SCENE I.—Foy. The Windmill Tavern.
ENTER FAWCETT AND ROUGHMAN.
FAWCETT.
In your time have you seen a sweeter creature?
ROUGHMAN.
Some week, or thereabouts.
FAWCETT.
And in that time she hath almost undone all the other taverns: the gallants make no rendezvous now but at the Windmill.
ROUGHMAN.
Spite of them, I’ll have her. It shall cost me the setting on, but I’ll have her.
FAWCETT.
Why, do you think she is so easily won?
ROUGHMAN.
Easily or not, I’ll bid as fair and far as any man within twenty miles of my head, but I will put her to the squeak.
FAWCETT.
They say there are knights’ sons already come as suitors to her.
ROUGHMAN.
’Tis like enough, some younger brothers, and so I intend to make them.
FAWCETT.
If these doings hold, she will grow rich in short time.
ROUGHMAN.
There shall be doings that shall make this Windmill my grand seat, my mansion, my palace, and my Constantinople.
ENTER BESS BRIDGES AND CLEM.
FAWCETT.
Here she comes. Observe how modestly she bears herself.
ROUGHMAN.
I must know of what burden this vessel is. I shall not bear with her till she bear with me; and till then I cannot report her for a woman of good carriage.
[ROUGHMAN AND FAWCETT MOVE ASIDE.
BESS.
Your old master, that dwelt here before my coming, hath turned over your years[16] to me.
CLEM.
Right, forsooth: before he was a vintner, he was a shoemaker, and left two or three turnovers more besides myself.
BESS.
How long hast thou to serve?
CLEM.
But eleven years, next grass, and then I am in hope of my freedom; for by that time I shall be at full age.
BESS.
How old art thou now?
CLEM.
Forsooth, newly come into my teens. I have scraped trenchers this two years, and the next vintage I hope to be bar-boy.
BESS.
What’s thy name?
CLEM.
My name is Clem: my father was a baker; and, by the report of his neighbours, as honest a man as ever lived by bread.
BESS.
And where dwelt he?
CLEM.
Below here, in the next crooked street, at the sign of the Leg. He was nothing so tall as I; but a little wee man, and somewhat huck-backed.
BESS.
He was once constable?
CLEM.
He was, indeed; and in that one year of his reign, I have heard them say, he bolted and sifted out more business than others in that office in many years before him.
BESS.
How long is’t since he died?
CLEM.
Marry, the last dear year; for when corn grew to be at a high rate,[17] my father never doughed after.
BESS.
I think I have heard of him.
CLEM.
Then I am sure you have heard he was an honest neighbour, and one that never loved to be meal-mouthed.
BESS.
Well, sirrah, prove an honest servant, and you shall find me your good mistress. What company is in the Mermaid?[18]
CLEM.
There be four sea-captains. I believe they be little better than pirates, they be so flush of their ruddocks.[19]
BESS.
No matter; we will take no note of them:
Here they vent many brave commodities,
By which some gain accrues. They’re my good customers,
And still return me profit.
CLEM.
Wot you what, mistress, how the two sailors would have served me, that called for the pound and a half of cheese?
BESS.
How was it, Clem?
CLEM.
When I brought them a reckoning, they would have had me to have scored it up. They took me for a simple gull, indeed, that would have had me to have taken chalk for cheese.
BESS.
Well, go wait upon the captains: see them want no wine.
CLEM.
Nor reckoning neither, take my word, mistress.
ROUGHMAN.
She’s now at leisure; I’ll to her.— [Coming forward.
Lady, what gentlemen are those above?
BESS.
Sir, they are such as please to be my guests,
And they are kindly welcome.
ROUGHMAN.
Give me their names.
BESS.
You may go search the church-book where they were christened:
There you perhaps may learn them.
ROUGHMAN.
Minion, how!
FAWCETT.
Fie, fie! you are too rude with this fair creature,
That no way seeks to offend you.
BESS.
Pray, hands off!
ROUGHMAN.
I tell thee, maid, wife, or whate’er thou beest,
No man shall enter here but by my leave.
Come, let’s be more familiar.
BESS.
’Las, good man!
ROUGHMAN.
Why, know’st thou whom thou slightest? I am Roughman,
The only approved gallant of these parts,
A man of whom the roarers stand in awe,
And must not be put off.
