon, }
  Habergin,  } _a small coat-of-mail_, i. 149, 399, 400

  Hadiwist, _had I known_, _vain after regret_, vi. 457;
    vii. 356

  Haggard, _a wild hawk_, v. 36;
    ix. 379;
    xiii. 161;
    xiv. 344

  Halcyon, _favourable_, ii. 99

  Hale, _to drag_, iv. 139;
    xiv. 479

  Half-acre (_not_ halse acre), iii. 178

  Half-god, _a demi-god_, x. 127

  Halidom, _an oath_; _properly sacred relics_, _the sacrament_, vii. 467

  Hally, _holy_, vi. 71

  Halse, _neck_, iii. 240

  Han, _have_, vi. 71

  Handkercher, _handkerchief_, iv. 140

  Handle, _to treat_, iv. 63

  Handling, _treatment_, i. 2 7

  Handsel, _earnest-money_, xii. 335;
    _to handsel_, viii. 426

  Handwork, _handiwork_, i. 250

  Handy, _hand to hand_, v. 13

  Hanker, _to hang_, ix. 379

  Hap, _to happen_, i. 81;
    v. 111;
    x. 183;
    xi. 456;
    _fortune_, ii. 393

  Happiless, _unhappy_, xi. 144

  Happily, _perhaps_, xiii. 362

  Harborough, {
  Harborow,   { _harbour_, i. 228;
    vii. 85

  Hardness, _hardship_, i. 298

  Harecop, _a hair-brained fellow_, iv. 73

  Harlot, _a (low) fellow_, i. 253

  Harlotry, _obscene_, viii. 351

  Harness, _armour_, iv. 329

  Harnessed, _equipped_, i. 395;
    iv. 176

  Harri'd, _abused_, x. 27

  Harrow, _note_, xii. 253

  Hasp, _a fastening_, ii 338;
    _to embrace_, x. 66

  Hatch, _a wicket-gate_, vi. 535

  Haught, _haughty_, v. 230;
    viii. 132;
    xiv. 442

  Haunt, _to frequent_, i. 134;
    _practise_, i. 249

  Hauster, _note_, viii. 444

  Haviour, _behaviour_, x. 35;
    xi. 452

  Haxter, xiv. 282

  Hay, _hedge_, i. 401;
    _a net for catching rabbits_, vii. 341

  Haydegyve, _a kind of dance_, xii. 507

  Hazard, _risk_, xv. 225;
    _game_, ii. 34;
    _plot of a tennis-court_, ix. 381

  Haze, _note_, iii. 110

  He, _one_, iv. 357

  He and she, _man and woman_, xiv. 443

  Heal, _salvation_, i. 199, 212

  Heale, xv. 425

  Heart of grace, _courage_, xii. 212

  Heats, "ride his heats," xv. 129

  Hedgecreeper, _a term of contempt_, ii. 251

  Heightening, _aggravation_, xv. 92

  Heildom, _properly "health," but here seems a corruption of "hilding,"
        a caitiff, slave_, xiii. 43

  Heir, _an heiress_, ix. 535

  Hele, _health_, _salvation_, i. 129

  Helic, _a term in astrology_, xi. 336

  Helm, _helmet_, i. 149

  Helter-skelter, _to waste_, vii. 436

  Hem, _to clear the throat_, iv. 69;
    _talkative_, i. 74

  Hemuse, _a roebuck of three years old_, ix. 148

  Hend, _courteous_, i. 250

  Heng, _to hang_, i. 134

  Hent, _to seize_, xii. 311

  Herber, _arbour_, ii. 46

  Heritor, _inheritor_, ii. 8

  Herme, _harm_, xii. 311

  Heronsew, ii. 282

  Herry, _to harry_, i. 30

  Hest, _behest_, _command_, vii., 18;
    xi. 99

  Hey-pass, _a term in legerdemain_, x. 306

  Hey troly lolly, i. 20.

  Hidder, _hither_, xii. 507

  High, "a high," _loudly_, i. 23;
    _aloud_, i. 33

  Highmen and lowmen, xii. 243, _note_

  Hight,    }
  Highteth, } _is called_, i. 56;
    xii. 241, 253

  Hind, _a peasant_, xii. 224

  Hing, _to hang_, i. 274

  Hire, _to reward_, i. 364;
    _a reward_, vii. 59;
    viii. 360

  His, _its_, i. 12

  His noun, _his own_, viii. 76

  Ho, _bounds_, ix. 390

  Hoart, _hurt_, xii. 253

  Hobby (_hawk_), ix. 379

  Hobil, _a term of abuse_, iii. 103

  Hoddypeak, }
  Hoddypeke, }
  Hodypeak,  }
  Huddypeke, } _a fool, a term of contempt_, i. 42;
    ii. 164, 211;
    iii. 217

  Hodmandod, _a snail_, _a term of abuse_, xiv. 525

  Hoise, _to hoist_, iii. 34, 218

  Hold, _to bet_, ii. 275

  Hold bias, xii. 280

  Holes (nine), iii. 9

  Holidam. See _Halidom_, iv. 219, 244

  Hollen, _of holly_, i. 49

  Holp, _helped_, i. 85, 191

  Holt, _wood_, _grove_, i. 148

  Holy, _holly_, _wholly_, i. 359

  Honesty, _honest people_, iii. 228

  Honor, _credit_, _reputation_, iv. 98, 185

  Hope, _to expect_, xii. 132

  Hop-holiday, ii. 379

  Horrid, _bristling_, xi. 527

  Hostelity, _hospitality_, v. 398

  Hot, _did hit_, vii. 276

  Hotchpotch, _a pudding_, ix. 183

  Hoten, xii. _called_, 255

  Hough, _to hamstring_, ix. 457; xiv. 164

  Hound-fish, _dog-fish_, xii. 241

  Hoved, _abode_, i. 178

  How, _who_, xiv. 458

  Howlet, _an owl_, iii. 87

  Hucklebone, iii. 180

  Hud, _to hood_(?), xi. 353

  Huddle, _thick_, ix. 269

  Huff,  } _an exclamation_, i. 20, 188; ii. 13
  Huffa, }

  Huff, _anger_, vii. 311

  Hugeously, _much_, xii. 276

  Huggermugger, _in secret_, viii. 84; x. 91

  Hugy, _huge_, v. 106

  Humblesse, _humility_, viii. 166

  Humorist, _a madman_, ix. 17

  Humorous, _fanciful_, _capricious_, _ill tempered_, v. 31; vii. 433;
        xiv. 296

  Hundreth, _a hundred_, vii. 278

  Husbanded, _economised_, xi. 355

  Husbandry, _economy_, iii. 16; v. 189; xi. 63

  Hussy, _housewife_, xiv. 331

  Huswife, _huzzy_, vii. 250;
    _applied to a man_, vii. 303(?)

  Hydroptic, xiv. 288

  Hyghten, } _called_, i. 129, 275; xii. 254
  Hyght,   }


  Ibroken, _broken_, i. 49

  Ich, _I_, i. 73; ii. 169; iii. 175

  Icha, _I have_, iii. 227

  Ichotte, _I wot_, _I know_, iii. 75

  Iclipped, _called_, v. 363

  I-dight, _prepared_, i. 243

  Ield, _to reward_, iii. 75

  Ifare, _to go_, v. 395

  Ilk, _same_, i. 264;
    _each_, vi. 71

  Ilkwhare, _everywhere_, vi. 71

  Illicentiate, _not lawfully licensed_, xiv. 283

  Ill-mutton, _a strumpet_, xi. 43

  Ill-part, _malapert_(?), viii. 250

  Illumine, _to illuminate_, i. vi.

  Illustrate, _to make illustrious_, xv. 229

  Immeriting, _undeserving_, xiv. 307

  Imp, _to graft_, xi. 346

  Impale, _to surround with pall_(?), vii. 112

  Impal'd, _surrounded_, viii. 165

  Imp'd, xii. 530.

  Impede, _impediment_, xiv. 362

  Impoisoned, _poisoned_, viii. 38

  Impoisoning, _poisoning_, xi. 566

  Import, _importance_, vii. 471;
    _to concern_, xv. 23

  Imports, _is necessary_, xv. 102

  Importune, _importunate_, i. 54;
    _to be importunate_, xi. 109

  Impossible, _impossibility_, i. 152

  Imposthumes, _boils_, i. 66

  Impostume, _a boil_, xi. 343

  Impostur'd, _deceived_, xiv. 352

  Imprese, _impress_, xiv. 293

  Imprinted, _printed_, i. 7

  Imps, _scions_, xii. 450

  Impudency, _impudence_, ix. 191; x. 31.

  Incertain, _uncertain_, vii. 195

  Incomposed, _indisposed_, xiv. 198

  Incontinent, _forthwith_, i. 48

  Inconveniency, _inconvenience_, xi. 442

  Indeniz'd, _one made free_, xii. 472

  Indent (to), ii. 213

  Indifferent, _impartial_, i. 415;
    v. 405

  Indifferently, _impartially_, viii. 32

  Indite, _to compose_ (_ballads_), i. 7

  Indulgency, xiii. 466

  Infect, _infected_, i. 302

  Inferial, _below_, _mundane_, i. 9

  Influence (of the stars), i. 11;
    vii. 63;
    xii. 339

  Ingenious, _ingenuous_, 13, 53

  Ingeniously, _ingenuously_, xiv. 281

  Ingram, _ignorant_, vi. 397

  Inis, _I am not_, xii. 287

  Inkhorn, _pedantic_, viii. 70

  Inquisition, _inquiry_, xiii. 156

  Insame, _together_, i. 245, 247

  Insculp'd, _engraved_, xii. 202

  Insculption, _inscription_, x. 12

  Insensate, _without feeling_, i. 12

  Insensitive, _irrational_, xi. 144

  Insidiate, _to plot_, xii. 605

  Insolency, _insolence_, xiv. 200

  Insort, _to distribute_, vii. 425

  Inspire, _to breathe into_, xiv. 105

  Insufferable, _unbearable_, x. 194

  Insurance, _affiance_, iii. 136

  Insure, _to assure_, iv. 220

  Intea, _into_, vi. 71

  Intellection, _knowledge_, i. 124;
    _understanding_, ii. 263

  Intellective, _intellectual_, i. 12

  Intelligence, _watch, spying_, x. 174;
    _a spy_, xi. 337

  Intelligencer, _a spy_, _informer_, xi. 319, 554

  Intelliment, _meaning_, i. 421

  Intemperance, _lust_, viii. 303

  Intend, _to pretend_, ii. 369

  Intendiment, _intention_, x. 129

  Intending, _intention_, i. 63

  Intendment, _intention_, viii. 454

  Intendments, _intentions_, xiv. 117

  Intent, _intention_, xi. 455;
    _purpose_, xi. 465

  Intentive, _attentive_, vii. 172

  Intermete, _intermeddle_, xii. 286

  Inter-parley, vii. 186

  Interrogative, _a question_, xi. 279

  Intreat, _to treat_, i. 237

  Invective, _abusive_, viii. 75

  Inversation, i. 268

  Invocate, _invoke_, xv. 210

  Inward, _intimate_, x. 38, 305, 434

  Ipocras (wine), xi. 194

  Ireful, _angry_, i. 81

  Irked, _irksome_, ix. 176

  Irremeable, _having no way of return_, xi. 567

  Ise, _I will_, iii. 218

  Ish, _I will_, i. 231, 232

  Issue, _outlet_, xv. 88

  I-the, _to prosper_, i. 155

  I-wis, _truly_, i. 42;
    xii. 240

  I-wiss, _truly_, i. 14


  Jack, _jacket_, xi. 138

  Jack-a-lent, xi. 262

  Jack of beer, vii. 218

  Jacksnipe, xiv. 450

  Jack sprat, ii. 357

  Jade, _a strumpet_, vi. 257

  Jadishly, _like a jade_, xiv. 285

  Jakes, _a privy_, x. 339

  Jangler, _a babbler_, ix. 397;
    _jester_, xii. 240

  Janty, _jaunty_, xiv. 401, 506

  Jape, _jest_, _trick_, iii. 245;
    viii. 389

  Japed, _deceived_, i. 171

  Javel, _a fool_, iv. 150

  Jawled, _nagged_, ix. 252

  Jaxes, _privies_, ii. 276

  Jealous, _suspicious_, xiii. 424

  Jeltron, _shelter_, _shield_, i. 149

  Jeopard (to), _risk_, i. 412;
    ii. 252;
    _to lay a bet_, iii. 309

  Jeopardous, _hazardous_, i. 185

  Jerted, _jerked_, viii. 52

  Jerts, _jerks_, ii. 194

  Jest, _deed_, vii. 186;
    _part played in a mask_, viii. 114

  Jet, _to go_, _strut_, i. 356, 384;
    xiv. 176, 181

  Jetter, _strutter_, i. 164, 384

  Jetting, _strutting_, iii. 108;
    vii. 191

  Jis, _Jesus_, i. 168

  Jobbed, _struck_, i. 442

  Jobbernole, _pate_ (?), viii. 446

  Job-nut, xiv. 306

  Jockey, _Jack_, xii. 156

  Jollity, i. 164

  Jolly-tiraber'd, _finely-built_, vii. 145

  Jouissauce, _joy_, vii. 192, 493

  Joust, i. 74

  Joyen, _to rejoice_, i. 249

  Joying, _rejoicing_, _joy_, ii. 297, 320

  Jug, _a strumpet_, iv. 183;
    _mistress_, vi. 511;
    viii. 409;
    _term of endearment_, xii. 115

  Jumbler, _a strumpet_, x. 111

  Juments, _beasts of burden_, xii. 234

  Jump, _exactly_, iv. 366;
    _to agree_, viii. 430;
    x. 184;
    _to eke_, xiii. 63

  Jump'd, _agreed_, xiv. 248

  Justicer, _a judge_, xiii. 462

  Jut, _a jostle_, iii. 102

  Jutty, _to jut_, iv. 121


  Keep, _care_, i. 202; ii. 233

  Keep touch, x. 9

  Keisar, _emperor_, ix. 202

  Kembeth, _combs_, xii. 242

  Kembs, _combs_, xii. 463

  Kempt, _combed_, i. 376

  Ken, _to show_, _teach_, i. 273;
    _to thank_, iv. 61

  Kercher, _covering for head_, xiv. 464

  Kerchief, _a covering for the head_, i. 429

  Kern, _an Irish soldier_, iv. 308

  Kest, _cast_, i. 179

  Kestrel, _a hawk_, ix. 111

  Kex, _hemlock_, ix. 534;
    xiv. 309

  Kickshaws (_for_ bashaw), xii. 280

  Kind, _nature_, i. 113;
    iii. 312;
    _natural_, i. 245;
    "of kind," _naturally_, i. 246;
    iii. 210

