Here on this Figure Cast a Glance,
But so as if it were by Chance,
Your eyes not fixt, they must not stay.
Since this like Shadowes to the Day
It only represent's; for Still,
Her Beuty's found beyond the Skill
Of the best Paynter, to Imbrace,
Those louely Lines within her fure,
View her Soul's Picture, Iudgment, will,
Then read those Lines which Shee hath writt,
By Phancy's Pencill drawne alone
Which Peece but Shee. Can justify owne.

PLAYES Written by the Thrice NOBLE, ILLUSTRIOUS AND Excellent Princess, THE LADY MARCHIONESS OF NEWCASTLE.

[figure]

LONDON, Printed by A. Warren, for Iohn Martyn, Iames Allestry, and Tho. Dicas, at the Bell in Saint Pauls Church Yard, 1662.

THE DEDICATION.

TO those that do delight in Scenes and wit,
I dedicate my Book, for those I writ;
Next to my own Delight, for I did take
Much pleasure and delight these Playes to make;
For all the time my Playes a making were,
My brain the Stage, my thoughts were acting there.

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

MY LORD,

MY resolution was, that when I had done writing, to have dedicated all my works in gross to your Lordship; and I did verily believe that this would have been my last work: but I find it will not, unless I dye be­fore I have writ my other intended piece. And as for this Book of Playes, I believe I should never have writ them, nor have had the Capacity nor Ingenuity to have writ Playes, had not you read to me some Playes which your Lordship had writ, and lye by for a good time to be Acted, wherein your Wit did Create a desire in my Mind to write Playes also, although my Playes are very unlike those you have writ, for your Lordships Playes have as it were a natural life, and a quick spirit in them, whereas mine are like dull dead statues, which is the reason I send them forth to be printed, rather than keep them concealed in hopes to have them first Acted; and this advantage I have, that is, I am out of the fear of having them hissed off from the Stage, for they are not like to come thereon; but were they such as might deserve applause, yet if Envy did make a faction against them, they would have had a publick Condemnation; and though I am not such a Coward, as to be affraid of the hissing Serpents, or [Page] stinged Tongues of Envy, yet it would have made me a little Melan­choly to have my harmless and innocent Playes go weeping from the Stage, and whipt by malicious and hard-hearted censurers; but the truth is, I am careless, for so I have your applause I desire no more, for your Lordships approvement is a sufficient satisfaction to me

My Lord,
Your Lordships honest Wife, and faithfull Servant, M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

I Must ask pardon, for that I said I should not trouble you with more of my works than this Book of Playes; but since I have considered with my self, there is one work more, which is very sit for me to do, although I shall not be able to do it so well as the subject will deserve, being the Life of my Noble Lord; but that work will require some time in the gathering together some several passages; for although I mean not to write of all the particulars of these times, yet for as much as is concern­ing that subject I shall write of, it will be requirable; but it is a work that will move so slowly, as perchance I shall not live to finish it; but howsoever, I will imploy my time about it, and it will be a satisfaction to my life that I indeavour it.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

THe reason why I put out my Playes in print, before they are Acted, is, first, that I know not when they will be Acted, by reason they are in English, and Eng­land doth not permit, I will not say, of Wit, yet not of Playes; and if they should, yet by reason all those that have been bred and brought up to Act, are dead, or dispersed, and it would be an Act of some time, not only to breed and teach some Youths to Act, but it will require some time to prove whether they be good Actors or no; for if they are not bred to it whilst they be young, they will never be good Actors when they are grown up to be men; for although some one by chance may have naturally, a facility to Action, and a Volubility of Speech, and a good memory to learn, and get the Parts by heart, or wrote, yet it is very unlikely, or indeed impossible, to get a whole Company of good Actors without being taught and brought up thereto; the other reason is, that most of my Playes would seem tedious upon the Stage, by reason they are somewhat long, although most are divided into first and se­cond Parts; for having much variety in them, I could not possibly make them shorter, and being long, it might tire the Spectators, who are forced, or bound by the rules of Civility to sit out a Play, if they be not sick; for to go away before a Play is ended, is a kind of an assront, both to the Poet and the Players; yet, I believe none of my Playes are so long as Ben. Johnson's Fox, or Alchymist, which in truth, are somewhat too long; but for the Readers, the length of the Playes can be no trouble, nor inconve­niency, because they may read as short or as long a time as they please, without any disrespect to the Writer; but some of my Playes are short enough; but the printing of my Playes spoils them for ever to be Acted; for what men are acquainted with, is despised, at lest neglected; for the newness of Playes, most commonly, takes the Specta­tors, more than the Wit, Scenes, or Plo [...], so that my Playes would seem lame or tired in action, and dull to hearing on the Stage, for which reason, I shall never desire they should be Acted; but if they delight or please the Readers, I shall have as much satisfaction as if I had the hands of applause from the Spectators.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

ALthough I expect my Playes will be found fault with, by reason I have not drawn the several persons presented in a Circular line, or to a Trianglar point, making all the Actors to meet at the latter end upon the Stage in a flock together; likewise, that I have not made my Comedies of one dayes actions or passages; yet I have adventured to publish them to the World: But to plead in my Playes behalf, first, I do not perceive any reason why that the several persons pre­sented should be all of an acquaintance, or that there is a necessity to have them of one Fraternity, or to have a relation to each other, or linck'd in alliance as one Family; when as Playes are to present the general Follies, Vanities, Vices, Humours, Dispo­sitions, Passions, Affections, Fashions, Customs, Manners, and practices of the whole World of Mankind, as in several persons; also particular Follies, Vanities, Vices, Humours, Passions, Affections, Fashions, Customs, Fortunes, and the like, in particular persons; also the Sympathy and Antipathy of Dispositions, Humours, Passions, Customs, and Fashions of several persons; also the particular Virtues and Graces in several persons, and several Virtues and Graces in particular persons, and all these Varieties to be drawn at the latter end into one piece, as into one Com­pany, which in my opinion shews neither Usual, Probable, nor Natural. For since the World is wide and populated, and their various actions dispersed, and spread about by each particular, and Playes are to present them severally, I perceive no reason they should force them together in the last Act, as in one Community, bringing them in as I may say by Head and Shoulders, making the persons of each Humour, good Fortunes, Misfortunes, Nations and Ages, to have relations to each other; but in this I have not followed the steps of precedent Poets, for in my opinion, I think it as well, if not better, if a Play ends but with two persons, or one person upon the Stage; besides, I would have my Playes to be like the Natural course of all things in the World, as some dye sooner, some live longer, and some are newly born, when some are newly dead, and not all to continue to the last day of Iudgment; so my Scenes, some last longer than othersome, and some are ended when others are begun; like­wise some of my Scenes have no acquaintance or relation to the rest of the Scenes, although in one and the same Play, which is the reason many of my Playes will not end as other Playes do, especially Comedies, for in Tragi-Comedies I think Poets do not alwayes make all lye bleeding together; but I think for the most part they do; but the want of this swarm in the last Act and Scene, may make my Playes seem dull and vacant, but I love ease so well, as I hate constraint even in my works; for I had rather have a dull easy life, than be forced to active gayeties, so I had rather my Playes should end dully than unnecessarily be forced into one Company, but some of my Playes are gathered into one sheaf or bundel in the latter end. Likewise my Playes [Page] may be Condemned, because they follow not the Antient Custome, as the learned sayes, which is, that all Comedies should be so ordered and composed, as nothing should be presented therein, but what may be naturally, or usually practiced or Acted in the World in the compass of one day; truly in my opinion those Comedies would be very flat and dull, and neither profitable nor pleasant, that should only present the actions of one day; for though Ben. Johnson as I have heard was of that opinion, that a Comedy cannot be good, nor is a natural or true Comedy, if it should present more than one dayes action, yet his Comedies that he hath published, could never be the actions of one day; for could any rational person think that the whole Play of the Fox could be the action of one day? or can any rational person think that the Alchymist could be the action of one day? as that so many several Cozenings could be Acted in one day, by Captain Face and Doll Common; and could the Alchymist make any believe they could make gold in one day? could they burn so many Coals, and draw the purses of so many, or so often from one person, in one day? and the like is in all his Playes, not any of them presents the actions of one day, although it were a day at the Poles, but of many dayes, nay I may say some years. But to my reason, I do not perceive a necessity that Comedies should be so closely packt or thrust up together; for if Comedies are either to delight, or to profit, or to both, they must follow no other rule or example, but to put them into Scenes and Acts, and to order their several discour­ces in a Comedy, so as Physicians do their Cordials, wherein they mix many several Ingrediences together into one Electuary, as sharp, bitter, salt, and sweet, and mix them so, as they are both pleasing to the Tast, and comfortable to the Stomach; so Poets should order the several Humours, Passions, Customs, Manners, Fashions, and practice of Mankind, as to intermix them so, as to be both delightfull to the Mind and Senses, and profitable to the Life; also Poets should do as Physicians or Apothecaries, which put not only several sorts, but several kinds of Drugs into one Medicine, as Minerals and Vegetables together, which are very different; also they will mix several Druggs and Simples out of several Climates and Countries, gathered out from all the parts of the World, and upon occasion they will mix new and old Simples together, although of one and the same sort and kind; so Poets both in their Comedies and Tragedies, must, or at leastwise may, represent several Nations, Governments, People, Customs, Fashions, Manners, Natures, Fortunes, Accidents, Actions, in one Play; as also several times of Ages to one person if occasion re­quires, as from Childhood to Manhood in one Play; for Poets are to describe in Playes the several Ages, Times, Actions, Fortunes, Accidents and Humours in Nature, and the several Customs, Manners, Fashions and Speeches of men: thus Playes are to present the natural dispositions and practices of Mankind; also they are to point at Vanity, laugh at Follies, disgrace Baseness, and persecute Vice; likewise they are to extol Virtue, and to honour Merit, and to praise the Graces, all which makes a Poet Divine, their works edifying to the Mind or Soul, profitable to the Life, delightfull to the Senses, and recreative to Time; but Poets are like Preachers, some are more learned than others, and some are better Orators than others, yet from the worst there may be some good gained by them, and I do not despair, although but a Poetress, but that my works may be some wayes or other serviceable to my Readers, which if they be, my time in writing them is not lost, nor my Muse unprofitable.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

I Cannot chuse but mention an erronious opinion got into this our Modern time and men, which is, that it should be thought a crime or debasement for the no­bler sort to Act Playes, especially on publick Theatres, although the Romans were of another opinion, for not only the noble youth did Act in publick, but some of the Emperours themselves; though I do not commend it in the Emperours, who should spend their times in realities, and not in feigning; yet certainly it was commen­dable in the noblest youths, who did practice what ought to be followed or skinn'd: for certainly there is no place, wayes or means, so edifying to Youth as publick Theatres, not only to be Spectators but Actors; for it learns them gracefull behaviours and demeanors, it puts Spirit and Life into them, it teaches them Wit, and makes their Speech both voluble and tanable, besides, it gives them Confidence, all which ought every man to have, that is of quality. But some will say if it would work such effects, why are not mercenary Players benefited so thereby? I answer, that they only Act for the lucre of Gain, and not for the grace of Behaviour, the sweetness of Speech, nor the increasing of Wit, so as they only Act as Parrots speak, by wrote, and not as Learning gives to Education; for they making not a benefit of the wit, but only by the wit receive it; not neither into their consideration, understanding, nor delight, for they make it a work of labour, and not of delight, or pleasure, or honour; for they receive it into the memory, and no farther than for to deliver it out, as Servants or Factors to sell, and not keep it as purchasors to their own use; that if the reason that as soon as the Play is done, their wit and becoming graces are at an end, whereas the nobler sort, that Act not for mercenary Profit, but for Honour, and becoming, would not only strive to Act well upon the Stage, but to practise their actions when off from the Stage; besides, it would keep the youths from misimploying time with their fool­ish extravagancies, deboist luxuries, and base Vices, all which Idleness and vacant time produceth; and in my opinion, a publick Theatre were a shorter way of educa­tion than their tedious and expensive Travels, or their dull and solitary Studies; for Poets teach them more in one Play, both of the Nature of the World and Mankind, by which they learn not only to know other men, but their own selves, than they can learn in any School, or in any Country or Kingdome in a year; but to conclude, a Poet is the best Tutor, and a Theatre is the best School that is for Youth to be educa­ted by or in.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

I Know there are many Scholastical and Pedantical persons that will condemn my writings, because I do not keep strictly to the Masculine and Feminine Gen­ders, as they call them as for example, a Lock and a Key, the one is the Mascu­line Gender, the other the Feminine Gender, so Love is the Masculine Gender, Hate the Feminine Gender, and the Furies are shees, and the Graces are shees, the Vir­tues are shees, and the seven deadly Sins are shees, which I am sorry for; but I know no reason but that I may as well make them Hees for my use, as others did Shees, or Shees as others did Hees. But some will say, if I did do so, there would be no forms or rules of Speech to be understood by; I answer, that we may as well under­stand the meaning or sense of a Speaker or Writer by the names of Love or Hate, as by the names of he or she, and better: for the division of Masculine and Feminine Genders doth consound a Scholar more, and takes up more time to learn them, than they have time to spend; besides, where one doth rightly understand the difference, a hundred, nay a thousand do not, and yet they are understood, and to be understood is the end of all Speakers and Writers; so that if my writings be understood, I desire no more; and as for the nicities of Rules, Forms, and Terms, I renounce, and pro­fess, that if I did understand and know them strictly, as I do not, I would not follow them: and if any dislike my writings for want of those Rules, Forms, and Terms, let them not read them, for I had rather my writings should be unread than be read by such Pedantical Sholastical persons.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS.

TIs likely you will condemn my Playes at being dull and flat, by reason they have not the high seasoning of Poetical Salt; but Suger is more commonly used amongst our Sex than Salt. But I fear my Wit is tastless, which I am sorry for; for though a Satyrical Speaker is discommendable, being for the most part abusive; for Bitter reproofs only are fit for rigid Pedants, Censuring and back­biting sit for pot Companions, and sharp replies is a wit for mean persons, being in a degree of scolding; a Ralery Wit, for Bussions and Ieslers which abuse under the Veil of Mirth, Familiarity, and Freedome; whereas a generous discoursi­tive Wit, although it be free, yet it is sweet and pleasing: thus as I said Satyrical Speakers are discommendable, yet Satyrical Writers are highly to be praised, as most profitable, because those reprove only the generality, as the general Vices, Follies, and errors of Mankind, poiming at no particular; and the sharpest Writers are most commonly the sweetest Speakers. But I have observed one general Folly amongst many which is, that it is expected by most Readers that the Wri­ters should speak as they write, which would be very ridiculous; as for example, a Lyrick Poet should speak nothing but Sonnets, a Comedian or Tragedian Poet should speak nothing but set Speeches, or blanck Verse, or such Speeches which are only prover to present such and such humours, which in ordinary discourse would be improper; and though Virgil whose greatest praise is Language, yet I do verily be­lieve he did not speak in his ordinary Conversation in such a stile, forms and Speech­es, nor in such high, sine, and choice Latin, nor in such high and lofty expressions, nor apt similitudes, nor the sence of his discourse wrapt in such Metaphors, as in his writings; nay Eloquent Speakers or Orators do not alwayes speak Orations, but upon an occasion, and at set times, but their ordinary Conversation is with ordinary dis­courses; for I do verily believe, the greatest and most Eloquents Orators that ever were in the World, in their ordinary Conversation, converst and spoke but as other men. Besides, in Common and ordinary Conversations, the most Wittiest, Learneelst, and Eloquentest Men, are forced to speak according to the Wit, Learning, Language, and Capacities of those they are in Company and Coversation with, unless they will speak all themselves, which will be no Conversation: for in Conversation every par­ticular person must have his turn and time of speaking as well as hearing; yet such is the folly of the World, as to despise the Authors of Witty, Learned and Eloquent Writings, if their Conversations be as other mens, and yet would laugh at them, or account them mad, if they should speak otherwise, as out of this ordinary way; but the greatest talkers are not the best writers, which is the cause women cannot be good Writers; for we for fear of being thought Fools, make our selves Fools, in striving to express some Wit, whereas if we had but that power over our selves as to keep [Page] silence, we perchance might be thought Wits, although we were Fools, but to keep si­lence is impossible for us to do, so long as we have Speech we shall talk, although to no purpose, for nothing but Death can force us to silence, for we often talk in our Sleep; but to speak without partiality, I do not perceive that men are free from this imperfection, nor from condemning us, although they are guilty of the same fault; but we have this advantage of men, which is, that we know this imperfection in our selves, although we do not indeavour to mend it; but men are so Partial to them­selves, as not to perceive this imperfection in themselves, and so they cannot mend it; but in this, will not or cannot is as one; but this discourse hath brought me to this, that if I have spoke at any time to any person or persons impertinently, impro­perly, untimely, or tediously, I ask their pardon: but lest I should be impertinently te­dious in this Epistle, and so commit a fault in asking pardon, I leave my Readers to what may be more pleasing to them.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

I Make no question but my Playes will be censured, and those Censurors severe, but I hope not malicious; but they will perchance say that my Playes are too seri­ous, by reason there is no rediculous Iest in them, nor wanton Love, nor Impos­sibilities; also 'tis likely they will say that there are no plots, nor designs, nor subtil Contrivances, and the like; I answer, that the chief Plots of my Playes were to imploy my idle time, the designs to please and entertain my Readers, and the contrivance was to join edifying Profit and Delight together, that my Readers may neither lose their time, nor grow weary in the reading; but if they find my Playes neither Edifying, nor Delightfull, I shall be sorry; but if they find either, I shall be pleased, and if they find both, I shall much rejoyce, that my time hath been imployed to some good use.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

WORTHY READERS,

I Have heard that such Poets that write Playes, seldome or never join or sow the several Scenes together; they are two several Professions, at least not usual for rare Poets to take that pains; like as great Taylors, the Master only cuts out and shapes, and his Iourny-men and Apprentices join and sow them together; but I like as a poor Taylor was forced to do all my self, as to cut out, shape, join, and sow each several Scene together, without any help or direction; wherefore I fear they are not so well done but that there will be many faults found; but howsoever, I did my best indeavour, and took great pains in the ordering and joining thereof, for which I hope my Learned Readers will pardon the errors therein, and excuse me the work­er thereof.

M. N.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

MY Lord was pleased to illustrate my Playes with some Scenes of his own Wit, to which I have set his name, that my Readers may know which are his, as not to couzen them, in thinking they are mine; also Songs, to which my Lords name is set; for I being no Lyrick Poet, my Lord supplied that defect of my Brain with the superfluity of his own Brain; thus our Wits join as in Matrimony, my Lords the Masculine, mine the Feminine Wit, which is no small glory to me, that we are Married, Souls, Bodies, and Brains, which is a treble marriage, united in one Love, which I hope is not in the power of Death to dissolve; for Souls may love, and Wit may live, though Bodies dye.

M. N.

I Must trouble my Noble Readers to write of one thing more, which is concerning the Reading of Playes; for Playes must be read to the nature of those several humours, or passions, as are exprest by Writing: for they must not read a Scene as they would read a Chapter; for Scenes must be read as if they were spoke or Acted. Indeed Comedies should be read a Mimick way, and the sound of their Voice must be ac­cording to the sense of the Scene; and as for Tragedies, or Tragick Scenes, they must not be read in a pueling whining Voice, but a sad serious Voice, as deploring or complaining: but the truth is there are as few good Readers as good Wri­ters; indeed an ill Reader is, as great a disadvantage to wit as wit can have, unless it be ill Acted, for then it 'tis doubly disgraced, both in the Voice and Action, whereas in Reading only the voice is imployed; but when as a Play is well and skillfully read, the very sound of the Voice that enters through the Ears, doth present the Actions to the Eyes of the Fancy as lively as if it were really Acted; but howsoever Writings must take their Chance, and I leave my Playes to Chance and Fortune, as well as to Censure and Reading.

To the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle upon her Playes.

