Grows high and lusty in her blood, must have
A heating, runs away with a supple-ham'd serving-

man;

His twenty nobles spent, takes to a trade,
And learns to spin men's hair off; there's another:
And most are of this nature. Will you marry?
Fount. For my part, yes, for any doubt I feel
yet.

Val. And this same widow?

Fount. If I may; and, methinks,

However you are pleased to dispute these dangers, Such a warm match, and for you, sir, were not hurtful.

Val. Not half so killing as for you. For me, She cann't with all the art she has, make me more

miserable,

Or much more fortunate: I have no state left,
A benefit that none of you can brag of,
And there's the antidote against a widow;
Nothing to lose, but that my soul inherits,
Which she can neither law nor claw away;
To that, but little flesh, it were too much else;
And that unwhclesome too, it were too rich else;
And, to all this, contempt of what she does :
I can laugh at her tears, neglect her angers,
Hear her without a faith, so pity her

As if she were a traitor; moan her person,
But deadly hate her pride: if you could do these,
And had but this discretion, and like fortune,
'Twere but an equal venture.

Fount. This is malice.

Val. Then chuse the tamer evil; take a maid, A maid not worth a penny; make her yours, Knead her, and mould her yours; a maid worth nothing:

There is a virtuous spell in that word nothing.
A maid makes conscience

Of half-a-crown a-week for pins and puppets;
A maid's content with one coach and two horses,
Not falling out because they are not matches;
With one man satisfied, with one rein guided,
With one faith, one content, one bed;
Aged, she makes the wife, preserves the fame

and issue;

A widow is a Christmas-box that sweeps all. Fount. Yet all this cannot sink us.

Val. You're my friends,

And all my loving friends; I spend your money,
Yet I deserve it too; you are my friends still.
I ride your horses, when I want I sell 'em;
I eat your meat, help to wear your linen;
Sometimes I make you drunk, and then you seal,
For which I'll do you this commodity.

Be ruled, and let me try her; I'll discover her;
The truth is, I will never leave to trouble her,
'Till I see through her; then, if I find her
worthy-

Hare. This was our meaning, Valentine.
Val. "Tis done then.

I must want nothing.

Hare. Nothing but the woman.

Val. No jealousy; for, when I marry,

The devil must be wiser than I take him

Isab. You must needs play the fool.

Short. 'Tis my profession.

Isab. How is he a man, and no man?

Short. He's a beggar; only the sign of a man ;

the bush pull'd down, which shews the house stands empty.

Isab. What's his calling?

Short. They call him beggar.
Isab. What's his kindred?

Short. Beggars.

Isab. His worth?

Short. A learned beggar, a poor scholar. Isab. How does he live?

Short. Like worms, he eats old books. Isab. Is Valentine his brother?

Short. His begging brother.

Isab. What may his name be?

Short. Orson.

Isab. Leave your fooling.

Short. You had as good say, leave your living. Isab. Once more,

Tell me his name directly.

Short. I'll be hang'd first, unless I heard him christen'd; but I can tell what foolish people call him.

Isab. What?

Short. Francisco.

Isab. Where lies this learning, sir?

Short. In Paul's Church-yard forsooth.
Isab. I mean that gentleman, fool!

Short. Oh, that fool? he lies in loose sheets every where, that's no where.

Luce. You have glean'd since you came to London; in the country, Shorthose, you were an arrant fool, a dull cold coxcomb; here every tavern teaches you; the pint-pot has so belabour'd you with wit, your brave acquaintance, that gives you ale, so fortified your mazard, that now there's no talking to you.

Isab. He's much improved; a fellow, a fine discourser!

Short. I hope so: I have not waited at the tail of wit so long, to be an ass.

Luce. But say now, Shorthose, my lady should remove into the country?

Short. I had as lieve she should remove to heaven, and as soon I would undertake to follow her.

Luce. Where no old charneco is, nor no anchovies, nor master Such-a-one, to meet at the Rose, and bring my lady Such-a-one's chief chamber-maid.

Isab. No bouncing healths to this brave lad, dear Shorthose, nor down o' th' knees to that illustrious lady.

Luce. No fiddles, nor no lusty noise of "Drawer, carry this pottle to my father Shorthose."

Isab. No plays nor gally-foists; no strange ambassadors to run and wonder at, till thou be'st oil, and then come home again, and lie by the legend. Luce. Say she should go?

Short. If I say so, I'll be hang'd first; or, if I

thought she would go

Luce. What?

Short. I would go with her.

Luce. But, Shorthose, where thy heart is

Isab. Do not fright him.

