The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Gold. No; where is she?

  Touch. Within; but I ha’ not seen her yet, nor her mother, who now begins to wish her daughter undubb’d, they say, and that she had walk’d a foot-pace with her sister. Here they come; stand back.

  Enter MISTRESS TOUCHSTONE, GERTRUDE, MILDRED, and SINDEFY.

  God save your Ladyship; ‘save your good Ladyship! Your Ladyship is welcome from your enchanted castle; so are your beauteous retinue. I hear your knight errant is travell’d on strange adventures. Surely, in my mind, your Ladyship hath “fish’d fair, and caught a frog,” as the saying is.

  Mist. Touch. Speak to your father, madam, and kneel down.

  Ger. Kneel? I hope I am not brought so low yet; though my knight be run away, and has sold my land, I am a lady still.

  Touch. Your Ladyship says true, madam; and it is fitter and a greater decorum that I should curtsy to you that are a knight’s wife and a lady than you be brought a’ your knees to me, who am a poor cullion and your father.

  Ger. Law! my father knows his duty.

  Mist. T. Oh, child!

  Touch. And therefore I do desire your Ladyship, my good Lady Flash, in all humility, to depart my obscure cottage, and return in quest of your bright and most transparent castle, “how ever presently conceal’d to mortal eyes.” And, as for one poor woman of your train here, I will take that order she shall no longer be a charge unto you, nor help to spend your Ladyship; she shall stay at home with me, and not go abroad, not put you to the pawning of an odd coach horse or three wheels, but take part with the Touchstone. If we lack, we will not complain to your Ladyship. And so, good madam, with your damosel here, please you to let us see your straight backs in equipage; for truly here is no roost for such chickens as you are, or birds o’ your feather, if it like your Ladyship.

  Ger. Marry, fyste o’ your kindness! I thought as much. Come away, Sin; we shall “as soon get a fart from a dead man as a farthing” of court’sy here.

  Mil. Oh, good Sister!

  Ger. Sister, Sir Reverence! Come away, I say; hunger drops out at his nose.

  Gold. Oh, madam, “Fair words never hurt the tongue.”

  Ger. How say you by that? You come out with your gold-ends now!

  Mist. T. Stay, Lady-daughter. Good husband —

  Touch. Wife, “no man loves his fetters, be they made of gold.” I list not “ha’ my head fast’ned under my child’s girdle;” “as she has brew’d, so let her drink,” a’ God’s name. She “went witless to wedding,” now she may “go wisely a-begging.” It’s but honeymoon yet with her Ladyship; she has coach horses, apparel, jewels yet left; she needs care for no friends, nor take knowledge of father, mother, brother, sister, or anybody. When those are pawn’d or spent, perhaps we shall return into the list of her acquaintance.

  Ger. I scorn it, i’ faith. — Come, Sin.

  Mist. T. Oh, madam, why do you provoke your father thus?

  Exit GERTRUDE with SINDEFY.

  Touch. Nay, nay, e’en “let pride go afore; shame will follow after,” I warrant you. Come, why dost thou weep now? Thou art not “the first good cow” hast “had an ill calf,” I trust. — [Exit MISTRESS TOUCHSTONE.] What’s the news with that fellow?

  Enter Constable.

  Gold. Sir, the knight and your man Quicksilver are without; will you ha’ ’em brought in?

  Touch. Oh, by any means. [Exit Constable.] And, son, here’s a chair; appear terrible unto ’em on the first interview. Let them behold the melancholy of a magistrate, and taste the fury of a citizen in office.

  Gold. Why, sir, I can do nothing to ’em, except you charge ’em with somewhat.

  Touch. I will charge ’em and recharge ’em, rather than authority should

  Offers GOLDING a chair.

  want foil to set it off.

  Gold. No, good sir, I will not.

  Touch. Son, it is your place; by any means —

  Gold. Believe it, I will not, sir.

  Enter KNIGHT PETRONEL, QUICKSILVER, Constable, and Officers.

  Pet. How misfortune pursues us still in our misery!

  Quick. Would it had been my fortune to have been truss’d up at Wapping rather than ever ha’ come here!

  Pet. Or mine to have famish’d in the Island!

  Quick. Must Golding sit upon us?

  Con. You might carry a Master under your girdle to Master Deputy’s Worship.

  Gold. What are those, Master Constable?

  Con. An ‘t please your Worship, a couple of masterless men I press’d for the Low Countries, sir.