TErence and Plautus Wits we now do scorn,
Their Comick Socks worn out, in pieces torn,
Only their rags of Wit remain as toyes
For Pedants to admire, to teach School Boyes;
It is not time hath wasted all their Fame,
But your high Phancies, and your nobler flame,
Which burnt theirs up in their own ashes lies,
Nor Phoenix like e'r out of those will rise;
Old Tragick Buskins now are thrown away,
When we read your each Passion in each Play,
No stupid block or stony heart forbears
To drown their Cheeks in Seas of salter Tears;
Such power you have in Tragick, Comick stile,
When for to fetch a tear or make a smile,
Still at your pleasure all our passions ly
Obedient to your pen, to laugh or cry;
So even with the thread of Natures fashion,
As you play on her heart-strings still of passion;
So we are all your Subjects in each Play,
Unwilling willingly still to obey;
Or have a thought but what you make or draw
Us by the power of your wits great law;
Thus Emperess in Soveraign power yours fits
Over the wise, and tames Poetick wits.

A General Prologue to all my Playes.

NOBLE Spectators, do not think to see
Such Playes, that's like Ben. Johnsons Alchymie,
Nor Fox, nor Silent Woman: for those Playes
Did Crown the Author with exceeding praise;
They were his Master-pieces, and were wrought
By wits Invention, and his labouring thought,
And his Experience brought Materials store,
His reading several Authors brought much more:
What length of time he took those Plays to write,
I cannot guess, not knowing his Wits flight;
But I have heard, Ben. Johnsons Playes came forth,
To the Worlds view, as things of a great worth;
Like Forein Emperors, which do appear
Unto their Subjects, not 'bove once a year;
So did Ben. Johnsons Playes so rarely pass,
As one might think they long a writing was.
But my poor Playes, like to a common rout,
Gathers in throngs, and heedlesly runs out,
Like witless Fools, or like to Girls and Boyes,
Goe out to shew new Clothes, or such like toyes:
This shews my Playes have not such store of wit,
Nor subtil plots, they were so quickly writ,
So quickly writ, that I did almost cry
For want of work, my time for to imploy:
Sometime for want of work, I'm forc'd to play,
And idlely to cast my time away:
Like as poor Labourers, all they desire,
Is, to have so much work, it might them tire:
Such difference betwixt each several brain,
Some labour hard, and offer life to gain;
Some lazie lye, and pampred are with ease,
And some industrious are, the World to please:
Some are so quick, their thoughts do move so fast,
They never stay to mold, or to forecast:
Some take great pains to get, and yet are poor,
And some will steal, for to increase their store:
Some brains know not what Subjects for to chuse,
And with considering, they their wit do lose:
Some only in designs do spend their time,
And some without designs do only rhime;
[Page]And some do take more pains a Plot to lay,
Than other some to plot, and write a Play.
As for Ben. Johnsons brain, it was so strong,
He could conceive, or judge, what's right, what's wrong:
His Language plain, significant and free,
And in the English Tongue, the Masterie:
Yet Gentle Shakespear had a fluent Wit,
Although less Learning, yet full well he writ;
For all his Playes were writ by Natures light,
Which gives his Readers, and Spectators sight.
But Noble Readers, do not think my Playes,
Are such as have been writ in former daies;
As Johnson, Shakespear, Beamont, Fletcher writ;
Mine want their Learning, Reading, Language, Wit:
The Latin phrases I could never tell,
But Johnson could, which made him write so well.
Greek, Latin Poets, I could never read,
Nor their Historians, but our English Speed;
I could not steal their Wit, nor Plots out take;
All my Playes Plots, my own poor brain did make:
From Plutarchs story I ne'r took a Plot,
Nor from Romances, nor from Don Quixor,
As others have, for to assist their Wit,
But I upon my own Foudation writ;
Like those that have a little patch of Land,
Even so much whereon a house may stand:
The Owner builds a house, though of no shew,
A Cottage warm and clean, though thatch'd and low;
Vitruvius Art and Skill he doth not take,
For to design, and so his house to make;
Nor Carpenters, nor Masons doth not hire,
But builds a house himself, whole and intire:
Materials none from forein parts are brought;
Nor hath he Stone and Timber with art wrought;
But some sound Tree, which on his ground did grow,
Which he cuts down with many a labouring blow;
And with his hatchet, and his saw, he cuts
His Tree in many parts, those parts he puts
In several places, beams, posts, planchers layes,
And thus a house with his own stock doth raise:
He steals nor borrows not of any Neighbour,
But lives contentedly of his own labour;
And by his labour, he may thrive, and live
To be an old rich man, and then may leave
His Wealth, to build a Monument of Fame,
Which may for ever keep alive his name.
Iust so, I hope, the works that I have writ,
Which are the buildings of my natural wit;
My own Inheritance, as Natures child,
But the Worlds Vanities would me beguild:
But I have thriftly been, houswiv'd my time,
And built both Cottages of Prose and Rhime;
[Page]All the materials in my head did grow,
All is my own, and nothing do I owe:
But all that I desire when as I dye,
My memory in my own Works my lye:
And when as others build them Marble Tombs,
To inurn their dust, and fretted vaulted Rooms,
I care not where my dust, or bones remain,
So my Works live, the labour of my brain.
I covet not ae stately, cut, carv'd Tomb,
But that my Works, in Fames house may have room:
Thus I my poor built Cottage am content,
When that I dye, may be my Monument.

AN INTRODUCTION.

Enter 3. Gentlemen.
1. Gentleman.

Come Tom will you goe to a play?

2. Gentleman.

No

1. Gentleman.

Why?

2. Gentleman.

Because there is so many words, and so little wit, as the words tire me more than the wit delights me; and most commonly there is but one good part or humour, and all the rest are forced in for to enterline that part, or humour;

Likewise not above one or two good Actors, the rest are as ill Actors as the parts they Act, besides their best and principle part or humour is so redious, that I hate at last what I liked at first, for many times a part is very good to the third Act, but continued to the fifth is stark naught.

1. Gentleman.

The truth is, that in some Playes the Poets runs so long in one humour, as he runs himself out of breath.

3. Gentleman.

Not only the Poet but the humour he writes of seems to be as broken-winded.

1. Gentleman.

I have heard of a broken-winded Horse, but never heard of a broken-winded Poet, nor of a broken-winded Play before.

3. Gentleman.

I wonder why Poets will bind themselves, so as to make every humour they write, or present, to run quite through their Play.

2. Gentleman.

Bind say you? they rather give themselves line and liberty, nay they are so far from binding, as for the most part they stretch the Line of a humour into pieces.

3. Gentleman.

Let me tell you, that if any man should write a Play wherein he should present an humour in one Act, and should not continue it to the end: although it must be stretched, as you say, to make it hold out, he would be con­demned, and not only accounted an ill Poet, but no Poet, for it would be ac­counted as ill as wanting a Rhime in a Copie of Verses, or a word too short, or too much in a number, for which a Poet is condemned, and for a word that is not spell'd right, he is damned for ever.

1. Gentleman.

Nay, he is only damned if he doth not write strictly to the Orthographie.

3. Gentleman.

Scholars only damne Writers and Poets for Orthographie, but for the others, they are damned by the generality: that is, not only all rea­ders, but all that are but hearers of the works.

1. Gentleman.

The generality for the most part is not foolishly strict, or rigid as particulars are.

3. Gentleman.

Yes faith, they are led by one Bell-weather like a company of silly Sheep.

1. Gentleman.
[Page 2]

Well, if I were to write a Play, I would write the length of a humour according to the strength of the humour and breadth of my wit. Let them judge me and condemn as they would; for though some of the past, and present ages be erroniously or malitiously foolish in such cases; yet the future Ages may be more wise, and better natur'd as to applaud what the others have condemned.

But prithy Tom let us goe.

2. Gentleman.

No, I will not goe for the reasons before mentioned, which is, they tire me with their empty words, dull speeches, long parts, tedious Acts, ill Actors; and the truth is, theres not enough variety in an old play to please me.

1. Gentleman.

There is variety of that which is bad, as you have divided it, but it seemes you love youth and variety in playes, as you doe in Mistresse [...].

3. Gentleman.

Playes delights A [...]sorous men as much as a Mistris doth.

1. Gentleman.

Nay, faith more, for a man and his Mistris is soon out of breath in their discourse, and then they know not what to say, and when they are at a Non-pluss, they would be glad to be quit of each other, yet are asha­med to part so soon, and are weary to stay with each other long, when a Play entertaines them with Love, and requires not their answers, nor forceth their braines, nor pumps their wits; for a Play doth rather fill them than empty them.

2. Gentleman.

Faith most Playes doth rather fill the spectators with wind, than with substance, with noise, than with newes;

1. Gentleman.

This Play that I would have you go to, is a new Play.

2. Gentleman.

But is there newes in the Play, that is (is there new wit, fancyes, or new Scenes) and not taken our of old storyes, or old Playes newly translated.

1. Gentleman.

I know not that, but this Play was writ by a Lady, who on my Conscience hath neither Language, nor Learning, but what is native and naturall.

2. Gentleman.

A woman write a Play!

Out upon it; out upon it, for it cannot be good, besides you say she is a Lady, which is the likelyer to make the Play worse, a woman and a Lady to write a Play; fye, fye.

3. Gentleman.

Why may not a Lady write a good Play?

2. Gentleman.

No, for a womans wit is too weak and too conceived to write a Play.

1. Gentleman.

But if a woman hath wit, or can write a good Play, what will you say then.

2. Gentleman.

Why, I will say no body will believe it, for if it be good, they will think she did not write it, or at least say she did not, besides the ve­ry being a woman condemnes it, were it never so excellent and care, for men will not allow women to have wit, or we men to have reason, for if we allow them wit, we shall lose our prehemency.

1. Gentleman.

If you will not goe Tom, farewell; for I will go set this Play, let it be good, or bad.

2. Gentleman.

Nay stay, I will go with thee, for I am contented to cast away so much time for the sake of the sex. Although I have no saith of the Au [...]esses wit.

3. Gentleman.

Many a reprobate hath been converted and brought [...]re­pentance by hearing a good Sermon, and who knowes but that you may be converted from your erroneous opinion; by seeing this Play, and brought to co­confesse that a Lady may have wit.

Loves Adventures. Play.

  • The Lord Fatherly.
  • The Lord Singularity.
  • His Sonne.
  • Sir Serious Dumbe.
  • Sir Timothy Complement.
  • Sir Humphry Bolde.
  • Sir Roger Exception.
  • Sir Peaceable Studious.
  • Foster Trusty.
  • The Lady Orphant.
  • The Lady Ignorant wife to Sir Peace­able Studious.
  • The Lady Bashfull.
  • The Lady Wagtaile.
  • The Lady Amorous.
  • Mrs. Acquaintance.
  • Nurse Hondly Foster Trusties wise.
  • Lady Orphans Nurse.
  • Mrs. Reformers woman to the Lady Bashfull.
  • Two Chamber-Maydes.

Prologue.

NOble Spectators, you are come to see,
A Play, if good, perchance may clapped be;
And yet our Authoresse sayes that she hath heard,
Some playes, though good, hath not been so preferr'd;
As to be mounted up on high raised praise,
And to be Crown'd with Garlands of fresh hayes:
But the contrary have been hissed off,
Out from our Stage with many a censuring scoff;
But afterwards there understanding cleer'd,
They gave the praise, what they before had jeer'd.
The same she sayes may to her Play befall,
And your erroneous censures may recall:
But all such Playes as take not at first sight,
But afterwards the viewers takes delight:
It seemes there is more wit in such a Play,
Than can be understood in one whole day:
If for, she is well content for her wits sake,
From ignorance repulses for to take;
For she had rather want those understanding braines,
Than that her Play should want wits flowing veynes.

ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter the Lord Fatherly, and the Lord Singularity his Son.
LOrd Singularity.

Pray, Sir, do not force me to marry a childe, before you know whether she will prove vertuous, or discreet; when for the want of that knowledge, you may indanger the honour of your Line and Posterity, with Cuckoldry and Bastardry.

Lord Fatherly.

Son, you must leave that to fortune.

Lord Singularity.

A wise man, Sir, is to be the maker or spoiler of his own fortune.

Lord Fatherly.

Let me tell you Son, the wisest man that is, or ever was, may be deceived in the choosing a wife, for a woman is more obscure than nature her self, therefore you must trust to chance, for marriage is a Lottery, if you get a prize, you may live quietly and happily.

Lord Singularity.

But if I light of a blank, as a hundred to one, nay a thou­sand to one but I shall, which is on a Fool or a Whore, her Follies or Adul­teries, instead of a praise, will found out my disgrace.

Lord Fatherly.

Come, Come, she is Rich, she is Rich.

Lord Singularity.

Why Sir, guilded I [...]o [...]ns are most visible.

Lord Fatherly.

'Tis better, Son, to have a rich whore than a poor whore, but I hope Heaven hath made her Chast, and her Father being an honourable, honest, and wise man, will breed her vertuously, and I make no question but you will be happy with her.

Lord Singularity.

But Sir, pray consider the inequality of our ages, she be­ing but a Child, and I at mans Estate; by that time she is ready for the mar­riage bed: I shall be ready for the grave, and youths sharp appetites, will ne­ver rellish Age, wherefore she will seek to please her pallat else where.

Lord Fatherly.

Let me tell you, Son, should you marry a woman that were as many years older, than she is younger than you; it were a greater hazard, for first old women are more intemperate than young: and being older than the husband, they are apt to be jealouse, and being jealouse, they grow maliti­ous, and malice seeks revenge, and revenge disgrace, therefore she would Cuckold you meerly to disgrace you.

Lord Singularity.

On the other side, those Women that are marryed young, Cuckholds there Husbands fames dishonouring them by their ignorant follyes, and Childish indiscretions, as much as with Adultery. And I should assoon choose to be a Cuckhold, as to be thought to be one: For my honour will suffer as much by the one as the other, if not more.

Lord Fatherly.

Heaven blesse the, Sonne, from jealousy, for thou art horrible afraid of being a Cuckold.

Lord Singularity.

Can you blame me, Sir, since to be a Cuckhold is to be des­pised, scorned, laught, and pointed at, as a Monster worse than nature ever made, and all the Honour that my birth gave me and my education indued me, [Page 5] my vertue gained me, my industry got me; fortune bestowed on me, and fame inthron'd me for: may not only be lost by my wifes Adultery, but as I said by her indiscretion, which makes me wonder, how any man that hath a No­ble Soul, dares marry since all his honour lyes or lives in the light heels of his wife, which every little passion is apt to kick away, wherefore good Sir, let me live a single life.

Lord Fatherly.

How Son, would you have me consent to extinguish the light of my Name, and to pull out the root of my posterity.

Lord Singularity.

Why Sir, it were better to lye in dark oblivion, than to have a false light to devulge your disgrace; and you had better pull out the root, than to have a branch of dishonour ingrafted therein:

Lord Fatherly.

All these Arguments against Marriage is because you would injoy your Mistresses with freedom; fearing you should be disturbed by a wife.

Lord Singularity.

That needs not, for I observe, married Men takes as much liberty, if not more than Batchellors; for Batchellors are affraid they should challenge a promise of Marriage, and married Men are out of that danger.

Lord Father.

Then that is the reason that Batchellors Court Married wives, and Married Men Courts Maides; but howsoever Son, if all Men should be of your mind, there would be no Marring nor giving in Marriage; but all must be in Common.

Lord Singularity.

That were best Sir, for then there could be no Adultery committed, or Cuckolds made.

Lord Fatherly.

For shame take courage, and be not a fraid of a Woman.

Lord Singularity.

By Heaven Sir, I would sooner yield up my life to death, thau venture my honour to a womans management.

Lord Father.

Well Son, I shall not force you with threates or com­mands to marry against your will and good likeing; but I hope Heaven will turn your mind towards marriage, and sent thee a loving, vertuous and discreet wife.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lady Wagtaile, the Lady Amorous, Sir Timothy Compliment, Sir Humphrey Bold, and Sir Roger Exception.
SIr Timothy Compliment.

Bright beauty, may I be Servant.

Lady Amorous.

If I have any beauty, it was begot in your Eyes. And takes light from your commendations.

Sir Timothy Compliment.

You are Lady, the Starre of your Sex.

Lady Amorous.

No truely, I am but a Meteor that soon goeth out.

Lady Wagtaile.

Preethy Sir Timothy Compliment, and Lady Amorous, do not stand prating here, but let us go a broad to some place to devert the time.

Lady Amorous.

Dear Wagtaile, whether shall we goe?

Sir Timothy Compliment.

Faith let us go to a Play.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Let's go to a Tavern.

Sir Roger Exception.

What with Ladyes!

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Why, Ladyes have been in Tavernes before now.

Sir Roger Exception.
[Page 6]

It were as good to carry them to a Bawdy-house.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

As good say you, faith now I think of it, better; it were the only place to pass a way idle time. Come Ladyes shall we go.

Lady Amorous.

Whether?

Sir Humphrey Bold.

To a Bawdy-house.

Lady Amorous.

O sve! sve! Sir Humphrey Bold; how wantonly you talk?

Lady Wagtaile.

But would you carry us in good earnest to a Bawdy-house?

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Why, do you question it, when every house is a secret Bawdy-house. Na! Let me tell you, there be many Right Worshipfull, Nay, Right Honourable, and most Noble Pallaces made Bawdy-houses.

Sir Roger Exception.

Some perchance that are old and ruinous, and the right owners out.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

No, some that are new, large, and finely furnished; and the owners stately, proud, scornfull, and jeering, living therein.

Sir Roger Exception.

They should take heed of jeering, least they be jeered, and of being scornfull, least they be scorned.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

What say you Ladyes, are you resolved.

Lady Wagtaile.

No, No, we will not go with you to such places now; but I will carry you to a young Lady whose Father is newly dead, and hath left her all his Estate; and she is become a great heir.

Sir Roger Exception.

Perchance Lady she will not receive our visit, if her Father be newly dead.

Lady Wagtaile.

I perceive you are ignorant of Funerall customes, for wid­dowes, heires, and heiresses receives visits whilst the Corpes lyes above ground: And they will keep them so much the longer, to have so many more visitants: nay, sometimes they will keep them so long, as there dissembling is perceived, or so long as they stink above ground; for if they bury not the Corpes and set empty Coffins for want of imbalming, their miserableness will stench up the Nostrils of their vanity.

Sir Roger Vanity.

Nay by your savour Lady, there are some that are buried whilst they are steeming hot.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Those are only such whose Executors, widdowes, or widdowers, seares they may revive again, and rather than that they should do so, they will bury them alive.

Lady Wagtaile.

You say rightly true, Sir Humphrey Bold.

Sir Timothy Compliment.

Sweet beautyes, let us go to see this Rich heiress.

Lady Amorous.

Content.

Sir Roger Exception.

But Ladyes are you acquainted with her.

Lady Wagtaile.

O no! But you may know that all women rather than want visits, they will go to those they never saw, nor spoak to: but only heares of them; and where they live, and I can direct the Coachman to this Ladyes Lodging, wherefore let us go.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

I shall not deny to visit a Rich heiress.

Sir Roger Exception.

I shall waite upon you Ladyes, but—

Lady Wagtaile.

Nay, never make buts, but let's go.

Lady Amorous.

Pray let us call Sir Serious Dumb, to go along with us.

Lady Wagtaile.

Faith Amorous you love his Company, because he can tell no tales.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Pray call him not, but let him alone: for I dare sweare he is inventing of some useless and foolish Art.

Sir Timothy Compliment.

Is he so inventive say you, but if his inventions is useless, he invents in vain.

Sir Roger Exception.
[Page 7]

Why may not a Dumb mans Inventions be as good as a blind, for the most usefullest Artes were invented, as the learned saith, by one born blind.

Lady Wagtaile.

Me thinkes a dumb man should not have much wit, for by my troath one that is dumb seemes to me like a fool; nay, one that speakes but little: I cannot for my life but condemn him, or her for an Ass.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

He may be a fool, although he may chance to light on some inventions; for Artes are oftner produced from chance than wit, but let us go and leave him.

Lady Wagtaile whi­spers to Sir H. Bold.
Lady Wagtaile.

