SCENE I.—Foy. A Street outside the Windmill Tavern.
ENTER ROUGHMAN AND
FAWCETT.
ROUGHMAN.
Oh! you’re well met. Just as I prophesied,
So it fell out.
FAWCETT.
As how, I pray?
ROUGHMAN.
Had you but stayed the crossing of one field,
You had beheld a Hector, the boldest Trojan
That ever Roughman met with.
FAWCETT.
Pray, what was he?
ROUGHMAN.
You talk of Little Davy, Cutting Dick,[25]
And divers such; but tush! this hath no fellow.
FAWCETT.
Of what stature and years was he?
ROUGHMAN.
Indeed, I must confess he was no giant,
Nor above fifty; but he did bestir him—
Was here, and there, and everywhere, at once,
That I was ne’er so put to’t since the midwife
First wrapped my head in linen. Let’s to Bess:
I’ll tell her the whole project.
FAWCETT.
Here’s the house:
We’ll enter, if you please.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in the Tavern.
ENTER ROUGHMAN AND
FAWCETT.
ROUGHMAN.
Where be these drawers—rascals, I should say—
That will give no attendance?
Enter
CLEM.
CLEM.
Anon, anon, sir: please you see a room? What, you here, again! Now we shall have such roaring!
ROUGHMAN.
You, sirrah, call your mistress.
CLEM.
Yes, sir, I know it is my duty to call her mistress.
ROUGHMAN.
See an the slave will stir!
CLEM.
Yes, I do stir.
ROUGHMAN.
Shall we have humours, sauce-box? You have ears;
I’ll teach you prick-song.[26]
CLEM.
But you have now a wrong sow by the ear. I will call her.
ROUGHMAN.
Do, sir; you had best.
CLEM.
If you were twenty Roughmans, if you lug me by the ears again, I’ll draw.
ROUGHMAN.
Ha! what will you draw?
CLEM.
The best wine in the house for your worship; and I would call her, but I can assure you that she is either not stirring, or else not in case.
ROUGHMAN.
How not in case?
CLEM.
I think she hath not her smock on; for I think I saw it lie at her bed’s head.
ROUGHMAN.
What! drawers grow capricious?[27]
CLEM.
Help! help!
ENTER BESS BRIDGES.
BESS.
What uproar’s this? Shall we be never rid
From these disturbances?
ROUGHMAN.
Why, how now, Bess?
Is this your housewifery? When you are mine,
I’ll have you rise as early as the lark.
Look to the bar yourself; these lazy rascals
Will bring your state behindhand.
CLEM.
You lie, sir.
ROUGHMAN.
How! lie!
CLEM.
Yes, sir, at the Raven in the High Street. I was at your lodging this morning for a pottle-pot.
ROUGHMAN.
You will about your business: must you here
Stand gaping and idle? [Strikes him.
BESS.
You wrong me, sir,
And tyrannize too much over my servants.
I will have no man touch them but myself.
CLEM.
If I do not put ratsbane into his wine, instead of sugar, say I am no true baker. [Exit.
ROUGHMAN.
What! rise at noon?
A man may fight a tall fray in a morning,
And one of your best friends, too, be hacked and mangled,
And almost cut to pieces, and you fast,
Close in your bed, ne’er dream on’t.
BESS.
Fought you this day?
ROUGHMAN.
And ne’er was better put to’t in my days.
BESS.
I pray, how was’t?
ROUGHMAN.
Thus. As I passed yon fields——
Enter Kitchenmaid.
MAID.
I pray, forsooth, what shall I reckon for the jowl of ling[28] in the Portcullis?
ROUGHMAN.
A pox upon your jowls, you kitchen-stuff!
Go, scour your skillets,[29] pots, and dripping-pans,
And interrupt not us. [Kicks at her.
MAID.
The devil take your ox-heels, you foul cod’s-head! must you be kicking?
ROUGHMAN.
Minion! dare you scold?
MAID.
Yes, sir; and lay my ladle over your coxcomb. [Exit.
BESS.
I do not think that thou darest strike a man,
That swagger’st thus o’er women.
ROUGHMAN.
How now, Bess?
BESS.
Shall we be never quiet?
FAWCETT.
You are too rude.
ROUGHMAN.
Now I profess all patience.
BESS.
Then proceed.
ROUGHMAN.
Rising up early, minion, whilst you slept,
To cross yon field, I had but newly parted
With this my friend, but that I soon espied
A gallant fellow, and most strongly armed:
In the mid-field we met, and, both being resolute,
We justled for the wall.