  Kit, _a musical instrument_, i. 48

  Killing, _a kitten_, x. 349

  Kit-strings, _strings for the kit or fiddle_, xii. 220

  Knack, _trick_, ii. 214

  Knacking (to be), iv. 121

  Knacks, _knick-knacks_, i. 349;
    viii. 157

  Knap, _blow_, i. 422;
    _to knock_, i. 428

  Kneve, _knave_, viii. 122

  Knit, _bound_, _united_, xi. 473;
    xiv. 153

  Knocked bread, i. 405

  Knotted (_read_ netted), _cut_, ii. 135

  Knottle, _knotted_, iii. 333

  Knowing, _knowledge_, i. 249

  Knowledge, _to acknowledge_, i. 293

  Knowlition, _knowledge_, i. 89

  Ko, _quote_, iii. 103

  Kock's nowns, _God's wounds_ (_an oath_), iii. 79

  Koss, _kiss_, iii. 75


  Lack, _like_, vi. 71

  Lacquey, _to act as lacquey_, xiv. 111

  Lad, _led_, i. 160

  Lade, _load_, i. 31

  Ladyfied, _made a lady_, x. 321

  Ladyware, _genital organs_, v. 345

  Laft, _left_, i. 28, 68

  Lag, _late_, ii. 252;
    _to linger_, x. 48

  Laken (=lady-kin), _the Virgin Mary_, x. 497

  Lamback, _to beat_, vi. 204

  Lambeak _or_ Lamback, _to strike_, viii. 305

  Lambswool, ix. 424

  Lanard, ix. 379

  Lance presado, _the leader of a half file of soldiers_, xiv. 328

  Landskip, _landscape_, x. 178;
    xiv. 300;
    xv. 116

  Lang, _long_, vi. 73

  Lap-clap, _to embrace_, ix, 252

  Larum, _alarm_, iv. 320;
    xiii. 110

  Lash, _snare_, vi. 254

  Lass, _less_, i. 256

  Late, _lately_, i. 6

  Lathe, _barn_, xii. 507

  Latten, _brass_, ix. 393

  Laud, _to praise_, i. 131;
    _praise_, i. 54, 397

  Laundress, _a woman employed at an Inns-of-Court_, x. 275;
    xiii. 231

  Lave, _long_, ix. 304

  Laverock, _lark_, i. 425

  Lavolta, _a dance_, ix. 408.

  Lavoltoe, xiv. 111

  Lawless, _illegal_, ix. 74

  Lay (= waylay), xiii. 253

  Layk, _like_, vi. 76

  Lay out, "_put out to interest_" xi. 363

  Laytell, _little_, vi. 72

  Lazars, _lepers_, viii. 70

  Lead, _a caldron_, iii. 231

  Leady, _heavy_, i. 85

  Lease, _a leash_, iii. 355

  Leech, _surgeon_, i. 168;
    _physician_, x. 115

  Lefe, _dear_, xii. 288

  Leg, _a bow_, xiv. 443.

  Leger wafers, xii. 334

  Leman, _a sweetheart_, _concubine_, _mistress_, ii. 20;
    iv. 143;
    _note_, xiii. 497;
    xiv. 296

  Leme, _gleam_, i. 64

  Lemen, _laymen_, vi. 71

  Lenger, _longer_, i. 29, 103

  Lenity, _softness_, v. 388

  Lese, _to lose_, i. 74, 83, 156;
    iv. 194

  Lesing, _leasing_, _falsehood_, i. 119;
    i. 159

  Lest, _list_, i. 247;
    _please_, i. 80

  Let, _hindrance_, i. 347, 351;
    x. 150;
    _to hinder_, ii. 7, 387;
    iv. 93;
    _to refrain_, i. 252

  Leteth, _let_ (_imperative_), xii. 286

  Leve, _dear_, iii. 208

  Lewd, _foolish_, xiii. 442;
    _ignorant_, i. 35, 36

  Lewdness, _ignorance_, i. 270;
    iv. 121

  Lewt, _a lout_, i. 255

  Libbard, _leopard_, xiv. 325

  Libbards, _leopards_, xiii. 282

  Liberal, _licentious_, v. 136

  Liberally, _licentiously_, xi. 194

  Lie, _urine_, x. 340

  Lie at ward, _a fencing term_, viii. 149

  Lief, _soon_, i. 20

  Lieger, vii. 417;
    _ledger_, _resident_, xiii. 271

  Liever, _sooner_, i. 35

  Life-vein, _life's vein_, i. 152

  Lift, _a term used in card playing_, x. 186

  Lig, _to lie_, xii. 257

  Ligg, _lie_, xii. 507

  Light, _easy_, i. 25;
    "by this light," _an oath_, i. 33;
    x. 298

  Light-a-love, vii. 296

  Light-bolt, _lightning-bolt_, xi. 312

  Lighted, _lightened_, i. 126

  Light-fingered, ii. 167

  Lightly, _easily_, vii. 304

  Lightness, _levity_, ii. 318

  Light-skirt, _a woman of light reputation_, ix. 127

  Like, _to please_, i. 31, 137;
    ii. 213;
    xi. 225, 499;
    _likely_, i. 88

  Likelihood, _likeness_, i. 55;
    _probability_ xi. 15

  Liking, _pleasure_, i. 80, 247, 269;
    xii. 378

  Lilburn, _a term of abuse_, iii. 103

  Limber, _pliant_, x. 363

  Lim'd, _snared_, v. 80

  Lin, _to cease_, ii. 116;
    viii. 447

  Lind, _to lend_, i. 255

  Lindabrides, _a strumpet_;
   _note_, xiv. 478

  Lines, _lineages_, xii. 251

  Linger, _to prolong_ (?), viii. 440

  Linstock, _a stick with a match at the end, used by gunners_, xiv. 141

  Lip-clip, _to kiss_, ix. 252

  Liripup, _art_, _craft_, iii. 322

  List, _pleasure_, i. 24, 29;
    _please_, i. 79;
    xi. 487;
    _pleases_, iv. 15

  Lither, _bad_, iii. 250;
    vii. 418

  Livelihood, _liveliness_ (?), x. 185

  Lively, _lifelike_, xi. 514

  Livery, _to sue_, _to recover property_, ix. 482

  Living-giver, _a master_, xi. 465

  Loadam (=lodam), _a game at cards_, ix. 101

  Loading, _laden_, xiv. 248

  Loathful, _hateful_, _distasteful_, i. 111

  Loave-ears, _long-ears_, xiv. 321

  Lob, _term of contempt_, ii. 221;
    _fool_, _lout_, iii. 272;
    viii. 448

  Lobbish, _blockish_, iii. 268

  Lobcock, _a fool_, iv. 75;
    _foolish_, ix. 241

  Lobcocked, ix. 288

  Lob's pound, _a snare_, xv. 32

  Lock and hasp, ii. 338

  Lode, _leading_, i. 50

  Lode star, _leading star_, v. 103

  Loggerhead, _a blockhead_, x. 478

  Loggerheaded, _blockhead_, vi. 177

  Logheaded, _blockhead_, iv. 65

  Lombard, _banker_, i. 266

  Long, _to belong_, i. 255;
    _a long time_, i. 149

  Long coat, _a nurse_, xi. 464

  Long of, _on account of_, ii. 300

  Loose, _purge_, xv. 316

  Loover, _opening in the roof_, _sky-light_, viii. 320;
    xi. 105

  Lope, _to run_, vi. 70

  Lore, _learning_, i. 60;
    _lost_, i. 413;
    _to teach_, xii. 241

  Lorn, _lost_, i. 271

  Losel, _a loose, worthless fellow_, iii. 128, 218;
    _good for nothing_, viii. 341

  Loselled, _losel_, _worthless_ (?), ix. 288

  Losopher, _a philosopher_, i. 40

  Losophy, _philosophy_, i. 42

  Lout, iii. 103

  Loud and still, _openly and secretly_, i. 269

  Lough, _to low_, xii. 507

  Lour, _to look sad_, ii. 290

  Louse (to), _to pick of lice_, viii. 69

  Louser, _a catcher of lice_, iv. 118

  Lousious, _luscious_, iv. 73

  Loute, _to bow_, xii. 507

  Louted, _treated as a loutish stupid_, iii. 97

  Loutishness, _stupidity_, iii. 117

  Love-longing, i. 247

  Love's dance, i. 156

  Loving, _love_, iv. 15

  Low, _to allow_, iii. 136

  Loy, St, ii. 117

  Lozel, _a worthless fellow_, vii. 155

  Lub, _love_, iii. 67

  Lug, _to pull_, _drag by the ear_, i. 231;
    ix. 304

  Lugs, _the ears_, ix. 215

  Luke, _look_, vi. 73

  Lull, _to seize by the ear_ (?), ii. 211

  Lulling, iv. 120

  Lumperdy-clumperdy, iii. 92

  Lumpish, _dull_, xii. 212

  Lungis, _a lubber_, viii. 53

  Lurden, _a term of reproach_, i. 76;
    _a lout_, ix. 289

  Lusk, _sluggard_, ix. 462

  Luskish, _slow_, viii. 370

  Lust, _to please,_ i. 292;
    iii. 102;
    _to desire_, ii. 119

  Lusty, _pleasant_, i. 48

  Luxur, _a lecher_, x. 8

  Lycand, _pleasing_, xii. 254

  Lytherly, _bad_, xii. 241


  Maculate, _to spot_, _soil_, i. 225

  Mad, _to madden_, x. 169

  Madding, _mad_, v. 185

  Maddle-coddle, _foolish_, vi. 391

  Made, "we're made," = _our fortunes are made_, xii. 211

  Magnifico, _a grandee_, xi. 453

  Maids, _thornbacks_, xii. 113

  Mail, _wallet_, vi. 511

  Maim'd, _wounded_, v. 13

  Maintain, _to encourage_, iii. 155

  Maintenance, _servitude_, xi. 468

  Make ready, _to dress_, xiii. 489

  Make, _mate_, iii. 24

  Maked, _matched_, i. 252

  Maker, _poet_, ii. 112

  Making, _mating_, xi. 144

  Malcontent, _discontented_, xiv. 107

  Malcontented, _discontented_, x. 162

  Malecotoon, _peach_, xii. 236

  Malison, _curse_, iii. 181

  Malkin, _a term of contempt_, iii. 65

  Malvoisin, _Malmsey wine_, i. 24

  Manchet, _white bread_, viii. 160

  Manhood, _manliness_, xi. 459

  Mankin, _manly_, _furious_, ii. 216

  Mankind, _manlike,_ vii. 319;
    _ferocious_, viii. 439

  Mankine, _masculine_, iii. 146

  Mannerly, _well-behaved_, vii. 162

  Man-of-war, _constable_, i. 185

  Manship, vii. 417

  Mantle-tree, _mantlepiece_, ix. 222

  Marchpane, ix. 424;
    xi. 540;
    _note_, xii. 235

  Mare, _nightmare_, "let pass away the mare," i. 57;
    "two-legged mare," _the gallows_, iii. 335

  Margarites, _pearls_, xii. 475

  Margent, _margin_, ix. 169

  Marish, _marshy_, x. 161

  Marl, _marvel_, x. 504

  Marl'd, _marvelled_, xi. 284

  Marmoset, _monkey_, xiii. 298;
    xiv. 285

  Marry, _the Virgin Mary_, xi. 461

  Marry a God, _marry_, _the Virgin Mary_, vii. 477

  Marshal (of the revels), i. 45

  Martialist, v. 9;
    _a soldier_, viii. 440;
    xiii. 462

  Martyrdom, _suffering_, x. 149

  Marybone, _marrow-bone_, ii. 79

  Masculine, _male_, xi. 452

  Maship, _mastership_, i. 367;
    iii. 65

  Massiness, _massiveness_, x. 131

  Massy, _massive_, ii. 329;
    xi. 339

  Masterdom, _power_, viii. 250

  Mastlin, _mixed metal_, ix. 411

  Match, _rival_, ii. 349

  Maternal (tongue), _mother_ (_tongue_) i. 7

  Matron, _an old crone_, i. 72

  Matt, _the mass_, iii. 146

  Maugre, _in spite of_, xi. 316;
    xii. 288

  Maukins, _note_, viii. 258

  Maumet, _puppet_, x. 167

  Mavors, _Mars_, xii. 451

  Maw, _term used in card-playing_, ix. 387;
    x. 539

  Mayhap, _perhaps_, i. 66

  Maze, _to amaze_, iv. 65

  Mazzard, _pate_, xi. 47

  Me, _expletive_, x. 280;
    xi. 102

  Meacock, _a milksop_, iv. 118

  Meads, _meadows_, vii. 295

  Mean, "a mean," i. 9;
    "the mean season," _meantime_, i. 48;
    "in a mean," _of a medium size_, _moderate_, i. 62;
    v. 285, 293

  Measure, _moderation_, i. 258

  Meaze, _form of a hare_, ix. 44

  Meditation, _mediation_, xv. 19

  Meed, _reward_, iii. 231

  Meet with, _to serve out_, vii. 462;
    _to be even with_, xiii. 62

  Megrim, _megrims_, i. 160; xv. 30

  Melancholy, _madness_, i. 84

  Melist, _it pleases me_, i. 154

  Mell, _to meddle_, iii. 248

  Mending, _amendment_, i. 153

  Mends, _amends_, v. 299

  Merce, _to amerce_, ix. 487

  Merchant, _person_, _fellow_, _chap_, i. 69;
    ii. 255,383;
    xi. 28;
    iii. 8;
    _rogue_, xii. 165

  Merchantman, _merchant_, xii. 158

  Mercurials, xi. 301

  Mere, _pure_, _perfect_, vii. 270

  Merely, _quite_, _absolutely_, x. 204

  Merk, _to darken_, xii. 507

  Meseem, _meseems_, vi. 62

  Meseraics, xi. 303

  Met, _dreamt_, xii. 242

  Metamorphose, _to change_, _transmute_, xi. 488

  Mete, _to measure out a reward_, viii. 304;
    _to measure_, ix. 557;
    _measured_, x. 37

  Metely, _fitly_, _meetly_, i. 48

  Meteoroscope, xi. 344

  Metheglin, xiii. 32

  Methink, _methinks_, i. 9

  Mettles, vii. 146

  Meve, _to move_, i. 244;
    iv. 98

  Mew'd, _confined_, _restrained_, i. 60

  Meyne, _company_, i. 262

  Mich, _much_, i. 22

  Micher, _a truant_, _flincher_, i. 164;
    viii. 57;
    ix. 550;
    x. 332

  Mickle, _great_, _much_, i. 249;
    iii. 86;
    viii. 151;
    xii. 507

  Middes, _midst_, i. 16

  Middle-earth, i. 250

  Midsummer-ale, _note_, xiii. 503

  Mightly, _mightily_, i. 248

  Milksop, vii. 127

  Mincing, ii. 290

  Mind, _to intend_, iii. 45

  Minion, _favourite_, _darling_, ii. 169;
    iii. 159;
    xi. 19;
    xiv. 100;
    _servant_, vii. 293

