1 Inf. Where lies this land? Orl. Within a stone's cast of this place. My mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too: but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime. Inf. Is she then married? why stirs not her husband in it? Orl. Her husband stirs in it under hand; but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loth to be seen in it too much. Inf. Let her in writing draw the cause at large: And I will move the duke. Orl. 'Tis set down, madam, here in black and white already work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship. Inf. Old man, I'll plead for her, but take no Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood; Orl. I would all proctors' clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then; here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow, pasture, plough-land, cony-borough, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush, that stands in it. Inf. My husband's name, and hand and seal at arms, to a love-letter? where hadst thou this writing? Orl. From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord's fingers. Inf. My lord turned ranger now? Orl. You're a good huntress, lady; you have found your game already; your lord would fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park, if you'll not do't for love, then do't for money; she has no white money, but there's gold, or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men's pastures, 19 Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands; This diamond, on that very night when he money. Inf. Cupid himself was sure his secretary; These lines are even the arrows love let flies, The very ink dropt out of Venus' eyes. Orl. I do not think, madam, but he fetcht off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawkes to flie at wenches. Inf. Here's honied poison! to me he ne'er thus writ, But lust can set a double edge on wit. Orl. Nay, that's true, madam; a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull. Inf. Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, What snares should break, if all these cannot hold? What creature is thy mistress? Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man, a woman. Inf. What manner of woman? Orl. A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my lord your husband. Inf. They are delivered better: why should she send back these things? Orl. Ware, ware, there's knavery, not win At first: these are but baits to draw him in. Orl. The Irish foootman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that 20 Irish shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and that ring; he is the carrier. Inf. Know'st thou what other gifts have past between them? Orl. Little S. Patrick knows all. Inf. Him I'll examine presently. Orl. Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. Inf. Begone then, and what lies in me command. [Exit ORLANDO. Enter BRYAN. Inf. Come hither, sirrah; how much cost those satins, and cloth of silver, which my husband sent by you to a low gentlewoman yonder? Bryan. Faat sattins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolkes? dow pratest dow knowest not what, yfaat la. Inf. She there, to whom you carried letters. Bryan. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a de book, yfaat la. Inf. Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir, set with a diamond? Bryan. Never sa crees sa me, never; he may run at a towsand rings yfaat, and I never hold his stirrup, till he leap into de saddle. By S. Patrick, madam, I never touch my lord's diamond, 19 Ring him-To prevent swine from doing mischief, it is usual to put rings through their nostrils. 20 Irish shackatory-Irish hound. So in The Wandering Jew, Sign, E: "-for time, though he be an old man, is an excellent footman: no shackatory comes neere him; if hee once get the start, hee's gone, and you gone too.” Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast. Inf. Set it to mine, at one, then, Hip. One? 'tis past: 'Tis past one by the sun. Inf Faith, then, belike, Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike; Hip. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? You see, my clock or yours is out of frame, Hip. Faith, on both. He may, by knavery, spoil them; we, by sloth. Inf. All is not well, indeed, iny dearest lord: Hip. What means this? A villain hath usurped a husband's sheets. Hip. Worse than damnation! a wild kerne, a frog, a dog, whom I'll scarce spurn! Longed you for shamrock? 21 Were it my father's father, heart! I'll kill him, although I take him on his death-bed, gasping 'twixt heaven and hell! a shag-haired cur! 22 Bold strumpet, why hangest thou on me? think'st I'll be a bawd to a whore, because she's noble? Inf. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world's broad eye; Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soar high, So it be in darkened clouds. Hip. Darkened! my horns Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge. rods; Were there no women, men might live like gods. Inf. Ilipolito! Hip. Tell me, didst thou bait hawks to draw him to thee, or did he bewitch thee? Inf. The slave did woo me. Hip. Two wooes in that screech-owl's language! Oh, who would trust your cork-heeled sex? I 21 Shamrock.-The quarto reads shamock, a weed which the Irish wear in their hats on some particular festival. A collection of Hibernian Poetry, published not many years ago, is entitled, The Shamrock. S. In the Dedication to Dericke's Image of Irelande, 1581 : " My harte abhorreth their dealynges, and my Soule dooth detest their wilde shamrocke manners.' 22 A shag-haired cur.-Shakespeare bestows the same epithet on a Kerne of Ireland, in the Second Part of King Henry VI. edit. 1778, p. 357. think to sate your lust! you would love a horse, Inf. 'Twas thus; he gave me this battery first. Mistake, believe me, all this in beaten gold: Common, but foul; so shall not your disgrace. Inf. Oh, men! You were created angels, pure and fair; But, since the first fell, worse than devils you are. 23 Bulk-i. e. body. So, in David and Bethsabe, by G. Peele : Bury his bulk beneath a heap of stones." Ben Jonson's Sejanus, A. 5: "Their bulks and souls are bound on fortune's wheel." Volpone, A. 2. S. 3: "Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have." 24 Bred in a country where no venom prospers.-That Ireland is free from all venomous or poisonous creatures, is a fact which is asserted by almost every one who hath written concerning that country. Dericke, in The Image of Irelande, 1581, Sign. C 2, says: "Within the compasse of this land, no poysonyng beast doeth live; But with a deadly percyng blowe, eche vermine it doeth smite. As sone as they doe touche the grounde, And hope, of longer life to live, from every one doeth flye. For where tyme past it did possesse The hissing serpent with her mate, and worme of poyson least ; Yet now no such it will retaine, it voucheth not to see; The frogge, the tode, nor viper vile, The same author says, that the country was exempted from these poisonous creatures by the means of St Patrick. He likewise adds, "No beast that noyeth mortall man is procreated theare; It brynges forthe no lion feare, nor yet the ravnyng beare. No beast (1 saie) which do possesse one jote of crewell kinde; Excepte the wolfe, that nosome is, Bryan. I, do predy, I had rather have thee Into her eyes this jealousy! Yet I'll on, Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds; Struggling with madmen, madness nothing tames; Enter BELLAFRONT and ORLANDO. Bel. How now, what ails your master? [Exit. you may see that another hath entered into hatband for him too. Six and four have put him into this sweat. Bel. Where's all his money? Orl. 'Tis put over by exchange. His doublet was going to be translated, but for me: if any man would have lent but half a ducat on his beard, the hair of it had stuft a pair of breeches by this time. I had but one poor penny, and that I was glad to niggle out, and buy a holly wand to grace him through the street. As hap was, his boots were on; and them I dustied, to make people think he had been riding, and I had run by him. Bel. Oh me, how does my sweet Matheo? Math. Must have money, must have some; must have a cloak, and rapier, and things. Will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some birds, some money? Bel. What lime-twigs should I set? Math. You will not, then? Must have cash and pictures: Do you hear, frailty, shall I walk in a Plymouth cloak, 25 that's to say, like a rogue, Orl. He's taken a younger brother's purge, for- in my hose and doublet, and a crabtree cudgel in sooth, and that works with him. Bel. Where is his cloak and rapier? Orl. He has given up his cloak, and his rapier is bound to the peace; if you look a little higher, my hand, and you swim in your satins? "Must have money, come. Orl. Is't bed-time, master, that you undo my mistress? Barnaby Rych, in his Description of Ireland, p. 44. says, "I will not contend whether it were Saint Patricke who, by his praiers, hath thus purged Ireland from toads, from snakes, from adders, and from other like venomous wormes; but there are other, as well beasts as birds, as the rocbuck, the moule, the pianet, the nytingale, that are meer strangers in Ireland, as the other; and I cannot thinke but that it was one man's worke to expell