Faith Sir Humphrey Bold, we must call him, or otherwise my friend Amorous will be out of humour.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Doth she love silence so well.

Lady Wagtaile

No, no, it is that she loves secrecy so well.

Exit.
CHORUS.
In a minutes time is flown
From a Child, to Woman grown;
Some will smile, or laughing say;
This is but a foolish Play;
By Reason a Comedy, should of one dayes action be,
Let them laugh and so will I
At there great simplicity;
I as other Poets brings
Severall Nations, Subjects, Kings
All to Act upon one stage,
So severall times in one Age.

Scene 3.

Enter the Lady Orphant, and Mrs. Acquaintance.
MIstriss Acquaintance.

How do you know the Lord Singularity is such a gallant man? For he hath been out of the Kingdom this 7. yeares; wherefore, you could have no acquaintance, you being yet very young.

Lady Orphant.

Although I have no acquaintance by sight, or experienced knowledge; yet by report I have: for I remembred I heard my Father say, he was the honour of the Age, the glory of our Nation; and a pattern for all mankind to take a sample from, and that his person was answerable to his merrits, for he said he was a very handsome man, of a Masculine presence, a Courtly garbe, and affable and courteous behaviour; and that his wit was answerable [...] his merits, person, and behaviour, as that he had a quick wit, a solid judgment, a ready tongue and a smooth speech.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

And did your Father proffer you to be his wife.

Lady Orphant.

Yes, and I remember my father sighing said, he should have died in peace, and his soul would have rested in quiet, if he had been pleased to have accepted of me.

Mrs. Acquaintance.
[Page 8]

When did your Father proffer you.

Lady Orphant.

When I was but a Child:

Mrs. Acquaintance.

He is not married, and therefore he may chance to ac­cept of you now, if you were profer'd.

Lady Orphant.

That were but to be refused again, for I heare he is resolved never to marry, and it will be a greater disgrace to be refused now I am grown to womans Estate, than when I was but a Child, besides my Father is dead, and my marring can give him no content in the grave; unless his soul could view the world and the severall actions therein.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

So, is his Father dead.

Lady Orphant.

Yes, and I here that is the cause he cares not to return into his native Country.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

I have a friend that hath his picture.

Lady Orphant.

Is it a he or a she friend.

Lady Acquaintance.

A she friend.

Lady Orphant.

Pray be so much my friend, as to get your friends consent to shew me the Picture.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

Perchance I may get it to view it my self, but I shall never perswade her to lend it you, jealousy will forbid her.

Lady Orphant.

She hath no cause to fear me, for I am not one to make an Amorous Mrs. and I have heard he will never marry.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

That is all one; woman hath hopes as much as feares, or doubts what ever men doth vow for, or against.

Lady Orphant.

Pray send to her to lend it you, and then you may shew it me.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

I will try if she will trust me with it.

Exit.
Lady Orphant Solus.

O Heaven, grant that the praise my Father gave this Lord whilst in the world he lived, prove not as curses to me his Child, so grieve his soul with my unhappy life.

Exit.

Scene 4.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Mrs. Reformer her woman; she being in yeares.
MIstriss Reformer.

Madam, now you are become a Mrs. of a Family, you must learn to entertain visitants, and not be so bashfull as you were wont to be, insomuch as you had not confidence to look a stranger in the face, were they never so mean persons.

Lady Bashfull.

Alas Reformer, it is neither their birth, breeding, wealth, or title, that puts me out of Countenance; for a poor Cobler will put me as much out of Countenance as a Prince; or a poor Semestress, as much as a great Lady.

Mrs. Reformer.

What is it then?

Lady Bashfull.

Why there are unacustomated faces, and unacquainted humours.

Mrs. Reformer.
[Page 9]

By this reason, you may be as much out of countenance as an unacustomed Dogg, or Cat, that you never saw before; or any other beast.

Lady Bashfull.

O no, for mankind is worse natured than boasts, and beasts better natured than men; besides beasts lookes not with censuring eyes, nor heares, or listens with inquisitive cares, nor speakes with detracting tongues, nor gives false judgment, or spitefull censures, or slandering reproaches, nor jeeres, nor laughs at innocent or harmless Errours, nor makes every little mistake a crime.

Enter the Lady Bashfulls Page.
Page.

Madam, there is a Coachfull of gallants allighted at the gate.

Lady Bashfull.

For heavens sake, say I have no desire to be seen.

Reformer.

No, say my Lady is full of grief and is not fit to receive visits.

Enter the Ladyes and Gentlemen.
Whereat the Lady Bashfull stands trembling and shaking, and her eyes being cast to the ground, and her face as pale as death. They speak to Reformer.

Where is the Lady Bashfull, pray Gentlewoman tell her we are come to kiss her hands.

Reformer offers to go forth.
Lady Wagtaile.

Will you do us the favour old Gentlewoman, as to let the Lady know we are here.

Reformer.

If I am not so old as to be insensible, this is she.

Lady Wagtaile.

Is this she, alas good Lady, she is not well, for surely she hath a sit of an Ague upon her, she doth so shake; you should give her a Car­duus-possit and put her to bed.

Lady Amorous.

Lady, are you sick.

She Answers not.
Lady Wagtaile.

She is sick indeed, if she be speechless.

Reformer.

Madam, pray pull up your spirits, and entertain this honourable Company.

Lady Wagtaile.

Why is the defect in her spirits.

Reformer.

She is young and bashfull.—

They all laugh, except Sir Roger Exception, and Sir Serious Dumb.
Ha! Ha! She is out of countenance.
Sir Roger Exception.

No she is angry, because we are strangers unknown unto her; and she takes it for a rudeness that we are come to visit her, there­fore let us be gone.

Lady Amorous.

Let me tell you, it is meer shamefacedness.

Sir Roger Exception.

I say no, for those that are angry will shake extreamly, and turn as pale as death.

Sir Humphrey Bold.

Lady, take courage, and look upon us with a confi­dent brow.

[Page 10] All the while Sir Serious Dumb lookes on the Lady Bashfull with sixt eyes.
The Lady Bashfull offers to speak to the Company, but cannot for stuttering; they all laugh again at her.
Reformer.

Lord, Madam I will you make your self ridiculous.

Lady Bashfull.

I cannot help it, for my thoughts are consumed in the fiery flame of my blushes; and my words are smothered in the smoak of shame.

Lady Wagtaile.

O! she speakes, she speakes a little.

Reformer.

Pray Madam leave her at this time, and if you honour her with your Company again, she may chance to entertain you with some confi­dence.

Lady Wagtaile.

Pray let me and Sir Humphry Bold come and visit her once a day, if it be but halfe an hour at a time, and we shall cure her I warrant thee.

Reformer.

I wish she were cured of this imperfection.

Sir Humphry Bold.

She must marry, she must marry, for there is no cure like a husband, for husbands beget confidence, and their wives are brought a bed with impudence.

Lady Wagtaile.

By your favour Sir Humphry Bold, marriage must give way or place to courtship, for there are some wives as simply bashfull as Virgins; but when did you ever see, or know, or hear of courtly lovers, or Amorous courtships, to be bashfull: Their eyes are as piercing as light, and twinckles as Starrs, and their countenance as confident as day; and the discourses is freer than wind.

He imbraces her.
Sir Humphry Bold.

And your imbraces are wondrous kind.

Lady Wagtaile.

In troth we women love you men but too well, that is the truth of it.

Sir Roger Exception.

Pray Madam let us go, and not stay to anger this young Lady as we do.

Lady Wagtaile.

Farewell friend, Sir Humphry Bold and I will visit your La­dy to morrow.

As they were all going away, the Lady Wagtaile turnes back again.
Lady Wagtaile.

Pray what may I call your name.

Reformer.

My name is Reformer.

Lady Wagtaile.

Good Mrs. Reformer, I am heartily glad to see you well.

Reformer.

I thank you Ladyship.

All goeth away but Sir Serious Dumb, and he stayes a little time to look upon the Lady Bashfull, and then goeth out.
Ex.
The Lady Bashfull Sola, and after they were all gone she stretches up herself.
Lady Bashfull.

O in what a torment I have been in; holl is not like it.

Exit.

Scene 5.

Enter the Lady Orphant, and Mrs. Acquaintance.
LAdy Orphant.

Have you got the Picture?

Mrs. Acquaintance.

Yes, but I have seen handsomet men in my opinion than this Picture doth represent.

The Lady Orphant takes the Picture and views it with a stedfast eye.
Lady Orphant.

I perceive you have no judgment in the Originall, nor skill in the Copy; for this Picture is most naturally penselled, the Painter hath drawn it so lively. That one may perceive his noble Soul to appear through his lovely, and lively Countenance; do but observe it well, and you will see as much as I.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

That is impossible, unless I had your heart, for though my skill of the Copy, or shadow, may be as much as yours, yet my affections to the Originall is less; which makes my eyes not partiall.

Lady Orphant.

What will the owner take for that Picture?

Mrs. Acquaintance.

She will not sell it at any rate:

Lady Orphant.

I wish she would, for I would buy it at any price.

Mrs. Acquaintance.

She prizes it as highly as you, loving him as much; or well (as you do.)

Lady Orphant.

How know you that?

Mrs. Acquaintance.

Because I know she hath given him proofs of her love, which I believe you never did.

Lady Orphant.

You mistake lust for love, ambition, for merit, I love not for the bodyes sake, but for the soules pure spirit.

Ex.

ACT II.

Scene 6.

Enter two Merchants.
1. MErchant.

I hear the Lord Singularity hath given the Turkes a great de­feat, he is both a wise, prudent, and valiant man.

2. Merchant.

Methinkes our Nation should not suffer such a person as he, to hazard his life in the service of other Countryes.

1. Merchant.

O it is an honour to our Nation, to let the world know what gallant men it breeds, besides our Nation is in peace with all the world; and he being active, hates to live idly, and dully at home, although he have a great estate, and is well beloved in his Country.

2. Merchant.

What command doth the Venetians give him?

1. Merchant.
[Page 12]

He is a Generall, for he commands a great Army.

2. Merchant.

Is he marryed?

1. Merchant.

No, and it is reported he never will marry, but he loves Mistrisses well, which all Souldiers doth for the most part.

2. Merchant.

Then Italy is the best Countrey in the world for a souldier, there being the greatest store and most variety of Curtezans, for many of the Italians are, as many are in other Nations, rather Carpet-Knights, then fighting souldiers, they have more skill in setting musicall notes, than pitching a bat­tle; in kissing a Mistrisses hand with a good grace, than shooting of a Cannon bullet with a great courage; they can take better aime at a window, than of an enemy. And though they often receive woundes, yet they are from fair Venus, not from cruell Mars.

1. Merchant.

But Mars souldiers when they skirmish in loves duels, re­ceives woundes as often from fair Venus, as other men, and Italy hath as many gallant valliant men, bred and born in her, as any other Nation; and there are as many Carpet-Knights in other Nations, as in Italy; and if valiant, and gallant men be indued with vertue, they are not the less to be esteemed; and as for Curtizans, all Nations is stored as much as Italy, but they do not so openly prefess it, as those in Italy doth.

2. Merchant.

For my part, I cannot think they are so good Souldiers as they were in Caesars time.

1. Merchant.

That may be, for there is no such souldiers as Caesars souldiers were, no not in the world; that is, there are no men so patient, obedienz, carefull, industrious, laborious, daring, adventurous, resolute, and active, in these Warrs, in this age, as the Romans were in Caesars time; and of all the souldiers, Caesars souldiers were the best, and of all commanders Caesar himself, yet those warriers was not less courtly to the feminine sex, than these of this age; and if you did talk with an understanding Souldier, he would tell you that Amors gave an edge to courage, and that it is a mark of a gallant man, and a brave souldier to be an Amarato; and as for the Curtizans of Italy, if there can be an honest act in a dishonest life, it is that the Curtizans in Italy professes what they are; so that men are, not deceived by them, nor betrayed into marriage; wherein other Nations men are cozened with counterfeit modesty, and drawn into marriage by pretended chastity, and then dishonoured by soul adultery, or shamed by marrying a private Curtizan, not knowing she was so.

2. Merchant.

I perceive by thee, that Merchants loves a Mistris as well as a Souldier.

1. Merchant.

Surely by thy talk thou art ignorant of thy own profession, which is to trade, and traffick into all Nations, and with all sorts; but yet, Merchants may be Souldiers if they will, and Souldiers may be Merchants if they please; but the truth is all men in the world are Merchants.

2. Merchant.

No, beggers are not.

1. Merchant.

But they are, for they traffick with prayers and praises for almes.

2. Merchant.

The best Merchants I know are Priests, for they trade into Heaven; and traffick with Iove.

1. Merchant.

That makes them so poor, for heavens commoditie are not saleable on earth.

Ex.

Scene 7.

Enter the Lady Orphant, Nurse Fondly, Foster Trusty.
LAdy Orphant.

Dear Nurse and Foster Father, grant to my desires and as­sist my designs.

Nurse Fondly.

What to let you wander about the world like a Vagabond, besides it is against the modesty of your Sex.

Lady Orphant.

Are holy Pilgrimes Vagabonds, or is it immodest for the bodies of devout soules to travell to the sacred Tombe to offer penetentiall tears.

Nurse Fondly.

Why, you are no Pilgrime, nor is your journey to a godly end.

Lady Orphant.

My journey will be to an honest end, for though I am loves Pilgrime, yet I shall travell to an honest heart; there to offer my pure affections.

Nurse Fondly.

To a deboist man, there to offer your Virginity.

Lady Orphant.

Mistake me not, for though I love beyond a common rate, even to an extream degree, yet I am chastly honest, and so shall ever be; my grave shall witness my constancy.

The Lady Orphant weeping. Ex.
Foster Trusty.

Beshrew your tongue wife for speaking so sharply to our young Lady, she was left to our trust, care, and tender usage, and not to be snapt and quarrelled with.

Nurse Fondly.

Yes, and you would betray your trust to her childish folly.

Foster Trusty.

No that I would not, neither would I venture or yield up her life to loves melancholly.

Nurse Fondly.

Come, Come husband, you humour her too much, and that will spoile her I am sure.

Ex.

Scene 8.

Enter Sir Peaceable Studious with a Book in his hand; a Table be­ing set out, whereon is Pen, Ink and Paper. After he hath walked a turn or two, with his eyes fixt upon the ground, he sits down to the Table, and begins to write.
Enter the Lady Ignorant his Wife.
LAdy Ignorant.

Lord Husband! I can never have your company, for you are at all times writing, or reading, or turning your Globes, or peaking thorough your Prospective Glasse, or repeating Verses, or speaking Speeches to your self.

Sir P. Studious.
[Page 14]

Why wife, you may have my company at any time, Nay, never to be from me if you please, for I am alwaies at home.

Lady Ignorant,

'Tis true, your person is alwaies at home, and fixt to one place, your Closet as a dull dead statue to the side of a wall, but your mind and thoughts are alwaies abroad.

Sir P. Studious

The truth is, my mind sometimes sends out my thoughts like Coye ducks, to bring more understanding in.

Lady Ignorant,

You mistake Husband, for your thoughts are like vain, or rather like false Scouts that deceives your understanding, imprisons your sen­ses, and betrayes your life to a dull solitariness.

Sir P. Studious.

'Tis better to live a quiet solitary life, than a troublesome and an uneasie life.

Lady Ignorant.

What is a man born for, but to serve his Countrey, side with his friends, and to please the esseminate Sex.

Sir P. Studious.

You say right wife, and to serve his Countrey, is to finde out such inventions as is usefull either in Peace or War; and to form, order and settle Common-wealths by Denizing Laws, which none but studious brains e're did, or can do. Tis true, practice doth pollish beauty and adorn, but neither layes the Foundation, nor brings the Materials, nor builds the walls thereof; and to side with friends, is to defend Right and Truth with sound arguments and strong proofs, from the tyrannical usurpation of false opinions, vain phantasines, malicious satires, and flattering oratorie, and to please the effeminate Sex, is to praise their beauty, wit, vertue and good graces in soft Numbers, and smooth Language, building up Piramides of poetical praises, Printing their fame thereon, by which they live to After-ages.

Lady Ignorant.

Prithy Husband mistake us not, for women cares not for wide mouthed fame; and we take more delight to speak our selves whilst we live, than to be talked of when we are dead, and to take our present pleasures, than to abstain our selves for After-ages.

Sir P. Studeous.

Well wife, what would you have me do?

Lady Ignorance.

Why, I would have you so sociable, as to sit and discourse with our friends and acquaintance, and play the good fellow amongst them.

Sir P. Studious.

What need we to have any other friends than our selves; our studies, books and thoughts.

Lady Ignorance.

Your studies, books and thoughts, are but dull acquain­tance, melancholly companions, and weak friends.

Sir P. Studious.

You do not wife consider their worth; for books are conversable, yet silent acquaintance, and study, is a wise Counsellor; and kind friends, and poetical thoughts are witty Companions, wherein other So­cieties and Companies are great inconveniences, and oftimes produces evil effects, as Jealousie, Adulterie, Quarrels, Duels, and Death, besides slanders, back [...]itings and the like.

Lady Ignorance.

Truly Husband, you are strangely mistaken; for those So­cieties as I would have you frequent, doth Sing, Dance, Rallie, make Balls Masks, Playes, Feasts, and the like, and also makes Frollicks or Rubices, or Playes, at Questions and Commands, Purposes or Ridles, and twenty such like Pastimes and fine sports they have.

Sir P. Studious.

But surely Wife you would not like this kind of life, nor I neither; especially if we were in one and the same Company; for perchance you may hear wanton Songs sung, and see amorous glances, or rude or immo­dest Actions, and when you dance, have a secret nip, and gentle gripe of [Page 15] the band silently to declare their amorous affections; and when you are at Questions or Commands, you will be commanded to kiss the men, or they you, which I shall not like, neither should you; or if they are commanded to pull of your Garter, which no chast and modest woman will suffer, nor no gallant man, or honourable husband will indure to stand by to see, and if you refuse, you disturb the rest of the Company, and then the women falls out with you in their own defence, and the men takes it as an affront, and disgrace, by rea­son none refuses but you; This causes quarrels with Strangers, or quarrels be­twixt our selves.

Lady Ignorant,

'Tis true, if the Company were not Persons of Quality which were civilly bred; but there is no rude Actions, or immodest behavi­ours offered or seen amongst them; Besides, if you do not like those sports, you may play at Cardes or Dice to pass away the time.

Sir. P. Studious.

But Wife, let me examine you, have or do you frequent these Societies that you speak so Knowingly, Learnedly and Affecti­onately of?

Lady Ignorance.

No otherwise Husband, but as I have heard, which reports makes me desire to be acquainted with them.

Sir P. Studious.

Well, you shall, and I will bear you company, to be an Eye-witness how well you behave your self, and how you profit there­by.

Lady Ignorance.

Pray Husband do, for it will divert you from your too seri­ous studies, and deep thoughts, which feeds upon the health of your body, which will shorten your life; and I love you so well, as I would not have you dye, for this I perswade you to, is for your good.

Sir P. Studious.

We will try how good it is.

Ex.

Scene 9.

Enter Nurse Fondley, and Foster Trusty her Husband.
NUrse Fondly.

How shall I keep your Journey secret, but that every body will know of it.

Foster Trusty.

We will give out that such a deep melancholly have seized on her, since her Fathers death, as she hath made a vow not to see any crea­ture besides your self for two years; As for me, that I have lived so solitary a life with my solitary Master, this Ladies Father, that I have few or no acquain­tance; besides, I will pretend some business into some other parts of the King­dom, and I having but a little Estate, few will inquire after me.

Nurse Fondly.

So in the mean time I must live solitary, all alone, without, my Husband, or Nurse-childe, which Childe, Heaven knows, I love better, than if I had one living of my own.

Foster Trusty.

I am as fond of her, as you are, and Heaven knows, would most willingly sacrifice my old life, could it do her any ser­vice.