  Minionly, _mincingly_, ii. 346

  Minish, _to diminish_, i. 141, 417

  Minister, _to administer_, xii. 104

  Mischief, _misfortune_, i. 23, 234

  Mischievous, _unfortunate_, i. 188

  Misdeem, _to misjudge_, ii. 119

  Miser, _wretched,_ ii. 252;
    _a wretch_, vii. 62;
     viii. 343

  Miserable, _compassionate_, vi. 360

  Mislike, _to dislike,_ i. 386;
    ii. 345;
    xi. 530;
    _to displease_, iv. 35

  Miss, _to be wanting to_, i. 90;
    _to lose,_ i. 215;
    _to fail,_ ii. 225;
    iv. 54;
    _fault_, _sin_, i. 147, 186, 192

  Mister, _to serve_, _be needful_, i. 264;
    _to need_, i. 347

  Misterm, vii. 493

  Mistress, _note_, xii. 120, 165

  Mistrist, _mistrust_, i. 203

  Misuse, _to abuse_, _commit adultery_, i. 308

  Misusing, _abuse_, i. 193

  Mit (=mist?), i. 356

  Mo, _more_, i. 7, 246

  Mockage, _mockery_, iii. 135

  Mocking-stock, vii. 176

  Model, _plan_, x. 65

  Modesty, _moderation_, x. 475

  Moiling, _toiling_, xiii. 7

  Moilingest, _most toilsome_, x. 259

  Molt, _molten_, x. 335

  Moly, _note_, viii. 228

  Mome, _a fool_, ii. 315

  Moneth, _month_, ii. 179

  Monethmayndes, (= month-minds), _monthly remembrances of the
        departed_, vi. 72

  Moneths, _months_, iii. 183

  Monition, _admonition_, i. 132;
    ii. 270

  Moon, _frenzy_, x. 50

  Moot, _talk_, iv. 258;
    _to plead_, ix. 180

  Mooting, _discussion_, ix. 183

  Mooting night, _note_, xii. 276

  Moped, _moping_, xv. 521

  Mopish, _foolish_, ii. 255

  Moppet, _a term of endearment_, viii. 308

  Moral, "a moral play," i. 99

  More, _greater_, x. 118

  Morglay, _note_, xii. 286

  Morion, _helmet_, xii. 488

  Morn, "to-morn," _to-morrow_, ii. 283

  Mort, _a loose woman_, viii. 156

  Most, _greatest_, i. 113

  Most-part, _ad. mostly_, i. 30

  Mot, _may_, i. 256, 257;
    xv. 418

  Mote, _may_, ii. 255;
    xii. 241

  Motion, _movement_, x. 119;
    _puppet-show_, x. 135;
    _puppet_, _note_, xiii. 420;
    xiv. 412

  Motley, _a fool_, x. 525

  Motte, _witty saying_, xi. 401

  Mought, _might_, i. 249;
    iv. 306

  Mounseer, _a Frenchman_, xiv. 32

  Mount Saint, _game of cards_, x. 186

  Moustachio, xi. 76

  Movings, _motions_, i. 11

  Mow, _to make grimaces_, 1. 246;
    _to mock_, viii. 49

  Mowing, _making grimaces,_ ii. 211;
    _mouthing_, x. 493

  Mowt, _might_, vi. 72

  Much, _very_, i. 379

  Muck, _riches_, xiii. 7

  Mued, _moulted_, xi. 360

  Muliebrity, _womanhood_, v. 345

  Mum, _silent_, i. 74;
    _silence_, iii. 352

  Mumchance, _note_, xii. 120

  Mummery, _masking_, v. 300

  Mun, _must_, iii. 159;
    vi. 74;
    xv. 143

  Mundungo, _tobacco_, xiv. 291

  Murlons, _merlins_ (_hawks_), iv. 70

  Murnival, _a term used in card-playing_, xi. 217

  Murrain, _plague_, _curse_, xiii. 160;
    _plaguy_, _very_, xv. 144

  Murrainer, _worse_ (?), iii. 221

  Murrainly, _much_, _exceedingly_, iii. 213

  Murrion, _murrain_, iii. 180

  Muscadine (wine), ix. 526

  Muskadine, _muscadel_, xi. 491

  Muss, _a term of abuse_, ix. 367

  Musselden, _muscadine_, iv. 73

  Mussers, _hiding-places_, x. 294

  Mutin, _mutinous_, iv. 258

  Muzzling, iv. 120

  Mynock (myn hock), vi. 242


  Naked, _without weapons_, xiv. 334;
    _note_, 511

  Nale, "at nale," (=atten _ale_) _at the ale-house_, i. 166;
    _ale_, vi. 73

  Napery, _napkin_, xv. 159

  Nat, _not_, iii. 177

  Natural, _an idiot_, xi. 453

  Naturate, _natural_, i. 11

  Naturing, _bringing into birth_, i. 11

  Naunt, _aunt_, _whore_, xiii. 161

  Nawl, _an awl_, iii. 210

  Nay, _denial_, iii. 38

  Ne, _nor_, i. 226

  Near, _nearer_, ii. 125;
    iii. 64;
    xi. 46

  Nearhand, _nearly_, iii. 31

  Neat, _finely-dressed_, vii. 286

  Neck verse, i. 159

  Neele, _needle_, iii. 180

  Neighbourhood, _neighbourliness_, xii. 67

  Nem, _take_, xii. 287

  Nempd, _named_, xii. 242

  Nessary, _necessary_, i. 253

  Nething, _nothing_, vi. 72

  New, "a new day," i. 86

  New-joint (to), ix. 556

  Next, _nearest_, i. 27;
    ix. 441;
    _nearest of kin_, x. 196;
    _the next heir_, x. 31

  Nice, i. 116; _foolish_, i. 235;
    _tender_, _delicate_, ii. 272;
    _coy_, xi. 531

  Nicely, _quietly_, iii. 232

  Niches in the wall, _note_, xv. 216

  Nick (of time), xii. 390;
    xv. 47, 60;
    _a term used in dicing_, ii. 171

  Nicking, _using a beer-can with a raised bottom, hence giving short
        measure_, xii. 334

  Nidiot, _idiot_, ii. 303

  Nifling, _trifling_, xiv. 317

  <DW65>s (= snigs), _an oath_, xiii. 6, 22

  Niggersnoggers, _an oath_, xiii. 5, 10

  Niggler, _sporter_, xiv. 313

  Nill, _will not_, vi. 475;
    vii. 108;
    x. 474

  Nim, _to take_, xiv. 350

  Nimmer, _thief_, xi. 370

  Ningle, _a term of endearment_, xiv. 297

  Nipitaty, _note_, viii. 60

  Nippitate, _note_, vii. 445

  Niset, _a term of endearment_, ii. 22

  Niters, _note_, xi. 430

  Nitty-napry, xiv. 344

  Nod, _noddy_, ii. 130

  Noddlehead, x. 328

  Noddy, _nobody_, iv. 17

  Noiling, _noise_ (?), iii. 230

  Noise, _band_, x. 263;
    _note_, xii. 281

  Noisome, _poisonous_, _noxious_, xii. 192

  Nol, _pate_, vi. 253

  Noly, ii. 171

  Norice, _nurse_, xii. 241

  Nosthrils, _nostrils_, i. 376

  Not, _nought_, i. 321

  Notable, _well-known_, i. 69

  Note, _mark_, ix. 427

  Notes, _signs_, vii. 187

  Nother, _nor_, i. 22;
    _neither_, i. 200, 368

  Nothing, _not at all_, i. 7

  Noughtiness, _badness_, ii. 317

  Noughty, _naughty_, _bad_, ii. 307

  Nouns, _zounds_, x. 260

  Nowl, _an owl_, ii. 113

  Noy, _annoy_, ii. 109

  Nuddled, _note_, xiv. 62

  Nup, _a fool_, ix. 367

  Nupson, _a fool_, ix. 458

  Nurslings, ix. 453

  Nusled, _nurtured_, in. 44


  Obediency, _obedience_, xi. 486

  Obeisance, _obedience_, i. 59

  Obeying, _obedient to_, xii. 570

  Obstination, _obstinacy_, i. 164

  Occident, _west_, i. 18

  Occupier, _a merchant_, x. 308

  Occupy, _cohabit_, xii. 137

  Occurents, _occurrences_, xi. 475

  Odsnigs, _an oath_, xii. 249

  Of, _by_, _concerning_, ii. 274

  Officious, _diligent in office_, ii. 339

  Oft _among_, _often_, _at intervals_, i. 7

  Ointment, _unction_, i. 132

  Old, _much_, ix. 381

  Oliv'd, _note_, xii 239

  Olivet, xiv. 344

  On, _of_, i. 59

  On-begging, _a-begging_, vi. 399

  One, "at one," _friendly_, vi. 57;
    "in one," _at one_, vi. 148

  One's, _some one's_, xi. 443

  On's, _of his_, xi. 453

  Oon, _one_, xv. 424

  Ooze, _mud_, xii. 492

  Ope, _open_, x. 116;
    xiii. 31

  Open-arses, _medlars_, xiv. 414

  Opinionated, _thought of_, viii. 139

  Opportuneful, _opportune_, iv. 374

  Opunctly, _opportunely_, xi. 264

  Oration, _prayer_, i. 409

  Orbicularly, _around_, _circularly_, i. 14.

  Ordinately, _in order_, ii. 217

  Orient, i. 296;
    _east_, i. 18

  Orient pearl, xi. 489

  Orison, _vow_, vii. 431;
    _prayer_, i. 89;
    x. 121

  Other, _or_, i. 409

  Otherwhere, _elsewhere_, iii. 266

  Outcoming, _a coming out_, i. 255

  Outcry, _auction_, xiv. 445

  Outgnawn, _gnawed out_, iv. 338

  Outher, _either_, i. 202

  Outlandish, _foreign_, xiii. 43;
    v. 262

  Outnick, xv. 60

  Outraged, _rased_, _scraped out_, i. 293

  Outsearch, i. 102

  Outsep, _except_, vi. 392

  Outvoice, xi. 86

  Outward, _outer_, i. 484

  Overbarring, viii. 77

  Overblown, _blown over_, xi. 74

  Overcrow, _to overcome, subdue_, viii. 452

  Overlove, vii. 23

  Overpeer, ix. 404

  Oversayne, _to oversay_, i. 33

  Overslip, _to omit_, xi. 490

  Over-year, xi. 401

  Owe, _own_, i. 202;
    v. 232;
    ix. 471;
    xi. 124


  Pacifical, _peacemaking_, xii. 270

  Pagend, _pageant_, xv. 423

  Paicture, _picture_, vi. 74

  Pain, _pains_, i. 7;
    _to take pains_, iv. 33

  Paining, _suffering_, i. 81

  Pair, _pack_, vi. 421

  Paishe, _passion_, iii. 130

  Pall, _robe_, vii. 106

  Palliardize, _dirtiness_, viii. 135

  Palmer, _the rod_, _a schoolmaster_ (?), ii. 275

  Palter, _to mumble_, _speak indistinctly or shufflingly_, iii. 205

  Paltry, _rubbish_, viii. 137

  Palyes, _palace_, xii. 253

  Pander, _panderer_, viii. 148;
    xi. 520, 546

  Panderise, _to act as panderer_, x. 294

  Pantable, _pantofle_, _slipper_, iv. 67;
    vii. 409;
    xv. 105

  Pantler, _the keeper of a pantry_, iv. 491

  Parachitoe, xiv. 289

  Parages, _rank_, _lineage_, iii. 66

  Parator, _apparitor_, ix. 307

  Parbreak, _to vomit_, viii. 462

  Parcel, _part_, x. 275

  Parcels, _parts_, xii. 62

  Pardy, }
  Perde, } _by God_, i. 111, 154; ii. 221

  Paril, _peril_, vi. 74

  Parley, _to speak_, ix. 477

  Parliament (= parament), _apparel_, vi. 312

  Parlous, _perilous_, _great_, x. 77

  Parlously, _perilously_, xiv. 395

  Part, _to share_, i. 243

  Partaker, _a sharer_, vii. 255

  Parted, _shared_, i. 67

  Partiner, _partner_, i. 126

  Partlet, _a ruff_, i. 350

  Parts, _parties_, iii. 248;
    _conflicts_, vii. 401

  Party, _person_, x. 123

  Pash'd, _crushed_, viii. 314

  Pass, _to care_, ii. 47;
    _care_, ii. 171, 301;
    _to surpass_, i. 408;
    _exalt_, vii. 352;
    _to exceed (belief)_, ix. 364;
    _passage_, xi. 375

  Passable (_pun on_), xii. 220

  Passage, _game at dice_, i. 266;
    xi. 431;
    _note_, xii. 120

  Passages, _love-passages_, x. 194;
    _what has passed between two persons_, xi. 14, 33.