Luce. By this hand, mistress, 'tis a noise, a loud one too, and from her own mouth; presently to be gone too. But why? or to what end?

Short. May not a man die first? She'll give him so much time.

Isab. Gone o' th' sudden? Thou dost but jest: She must not mock the gentlemen.

Luce. She has put them off a month, they dare not see her. Believe me, mistress, what I hear I tell you.

Isab. Is this true, wench? Gone on so short a warning!

What trick is this? She never told me of it:
It must not be!-Sirrah, attend me presently,
(You know I've been a careful friend unto you,)
Attend me in the hall, and next be faithful.
Cry not; we shall not go.

Short. Her coach may crack!

SCENE IV.-The Street.

[Exeunt.

Lance. He that has spoil'd himself, to make himself sport,

And, by his copy, will spoil all comes near him :
Buy but a glass, if you be yet so wealthy,
And look there who.

Val. Well said, old Copyhold.

Lance. My heart's good freehold, sir, and so you'll find it.

This gentleman's your brother, your hopeful brother;

For there's no hope of you) use him thereafter. Val. E'en as well as I use myself.-What wouldst thou have, Frank ?

Fran. Can you procure me a hundred pound? Lance. Hark what he says to you!

Oh, try your wits; they say you are excellent at it; For your land has lain long bed-rid, and unsensible. Fran. And I'll forget all wrongs. You see my state,

And to what wretchedness your will has brought
But what it may be, by this benefit,
[me;

If timely done, and like a noble brother,
Both you and I may feel, and to our comforts.
Val. A hundred pound? Dost thou know what
thou hast said, boy?

Fran. I said, a hundred pound.
Val. Thou hast said more

Than any man can justify, believe it.
Procure a hundred pounds! I say to thee,
There's no such sum in nature; forty shillings
There may be now i' th' Mint, and that's a trea-
I have seen five pound; but let me tell it, [sure.
And 'tis as wonderful as calves with five legs.
Here's five shillings, Frank, the harvest of five

weeks,

And a good crop too; take it, and pay thy firstI will come down, and eat it out. [fruits;

Fran. 'Tis patience

Must meet with you, sir, not love.
Lance. Deal roundly,

And leave thes fidcle-faddles.
Val. Leave thy prating!

Thou think'st thou art a notable wise fellow,
Thou and thy rotter sparrow-hawk, two of the
reverend !

Lance. I think you are mad, or, if you be not, will be

With the next moon. What would you have him Val. How?

Lance. To get money first, that's to live; You've shew'd him how to want.

Val. 'Slife, how do I live?

[do?

Why, what dull fool would ask that question? Three hundred three-pil'ds more, ay, and live

Stir, stir for shame; thou art a pretty scholar. Ask how to live? Write, write, write any thing; The world's a fine believing world; write news. Lance. Dragons in Sussex; or fiery battles Seen in the air at Aspurge?

Val. There's the way, Frank. And, in the tail of these, fright me the kingdom With a sharp prognostication, that shall scour them (Dearth upon dearth) like Levant taffaties; Predictions of sea-breaches, wars, and want Of herrings on our coast, with bloody noses.

Lance. Whirlwinds, that shall take off the top of Grantham steeple, and clap it on Paul's; and, after these, a l'envoy to the city for their sins?

Val. Probatum est; thou canst not want a pension.

Go, switch me up a covey of young scholars,
There's twenty nobles, and two loads of coals.
Are not these ready ways? Cosmography
Thou'rt deeply read in; draw me a map from the

Mermaid;

I mean a midnight map, to 'scape the watches. And such long senseless examinations;

And would you have him follow these chimeras? Did you begin with ballads?

Fran. Well, I will leave you;

I see my wants are grown ridiculous:

Yours may be so; I will not curse you neither. You may think, when these wanton fits are over, Who bred me, and who ruin'd me. Look to yourself, sir;

A providence I wait on!

Val. Thou art passionate;

Hast thou been brought up with girls?

Enter SHORTHOSE, with a bag.

Short. Rest you merry, gentlemen.
Val. Not so merry as you suppose, sir.

Short. Pray stay awhile, and let me take a view of you; I may put my spoon into the wrong pottage-pot else.

Val. Why, wilt thou muster us?
Short. No, you're not he;
You are a thought too handsome.

Lance. Who wouldst thou speak withal? Why dost thou peep so?

Short. I'm looking birds' nests: I can find none in your bush-beard!—I'd speak with you, black gentleman.

Fran. With me, my friend?