all these together, and all at one time. But if it were Saint Patrick, or whosoever otherwise, that was so severe against the nytingale, the sweete querrister of the wood, whose delectable harmony is pleasing to every eare, I would he had been as strict in justice against that foulmouthed bird the cuckow, whose notes were never yet pleasing to any man's eare, that was jealous of his wife." 25 Plymouth cloak-" That is," says Ray, in his Proverbs, 1742, p. 238. " a cane, a staff; whereof this is the occasion. Many a man of good extraction, coming home from far voyages, may chance to land here, and, being out of sorts, is unable for the present time and place to recruit himself with clothes. Here (if not friendly provided) they make the next wood their draper's shop, where a staff cut out serves them for a covering. For we use, when we walk in cuerpo, to carry a staff in our hands, but none when in a cloak." A Plymouth cloak is mentioned in The Wandering Jew, Sign. D: "But let fortune snatch her wheel from you, a poor ale-house is your inn, an old freeze jerkin, in summer, your Sonday suit, and a Plimouth cloake your caster." Bel. Undo me? Yes, yes, at these riflings I have been too often. Math. Help to flea, Pacheco. Orl. Fleaing call you it? Math. I'll pawn you, by the Lord, to your very eye-brows. Bel. With all my heart; since heaven will have me poor, As good be drowned at sea, as drowned at shore. Orl. Why hear you, sir? i'faith, do not make away her gown. Math. Oh, it's summer, it's summer; your only fashion for a woman now, is to be light, to be light. Orl. Why, pray, sir, employ some of that money you have of mine. Math. Thine? I'll starve first, I'll beg first when I touch a penny of that, let these fingers ends rot. Orl. So they may, for that's past touching. saw my twenty pounds fly high. I Math. Knowest thou never a damned broker about the city? Orl. Damned broker? yes, five hundred. Math. The gown stood me in above twenty ducats, borrow ten of it; cannot live without sil ver. Orl. I'll make what I can of it, sir; I'll be your broker, But not your damned broker.-Oh, thou scurvy knave! What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave? [Exit. Math. How now, little chick, what ailest? weeping, for a handful of tailors' shreds? Pox on them, are there not silks enow at mercers? Bel. I care not for gay feathers, I. Math. What doest care for then? why doest grieve? Bel. Why do I grieve? a thousand sorrows strike At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo, Build not thy mind on me to coin thee more; you. Bel. Umh? it was indeed: if all men should be branded For sins long since laid up, who could be saved? Math. Why, do as all of our occupation do against quarter-days; break up house, remove, shift your lodgings: Pox u your quarters! Enter LODOVICO. Lod. Where's this gallant? Math. Signior Lodovico! How does my little mirror of knighthood? this is kindly done, i’faith : welcome, by my troth. Lod. And how dost, frolic? save you, fair lady. Thou lookest smug and bravely, noble Matheo. Math. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm. Lod. Is this thy wife? Math. A poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a-nights. Lod. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. Math. Borrow some shells of him; some wine, sweetheart. Lod. I'll send for't then, i'faith. Math. You send for't? Some wine, I pr'ythee. Bel. I have no money. Math. 'Sblood, nor I: What wine love you, signior? Lod. Here, or I'll not stay, I protest; trouble the gentlewoman too much? [Erit BELLAFRONT.] And what news flies abroad, Matheo Math. Troth none. Oh, signior, we have been merry in our days. Lod. And no doubt shall again. Math. You say true: Lod. Why should we grieve at want? Say the world made thee her minion, that Thy head lay in her lap, and that she danced thee On her wanton knee, she could but give thee a whole | World; that's all, and that all's nothing: the Say, the three corners were all filled, alas ! No man wants all things, nor has all in measure, Math. I am the most wretched fellow: sure some left-handed priest christened me, I am so unlucky; I am never out of one puddle or another, still falling. Enter BELLAFRONT and ORLANDO. Math. Fill out wine to my little finger. With my heart, i'faith. Lod. Thanks, good Matheo. To your own sweet self. Örl. All the brokers' hearts, sir, are made of flint. I can, with all my knocking, strike but six sparks of fire out of them; here's six ducats, if you'll take them. Math. Give me them: an evil conscience gnaw them all! moths and plagues hang upon their lousie wardrobes! Lod. Is this your man, Mathco? an old serving-man. |