BESS.
I never yet heard man so praise himself,
But proved in the end a coward.
ROUGHMAN.
Coward, Bess!
You will offend me, raise in me that fury
Your beauty cannot calm. Go to; no more:
Your language is too harsh and peremptory;
Pray let me hear no more on’t. I tell thee
That quiet day scarce passed me these seven years
I have not cracked a weapon in some fray,
And will you move my spleen?
FAWCETT.
What, threat a woman?
BESS.
Sir, if you thus persist to wrong my house,
Disturb my guests, and nightly domineer,
To put my friends from patience, I’ll complain
And right myself before the magistrate.
Can we not live in compass of the law,
But must be swaggered out on’t?
ROUGHMAN.
Go to, wench:
I wish thee well; think on’t, there’s good for thee
Stored in my breast; and when I come in place,
I must have no man to offend mine eye:
My love can brook no rivals. For this time
I am content your captains shall have peace,
But must not be used to it.
BESS.
Sir, if you come
Like other free and civil gentlemen,
You’re welcome; otherwise my doors are barred you.
ROUGHMAN.
That’s my good girl.
I have fortunes laid up for thee: what I have,
Command it as thine own. Go to; be wise.
BESS.
Well, I shall study for’t.
ROUGHMAN.
Consider on’t. Farewell.
[EXEUNT ROUGHMAN AND
FAWCETT.
BESS.
My mind suggests me that this prating fellow
Is some notorious coward. If he persist,
I have a trick to try what metal’s in him. [Re-enter
CLEM.
What news with you?
CLEM.
I am now going to carry the captains a reckoning.
BESS.
And what’s the sum?
CLEM.
Let me see—eight shillings and sixpence.
BESS.
How can you make that good? Write them a
bill.
CLEM.
I’ll watch them for that; ’tis no time of night to use our bills. The gentlemen are no dwarfs; and with one word of my mouth I can tell them what is to be-tall.[20]
BESS.
How comes it to so much?
CLEM.
Imprimis, six quarts of wine, at sevenpence the quart, seven sixpences.
BESS.
Why dost thou reckon it so?
CLEM.
Because, as they came in by hab nab, so I will bring them in a reckoning at six and at sevens.
BESS.
Well, wine, three shillings and sixpence.
CLEM.
And what wants that of ten groats?
BESS.
’Tis twopence over.
CLEM.
Then put sixpence more to it, and make it four shillings wine, though you bate it them in their meat.
BESS.
Why so, I prithee?
CLEM.
Because of the old proverb, “What they want in meat, let them take out in drink.” Then, for twelve pennyworth of anchoves, eighteenpence.
BESS.
How can that be?
CLEM.
Marry, very well, mistress: twelvepence anchoves, and sixpence oil and vinegar. Nay, they shall have a saucy reckoning.
BESS.
And what for the other half-crown?
CLEM.
Bread, beer, salt, napkins, trenchers, one thing with another; so the summa totalis is eight shillings and sixpence.
BESS.
Well, take the reckoning from the bar.
CLEM.
What needs that, forsooth? The gentlemen seem to be high-flown already. Send them in but another pottle of sack, and they will cast up the reckoning of themselves. Yes, I’ll about it. [Exit.
BESS.
Were I not with so many suitors pestered,
And might I enjoy my Spencer, what a sweet,
Contented life were this! for money flows,
And my gain’s great. But to my Roughman next.
I have a trick to try what spirit’s in him.
It shall be my next business; in this passion
For my dear Spencer, I propose me this:
’Mongst many sorrows, some mirth’s not amiss. [Exit.
SCENE II.—Fayal.[21]
ENTER SPENCER AND CAPTAIN
GOODLACK.
GOODLACK.
What were you thinking, sir?
SPENCER.
Troth, of the world: what any man should see in’t to be in love with it.
GOODLACK.
The reason of your meditation?
SPENCER.
To imagine that in the same instant that one forfeits all his estate, another enters upon a rich possession. As one goes to the church to be married, another is hurried to the gallows to be hanged; the last having no feeling of the first man’s joy, nor the first of the last man’s misery. At the same time that one lies tortured upon the rack, another lies tumbling with his mistress over head and ears in down and feathers. This when I truly consider, I cannot but wonder why any fortune should make a man ecstasied.
GOODLACK.
