SCENE I.—The Dining Hall in Old GERALDINE’S House.
ENTER OLD GERALDINE, YOUNG GERALDINE, WINCOTT AND HIS WIFE, DELAVIL, AND
PRUDENTILLA.
WINCOTT.
We are bound to you, kind Master Geraldine,
For this great entertainment; troth, your cost
Hath much exceeded common neighbourhood;
You have feasted us like princes.
OLD GERALDINE.
This, and more
Many degrees, can never countervail[25]
The oft and frequent welcomes given my son:
You have took him from me quite, and have, I think,
Adopted him into your family,
He stays with me so seldom.
WINCOTT.
And in this,
By trusting him to me, of whom yourself
May have both use and pleasure, you’re as kind
As moneyed men, that might make benefit
Of what they are possessed, yet to their friends
In need will lend it gratis.
WIFE.
And, like such
As are indebted more than they can pay,
We more and more confess ourselves engaged
To you for your forbearance.
PRUDENTILLA.
Yet you see,
Like debtors, such as would not break their day,[26]
The treasure late received we tender back,
The which, the longer you can spare, you still
The more shall bind us to you.
OLD GERALDINE.
Most kind ladies,
Worthy you are to borrow, that return
The principal with such large use[27] of thanks.
DELAVIL.
[Aside.] What strange felicity these rich men take
To talk of borrowing, lending, and of use!
The usurer’s language right.
WINCOTT.
You’ve, Master Geraldine,
Fair walks and gardens; I have praisèd them
Both to my wife and sister.
OLD GERALDINE.
You would see them?
There is no pleasure that the house can yield
That can be debarred from you.—Prithee, son,
Be thou the usher to those mounts and prospects
May one day call thee master.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Sir, I shall.—
Please you to walk?
PRUDENTILLA.
What, Master Delavil,
Will you not bear us company?
DELAVIL.
’Tis not fit
That we should leave our noble host alone.
Be you my friend’s charge, and this old man mine.
PRUDENTILLA.
Well, be’t then at your pleasure.
[Exeunt all but DELAVIL and
Old Geraldine.
DELAVIL.
You to your prospects, but there’s project here
That’s of another nature.—Worthy sir,
I cannot but approve your happiness
To be the father of so brave a son,
So every way accomplished and made up,
In which my voice is least; for I, alas!
Bear but a mean part in the common choir,
When with much louder accents of his praise
So all the world reports him.
OLD GERALDINE.
Thank my stars,
They have lent me one who, as he always was
And is my present joy, if their aspect
Be no ways to our goods malevolent,
May be my future comfort.
DELAVIL.
Yet must I hold him happy above others,
As one that solely to himself enjoys
What many others aim at, but in vain.
OLD GERALDINE.
How mean you that?
DELAVIL.
So beautiful a mistress.
OLD GERALDINE.
A mistress, said you?
DELAVIL.
Yes, sir, or a friend,
Whether you please to style her.
OLD GERALDINE.
Mistress! friend!
Pray be more open-languaged.
DELAVIL.
And indeed
Who can blame him to absent himself from home,
And make his father’s house but as a grange[28]
For a beauty so attractive? or blame her,
Hugging so weak an old man in her arms,
To make a new choice of an equal youth,
Being in him so perfect? Yet, in troth,
I think they both are honest.
OLD GERALDINE.
You have, sir,
Possessed me with such strange fancies—
DELAVIL.
For my part,
How can I love the person of your son,
And not his reputation? His repair
So often to the house is voiced by all,
And frequent in the mouths of the whole country:
Some, equally addicted, praise his happiness,[29]
But others, more censorious and austere,
Blame and reprove a course so dissolute;
Each one in general pity the good man,
As one unfriendly dealt with, yet in my conscience
I think them truly honest.
OLD GERALDINE.
’Tis suspicious.
DELAVIL.