  Passes, _surpasses_, xiii. 105

  Passing measures, _a slow dance_, ix. 408

  Passion, _suffering_, i. 274;
    _a love sonnet_, xi. 327

  Passion-a-me, _an oath_, xi. 522

  Pastance, _pastime_, i. 23;
    iii. 88

  Patch, _a fool_, iii. 186;
    iv. 220;
    x. 493;
    xi. 140

  Patter, _to talk_, i. 181

  Paunch, _to stab_, ix. 451

  Paunch'd, _wounded in the belly_, v. 26

  Paxes, _pax-breads_ (?), iii. 11

  Pay, _pleasure_, iv. 71

  Paynim, _pagan_, xii. 229

  Peach, _to impeach_, _accuse_, i. 157

  Peaching, _blabbing_, xv. 29

  Peak, _to be peaky_, ii. 212

  Peaking, _prying_ (?), vii. 437

  Peakish mome, ii. 208

  Pearl, _note_, xiv. 424

  Pearmains, xii. 328

  Pease (a), iv. 224

  Peat, _pet_, vii. 475;
    ix. 369;
    xiv. 321

  Peccant, _sinner_, xiv. 355

  Pectorals, xiv. 321

  Pee-dee, _note_, xiv. 289

  Peel, Pele, _a baker's rod or shovel_, i. 424

  Peer, _equal_, i. 26;
    _to look at_, iv. 353

  Peevish, _foolish_, ii. 304

  Pelf, _riches_, _wealth_, xi. 466

  Pelican, xii. 174

  Pelt, _a blow_ (?), ii. 391

  Peltingly, _paltry_ (?), viii. 350

  Pelts, _shields_, xii. 477

  Penitency, _penitence_, xi. 458

  Pennyfather, _miser_, vii. 300;
    xi. 468

  Pented, _painted_, vi. 74

  Peppercorn, _note_, xii. 280

  Peradventure, _hazard_, ix. 17

  Percase, _perhaps_, i. 67; ii. 109

  Perdue, _a soldier on a forlorn hope_, xii. 235

  Perdurable, _everlasting_, i. 64

  Perdy, _by God_, i. 43

  Perfectness, _perfection_, vii. 302

  Perfit, _perfect_, i. 7, 61, 353

  Perfitly, _perfectly_, i. 383

  Perilsome, _perilous_, viii. 46

  Period, _end_, x. 170;
    xi. 472, 563

  Perk, _to perch_, iv. 124

  Perpend, iv. 167, 236

  Perry, _a squall_, vii. 482

  Personable, iii. 32

  Personally, _in person_, i. 28

  Perspicil, _a telescope_, xi. 311

  Persuase, _persuasion_, vii. 376

  Perturb, _to disturb_, i. 217

  Perturbation, _disturbance_, xi. 86

  Pervart, _perverted_, ii. 58

  Pervert, _perverted_, i. 200

  Pes, _haunch_, iii. 181

  Pesle-mesle, _pell-mell_, v. 246

  Pestens, _pestilent_, _bad_, iv. 82

  Pester, iii. 32

  Pestilent, _troublesome_, iii. 11

  Pestilently, _badly_, iii. 271

  Pestle, _gammon_, _leg_, iv. 82

  Petitory, _petitionary_, ix. 341

  Pettifogger, _attorney_, vi. 281;
    ix. 264

  Pettifogging, _cheating_, ix. 238

  Pettyfogging (groom), _a knavish lawyer_, x. 356

  Phalange, _phalanx_, ix. 362

  Pheer (= feer), _companion_, iv. 263;
    xiii. 425

  Philosophy (natural), i. 6

  Philtres, xiv. 520

  Phlegm, "easy phlegm," xv. 199

  Phlegmy, xv. 117

  Physnomy, _face_, _note_, xiv. 253, 320

  Pick, _sharp point_, vii. 318

  Pickadel, _part of a doublet_, xi. 17

  Picking, _pilfering_, vii. 214

  Pickle, _plight_, viii. 364

  Pick-thank, xv. 29

  Piddling, _petty_, xiii. 143, 152

  Piece, _a cup_, i. 178;
    _a vessel_, ii. 232;
    _creature_, xiii. 163;
    _coin_, xiii. 8;
    _woman_, xiv. 318, 479

  Pigeon-holes, _note_, xii. 101, 120

  Pight, _placed_, i. 249;
    ix. 176;
    _pitched_, i. 403;
    _determined_, ii. 47

  Pigsnie, _a term of endearment_, ii. 151;
    xiii. 142

  Pigsny, _a term of endearment_, iii. 80;
    ix. 547

  Pilfries, _pilferings_, xi. 303

  Pill and poll, _to pilfer and to plunder_, x. 501

  Pilling and polling, vi. 49

  Pin, "a merry pin," i. 45

  Pinch, "at a pinch," _in need_, xii. 365

  Pinchback, viii. 76

  Pinchgut, _miser_, xiv. 291

  Pinder, _pinner_, viii. 232

  Pinion, _term used in dicing_, ii. 35

  Pink, _to gamble (?)_, ii. 35

  Pinkany, _a term of endearment_, vii. 324

  Pink'd, _peep'd_, xi. 117

  Pinken eyes, _small eyes_ (?), xi. 71, 72

  Pinky eyne, _small eyes_, vii. 167

  Pins, _legs_, i. 181

  Pioner, _pioneer_, x. 160

  Pishes, _cries of pish_, xii. 298

  Pissing, "a pissing while," iii. 224

  Pistoles, _coins_, xv. 131

  Pistolets, _pistols_, xiv. 164;
    _coins_, xv. 126

  Piteousness, _pity_, x. 189

  Pithily, _strongly_, i. 250

  Pitiful, _merciful_, _compassionate_, i. 81, 288

  Pittance, _a morsel of bread_, ii. 242

  Plain, _to complain_, vi. 414

  Plaint, _complaint_, vii. 83;
    x. 189

  Planch, _to patch all round_, iii. 176

  Plantain, xv. 143

  Plantation, _colony_, xi. 467;
    xv. 334

  Plantations, _colonies_, xiii. 274

  Plat, _place_, ii. 297;
    iii. 196

  Platform, _note_, xiii. 336

  Play fast and loose, xiii. 174

  Pleasance, _pleasure_, i. 56

  Pleasaunce, _pleasure_, xii. 240

  Pleasure, _to give pleasure_, vi. 150;
    _to humour_, vi. 291;
    _to please_, viii. 299;
    x. 134

  Plenal, _full_, xiii. 153, 156

  Plete, _to plead_, i. 262

  Plight, _vow_(?), i. 82;
    _to pledge_, i. 257;
    _a pledge_, _promise_, iv. 313;
    _sort_, _company_, iii. 173

  Plotform, _plot_, _platform_, _note_, viii. 423

  Pluck, _to drag_, _pull_, i. 72;
    xiii. 285

  Pluck'd, _pulled_, xi. 282

  Pluck up heart, iv. 245

  Plumb, _plummet_, x. 199

  Pocky, xi. 463

  Podstick (= pot-stick), _a staff_, ii. 114

  Poetise, _to make poetry_, xi. 451

  Poignant (sword), _sharp_, ii. 250

  Poignet, _a little bodkin_, i. 351

  Poinard, _poignard_, ix. 117

  Point-device, _with great exactness_, i. 23, 44

  Pointed, _appointed_, i. 33

  Pointment, _appointment_, i. 33, 37

  Points (untrussed), ix. 41

  Poise, _weight_, x. 119, 146, 190

  Poking-stick, _note_, viii. 161

  Politicly, _craftily_, xii. 52

  Poll, _to pill_, _rob_, i. 199

  Poll'd, _having the hair cut_, iv. 81, 82

  Polldennery, _extortion_, ix. 229

  Polling, _plunder_, iii. 118

  Polt, _lame_, viii. 91

  Pomander, _balls of perfume_, ix. 419

  Ponderosity, _heaviness_, i. 14

  Poopnoddy, _a fool_, ix. 242

  Popinjay, _a parrot_, ii. 117

  Porkling, _a pig_, viii. 369

  Port, _manner_, _bearing_, _behaviour_, _courage_, ii. 248, 335;
    vii. 293

  Portace, }
  Portass, }
  Portesse,} _prayer-book_, _breviary_, iii. 24;
    vii. 464;
    viii. 393

  Portraiture, _painting_, i. 62

  Pose, _to question_, vii. 291

  Poser, _examiner_, ix. 139

  Posnets, _little pots_, xii. 328

  Possems, _possets_, xiv. 296

  Possess, _to inform_, ix. 483

  Possessed, _acquainted_, _informed_, xiii. 144, 175

  Possing, _pushing_, iii. 183

  Post, _term used in dicing_, ii. 35;
    _haste_, iv. 18, 19;
    viii. 399;
    _to haste_, v. 11;
    vii. 203;
    _messenger_, viii. 154;
    x. 488;
    "to ride post," ix. 102

  Posting, _hastening_, xi. 488

  Posts, _supports_ (?), i. 75

  Pot (go to), ii. 252;
    vi. 66;
    vii. 302

  Potgun, _popgun_, iii. 141

  Pothecary, _apothecary_, i. 178;
    i. 346

  Potluck, viii. 87

  Pottle, _a half-gallon_, xi. 136, 195

  Poult-foot, _club-foot_, xiv. 308

  Pouped, _deceived_, iii. 194

  Powdered, _salted_, viii. 320

  Power, _force_, iv. 260

  Poynado, _poignard_, xii. 524

  Poynant, _sharp_, xii. 286

  Practic, _practical_, xi. 98

  Practice, _treason_, _plotting_, _plot_, vii. 451;
    xiv. 128, 149

  Præstigiatory, _juggling_, xi. 324

  Praise-worth, _praiseworthy_, vii. 73

  Prancome, _a trick_, iii. 177

  Prank, _trick_, ii. 117, 230;
    iii. 198;
    _to adorn_, ix. 231

  Pranker, _finer_, ix. 431

  Prater, _a chatterer_, ii. 255

  Pratty, _pretty_, viii. 23

  Praty, _pretty_, i. 71, 165

  Preachment, _a declaration_, ix. 307

  Preacquainted, xiii. 487

  Prease, _crowd_, vii. 53

  Prebends, i. 226

  Precious thief, ii. 143

  Preciousness, xv. 103

  Predication, _preaching_, i. 235

  Predycacyon, _preaching_, xv. 426

  Prefe, _proof_, i. 179

  Pregnant, _full of wit_, xii. 111

  Pregnant wits, i. 7

  Prenticehood, _apprenticeship_, iii. 310

  Presence, _company_, i. 35

  Presently, _at once_, xi. 82

  Presentment, _representation_, xiv. 280, 281

  Prest, _ready_, i. 82, 248

  Prester-Johnian, xii. 229

  Prestly, _readily_, i. 253

  Pretence, _intention_, iii. 307

  Pretend, _to intend_, vii. 178;
    ix. 283

  Pretended, _intended_, iii. 13

  Pretty man, i. 19

  Prevent, _to forestall_, _anticipate_, ii. 250;
    vii. 233;
    xii. 101;
    _go before_, xiii. 473

  Prey, _prize_, ii. 360

  Price, _prize_, _renown_, iii. 28

  Prick, _to ride_, iv. 92

  Prick-eared cur, i. 87

  Prick-eared song, i. 48

  Pricked, _dressed_, i. 244

  Pricket, _a young buck_, ix. 149

  Prickle, _prick_, v. 46;
    _to prick_, xiv. 318

  Pricks (on a gall), i. 14

  Prick-shafts, xiii. 39

  Prick-song, i. 48;
    xi. 144

  Priesthade, _priesthood_, vi. 72

  Prime, _spring_, ix. 231

  Primero, _term used in card-playing_, ix. 387

  Prims, _pretty lasses_, i. 181

  Princock, _a dandy_, ii. 170;
    iv. 308

  Princocks, vii. 442

  Princox, _coxcomb_, xi. 126;
    xii. 524

  Prinkox, _a fop_, ii. 260

  Prink up, iii. 6

  Print, _to impress_, ii. 275

  Privity, _secresy_, i. 34

  Privy council, _secret council_, i. 157

  Proface, _note_, viii. 160

  Proine, _to prune_, x. 160

  Promise is debt, i. 137

  Propagation, _conception_, i. 290

  Proper, "a proper wench," i. 26;
    _well-behaved_, i. 426;
    _own_, viii. 148

  Properties, (of a theatre), xiii. 274

  Property, (of a stage), _a scene_ (?), viii. 316

  Propriety, _property_, xiv. 364

  Prospective, _a view_, vii. 269

  Provand, _plain_, _common_, xiv. 385

  Prune, _to pick clean_, _trim_, xi. 361

  Pucellage, _maidenhead_, i. 77

  Pudder, _pother_, _disturbance_, xiv. 444

  Pudding-time, iii. 319

  Pugging, _pulling_, iv. 120

  Puisne, _puny_, x. 25

  Puissance, _power_, i. 41

  Puissant, _powerful_, xiii. 343

  Pullen, _poultry_, iii. 239;
    _chicken_, ix. 491

  Pumps, _dancing-shoes_, xv. 360

  Pums, _a term of endearment_, i. 405

  Punk, _a prostitute_, xiv. 60

  Punks, ix. 471

  Punto, _note_, xiv. 284

  Purchase, _to obtain, get_, viii. 402;
    _robbery_, xi. 304;
    _a prize_, xii. 232;
    xiii. 406