Nurse Fondly.
[Page 16]

But we indanger her life, by the consenting to this journey, for she that hath been bred with tenderness and delicateness, can never indure the coldes and heats, the dirt and dust that Travellers are subject to; Besides, to be disturbed and broaken of her sleep, and to have ill Lodging, or per­haps none at all, and then to travel a foot like a Pilgrim: Her tender feet will never indure the hard ground, nor her young legs never able to bear her body so long a journey.

Foster Trusty.

Tis true, this journey may very much incommode her, yet if she doth not go to satisfie her mind, I cannot perceive any hopes of life, but do foresee her certain death; for her mind is so restless, and her thoughts works so much upon her body, as it begins to waste, for she is become lean and pale.

Nurse Fondly.

Well! Heaven bless you both, and prosper your journey, but pray let me hear often from you, for I shall be in great frights and fears.

Foster Trusty.

If we should write, it may chance to discover us, if our Let­ters should be opened, wherefore you must have patience.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Reformer her Woman.
LAdy Bashfull.

Reformer, I am little beholding to you.

Reformer.

Why Madam.

Lady Bashfull.

Why, you might have told a lye for me once in your life, for if you had not spoke the truth by saying I was the Lady, they came to see; they would never have guest I had been she, for they expected me to have been a free bold Entertainer, as they were Visitors, which is, as I do perceive, to be rudely familiar at first sight.

Reformer.

But to have told a lye, had been to commit a sin.

Lady, Bashfull.

In my conscience tto please the effeminate Sex, is to praise their beauty, wit, vertue and goa most pious and charitable act in hel­ping the distressed; Besides, you had not only helped a present distress, but released a whole life out of misery; for as long as I live my thoughts will torment me: O! They wound my very soul already, they will hinder my pious devotions; For when I pray, I shall think more of my bashfull beha­viour, and the disgrace I have received thereby, than of Heaven; Besides, they will starve me, not suffering the meat to go down my throat, or else to choke me, causing it to go awry, or else they will cause a Feaver; for in my conscience I shall blush even in my sleep, if I can sleep; For certainly I shall dream of my disgrace, which will be as bad as a waking memory: O! that I had Opium, I would take it, that I might forget all things; For as long as I have memory, I shall remember my simple behaviour, and as for my Page, he shall go, I am resolved to turn him away.

Reformer.

Why madam?

Lady Bashfull.

Because he let them come in.

Reformer.

He could not help it, for they followed him at the heels, they [Page 17] they never stayed for an answer from you, or to know whether you were within or no, and there were a great many of them.

Lady Bashfull.

I think there was a Legion of them.

Reformer.

You speak as if they were a Legion of Angels.

Lady Bashfull.

Nay, they proved a Legion of Divels to me.

Reformer.

There was one that seemed to be a fine Gentleman, but he spake not a word.

Lady Bashfull.

They may be all what you will make them, or describe them, for I could make no distinction whether they were men or women, or beasts nor heard no articulated sound, only a humming noise.

Reformer.

They spake loud enough to have pierced your ears, if strength of noise could have done it, but the Gentleman that did not speak, looked so earnestly at you, as if he would have looked you thorough.

Lady Bashfull,

O that his eyes had that piercing faculty, for then perchance he might have seen; I am not so simple as my behaviour made me appear.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter Sir Peaceable Studious, and the Lady Ignorance his Wife.
SIr Peaceable Studious.

I have lost 500. pounds since you went in with the Ladies.

Lady Ignorance.

500. Pounds in so short a time.

Sir P. Studious.

'Tis well I lost no more: But yet, that 500. pounds would have bought you a new Coach, or Bed, or Silver Plate, or Cabinets, or Gowns, or fine Flanders-laces, and now its gone, and we have no pleasure nor credit for it, but it is no matter, I have health for it, therefore I will call to my Stewards to bring me some more.

Lady Ignorance.

No, do not so, for after the rate you have lost, you will lose all your Estate in short time.

Sir P. Studious.

Faith let it go, 'tis but begging or starving after it is gone, for I have no trade to live by, unless you have a way to get a living, have you any.

Lady Ignorance.

No truly Husband, I am a shiftless creature.

Sir. P. Studious.

Yes, but you may play the Whore, and I the Shark, so live by couzening and cheating.

Lady Ignorance.

Heaven defend Husband.

Sir P. Studious.

Or perchance some will be so charitable to give us suck'd bones from stinking breaths, and rotten teeth, or greasie scraps from fowl hands; But go wife, prithy bid my Steward send me 500. pounds more, or let it alone, I will run on the score, and pay my losings at a lump.

Lady Ignorance.

No dear Husband, play no more.

Sir P. Studious.

How! not play any more say you, shall I break good Com­pany with sitting out; Besides, it is a question whether I have power to leave off, now I have once begun; for Play is Witch-craft, it inchants temperance, prudence, patience, reason and judgment, and it kicks away time, and bids him [Page 18] go as an old bald-pated fellow as he is, also it chains the life with fears, cares and griefs of losing to a pair of Cards and set of Dice.

Lady Ignorance.

For Heaven sake pitty me! If you consider not your self.

Sir P. Studious:

Can you think a Husband considers his wife, when he for­gets, or regards not himself, when all love is self-love, for a man would have his Wife to be loving and chaste for his honours sake, to be thrifty for his profit sake, to be patient for quiet sake, to be cleanly, witty and beautifull for his pleasure sake, and being thus, he loves her; For if she be false, unkind, pro­digal, froward sluttish, foolish, and ill-favoured, he hates her.

Lady Ignorant.

But if a Husband loves his wife, he will be carefull to please her, prudent for her, subsistence, industrious for her convenience, valiant to protect her, and conversable to entertain her, and wise to direct and guide her.

Sir P. Studious.

To rule and govern her, you mean wife.

Lady Ignorance.

Yes, but a Husbands follies will be but corrupt Tutors, and ill Examples for a wife to follow; wherefore dear Husband, play no more, but come amongst the effeminate Societie, you will finde more pleasure at less charges.

Sir P. Studious.

Well wife, You shall perswade me for this time.

Lady Ignorance.

I thank you Husband.

Ex.

Scene 12.

Enter the Lady Orphant, and Foster Trusty, as two Pilgrims.
FOster Trusty.

My childe, you were best sit and rest your self, you cannot chose but be very weary, for we have travelled a great journey to day.

Lady Orphant.

Truly I am as fresh, and my spirits are as lively, as if I had not trod a step to day.

Foster Trusty.

I perceive love can work miracles.

Lady Orphant.

Are not you Father a weary?

Foster Trusty.

It were a shame for me to be weary, when you are not; But my childe, we must change these Pilgrims weeds, when we are out of our own Countrey; as when we are in Italy, otherwise we cannot pretend to stay in the Venetian Armie, but must travel as Pilgrims do to Ierusalem: But it were best we put our selves into Beggers garments until we come into the Armie, for fear we should be strip'd by Thieves; for I have heard, Thieves will strip Travellers, if their cloths be not all ragges.

Lady Orphant.

'Tis true, and Thieves as I have heard, will rob Pilgrims soonest, finding many good Pilladge, wherefore we will accoutre our selves like to ragged Beggers.

Ex.

ACT III.

Scene 13.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, as in a melancholly humour, and Refor­mer her Woman.
REformer.

Lord Madam! I hope you are not seriously troubled for being out of Countenance.

Lady Bashfull.

Yes truely.

Reformer.

What? as to make you melancholly!

Lady Bashfull.

Yes, very melancholly, when I think I have made my self a scorn, and hath indangered my reputation.

Reformer.

Your reputation! Heaven bless you, but your life is so innocent, harmless, chaste, pure and sweet, and your actions so just and honest, as all the Divels in Hell cannot indanger your reputation.

Lady Bashfull.

But spitefull tongues, which are worse than Divels, may hurt my reputation.

Reformer.

But spite cannot have any thing to say.

Lady Bashfull.

Spite will lye, rather than not speak, for envie is the mother to spite, and slander is the Mid-wife.

Reformer.

Why, what can they say?

Lady Bashfull.

They will say I am guilty of some immodest act, or at least thoughts, or else of some heynous and horrid crime, otherwise I could not be ashamed, or out of countenance, if I were innocent.

Reformer.

They cannot say ill, or think ill, but if they could, and did, what are you the worse, as long as you are innocent.

Lady Bashfull.

Yes truely, for I desire to live in a pure esteem, and an honou­rable respect in every breast, and to have a good report spoke on me, since I de­serve no other.

Reformer.

There is an old saying, that opinion travels without a Passe-port, and they that would have every ones good opinion, must live in every mans age: But I am very confident, there is none lives or dyes without censures, or detraction; even the Gods themselves, that made man, hath given man power and free will to speak, at least to think what they will; That makes so many Athiests in thought, and so many several factions by disputation, and since the Gods cannot, or will not be free from censures, why should you trouble your self with what others say, wherefore pray put off this indiscreet and trouble­some humour, for if you would not regard censure, you would be more con­fident.

Lady Bashfull.

I will do what I can to mend.

Scene 14.

Enter the Lady Orphant, and Foster Trusty, like two poor Beggers.
FOster.

Childe, you must beg of every one that comes by, otherwise we shall not seem right Beggers.

Lady Orphant.

If our necessities were according to our outward appearance, we were but in a sad condition; for I shall never get any thing by begging, for I have neither learn'd the tone, nor the Beggers phrase to more pity or cha­rity.

Foster Trusty.

Few Beggers move pity, they get more by importunity, than by their oratorie, or the givers charity.

Enter 2. Gentlemen.
She goeth to them and beggs.
Lady Orphant.

Noble Gentlemen, pity the shiftless youth, and infirm old age that hath no means to live, but what compassionate charity will be­stow.

1. Gentleman.

You are a young boy, and may get your living by learning to work.

Lady Orphant.

But my Father being very old, is past working, and I am so young, as I have not arrived to a learning degree of age, and by that time I have learn'd to get my living, my Father may be starved for want of food.

2. Gent.

Why, your Father may beg for himself whilst you learn to work.

Lady Orphant.

My Father's feeble legs can never run after the flying speed of pityless hearts, nor can he stand so long to wait for conscience aimes, nor knock so hard to make devotion hear.

1. Gent.

I perceive you have learn'd to beg well, though not to work, and because you shall know my devotion is not deaf, there is something for your Father and you.

2. Gent.

Nay, faith boy, thou shalt have some of the scraps of my charity to, there is for thee.

Lady Orphant.

Heaven bless you; and grant to you, all your good desires.

Gentlemen Ex.
Enter a Lady and Servants.
Lady Orphant.

Honourable Lady, let the mouth of necessity suck the breast of your charity to feed the hungry Beggers.

Lady.

Away you rogue, a young boy and beg! You should be strip'd, whip'd, and set to work.

Lady Orphant.

Alas Madam, naked poverty is alwaies under the lash of miserie, which forceth us to work in the quarries of stony hearts, but we finde the mineral so hard, as we cannot get out enough to build up a lively­hood.

Lady.
[Page 21]

Imploy your selves upon some other work then.

Lady Ex.
Enter a mean Trades-man.
Lady Orphant.

Good Sir relieve a poor begger.

Trades-man.

Faith boy, I am so poor, as I want relief my self; yet of what I have, thou shalt share with me; there is a peny of my two pence, which is all I have, and Heaven do thee good with it.

Trades-man Exit.
Lady Orphant.

I perceive poverty pities poverty, as feeling the like miserie, where riches is cruel, and hard-hearted, not knowing what want is.

Foster Trusty.

I perceive wit can work upon every thing, and can form it self into what shape it please, and thy wit playes the Begger so well, as we needed not to have stored our selves from our own Stocks, but have lived upon the Stocks of others.

Lady Orphant.

But if all Stocks were as insipid as the Ladies, we should have starved, if we had not brought sap from our own home; But Father, I am weighed down with the peny the poor Trades-man gave me.

Foster Trusty.

Why, it is not so heavy.

Lady Orphant.

It is so heavy, as it burthens my conscience, and I shall never be at ease, not be able to travel any farther, until I have restored the peny to the giver again.

Foster Nurse.

How should we do that, for it is as hard and difficult to find out that man, as to finde out the first cause of effects.

Lady Orph.

Well, I will play the Philosopher, and search for him.

Foster Nurse.

But if you should meet him, perchance you will not know he was he.

Lady Orph.

O yes, for his extraordinary charity made me take particular notice of him.

Enter the Trades-man as returning back.
Lady Orph.

Most charitable and —

Trades-man.

What boy, wouldst thou have the other peny,

Lady Orph.

Most Noble Sir, I have received from a bountifull hand, a summe of money, and since you were so charitable to divide the half of your store to me, so I desire I may do the like to you.

Trades-man.

No boy, keep it for thy self, and thy old Father; I have a Trade, and shall get more.

Lady Orph.

Pray take it for luck-sake, otherwise I shall never thrive.

Trades-man.

Faith I finde boy, thou art not as most of the World are; the more riches they get, the more covetous they grow.

Lady Orph.

Sir, pray take this.

Trades-man.

What do you give me here, a piece of Gold?

Lady Orph.

Yes Sir.

Trades-man.

That were extortion, to take a pound for a peny.

Lady Orph.

No, it is not extortion, since I can better space this pound now, than you could your peny, when you gave it me; wherefore it is but ju­stice,

Trades-man.

Well, I will keep it for thee, and when you want it, come to [Page 22] me again, and you shall have it: I live in the next street, at the signe of the Holy-lamb.

Lady Orphant.

Pray make use of it, for I may chance never to see you more.

Exeunt.

Scene 15.

Enter Sir Studious and the Lady Ignorance his Wife.
SIr P. Studious.

Faith Wife, with sipping of your Gossiping-cups, I am half drunk.

Lady Ignorance.

Lord Husband! There were some of the Ladies that drank twice as much as you did, and were not drunk, and to prove they were not drunk, was that they talked as much before they drunk, as after; For there was such a confusion of words, as they could not understand each other, and they did no more, when they had drunk a great quantity of Wine.

Sir P. Studious.

That was a signe they were drunk, that they talked less, but how chance that you drank so little.

Lady Ignorance.

Truly, Wine is so nauseous to my taste, and so hatefull to my nostrils, as I was sick when the cup was brought to me.

Sir P. Studious.

I know not what it was to you, but to me it was pleasant, for your Ladies were so gamesome, merry and kind, as they have fired me with amorous love ever since.

Enter the Lady Ignoranc's maid.
Maid.

Madam, the Lady Wagtail, and other Ladies, have sent to know if your Ladyship were within, that they might come and wait upon you.

Sir Peaceable Studious chiks the maid under the Chin, and kisses her.
Sir P. Studious

Faith Nan, thou art a pretty wench.

Lady Ignorance.

What Husband? Do you kiss my maid before my face.

Sir P. Studious.

Why not Wife, as well as one of your sociable Ladies in a frollick, as you kiss me, I kiss Nan.

Lady Ignorance.

So, and when Nan kisses your Barber, he must kiss me.

Sir P. Studious.

Right, this is the kissing frollick, and then comes the stricking frollick, for you strike Nan, Nan gently strikes me, and I justly beat you, and end the frollicks with a —

Enter the Lady Wagtail, and other Ladies of the Societie, with the Lady Amorous.
Lady Wagtail.

What? a man and his Wife dully alone together! Fie for shame.

Lady Amorous.

Lawfull love is the dullest and drouziest companion that is, for Wives are never thought fair, nor Husbands witty.

Sir P. Studious.
[Page 23]

Your Ladyship is learned in loves Societies.

Lady Amorous.

Yes that I am, for I have observed, that if there be a match'd company, every man having a woman, their conversation is dull, every mans tongue whispering in his Mistriss eare, whilst the women are mute, listening to that which is whispered unto them; but let there be but one man amongst a company of women, and then their tongues runs races, striving with each other, which shall catch that one man, as the only prize, when the weaker wits runs themselves straite out of breath.

Sir P. Studious.

And must not one man run against them all.

Lady Amorous.

O yes? and many times his wit beats them all.

Sir P. Studious.

Faith Lady? They must not be such strong winded wits as yours is, which is able to beat a dozen Masculine wits out of the field.

Lady Amorous.

You are pleased to give me a complement.

The Lady Ignorance seems melancholly.
Lady Wagtaile.

The merry God have mercy on you? What makes you so melancholly.

Lady Ignorance.

I am not well to day.

Lady Wagtail.

If you are troubled with melancholly vapours, arising from crude humours, you must take as soon as you wake after your first sleep, a draught of Wormwood-wine, then lye to sleep again, and then half an hour before you rise, drink a draught of Jelly-broth, and after you have been up an hour and half, eate a White-wine-caudle, then a little before a dinner, take a Toste and Sack, and at your meals, two or three good glasses of Clarret-wine; as for your Meats, you must eate those of light digestion, as Pheasant, Partridges, Cocks, Snipes, Chickens, young Turkies, Pea-chickens and the like; And in the After-noon, about four or five a clock, you must take Naples-bisket dip'd in Ippocrass, which helps digestion much, and revives the spirits, and makes one full of discourse, and not only to discourse, but to discourse wit­tily, and makes one such good company, as invites acquaintance, and ties friendship.

The whilst the Lady Wagtail talks to the Lady Ignorance, the eyes her Husband, who seems to court the Lady Amorous.
Lady Amorous.

Faith I will tell your Wife what you say.

Lady Wagtail.

That is fowl play, and not done like one of the Society, espe­cially when my Lady is not well.

Lady Amorous.

What? Is she sick! I lay my life she hath eate too much Branne Sturgeon, or Sammon without muskadine or Sack, or N [...]ats-tongues, Bakon and Anchoves, Caveare, or Lobsters, without Rhenish-wines, or Oy­sters, or Sausages without Clarret-wine, or hath she eaten Potatoe-pies with­out dates, Ringo-roots, Marrow and Chestnuts, have you not? i saith confess.

Lady Ignorance.

No indeed.

Lady Amorous.

Why? I hope you have not taken a surfeit of White-meats, those childish meats, or with Water-grewel, Ponado, Barley-grevvel, those Hodge-podgely meats.

Lady Ignorance.

Neither.

Lady Amorous.

Why, then you have over-heated your self with dancing [Page 24] or fretting and vexing your self at your ill fortune at Cards; or your Tayler hath spoiled some Gown, or your Coach-man was out of the way when you would go abroad; is it not so.

Lady Ignorance.

No.

Lady Amorous.

Why? Then your Husband hath crost some design, or hath angered you some other way.

The Lady Ignorance blushes.
They all laugh, and speak at one time; She blushes, She blushes.
Lady Wagtail.

Faith Amorous, thou hast found it out! Sir Peaceable Studious you are to be chidden to anger your Wife; wherefore tell us how you did anger her, when you did anger her, and for what you did anger her.

Sir. P. Studious.

Dear, sweet, sine, fair Ladies! be not so cruel to me, as to lay my Wives indisposition to my charge.

Lady Wagtaile.

But we will, and we will draw up an Accusation against you, unless you confess, and ask pardon.

Sir P. Studious.

Will you accuse me without a Witness?

Lady Wagtail.

Yes, and condemne you too.

Sir P. Studious.

That were unjust! if Ladies could be unjust.

Lady Amorous.

O Madam! we have a witness? her blushing is a sufficient witness to accuse him; Besides, her melancholly silence will help to condemn him.

Lady Ignorance.

Pardon me Ladies, for when any of our Sex are offended, or angered, whether they have cause or not, they will rail louder than Ioves thunder.

Lady Amorous.

So will you in time.

Lady Wagtail.

Let us jumble her abroad; Come Madam! we will put you out of your dull humour.

Lady Ignorance.

No Madam? Pray excuse me to day; in truth I am not well.

Lady Amorous.

No, let us let my Lady alone, but let us take her Husband, and tutour him

Sir. P. Studious.

Ladies, give me leave to praise my self, and let my self, and let me tell you? I am as apt a Scholar, as ever you met with, and as willing to learn.

Lady Amorous.

Farewell Madam, we will order Sir P. Studious, and try what disposition he is of, and how apt to be instructed.

Lady Ignorance.

Pray do Madam, he promiseth well.

Ex.

Scene 16:

Enter Foster Trusty, and the Lady Orphant.
LAdy Orphant.

Now we are come into the Armie, how shall we demean our selves like poor Beggers.