True, sir, at best; but what when scandalous tongues
Will make the worst, and what’s good in itself,
Sully and stain by fabulous misreport?
For let men live as chary as they can,
Their lives are often questioned; then no wonder
If such as give occasion of suspicion
Be subject to this scandal. What I speak
Is as a noble friend unto your son;
And therefore, as I glory in his fame,
I suffer in his wrong; for, as I live,
I think they both are honest.
OLD GERALDINE.
Howsoever,
I wish them so.
DELAVIL.
Some course might be devised
To stop this clamour ere it grow too rank,
Lest that which yet but inconvenience seems
May turn to greater mischief: this I speak
In zeal to both,—in sovereign care of him
As of a friend, and tender of her honour
As one to whom I hope to be allied
By marriage with her sister.
OLD GERALDINE.
I much thank you,
For you have clearly given me light of that
Till now I never dreamt on.
DELAVIL.
’Tis my love,
And therefore I entreat you make not me
To be the first reporter.
OLD GERALDINE.
You have done
The office of a noble gentleman,
And shall not be so injured.
Re-enter WINCOTT and his Wife, Young GERALDINE, and PRUDENTILLA; the ladies wearing flowers.
WINCOTT.
See, Master Geraldine,
How bold we are; especially these ladies
Play little better than the thieves with you,
For they have robbed your garden.
WIFE.
You might, sir,
Better have termed it sauciness than theft;
You see we blush not what we took in private
To wear in public view.
PRUDENTILLA.
Besides, these cannot
Be missed out of so many; in full fields
The gleanings are allowed.
OLD GERALDINE.
These and the rest
Are, ladies, at your service.
WINCOTT.
Now to horse:
But one thing, ere we part, I must entreat,
In which my wife will be joint suitor with me,
My sister too.
OLD GERALDINE.
In what, I pray?
WINCOTT.
That he
Which brought us hither may but bring us home;
Your much-respected son.
OLD GERALDINE.
How men are born
To woo their own disasters! [Aside.
WIFE.
But to see us
From whence he brought us, sir, that’s all.
OLD GERALDINE.
This second motion[30] makes it palpable.
To note a woman’s cunning! Make her husband
Bawd to her own lascivious appetite,
And to solicit his own shame! [Aside.
PRUDENTILLA.
Nay, sir;
When all of us join in so small a suit,
It were some injury to be denied.
OLD GERALDINE.
And work her sister too! What will not woman
To accomplish her own ends? But this disease
I’ll seek to physic ere it grow too far.— [Aside.
I am most sorry to be urged, sweet friends,
In what at this time I can no ways grant;
Most, that these ladies should be aught denied,
To whom I owe all service; but occasions
Of weighty and important consequence,
Such as concern the best of my estate,
Call him aside. Excuse us both this once;
Presume this business is no sooner over,
But he’s at his own freedom.
WINCOTT.
’Twere no manners
In us to urge it further.—We will leave you,
With promise, sir, that he shall in my will
Not be the last remembered.
OLD GERALDINE.
We are bound to you.—
See them to horse, and instantly return;
We have employments for you.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Sir, I shall.
DELAVIL.
Remember your last promise.
[EXEUNT DELAVIL, WINCOTT AND HIS WIFE, PRUDENTILLA, AND
YOUNG GERALDINE.
OLD GERALDINE.
Not to do’t
I should forget myself.—If I find him false
To such a friend, be sure he forfeits me;
In which to be more punctually resolved,
I have a project how to sift his soul,
How ’tis inclined,—whether to yonder place,
[Re-enter Young GERALDINE.]
The clear bright palace, or black dungeon. See,
They are onward on the way, and he returned.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
I now attend your pleasure.
OLD GERALDINE.
You are grown perfect man, and now you float,
Like to a well-built vessel, ’tween two currents,
Virtue and vice: take this, you steer to harbour;
Take that, to imminent shipwreck.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Pray, your meaning?
OLD GERALDINE.