  Purchasing, _getting_, xi. 490

  Purfled, _trimmed_, ix. 417

  Purgation, _cleansing_, i. 213

  Purls, _hem or fringe_, xi. 134

  Purple, _a disease_, i. 175

  Purporting, iv. 173

  Purpose (to), _to the purpose_

  Purpur, _purple_, i. 252

  Pursy, _fat_, viii. 369

  Purvey, _to provide_, i. 25

  Putting out, _lending money at interest_, xi. 190

  Pye, ii. 22

  Pyketh, _picks_, xii. 242

  Pyrdewy, i. 156


  Quadragesimal, _lenten_, xii. 268

  Quail, _to terrify_, vi. 266;
    _to languish_, vii. 48, 204

  Quaintly, _fitly_, xiii. 158

  Quapp, _to quake_, xii. 242

  Quarled, _curdled_, x. 84

  Quarry, xi. 404;
    _game_, xiv. 379

  Quashed, _smashed_, i. 399

  Quass, _to quaff_, iii. 327

  Quatorzain, viii. 88

  Quaver, _to sing_, ii. 117

  Quean, _woman_, ii. 346

  Queasy, _sickly_, ii. 112;
    xiii. 45;
    xiv. 145

  Queck, _blow_ (?), ii. 8

  Queen's game, ii. 34

  Quell, _to kill_, _subdue_, i. 79

  Quere, _quire_, i. 194

  Quest, _jury_, ii. 176;
    _inquiry_, xiv. 343

  Quick, _living_, _alive_, i. 110;
    v. 248

  Quick brimstone, _gunpowder_, i. 179

  Quid, _the what_, x. 363

  Quiddits, _quibbles_, v. 363

  Quiddle, iv. 81

  Quillets, _quibbles_, x. 289

  Quirister, _chorister_, vii. 470

  Quiristers, _choristers_, xv. 416

  Quirk, _trick_, xv. 169

  Quirks, _quibbles_, x. 125, 292

  Quit, _clear_, _free_, i. 132, 373;
    _to acquit_, vi. 588

  Quite, _to requite_, viii. 175

  Quittance (to), x. 200

  Quod, _said_, iii. 31

  Quod-a, _quoth he_, ii. 81

  Quodestow, _saidest thou_, iii. 23

  Quoit, "to quoit away" (?), _to quit_, xiv. 208

  Quotha, _quoth he_, i. 23


  Rabblement, _rabble_, iii. 35

  Rabbling, _intriguing_, iv. 143

  Raches, _a kind of dog_, ix. 148

  Raffraff, _riffraff_, viii. 39

  Rage, _fever_, i. 85

  Ragman rolles, }
  Ragman-rolls,  } _bulls_, i. 234;
    xv. 427

  Rakehell, ix. 450

  Ramp, _a romp_, iii. 95, 215

  Rampallion, _rascal_, xi. 197

  Rampier, _rampart_, xii. 521

  Rampiers, _ramparts_, iv. 309; x. 326

  Ramping, _rampant_, i. 399;
    _romping_, iii. 94

  Rampion (wine), i. 24

  Randall, _random_, vii. 360

  Rank, _row_, ix. 440

  Rapt, _ravished_, x. 358

  Rascal, _rabble_, ix. 223

  Rascal deer, ix. 148

  Rase, _race_, _channel_, i. 164;
    _to erase_, xi. 53

  Raspice (wine), i. 24

  Rather, _sooner_, i. 364;
    _earlier_, iii. 117

  Ratsbane, _poison for rats_, xiv. 79

  Rattled, _rated_, _scolded_, xiii. 112, 138

  Raught, _reached_, _gave_, iv. 302;
    _reft_, vii. 57

  Rave, _to talk madly_, iii. 228

  Ray, _array_, iii. 137;
    _to soil_, viii. 87

  Rayed, _soiled_, ix. 241

  Razed, _rooted out_, iv. 337

  Reach, _aim_, vii. 123;
    _reaching cough_, xi. 43

  Reading, _advice_, xi. 14

  Rear, _to raise_, xi. 489

  Rear-banquets, xiv. 293

  Rearward, _rear_, v. 11

  Reason, _right_, ii. 118;
    "I'll do you reason," _I'll pledge you_, xv. 214

  Rebato, _an ornament for the neck_, _a kind of ruff_, x. 122

  Recede, _withdrawal_, xiv. 312

  Rech, _to care_, ii. 290;
    _care for_, xii. 288

  Rechless, _careless_, _reckless_, i. 298;
    iii. 196

  Reck, _to care_, i. 188;
    vii. 68

  Recoil, ii. 368

  Reconcilement, _reconciliation_, ix. 52;
    xii. 275;
    xiii. 463;
    xv. 89

  Record, _to sing_, v. 51;
    viii. 154

  Recorder, _a flageolet_, iii. 87

  Recover, _to cause to recover_, viii. 467

  Recoverance, _recovery_, i. 287

  Recreance, _recreation_, vi. 32

  Recreate, _to refresh_, xi. 511

  Recure, _to recover_, i. 369;
    vii. 107;
    xii. 172;
    _recovery_, ix. 52

  Rede, _reed_, _counsel_, viii. 405

  Reduce, _to bring back_, x. 280;
    xii. 452

  Reed, _to advise_, i. 181;
    _advice_, ii. 257;
    vi. 475;
    vii. 337

  Re-edified, _rebuilt_, xii. 200

  Reek, _to smoke_, xi. 275

  Reels, vii. 303

  Refel, _to refute_, viii. 318

  Refranes, _proverbs_, xi. 401

  Reft, _bereft_, viii. 159

  Refuge, _refuse_, vii. 335

  Refuse me, _oath_, xiii. 5

  Regiment, _rule_, viii. 77;
    _authority_, xii. 505

  Rehearsing, _repeating_, i. 61

  Reject, _rejected_, i. 213

  Remit, _to condone_, xi. 474

  Remorseless, _pitiless_, ix. 504

  Ren, _to run_, ii. 253

  Renne, _to run_, i. 181, 246, 395;
    iii. 70

  Renowm, _renown_, iv. 338

  Rent, i. 199

  Rented, _rent_, _distracted_, ix. 133

  Repass, _a term used in legerdemain_, x. 306

  Reprefe, _reproof_, i. 120

  Resolute, vii. 487

  Resolution, i. 12

  Resolve, _to make one acquainted with the resolution of another_,
        vii. 45;
    _to dissolve_, vii. 46

  Resolved, _dissolved_, xi. 62

  Respective, _respectful_, vii. 396;
    x. 342

  Respire, _to revive_, xi. 67

  Respite, _delay_, i. 103, 106

  Rest, _stake_, xi. 363

  Rested, _arrested_, i. 178

  Resty, _restive_, vi. 32

  Retchless, _reckless_, ii. 196

  Retire, _retirement_, xiv. 312

  Retrograde, _recreant_, x. 95

  Reuth, _pity_, xii. 286

  Reve, _to rive_, ii. 271

  Revel, _sport_, _fun_, i. 371

  Reven, _to rob_ (?), i. 252

  Revengement, _revenge_, vii. 162

  Rever, _robber_, viii. 155

  Reverent, _reverential_, xi. 143

  Revert, _to turn back_, xi. 476

  Rew, _row_, i. 262

  Rewarding, _a reward_, i. 63

  Rewhayre, _require_, vi. 71

  Rheuming, _ruminating_ (?), ix. 152

  Rib, _wife_, xii. 214

  Ribald, _prostitute_, i. 82

  Ribble-rabble, _nonsense_, viii. 110

  Riches (_singular_), i. 8

  Rid, _rode_, v. 343

  Ridder, _deliverer_, i. 216

  Rig, _strumpet_, iii. 215

  Righting, _setting right_, xv. 13;
    xv. 55

  Rightwiseness, _righteousness_, i. 100

  Rim, _verge_, _degree_, x. 22

  Rine, _rind_, _cane_, i. 246;
    ix. 244

  Riot, _extravagance_, xii. 101

  Ria, _branch_ (_of a tree_), i. 252

  Rise-again, _a rising again_, i. 286

  Roarer, _a bully_, _swaggerer_, xi. 139;
    xii. 102

  Rock, _distaff_, i. 65

  Rode, _ridden_, x. 118

  Roguery, _wantonness_, xii. 241

  Roil, _to roam_, iii. 91

  Roister, _roisterer_, iii. 307;
    viii. 340

  Roisters, _roisterers_, iii. 307, 320

  Roisting, _roistering_, ii. 300;
    iii. 348;
    viii. 360

  Romth, _space_, iii. 207

  Ront, _runt_, _a term of abuse_ (?), viii. 366

  Rood, _cross_, i. 26, 137;
    ii. 36

  Rood-tree, _cross_, i. 253

  Roomer, "to cry roomer," _a nautical term_, x. 253

  Roper, _ropemaker_, ii. 16

  Rosary, _a place where roses grow_, x. 186

  Rosy, _blushing_, xi. 306

  Rot, _to destroy_, vii. 314

  Rotten, _a rat_, iii. 216

  Rought (= rout), _to roar_, _snore_, i. 270

  Round, _to whisper_, v. 10;
    ix. 365, 436;
    _to encircle_, xiii. 184

  Rounding, _whispering_, iii. 78

  Roundly, _plainly_, xi. 471

  Rouse, _to praise_, iii. 59

  Rout, _company_, i. 260;
    _to assemble_, iii. 137

  Rowt, _to appear_ (_in arms?_), i. 256

  Rub, _a term used by bowlers_, xi. 55

  Rubbers, "a rubbers," _a game of whist_, vii. 272

  Ruddock, _redbreast_, iv. 72

  Rudeness, _fault_, i. 294

  Ru'd, _pitied_, xii. 370

  Ruffle, _to swagger_, i. 402;
    _to brandish_, i. 407

  Ruffler, _a swaggerer_, i. 395

  Ruinate, _to destroy_, _to ruin_, viii. 158, 184;
    xi. 480;
    _ruined_, xiv. 103

  Rumney (wine), i. 24

  Rumple, _to play wantonly_, viii. 389

  Runagate, _renegade_, ix. 267

  Ruth, _pity_, i. 256;
    vii. 30;
    _cruelty_, xiv. 138

  Ruthful, _piteous_, v. 127

  Rutter, _trooper_, v. 265


  Sa, _so_, xii. 507

  Sacket, xi. 340

  Sacrament, "by God's sacrament," iii. 34

  Sacrament (by Gog's), iii. 180

  Sacring, _consecrating_, x. 235

  Sad, _adj. sober_, _serious_, i. 20;
    iv. 137

  Sadder, _slower_, iii. 132

  Sadly, _seriously_, iii. 78;
    vii. 39

  Sadness, _seriousness_, _sobriety of conduct_, i. 187;
    iii. 124

  Safe-conduct, i. 375

  Safeguard, _to protect_, ix. 565;
    x. 212

  Sained, _blessed_, i. 261

  Saker, _a gun_, xi. 325

  Salacious, xiv. 344

  Sale, _hall_, i. 243;
    _shall_, vi. 71

  Sallet, _a sort of helmet_, i. 396;
    _sallad_, i. 397

  Same, "in same," _together_, i. 245, 247

  Sampler, v. 259

  Sanctimonious, _holy_, x. 128

  Sandry, _sundry_, vi. 74

  Sanguine, _ruddy_, iv. 80

  Sanguineous, _ruddy_, i. 54

  Sans, _without_, i. 26;
    xi. 104

  Sate, _to satisfy_, xiv. 337

  Sauce-box, _an impudent fellow_, x. 509;
    xi. 536;
    xv. 68

  Saunce-bell, _a bell rung at different parts of the mass-service_, x. 422

  Saunt, _term used in card-playing_, ix. 387

  Savour, _smell_, i. 20;
    _to feel_, _experience_, i. 294;
    _to smack_, xi. 454

  Saw, _proverb_, xiii. 8

  Sawl, _soul_, vi. 77

  Saws, _sayings_, i. 20

  Saxes, _note_, xii. 287

  Sayn, _to say_, xii. 242

  Saysmatic, _schismatic_, vi. 71

  Scab, _term of abuse_, xii. 313

  Scale, _ladder_, x. 139

  Scaledrake, _sheldrake_, xiv. 290

  Scamble, _to scramble_, x. 244

  Scant, _scarcely_, i. 78

  Scape, _to escape_, i. 163

  Scaped, _escaped_, i. 41

  Scapethrift, viii. 138

  Scarbabe, _a scarecrow_, ix. 268

  Scath, _harm_, ii. 249

  Scathe, _harm_, _to hurt_, _injure_, v. 327;
    viii. 152;
    ix. 21;
    xv. 145

  Sciotherical, _belonging to a sundial_, xi. 326

  Sconce, _head_, x. 300;
    xiv. 304

  Scot and lot, xii. 251

  Scouting (= scutting), _mucking_, _messing_, ix. 154

  Scrag, _a scraggy, lean person_, xiv. 164

  Screeking, _screeching_, ix. 341

  Screw'd, _shrewd_, _supercilious_ (?), xiv. 351

  Screwed, _shrewd_, xiv. 282

  Scrine, _a desk_, iii. 141

  Scrubbed, _scrubby_, _shaggy_, xii. 323

  Scud, _to run away_, vii. 321;
    viii. 292

  Se, _seat_, i. 244

  Sear, _a term in falconry_, xi. 341

  Search, _try_, _prove_, i. 199;
    xiii. 389

  Secretness, _secresy_, i. 85

  Sector, _executor_, iii. 105

  Secure, _confident_, v. 167;
    vii. 180

  Seducement, _seduction_, xiii. 213

  Seech, _to seek_, i. 268;
    i. 406

  Seely, _blessed_, i. 267;
    _happy_, ix. 216

  Seeming, _apparent_, xi. 457

  Seeth, _to boil_, ii. 171

  Seethe, _to boil_, i. 162;
    ix. 490;
    xiii. 25

  Segs, _sedyes_, v. 213

  Seld, _seldom_, _rare_, iv. 302;
    x. 86

  Seld-seen, _seldom seen_, _rare_, v. 107

  Self, _same_, vi. 376;
    x. 139

  Seller (= soler), _a room aloft_, i. 157

  Sellinger, _St Leger_, ix. 409

  Semblant, _appearance_, _pretence_, iii. 6

  Sembling, _dissembling_, ii. 251

  Sempiternal, _everlasting_, i. 286

  Sempster, xi. 210

  Send, _sent_, i. 64

  Seneschalship, viii. 139

  Sens, _since_, iii. 117

  Sensibility, _tender feelings_, _sensitiveness_, xv. 207

  Sensible, _sensitive_, xi. 15

  Sentence, _sense_, i. 10;
    _saw_, _saying_, iii. 264

  Sent-Loy, _Saint-Loy_, vi. 75

  Sepulture, _burial_, ii. 274

  Serpently, _serpentlike_, i. 60

  Serviceable, _willing to be of service_, ii. 339

  Sess, _to assess_, viii. 155

  Set-by, _to esteem_, _to prize_, i. 46;
    iv. 17

  Settles, _benches_, xi. 304

  Sever, _to separate_, viii. 86

  Several, _separate_, xi. 462

  Sew, _pottage_, xii. 507

  Sewen, _follow_, i. 248

  Shagged, _shaggy_, iv. 279

  Shag-hair, _shaggy-haired_, xii. 477

  Shagrag, _a beggarly fellow_, xii. 132

  Shake, _shaken_, iii. 88

  Shamble, _bandy_, ix. 488

  Shamefac'd, _modest_, xii. 295, 298

  Shamefast, _modest_, iii. 68

  Shapen, _made_, i. 247

  Sharepenny, _a miser_, ix. 228

  Shark, _to rob_, xii. 73

  Sharp, _to sharpen_, ix. 422

  Shase, _she has_, iii. 221

  Shaveling, _a monk_, viii. 301

  Shaver, ix. 116

  She-chirurgeon, xiv. 399

  Sheen, _bright_, vii. 58

  Sheer, _clear_, viii. 443

  Sheerly, _quite_, ix. 120

  Shent, _ruined_, ii. 216;
    _injured_ ii. 279;
    _punished_ (?), iii. 71

  Shewer, _an example_, ii. 388

  Shidder, _thither_, xii. 507

  Shifts, viii. 138

  Shine, _sheen_, _splendour_, vii. 313

  Shit, _shut_, i. 183;
    ii. 153

  Shoot-anchor (= sheet-anchor?), iii. 58

  Shope, _ordained_, _provided_, i. 163

  Short, "at short and long," _the long and the short of it_, i. 25

  Shot, _reckoning_, i. 353

  Shot-anchor, _sheet-anchor_ (?), i. 366

  Shotlog, xi. 141

  Show, _to appear_, x. 120

  Shrew, _to curse_ i. 33;
    ii. 223;
    xv. 426;
    _a vicious horse_ (?), viii. 425

  Shrewd, _bad_, i. 20, 60, 401;
    iii. 346;
    viii. 297;
    xi. 43;
    xii. 142;
    _a wicked man_, iii. 241