BESS.
Why, did there stand a wall in the mid-field?
ROUGHMAN.
I meant, strove for the way.
Two such brave spirits meeting, straight both drew.
Re-enter
CLEM.
CLEM.
The maid, forsooth, sent me to know whether you would have the shoulder of mutton roasted or sod.[30]
ROUGHMAN.
A mischief on your shoulders! [Strikes him.
CLEM.
That’s the way to make me never prove good porter.
BESS.
You still heap wrongs on wrongs.
ROUGHMAN.
I was in fury,
To think upon the violence of that fight,
And could not stay my rage.
FAWCETT.
Once more proceed.
ROUGHMAN.
Oh! had you seen two tilting meteors justle
In the mid-region, with like fear and fury
We too encountered. Not Briareus
Could with his hundred hands have struck more thick:
Blows came about my head,—I took them still;
Thrusts by my sides, ’twixt body and my arms,—
Yet still I put them by.
BESS.
When they were past, he put them by.—Go on.
But in this fury, what became of him?
ROUGHMAN.
I think I paid him home: he’s soundly mauled.
I bosomed him at every second thrust.
BESS.
Scaped he with life?
ROUGHMAN.
Ay, that’s my fear. If he recover this,
I’ll never trust my sword more.
BESS.
Why fly you not, if he be in such danger?
ROUGHMAN.
Because a witch once told me
I ne’er should die for murder.
BESS.
I believe thee.
But tell me, pray, was not this gallant fellow
A pretty, fair, young youth, about my years?
ROUGHMAN.
Even thereabout.
CLEM.
He was not fifty, then.
BESS.
Much of my stature?
ROUGHMAN.
Much about your pitch.[31]
CLEM.
He was no giant, then.
BESS.
And wore a suit like this?
ROUGHMAN.
I half suspect.
BESS.
That gallant fellow,
So wounded and so mangled, was myself.
You base, white-livered slave! it was this shoe
That thou stooped to untie; untrussed those points;
And, like a beastly coward, lay along
Till I strid over thee. Speak; was’t not so?
ROUGHMAN.
It cannot be denied.
BESS.
Hare-hearted fellow! milksop! Dost not blush?
Give me that rapier: I will make thee swear
Thou shalt redeem this scorn thou hast incurred,
Or in this woman shape I’ll cudgel thee,
And beat thee through the streets. As I am Bess, I’ll do’t.
ROUGHMAN.
Hold, hold! I swear.
BESS.
Dare not to enter at my door till then.
ROUGHMAN.
Shame confounds me quite.
BESS.
That shame redeem, perhaps we’ll do thee grace;
I love the valiant, but despise the base. [Exit.
CLEM.
Will you be kicked, sir?
ROUGHMAN.
She hath wakened me,
And kindled that dead fire of courage in me
Which all this while hath slept. To spare my flesh
And wound my fame, what is’t? I will not rest,
Till by some valiant deed I have made good
All my disgraces past. I’ll cross the street,
And strike the next brave fellow that I meet.
FAWCETT.
I am bound to see the end on’t.
ROUGHMAN.
Are you, sir? [Beats off
FAWCETT.
[Exeunt.
Enter the Mayor of Foy, an Alderman, and Servant.
MAYOR.
Believe me, sir, she bears herself so well,
No man can justly blame her; and I wonder,
Being a single woman as she is,
And living in a house of such resort,
She is no more distasted.
ALDERMAN.
The best gentlemen
The country yields become her daily guests.
Sure, sir, I think she’s rich.
MAYOR.
Thus much I know: would I could buy her state,
Were’t for a brace of thousands!
[A shot within.
ALDERMAN.
’Twas said a ship is now put into harbour:
Know whence she is.
SERVANT.
I’ll bring news from the quay. [Exit.
MAYOR.
To tell you true, sir, I could wish a match
Betwixt her and mine own and only son;
And stretch my purse, too, upon that condition.
ALDERMAN.
Please you, I’ll motion[32] it.
Re-enter
Servant.
SERVANT.
One of the ships is new come from the Islands;
The greatest man of note’s one Captain
Goodlack.
It is but a small vessel.
Enter Captain GOODLACK and Sailors.
GOODLACK.
I’ll meet you straight at the Windmill.
Not one word of my name.
1ST SAILOR.
We understand you.
MAYOR.
Sir, ’tis told us you came late from the Islands.