You give yourself too much to melancholy.
SPENCER.
These are my maxims; and were they as faithfully practised by others as truly apprehended by me, we should have less oppression, and more charity.
Enter the two Captains.
1ST CAPTAIN.
Make good thy words.
2ND CAPTAIN.
I say, thou hast injured me.
1ST CAPTAIN.
Tell me wherein.
2ND CAPTAIN.
When we assaulted Fayal,
And I had, by the general’s command,
The onset, and with danger of my person
Enforced the Spaniard to a swift retreat,
And beat them from their fort, thou, when thou saw’st
All fear and danger past, madest up with me,
To share that honour which was sole mine own,
And never ventured shot for’t, or e’er came
Where bullet grazed.
SPENCER.
See, captain, a fray towards;
Let’s, if we can, atone[22] this difference.
GOODLACK.
Content.
1ST CAPTAIN.
I’ll prove it with my sword,
That though thou hadst the foremost place in field,
And I the second, yet my company
Was equal in the entry of the fort.
My sword was that day drawn as soon as thine,
And that poor honour which I won that day
Was but my merit.
2ND CAPTAIN.
Wrong me palpably,
And justify the same!
SPENCER.
You shall not fight.
1ST CAPTAIN.
Why, sir, who made you first a justicer,
And taught you that word “shall?” You are no general;
Or, if you be, pray show us your commission.
SPENCER.
Sir, I have no commission but my counsel,
And that I’ll show you freely.
2ND CAPTAIN.
’Tis some chaplain.
1ST CAPTAIN.
I do not like his text.
GOODLACK.
Let’s beat their weapons down.
1ST CAPTAIN.
I’ll aim at him that offers to divide us!
[They fight.
2ND CAPTAIN.
Pox of these part-frays! see, I am wounded,
By beating down my weapon.
GOODLACK.
How fares my friend?
SPENCER.
You sought for blood, and, gentlemen, you have it.
Let mine appease you: I am hurt to death.
1ST CAPTAIN.
My rage converts to pity, that this gentleman
Shall suffer for his goodness.
GOODLACK.
Noble friend,
I will revenge thy death.
SPENCER.
He is no friend
That murmurs such a thought.—Oh, gentlemen,
I killed a man in Plymouth, and by you
Am slain in Fayal. Carrol fell by me,
And I fall by a Spencer. Heaven is just,
And will not suffer murder unrevenged.
Heaven pardon me, as I forgive you both!
Shift for yourselves: away!
2ND CAPTAIN.
We saw him die,
But grieve you should so perish.
SPENCER.
Note Heaven’s justice,
And henceforth make that use on’t—I shall faint.
1ST CAPTAIN.
Short farewells now must serve. If thou survivest,
Live to thine honour; but if thou expirest
Heaven take thy soul to mercy!
[Exeunt Captains.
SPENCER.
I bleed much;
I must go seek a surgeon.
GOODLACK.
Sir, how cheer you?
SPENCER.
Like one that’s bound upon a new adventure
To the other world; yet thus much, worthy friend,
Let me entreat you: since I understand
The fleet is bound for England, take your occasion
To ship yourself, and when you come to Foy,
Kindly commend me to my dearest Bess:
Thou shalt receive a will, in which I have
Possessed her of five hundred pounds a year.
GOODLACK.
A noble legacy.
SPENCER.
The rest I have bestowed amongst my friends,
Only reserving a bare hundred pounds,
To see me honestly and well interred.
GOODLACK.
I shall perform your trust as carefully
As to my father, breathed he.
SPENCER.
Mark me, captain;
Her legacy I give with this proviso:
If, at thy arrival where my Bess remains,
Thou find’st her well reported, free from scandal,
My will stands firm; but if thou hear’st her branded
For loose behaviour, or immodest life,
What she should have, I here bestow on thee;
It is thine own: but, as thou lovest thy soul,
Deal faithfully betwixt my Bess and me.
GOODLACK.
Else let me die a prodigy.
SPENCER.
This ring was hers; that, be she loose or chaste,
Being her own, restore her: she will know it;
And doubtless she deserves it. O my memory!
What had I quite forgot? She hath my picture.
GOODLACK.
And what of that?
SPENCER.