  Shrewdly, _badly_, iii. 131;
    xiv. 473

  Shrieve, _sheriff_, viii. 146;
    x. 344

  Shrive, _to confess_, iii. 219

  Shroud, _to shelter_, iv. 308;
    xi. 484

  Shrow, _shrew_, iv. 232;
    viii. 302

  Sib, _akin_, viii. 124

  Sibber, ii. 78

  Sickerly, _certainly_, i. 259

  Side, _wide_, iv. 118

  Sieged, _besieged_, x. 324

  Siesta, _note_, xv. 22

  Sifflements, _whistlings_, ix. 340

  Signet (= sonata), iv. 349

  Signiorise, v. 185

  Signiorising, _lording it_, v. 220

  Signiory, _lordship_, v. 216

  Sikerly, _surely_, _truly_, iii. 255;
    xii. 241

  Silder, _less often_, vii. 46

  Simper, ix. 115

  Simplitude, _simplicity_, i. 268

  Sin, _since_, i. 175;
    _since_, xii. 257;
    _sinner_, x. 61

  Sink and cise, _terms used in card-playing_, iii. 346

  Sinksanker, _a cardsharper_, viii. 192

  Sipers (= Cyprus), _a white stuff of which veils were made_, i. 350

  Sir, _a gentleman_, xi. 463

  Sisterne, _sisters_, xii. 242

  Sistren, _sisters_, i. 226, 227

  Sith, _since_, i. 13, 16, 268;
    iii. 282;
    x. 115

  Sithence, _since_, iv. 336

  Sitten, _sat_, xi. 520

  Skald, _a term of abuse_, _a scabby or shabby fellow_, iii. 216, 217

  Skein, _a knife_, x. 229

  Skene, _a dagger_, ix. 337

  Skill, _knowledge_, i. 7;
    _to help_, iii. 178;
    _to matter_, iii. 311;
    _matter consequence_, iv. 128

  Skiuker, _drawer_, _tapster_, _a pourer out of wine_, viii. 426;
    x. 252

  Skipjack, _a dwarf_, iii. 312;
    vi. 179

  Skirret, x. 126

  Slab, _to lap up_, ii. 215

  Slack, _late_, ii. 245

  Slake, _to assuage_, _to soften_, i. 202;
    iii. 30

  Slampambs, _craft_, iii. 39

  Slav'd, _enslaved_, x. 116;
    xiv. 437

  Slaver, _to slobber_, viii. 60;
    x. 539

  Slavering, _slobbering_, vii. 300;
    x. 499

  Sle, _to slay_, i. 257;
    ii. 251;
    iii. 147

  Sleight, _craft_, _deceit_, i. 82;
    _prudence_, iii. 27

  Sleightly, _slyly_, ii. 243

  Sleights (of hand), x. 208

  Slick, _sleek_, _soft_, xiv. 58

  Slidder, _slippery_, i. 213

  Slide, _to go astray_, ii. 100

  Slight, _weak_, x. 73

  'Slight (= God's light), _an oath_, xi. 125;
    xiii. 235

  Slim, _frail_, _feeble_, i. 288

  Slip, _false coin_, x. 197

  Slopped, _lapped up_, iii. 193

  Slops, _breeches_, x. 345;
    xi. 67

  Slot, _note_, xiv. 520

  Slouch, _a lout_, xi. 282

  Slouches, _slutches_, _dirty fellows_, i. 416

  Slough, _slew_, i. 235

  Sloughing hot cockles, ix. 102

  Slubber, _to obscure_, iv. 374

  Smack, _to taste_, ii. 230

  Small, i. 10

  Smattering, _talking_, i. 211

  Smick-smack, ii. 85

  Smit, _smitten_, i. 41

  Smock-satyr, _woman-hater_, xiv. 277

  Smolder, _to smother_, iii. 243

  Smug, _trim_, _nice_, _neat_, iv. 183;
    ix. 326;
    x. 473;
    _to adorn_, xi. 532;
    _pleasantly_, xii. 327

  'Snails, _an oath_, xiii. 7, 37

  Sneaksbill, _one who doesn't pay his score_, xii. 258

  Sneap'd, _rebuked_, x. 428

  Snick-up, ix. 285

  Snigs, xii. 257, 259

  Snip, _a snap_, x. 346

  Snipsnap, iii. 332

  Snudge, _a mean fellow_, iv. 314;
    _a miser_, viii. 83

  Snudge-snout, ix. 232

  Snuff pepper, _to feel offended_, xiii. 166

  Snyb, _to snub_, _reprove_, xii. 240

  So, _provided_, i. 63

  Soaker, _drinker_, xii. 334

  Soap, "soap-ashes," i. 31

  Soar, _a young hawk_, xi. 360

  Sod, _boiled_, i. 25

  Sodden, _boiled_, i. 34

  Sodometry, _Sodomy_, ii. 65

  Soldan, _sultan_, i. 31

  Solf, _to call over the notes of a tune_, i. 71

  Solicitancy, _solicitation_, xiv. 291

  Somedele, _somewhat_, xii. 241

  Sometime among, _sometimes_, _at intervals_, i. 7

  Sonde, _message_, xv. 421

  Sooth, _true_, i. 20, 66;
    _to flatter_, _soften_, iii. 59;
    viii. 455,
    _to prove_, iv. 258;
    _truth_, vii. 287;
    ix. 569;
    xii. 256

  Sophy, _philosophy_, iii. 261

  Sops, i. 79

  Sorel, _a buck of the third year_, ix. 149

  Sort, _set_, _lot_, _company_, i. 405;
    ii. 309;
    viii. 118, 291;
    xiii. 430;
    _choose_, v. 164;
    _to turn out_, viii. 411;
    xiv. 129;
    _condition_, _rank_, x. 343

  Sossing, _sousing_ (?), iii. 183

  Sot, _fool_, ii. 378;
    xi. 525

  Sothery, _sweet_, i. 376

  Sotting, _getting drunk_, xiii. 437

  Sound, _to part, sunder_, i. 244;
    _swoon_, iii. 107;
    vii. 323, 383;
    _true_, x. 49

  Souse, _soused fish_, _pickled fish_, i. 418;
    iii. 356;
    _a blow_, ii. 126;
    _to beat_, iii. 218;
    (a dish of), vi. 291;
    ix. 240

  Souterly, _snobbish_, iii. 321

  Span-counter, xiv. 306

  Sparkify, _to make a spark (gallant) of_, xv. 47

  Sparkles, _sparks_, xii. 514

  Speck-and-span new, xi. 334

  Spectatrix, xiii. 513

  Spectrum, _a looking-glass_, ix. 221

  Speculation, _sight_, xii. 563

  Speed, _to prosper_, i. 70;
    _to despatch_, xiv. 176;
    _success_, i. 135

  Spells, x. 207

  Spence, _pantry_, i. 35

  Spent, _spend_, i. 407

  Spere, _to ask_, i. 321

  Spettle, iii. 11

  Spial, _espial_, vi. 409;
    _spy_, viii. 274

  Spice, _species_, i. 58

  Spill, _to destroy_, i. 119, 270;
    iii. 118

  Spindleshanks, _legs_, ii. 336

  Spital-house, _hospital_, iii. 193

  Spitchcock, xii. 236

  Spitchcock'd, xii. 239

  Spite, _to anger_, ii. 289

  Spittle-house, _hospital_, viii. 70

  Splayed, _displayed_, i. 147

  Splendent, _resplendent_, ix. 310

  Spokes, _saws_, _sayings_, vii. 300

  Spongeous, _spongy_, ix. 422

  Spot, _to defame_, x. 155

  Spousail, _marriage_, xii. 241

  Spousal, viii. 117

  Spreet, _spirit_, iii. 177

  Sprent, _sprinkled_, i. 425;
    vii. 83;
    ix. 267

  Spright, _spirit_, vii. 474

  Spring, _dance_, viii. 348

  Springal, _a young fellow_, _youth_, ix. 271;
    x. 366;
    xiii. 159

  Springe, _a trap_, _snare_, xi. 69

  Springed, _ensnared_, xiii. 47

  Springes, _traps_, xiv. 352

  Sprite, _spirit_, iii. 49

  Spriteful, _sprightly_, xi. 126

  Sprites, _spirits_, i. 46

  Spruce, _finely dressed_, vii. 286

  Spun, _to burst out_, ii. 273

  Spurt, ii. 291

  Spyal, _spy_, viii. 397

  Squall, _a squalid thing_, ii. 387;
    _a little insignificant fellow_, vi. 199, 200;
    _one who squalls_, xiv. 102

  Squalms, i. 68

  Square, _to adjust_, xi. 564

  Squich, _to skip_, ii. 387

  Squich'd, _winced_, v. 343

  Squirrility, _scurrility_, iv. 62

  Squitter-book, viii. 74

  Stab (? slab), _to eat up_, ii. 215

  Stacker, _to stagger_, i. 270

  Stager (= an old stager), _not a newcomer_, xv. 19

  Stale, _stole_, i. 171

  Stales, _baits_, _allurements_, vii. 137;
    viii. 260

  Stall, _stole_, i. 160;
    _to forestall_, xii. 45

  Stalworthy, _brave_, i. 251

  Stamel, _a kind of fine worsted_, ix. 164

  Stammer, _to stop_, i. 250

  Stand in paint, xi. 133

  Standish, xii. 270

  Stang, _did sting,_ i. 363;
    _stung_, v. 348

  Staniel, _coward_, _note_, xiv. 284

  Stanielry, _weakness_, xiv. 357

  Star Chamber, _to bring before the Star Chamber_, x. 378

  Star-cross'd, x. 182

  Stark, _great_, i. 65;
    _strong_, ii. 33;
    _quite_, iii. 69

  Starken, _stark_, v. 403

  Starker, _greater_, i. 68

  Start, _started_, i. 49

  States, _note_, xiv. 470

  Statist, _note_, xiii. 421

  Stead, "in the stead of," i. 30

  Steely, _like steel_, xiv. 240

  Steep-fall (hill), _precipitous_, vii. 210, 223

  Stellified, _made a star_, xii. 114

  Stench, _staunch_, xiv. 329

  Stere, _to stir_, _move_ i. 293

  Stern, _tail_, xiv. 365

  Sterve, _to die_, vi. 51

  Stick, _to hesitate_, iii. 285;
    xiv. 241

  Stickled, _acted the umpire_, xii. 275

  Stickler, _umpire_, xii. 121

  Sticklers, _umpires_, xii. 450

  Stigmatic, _branded,_ viii. 300

  Stilling, _distilling_, iv. 236

  Stinkard, _a stinking fellow_, x. 339;
    xiv. 145

  Stint, _stop_, iv. 268;
    vii. 46

  Stinted, _stopped_, x. 56

  Stirrups, _fetters_, i. 184

  Stir stumps, xv. 41

  Stitch (in side), xv. 182

  Stitchel, _a term of abuse_, xiv. 357

  Stock, rapier, ix. 119

  Stomach, _bravery_, _pluck_, iii. 138;
    _indignation_, viii. 324

  Stomach'd, _disliked_, _resented_, iii. 125

  Stone priest, viii. 461

  Stoon, _stone_, xv. 423

  Stoop, _post_, vii. 66;
    xi. 364, 400

  Stound, _interval, time_, i. 183;
    ii. 213;
    iii. 117;
    _a blow_, vii. 64

  Stout, _brave_, iii. 137

  Stoutly, _bravely_, ii. 359

  Stra, _straw_, i. 255

  Straight, _straightways_, xi. 488

  Strained, _distressed_, xiii. 9

  Strait, _strict_, i. 109

  Straitest, _strictest_, x. 188

  Straitly, _strictly_, i. 73

  Strakegrouud, _struck_, _foundered_, i. 163

  Straking, _stretching_, i. 88

  Strands, i. 243

  Strange, "to make strange," _to be shy_, i. 83;
    _shy_, _coy_, xiii. 61

  Strawed, _strewed_, iv. 120

  Streck, vi. 31

  Strene, _strain_ (_note is wrong_), i. 55

  Stricken, _struck_, iv. 218

  Strike up, _to play_, i. 74

  Stroke, _struck_, i. 49

  Stroken, _struck_, i. 407;
    iv. 53;
    vi. 200

  Strow, _scattered_, xiv. 311

  Studious, _musing_, _thoughtful_, i. 88

  Studs, _mares_, xiv. 342

  Stung, _bitten_, i. 202

  Stutter, _stutterer_, iv. 137

  Sublime, _sublimate_, i. 366

  Submiss, _submissive_, iv. 256

  Subordination, _gradation of higher and lower orders_, xiii. 373

  Subscribe, _to agree_, xiv. 148

  Subsizer, ix. 181

  Suburb-garden, _note_, xii. 119

  Successive, _successful_, xiv. 325

  Suckets, xiv. 337

  Sufferance, _suffering_, _endurance_, x. 149;
    xiii. 300;
    _permission_, xi. 287

  Suffisance, _sufficiency_, ii. 242

  Suffrages, _sufferings_, x. 169

  Sugarloaf-hat, v. 330

  Sullenwood, _southernwood_, xii. 144

  Sulpbury, _sulphurous_, xi. 486;
    xiv. 126

  Summersault, xv. 69

  Sumner, _summoner_, ix. 397;
    x. 356;
    xi. 537;
    xiii. 88

  Supernaculum, viii. 58

  Supernal, _above_, i. 396

  Supportance, _support_, xiv. 319

  Supportation, _support_, i. 6, 201

  Suppose, _conjecture_, viii. 423

  Suppository, viii. 370

  Surcease, _to stop_, iv. 327

  Surcloy'd, _surfeited_, v. 190

  Surquedry, _pride_, v. 312

  Suspect, _suspected_, ii. 167;
    vii. 56, 377;
    viii. 427;
    xi. 73;
    _suspicion_, i. 57;
    xi. 108, 490

  Sustenance, _support_, xi. 472

  Sustentation, _sustenance_, xi. 481

  Swabber, _one who swabs_, xii. 219

  Swabbers, xv. 216

  Swad, _a bumpkin_(?), vi. 256;
    _fellow_, vi. 380;
    ix. 109

  Swain, _servant_, ii. 247

  Swap, _to drink up_, iv. 73

  Swash, _swaggerer_, vi. 254

  Swath-bands, _rolls of cloth in which infants were swathed or
        swaddled_, i. 350

  Swearing, "of swearing," _a-swearing_, iii. 186

  Sweat, "the sweat," _the plague_, iv. 119

  Sweeting, _darling_, i. 417;
    ii. 286;
    viii. 364;
    _a sweet apple_, viii. 91;
    _sweetheart_, x. 551