Short. Yes, sure: and the best friend, sir, it seems, you spake withal this twelve-months, gentleman. There's money for you.

Val. How?

Short. There's none for you, sir. Be not so brief! Not a penny. La! how he itches at it! Stand off; you stir my choler.

Lance. Take it; 'tis money.

Shors. You are too quick too: First, be sure you have it: You seem to be a falconer, but a foolish one.

Lance. Take it, and say nothing.

Short. You are cozen'd too: 'tis take it, and spend it.

Fran. From whom came it, sir?

Short. Such another word, and you shall have none on't.

Fran. I thank you, sir; I doubly thank you! Short. Well, sir; then buy you better clothes, and get your hat dress'd, and your laundress to wash your boots white.

Fran. Pray stay, sir: May you not be mistaken? Short. I think I am: Give me the money again; come, quick, quick, quick!

Fran. I would be loath to render, till I am sure it be so.,

Short. Hark in your ear: Is not your name Francisco?

Short. Friend, you have mercy, a whole bag full of mercy. Be merry with it, and be wise. Fran. I would fain, if it please you, but knowShort. It does not please me: Tell o'er your

money, and be not mad, boy.

Val. You have no more such bags?

Short. More such there are, sir, but few I fear for you. I've cast your water; you've wit, you need no money. [Exit.

Lance. Be not amaz'd, sir;

'Tis good gold, good old gold; this is restorative, And in good time it comes to do you good. Keep it and use it; let honest fingers feel it.[TO VALENTINE.] Yours be too quick, sir. Fran. He named me, and he gave it me; but from whom?

Lance. Let 'em send more, and then examine it. This can be but a preface.

Fran. Being a stranger,

Of whom can I deserve this?
Lance. Sir, of any man

That has but eyes, and manly understanding,
To find men's wants. Good men are bound to do so.
Val. Now you see, Frank, there are more ways
than certainties;

Now you believe. What plough brought you this harvest,

What sale of timber, coals, or what annuities?
These feed no hinds, nor wait the expectation
Of quarter-days; you see it show'rs in to you.
You are an ass! Lie plodding, and lie fooling,
About this blazing star, and that bo-peep,
Whining and fasting, to find the natural reason
Why a dog turns twice about before he lie down!
What use of these, or what joy in annuities,
Where every man's thy study and thy tenant ?
I am asham'd on thee!

Lance. Yes, 1 have seen

This fellow. There's a wealthy widow hard byVal. Yes, marry is there.

Lance. I think he's her servant;

I am cozen'd if--After her! I am sure on't.

Fran. I am glad on't.

Lance. She's a good woman.

Fran. I am gladder.

Lance. And young enough, believe.

Fran. I am gladder of all, sir.

Val. Frank, you shall lie with me soon.

Fran. I thank my money.

Lance. His money shall lie with me; three in Will be too much this weather.

Val. Meet me at the Mermaid, And thou shalt see what thingsLance. Trust to yourself, sir.

[a bed, sir,

[Exeunt FRAN, and LANCE.

Enter FOUNTAIN, HAREBRAIN, and BELLAMORE,
Fount. Oh, Valentine!

Val. How now? Why do you look so?
Bel. The widow's going, man.
Val. Why, let her go, man.

Hare. She's going out o' th' town.
Val. The town's the happier;

I would they were all gone.
Fount. We cannot come

To speak with her.

Val. Not to speak to her?
Bel. She will

Be gone within this hour: either now, Val--
Fount. Hare. Now, now, now, good Val.

Val. I'd rather March i' the mouth o' th' cannon. But adieu! If she be above ground-Go, away to your prayers; Away, I say, away!-she shall be spoken withal! [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A Hall in Lady HEARTWELL'S

House.

Enter SHORTHOSE, with one boot on, ROGER and

HUMPHREY.

Rog. She will go, Shorthose.

Short. Who can help it, Roger?

If I be brought, as I know it will be aim'd at,
To carry any dirty dairy cream-pot,

Or any gentle lady of the laundry,

Chamb'ring, or wantonness, behind my gelding,

With all her streamers, knapsacks, glasses, gewAs if I were a running frippery,

[gaws,

I'll not be troubled with their distillations,

At every half-mile's end! I understand myself,
And am resolv'd--

Hum. To-morrow night at Oliver's!

Who shall be there, boys? who shall meet the wenches?

Rog. The well-brew'd stand of ale, we should

have met at!

SCENE I.-A Room in the same.

Enter ISABELLA and LUCE.

Luce. By my troth, mistress, I did it for the

best.