What fathers’ cares are, you shall never know,
Till you yourself have children. Now my study
Is how to make you such, that you in them
May have a feeling of my love to you.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Pray, sir, expound yourself; for I protest,
Of all the languages I yet have learned,
This is to me most foreign.
OLD GERALDINE.
Then I shall;
I have lived to see you in your prime of youth
And height of fortune, so you will but take
Occasion by the forehead; to be brief,
And cut off all superfluous circumstance,
All the ambition that I aim at now
Is but to see you married.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Married, sir!
OLD GERALDINE.
And, to that purpose, I have found out one
Whose youth and beauty may not only please
A curious eye, but her immediate means
Able to strengthen a state competent,
Or raise a ruined fortune.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Of all which
I have, believe me, neither need nor use;
My competence best pleasing as it is,
And this my singularity[31] of life
Most to my mind contenting.
OLD GERALDINE.
I suspect,
But yet must prove him further.— [Aside.
Say to my care I add a father’s charge,
And couple with my counsel my command—
To that how can you answer?
YOUNG GERALDINE.
That I hope
My duty and obedience, still unblamed,
Did never merit such austerity,
And from a father never yet displeased.
OLD GERALDINE.
Nay, then, to come more near unto the point:
Either you must resolve for present marriage,
Or forfeit all your interest in my love.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Unsay that language, I entreat you, sir,
And do not so oppress me; or, if needs
Your heavy imposition stand in force,
Resolve me by your counsel. With more safety
May I infringe a sacred vow to Heaven,
Or to oppose me to your strict command?—
Since one of these I must.
OLD GERALDINE.
Now, Delavil,
I find thy words too true. [Aside.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
For marry, sir,
I neither may nor can.
OLD GERALDINE.
Yet whore you may,
And that’s no breach of any vow to Heaven;
Pollute the nuptial bed with mechal[32] sin;
Asperse the honour of a noble friend;
Forfeit thy reputation here below,
And the interest that thy soul might claim above
In yon blest city! These you may, and can,
With untouched conscience. Oh that I should live
To see the hopes that I have stored so long
Thus in a moment ruined, and the staff
On which my old decrepit age should lean
Before my face thus broken; on which trusting,
I thus abortively, before my time,
Fall headlong to my grave. [Falls on the ground.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
It yet stands strong,
Both to support you unto future life
And fairer comfort.
OLD GERALDINE.
Never, never, son;
For till thou canst acquit thyself of scandal,
And me of my suspicion, here, even here,
Where I have measured out my length of earth,
I shall expire my last.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Both these I can:
Then rise, sir, I entreat you; and that innocency,
Which poisoned by the breath of calumny
Cast you thus low, shall, these few stains wiped off,
With better thoughts erect you.
OLD GERALDINE.
Well, say on. [Rises.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
There’s but one fire from which this smoke may grow,
Namely, the unmatched yoke of youth and age,
In which, if ever I occasion was
Of the smallest breach, the greatest implacable mischief
Adultery can threaten fall on me!
Of you may I be disavowed a son,
And unto Heaven a servant! For that lady,
As she is beauty’s mirror, so I hold her
For chastity’s example: from her tongue
Never came language that arrived my ear
That even censorious Cato, lived he now,
Could misinterpret; never from her lips
Came unchaste kiss, or from her constant eye
Look savouring of the least immodesty:
Further—
OLD GERALDINE.
Enough! One only thing remains,
Which, on thy part performed, assures firm credit
To these thy protestations.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Name it then.
OLD GERALDINE.
Take hence the occasion of this common fame,
Which hath already spread itself so far
To her dishonour and thy prejudice:
From this day forward to forbear the house;
This do upon my blessing.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
As I hope it,
I will not fail your charge.
OLD GERALDINE.
I am satisfied.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Before Old LIONEL’S House.
Enter at one side Usurer and his Man; at the other, Old LIONEL and his Servant; behind,
REIGNALD.
