Scene Sixth. A Room in Gourseys House

Enter Master Goursey, reading a letter.

M. Gour. If that they like, her dowry shall be equall
To your sonnes wealth or possibility:
It is a meanes to make our wives good friendes,
And to continue friendship twixt us two.
Tis so, indeed: I like this motion,
And it hath my consent, because my wife
Is sore infected and hart sick with hate;
And I have sought the Galen of advice,
Which oneley tels me this same potion
To be most soveraigne for her sicknes cure.

Enter Franke and Phillip.

Heere comes my sonne, conferring with his friend.—
Fraunces, how do you like your friends discourse?
I know he is persuading to this motion.

Fra. Father, as matter that befits a friend,
But yet not me, that am too young to marry.

M. Gou. Nay, if thy minde be forward with thy yeares,
The time is lost thou tarriest. Trust me, boy,
This match is answerable to thy birth;
Her bloud and portion give each other grace;
These indented lines promise a sum,
And I do like the valew: if it hap
Thy liking to accord to my consent,
It is a match. Wilt thou goe see the maide?

Fra. Nere. Trust me, father, the shape of marriage,
Which I doe see in others, seeme[s] so severe,
I dare not put my youngling liberty
Under the awe of that instruction;
And yet I graunt the limmits of free youth
Going astray are often restrainde by that.
But mistresse wedlocke, to my scholler thoughts,
Will be too curst, I feare. O, should she snip
My pleasure ayming minde, I shall be sad,
And sweare, when I did marry, I was mad!

M. Gour. But, boy, let my experience teach thee this—
Yet, in good faith, thou speakst not much amisse;—
When first thy mothers fame to me did come,
Thy grandsire thus then came to me his sonne,
And even my words to thee to me he said,
And as to me thou saist to him I said,
But in a greater huffe and hotter bloud,—
I tell ye, on youthes tip-toes then I stood:
Saies he (good faith, this was his very say),
'When I was yong, I was but reasons foole,
And went to wedding as to wisdomes schoole;
It taught me much, and much I did forget,
But, beaten much, by it I got some wit;
Though I was shackled from an often scoute,
Yet I would wanton it when I was out;
Twas comfort, old acquaintance then to meete,
Restrained liberty attainde is sweet.'
Thus said my father to thy father, sonne,
And thou maist doe this too, as I have done.

Phi. In faith, good counsell, Franke: what saist thou to it?

Fra. Phillip, what should I say?

Phil. Why, eyther I or no.

Fra. O, but which rather?
Phil. Why, that which was persuaded by thy father.

Fra. Thats I, then, I: O, should it fall out ill!
Then I, for I am guilty of that ill,—
Ile not be guilty, no.

Phi. What, backeward gone!

Fra. Phillip, no whit backward; that is, on.

Phi. On, then.

Fra. O, stay!

Phil. Tush, there is no good lucke in this delay:
Come, come, late commers, man, are shent.

Fra. Heigh ho, I feare I shall repent!
Well, which waye, Phillip?

Phi. Why, this way.

Fra. Canst thou tell,
And takest upon thee to be my guide to hell?—
But which way, father?

M. Gour. That way.

Fran. I, you know;
You found the way to sorrow long agoe.
Father, God boye ye: you have sent your sonne
To seeke on earth an earthly day of doome,
Where I shall be adjudged, alacke the ruthe,
To penance for the follies of my youth!
Well, I must goe, but, by my troth, my minde
Is not love capable to that kinde.
O, I have lookt upon this mould of men,
As I have done upon a lyons den!
Praised I have the gallant beast I saw,
Yet wisht me no acquaintance with his pawe:
And must I now be grated with them? well,
Yet I may hap to proove a Daniell;
And, if I doe, sure it would make me laugh,
To be among wilde beastes and yet be safe.
Is there a remedy to abate their rage?
Yes, many catch them, and put them in a cage.
I, but how catch them? marry, in your hand
Carrie me foorth a burning fire brand,
For with his sparkling shine, olde rumor saies,
A fire brand the swiftest runner fraies:
This I may doe; but, if it proove not so,
Then man goes out to seeke his adjunct woe.
Phillip, away! and, father, now adew!
In quest of sorrow I am sent by you

M. Gou. Returne the messenger of joy, my sonne.

Fran. Sildome in this world such a worke is done.

Phi. Nay, nay, make hast, it will be quicklie night.