Foster Trusty.

By no means, for though you beg well, yet you will never get [Page 25] what you come for with begging, for there is an old saying, that although all charity is love, yet all love is not charity.

Lady Orphant.

It were the greatest charity in the World, for him to love me; for without his love, I shall be more miserable than poverty can make me.

Foster Trusty.

But poverty is so scorned and hated, that no person is accep­ted which she presents; Nay, poverty is shunn'd more than the Plague.

Lady Orphant.

Why? it is not infectious.

Foster Trusty.

Yes faith, for the relieving of necessity, is the way to be im­poverished.

Lady Orph.

But their rewards are the greater in Heaven.

Foster Trusty.

'Tis true, but their Estates are less on earth.

Lady Orphant.

But blessings are more to be desired than wealth.

Foster Trusty,

Well? Heaven bless us, and send us such fortune, that our long journey may prove successfull, and not profitless, and because Heaven ne­ver gives blessings, unless we use a prudent industry; you shall put your self into good clothes, and I will mix my self with his followers and servants, and tell them, as I may truely, that you are my Son, for no mans Son but mine you are, was so importunate, as you would never let me rest, until I brought you to see the Lord Singularity, and they will tell him, to let him know his fame is such, as even young children adore him, taking a Pilgrimage to see him, and he out of a vain-glory will desire to see you.

Lady Orphant.

But what advantage shall I get by that.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and many Commanders attending him.
Foster Trusty.

Peace! here is the General.

Commander.

The enemie is so beaten, as now they will give us some time to breath our selves.

General.

They are more out of breath than we are, but the States are gene­rous enemies, if they give them leave to fetch their wind, and gather strength again.

Lady Orphant.

Father, stand you by, and let me speak.

She goeth to the General, and speaks to him.
Heaven bless your Excellencie.
Lord General.

From whence comest thou boy?

Lord Orph.

From your native Countrey.

General.

Cam'st thou lately?

Lady Orph.

I am newly arrived.

General.

Pray how is my Countrey, and Countrey-men, live they still in happy peace, and flourishing with plenty.

Lady Orph.

There is no noise of war, or fear of famine.

General.

Pray Iove continue it.

Lady Orphant.

It is likely so to continue, unless their pride and luxurie be gets a factious childe, that is born with war, and fed with ruine.

General.

Do you know what faction is?

Lady Orph.

There is no man that lives, and feels it not, the very thoughts are factious in the mind, and in Rebellious passions arises warring against the soul.

General.
[Page 26]

Thou canst not speak thus by experience boy, thou art too young, not yet a mans Estate.

Lady Orphant.

But children have thoughts, and said to have a rational soul, as much as those that are grown up to men; but if souls grow as bodies doth, and thoughts increases with their years, then may the wars within the mind be like to School-boys quarrels, that falls out for a toy, and for a roy are friends.

General.

Thou speakest like a Tutour, what boyish thoughts so ever thou hast; but tell me boy? what mad'st thee travel so great a journey.

Lady Orph.

For to see you.

General.

To see me boy!

Lady Orph.

Yes, to see you Sir; for the Trumpet of your praise did sound so loud, it struck my ears, broke open my heart, and let desire forth, which restless grew until I travelled hither.

General.

I wish I had merits to equal thy weary steps, or means for to re­ward them:

Lady Orph.

Your presence hath sufficiently rewarded me.

General.

Could I do thee my service boy?

Lady Orph.

A bounteous favour you might do me Sir?

General.

What is that boy?

Lady Orph.

To let me serve you, Sir.

General.

I should be ingratefull to refuse thee, chose thy place.

Lady Orph.

Your Page, Sir, if you please.

General.

I accept of thee most willingly.

Captain.

But Sir? may not this boy be a lying, couzening, flattering dissem­bling, treacherous boy.

General.

Why Captain, there is no man that keeps many servants, but some are lyers, and some treacherous, and all flatterers; and a Master receives as much injurie from each particular, as if they were joyned in one.

Lady Orph.

I can bring none that will witness for my truth, or be bound for my honesty, but my own words.

General.

I desire none, boy, for thy tongue sounds so sweetly, and thy face looks so honestly, as I cannot but take, and trust thee.

Lady Orph.

Heaven bless your Excellence, and fortune prosper you, for your bounty hath been above my hopes, and equal to my wishes.

General.

VVhat is thy name?

Lady Orph.

Affectionata my Noble Lord.

General.

Then follow me Affectionata.

Ex.

ACT IV.

Scene 17.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Reformer her woman.
Enter Page.
PAge.

Madam, there was a Gentleman gave me this Letter, to deliver to your Ladyships hands.

Lady Bashfull.

A Letter I pray Reformer open it, and read it, for I will not receive Letters privately.

Page Exit.
Reformer.

The superscription is for the Right Honourable, the Lady Bash­full; these present.

The Letter.
MADAM,

Since I have had the honour to see you, I have had the unhappiness to think my self miserable, by reason I am deprived of speech, that should plead my suit, but if an affectionate soul, chasle thoughts, lawfull desires, and a fervent heart can plead with­out speech, let me beg your favour to accept of me for your servant; and what I want in Language, my industrious observance, and diligent service shall supply; I am a Gentleman, my breeding hath been according to my birth, and my Estate is suffi­cient to maintain me according to both; As for your Estate, I consider it not, for were you so poor of fortunes goods, as you had nothing to maintain you, but what your merit might challenge out of every purse; yet if you were mine, I should esteem you richer than the whole World, and I should love you, as Saints love Heaven, and adore you equal to a Dietie; for I saw so much sweetness of nature, nobleness of soul, purity of thoughts, and innocency of life, thorough your Bashfull countenance, as my soul is wedded thereunto, and my mind so restless; therefore, that unless I may have hopes to injoy you for my Wife; I shall dye,

Your distracted Servant, SERIOUS DUMB.
Lady Bashfull.

Now Reformer, what say you to this Letter?

Reformer.

I say it is a good honest, hearty affectionate Letter, and upon my life, it is the Gentleman I commended so; he that looked so seriously on you; and your Ladyship may remember, I said he viewed you, as if he would have looked you thorough, and you made answer, that you wished he could, that he might see you were not so simple, as your behaviour made you appear, and now your wish is absolved.

Lady Bashfull.
[Page 28]

VVhat counsel will you give me in this cause?

Reformer.

VVhy? write him a civil answer.

Lady Bashfull.

VVhy should I hold corespondence with any man, either by Letter, or any other way, since I do not intend to marry.

Reformer.

Not marry?

Lady Bashfull.

No, not marry.

Reformer.

VVhy so?

Lady Bashfull.

Because I am now Mistriss of my self, and fortunes, and have a free liberty; and who that is free, if they be wise, will make themselves slaves, subjecting themselves to anothers humour, unless they were fools, or mad, and knew not how to chose the best and happiest life.

Reformer.

You will change this opinion, and marry, I dare swear.

Lady Bashfull.

Indeed I will not swear, but I think I shall not, for I love an easie, peaceable and solitary life, which none injoys but single persons; for in marriage, the life is disturbed with noise and company, troublesome imploy­ments, vex'd with crosses, and restless with cares; Besides, I could not indure to have Parteners to share of him, whom my affections had set a price upon, or my merit, or beauty, or wealth, or vertue had bought.

Reformer.

So, I perceive you would be jealouse, if you were married.

Lady Bashfull.

Perchance I might have reason, but to prevent all inconve­niences, and discontents, I will live a single life.

Reformer.

Do what likes you best, for I dare not perswade you any way, for fear my advice should not prove to the best.

Exeunt.

Scene 18.

Enter Affectionata, and Foster Trusty.
FOster Trusty.

Now you are placed according to your desire, what wil you command me to do?

Affectionata.

Dear Foster Father, although I am loth to part from you, yet by reason I shall suffer in my estate, I must intreat you to return home, for my Nurse your wife, hath not skill to manage that fortune my Father left me; for she knows not how to let Leases, to set Lands, to receive Rents, to repair Ru­ines, to disburst Charges, and to order those affairs as they should be ordered, which your knowledge, industry and wisdom will dispose and order for my ad­vantage.

Foster Trusty.

But how if you be discovered.

Affectionata.

Why, if I should, as I hope I shall not, yet the Lord Singu­larity is so noble a person, as he will neither use me uncivily, not cru­elly.

Foster Trusty.

All that I fear is, if you should be discovered, he should use you too civilly.

Affectionata.

That were to use me rudely, which I am confident he will not do, and I am confident that you do believe I will receive no more civillity (if you call it so) than what honour will allow and approve of.

Foster Trusty.

But jealousie will creep into the most confident breasts some­times, yet I dare trust you, though I fear him.

Affectionata.
[Page 29]

I hope there is no cause to fear him, or doubt me, wherefore dear Father, let us go and settle our affairs here, that you may return home to order those there.

Scene 19.

Enter Sir Peaceable Studious, and the Lady Ignorance his Wife, She being undrest, her mantle about her, as being not well.
SIr P. Studious.

In truth wife, it is a great misfortune you should be sick this Term-time, when the Society is so much increast, as it is become a little Common-wealth.

Lady Ignorance.

If there be so many, they may the better spare me.

Sir P. Studious.

'Tis true, they can spare your company, but how can you want their companies.

Lady Ignorance.

You shall be my Intelligencer of their pastimes.

Sir P. Studious.

That I will wife, but it will be but a dull recreation, only to hear a bare relation.

Lady Ignorance.

As long as you partake of their present pleasures, and pleasant actions, what need you take care for me.

Sir P. Studious.

Yes, but I must in Justice, for since you have cured me of a studious Lethargie, I ought to do my indeavour to divert your melancholly; and there is no such remedy as the Society; wherefore dear wife, fling off this melancholly sickness, or sick melancholly, and go amongst them; for surely your sickness is in your mind, not in your body.

She cries.
Sir P. Studious.

What, do you cry Wife, who hath angered you?

Lady Ignorance.

Why you.

Sir P. Studious.

Who, I anger'd you I why I would not anger a woman, no, not my Wife for the whole World, If I could possible avoid it, which I fear cannot be avoided, for if I should please out of your Sex, I should be sure to displease another: — But that is my comfort, it is not my fault; but dear Wife, how have I offended you.

Lady Ignorance.

Why did you kiss my maid before my face.

Sir P. Studious.

Why did you perswade me.

Lady Ignorance.

Did I perswade you to kiss my maid.

Sir P. Studious.

No, but you did perswade me to be one of the Society and there is kissing, and I thought it was as well to kiss your maid before your face, as a sociable Lady before your face.

Lady Ignorance.

And why do you make love to the Ladies, since I suffer none to make love to me.

Sir P. Studious.

No, for if you did, I would fling you to death, to be im­braced in his cold arms; Besides, those actions that are allowable and seemly, as manly in men, are condemned in women, as immodest, and unbecoming, and dishonourable; but talking to you, I shall miss of the pleasant sports, and therefore, if you will go, come, the Coach is ready.

Lady Ignorance.
[Page 30]

No, I will not go [...]u.

Sir P. Studious.

Then I will go without you.

Lady Ignorance.

No, pray Husband go no more thither.

Sir P. Studious.

How! not to go? nor to go no more, would you desire me from that which you perswaded me to; Nay, so much as I could never be quiet, disturbing my harmless studies, and happy mind, crossing my pleasing thoughts with complaining words, but I perceive you grow jealouse, and now you are acquainted, you have no more use of me, but would be glad to quit my company, that you may be more free abroad.

Lady Ignorance.

No Husband, truely I will never go abroad, but will inancor my self in my own house, so you will stay at home, and be as you were before, for I see my own follies, and am ashamed of my self, that you should prove me such a fool.

Sir P. Studious.

Do you think me so wise and temperate a man, as I can on a sudden quit vain pleasures, and lawfull follies.

Lady Ignorance.

Yes, or else you have studied to little purpose.

Sir P. Studious.

Well, for this day I will stay at home, and for the future­time I will consider.

Exeunt.

Scene 20.

Enter two Servants of the Generals.
I. Servant.

This boy that came but the other day, hath got more of my Lords affection, than we that have served him this many years.

2. Servant.

New-comers are alwaies more favoured than old waiters; for Masters regards old Servants no more, than the Imagerie in an old suit of Hang­ing, which are grown threed-bare with time, and out of fashion with change; Besides, new Servants are more industrious and diligent than old; but when he hath been here a little while, he will be as lazie as the rest, and then he will be as we are.

I. Servant.

I perceive my Lord delights to hear him talk, for he will listen very a tentively to him, but when we offer to speak, he bids us to be silent.

2. Servant.

I wonder he should, for when we speak, it is with gravity, and our discourse is sententious, but his is meer squibs.

Enter Affectionata.
Affectionata.

Gentlemen, my Lord would have one of you to come to him.

I. Servant.

Why, I thought you could supply all our places, for when you are with him, he seems to have no use of us.

Affectionata.

It shall not be for want of will, but ability, if I do not serve him in every honest office.

I. Servant.

So you will make some of us knaves.

Affectionata.

I cannot make you knaves, unless you be willing to be knaves your selves.

2. Servant.

What, do you call me knave?

Affectionata.
[Page 31]

I do not call you so.

Ex.
2. Servant.

Well, I will be revenged, if I live.

Ex.

Scene 21.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Reformer her woman.
REformer.

Madam, I have inquired what this Sir Serious Dumb is, and 'tis said he is one of the finest Gentlemen in this Kingdom, and that his va­lour hath been proved in the wars, and that he is one that is very active and dexterous in all manly exercises, as riding, fencing, vaulting, swimming, and the like, Also that he is full of inventions, and a rare Poet, and that he hath a great Estate, only that he is dumb, and hath been so this twelve years and up­wards.

Lady Bashfull.

Reformer. What makes you so industrious to inquire after him, surely thou art in love within.

Reformer.

In my conscience I liked him very well, when he was to see you.

Lady Bashfull.

The truth is, he cannot weary you with words, nor anger you in his discourse, but pray do not inquire after him, nor speak of him; for people will think I have some designe of marriage.

Reformer.

I shall obey you, Madam.

Exeunt.

Scene. 22.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
He strokes Affectionata's head.
LOrd Singularity.

Affectionata, Thou art one of the diligent'st boys that had.

Affectionata.

How can I be otherwise, Sir, since you are the Governour of my soul, that commands the Fort of my passion, and the Castle of my ima­ginations, which are the heart, and the head.

Lord Singularity.

Do you love me so much?

Affectionata.

So well my Lord, as you are the archetectour of my mind, the foundation of my thoughts, and the gates of my memories, for your will is the form, your happiness the level, and your actions the treasurie.

Lord Singularity.

Thy wit delights me more, than thy flattery perswades: for I cannot believe a boy can love so much; Besides, you have not served me so long, as to beget love.

Affectionata.

I have loved you from my infancy, for as I suck'd life from my Nurses breast, so did I Love from fames, drawing your praises forth, as I did milk, which nourished my affections.

Lord Singularity.

I shall strive; boy, to require thy love.

Affectionata.
[Page 32]

To requite, is to return love for love.

Lord Singul.

By Heaven? I love thee, as a Father loves a son.

Affectionata.

Then I am blest,

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter two Souldiers.
1. SOuldier.

What is this boy that our General is so taken with.

2. Souldier,

A poor Begger-boy!

1. Souldier.

Can a poor Begger-boy merit his affections?

2. Souldier.

He is a pretty boy, and waites very diligently.

1. Souldier.

So doth other boys, as well as he, but I believe he is a young Pimp, and carries, and conveys Love-letters.

2. Souldier.

Like enough to, for boys are strangely crafty in those imployments, and so industrious, as they will let no times nor opportunities slip them, but they will find waies to deliver their Letters and messages.

Exeunt.

Scene 24.

Enter the Lady Bashfulls Page, and Sir Serious Dumb, who gives a Note to the Page to read.
PAge.

Sir, I dare not direct you to my Lady, as you desire me in this Note, and if I should tell her, here is a Gentleman that desired to visit her, she would refuse your visit.

Dumb gives the young Page four or five pieces of Gold.
Page.

I will direct you to the room wherein my Lady is, but I must not be seen, nor confess I shewed you the way.

Page, and Sir Serious Dumb Exeunt

Scene 25.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
LOrd Singularity.

Come Affectionata, sit down and entertain me with thy sweet discourse, which makes all other company troublesome, and tedi­ous to me, thine only doth delight me.

Affectionata.

My Noble Lord? I wish the plat-form of my brain were a Garden of wit, and then perchance my tongue might present your Excellen­cies with a Posie of flowery Rhethorick, but my poor brain is barren, wanting

Lord Singularity.
[Page 33]

Thou hast an eloquent tongue, (and a gentle soul.)

Affectionata.

My Noble Lord, I have hardly learn'd my native words, much less the eloquence of Language, and as for the souls of all mankind, they are like Common-wealths, where the several vertues, and good graces are the Citizens therein, and the natural subjects thereof; but vices and follies, as the thievish Borderers, and Neighbour-enemies, which makes inrodes, factions, mutinies, intrudes and usurps Authority, and if the follies be more than the good graces, and the vices too strong for the vertues, the Monarchy of a good life falls to ruine, also it is indangered by Civil-wars amongst the pas­sions.

Lord Singularity.

What passions indangers it most?

Affectionata.

Anger, malice, and despair.

Lord Singularity.

Were you never angry?

Affectionata.

I am of too melancholly a nature, to be very angry.

Lord Singularity.

Why? are melancholly persons never angry?

Affectionata.

Very seldom, my Lord, for those that are naturally melanchol­ly, doth rather grieve, than fret, they sooner wast into sighes, than fly about with fury; more tears flows thorough their eyes, than words pass thorough their lips.

Lord Singularity.

Why should you be melancholly?

Affectionata.

Alas, nature hath made me so; Besides, I find there is not much reason to joy, for what we love, perchance it loves not us, and if it doth, we cannot keep it long, for pleasures passeth like a dream; when pains doth stay, as if eternal were.

Lord Singularity.

Thou art composed with such harmonie, as thy discourse is as delightfull musick, wherein the soul takes pleasure.

Exeunt.

Scene 26.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, Sir Serious Dumb following her, where Reformer her Woman meets them.
REformer.

Madam, now the Gentleman is here, you must use him civilly, and not strive to run away from him, wherefore pray turn, and entertain him.

The Lady Bashfull turns to him, but is so out of countenance, and trembles so much, as she cannot speak, but stands still and mute; All the while he fixes his eyes upon her.
Reformer.

Pray speak to him, Madam, and not stand trembling, as if you were like to fall.

Lady Bashfull.

My spirits is seized on by my bashfull and innocent fears, in­somuch, as they have not strength to support my body without trem­bling.

Reformer.

Sweet Madam, try not speak to him?

Lady Bashfull.

Honourable Sir? give me leave to tell you, that my bash­fullness [Page 34] doth smother the senses and reason in my brain, and chokes the words in my throat I should utter, but pray do not think it proceeds from crimes, but an imperfection of nature, which I have strove against, but cannot as yet rectifie

Sir Serious Dumb Civily bows to her, and then gives Reformer his Table-book to read.
She reads.

Madam,

He hath writ here, that had his tongue liberty to speak, all that he could say, would be so far below, and inferiour to what might be said in your praise, as he should not adventure to presume to speak.

Lady Bashfull.

I will presume to break my brain, but I will invent some ways to be rid of his company.

He follows her, Exeunt.

ACT. V.

Scene 27.

Enter the General, and sits in a melancholly posture. Enters Affectionata, and stands with a sad countenance.
The General sees him.
LOrd Singularity.

What makes thee look so sad, my boy?

Affectionata.

To see you sit so melancholly.

Lord Singul.

Clear up thy countenance, for its not a deadly melancholly, though it is a troublesome one.

Affectionata.

May I be so bold to ask the cause of it.

Lord Singul.

The cause is, a cruel Mistriss.

Affectionata.

Have you a Mistriss, and can she be cruel?

Lord Singularity.

O! Women are Tyrants, they daw us on to love, and then denies our suits.

Affectionata.

Will not you think me rude, If I should question you?