GOODLACK.
I did so.
MAYOR.
Pray, sir, the news from thence?
GOODLACK.
The best is, that the general is in health,
And Fayal won from the Spaniards; but the fleet,
By reason of so many dangerous tempests,
Extremely weather-beaten. You, sir, I take it,
Are mayor o’ the town.
MAYOR.
I am the king’s[33] lieutenant.
GOODLACK.
I have some letters of import from one,
A gentleman of very good account,
That died late in the Islands, to a maid
That keeps a tavern here.
MAYOR.
Her name Bess Bridges?
GOODLACK.
The same. I was desired to make inquiry
What fame she bears, and what report she’s of.
Now, you, sir, being here chief magistrate,
Can best resolve me.
MAYOR.
To our understanding
She’s without stain or blemish, well reputed;
And, by her modesty and fair demeanour,
Hath won the love of all.
GOODLACK.
The worse for me. [Aside.
ALDERMAN.
I can assure you, many narrow eyes
Have looked on her and her condition;
But those that with most envy have endeavoured
To entrap her, have returned, won by her virtues.
GOODLACK.
So all that I inquire of make report.
I am glad to hear’t. Sir, I have now some business,
And I of force must leave you.
MAYOR.
I entreat you
To sup with me to-night.
GOODLACK.
Sir, I may trouble you.— [Exeunt Mayor and
Alderman.
Five hundred pound a year out of my way.
Is there no flaw that I can tax her with,
To forfeit this revenue? Is she such a saint,
None can missay her? Why, then, I myself
Will undertake it. If in her demeanour
I can but find one blemish, stain, or spot,
It is five hundred pound a year well got.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—The Windmill Tavern.
Enter CLEM and Sailors on one side: on the other, ROUGHMAN, who draws and beats them off; then re-enter CLEM, and the Sailors, with
BESS.
BESS.
But did he fight it bravely?
CLEM.
I assure you, mistress, most dissolutely:[34] he hath run this sailor three times through the body, and yet never touched his skin.
BESS.
How can that be?
CLEM.
Through the body of his doublet, I meant.
BESS.
How shame, base imputation, and disgrace,
Can make a coward valiant! Sirrah, you
Look to the bar.
CLEM.
I’ll hold up my hand there presently. [Exit.
BESS.
I understand you came now from the Islands?
1ST SAILOR.
We did so.
BESS.
If you can tell me tidings of one gentleman,
I shall requite you largely.
1ST SAILOR.
Of what name?
BESS.
One
Spencer.
1ST SAILOR.
We both saw and knew the man.
BESS.
Only for that, call for what wine you please.
Pray tell me where you left him.
2ND SAILOR.
In Fayal.
BESS.
Was he in health? How did he fare?
2ND SAILOR.
Why, well.
BESS.
For that good news, spend, revel, and carouse;
Your reckoning’s paid beforehand.—I am ecstasied,
And my delight’s unbounded.
1ST SAILOR.
Did you love him?
BESS.
Next to my hopes in Heaven.
1ST SAILOR.
Then change your mirth.
BESS.
Why, as I take it, you told me he was well;
And shall I not rejoice?
1ST SAILOR.
He’s well, in Heaven; for, mistress, he is dead.
BESS.
Ha! dead! Was’t so you said? Th’ hast given me, friend,
But one wound yet: speak but that word again,
And kill me outright.
2ND SAILOR.
He lives not.
BESS.
And shall I?—Wilt thou not break, heart?
Are these my ribs wrought out of brass or steel,
Thou canst not craze[35] their bars?
1ST SAILOR.
Mistress, use patience,
Which conquers all despair.
BESS.
You advise well.
I did but jest with sorrow: you may see
I am now in gentle temper.
2ND SAILOR.
True; we see’t.
BESS.
Pray take the best room in the house, and there
Call for what wine best tastes you: at my leisure,
I’ll visit you myself.
1ST SAILOR.
I’ll use your kindness.
[Exeunt Sailors.
BESS.
That it should be my fate! Poor, poor sweetheart!
I do but think how thou becom’st thy grave,
In which would I lay by thee. What’s my wealth,
To enjoy’t without my Spencer? I will now
Study to die, that I may live with him.
Enter Captain
GOODLACK.
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] The further I inquire, the more I hear
To my discomfort. If my discontinuance
And change at sea disguise me from her knowledge,
I shall have scope enough to prove her fully.
This sadness argues she hath heard some news
Of my friend’s death.
BESS.