Fra. Why, is it not good to wooe by candle light?

Phil. But, if we make not haste theile be abed.

Fran. The better, candels out and curtans spred.

Exeunt [Francis and Phillip].

M. Gour. I know, though that my sons years be not many,
Yet he hath wit to wooe as well as any.
Here comes my wife: I am glad my boy is gone

Enter Mistresse Goursey.

Ere she came hether.—How now, wife? how ist?
What, are ye yet in charity and love
With mistresse Barnes?

Mi. Gou. With mistris Barnes! why mistris Barnes, I pray?

M. Gou. Because she is your neighbour and——

Mi. Gou. And what?
And a jealous slandering spitefull queane she is,
One that would blur my reputation
With her approbrious mallice, if she could.
She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame:
Tis knowne that I have lived in honest name
All my life time, and bin your right true wife.

M. Gour. I entertaine no other thought, my wife,
And my opinion's sound of your behaviour.

Mis. Gou. And my behaviour is as sound as it;
But her ill speeches seekes to rot my credit,
And eate it with the worme of hate and mallice.

M. Gou. Why, then, preserve it you by patience.

Mi. Gou. By patience! would ye have me shame my selfe,
And cussen my selfe to beare her injuries?
Not while her eyes be open will I yeelde
A word, a letter, a sillables valew,
But equall and make even her wrongs to me
To her againe.

M. Gou. Then, in good faith, wife, ye are more to blame.

Mi. Gou. Am I too blame, sir? pray, what letters this? [Snatches the letter.]

M. Gou. There is a dearth of manners in ye, wife,
Rudelie to snatch it from me. Give it me.

Mi. Gou. You shall not have it, sir, till I have read it.

M. Gou. Give me it, then, and I will read it to you.

Mi. Gou. No, no, it shall not need: I am a scholler
Good enough to read a letter, sir.

M. Gou. Gods passion, if she knew but the contents,
Sheele seeke to crosse this match! she shall not read it.— [Aside.]
Wife, give it me; come, come, give it me.

Mi. Gou. Husband, in very deed, you shall not have it.

M. Gou. What, will you moove me to impatience, then?

Mi. Gou. Tut, tell not me of your impatience;
But since you talke, sir, of impatience,
You shall not have the letter, by this light,
Till I have read it; soule, ile burne it first!

M. Gou. Go to, ye move me, wife; give me the letter;
In troth, I shall growe angry, if you doe not.

Mi. Gou. Grow to the house top with your anger, sir!
Nere tell me, I care not thus much for it.

M. Gour. Well, I can beare enough, but not too much.
Come, give it me; twere best you be persuaded;
By God—ye make me sweare—now God forgive me!—
Give me, I say, and stand not long upon it;
Go to, I am angry at the heart, my very heart.

Mis. Gou. Hart me no hearts, you shall not have it, sir,
No, you shall not; nere looke so big,
I will not be affraide at your great lookes;
You shall not have it, no, you shall not have it.

M. Gou. Shall I not have it? in troth, Ile try that:
Minion, Ile hav'te; shall I not hav'te?—I am loath—
Go too, take pausment, be advisde—
In faith, I will; and stand not long upon it—
A woman of your yeares! I am ashamde
A couple of so long continuance
Should thus—Gods foote—I crye God hartely mercy!—
Go to, ye vex me; and Ile vexe ye for it;
Before I leave ye, I will make ye glad
To tender it on your knees; heare ye, I will, I will.
What, worse and worse stomacke! true, i faith!
Shall I be crost by you in my olde age?
And where I should have greatest comfort to,
A nursse of you?—nursse in the divels name!—
Go to, mistris; by Gods pretious deere,
If ye delaie—

Mi. Gou. Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit
Are you in, husband! so inrag'd, so moov'd,
And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!
Did this letter, love, conteine my death,
Should you denie my sight of it, I would not
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger,
But willinglie yeeld me a patient
Unto the doome that your displeasure gave.
Heere is the letter; not for that your incensment [Gives back the letter.]
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,
Which anger, I doe feare, hath crasd,
And viper like hath suckt away the bloud
That wont was to be cheerefull in this cheeke:
How pale yee looke!