REIGNALD.
[Aside.] To which hand shall I turn me? Here’s my master
Hath been to inquire of him that sold the house,
Touching the murder; here’s an usuring rascal,
Of whom we have borrowed money to supply
Our prodigal expenses, broke our day,
And owe him still the principal and use.
Were I to meet them single, I have brain
To oppose both, and to come off unscarred;
But if they do assault me, and at once,
Not Hercules himself could stand that odds:
Therefore I must encounter them by turns,
And to my master first.—Oh, sir, well met.
OLD LIONEL.
What, Reignald! I but now met with the man
Of whom I bought yon house.
REIGNALD.
What, did you, sir?
But did you speak of aught concerning that
Which I last told you?
OLD LIONEL.
Yes, I told him all.
REIGNALD.
Then am I cast! [Aside.]—But I pray tell me, sir,
Did he confess the murder?
OLD LIONEL.
No such thing;
Most stiffly he denies it.
REIGNALD.
Impudent wretch!
Then serve him with a warrant; let the officer
Bring him before a justice, you shall hear
What I can say against him! ’Sfoot! deny’t!
But I pray, sir, excuse me; yonder’s one
With whom I have some business; stay you here,
And but determine what’s best course to take,
And note how I will follow’t.
OLD LIONEL.
Be brief, then.
REIGNALD.
Now, if I can as well put off my use-man,
This day I shall be master of the field. [Aside.
USURER.
That should be Lionel’s man.
MAN.
The same, I know him.
USURER.
After so many frivolous delays,
There’s now some hope. He that was wont to shun us,
And to absent himself, accosts us freely,
And with a pleasant countenance.—Well met, Reignald,
What, is this money ready?
REIGNALD.
Never could you
Have come in better time.
USURER.
Where is your master,
Young Lionel? it something troubles me
That he should break his day.
REIGNALD.
A word in private.
USURER.
Tush, private me no privates;[33] in a word,
Speak, are my moneys ready?
REIGNALD.
Not so loud.
USURER.
I will be louder yet. Give me my moneys;
Come, tender me my moneys.
REIGNALD.
We know you have a throat wide as your conscience;
You need not use it now. Come, get you home.
USURER.
Home!
REIGNALD.
Yes, home, I say; return by three o’clock,
And I will see all cancelled.
USURER.
’Tis now past two, and I can stay till three;
I’ll make that now my business; otherways,
With these loud clamours I will haunt thee still:
Give me my use, give me my principal.
REIGNALD.
This burr will still cleave to me; what, no means
To shake him off! I ne’er was caught till now.—[Aside.
Come, come, you’re troublesome.
USURER.
Prevent that trouble,
And, without trifling, pay me down my cash;
I will be fooled no longer.
REIGNALD.
So, so, so.
USURER.
I have been still put off, from time to time,
And day to day; these are but cheating tricks,
And this is the last minute I’ll forbear
Thee, or thy master: once again, I say,
Give me my use, give me my principal.
REIGNALD.
Pox o’ this use, that hath undone so many,
And now will confound me! [Aside.
OLD LIONEL.
Hast thou heard this?
SERVANT.
Yes, sir, and to my grief.
OLD LIONEL.
Come hither,
Reignald.
REIGNALD.
Here, sir. [Aside.] Nay, now I am gone.
OLD LIONEL.
What use is this,
What principal he talks of, in which language
He names my son, and thus upbraideth thee?
What is’t you owe this man?
REIGNALD.
A trifle, sir:
Pray stop his mouth, and pay’t him.
OLD LIONEL.
I pay!—what?
REIGNALD.
If I say pay’t him, pay’t him.
OLD LIONEL.
What’s the sum?
REIGNALD.
A toy, the main about five hundred pounds;
And the use fifty.
OLD LIONEL.
Call you that a toy?
To what use was it borrowed? At my departure
I left my son sufficient in his charge,
With surplus, to defray a large expense,
Without this need of borrowing.