  Gold. Why do you not carry ’em to Bridewell, according to your order, they may be shipp’d away?

  Con. An ‘t please your Worship, one of ’em says he is a knight; and we thought good to show him to your Worship, for our discharge.

  Gold. Which is he?

  Con. This, sir.

  Gold. And what’s the other?

  Con. A knight’s fellow, sir, an ‘t please you.

  Gold. What! a knight and his fellow thus accout’red? Where are their hats and feathers, their rapiers and their cloaks?

  Quick. [aside] Oh, they mock us.

  Con. Nay, truly, sir, they had cast both their feathers and hats, too, before we see ’em. Here’s all their furniture, an ‘t please you, that we found. They say knights are now to be known without feathers, like cock’rels by their spurs, sir.

  Gold. What are their names, say they?

  Touch. [aside] Very well, this. He should not take knowledge of ’em in his place, indeed.

  Con. This is Sir Petronel Flash.

  Touch. How!

  Con. And this, Francis Quicksilver.

  Touch. Is ‘t possible? I thought your Worship had been gone for Virginia, sir; you are welcome home, sir. Your Worship has made a quick return, it seems, and no doubt a good voyage. Nay, pray you be cover’d, sir. How did your biscuit hold out, sir? — Methought I had seen this gentleman afore. Good Master Quicksilver, how a degree to the southward has chang’d you!

  Gold. Do you know ’em, Father? — Forbear your offers a little, you shall be heard anon.

  Touch. Yes, Master Deputy; I had a small venture with them in the voyage — a thing call’d a son-in-law, or so. — Officers, you may let ’em stand alone: they will not run away; I’ll give my word for them, a couple of very honest gentlemen. One of ’em was my prentice, Master Quicksilver here; and when he had two year to serve, kept his whore and his hunting nag, would play his hundred pound at gresco or primero as familiarly (and all a’ my purse) as any bright piece of crimson on ’em all; had his changeable trunks of apparel standing at livery, with his mare, his chest of perfum’d linen, and his bathing-tubs, which, when I told him of, why he — he was a gentleman, and I a poor Cheapside groom! The remedy was, we must part. Since when he hath had the gift of gathering up some small parcels of mine, to the value of five hundred pound, dispers’d among my customers, to furnish this his Virginian venture; wherein this knight was the chief, Sir Flash — one that married a daughter of mine, ladified her, turned two thousand pounds’ worth of good land of hers into cash within the first week, bought her a new gown and a coach; sent her to seek her fortune by land, whilst himself prepared for his fortune by sea; took in fresh flesh at Billingsgate, for his own diet, to serve him the whole voyage — the wife of a certain usurer call’d Security, who hath been the broker for ’em in all this business. Please, Master Deputy, work upon that now!

  Gold. If my worshipful father have ended —

  Touch. I have, it shall please Master Deputy.

  Gold. Well then, under correction ——

  Touch. [aside] Now, son, come over ’em with some fine gird, as thus, “Knight, you shall be encount’red,” that is, had to the Counter; or, “Quicksilver, I will put you in a crucible,” or so.

  Gold. Sir Petronel Flash, I am sorry to see such flashes as these proceed from a gentleman of your quality and rank; for mine own part, I could wish I could say I could not see them; but such is the misery of magistrates
and men in place, that they must not wink at offenders. — Take him aside. — I will hear you anon, sir.

  Touch. [aside] I like this well, yet; there’s some grace i’ the knight left: he cries.

  Gold. Francis Quicksilver, would God thou hadst turn’d quacksalver, rather than run into these dissolute and lewd courses! It is great pity; thou art a proper young man, of an honest and clean face, somewhat near a good one; God hath done his part in thee; but thou hast made too much, and been too proud, of that face, with the rest of thy body; for maintenance of which in neat and garish attire, only to be look’d upon by some light housewives, thou hast prodigally consumed much of thy master’s estate; and, being by him gently admonish’d at several times, hast return’d thyself haughty and rebellious in thine answers, thund’ring out uncivil comparisons, requiting all his kindness with a coarse and harsh behavior; never returning thanks for any one benefit, but receiving all as if they had been debts to thee, and no courtesies. I must tell thee, Francis, these are manifest signs of an ill nature; and God doth often punish such pride and outrecuidance with scorn and infamy, which is the worst of misfortune. — My worshipful father, what do you please to charge them withal? — From the press I will free ’em, Master Constable.

  Con. Then I’ll leave your Worship, sir.

  Gold. No, you may stay; there will be other matters against ’em.