If she be ranked among the loose and lewd,
Take it away: I hold it much indecent
A whore should ha’t in keeping; but if constant,
Let her enjoy it. This my will perform,
As thou art just and honest.
GOODLACK.
Sense else forsake me.
SPENCER.
Now lead me to my chamber. All’s made even—
My peace with earth, and my atone with Heaven.
[Exeunt.
Enter BESS BRIDGES, like a Page, with a sword; and
CLEM.
BESS.
But that I know my mother to be chaste,
I’d swear some soldier got me.
CLEM.
It may be many a soldier’s buff jerkin came out of your father’s tan-vat.
BESS.
Methinks I have a manly spirit in me,
In this man’s habit.
CLEM.
Now, am not I of many men’s minds; for, if you should do me wrong, I should not kill you, though I took you pissing against a wall.
BESS.
Methinks I could be valiant on the sudden,
And meet a man i’ the field.
I could do all that I have heard discoursed
Of Mary Ambree,[23] or Westminster’s Long Meg.
CLEM.
What Mary Ambree was I cannot tell; but unless you were taller, you will come short of Long Meg.
BESS.
Of all thy fellows, thee I only trust,
And charge thee to be secret.
CLEM.
I am bound in my indentures to keep my master’s secrets; and should I find a man in bed with you, I would not tell.
BESS.
Begone, sir; but no words, as you esteem my favour.
CLEM.
But, mistress, I could wish you to look to your long seams; fights are dangerous. But am not I in a sweet taking, think you?
BESS.
I prithee, why?
CLEM.
Why, if you should swagger and kill anybody, I, being a vintner, should be called to the bar. [Exit.
BESS.
Let none condemn me of immodesty,
Because I try the courage of a man,
Who on my soul’s a coward, beats my servants,
Cuffs them, and, as they pass by him, kicks my maids;
Nay, domineers over me, making himself
Lord o’er my house and household. Yesternight
I heard him make appointment on some business
To pass alone this way. I’ll venture fair,
But I will try what’s in him.
ENTER ROUGHMAN AND
FAWCETT.
FAWCETT.
Sir, I can now no farther; weighty business
Calls me away.
ROUGHMAN.
Why, at your pleasure, then.
Yet I could wish that ere I passed this field
That I could meet some Hector, so your eyes
Might witness what myself have oft repeated,
Namely, that I am valiant.
FAWCETT.
Sir, no doubt;
But now I am in haste. Farewell. [Exit.
ROUGHMAN.
How many times brave words bear out a man!
For if he can but make a noise, he’s feared.
To talk of frays, although he ne’er had heart
To face a man in field, that’s a brave fellow.
I have been valiant, I must needs confess,
In street and tavern, where there have been men
Ready to part the fray; but for the fields,
They are too cold to fight in.
BESS.
You are a villain, a coward; and you lie. [Strikes him.
ROUGHMAN.
You wrong me, I protest. Sweet, courteous gentleman,
I never did you wrong.
BESS.
Wilt tell me that?
Draw forth thy coward sword, and suddenly,
Or, as I am a man, I’ll run thee through,
And leave thee dead i’ the field.
ROUGHMAN.
Hold! as you are a gentleman.
I have ta’en an oath I will not fight to-day.
BESS.
Th’ast took a blow already, and the lie:
Will not both these enrage thee?
ROUGHMAN.
No; would you give the bastinado too,
I will not break mine oath.
BESS.
Oh! your name’s Roughman:
No day doth pass you, but you hurt or kill!
Is this out of your calendar?
ROUGHMAN.
I! you are deceived.
I ne’er drew sword in anger, I protest,
Unless it were upon some poor, weak fellow,
That ne’er wore steel about him.
BESS.
Throw your sword.
ROUGHMAN.
Here, sweet young sir; [Gives up his sword.] but, as you are a gentleman,
Do not impair mine honour.
BESS.
Tie that shoe.
ROUGHMAN.
I shall, sir.
BESS.
Untruss that point.[24]
ROUGHMAN.
Any thing, this day, to save mine oath.
BESS.
Enough;—yet not enough. Lie down,
Till I stride o’er thee.
ROUGHMAN.
Sweet sir, any thing.
BESS.
Rise, thou hast leave. Now, Roughman, thou art blest:
This day thy life is saved; look to the rest.
Take back thy sword.
ROUGHMAN.