REIGNALD.
’Tis confessed;
Yet stop his clamorous mouth, and only say
That you will pay’t to-morrow.
OLD LIONEL.
I pass my word!
REIGNALD.
Sir, if I bid you, do’t; nay, no more words,
But say you’ll pay’t to-morrow.
OLD LIONEL.
Jest indeed!
But tell me how these moneys were bestowed?
REIGNALD.
Safe, sir, I warrant you.
OLD LIONEL.
The sum still safe?
Why do you not then tender it yourselves?
REIGNALD.
Your ear, sir. With this sum, joined to the rest,
Your son hath purchased land and houses.
OLD LIONEL.
Land, dost thou say?
REIGNALD.
A goodly house, and gardens.
OLD LIONEL.
Now joy on him,
That whilst his father merchandised abroad,
Had care to add to his estate at home!
But, Reignald, wherefore houses?
REIGNALD.
Now, Lord, sir,
How dull you are! This house possessed with spirits,
And there no longer stay, would you have had
Him, us, and all your other family,
To live and lie i’ the streets? It had not, sir,
Been for your reputation.
OLD LIONEL.
Blessing on him,
That he is grown so thrifty!
USURER.
’Tis struck three;
My money’s not yet tendered.
REIGNALD.
Pox upon him!
See him discharged, I pray, sir.
OLD LIONEL.
Call upon me
To-morrow, friend, as early as thou wilt;
I’ll see thy debt defrayed.
USURER.
It is enough, I have a true man’s word.
[Exeunt Usurer and
Man.
OLD LIONEL.
Now tell me, Reignald,
For thou hast made me proud of my son’s thrift,
Where, in what country, doth this fair house stand?
REIGNALD.
[Aside.] Never in all my time so much to seek;
I know not what to answer.
OLD LIONEL.
Wherefore studiest thou?
Use men to purchase lands at a dear rate,
And know not where they lie?
REIGNALD.
’Tis not for that;
I only had forgot his name that sold them.
’Twas, let me see—see—
OLD LIONEL.
Call thyself to mind.
REIGNALD.
Non-plussed or never now; where are thou, brain?—
O sir, where was my memory? ’Tis this house
That next adjoins to yours.
OLD LIONEL.
My neighbour Ricott’s?
REIGNALD.
The same, the same, sir; we had pennyworths in’t;
And I can tell you, have been offered well
Since, to forsake our bargain.
OLD LIONEL.
As I live,
I much commend your choice.
REIGNALD.
Nay, ’tis well seated,
Rough-cast without, but bravely lined within;
You have met with few such bargains.
OLD LIONEL.
Prithee knock,
And call the master or the servant on’t,
To let me take free view on’t.
REIGNALD.
[Aside.] Puzzle again on puzzle!—One word, sir:
The house is full of women; no man knows
How on the instant they may be employed;
The rooms may lie unhandsome, and maids stand
Much on their cleanliness and huswifery;
To take them unprovided were disgrace;
’Twere fit they had some warning. Now, do you
Fetch but a warrant from the justice, sir;—
You understand me?
OLD LIONEL.
Yes, I do.
REIGNALD.
To attach[34]
Him of suspected murder; I’ll see’t served,
Did he deny’t; and in the interim, I
Will give them notice you are now arrived,
And long to see your purchase.
OLD LIONEL.
Counselled well;
And meet some half-hour hence.
REIGNALD.
This plunge well passed,
All things fall even, to crown my brain at last.
[Exeunt.
Enter DELAVIL and a Gentleman.
GENTLEMAN.
Where shall we dine to-day?
DELAVIL.
At the ordinary.
I see, sir, you are but a stranger here.
This Barnet is a place of great resort,
And commonly, upon the market days,
Here all the country gentlemen appoint
A friendly meeting; some about affairs
Of consequence and profit—bargain, sale,
And to confer with chapmen; some for pleasure,
To match their horses, wager on their dogs,
Or try their hawks; some to no other end
But only meet good company, discourse,
Dine, drink, and spend their money.