Lord Singul.

No, for thy questions delights me more, than my Mistriss de­nials grieves me.

Affectionata.

Then give me leave to ask you, whether your suit be just?

Lord Singul.

Just, to a Lovers desires.

Affectionata.

What is your desire?

Lord Singul.

To lye with her.

Affectionata.
[Page 35]

After you have married her?

Lord Singularity.

Marry her saist thou, I had rather be banish'd from that Sex for ever, than marry one, and yet I love them well.

Affectionata.

Why have you such an adversion to marriage, being lawfull and honest.

Lord Singul.

Because I am affraid to be a Cuckold!

Affectionata.

Do you think there is no chaste women?

Lord Singularity.

Faith boy, I believe very few, and those that are men, knows not where to find them out, for all that are not married, professes cha­stity, speaks soberly, and looks modestly, but when they are martyed, they are more wild than Bachalins, far worse than Satyres, making their Husbands horns far greater than a Stags, having more branches sprouts thereon.

Affectionata.

And doth he never cast those horns?

Lord Singul.

Yes, if he be a Widower, he casts his horns, only the marks remains, otherwise he bears them to his grave.

Affectionata.

But put the case you did know a woman that was chaste; would not you marry her?

Lord Singul.

That is a question not to be resolved, for no man can be resol­ved, whether a womam can be chaste or not.

Affectionata fetches a greater sighe.
Lord Singul.

Why do you sighe, my boy?

Affectionata.

Because all women are false, or thought to be so, that wise men dares not trust them.

Lord Singularity.

But they are fools, that will not try, and make use of them, if they can have them; wherefore I will go, and try my Mistriss once again.

Exeunt.

Scene. 28.

Enter the Lady Ignorance, and her Maid.
She hears a noise.
LAdy Ignorance.

What a noise they make below, they will disturb my Husbands study; go and tell those of my Servants, that I will turn them away for their carelesness, as that they cannot place, set, or hold things sure, but let them fall to maké such a noise.

Maid.

I shall.

maid Ex.
Lady Ignorance.

It shall be my study how to order my house without noise, wherefore all my Servants shall be dumb, although not deaf, and I will take none, but such as have corns on their feet, that they may tread gently, and all my Houshold-vessel shall be of wood, for wood makes not such a noise when it chance to fall, or is hit against a wall, as metal doth, which rings like bells, when it is but touched, neither will I have Houshold-vessels of Earth, for earthen-pots, pans and the like; when they fall and break, sounds as if a stone­wall fell.

Ex.

Scene 29.

Enter the General, and three or four Commanders.
GEneral.

On my soul Gentlemen, the boy is an honest boy, and no wayes guilty of this you tax him for.

Commanders.

Pardon us, my Lord, for giving your Excellence notice that the States are jealouse of him for a Spie, but we do not any wayes accuse him.

General.

Will the States examine him, say you?

Commanders.

So we hear, my Lord.

General.

Well Gentlemen, pray leave me for this time, and I will take care the boy shall be forth-coming, whensoever the State shall require him.

Commanders.

Your Lordships humble Servants —

Commanders Ex.
The General solus.
General.

A Spie, it cannot be, for he is neither covetous, nor malicious, re­vengefull, nor irreligious, but I will try him.

Exit.

Scene 30.

Enter the Lady Bashfulls Chamber-maid, and Mrs. Reformer her Gentlewoman.
CHamber-maid.

Mrs. Reformer, pray tell me who that handsome Gentleman is, which follows my Lady about?

Reformer.

He is one that is Noble, and Rich, and is in love with my Lady.

Chamber-maid.

Truly it is the strangest way of wooing, that ever was, for my Lady goeth blushing out of one room into another, and he follows her at the heels: In my conscience my Lady is ashamed to sit down, or to bid him leave her company, and surely they must needs be both very weary of walking, but sure he will leave her, when it is time to go to bed.

Reformer.

It is to be hoped he will.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Sir Serious Dumb following her.
Reformer.

Madam, you will tire your self and the Gentleman, with walking about your house, wherefore pray sit down.

Lady Bashfull.

What! To have him gaze upon my face.

Reformer.

Why, your face is a handsome face, and the owner of it is ho­nest, wherefore you need not be ashamed, but pray rest your self.—

Lady Bashfull.
[Page 37]

Pray perswade him to leave me, and then I will.

Reformer.

Sir, my Lady intreats you to leave her to her self.

Sir Serious Dumb writes then, and gives Reformer his Table-book to read.
Reformer.

He writes he cannot leave you, for if his body should depart, his soul will remain still with you.

Lady Bashfull.

That will not put me out of countenance, because I shall not be sensible of its presence, wherefore I am content he should leave his soul, so that he will take his body away.

He writes, and gives Reformer the Book.
Reformer reads.

He writes, that if you will give him leave once a day to see you, that he will depart, and that he will not disturb your thoughts, he will only wait upon your person for the time he lives, he cannot keep himself long from you.

Lady Bashfull.

But I would be alone.

Reformer.

But if he will follow you, you must indure that with patience, you cannot avoid.

Sir Serious Dumb goeth to the Lady Bashfull, and kisseth her hand, and Ex.
Reformer.

You see he is so civil, as he is unwilling to displease you.

Lady Bashfull.

Rather than I will be troubled thus; I will go to some other parts of the World.

Reformer.

In my conscience, Madam, he will follow you, wheresoever you go.

Lady Bashfull.

But I will have him shut out of my house.

Reformer.

Then he will lye at your gates, and so all the Town will take no­tice of it.

Lady Bashfull.

Why so, they will howsoever, by his often visits.

Reformer.

But not so publick.

Exeunt.

Scene 31.

Enter the General, and Affectionata.
Lord Singularity.

Affectionata. Thou must carry a Letter from me, to my Mistriss.

Affectionata.

You will not marry her, you say.

Lord Singul.

No.

Affectionata.

Then pardon me, my Lord, for though I would assist your honest love by any service I can do, yet I shall never be so base an Instrument, as to produce a crime.

Lord Singul.

Come, come, thou shalt carry it, and I will give thee 500. pounds for thy service.

Affectionata.
[Page 38]

Excuse me, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

I will give thee a thousand pounds.

Affectionata.

I shall not take it, my Lord.

Lord Singul.

I will give thee five thousand, nay ten thousand pounds.

Affectionata.

I am not covetous, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

I will make thee Master of my whole Estate, for without the assistance, I cannot injoy my Mistriss, by reason she will trust none with our Loves, but thee.

Affectionata.

Could you make me Master of the whole World, it could not tempt me to do an action base, for though I am poor, I am honest, and so honest, as I cannot be corrupted, or bribed there-from.

Lord Singularity.

You said you loved me?

Affectionata.

Heaven knows I do above my life, and would do you any ser­vice that honour did allow of.

Lord Singularity.

You are more scrupulous than wise.

Affectionata.

There is an old saying, my Lord, that to be wise, is to be honest.

Exeunt.

Scene 32.

Enter Sir Peaceable Studious, and meets his Ladies maid.
Sir P. Studious.

Where is your Lady?

Maid.

In her Chamber, Sir.

Sir P. Studious.

Pray her to come to me?

Maid.

Yes Sir.

Sir P. Studious, Exit.
Enter another Maid to the first.
1. Maid.

Lord, Lord! What a creature my Master is become; since he fell into his musing again, he looks like a melancholy Ghost, that walks in the shades of Moon-shine, or if there be no Ghost, such as we fancie, just such a one seems her, when a week since, he was as fine a Gentleman as one should see amongst a thousand.

2. Maid.

That was because he kiss'd you, Nan.

1. Maid.

Faith it was but a dull clownish part, to meet a Maid that is not ill-favoured, and not make much of her, who perchance have watch'd to meet him, for which he might have clap'd her on the cheek, or have chuck'd her under the chin, or have kiss'd her, but to do or say nothing, but bid me call my Lady, was such a churlish part? Besides, it seemed neither manly, gallantly, nor civilly.

2. Maid.

But it shewed him temperate and wise, not minding such frivilous and troublesome creatures as women are.

1. Maid.

Prithy, it shews him to be a miserable, proud, dull fool.

2. Maid.

Peace, some body will hear you, and then you will be turn'd away.

1. Maid.

I care not, for it they will not turn me away, I will turn my self away, and seek another service, for I hate to live in the house with a Stoick.

Scene 33.

Enter the General, and Affectionata.
AFfectionata.

By your face, Sir, there seems a trouble in your mind, and I am restless until I know your griefs.

Lord Singularity.

It is a secret I dare not trust the aire with!

Affectionata.

I shall be more secret than the aire, for the aire is apt to di­vulge by retorting Ecohes back, but I shall be as silent as the Grave.

Lord Singul.

But you may be tortured to confess the truth.

Affectionata.

But I will not confess the truth, if the confession may any wayes hurt, or disadvantage you; for though I will not belye truth by speaking falsely, yet I will conceal a truth, rather than betray a friend. Especially, my Lord and Master: But howsoever, since your trouble is of such concern, I shall not with to know it, for though I dare trust my self, yet perchance you dare not trust me, but if my honest fidelity can serve you any wayes, you may imploy it, and if it be to keep a secret, all the torment that nature hath made, or art invented, shall never draw it from me.

Lord Singul.

Then let me tell thee, that to conceal it, would damn thy soul.

Affectionata.

Heaven bless me! But sure, my Lord, you cannot be guilty of such sins, that those that doth but barely hear, or know them, shall be damned.

Lord Singul,

But to conceal them, is to be an Actor.

Affectionata.

For Heaven sake then keep them close from me, if either they be base or wicked, for though love prompt me to inquire, hoping to give you ease in bearing part of the burthen, yet Heaven knows, I thought my love so honourable placed on such a worthy person, and guiltless soul, as I might love and serve without a scandal, or a deadly sin.

Lord Singularity.

Come, you shall know it.

Affectionata.

I'l rather stop my ears with death.

Lord Singul.

Go, thou art a false boy.

Affectionata.

How false a boy howsoever you think me, I have an honest soul and heart that is ready to serve you in any honest way, but since I am de­ceived, and couzened into love by false reports, finding the best of man-kind basely wicked, and all the World so bad, that praise nothing good, and strives to poyson vertue, I will inancor my self, and live on Antidotes of prayers, for fear of the infection.

Lord Singul.

And I will not you pray for me?

Affectionata.

I cannot chose, my Lord, for gratitude inforces me; First, because I have loved you, next, because I have served you; and give me leave to kiss your hand, and then there drop some tears at my departure.

Weeping kneels down, and kisses her hand.
Lord Singularity.

Rise, you must not go away until you have cleared your self from being a spie.

Affectionata.

I fear no accusations,

Exeunt.
FINIS.

THE SECOND PART OF LOVES ADVENTURES.

  • THe Lord Singularity.
  • Sir Serious Dumb.
  • Sir Timothy Compliment.
  • Sir Humphry Bold.
  • Sir Roger Exception.
  • Sir Peaceable Studious.
  • Foster Trusty.
  • Collonels, Captains, Lieutenants and Corporals.
  • Petitioners.
  • Officers, Messengers.
  • Iudges. Iuries.
  • Servants.
  • The Lady Orphant.
  • Lady Bashfull.
  • Lady Ignorance.
  • Lady Wagtail.
  • Lady Amorous.
  • Nurse Fondly.
  • Mistriss Reformer. Lady Bashfulls woman.
  • Chamber-maids.

EPILOGUE.

NOble Spectators, you have spent this day;
Not only for to see, but judge our Play:
Our Authoress sayes, she thinks her Play is good,
If that her Play be rightly understood;
If not, 'tis none of her fault, for she writ
The Acts, the Scenes, the Language and the Wit;
Wherefore she sayes, that she is not your Debtor,
But you are hers, until you write a better;
Of even terms to be she understands
Impossible, except you clap your hands.

THE SECOND PART
ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter the Lady Bashfulls Chamber-maid, and Mrs. Reformer her woman.
REformer.

This dumb Lower is the most diligent'st servant that ever was, and methinks my Lady is somewhat more confi­dent than she was; for she will sit and read whilst he sits by.

Maid.

Doth she read to him?

Reformer.

No, she reads to herself.

Maid.

There comes abundance of Gallants to visit my Lady every day, and they have all one answer, that is, she is not willing to receive visits, and they all go civilly away, unless Sir Humphry Bold and he rails horri­bly.

Reformer.

I have received from several Gentlemen, above 20. Letters a day, and as fast as they come, she makes me burn them.

Maid.

But she reads them first.

Reformer.

No, I read them to her.

Maid.

And doth she answer all those Letters?

Reformer.

She never answered one in her life, and I dare swear, she never will.

The Lady Bashfull calls, as within another Room.
Reformer.

Madam!—

Exeunt.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
Lord Singularity,

Affectionata. Hast thou forgiven me my fault of doubting of thy vertue, so much as to put it to a Tryal.

Affectionata.
[Page 42]

My Noble Lord, have you forgiven my facility and wavering, faith that could so easily, and in so short a time believe you could be wicked, although you did accuse your self.

Lord Singularity.

Nay Affectionata, I did not accuse my self, though I did try thee.

Affectionata.

Then I have committed a treble fault through my mistake, which requires a treble forgiveness.

Lord Singularity.

Thou art so vertuous, thou canst not commit a fault, and therefore needs no forgiveness.

Exeunt.

Scene 3.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, and Sir Humphry Bold.
SIr Humpry Bold.

Madam, You have been pleased to profess a friendship to me, and I shall desire you will do a friendly part for me.

Lady Wagtail.

Any thing that lyes in my power, good Sir Humphry Bold.

Sir Humphry Bold.

Then pray, Madam, speak to the Lady Bashfull in my behalf, that I may be her Husband.

Lady Wagtail.

I will Sir Humphry, but she is bashfull, yet I was there Ye­sterday, and she entertained me indifferently well, but seemed to be wonderfull coy; but howsoever I will do my poor indeavour, Sir Humphry.

Sir Humphry Bold.

Pray do, Madam.

Exeunt.

Scene. 4.

Enter Affectionata, walking in a melancholly posture; his Hat pulled over his brows, and his arms inter-folded; To himentens the Lord Singularity.
LOrd Singularity

My Affectionata, Why walks thou so melancholly?

He pulls of his Hat to his Lord, and Bows.
Affectionata.

The cause is not that I lye under an aspersion, by reason I lye not under a crime; But truly, my Lord, I am troubled that I am threatened to be tormented, for I would not willingly indure pain, though I could wil­lingly receive death; but as for the aspersions, I am no wayes concerned; for I make no question, but my honest life, my just actions, and the truth of my words, will so clear me at the last, as I shall appear as innocent to the World, as Angels doth in Heaven.

Lord Singularity.

Comfort your self, for I will rather suffer death, than you shall suffer pain.

Affectionata.

Heaven defend you, my Lord, whatsoever I suffer,

Ex.

Scene 5.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, and Mistriss Reformer.
LAdy Wagtail.

Pray Mistriss Reformer, be Sir Humphry Bold's friend to thy Lady, and I protest to thee, he shall be thy friend, as long as he and you live, and I do not see any reason your Lady should refuse him; for he is both as proper and stout a man, as any is living this day in the Land.

Reformer.

Indeed Madam, I dare not mention it to my Lady, for she is so adverse against marriage, as she takes those for her enemies as doth but men­tion it.

Lady Wagtail.

Then surely she is not a woman, for there is none of the ef­seminate Sex, but takes it for a disgrace to live an old maid, and rather than dye one, they will marry any man that will have them; and the very fear of not marrying, is so terrible to them, as whilst they are so young, as they are not fit to make wives, they will miserably cast away themselves to the first that makes a proffer, although they be poor, base or mean, rather than venture to try out their fortunes.

Reformer.

But my Lady is not of that humour.

Lady Wagtail.

Come, come, I know thou canst perswade thy Lady if thou wouldst, and if you will, Sir Humphry Bold will give thee 500 l. to buy thee a Husband, for thou hast lived too long a maid I faith.

Reformer.

I am not a maid, Madam, I am a widow.

Lady Wagtail.

What, a musty widow!

Reformer.

I know not whether I am musty, but I am a widow.

Lady Wagtail.

Let mee tell thee, that it is as great a disgrace to live a wi­dow, as an old maid; wherefore take thee 500 l. to get thee a second Hus­band.

Reformer.

Truly I would not sell my Lady for all the World, much less, for 500 l. neither would I marry again, if I were young, and might have my choyce.

Lady Wagtail.

Lord bless me, and send me out of this house, least it should infect me; for let me tell thee, were my Husband dead to morrow, I would marry the day after his Funeral, if I could get any man to marry me, and so I would serve 20. Husbands one after another.

Reformer.

Your best way were to have 20. Husbands at one time, so that your Ladyship might not be a day without.

Lady Wagtail.

O fie! If women might have twenty Husbands, they would have no room for courtly Servants; but prithy help Sir Humphry Bold, and take his offer, and let me speak with the Lady my self.

Reformer.

That your Ladyship cannot at this time, for my Lady is not well.

Lady Wagtail.

Then pray remember my most humble service, and tell her, I will come to morrow, and if she be sick, I will talk her well.

Lady Wagtail Ex.
Reformer alone.
Reformer.

Dead you would talk her, for thou hast an endless tongue; Oh! what man is so miserable that is her Husband.

Reformer Exit.

Scene 6.

Enter two or three Commanders.
1. COmmander.

It is reported that our Generals Page hath behaved him­self so handsomly, spoke so wittily, defended his cause so prudently, declared his innocence so clearly, and carried his business so wisely, as the Ve­netian States have not only quitted him freely, but doth applaud him wonder­fully, extolls him highly, and offers him any satisfaction for the injurie and disgrace that hath been done him; but he only desires, that the man that had accused him, which man, was one of the Generals men, should be pardoned, and not punished.

2. Commander.

I hope our General is well pleased, that his beloved boy is not only cleared, but applauded.

1. Commander.

O! He doth nothing but imbrace him, and kiss him, as if he were his only son, yet he did gently chide him that he asked pardon for his accusers; for said he, if all false accusers should be pardoned, no honest man would escape free form censure.

3. Commander.

But I hear the States have given order to our General to meet the Turkes again, for it is reported by intelligences that they have re­cruited into a numerous body.

2. Commander.

Faith I think the Turkes are like the tale of the Gyant, that when his head was cut off there rise two in the place.

1. Commander.

I think they are like the vegetable that is named three­fold, the more it is cut the faster it growes.

3. Commander.

I would the Devil had them for me.

2. Commander.

We do what we can to send them to Hell; but whether they will quit thee, I cannot tell.

Exeunt.

Scene. 7.

Enter the Lord General, and Affectionata.
LOrd Singularity.

My Affectionata I wonder you could suffer an accusati­on so patiently knowing you were accused falsly.

Affectionata.

The clearnesse of my innocency needed not the fury of a vio­lent passion to defend it, neither could passion have rectified an injury.

Lord Singularity.

Tis true, yet passion is apt to rise in defence of innocen­cy, and honour.

Affectionata.

And many times passion (my Lord) destroye; the life in striving to maintaine the truth, and defend the innocent; but I find a passio­nate sorrow that your Lordship must go to indanger your life in the warrs again.

Lord Singularity.

The warrs is pastime to me, for I hate idlenesse, and no imployment pleases me better than fighting, so it be in a good cause, but you shall stay.

Affectionata.
[Page 45]

Why my Lord, are you weary of my service?

Lord Singul.

Know I am carefull of thy safety, thy rest and peace, for shouldst thou not come near danger, yet the very tragical aspect will terrefie thee to death, thou art of so tender a nature, so soft and sweet a dispo­sition.

Affectionata.

Truly my Lord, if you leave me behind you, the very fear of your life will kill me, where if your Lordyship will let me go, love will give me courage.

Lord Singul.

Then let me tell you, you must not go, for I have adopted you my Son, and I have setled all my Estate upon thee, where, if I am killed, you shall be my Heir, for I had rather vertue should inherit my Estate than birth, yet I charge thee take my Name upon thee, as well as my Estate unto thee.

Affectionata.