M. Gou. Pale! can yee blame me for it? I tell you true,
An easie matter could not thus have moov'd me.
Well, this resignement, and so foorth—but, woman,
This fortnight shall I not forget yee for it.—
Ha, ha, I see that roughnes can doe somewhat!
I did not thinke, good faith, I could have set
So sower a face upon it, and to her,
My bed embracer, my right bosome friend.
I would not that she should have seene the letter,
As poore a man as I am, by my troth,
For twenty pound: well, I am glad I have it.— [Aside.]
Ha, heres adoe about a thing of nothing!
What, stomack, ha! tis happy you come downe.

Exit.

Mi. Gou. Well, craftie fox, Ile hunt ye, by my troth:
Deale ye so closely? Well, I see his drift:
He would not let me see the letter, least
That I should crosse the match; and I will crosse it.—

Enter Comes.

Dicke Coomes?

Coom. Forsooth.

Mis. Gour. Come hether, Dicke; thou art a man I love,
And one whom I have much in my regarde.

Coo. I thanke ye for it, mistris, I thanke ye for it.

Mi. Gou. Nay, heers my hand, I will do very much
For thee, if ere thou standst in need of me;
Thou shalt not lack, whilst thou hast a day to live,
Money, apparrell——

Coo. And sword and bucklers?

Mis. Gou. And sword and bucklers too, my gallant Dick,
So thou wilt use but this in my defence.

Coom. This! no, faith, I have no minde to this; breake my head, if this breake not, if we come to any tough play. Nay, mistres, I had a sword, I, the flower of Smithfield for a sword, a right fox, i faith; with that, and a man had come over with a smooth and a sharpe stroke, it would have cried twang, and then, when I had doubled my point, traste my ground, and had carried my buckler before me like a garden but, and then come in with a crosse blowe, and over the picke of his buckler two elles long, it would have cryed twang, twang, mettle, mettle: but a dogge hath his day; tis gone, and there are few good ones made now. I see by this dearth of good swords that dearth of sword and buckler fight begins to grow ont: I am sorrye for it; I shall never see good manhood againe, if it be once gone; this poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up then; then a man, a tall man, and a good sword and buckler man, will be spitted like a cat or a cunney; then a boy will be as good as a man, unlesse the Lord shewe mercie unto us; well, I had as lieve bee hang'd as live to see that day. Wel, mistres, what shal I do? what shal I do?

Mis. Gour. Why, this, brave Dicke. Thou knowest that Barnses wife
And I am foes: now, man me to her house;
And though it be darke, Dicke, yet weelle have no light,
Least that thy maister should prevent our journey
By seeing our depart. Then, when we come,
And if that she and I do fall to words,
Set in thy foote and quarrell with her men,
Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaves,
And make as though thou struckst at a man,
And hit her, and thou canst,—a plague upon her!—
She hath misusde me, Dicke: wilt thou do this?

Coom. Yes, mistresse, I will strike her men; but God forbid that ere Dicke Coomes should be seene to strike a woman!

Mi. Gour. Why, she is mankind, therefore thou maist strike her.

Coom. Mankinde! nay, and she have any part of a man, Ile strike her, I warrant.

Mi. Gour. Thats my good Dicke, thats my sweet Dicke!

Coom. Swones, who would not be a man of valour to have such words of a gentlewoman! one of their words are more to me then twentie of these russet coates cheese-cakes and butter makers. Well, I thanke God, I am none of these cowards; well, and a man have any vertue in him, I see he shall be regarded. [Aside.]

Mi. Gour. Art thou resolved, Dicke? wilt thou do this for me?
And if thou wilt, here is an earnest penny
Of that rich guerdon I do meane to give thee. [Gives money.]

Coom. An angell, mistresse! let me see. Stand you on my left hand, and let the angell lye on my buckler on my right hand, for feare of losing. Now, heere stand I to be tempted. They say, every man hath two spirits attending on him, eyther good or bad; now, I say, a man hath no other spirits but eyther his wealth or his wife: now, which is the better of them? why, that is as they are used; for use neither of them well, and they are both nought. But this is a miracle to me, that golde that is heavie hath the upper, and a woman that is light doth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and heavie things soonest go downe: but leave these considerations to sir John, they become a blacke coate better than a blew. Well, mistresse, I had no minde to daye to quarrell; but a woman is made to bee a mans seducer; you say, quarrell.

Mi. Gou. I.

Coom. There speakes an angell: is it good?

Mis. Gou. I.

Coom. Then, I cannot doe amisse; the good angell goes with me.

Exeunt.