GENTLEMAN.
That’s the market
We have to make this day.
DELAVIL.
’Tis a commodity
That will be easily vented.—What, my worthy friend!
[ENTER OLD GERALDINE AND YOUNG GERALDINE.]
You are happily encountered. Oh, you’re grown strange
To one that much respects you. Troth, the house
Hath all this time seemed naked without you;
The good old man doth never sit to meat,
But next his giving thanks he speaks of you;
There’s scarce a bit that he at table tastes,
That can digest without a Geraldine,
You are in his mouth so frequent. He and she
Both wondering what distaste from one, or either,
So suddenly should alienate a guest
To them so dearly welcome.
OLD GERALDINE.
Master Delavil,
Thus much let me for him apologise:
Divers designs have thronged upon us late
My weakness was not able to support
Without his help; he hath been much abroad,
At London, or elsewhere; besides, ’tis term,
And lawyers must be followed; seldom at home,
And scarcely then at leisure.
DELAVIL.
I am satisfied,
And I would they were so too; but I hope, sir,
In this restraint you have not used my name.
OLD GERALDINE.
Not as I live.
DELAVIL.
You’re noble.—Who had thought
To have met with such good company? You are, it seems,
But new alighted. Father and son, ere part,
I vow we’ll drink a cup of sack together;
Physicians say it doth prepare the appetite
And stomach against dinner.
OLD GERALDINE.
We old men
Are apt to take these courtesies.
DELAVIL.
What say you, friend?
YOUNG GERALDINE.
I’ll but inquire for one at the next inn,
And instantly return.
DELAVIL.
It is enough.
[Exeunt.
Enter BESS and Young GERALDINE, meeting.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Bess! How dost thou, girl?
BESS.
Faith, we may do how we list for you, you are grown
So great a stranger: we are more beholding
To Master Delavil; he’s a constant guest:
And howsoe’er to some, that shall be nameless,
His presence may be graceful, yet to others—
I could say somewhat.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
He’s a noble fellow,
And my choice friend.
BESS.
Come, come, he is what he is;
And that the end will prove.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
And how’s all at home?
Nay, we’ll not part without a glass of wine,
And meet so seldom.—Boy!
Enter Drawer.
DRAWER.
Anon, anon, sir.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
A pint of claret, quickly. [Exit Drawer.] Nay, sit down:
The news, the news, I pray thee; I am sure,
I have been much inquired of thy old master,
And thy young mistress too.
BESS.
Ever your name
Is in my master’s mouth, and sometimes too
In hers, when she hath nothing else to think of.
Well, well, I could say somewhat.
Re-enter Drawer.
DRAWER.
Here’s your wine, sir.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Fill, boy. Here, Bess, this glass to both their healths. [Exit Drawer.
Why dost thou weep, my wench?
BESS.
Nay, nothing, sir.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Come, I must know.
BESS.
In troth, I love you, sir,
And ever wished you well; you are a gentleman
Whom always I respected; know the passages
And private whisperings of the secret love
Betwixt you and my mistress—I dare swear,
On your part well intended, but—
YOUNG GERALDINE.
But what?
BESS.
You bear the name of landlord, but another
Enjoys the rent; you dote upon the shadow,
But another he bears away the substance.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Be more plain.
BESS.
You hope to enjoy a virtuous widowhood;
But Delavil, whom you esteem your friend,
He keeps the wife in common.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
You’re to blame,
And, Bess, you make me angry: he’s my friend,
And she my second self; in all their meetings
I never saw so much as cast of eye
Once entertained betwixt them.
BESS.
That’s their cunning.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
For her, I have been with her at all hours,
Both late and early; in her bed-chamber,
And often singly ushered her abroad:
Now, would she have been any man’s alive,
She had been mine. You wrong a worthy friend
And a chaste mistress; you’re not a good girl.