Oh! you are generous: honour me so much
As let me know to whom I owe my life.
BESS.
I am Bess Bridges’ brother.
ROUGHMAN.
Still methought
That you were something like her.
BESS.
And I have heard
You domineer and revel in her house,
Control her servants, and abuse her guests,
Which if I ever shall hereafter hear,
Thou art but a dead man.
ROUGHMAN.
She never told me of a brother living;
But you have power to sway me.
BESS.
But for I see you are a gentleman,
I am content this once to let you pass;
But if I find you fall into relapse,
The second’s far more dangerous.
ROUGHMAN.
I shall fear it.
Sir, will you take the wine?
BESS.
I am for London,
And for these two terms cannot make return;
But if you see my sister, you may say
I was in health.
ROUGHMAN.
Too well: the devil take you! [Aside.
BESS.
Pray, use her well, and at my coming back
I’ll ask for your acquaintance. Now, farewell. [Exit.
ROUGHMAN.
None saw’t: he’s gone for London; I am unhurt;
Then who shall publish this disgrace abroad?
One man’s no slander, should he speak his worst.
My tongue’s as loud as his; but in this country
Both of more fame and credit. Should we contest,
I can outface the proudest. This is, then,
My comfort. Roughman, thou art still the same,
For a disgrace not seen is held no shame. [Exit.
Enter two Sailors.
1ST SAILOR.
Aboard, aboard! the wind stands fair for England;
The ships have all weighed anchor.
2ND SAILOR.
A stiff gale
Blows from the shore.
Enter Captain
GOODLACK.
GOODLACK.
The sailors call aboard, and I am forced
To leave my friend now at the point of death,
And cannot close his eyes. Here is the will.
Now may I find yon tanner’s daughter turned
Unchaste or wanton, I shall gain by it
Five hundred pounds a year. Here is good evidence.
1ST SAILOR.
Sir, will you take the long-boat and aboard?
Enter a third Sailor.
GOODLACK.
With all my heart.
3RD SAILOR.
What, are you ready, mates?
1ST SAILOR.
We stayed for you. Thou canst not tell who’s dead?
The great bell rung out now.
3RD SAILOR.
They say ’twas for one Spencer, who this night
Died of a mortal wound.
GOODLACK.
My worthy friend:
Unhappy man, that cannot stay behind,
To do him his last rites!—Was his name Spencer?
3RD SAILOR.
Yes, sir; a gentleman of good account,
And well known in the navy.
GOODLACK.
This is the end of all mortality.
It will be news unpleasing to his
Bess.
I cannot fare amiss, but long to see
Whether these lands belong to her or me.
Enter SPENCER and Surgeon.
SURGEON.
Nay, fear not, sir: now you have scaped this dressing,
My life for yours.
SPENCER.
I thank thee, honest friend.
SURGEON.
Sir, I can tell you news.
SPENCER.
What is’t, I prithee?
SURGEON.
There is a gentleman, one of your name,
That died within this hour.
SPENCER.
My name! What was he? Of what sickness died he?
SURGEON.
No sickness, but a slight hurt in the body,
Which showed at first no danger, but, being searched,
He died at the third dressing.
SPENCER.
At my third search I am in hope of life.
The Heavens are merciful.
SURGEON.
Sir, doubt not your recovery.
SPENCER.
That hundred pound I had prepared to expend
Upon mine own expected funeral,
I for name-sake will now bestow on his.
SURGEON.
A noble resolution.
SPENCER.
What ships are bound for England? I would gladly
Venture to sea, though weak.
SURGEON.
All bound that way are under sail already.
SPENCER.
Here’s no security;
For when the beaten Spaniards shall return,
They’ll spoil whom they can find.
SURGEON.
We have a ship,
Of which I am surgeon, that belongs unto
A London merchant, now bound for Mamorah,
A town in Barbary; please you to use that,
You shall command free passage: ten months hence,
We hope to visit England.
SPENCER.
Friend, I thank thee.
SURGEON.
I’ll bring you to the master, who I know
Will entertain you gladly.
SPENCER.
When I have seen the funeral rites performed
To the dead body of my countryman
And kinsman, I will take your courteous offer.
England, no doubt, will hear news of my death;
How Bess will take it is to me unknown.
On her behaviour I will build my fate,
There raise my love, or thence erect my hate.
[Exeunt.