My noble Lord, I should be prouder to bear your name, than to be Master of the whole World, but I shall never be so base to keep my self in safety, in hope of your Estate, wherefore must intreat your leave to go with you.

Lord Singul.

I will not give you leave, but command you to the contrary, which is to stay.

Affectionata.

I cannot obey you in this, for love will force me to run after you.

Lord Singul.

I will have you lash'd, if you offer to go.

Affectionata.

Stripes cannot stay me!

Lord Singul.

I will have you tyed, and kept by force.

fectionata.

By Heaven, my Lord, i'l tear my flesh, and break my bones to get lose, and if I have not legs to run, i'l creep thorough the Earth like worms, for though I shall move but slowly, yet it will be a satisfaction to my soul, that I am travelling after you,

Lord Singularity.

Affectionata, You anger me very much.

Affectionata.

Indeed my Lord, you grieve me more than I can anger you.

Affectionata weeps.
Lord Singularity.

What, do you crie! and yet desire to be a souldier?

Affectionata.

A valiant heart, my Lord, may have a weeping eye to keep it company.

Lord Singularity.

If no perswasion can stay you, you must go along with me.

Affectionata bows, as giving his Lord thanks.
Exeunt.

Scene 8.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, the Lady Amorous, Sir Humphry Bold, Sir Timothy Compliment, to the Lady Bashfull, who hangs down her head, as out of countenance.
LAdy Wagtail.

Faith Lady Bashfull, we will have you abroad to Balls and publick meetings, to learn you a confident behaviour, and a bold speech; Fie! You must not be bashfull.

Lady Amorous.

Our visiting her sometimes, hath made her so, as she is not altogether so bashfull as she was.

Enter Sir Serious Dumb, who bows first to the Lady Bashfull, then to the rest of the Company, and then goeth behind the Lady Bashfull, and stands close by Mistriss Reformer.
Lady Amorous.

Surely Sir Serious Dumb is a domestick servant here, he stands and waits as one.

He bows with an acknowledging face.
Sir Humphry Bold.

If she wil entertain such servants as he, she is not so modest as she appears. Lady, perchance if I had come privately alone, I had been entertained with more freedom, and not have had my suit denied, and my person neglected with scorn, and he received with respect.

Sir Serious Dumb comes and gives him a box on the eare, they both draw their swords, all the women runs away squeeking, only the Lady Bashfull stayes, and runs betwixt their swords, and parts them; Sir Timothy Compliment looks on as affraid to stir.
Lady Bashfull.

For Heaven sake! fight not here, to affright me with your quarrels.

Sir Humphry Bold.

I will have his heart-bloud.

Lady Bashfull.

Good Sir Serious Dumb, and Sir Humphry Bold, leave off fighting.

Sir Serious Dumb draws back.
Lady Bashfull.

Pray Sir Humphry Bold, give me your sword, that I may be sure you will not fight.

Sir Humphry Bold.

What, yield my sword up! I will dye first.

Enter the Ladies again.

All speak at one time, who is kill'd, who is kill'd.

Sir Humphry Bold presses towards Sir Serious Dumb.
Lady Bashfull.

Good Ladies, hold Sir Humphry Bold, and I will try to per­swade Sir Serious Dumb.

[Page 47] They hold Sir Humphry Bold.
Lady Wagtail.

What, you shall not stir, I am sure you will not oppose us women.

Lady Bashfull.

Noble Sir, to give me an assurance you will not fight, give me your sword.

Sir Serious Dumb kisses the bilt of his sword, then gives it her.
Sir Humphry Bold gets lose from the Ladies, and goeth to assault Sir Serious Dumb; He being an armed, the Lady Bashfull seeing him, steps betwixt them, and with Sir Serious Dumb's sword, strikes at Sir Humphry Bold, and strikes his sword out of his hand.
Lady Bashfull.

What, are you not ashamed to assault an unarmed man.

Sir Humphry Bold runs to take up his sword, she also runs and sets her foot upon it.
Lady Bashfull.

Let the sword alone, for it is my prize; and by Heaven, if you touch it, I will run you thorough with this sword in my hand.

Sir Humphry Bold runs, and catcheth Sir Timothy Compliments sword, and offers to make a thrust at Sir Serious Dumb, who puts the sword by, and beats it down with one hand, and with the other strikes it aside, then closes with him, and being skillfull at Wrestling, trips up his heels, then gets upon him,The women in the mean time squeeks.and having both his hands at liberty, wrings out Sir Humphry Bold's sword out of his hand, then ariseth and gives the sword to the right owner, who all the time trembled for fear, and never durst strive to part them.
Sir Humphry Bold.

Hell take me, but I will be revenged: Lady, I hope you will give me my sword again.

Lady Bashfull.

Never to fight against a woman, but my victorious spoils, I will deliver to this gallant Gentleman, who delivered up his life and honour into my hand, when he gave me his sword, and I indangered the loss of both by taking it, for which my gratitude hath nothing to return him but my self and fortunes, if he please to accept of that and me.

Sir Serious Dumb bows with a respect, and kisses her hand.
Lady Bashfull.

Sir, I wish my person were more beautifull than it is, for your sake, and my fortune greater, with more certainty of continuance, as neither being subject to time or accident, but this certainly I will promise you, which is, my chaste and honest life; Now Sir, pray take these two swords,Gives him the two swords. this was yours, fear gave me confidence, this I won, love gave me courage.

Sir Serious Dumb leads out his Mistriss.
Exit.
Sir Humphry Bold.

I will be revenged.

Omnes Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene 9.

Enter the Lord General, and Affectionata.
LOrd Singul.

Affectionata, I hear thou hast bought Arms, I am sure thou canst not fight.

Affectionata,

I am sure I will do my indeavour, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

Why, the very weight of thy Arms will sink thee down.

Affectionata.

O no, my Lord; my desire shall beat them up.

Lord Singul.

Alas, thou halt no strength to fight?

Affectionata.

What strength my active body wants, my vigorous spirits shall make good.

Lord Singul.

Prethee, my boy, do not adventure thy self, but stay in my Tent.

Affectionata.

That would be a shame for me, and a dishonour to you, since you have adopted me your son, wherefore the World shall never say, you have bestowed your favour and your love upon a coward.

Lord Singularity.

I well perceive I have adopted a very willfull boy?

Affectionata.

Indeed, my Lord, I have no will, but what doth follow you.

The General strokes Affectionata on the cheek.
Exeunt.

Scene. 10.

Enter Sir Serious Dumb, and his Mistriss the Lady Bashfull.
SIr Serious Dumb.

The time I vowed to silence is expir'd, and though my thoughts not gloriously attired with Eloquence, for Rhetorick I have none, yet civil words, sit for to wait upon a modest Lady, and to entertain an honest mind with words of truth, though plain? For 'tis not Rhetorick makes a happy life, but sweet society, that's void of strife.

Lady Bashfull.

Sir Rhetorick is rather for sound than sense, for words than reason.

Sir Serious Dumb.

Yet my sweet Mistriss, I wish my voice were tuned to your eare, and every word set as a pleasing note to make such musick as might delight your mind.

Lady Bashfull.

Your words slow thorough my ears, as smooth, clear, pure water from the spring of Hellicon, which doth not only refresh, but inrich my dull insipid brain.

Scene 11.

Enter a Captain and his Corporal.
COrporal.

The Turks never received such a blow, as they have this time?

Captain.

A pox of them, they have made us sweat?

Corporal.

Why Captain, sweating will cure the Pox, and though you curse the Turks, yet it is we that live in Italy, that is diseased with them.

Captain.

The truth is, we lost more health in the Venetian service, than we gain wealth.

Corporal.

Nay faith Captain, we do not only lose our health, but wast our wealth, for what booties we get from the Turks, the Courtezans gets from us.

Captain.

For that cause now I have gotten a good bootie, I will return into mine own Country, and buy a—

Corporal.

A what Captain?

Captain.

An Office in civil Government.

Corporal.

But you will never be civil in your Office.

Captain.

That needs not to be, for though all Magisterial Offices bears a civil Authority, yet the Officers and Magistrates therein, are more cruel and ravenons than common souldiers.

Corporal.

Verily Captain, I think common Souldiers are more mercifull and just than they.

Captain.

Verely Corporal, I think you will become a Puritan Preacher.

Corporal.

Why should you think so, Captain.

Captain.

First, because you have got the Pox, and that will make you Preach in their tone, which is, to speak thorough the nose; the next is, you have left the ranting Oaths that Souldier's use to swear, and use their phrases; as verily my beloved brethren, which brethrens souls, they care not for, nor thinks thereof, for though they speak to the brethren, they Preach to the si­sters, which edifies wonderfully by their Doctrine, and they gain and receive as wonderfull from their female Hocks, for those Puritan Preachers have more Tithes out of the Marriage-bed, than from the Parish-stock.

Corporal.

If it be so beneficial, Captain, I had rather be a Puritan Preacher, than an Atheistical States-man.

Captain.

Faith Corporal, I think there is not much Religion in either, but if there be, it lies in the States-man, for he keeps Peace, the other makes War.

Corporal.

If they make wars; they are our friends, for we live by the spoils of our enemies.

Captain.

'Tis true, when as we get a victory, or else our enemies lives on the spoil of us, for though we have no goods to lose, yet we venture our lives, neither do we live on the spoil of our enemies, but only in forreign wars, for in civil wars we live by the spoil of our Friends, and the ruining of our Country.

Corporal.

Then we are only obliged to Preachers for civil wars.

Captain.

Faith Corporal, we are obliged to them for both; for as their fa­etious Doctrine causes a Rebellion by railing on the Governours and Govern­ments, so their flattering Sermons sets a Prince on fire, who burns in hot am­bition to conquer all the World.

Corporal.
[Page 50]

These latter Preachers you mention, Captain, are not Puritan Preachers, but Royal Preachers.

Captain.

You are right Corporal, for they are divided in two parts, although their Doctrine meets at one end, which is in war.

Corporal.

Captain, you have discovered so fully of Preachers, that if you will give me leave, I will preach to our Company.

Captain.

Out you rogue, will you raise a war amongst our selves, causing a mutinie to cut one anothers throats?

Corporal.

Why Captain, it is the fashion and practice for Souldiers to Preach now adayes.

Captain.

That is amongst the Rebel party to keep up their faction, and to strengthen the flank thereof, but amongst the Royal party, the Preaching Mi­nisters turn fighting Souldiers, incouraging with their good example, as by their valliant onsets, and not the Souldiers Preaching Ministers.

Corporal.

Why Captain, the Royal party needs no incouragement, the ju­stice of their cause is sufficient.

Captain.

You say right, they want not courage to fight, but they want con­science to plunder; Besides, the Royal party is apt to give quarter, which should not be, for Souldiers should destroy all they take in Civil-wars, by reason there is no gain to be made of their Prisoners, as by the way of Ran­soms, but if we stay from our Company, our General will preach such a Ser­mon, as may put us into despair of his favour, and indanger our lives at the Council of war.

Exeunt.

Scene 12.

Enter three or four Commanders.
1. COmmander.

I think our Generals new made son is a spirit; for when the General was surrounded with the Turks, this adopted Son of his flew about like lightening, and made such a massacre of the Turks, as they lay as thick upon the ground, as if they had been mushromes.

2. Commander.

Certainly the General had been taken Prisoner, if his Son had not rescued him, for the General had adventured too far into the enemies body.

1. Commander.

'Tis strange, and doth amaze me with wonder, to think how such a Willow-twig could bore so many mortal holes in such strong timber'd bodies as the Turks.

2. Commander.

By him one would believe miracles were not ceast.

3. Commander.

Well, for my part I will ask pardon of my General for condemning him privately in my thoughts, for I did think him the most fond, (I will not say what) for adopting a poor Beggar-boy for his son, and setled all his Estate, which is, a very great one upon him.

1. Commander.

The truth is, he is a very gallant youth, and if he lives and continues in the wars, he will prove a most excellent Souldier.

2. Commander.

Certainly he sprung from a Noble Stock, either by his Fa­thers side, or by his Mothers.

1. Commander.

By his behaviour he seems Nobly born from both.

3. Commander.
[Page 51]

And by his poverty, Nobly born from neither.

1. Commander.

Mean persons may have wealth, and Noble births be Beggars.

Exeunt.

Scene 13.

Enter Affectionata in brave cloths, Hat and Feather, and a Sword by his side, and a great many Commanders following and attending him, with their Hats off, the whilst he holds off his Hat to them.
AFfectionata.

Gentlemen, I beseech you, use not this ceremonie to me, it belongs only to my Lord General.

Commanders.

Your merits and gallant actions deserves it from us; Besides, it is your due, as being the Generals adopted Son.

Affectionata.

My Lords favour may place a value on me, though I am poor in worth, and no wayes deserves this respect.

1. Commander.

Faith Sir, had it not been for you, we had lost the bat­tel.

Affectionata.

Alas, my weak arm could never make a conquest, although my will was good, and my desire strong to do a service.

2. Commander.

Sir, the service was great, when you rescued our General, for when a General is taken or kill'd, the Armies are put to rout, for then the common Souldiers runs away, never stayes to fight it out.

Affectionata.

I beseech you Gentlemen, take not the honour from my Lord to give it me, for he was his own defence, and ruine to his enemies; for his valiant spirits shot thorouh his eyes, and struck them dead, thus his own cou­rage was his own safety, and the Venetians victory.

Enter a Messenger from the Venetian-States to Affectionata, he bows to him.
Messenger.

Noble Sir, the Venetian-States hath made you Lieutenant Ge­neral of the whole Armie, and one of the Council of War, where they de­sire your presence.

Affectionata.

The honours they have given me, is beyond my manage­ment.

Messenger Exit.
As Affectionata was going forth, enters some poor Souldiers Wives with Petitions, offers to present them to Affectionata.
1, Wife.

Good your Honour, speak in the behalf of my Petition.

2. Wife.

And mine.

3. Wife.

And mine.

Affectionata.

Good women, I cannot do you service, for if your Petitions are just, my Lord the General will grant your request, and if they be unjust, he will not be unjust in granting them for my intrearie, nor will I intreat there­fore.

Wives.

If it please your Honour, we implore Mercy, not Justice.

Affectionata.
[Page 52]

Where Justice and Wisdom will give leave for Mercy, I am sure my Lord will grant it, otherwise, what you call mercy, will prove cruelty, and cause ruine and destruction.

Wives.

We beseech your Honour then, but to deliver our Petitious.

Affectionata.

For what are they?

Wives.

For the lives of our Husbands.

Affectionata.

Are they to be executed?

Wives.

They are condemned, and to be hanged to morrow, unless the Ge­neral gives them pardons.

Affectionata.

What are their crimes?

1. Wife.

My Husband is to be hanged for plundering a few old rotten Houshold-goods.

Affectionata.

Give me your Petition, necessity might inforce him.

2. Wife.

My Husband is to be hanged for disobeying his Captain when he was drunk.

Affectionata.

When which was drunk? your Husband or his Captain?

Wife.

My Husband.

Affectionata.

Disobedience ought to be severely punished, yet because his reason was drowned in his drink, and his understanding smothered with the vapour thereof, whereby he knew not what he did, I will deliver your Pe­tition.

Affectionata.

And what is yours?

3. Wife.

My Husband is to be hanged for ravishing a Virgin.

Affectionata.

I will never deliver a Petition for those that are Violaters of Virginity, I will sooner act the Hang-mans part my self to strangle him.

Affectionata.

And what is your Husbands crime?

4. Wife.

My Husband is to be hanged for murther.

Affectionata.

O horrid! They that murther, ought to have no mercy given to them, since they could give no mercy to others.

Wives.

Good your Honour.

Affectionata.

Nay, never press me, for I will never deliver your Petition.

Wives Exeunt.
Enter Commanders that were to be Cashiered (to Petition Affectionata.)
1. Captain.

Noble Sir, I come to intreat you to be my friend, to speak to the General in my behalf, that I may remain in my place, for I am to be ca­shierd.

Affectionata.

For what?

1. Captain.

For a small fault, Sir, for when the battel was begun, I had such a cholick took me in the stomach, as I was forced to go aside, and untruss a point.

Affectionata.

It had been more for your honour, Captain, to had let nature discharge it self in your breeches. And what, are you cashiered Captain?

2. Captain.

Marry, for my good service, for when the battel begun, my Souldiers run away, and I run after to call them back, they run, and I rid so long, as we were gotten ten miles from the Armie, but I could not get them, untill such time as the battel was won.

Affectionata.

It had been more honour for you to have fought single alone without your Souldiers, than to have followed your Souldiers, although to make them stay, and you would have done more service with your standing still than your running; and what, are you to be cashiered?

3. Captain.
[Page 53]

Why Sir, my company wanted Powder, and I went to fetch or give order; for some to be brought, and before I returned to my Compa­ny, the battel was won.

Affectionata.

It had been more for your honour and good service, to have stayed and incouraged your Souldiers by your example with sighting with your sword, for the sword makes a greater execution than the shot; but since they were not wilfull, nor malicious faults, I shall do you what service I can, for fear sometimes may seize the valiantest man. And what were your faults Colonel?

1. Colonel.

Mine was for betraying a Fort.

Affectionata.

O base! He that betrays a Fort, ventures to betray a Kingdom, which is millions of degrees worse than to betray a life, or a particular friend; for those that betrays a Kingdom, betrays numbers of lifes, and those that be­trays their native Country, betrays that which gave them nourishing strength, and you have had great mercy in giving you your life, although you lose your place. And what was your fault?

Commander.

Mine was for neglecting the Watch.

Affectionata.

That is as bad as to give leave for the enemie to surprize, only the one betrays through carelesness, the other through covetousness. And what was your fault Colonel?

Colonel.

Mine was for disobeying the Generals Orders.

Affectionata.

Let me tell you Colonel, he that will not obey, is not fit to command; and those that commits careless, stubborn, malicious and wicked crimes; I will never deliver their Petition, nor speak in their behalf.

Commanders Exeunt.
Enter a poor Souldier.
Souldier.

Good your Honour save me from punishment.

Affectionata.

What are you to be punished for?

Souldier.

I am to be punished, because I said my Captain was a coward.

Affectionata.

What reason had you to say so?

Souldier.

The reason was, because he sung and whistled when he went to fight.

Affectionata.

That might be to shew his courage.

Souldier.

O no, it was to hide his fear.

Affectionata.

But you ought not to have called your Captain coward, had he been so; for the faults of Superiours are to be winked at, and obscured; and not to be divulged: Besides, yours was but a supposition, unless he ran away.

Souldier.

No Sir, he fought.

Affectionata.

Then you were too blame for judging so.

Souldier.

I confess it, Sir, wherefore pray speak for me.

Affectionata.

Indeed I cannot, for to call a man coward, is to kill, at least to wound his reputation, which is far worse, that if you had kill'd the life of his body; by how much honour is to be preferred before life; but if you can make your peace with your Captain by asking his pardon; I will then speak to the General, that the sentence for your punishment may be taken off, wherefore let me advise you to go to your Captain, and in the most humblest and sorrowfulst manner ask forgiveness of him.

Souldier.

I shall, and it please your Honour.

Exeunt.

Scene 14.

Enter Sir Peaceable Studious solus.
Sir Peaceable Studious.
HOw happy is a private life to me;
Wherein my thoughts ran easily and free;
And not disturb'd with vanities and ioyes,
On which the senses gazes, as young boys
On watery bubbles in the aire blown,
Which when they break, doth vanish and are gone.
Enter the Lady Ignorance.
Lady Ignorance.

I doubt I disturb your Poetry?

Sir P. Studious.

No wife, you rather give life and fire to my muse, being chaste, fair and vertuous, which are the chief theams for Poets fancies to work on.

Lady Ignorance.

But that wife that is despised by her Husband, and not lo­ved, is dejected in her own thoughts, and her mind is so disquietted, as it masks her beauty, and vails, and obscures her vertues.

Sir P. Studious.

The truth is, wife, that if my affections to you, had not been firmly setled; your indiscretion and effeminate follies had ruined it, but my love is so true, as you have no cause to be jealouse; but I confess you made me sad, to think that your humour could not sympathize with mine, as to walk in the same course of life as I did, but you were ignorant and would not believe me, untill you had found experience by practice, by which pra­ctice you have found my words to be true, do you not?