  Swelt, _to swelter_, vi. 291;
    _die_, xii. 253

  Swerd, _sword_, i. 151

  Sweven, _dream_, xii. 242

  Swill, xii. 232

  Swinepox, _measles_, xii. 337

  Swinge, _to beat_, iv. 224

  Swing'd, _beaten_ (?), iii. 95, 246

  Swink, _toil_, iii. 192

  Swoons, }
  Swounds } (= _God's wounds_), _an oath_, vii. 344, 352

  Swythe, _quickly_, iii. 182


  Taberet, i. 48

  Table-book, xi. 345

  Tables (to play at), vii. 271

  Tacklings, _tackle_, xii. 345

  Tacon, vi. 197

  Taffata, xi. 113

  Taint with, _to accuse of_, xiv. 211

  Taker, "the king's taker," i. 24

  Taking, _temper_, _condition_, ii. 376;
    x. 226

  Talc (oil of), _note_, xiii. 225

  Tale of a tub, ii. 335

  Tall, _adj._, _valiant_, _brave_, i. 41;
    iii. 147;
    vii. 318;
    x. 294

  Tallies, _note_, xii. 137

  Talter, _to hang_, _swing_, i. 428

  Tampion, _a plug_, i. 370

  Tane, _taken_, i. 255

  Tango mongoes, x. 521

  Tapester, _a female drawer_ (_of wine_), i. 263

  Tapper, _a male drawer_, i. 425

  Tappis, _to lie_, xiv. 322

  Taratink, xii. 327

  Tare, _tore_, i. 148

  Tarmagons, _termagants_, xiv. 286

  Tarry, _to delay_, i. 14

  Tartarian, _a thief_, x. 242

  Task, v. 379;
    _to rate_, _scold_, xi. 225

  Tatterdemalion, xii. 128

  Tavern-bushes, xii. 130

  Taverner, _innkeeper_, i. 23

  Tawdry, _towardly_ (?), v. 403

  Tawrhalts (= tawed halters?), i. 158

  Taym, _time_, vi. 75

  Taythes, _tithes_, vi. 71

  Te, _to_, vi. 71

  Tee-hee, wee-hee! x. 231

  Teen, _sorrow, vexation_, vii. 87;
    _anger_, ix. 123;
    _grief_, xii. 507

  Teg, _a young deer_, ii. 193, 220

  Temper, _to mix_, xiii. 107

  Templars, xi. 496

  Tend, _to go to_, i. 12;
    _to attend_, ix. 292

  Tender, _to regard_, xi. 454

  Tene, _to anger_, _annoy_, i. 251

  Tensures, _exertions_, x. 380

  Tent, _to probe_, iii. 311

  Tenting, _tempting_, vi. 74

  Tenure, _tenor_, vi. 69

  Term, "term of thy life," i. 34

  Termagant, _a violent fellow_, x. 322

  Testament, _will_, i. 132

  Tester, _note_, xii. 125;
    _bed-head_, xiii. 35

  Testern, _a coin_, xi. 210

  Tewell, _bore_, _hole_, i. 370

  Thacked, _thatched_, ix. 164

  Than, _then_, vi. 74

  Thankworthy, ii. 112

  The, _to thrive, prosper_, i. 257, 259;
    viii. 163;
    xv. 418

  Thea, _thou_, vi. 74

  Theatral, _theatrical_, xiv. 281, 293

  Thedom, _success_, i. 261

  Then, _than_, xv. 57

  There, _where_, i. 132, 249

  Thiles, _roofs_ (?), xii. 489

  Thilk, _that same_, i. 200;
    _that_, iv. 74

  Thills, _shafts_, xii. 136

  Thinks, _things_, ii. 287

  Tho, _then_, i. 244;
    iv. 338

  Thone, _the one_, ii. 211

  Thorough, _to go through with_, xv. 78

  Thother, _the other_, ii. 211, 260

  Thratty, _thirty_, vi. 72

  Thrist, _thrust_, i. 138;
    _thirst_, ii. 165

  Throes, _pains_, xii. 481

  Throst, _starved_, ii. 210

  Throughgirt, _pierced through_, v. 164

  Thrumming, _threading_ (?), xi. 249

  Thrusteen, _thirteen_, i. 405

  Thwacks, _blows_, iv. 320

  Thwart, _cross_, _unlucky_, xi. 42

  Thylke, _that same_, xii. 242

  Tibiard, _shin_, viii. 139

  Tice, _to entice_, i. 115

  Tick-tack, ii. 85

  Tick (upon), _credit_, xv. 336

  Tickle, _ticklish_, v. 82;
    _unsteady_, _uncertain_, v. 194; v
    ii. 128;
    xii. 241

  Tickle our catastrophe, x. 225

  Tiddle, _to pet_, _spoil_, ii. 173, 174

  Tide, _time_, i. 12, 249

  Tidlings, _pets_, ii. 164

  Tie-dog, _bandog_, viii. 261

  Till soon farewell, _à bientôt_, xi. 577

  Timpany, viii. 370

  Tink, _to tinker_, i. 261

  Tire, _attire_, ii. 377;
    _to prey on_, v. 248;
    viii. 278

  Tires, _attires_, xi. 201

  Tirl, i. 20

  Tisty-toisty, iii. 332

  Tite, _soon_, _directly_, iii. 182

  Tithing, _tidings_, i. 151

  Titivile, iii. 58

  Tittifills, _knaves_, i. 424

  Tittle-tattles, viii. 418

  Titubate, _to stumble_, viii. 139

  To, _compared with_, ix. 154;
    _in addition to_, xiii. 234

  Toast (in wine), i. 79

  Tobacco man, xi. 127

  To friend, "for a friend," xv. 14

  Toiled, _wearied_, x. 208

  Tollage, _toll_, xii. 111

  Tomboy, iii. 94

  Tone, _the one_, vii. 378

  Tongue-wralling, _tongue-jangling_, iv. 120

  Toohing, _blowing of a horn_, ii. 195

  Too-too, _very much_, _very_, i. 423;
    vi. 68, 236;
    xi. 32;
    xi. 119

  To pose, _to puzzle_, xv. 59

  Topple, _to wrestle_ (?), ii. 210

  To-rent, _rend asunder_, i. 408

  Torpedo, _electric eel_, xii. 426

  Torrup, _to interrupt_, iv. 74

  Tossing, _sharp_ (?), iii. 207

  Toteth, _peeps_, i. 42

  Tother, _second_, vii. 292;
    _the other_, vii. 371

  To-torn, _torn to pieces_, i. 424

  Totter, _to swing_ (_on the gallows_), i. 158;
    xi. 274

  Touch, "to flee touch," i. 156;
    _feeling_, x. 117;
    _trick (?)_, i. 262, 429;
    _touchstone_, iii. 89

  Tourney, _tournament_, i. 74

  Touse, _to trouble, tease_, iv. 323;
    _to pull_, _drag_, ix. 215

  Towardly, _good_, xii. 120

  Towards, _about to come_, _coming_, _future_, vii. 473;
    xi. 522

  To-yere, _this year_, iv. 118

  Trace, "to lead a trace," i. 47

  Train, _to allure_, xiv. 116

  Traitress, i. 83

  Tralilly, _term of endearment_, ix. 326

  Tralucent, _clear_, ix. 232;
    xii. 290

  Translate, _translated_, i. 7

  Transmue, _to change_, xii. 308

  Transmued, _transformed_, xii. 242

  Transportment, _transport_, xv. 70, 93, 103

  Trans-shape, _transform_, xiv. 320

  Trattling, _talkative_, ii. 211

  Travail, _pain, labour_, viii. 312

  Tread, _a path_, i. 293;
    _business_, ii. 235

  Treatment, _entertainment_, xiv. 350

  Tredging, _trudging_, ii. 126

  Trencher-analects, _note_, xii. 269

  Trencher-salt, xi. 403

  Trentals, _note_, xiv. 170

  Treygobet (= Hey-go-bet?), _a game_, ii. 34

  Treytrip, _note_, xiii. 238

  Triacle, _medicine_, i. 365

  Triacles, _medicines_, viii. 46

  Trick, _neat, proper_, ii. 233;
    iii. 92;
    _to trim_, vii. 254

  Tricker, _one who is neat_, iii. 281

  Tricksy, _neat_, _trim_, ii. 281

  Trick up, _to adorn_, x. 175

  Tricotee, xiv. 280

  Trill (the bones), ii. 92

  Trim, _proper_, _fine_, ii. 346;
    xiv. 357;
    _adornment_, xv. 116

  Trimly, _neatly_, ii. 344

  Trimmer, iii. 251

  Trim-tram, ii. 66

  Trine, _astronomical term_, xi. 336

  Trink'd, _adorned_, xi. 363

  Trip, _a tripping_, ii. 253

  Triump, _trump_, ii. 34

  Trot, _an old woman_, i. 427;
    iii. 72

  Trote, (?), vii. 155

  Troth, "of troth," _truly_, iv. 16

  Trothing, _belief_, _troth_, vi. 73

  Trothless, _truthless_, vii. 137;
    viii. 119

  Troth-plight, _pledged_, viii. 109, 111

  Troublous, _troublesome_, i. 287

  Trouchman, _interpreter_, vi. 463

  Trounce, ii. 221

  Trowl the bowl, _troll (pass) the cup_, iii. 180

  Truchman, _note_, xiii. 344

  Truckers, xiv. 350

  Trudge, _to pack off_, _to trot_, iii. 24, 43

  Trug, _a wench_, vi. 512

  Trull, _loose wench_, i. 44;
    xiv. 317;
    _term of endearment_, ii. 290

  Trump, _game at cards_, iii. 199;
    _triumph_, iv. 144, 145;
    _a trumpet_, xi. 486

  Truncheon, _a headless spear_, iv. 328

  Trundletail, _note_, xii. 121

  Trunk-hose, xii. 238

  Trup up, _pack up_, x. 539

  Trussed, _packed_, i. 117

  Trust, _fidelity_, xi. 540

  Truth, "of truth," _of a truth_, i. 67

  Tuck, _sword_, xiv. 284

  Tucket, _a set of notes on the trumpet_, iv. 380

  Tune, _voice_, ii. 284

  Turchis, _turquois_, ix. 422

  Turmoil, _to disturb_, iv. 149;
    viii. 360;
    _to trouble_, x. 139

  Tutress, _a female tutor_, vii. 499

  Twain, _two_, i. 48

  Twatter, _to talk_, _chat_, ix. 270

  Twattox, viii. 369

  Tway, _two_, ii. 376

  Tweche, _touch_, ii. 47

  Twichbox, _touchbox_, iv. 67

  Twin, _to separate_, i. 244

  Twist, _twisted_, i. 158;
    _fork_, xii. 553

  Twitting, _chattering_, xii. 294

  Tyrannious, _tyrannical_, iv. 217

  Tyre (wine), i. 24

  Tyren, _to tear_, xii. 254


  Ud's, _God's_, _an oath_, xi. 101;
    xiv. 289

  Ugly, _horrible_, v. 191

  Umbrageous, xv. 9

  Unaware, "at unaware," _unawares_, ix. 43

  Unbaptized, _heathenish_, xii. 287

  Unbiassed (bowl), ix. 539

  Unbowelled, _disembowelled_, vii. 24

  Uncharm, _to take off the spell_, xi. 563

  Uncivilise, _to cease to act civilly_, xiii. 78

  Unclear, _unshriven_, _impenitent_, x. 46

  Uncompanied, _having no fellow or equal_, x. 119

  Unconceiving, _thoughtless_, xi. 463

  Unconcernedness, _unconcern_, xv. 102

  Uncouth, _unknown_, vi. 171;
    _harsh_, _unkind_, _strange_, xi. 124;
    xii. 214

  Uncreate, _uncreated_, x. 173

  Uncuriously, xv. 24

  Undecency, _indecency_, xiii. 78

  Undelved, _undigged_, v. 118

  Underlaid, _soled_ (_of boots_), i. 183

  Undermine, _to supplant_, ii. 250

  Undeserved, _undeserving_, i. 71

  Undo, _to ruin_, i. 75

  Undoing, _ruin_, xi. 478

  Unfallibly, _infallibly_, viii. 66

  Unfoil'd, _untroubled_, _unvanquished_, iv. 330

  Ungotten, i. 59

  Unhappy, _unlucky_, _unfortunate_, ix. 566;
    xiv. 303

  Unhappily, _wickedly_, xiv. 243

  Unhelm, _to take off the helmet_, iv. 333

  Uning, _uniting_, i. 302

  Unkind, _ungrateful_, i. 100

  Unlaced, ix. 180

  Unladified, _having lost the position of a lady_, xi. 79

  Unmaiden'd, _deflowerd_, xiv. 224

  Unmannerly, _wanting in courtesy_, xi. 516

  Unneath, _scarcely_, _with difficulty_, xii. 507

  Unneth, _scarcely_, i. 7;
    iii. 117

  Unperfect, _imperfect_, ix. 432

  Unperfit, _imperfect_, ii. 329

  Unplume, _to take off the plume or crest_, x. 134

  Unquietness, _disease_, i. 311

  Unready, "to make unready," _to undress_, xiii. 79

  Unrest, _disquietness_, i. 56;
    _disquiet_, v. 97

  Unrestful, _unquiet_, vii. 389

  Unrevocable, _irrevocable_, x. 154

  Unroosted, _uprisen_, _out of bed_, xi. 281

  Unseized, _unloosed_, xv. 210

  Unshamefacedness, _immodesty_, i. 60

  Unshamefast, _shameless_, _immodest_, ii. 270;
    vi. 161

  Unsufferable, _intollerable_, x. 194

  Unthrift, _extravagant_, _lavish_, viii. 26;
    xi. 274;
    _an extravagant person_, viii. 29;
    _a rogue_, x. 183

  Unthriftiness, _folly_, i. 91

  Until, _unto_, i. 269

  Untractable, _unyielding_, ii. 203

  Untrimmed, _dishevelled_, vii. 87

  Untruss, xi. 471

  Unuseful, _useless_, xiii. 396

  Unwenned (=unwemmed), _pure_, xii. 241

  Unwieldy, _without control_, iv. 266

  Unwitting (of), _ignorant of_, xi. 31

  Unwitty, _unwise_, viii. 336

  Unwreaken, _unrevenged_, vii. 86

  Upbraid, _a reproach_, vii. 192

  Upbringing, _nurture_, i. 91

  Upbrought, _nurtured_, i. 92

  Upholster, _an upholsterer_, xi. 247

  Upland, _the uplands_, i. 262

  Uplandish, _foreigner_, vi. 221

  Upsey, _note_, xiv. 470

  Up-trained, _trained up_, _brought up_, iv. 209

  Urchen, _hedgehog_, ix. 382

  Urchin, _child_, _term of endearment_, i. 72

  Ure, _use, practice_, i. 378;
    _to practise_, i. 153;
    _interest_, xiv. 314