Isab. It may be so; but, Luce, you have a tongue,

A dish of meat in your mouth, which if it were Would do a great deal better. [minc'd, Luce,

Luce. I protest, mistress―― Isab. 'Twill be your own one time or other.Walter. [Within.] Anon, forsooth. [Walter ! Isab. Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak.-You are so full of providence-and, Walter, Tuck up my little box behind the coach; And bid my maid make ready-my sweet service To your good lady mistress-and my dog, Good, let the coachman carry him.

Luce. But hear me !

Isab. I am in love, sweet Luce, and you're so skilful,

That I must needs undo myself and, hear me, Let Oliver pack up my glass discreetly.

And see my curls well carried.—Oh, sweet Luce ! You have a tongue, and open tongues have openYou know what, Luce.

Luce. Pray you, be satisfied.

Isab. Yes, and contented too, before I leave

you!

There is a Roger, which some call a butler,—
I speak of certainties, I do not fish, Luce:
Nay, do not stare; I have a tongue can talk too—
And a green chamber, Luce, a back-door opens
To a long gallery: there was a night, Luce-
Do you perceive, do you perceive me yet?
Oh, do you blush, Luce?-a Friday night-
I saw your saint, Luce: "For t'other box of mar-
malade,

All's thine, sweet Roger!"-this I heard, and kept too.

Luce. E'en as you are a woman, mistress-
Isab. This I allow

As good and physicial sometimes, these meetings,
And for the cheering of the heart; but, Luce,

To have your own turn served, and to your friend To be a dogbolt!

Luce. I confess it, mistress.

Isab. As you have made my sister jealous of me, And foolishly and childishly pursued it—

I have found out your haunt, and traced your purposes,

For which mine honour suffers-your best ways
Must be applied to bring her back again,
And seriously and suddenly, that so I
May have a means to clear myself, and she
A fair opinion of me: Else, you peevish
Luce. My power and prayers, mistress-
Isab. What's the matter?

Enter SHORTHOSE and Lady HEARTWELL. Short. I have been with the gentleman; he has it:

Much good may do him with it.

L. Hea. Come, are you ready?

[Aside to ISAB.

Where nobler uses are at home. I tell you,
I am asham'd to find this in your years,
Far more in your discretion. None to chuse
But things for pity? none to seal your thoughts on,
But one of no abiding, of no name?
Nothing to bring you but this, cold and hunger,
(A jolly jointure, sister; you are happy!)
No money, no, not ten shillings?

Isab. You search nearly.

L. Hea. I know it, as I know your folly; one that knows not

Where he shall eat his next meal, take his rest,
Unless it be i' th' stocks. What kindred has he,
But a more wanting brother? or what virtues?
Isab. You have had rare intelligence, I see,
L. Hea. Or, say the man had virtue.
Is virtue, in this age, a full inheritance?
What jointure can he make you? Plutarch's

Morals?

[sister.

Or so much penny-rent in the small poets?
This is not well; 'tis weak, and I grieve to know it.
Isab. And this you quit the town for?
L. Hea. Is't not time?

Isab. You are better read in my affairs than I
That's all I have to answer. I'll go with you, [am;
And willingly; and what you think most dangerous,
I'll sit and laugh at. For, sister, 'tis not folly,
But good discretion, governs our main fortunes.
L. Hea. I'm glad to hear you say so.
Isab. I am for you.

[Exeunt.

Enter SHORTHOSE and HUMPHRY, with riding-rods. Hum. The devil cannot stay her, she will on't. Eat an egg now; and then we must away.

Short. I am gall'd already, yet I will pray :May London ways henceforth be full of holes, And coaches crack their wheels; may zealous smiths

So housel all our hacknies, that they may feel
Compunction in their feet, and tire at Highgate;
May't rain above all almanacks, till

The carriers sail, and the king's fishmonger
Ride like Arion upon a trout to London!

Hum. At St. Alban's, let all the inns be drunk,
Not an host sober, to bid her worship welcome!
Short. Not a fiddle, but all preach'd down with
No meat, but legs of beef!
[puritans ;

Hum. No beds, but wool-packs!

Short. And those so cramm'd

With warrens of starv'd fleas, that bite like ban

I griev'd to hear a woman of your value,
And your abundant parts, stung by the people;
But now I see 'tis true: You look upon me
As if I were a rude and saucy fellow,
That borrow'd all my breeding from a dunghill;
Or such a one as should now fall and worship you,
In hope of pardon : You are cozen'd, lady :
I came to prove opinion a loud liar,
To see a woman only great in goodness,
And mistress of a greater fame than fortune:
But-