[Aside.] It cannot, sure, be true
That he is dead; Death could not be so envious,
To snatch him in his prime. I study to forget
That e’er was such a man.
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] If not impeach her,
My purpose is to seek to marry her.
If she deny me, I’ll conceal the will,
Or, at the least, make her compound for half—
Save you, [To BESS] fair gentlewoman.
BESS.
You are welcome, sir.
GOODLACK.
I hear say there’s a whore here, that draws wine.
I am sharp set, and newly come from sea,
And I would see the trash.
BESS.
Sure, you mistake, sir.
If you desire attendance, and some wine,
I can command you both.—Where be these boys?
GOODLACK.
Are you the mistress?
BESS.
I command the house.
GOODLACK.
Of what birth are you, pray?
BESS.
A tanner’s daughter.
GOODLACK.
Where born?
BESS.
In Somersetshire.
GOODLACK.
A trade-fallen tanner’s daughter go so brave![36]
Oh! you have tricks to compass these gay clothes.
BESS.
None, sir, but what are honest.
GOODLACK.
What’s your name?
BESS.
Bess Bridges most men call me.
GOODLACK.
Y’are a whore.
BESS.
Sir, I will fetch you wine, to wash your mouth;
It is so foul, I fear’t may fester, else:
There may be danger in’t.
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] Not all this move her patience!
BESS.
Good, sir, at this time I am scarce myself,
By reason of a great and weighty loss
That troubles me.—[Notices the ring given to him by SPENCER]—But I should know that ring.
GOODLACK.
How! this, you baggage? It was never made
To grace a strumpet’s finger.
BESS.
Pardon, sir;
I both must and will leave you. [Exit.
GOODLACK.
Did not this well? This will stick in my stomach.
I could repent my wrongs done to this maid;
But I’ll not leave her thus: if she still love him,
I’ll break her heart-strings with some false report
Of his unkindness.
Re-enter
CLEM.
CLEM.
You are welcome, gentleman. What wine will you drink? Claret, metheglin, or muscadine? Cider, or perry, to make you merry? Aragoosa,[37] or peter-see-me[38]? Canary, or charnico[39]? But, by your nose, sir, you should love a cup of malmsey: you shall have a cup of the best in Cornwall.
GOODLACK.
Here’s a brave drawer, will quarrel with his wine.
CLEM.
But if you prefer the Frenchman before the Spaniard, you shall have either here of the deep red grape, or the pallid white. You are a pretty tall gentleman; you should love high country wine: none but clerks and sextons love Graves wine. Or, are you a married man, I’ll furnish you with bastard,[40] white or brown, according to the complexion of your bedfellow.
GOODLACK.
You rogue, how many years of your prenticeship have you spent in studying this set speech?
CLEM.
The first line of my part was “Anon, anon, sir;” and the first question I answered to, was loggerhead, or blockhead—I know not whether.
GOODLACK.
Speak: where’s your mistress?
CLEM.
Gone up to her chamber.
GOODLACK.
Set a pottle of sack in the fire, and carry it into the next room. [Exit.
CLEM.
Score a pottle of sack in the Crown, and see at the bar for some rotten eggs, to burn it: we must have one trick or other, to vent away our bad commodities. [Exit.
SCENE V.—A Bedroom in the Tavern.
Enter BESS, with SPENCER’S Picture.
BESS.
To die, and not vouchsafe some few commends
Before his death, was most unkindly done.
This picture is more courteous: ’t will not shrink
For twenty thousand kisses; no, nor blush:
Then thou shalt be my husband; and I vow
Never to marry other.
Enter Captain
GOODLACK.
GOODLACK.
Where’s this harlot?
BESS.
You are immodest, sir, to press thus rudely
Into my private chamber.
GOODLACK.
Pox of modesty,
When punks[41] must have it mincing in their mouths!—
And have I found thee? thou shalt hence with me. [Seizes the picture.
BESS.
Rob me not of the chiefest wealth I have.
Search all my trunks; take the best jewels there;
Deprive me not that treasure: I’ll redeem it
With plate, and all the little coin I have,
So I may keep that still.
GOODLACK.
Think’st thou that bribes
Can make me leave my friend’s will unperformed?
BESS.
What was that friend?
GOODLACK.
One Spencer, dead i’ the Islands,
Whose very last words, uttered at his death,
Were these: “If ever thou shalt come to Foy,
Take thence my picture, and deface it quite;
For let it not be said, my portraiture
Shall grace a strumpet’s chamber.”