  Utter, _outside_, i. 260


  Vacabone, _vagabond_, iv. 63

  Vade, _to go_, i. 424;
    vii. 38;
    _to fade_, _go away_, vi. 557

  Vail, _to doff_, ix. 371;
    _to lower_, xi. 55

  Vailing, _bending_, xiv. 105

  Vain, _fain_, iv. 79

  Vair, _fair_, viii. 339

  Valiancy, _valour_, _bravery_, v. 37;
    viii. 322

  Valter, _to falter_, iv. 219, 220

  Valuation, _value_, iii. 264

  Vantage, _advantage_, iii. 35

  Vara, _very_, vi. 76

  Vardingale, _farthingale_, vi. 434

  Vast, _fast_, iii. 182;
    iv. 218

  Vat, _fat_, iv. 220

  Vatten, _to fatten_, vi. 177

  Vaulting-house, _a brothel_, vii. 436

  Vaut, _fault_, iii. 313

  Vay, _faith_, viii. 364

  Vear, _fear_, viii. 339, 362

  Veget, _lively_, xii. 293

  Venereous, _unchaste_, xiv. 191

  Veneys, _note_, xiii. 169

  Vengeance, _terribly_, _very_, i. 405;
    iv. 64

  Venom, _venomous_, i. 297

  Venter, _to venture_, i. 121:
    iv. 57

  Verament, _truly_, i. 421;
    ii. 110

  Verdit, _verdict_, ii. 177

  Verity, _truth_, iii. 319

  Vetch, _note_, xii. 132

  Via, _away!_ x. 217

  Viand, _sing_, i. 21

  Vild, _vile_, v. 85;
    vii. 296

  Vill, _to fill_, viii. 338

  Vilthy, _filthy_, iii. 176

  Vired, _fired_, viii. 338

  Virginal jacks, x. 346

  Virtually, _powerfully_, xiv. 311

  Visitants, _visitors_, xv. 61

  Visitation, _visit_, xi. 13;
    _plague_, xv. 327

  Visnomy, x. 323

  Vizarded, _concealed_, xiv. 256

  Vlat, _flat_, viii. 344

  Vocation, _trade_, xv. 132

  Voider, _avoider_, i. 125;
    _a basket for clearing the table_, xii. 112

  Voiding knife, _note_, ix. 447

  Voiding of, _avoiding of_, i. 34

  Vool, _a fool_, iv. 219

  Voolish, _foolish_, iv. 219

  Vor, _for_, viii. 338

  Vorbod (of God), _prohibition_, "God forbid," iv. 219

  Vorty, _forty_, viii. 338

  Vound, _found_, iv. 219

  Vox, _fox_, iv. 75

  Vriend, _friend_, iii. 313

  Vull, _full_, viii. 344


  Wade, _to go_, i. 67

  Waesheal, _note_, xii. 285

  Wage, _hire_, i. 247

  Wage-pasty, _a term of abuse_, ii. 141

  Wain-man, _waggoner_, v. 206

  Wait, _to watch_, _be on guard_, i. 248

  Waking, _watchful_, xi. 528

  Walter, _to feel sick_, i. 365

  Waltering, iv. 313

  Wan, _won_, i. 385;
    _did win_, xi. 472

  Wanderers, _planets_, xi. 302

  Wane, _waning_, xv. 46

  Wanion, _curse_, vi. 196;
    xiii. 158

  Wannion, _curse_, iv. 121

  Want, _to do without_, v. 350

  Ward, _award_, vi. 166;
    "lie at ward," _a term in fencing_, viii. 149

  Wards, _spies_, xiii. 183

  Ware, _be aware_, i. 169:
    x. 8

  Wark, _work_, i. 202;
    ii. 195;
    _to work_, i. 253

  Warks, _works_, i. 7

  Warling, _a slave_, x. 303

  Warrantise, _warranty_, _guarantee_, iii. 139;
    vii. 126;
    _to warrant_, viii. 44, 301

  Washen, _washed_, ii. 122

  Washical, _what-do-you-call-it_, iii. 243

  Wassail, _note_, xi. 487

  Waste-good, _a spendthrift_, xii. 102

  Watching-candle, xi. 352

  Waterstairs, x. 124

  Wawd, _would_, vi. 71

  Wawl, _to make a noise like cats_, ix. 211

  Wealth, _welfare_, _prosperity_, i. 73;
    iii. 122

  Weam, _belly_, x. 366

  Weapon'd, _armed_, vii. 417

  Wearied, _worried_, ix. 325

  Weary, _aware_, vi. 547

  Weasand, _windpipe_, iii. 230

  Wed, _a pledge_, i. 165;
    "to wed" _for a pledge_, i. 147;
    _wedded_, viii. 109

  Weed, _garment_, v. 330

  Weet, _to learn_, _know_, iii. 204

  Weete, _know_, xii. 507

  Weigh, _to care_, iii. 49

  Welde, _wielder_, _ruler_, i. 268

  Welding, _to carry_, v. 27

  Wele, _well_, xii. 253

  Welkin, _sky_, v. 274;
    xii. 507

  Wellaway, _well-a-day!_ i. 173

  Well-a-year, _cf. well-a-day_, vii. 397

  Well-left, _having a rich inheritance_, xi. 514

  Wend, _to go_, vii. 36;
    x. 226;
    _goes_, xii. 241

  Wenest, _weenest_, i. 119

  Went, _weened_, i. 119;
    _equipped_, _well-begone_ (?), i. 244

  Werme, _warm_, xii. 311

  Wete, _to know_, i. 119, 262

  Wex, _waxed_, ix. 355

  Whadragesima, _quadragesima_, vi. 74

  Whaiet, _quiet_, vi. 76

  What d'ye lack, _a term of abuse_, xi. 152

  What is he for, x. 355

  What-not, _a term of abuse_, ix. 78

  Whatsomever, _whatsoever_, i. 427

  Wher, _whether_, xiii. 47, 511

  Whiffler, _a tobacco smoker, hence a trifling fellow_, x. 303;
    xiv. 360

  While, _until_, vi. 65

  Whiles, _whilst_, xii. 299;
    "the whilst," i. 65

  Whimling, _a weak person_, viii. 231

  Whin-yard, _a sword_, x. 363

  Whips-talk, _a whipstock_, v. 95

  Whipstock, xi. 384

  Whist, _be silent_, ix. 432

  Whit, _aught_, i. 428

  White son, iii. 329;
    _boy_, _darling_, vii. 325

  White, _centre of target_, xii. 455;
    xiv. 144

  White-liver'd, _coward_, xiv. 284

  Whittle, _a dagger_, i. 168

  Whore, _to act as a procurer or panderer_, xi. 520

  Whot, _hot_, vii. 47

  Whur, _to scold_, iii. 70

  Whylk, _which_, xii. 284

  Wight, _brave_, _active_, i. 252;
    viii. 158, 221;
    xii. 507

  Wild, _vague_, _loose_, i. 245

  Wildfire, i. 72;
    xiv. 130

  Wildness, _wilderness_, i. 149

  Wilful, _voluntary_, i. 200

  Will I nill I, viii. 302

  Wimble, _nimble_, xii. 507

  Wimple, _a veil_, iv. 146

  Wimpled, _veiled_, vi. 429

  Winch up, xii. 469

  Wis, _know_, iv. 183

  Wished, _desired_, _recommended_, xi. 449;
    xiii. 65, 140

  Wit, _to know_, i. 102, 202, 223;
    _opinion_, iii. 7

  Witch, _a wizzard_, x. 104

  With, _withy_, vii. 176

  Withdrawing-room, _the drawing-room_, x. 361

  Withouten, _without_, i. 255

  Wits, _senses_, i. 12, 130

  Wittol, _a cuckold_, xi. 40;
    _to make a fool of_, xiii. 107

  Witty, _wise_, _clever_, ii. 316

  Wizard, _wiseacre_, xiv. 357

  Wizzel, _windpipe_, xiii. 271

  Wocum (= welcome), _welcome_, viii. 362

  Woe, _sorry_, i. 347; ix. 565

  Woll, _will_, ii. 113

  Womankind, _feminine_, xi. 455

  Womanshire, _womankind_, ix. 327

  Women be the devil's nets, i. 61

  Wonder, _wonderfully_, i. 250

  Wondernise, _to make wonderful_, vii. 324

  Wonderous, _wonderfully_, ii. 180

  Wonders, _wondrous_, i. 9

  Wondersly, _wondrously_, i. 16

  Wonnot, _will not_, vi. 312;
    xiii. 80

  Wonts, _is accustomed_, viii. 343

  Wood, _mad_, i. 351;
    ii. 122

  Woodcock, _a simpleton_, ii. 295

  Wooden walls, _ships_, xii. 514

  Woodman, _forester_, vii. 321

  Woot, _know_, iv. 364;
    _will it_, x. 339;
    _wilt_, xiii. 29;
    xiii. 39

  Worch, _to work_, i. 274

  Worched, _worked_(?), ii. 375

  Wordly, _worldly_, ii. 329

  Wore (= ore), i. 29, 30

  World, "a world", i. 35;
    ii. 291

  Worm, _reptile_, i. 202;
    _serpent_, x. 117

  Wort, _herb_, i. 428

  Worth, "of worth," _worthily_, i. 142

  Wost, _knowest_, iv. 219

  Wot, _know_, i. 23;
    ii. 115;
    x. 123

  Wottest, _knowest_, i. 264

  Wott'st, _knowest_, i. 25

  Wounds and hearts, _an oath_, iii. 265

  Woundyn, _wrapped_, xv. 419

  Wrabbed, _rabid_ (?), i. 379;
    ii. 211

  Wrack, _wreck_, iii. 345;
    xii. 186;
    _ruin_; viii. 270;
    _vengeance_, iv. 300, 308

  Wrangle, _to discuss_, xi. 271

  Wrangling, _peevish_, x. 155

  Wreak, v. 386

  Wrigaldry-wrag, i. 49

  Writhen, _wrinkled_, viii. 89

  Wrought, _done_, i. 249


  Yall, _to cry_, viii. 242

  Yalling, _yelling_, ii. 190

  Yate, _gate_, vi. 76;
    xii. 255

  Yawl, _a noise made by the inside_, iii. 193

  Yawl and jawl, _to wrangle and jangle_, ix. 284

  Yawled, _yelled_, ix. 252

  Ycapred, _capered_, xii. 253

  Ycleped, _called_, ix. 176;
    xii. 241;
    xiii. 163

  Yclept, _called_, xiii. 12

  Yclipped, _called_, x. 315

  Year of the Lord, _date of the year, a.d._, xiv. 391

  Yearthly, _earthly_, i. 55

  Yeasty, _frothy_, vii. 300

  Yede, _went_; i. 179;
    iii. 227;
    _walk_, xii. 507

  Yeft, _gift_, xii. 288

  Yeke, _eke_, xii. 242

  Yell, _to resound_, ix. 279

  Yellows, _jaundice_, x. 259

  Yeoman of the collar, _prisoner in chains_, i. 158

  Yerk, _to jerk_, iv. 74

  Yert-point, xiv. 306

  Yesternight, i. 34

  Yfeel, _to feel_, xii. 253

  Yferre, _afar_, xii. 311

  Yfound, _found_, i. 252

  Yfrounced, _adorned_, xii. 311

  Ying, _young_, i. 245

  Ylaft, _left_, xii. 240

  Ylike, _like_, xii. 241

  Yon, _yonder_, xi. 113

  Yond, _yonder_, iii. 78

  Yore, _of yore_, i. 262

  Your, _yours_, i. 374

  Yoush, _you shall_, iii. 187

  Y-proved, _true_, i. 250

  Yreken, _raked_, xii. 240

  Ystept, _advanced_, xii. 241


  Zacks, _sacks_, iii. 313

  Zay, _say_, iv. 219

  Zee, _see_, iii. 313

  Zell, _to sell_, iv. 219

  Zembletee, _appearance_, iii. 82

  Zennight, _a week_, iv. 219

  Zest, _sayest_, viii. 339

  Zet, _set_, viii. 347

  Zhrode, _shrewd_, iv. 219

  Zold, _sold_, iii. 313

  Zome, _some_, iv. 219

  Zon, _son_, viii. 338

  Zoons, _zounds_, xi. 65

  Zow, _sow_, viii. 347

  Zuch, _such_, iv. 221

  Zure, _sure_, viii. 344

  Zwap, _swap_, _blow_, iv. 222




A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.

CONTENTS.


  +Vol. I.+

  Interlude of the Four Elements.
  The Tragic-Comedy of Calisto and Melibæa.
  Everyman: A Moral Play.
  Hickscorner.
  The Pardoner and the Friar.
  The World and the Child.
  God's Promises.
  The Four P.P.
  A New Interlude, called Thersites.


+Vol. II.+

  Interlude of Youth.
  Lusty Juventus.
  Jack Juggler.
  Nice Wanton.
  History of Jacob and Esau.
  Disobedient Child.
  Marriage of Wit and Science.


+Vol. III.+

  New Custom.
  Ralph Roister Doister.
  Gammer Gurton's Needle.
  The Trial of Treasure.
  Like Will to Like.


+Vol. IV.+

  Damon and Pithias.
  Appius and Virginia.
  Cambyses.
  The Misfortunes of Arthur.
  Jeronimo.


+Vol. V.+

  The Spanish Tragedy.
  Cornelia.
  Soliman and Perseda.
  Life and Death of Jack Straw.


+Vol. VI.+

  The Conflict of Conscience.
  Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune.
  The Three Ladies of London.
  Three Lords and Three Ladies of London.
  A Knack to Know a Knave.


+Vol. VII.+

  Tancred and Gismunda.
  Wounds of Civil War.
  Mucedorus.
  The Two Angry Women of Abington.
  Look about you.


+VOL. VIII.+

  Summer's Last Will and Testament.
  Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.
  Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.
  Contention between Liberality and Prodigality.
  Grim the Collier of Croydon.


+Vol. IX.+

  How to Choose a Good Wife from a Bad.
  The Return from Parnassus.
  Wily Beguiled.
  Lingua.
  Miseries of Enforced Marriage.


+Vol. X.+

  The Revenger's Tragedy.
  The Dumb Knight.
  The Merry Devil of Edmonton.
  Ram-Alley.
  The Second Maiden's Tragedy.
  Englishmen for My Money.


+Vol. XI.+

  A Woman is a Weathercock.
  Amends for Ladies.
  Green's Tu Quoque.
  Albumazar.
  The Hog hath Lost his Pearl.
  The Heir.


+Vol. XII.+

  The Old Couple.
  A Woman Never Vexed.
  The Ordinary.
  The London Chanticleers.
  The Shepherd's Holiday.
  The True Trojans.
  The Lost Lady.


+Vol. XIII.+

  A Match at Midnight.
  The City Nightcap.
  The City Match.
  The Queen of Arragon.
  The Antiquary.


+VOL. XIV.+

  The Rebellion.
  Lust's Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen.
  Andromana.
  Lady Alimony.
  The Parson's Wedding.


+VOL. XV.+

  Elvira; or, The Worst not always True.
  The Marriage Night.
  The Adventures of Five Hours.
  All Mistaken; or, The Mad Couple.
  Historia Histrionica.

  +Index and Glossary.+




    Transcriber's Notes:


    Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.

    Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

    Enclosed italics markup in _underscores_.

    Enclosed unitalicized small capital markup in +plus signs+.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Select Collection of Old English
Plays (Vol. 15 of 15), by Robert Dodsley

*** 