  Touch. Sir, I do charge this gallant, Master Quicksilver, on suspicion of felony; and the knight, as being accessary in the receipt of my goods.

  Quick. O God, sir!

  Touch. Hold thy peace, impudent varlet, hold thy peace! With what forehead or face dost thou offer to chop logic with me, having run such a race of riot as thou hast done? Does not the sight of this worshipful man’s fortune and temper confound thee, that was thy younger fellow in household, and now come to have the place of a judge upon thee? Dost not observe this? Which of all thy gallants and gamesters, thy swearers and thy swaggerers, will come now to moan thy misfortune, or pity thy penury? They’ll look out at a window, as thou rid’st in triumph to Tyburn, and cry, “Yonder goes honest Frank, mad Quicksilver!” “He was a free boon companion, when he had money,” says one. “Hang him, fool;” says another; “he could not keep it when he had it!” “A pox o’ the cullion, his master,” says a third; “he has brought him to this;” when their pox of pleasure, and their piles of perdition, would have been better bestowed upon thee, that hast vent’red for ’em with the best, and by the clue of thy knavery brought thyself weeping to the cart of calamity.

  Quick. Worshipful Master!

  Touch. Offer not to speak, crocodile; I will not hear a sound come from thee. Thou hast learn’d to whine at the play yonder. — Master Deputy, pray you commit ’em both to safe custody, till I be able farther to charge ’em.

  Quick. O me! what an infortunate thing am I!

  Pet. Will you not take security, sir?

  Touch. Yes, marry, will I, Sir Flash, if I can find him, and charge him as deep as the best on you. He has been the plotter of all this; he is your enginer, I hear. Master Deputy, you’ll dispose of these? In the mean time, I’ll to my Lord Mayor, and get his warrant to seize that serpent, Security, into my hands, and seal up both house and goods to the King’s use or my satisfaction.

  Gold. Officers, take ’em to the Counter.

  Quick. and Pet. O God!

  Touch. Nay, on, on; you see the issue of your sloth. Of sloth cometh pleasure, of pleasure cometh riot, of riot comes whoring, of whoring comes spending, of spending comes want, of want comes theft, of theft comes hanging; and there is my Quicksilver fix’d.

  Exeunt.

  ACT V

  SCENE I

  [An alehouse.]

  Enter GERTRUDE and SINDEFY.

  Ger. Ah, Sin! hast thou ever read i’ the chronicle of any lady and her waiting woman driven to that extremity that we are, Sin?

  Sin. Not I, truly, madam; and, if I had, it were but cold comfort should come out of books, now.

  Ger. Why, good faith, Sin, I could dine with a lamentable story, now. O hone, hone, o no nera! etc. Canst thou tell ne’er a one, Sin?

  Sin. None but mine own, madam, which is lamentable enough: first to be stol’n from my friends, which were worshipful and of good account, by a prentice in the habit and disguise of a gentleman, and here brought up to London, and promis’d marriage, and now likely to be forsaken, for he is in possibility to be hang’d!

  Ger. Nay, weep not, good Sin; my Petronel is in as good possibility as he. Thy miseries are nothing to mine, Sin; I was more than promis’d marriage, Sin; I had it, Sin; and was made a lady; and by a knight, Sin; which is now as good as no knight, Sin. And I was born in London, which is more then brought up, Sin; and already forsaken, which is past likelihood, Sin; and, instead of land i’ the country, all my knight’s living lies i’ the Counter, Sin; there’s his castle, now!

  Sin. Which he cannot be forc’d out of, madam.

  Ger. Yes, if he would live hungry a week or two. “Hunger,” they say, “breaks stone walls.” But he is e’en well enough serv’d, Sin, that, so soon as ever he had got my hand to the sale of my inheritance, run away from me, as I had been his punk, God bless us! Would the Knight o’ the Sun or Palmerin of England, have us’d their ladies so, Sin? or Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram?

  Sin. I do not know, madam.

  Ger. Then thou know’st nothing, Sin. Thou art a fool, Sin. The knighthood nowadays are nothing like the knighthood of old time. They rid a-horseback; ours go afoot. They were attended by their squires, ours by their lackeys. They went buckled in their armor, ours muffled in their cloaks. They travell’d wildernesses and deserts; ours dare scarce walk the streets. They were still press’d to engage their honor, ours still ready to pawn their clothes. They would gallop on at sight of a monster; ours run away at sight of a sergeant. They would help poor ladies; ours make poor ladies.