Drink that, speak better of her; I could chide you,
But I’ll forbear. What you have rashly spoke,
Shall ever here be buried.
BESS.
I am sorry
My freeness should offend you, but yet know
I am her chamber-maid.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Play now the market-maid,
And prithee ’bout thy business.
BESS.
Well, I shall.—
That man should be so foolèd! [Exit.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
She a prostitute!
Nay, and to him, my troth-plight, and my friend
As possible it is that Heaven and earth
Should be in love together, meet and kiss,
And so cut off all distance. What strange frenzy
Came in this wench’s brain, so to surmise?
Were she so base, his nobleness is such
He would not entertain it for my sake;
Or he so bent, his hot and lust-burnt appetite
Would be so quenched at the mere contemplation
Of her most pious and religious life.
The girl was much to blame; perhaps her mistress
Hath stirred her anger by some word or blow,
Which she would thus revenge—not apprehending
At what a high price honour’s to be rated;
Or else some one that envies her rare virtue
Might hire her thus to brand it; or, who knows
But the young wench may fix a thought on me,
And to divert me from her mistress’ love,
May raise this false aspersion? Howsoever,
My thoughts on these two columns fixèd are,
She’s good as fresh, and purely chaste as fair.
Enter Clown with a letter.
CLOWN.
Oh, sir, you are the needle, and if the whole county of Middlesex had been turned to a mere bottle[35] of hay, I had been enjoined to have found you out, or never more returned back to my old master: there’s a letter, sir.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
I know the hand that superscribed it well;
Stay but till I peruse it, and from me
Thou shalt return an answer. [Reads letter.
CLOWN.
I shall, sir. This is market-day, and here acquaintance commonly meet; and whom have I encountered? my gossip Pint-pot, and brim-full; nay, I mean to drink with you before I part. And how doth all your worshipful kindred? your sister Quart, your pater Pottle (who was ever a gentleman’s fellow), and your old grandsire Gallon; they cannot choose but be all in health, since so many healths have been drunk out of them: I could wish them all here, and in no worse state than I see you are in at this present. Howsoever, gossip, since I have met you hand to hand, I’ll make bold to drink to you—nay, either you must pledge me, or get one to do’t for you, Do you open your mouth towards me? well, I know what you would say: “Here, Roger, to your master and mistress, and all our good friends at home. Gramercy, gossip, if I should not pledge thee, I were worthy to be turned out to grass, and stand no more at livery.” And now, in requital of this courtesy, I’ll begin one health to you and all your society in the cellar—to Peter Pipe, Harry Hogshead, Bartholomew Butt, and little Master Randal Rundlet, to Timothy Taster, and all your other great and small friends.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
He writes me here
That at my discontinuance he’s much grieved;
Desiring me, as I have ever tendered
Or him or his, to give him satisfaction
Touching my discontent; and that in person,
By any private meeting.
CLOWN.
Ay, sir, ’tis very true; the letter speaks no more than he wished me to tell you by word of mouth.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Thou art then of his counsel?
CLOWN.
His Privy,[36] an’t please you.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
Though ne’er so strict hath been my father’s charge,
A little I’ll dispense with’t, for his love.
Commend me to thy master, tell him from me,
On Monday night (then will my leisure serve)
I will by Heaven’s assistance visit him.
CLOWN.
On Monday, sir? that’s, as I remember, just the day before Tuesday.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
But ’twill be midnight first, at which late hour
Please him to let the garden door stand ope;
At that I’ll enter, but conditionally
That neither wife, friend, servant, no third soul
Save him, and thee to whom he trusts this message,
Know of my coming in, or passing out;
When, tell him, I will fully satisfy him
Concerning my forced absence.
CLOWN.
I am something oblivious; your message would be the trulier delivered if it were set down in black and white.
YOUNG GERALDINE.
I’ll call for pen and ink,
And instantly despatch it.