SCENE I-A Garden behind the WIDOW's House. Enter the WIDOW PLUS, FRANCES, MARY, SIR GODFREY, and EDMOND, all in mourning; the latter in a Cyprus hat: the WIDOW wringing her hands, and bursting out into passion, as newly come from the burial of her husband. Wid. O, that ever I was born, that ever I was born! Sir God. Nay, good sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good comfort; show yourself a woman now or never. Wid. O, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the sweetest husband, that ever lay by woman. Sir God. Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest, virtuous, discreet, wise man. He was my brother, as right as right. Wid. O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a man so well given to a woman. Oh! Sir God. Nay, but, kind sister, I could weep as much as any woman; but, alas, our tears cannot call him again. Methinks you are well read, sister, and know that death is as common as homo, a common name to all men. A man shall be taken when he's making water. Nay, did not the learned parson, Master Pigman, tell us even now, that all flesh is frail-We are born to die-Man has but a time-with such like deep and profound persuasions ? as he is a rare fellow, you know, and an excellent reader. And for example (as there are examples abundance), did not Sir Humphrey Bubble die t'other day? There's a lusty widow! why, she cried not above half an hour. For shame, for shame! Then followed him old Master Fulsome, the usurer: there's a wise widow; why, she cried ne'er a whit at all. Wid. O, rank not me with those wicked women; I had a husband out-shined 'em all. Sir God. Ay, that he did, i' faith; he out-shined 'em all. Wid. Dost thou stand there, and see us all weep, and not once shed a tear for thy father's death ? oh, thou ungracious son and heir, thou! Edm. Troth, mother, I should not weep, I'm sure. I am past a child, I hope, to make all my old schoolfellows laugh at me; I should be mocked, so I should. Pray, let one of my sisters weep for me; I'll laugh as much for her another time. Wid. O, thou past-grace, thou! Out of my sight, thou graceless imp! thou grievest me more than the death of thy father. O, thou stubborn only son! Hadst thou such an honest man to thy father that would deceive all the world to get riches for thee, and canst thou not afford a little salt water? He that so wisely did quite overthrow the right heir of those lands, which so duly at Westminster-hall every term-time, with all his charts* now you respect not: up every morning betwixt four and five and writings, for thee, thou wicked Absalon: O, dear husband! Edm. Weep, quoth-a? I protest I am glad he's churched; for now he's gone, I shall spend in quiet. Fran. Dear mother, pray cease; half your tears suffice; 'Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes: Let me weep now. Wid. O, such a dear knight, such a sweet husband have I lost, have I lost! If blessed be the corse the rain rains upon, he had it pouring down. Sir God. Sister, be of good cheer. We are all mortal our selves; I come upon you freshly, I ne'er speak without comfort. Hear me what I shall say: My brother has left you wealthy; you're rich. Wid. Oh! Sir God. I say you're rich: you are also fair. Wid. Oh! Sir God. Go to, you're fair; you cannot smother it; beauty will come to light. Nor are your years so far entered with you, * Papers. but that you will be sought after, and may very well answer another husband. The world is full of fine gallants; choice enough, sister; for, what should we do with all our knights, I pray, but to marry rich widows, wealthy citizens' widows, lusty fair-browed ladies? Go to, be of good comfort, I say; leave snobbing and weeping. Yet, my brother was a kind-hearted man, I would not have the elf see me now.-Come, pluck up a woman's heart. Here stand your daughters, who be well estated, and at maturity will also be inquired after with good husbands; so all these tears shall be soon dried up, and a better world than ever. What, woman! you must not weep still; he's dead, he's buried: yet I cannot choose but weep for him. Wid. Marry again! no, let me be buried quick then! And that the priest may turn his wedding prayers, O, out of a million of millions, I should ne'er find such a husband; he was unmatchable, unmatchable. Nothing was too hot, nor too dear for me. I could not speak of that one thing that I had not. Beside, I had keys of all, kept all, received all, had money in my purse, spent what I would, went abroad when I would, came home when I would, and did all what I would. O, my sweet husband! I shall never have the like. Sir God. Sister, ne'er say so. He was an honest brother of mine, and so; and you may light upon one as honest again, or one as honest again may light upon you: that's the properer phrase indeed. Wid. Never O, if you love me, urge it not. O may I be the by-word of the world, The common talk at table in the mouth Of every groom and waiter, if e'er more I entertain the carnal suit of man. Mary. I must kneel down for fashion too. Fran. And I, whom never man as yet hath scaled, Even in this depth of general sorrow, vow Never to marry, to sustain such loss As a dear husband seems to be, once dead. Mary. I loved my father well, too; but to say, Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death, {Kneels. Tut! women must live by the quick, and not by the dead. [Kisses her husband's picture. How like him is this model! This brief picture Quickens my tears: my sorrows are renew'd At this fresh sight. Sir God. Sister Wid. Away! All honesty with him is turn'd to clay. O my sweet husband! Oh. * Sobbing. Fran. My dear father! [Exeunt WIDOW and FRANCES. Mary. Here's a puling, indeed! I think my mother weeps for all the women that ever buried husbands; for if from time to time all the widowers* tears in England had been bottled up, I do not think all would have filled a three-halfpenny bottle. Alas, a small matter buckst a handkerchief! and sometimes the 'spital stands too nigh Saint Thomas a' Waterings. Well, I can mourn in good sober sort as well as another; but where I spend one tear for a dead father, I could give twenty kisses for a quick § husband. [Exit. Sir God. Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou mayst be proud on't; thou hast a kind, loving sister-in-law. How constant! how passionate! how full of April the poor soul's eyes are! Well, I would my brother knew on't; he should then know what a kind wife he had left behind him. "Truth, an 'twere not for shame that the neighbours at the next garden should hear me, between joy and grief I should e'en cry out right. [Exit. Edm. So; a fair riddance! My father's laid in dust; his coffin and he is like a whole meat-pie, and the worms will cut him up shortly. Farewell, old dad, farewell! I'll be curbed in no more. I perceive a son and heir may be quickly made a fool, an he will be one; but I'll take another order. Now, she would have me weep for him, forsooth; and why? because he cozened the right heir, being a fool, and bestowed those lands on me, his eldest son; and therefore I must weep for him; ha, ha! Why, all the world knows, as long as 'twas his pleasure to get me, 'twas his duty to get for me: I know the law in that point; no attorney can gull me. Well, my uncle is an old ass, and an admirable coxcomb. I'll rule the roast myself; I'll be kept under no more; I know what I may do well enough by my father's copy: the law's in mine own hands now. Nay, now I know my strength, I'll be strong enough for my mother, I warrant you. SCENE II-A Street. Enter PYEBOARD and SKIRMISH. [Exit. Pye. What's to be done now, old lad of war? Thou that were wont to be as hot as a turnspit, as nimble as a fencer, and as lousy as a school-master, now thou art put to silence like a sectary. War sits now like a justice of peace, and does nothing. at pawn, at pawn? Now keys are your only guns; key-guns, key-guns, and bawds the gunners; who are your sentinels in peace, and stand ready charged to give warning with hems, hums, and pocky coughs: only your chambers are licensed to play upon you, and drabs enow to give fire to 'em. * In old English books the word widower is applied to both sexes. + Soaks. indiscretions as render them proper subjects for the public hospital. I. e. those widows who shed most tears, are sometimes guilty of such § I. e. alive. Pursue another course. Muskets. Skir. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me; for since the ceasure* of the wars I have spent above a hundred crowns out of purse. I have been a soldier any time this forty years; and now I perceive an old soldier and an old courtier have both one destiny, and in the end turn both into hob-nails. Pye. Pretty mystery for a beggar; for indeed a hob-nail is the true emblem of a beggar's shoe-soal. Skir. I will not say but that war is a blood-sucker, and so; but, in my conscience (as there is no soldier but has a piece of one, though it be full of holes, like a shot ancient;† no matter,-'twill serve to swear by), in my conscience, I think some kind of peace has more hidden oppressions, and violent heady sins (though looking of a gentle nature), than a professed war. Pye. Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor gentleman, and a scholar; I have been matriculated in the university, wore out six gowns there, seen some fools, and some scholars, some of the city, and some of the country, kept order, went bare-headed over the quadrangle, ate my commons with a good stomach, and battled with discretion; at last, having done many sleights and tricks to maintain my wit in use (as my brain would never endure me to be idle), I was expelled the university, only for stealing a cheese out of Jesus College. Skir. Is't possible ? Pye. O! there was one Welshman (God forgive him!) pursued it hard, and never left, till I turn'd my staff toward London; where, when I came, all my friends were pit-holed, gone to graves; as indeed there was but a few left before. Then was I turn'd to my wits, to shift in the world, to tower§ among sons and heirs, and fools, and gulls, and ladies' eldest sons; to work upon nothing, to feed out of flint: and ever since has my belly been much beholden to my brain. But now to return to you, old Skirmish :I say as you say, and for my part wish a turbulency in the world; for I have nothing to lose but my wits, and I think they are as mad as they will be: and to strengthen your argument the more, I say an honest war is better than a bawdy peace. As touching my profession: the multiplicity of scholars, hatch'd and nourish'd in the idle calms of peace, makes them, like fishes, one devour another; and the community of learning has so played upon affections, that thereby almost religion is come about to phantasy, and discredited by being too much spoken of, in so many and mean mouths. I myself, being a scholar and a graduate, have no other comfort by my learning but the affection of my words, to know how, scholar-like, to name what I want; and can call myself a beggar both in Greek and Latin. And therefore, not to From the use of the latter expression, Dr. Farmer supposes the author to have been bred at Oxford, battling being the term used there to express what is called sizing at Cambridge. Quadrangle is likewise, if I am not mistaken, an Oxford, and not a Cambridge, phrase. Battles (at Oxfordsizings at Cambridge) are certain portions of bread, beer, &c., got from the college buttery, on credit. I. e. rise like a hawk to descend on my prey. II. e. affectation. |