  Sin. Ay, madam, they were knights of the Round Table at Winchester, that sought adventures; but these, of the Square Table at ordinaries, that sit at hazard.

  Ger. True, Sin; let him vanish. And tell me, what shall we pawn next?

  Sin. Ay, marry, madam, a timely consideration; for our hostess, profane woman, has sworn by bread and salt she will not trust us another meal.

  Ger. Let it stink in her hand then. I’ll not be beholding to her. Let me see; my jewels be gone, and my gowns, and my red velvet petticoat that I was married in, and my wedding silk stockings, and all thy best apparel, poor Sin! Good faith, rather than thou shouldest pawn a rag more I’d lay my ladyship in lavender — if I knew where.

  Sin. Alas, madam, your ladyship?

  Ger. Ay. Why? You do not scorn my ladyship, though it is in a waistcoat? God’s my life! you are a peat indeed! Do I offer to mortgage my ladyship for you and for your avail, and do you turn the lip and the “alas!” to my ladyship?

  Sin. No, madam; but I make question who will lend anything upon it.

  Ger. Who? marry, enow, I warrant you, if you’ll seek ’em out. I’m sure I remember the time when I would ha’ given a thousand pound, if I had it, to have been a lady; and I hope I was not bred and born with that appetite alone; some other gentle-born o’ the city have the same longing, I trust. And, for my part, I would afford ’em a penny’rth; my ladyship is little the worse for the wearing, and yet I would bate a good deal of the sum. I would lend it, let me see, for forty pounds in hand, Sin; that would apparel us; and ten pound a year: that would keep me and you, Sin, with our needles; and we should never need to be beholding to our scurvy parents! Good Lord! that there are no fairies nowadays, Sin.

  Sin. Why, madam?

  Ger. To do miracles, and bring ladies money. Sure, if we lay in a cleanly house, they would haunt it, Sin! I’ll try. I’ll sweep the chamber soon at night, and set a dish of water o’ the hearth. A fairy may come and bring a pearl, or a diamond. We do not know, Sin. Or there may be a pot of gold hid o’ the back-side, if we had tools to dig for ‘t! Why may not we two rise early i’ the
morning, Sin, afore anybody is up, and find a jewel i’ the streets worth a hundred pound? May not some great court-lady, as she comes from revels at midnight, look out of her coach as ‘t is running, and lose such a jewel, and we find it? Ha?

  Sin. They are pretty waking dreams, these.

  Ger. Or may not some old usurer be drunk overnight, with a bag of money, and leave it behind him on a stall? For God-sake, Sin, let’s rise to-morrow by break of day and see. I protest, law, if I had as much money as an alderman, I would scatter some on ‘t i’ th’ streets for poor ladies to find, when their knights were laid up. And, now I remember my song o’ the “Golden Show’r”: why may not I have such fortune? I’ll sing it, and try what luck I shall have after it.

  Fond fables tell of old

  How Jove in Danaë’s lap

  Fell in a shower of gold,

  By which she caught a clap;

  Oh, had it been my hap,

  (Howe’er the blow doth threaten)

  So well I like the play,

  That I could wish all day

  And night to be so beaten.

  Enter MISTRESS TOUCHSTONE.

  Oh, here’s my mother! Good luck, I hope. — Ha’ you brought any money, Mother? Pray you, Mother, your blessing. Nay, sweet Mother, do not weep.

  Mist. Touch. God bless you! I would I were in my grave!

  Ger. Nay, dear Mother, can you steal no more money from my father? Dry your eyes, and comfort me. Alas! it is my knight’s fault, and not mine, that I am in a waistcoat, and attired thus simply.

  Mist. T. Simply? ‘T is better than thou deserv’st. Never whimper for the matter. “Thou should’st have look’d before thou hadst leap’d.” Thou wert afire to be a lady, and now your ladyship and you may both “blow at the coal,” for aught I know. “Self do, self have.” “The hasty person never wants woe,” they say.

  Ger. Nay then, Mother, you should ha’ look’d to it. A body would think you were the older! I did but my kind, I. He was a knight, and I was fit to be a lady. ‘T is not lack of liking, but lack of living, that severs us. And you talk like yourself and a citiner in this, i’ faith. You show what husband you come on, iwis. You smell the Touchstone — he that will do more for his daughter that he has married to a scurvy gold-end man and his prentice, than he will for his tother daughter, that has wedded a knight and his customer. By this light, I think he is not my legitimate father.