BESS.
’Twas not so:
You lie! you are a villain! ’twas not so.
’Tis more than sin thus to belie the dead.
He knew, if ever I would have transgressed,
’T had been with him: he durst have sworn me chaste,
And died in that belief.
GOODLACK.
Are you so brief?
Nay, I’ll not trouble you. God be wi’ you!
BESS.
Yet leave me still that picture, and I’ll swear
You are a gentleman, and cannot lie.
GOODLACK.
I am inexorable.
BESS.
Are you a Christian?
Have you any name that ever good man gave you?
’Twas no saint you were called after. What’s thy name?
GOODLACK.
My name is Captain Thomas Good——
BESS.
I can see no good in thee: rase that syllable
Out of thy name.
GOODLACK.
Goodlack’s my name.
BESS.
I cry you mercy, sir: I now remember you;
You were my Spencer’s friend; and I am sorry,
Because he loved you, I have been so harsh:
For whose sake I entreat, ere you take’t hence,
I may but take my leave on’t.
GOODLACK.
You’ll return it?
BESS.
As I am chaste, I will.
GOODLACK.
For once I’ll trust you. [Returns the picture.
BESS.
O thou, the perfect semblance of my love,
And all that’s left of him, take one sweet kiss,
As my last farewell! Thou resemblest him
For whose sweet safety I was every morning
Down on my knees, and with the lark’s sweet tunes
I did begin my prayers; and when sad sleep
Had charmed all eyes, when none save the bright stars
Were up and waking, I remembered thee;
But all, all to no purpose.
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] Sure, most sure,
This cannot be dissembled.
BESS.
To thee I have been constant in thine absence;
And, when I looked upon this painted piece,
Remembered thy last rules and principles;
For thee I have given alms, visited prisons,
To gentlemen and passengers lent coin,
That, if they ever had ability,
They might repay’t to Spencer; yet for this,
All this, and more, I cannot have so much
As this poor table.[42]
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] I should question truth,
If I should wrong this creature.
BESS.
I am resolved.—
See, sir, this picture I restore you back;
Which since it was his will you should take hence,
I will not wrong the dead.
GOODLACK.
God be wi’ you!
BESS.
One word more.
Spencer, you say, was so unkind in death.
GOODLACK.
I tell you true.
BESS.
I do entreat you, even for goodness’ sake,
Since you were one that he entirely loved,
If you some few days hence hear me expired,
You will, ’mongst other good men, and poor people
That haply may miss Bess, grace me so much
As follow me to the grave. This if you promise,
You shall not be the least of all my friends
Remembered in my will. Now, fare you well!
GOODLACK.
[Aside.] Had I had heart of flint or adamant,
It would relent at this.—[Aloud.] My Mistress Bess,
I have better tidings for you.
BESS.
You will restore
My picture? Will you?
GOODLACK.
Yes, and more than that:
This ring from my friend’s finger, sent to you
With infinite commends.
BESS.
You change my blood.
GOODLACK.
These writings are the evidence of lands:
Five hundred pound a year’s bequeathed to you,
Of which I here possess you: all is yours.
BESS.
This surplusage of love hath made my loss,
That was but great before, now infinite.—
It may be compassed; there’s in this my purpose
No impossibility. [Aside.
GOODLACK.
What study you?
BESS.
Four thousand pound, besides this legacy,
In jewels, gold, and silver, I can make,
And every man discharged. I am resolved
To be a pattern to all maids hereafter
Of constancy in love.
GOODLACK.
Sweet Mistress Bess, will you command my service?
If to succeed your Spencer in his love,
I would expose me wholly to your wishes.
BESS.
Alas! my love sleeps with him in his grave,
And cannot thence be wakened: yet for his sake
I will impart a secret to your trust,
Which, saving you, no mortal should partake.
GOODLACK.
Both for his love and yours, command my service.
BESS.
There’s a prize
Brought into Falmouth road, a good tight vessel;
The bottom will but cost eight hundred pound;
You shall have money: buy it.
GOODLACK.
To what end?
BESS.
That you shall know hereafter. Furnish her
With all provision needful: spare no cost;
And join with you a ging[43] of lusty lads,
Such as will bravely man her. All the charge
I will commit to you; and when she’s fitted,
Captain, she is thine own.
GOODLACK.
I sound it not.[44]
BESS.
Spare me the rest.—This voyage I intend,
Though some may blame, all lovers will commend.
[Exeunt.