Lady Ignorance.

Yes, so true, as I shall never doubt them more; But pray Husband, tell me what discourse you had with the Ladies, when you went abroad with them?

Sir P. Studious.

Why, they railed against good Husbands, called them Uxorious Fools, Clowns, Blocks, Stocks, and that they were only fit to be made Cuckolds through their confident fondness, and that kind Husbands ap­peared like simple Asses; I answered, that those Husbands that were Cuc­kolds, appeared not only like silly Asses, but base Cowards, that would suffer their wives to be courted, and themselves dishonoured when they ought to destroy their wives Gallants, if visibly known, and to part from their wives, at least to mancor them, and not only for being falfe, but for the suspition caused by their indiscretions; otherwise said I, a kind Husband shews himself a Gal­lant, Noble, Generous, Just, Wise man, and contrary, he is a base man, that will strive to disgrace himself, by disgracing his wife with neglects and disre­spects; and a coward, to tyranize only over the weak, tender, and helpless Sex; for women being tender, shiftless, and timorous creatures by nature, is the cause they joyn themselves by chaste Wedlock to us men for their safety, protection, honour and livelyhood, and when a man takes a woman to his wife, he is an unworthy and treacherous person, if he betrays her to scorns, or yields her to scoffs, or leaves her to poverty; and he is a base man that makes [Page 55] his wife sigh and weep with unkindness either by words or actions, where­fore said I, it is wisdom for men to respect their wives with a civil behaviour, and sober regard, and it is heroick to defend, protect and guard their lives and vertues, to be constant to their vows, promises and protestations, and it is ge­nerous to cherish their health, to attend them in their sickness, to comply with their harmless humours, to entertain their discourses, to accompany their persons, to yield to their lawfull desires, and to commend their good graces, and that man which is a Husband, and doth not do thus, is worthy to be shamed, and not to be kept company with, which is not called an Uxorious Husband; for said I, an Uxorious Husband I understand to be, a honest, care­full and wise Husband.

Lady Ignorance.

And what said they, after you said this?

Sir P. Studious.

They laugh'd and said, my flowery Rhetorick was strewed upon a dirty ground; I answered, it was not dirty where I lived, for my wife was beautifull, chaste and cleanly, and I wished every man the like, and after they perceived that neither the railing, nor laughing at good Husbands could not temper me for their palats, they began to play and sport with one another, and sung wanton songs, and when all their baits failed, they quarreled with me, and said I was uncivil, and that I did not entertain them well, and that I was not good Company, having not aconversable wit, nor a gentle beha­viour, and that I was not a gallant Cavalier, and a world of those reproches and idle discourses, as it would tire me to repeat it, and you to hear it.

Lady Ignorance.

Pray resolve me one question more, what was it you said to the Lady Amorous, when she threatned to tell me?

Sir P. Studious.

I only said nature was unkind to our Sex, in making the beautifull females cruel.

Lady Ignorance.

Was that all, I thought you had pleaded as a courtly Su­tor for loves favours.

Sir P. Studious.

No indeed, but let me tell you, and so inform you, wife, that those humour'd women, take as great a pleasure to make wives jealouse of their Husbands, and Husbands jealouse of their wives, and to seperate their affections, and to make a disorder in their Families, as to plot and de­sign to intice men to court them, & Cuckold their Husband, also let me tell you, that much company, and continual resort, brings great inconveniences for its apt to corrupt the mind, and make the thoughts wild, the behaviour bold, the words vain, the discourse either flattering, rude or tedious, their actions extra­vagant, their persons cheap, being commonly occompanyed, or their compa­ny common. Besides, much variety of Company, creates amorous luxu­rie, vanity, prodigality, jealousie, envie, malice, slander, envie, treachery, quar­tels, revenge and many other evils, as laying plots to insnare the Honourable, to accuse the Innocent, to deceive the Honest, to corrupt the Chaste, to deboyst the Temperate, to pick the purse of the Rich, to inslave the poor, to pull down lawfull Authority, and to break just Laws; but when a man lives to himself within his own Familie, and without recourse, after a solitary manner, he lives free, without controul, not troubled with company, but entertains himself with himself, which makes the soul wise, the mind sober, the thoughts indu­strious, the understanding learned, the heart honest, the senses quiet, the appe­tites temperate, the body healthfull, the actions just and prudent, the behavi­our civil and sober; He governs orderly, eats peaceably, sleeps quietly, lives contentedly, and most commonly, plentifully and pleasantly, ruling and go­verning [Page 56] his little Family to his own humour, wherein he commands with love, and is obeyed with duty, and who that is wise, and is not mad; would quit this heavenly life to live in hellish Societies, and what can an honest Husband and wife desire more, than love, peace and plenty, and when they have this, and is not content, 'tis a sign they stand upon a Quagmire, or rotten Founda­tion, that will never hold or indure, that is, they are neither grounded on ho­nesty, nor supported with honour.

Lady Ignorance.

Well Husband, I will not interupt your studies any lon­ger, but as you study Phylosophie, Wisdom and Invention, so I will study obe­dience, discretion and Houswifery.

Omnes Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene 15.

Enter the General, and Affectionata.
LOrd Singularity.

Affectionata, Were you never bred to the Discipline of War?

Affectionata.

Never, my Lord, but what I have been since I came to you.

Lord Singularity.

Why, thou didst speak at the Council of War, as if thou hadst been an old experienced souldier, having had the practice of fourty years, which did so astonish the grave Senators and old Souldiers, that they grew dumb, and for a while did only gaze on thee.

Affectionata.

Indeed, my Lord, my young years, and your grave Counsel did not suit together.

Lord Singularity.

But let me tell thee, my boy, thy rational and wise spee­ches, and that grave counsels was not mis-match'd.

Affectionata.

Pray Heaven I may prove so, as your favours, and your love may not be thought misplaced.

Lord Singularity.

My Love thinks thee worthy of more than I can give thee, had I more power than Caesar had.

Exeunt.

Scene 16.

Enter some Commanders.
1. COmmander.

I hear that the Duke of Venice is so taken with our Ge­nerals adopted Son, as he will adopt him his Son.

2. Commander.

Hay-day! I have heard that a Father hath had many Sons, but never that one Son hath had so many Fathers; but contrary, many Sons wants fathering.

3. Commander.

'Tis true, some Sons hath the misfortune not to be owned, but let me tell you Lieutenant, there be few children that hath not many such Fathers; as one begets a childe, a second owns the childe, a third keeps the childe, which inherits as the right Heir; and if a fourth will adopt the childe; a fift, or more may do the like, if they please.

1. Commander.

So amongst all his Fathers, the right Father is lost.

3. Commander.

Faith, the right Father of any childe is seldome known, by reason that women takes as much delight in deceiving the World, and dissem­bling with particular men, as in the cuckolding their Husbands.

2. Commander.

The truth is, every several Lover cuckolds one another.

1. Commander.

Perchance that is the reason that women strives to have so many Lovers; for women takes pleasure to make Cuckolds.

3. Commander.

And Cuckolds to own children.

Exeunt.

Scene 17.

Enter Affectionata, then enters to him, two or three Venetian Gen­tlemen, as Embassadors from the Duke of Venice.
1. GEntleman.

Noble Sir, the great Duke of Venice hath sent us to let you know he hath adopted you his Son, and desires your com­pany.

Affectionata.

Pray return the great Duke thanks, and tell him those favours are too great for such a one as I; but if he could, and would adopt me, as Augustus Caesar did Tiberius, and make me master of the whole World; by Heaven I would refuse it, and rather chose to live in a poor Cottage, with my most Noble Lord.

2. Gentleman.

But you must not deny him; Besides, he will have you.

Affectionata.

I will dye first, and rather chose to bury my self in my own tears, than build a Throne with ingratitude.

1. Gentleman.

But it is ungratefull to deny the Duke.

Affectionata.

O no, but I should be the ingrate of ingratitude, should I leave my Noble Lord, who from a low despised poor mean degree, advanced me to Respect and Dignity:

Whose favours I will keep close in my heart,
And from his person I will never part.
For though I dye, my soul will still attend,
And wait upon him, as his faithfull friend.
[Page 58] He offers to go away in a melancholly posture and humour, so as not considering the Gentlemen. Whereupon one of them follows him, and catches hold of his Cloak.
2. Gentleman.

Noble Sir, will not you send the Duke an answer?

Affectionata.

Have not I answered? Then pray present my thanks in the most humblest manner to the great Duke, and tell him he may force the pre­sence of my person, but if he doth, it will be but as a dead carcase without a living soul; for tell him, when I am from my Lord,

I withering vade, as flowers from Sun sight;
His presence is to me, as Heavens light.
Affectionata Exit.
1, Gentleman.

'Tis strange that such an honour cannot perswade a boy!

2. Gentleman.

That proves him a boy, for if he had been at mans estate, he would not have refused it, but have been ambitious of it, and proud to re­ceive it.

1. Gentl.

Indeed youth is foolish, and knows not how to chose.

2. Gentl.

When he comes to be a man, he will repent the folly of his youth.

Exeunt.

Scene 18.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Lady VVagtail not knowing Sir Seri­ous could speak.
LAdy Wagtail.

Pray Madam, let me perswade you, not to cast your self away, to marry a dumb man; for by my troth, all those that are dumb, are meer fools; for who can be witty or wise that cannot speak, or will not speak, which is as bad.

Lady Bashfull.

Why Madam? wisdom nor wit, doth noth not live not lye in words, for prudence, fortitude and temperance, expresses wisdom and ca­pacity; ingenuity and fancie expresseth wit, and not words.

Lady Wagtail.

But let me advise you to chose Sir Humphry Bold, he is worth a thousand of Sir Serious Dumb; besides, he is a more learned man by half, and speaks several Languages.

Lady Bashfull.

Perchance so, and yet not so wise; for Parrots will learn Languages, and yet not know how to be wise, nor what wisdom is, which is to have a found judgement, a clear understanding, and a prudent forecast.

Lady Wagtail.

Faith all the World will condemn you to have no forecast, if you marry Sir Serious Dumb.

Lady Bashfull.

Let them speak their worst, I care not, as not fearing their censures.

Lady Wagtail.

You were fearfull and bashfull.

Lady Bashfull.

'Tis true, but now am grown so confident with honest love, I care not if all the World did know of it; nay, I wish it were published to all ears.

[...]
[...]
[Page 59] The Lady Bashfull offers to go away.
Lady Wagtail.

Nay, you must not go, until you have granted my suit in the behalf of Sir Humphry Bold.

Lady Bashfull.

Pray let me go, for I hate him more, than Heaven hates Hell.

Lady Wagtail.

Nay, then I will leave you.

Exeunt.

Scene 19.

Enter Affectionata, who weeps. Enter the Lord Singularity.
LOrd Singularity.

Why weepest thou Affectionata?

Affectionata.

Alas, my Lord, I am in such a passion, as I shall dye, un­less it flows forth thorough mine eyes, and runs from off my tongue.

For like as vapours from the Earth doth rise,
And gather into clouds beneath the skies;
Contracts to water, swelling like moist veins,
When over-fill'd, falls down in showering rains:
So thoughts, which from a grieved mind are sent,
Ariseth in a vaporous discontent.
Contracts to melancholly, which heavy lies
Untill it melts, and runs forth through the eyes;
Unless the Sun of comfort, dry doth drink
Those watery tears that lyes at the eyes brink;
Or that the rayes of joy, which streams bright out
With active heat disperseth them about.
Lord Singularity.

Faith Affectionata, I am no good Poet, but thy passion moves so sweetly in numbers and stops, so just with rhimes, as I cannot but an­swer thee,

Like as the Sun beauty streams rayes about,
A smiling countenance like day breaks out:
And though a frown obscures sweet beauties sight,
Yet beauties beams makes cloudy frowns more bright:
But melancholly beauty doth appear
As pleasing shades, or Summers evenings clear.

So doth thine Affectionata, but prethee do not wast thy breath into sighs, nor distill thy life into tears.

Affectionata.

I wish I might here breath my last, and close my eyes for ever.

Lord Singularity.

I perceive Affectionata, you take it unkindly I did per­swade you to take the Dukes offer; But if you think I did it out of any other design than a true affection to you; By Heaven, you do me wrong by false in­terpretation.

Affectionata.
[Page 60]

If you, my Lord, did love but half so well as I, you would ra­ther chose to dye, than part with me.

Lord Singularity.

I love thee beyond my own interest or delight, for what is best for thee, I account as the greatest blessing, should it bring me any other wayes a curse.

Affectionata.

Then let me still live with you, for that is best for me.

Lord Singularity.

Here I do vow to Heaven, to do my indeavour with my life to keep thee with me, or to be alwayes where thou art.

Affectionata.

O! what a weight you have taken from my soul, wherein my thoughts like wer-winged-birds sate heavy; my senses like as blinking Lamps which vaporous damps of grief had neer put out.

Lord Singularity.

Let me tell thee Affectionata, I have travelled far, obser­ved much, and have had divers incounters, but I never met such vertue, found such truth, nor incountered such an affection as thine.

imbraces him.
And thus I do imbrace thee, and do wish our souls may twine,
As our each bodyes thus together joyn.
Exeunt.

Scene 20.

Enter Sir Serious Dumb, and his Mistriss the Lady Bashfull.
SIr Serious Dumb.

Dear Mistriss, do not you repent your favours, and wish your promise were never made; doth not your affection vade?

Lady Bashfull.

No, it cannot, for never was any love placed upon a Nobler soul than my love is, which is on yours, insomuch, as I do glory in my af­fection, and grow self-conceited of its judgement.

Sir Serious Dumb.

And will you be constant?

Lady Bashfull.

Let not your humble thoughts raise a doubt of jealousie; for I am fixt, as time is to eternity.

Sir Serious Dumb.

Then I thank nature for your Creation, honour for your Breeding, and heaven for your Vertue, and fortune that hath given you to me, for I can own nothing of that worth that could deserve you.

Lady Bashfull.

I cannot condemn jealousie, because it proceeds from pure love, and love melts into kinds on a constant heart, but flames like Oyle on a false one, which sets the whole life on fire.

Sir Serious Dumb.

But now I cannot doubt your love nor constancies, since you have promised your heart to me; for true Lovers are like the light and the Sun, inseparable.

Exeunt.

Scene 21.

Enter some Commanders.
1. COmmander.

Come fellow-souldiers, are you ready to march?

2. Commander.

Whether?

1. Commander.

Into our own native Country, for our General is sent sol home.

3. Commander.

Except there be wars in our own Country, we cannot go with him.

1. Commander.

I know not whether there be wars or peace, but he obeys, for he is preparing for his journey.

2. Commander.

Who shall be General when he is gone?

3. Commander.

I know not, but I hear the States offers to make our young Lieutenant-General, General, but he refuseth it.

2. Commander.

Would they would make me General?

3. Commander.

If thou wert General, thou wouldst put all method out of order.

1. Commander.

Faith Gentlemen, I would lead you most prudently, and give you leave to plunder most unanimously.

1. Commander.

And we would fight couragiously, to keep what we plun­der.

2. Commander.

Come, let us go, and inquire how our affairs goeth.

Exeunt.

Scene 22.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
LOrd Singularity.

Now Affectionata, we have taken our leave of the States: I hope thy mind is at peace, and freed from fears of being staid.

Affectionata.

Yes my my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

They did perswade thee much to stay.

Affectionata.

They seemed much troubled for your Lordships depar­ture.

Lord Singularity.

Truly I will say thus much for my self, that I have done them good service, and I must say thus much for them, that they have rewar­ded me well.

Affectionata.

I have heard, my Lord, that States seldom rewards a service done; wherefore I believe, they hope you will return again, and sees you for that end.

Lord Singularity.

I shall not be unwilling when my Country hath no im­ployment for me.

Affectionata.

Methinks, my Lord, since you have gotten afame abroad, you should desire to live a setled life at home.

Lord Singularity.
[Page 62]

A setled life would seem but dull to me that hath no wife nor children.

Affectionata.

You may have both, If you please, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

For children I desire none, since I have thee, and wives I care not for, but what are other mens.

Enter a Messenger with a Letter to the Lord Singularity.
Lord Singularity.

From whence comest thou friend?

Messenger.

From Rome, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

If you please to stay in the next room, I shall speak to you presently.

Messenger Exit.
The Lord Singularity breaks up the Letter and reads.
Lord Singularity.

Affectionata, From whence do you think this Letter comes?

Affectionata.

I cannot guess, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

From the Pope, who hath heard so much of thy youth, vertue, wit and courage, as he desires me to pass thorough Rome im my jour­ney home, that he might see thee.

Affectionata.

Pray Heaven his Holynesse doth not put me into a Monaste­ry, and force me to stay behind you.

Lord Singularity.

If he should, I will take the habit, and be incloistered with thee; but he will not inforce a youth that hath no will thereto.

Affectionata.

Truly my Lord, I have no will to be a Fryer.

Lord Singularity.

Indeed it is somewhat too lazie a life, which all heroick Spirits shames, for those loves liberty and action: But I will go and dispatch this Messenger, and to morrow we will begin our journey.

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter the Lady Wagtail, and the Lady Amorous
LAdy Wagtail.

Faith Amorous, it had been a victory indeed worth the brag­ging off, if we could have taken Sir Peaceable Studious Loves prisoner, and could have infettered him in Cupid's bonds.

Lady Amorous.

It had been a victory indeed, for I will undertake to inslave five Courtiers, and ten Souldiers, sooner, and in less time than one studious Scholar.

Lady Wagtail.

But some Scholars are more easily taken than the luxurious Courtiers, or deboist Souldiers.

Lady Amorous.

O no! for Luxurie and Rapine begets lively Spirits, but a study quenches them out.

Lady Wagtail.

One would think so by Sir Peaceable Studious, but not by some other Scholars that I am acquainted with.

Lady Amorous.
[Page 63]

But confess, Lady Wagtail, do not you find a studious Scho­lar dull company, in respect of a vain Courtier, and a rough Souldier.

Lady Wagtail.

I must confess, they that study Philosophy, are little too much inclined to morality, but those that study Theologie, are not so restrin­gent.

Lady Amorous.

Well, for my part, since I have been acquainted with Sir Peaceable Studious, I hate all Scholars.

Exeunt.

Scene 24.

Enter three Men, as the Inhabitants of Rome.
1.

TIs a wonder such a youth as the Lord Singularity's Son is, should have so great a wit, as to be able to dispute with so many Cardinals.

2. Man.

The greater wonder is, that he should have the better of them!

1. Man.

'Tis said the Pope doth admire him! and is extreamly taken with him.

2. Man.

If Iove had so much admired him, he would have made him his Ganimed.

1. Man.

He offered to make him a living Saint, but he thanked his Holy­ness, and said, he might Saint him, but not make him holy enough to be a Saint, for said he, I am unfit to have Prayers offered to me, that cannot offer Prayers as I ought, or live as I should; then he offered him a Cardinals hat, but he refused it; saying he was neither wise enough, nor old enough for to accept of it; for said he. I want Ulisses head, and Nestors years to be a Car­dinal, for though less devotion will serve a Cardinal than a Saint, yet politick wisdom is required.

3. Man.

Pray Neighbours tell me which way, and by what means I may see this wonderfull youth; for I have been out of the Town, and not heard of him.

2. Man.

You cannot see him now, unless you will follow him where he is gone.

1. Man.

Why, whether is he gone?

2. Man.

Into his own Country, and hath been gone above this week.

3. Man.

Nay, I cannot follow him thither.

Exeunt.

Scene 25.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata, as being in the Country.
Lord Singularity.

Affectionata, you have promised me to be ruled by me in every thing, so that you may not part from me.

Affectionata.

I have, my Lord, and will obey all your commands, so far as I am able.

Lord Singularity.
[Page 64]

Then I am resolved now I am returned into my own Country, to get thee a wife, that thy fame and worthy acts may live in thy Po­sterity.

Affectionata.

Iove bless me, a wife! by Heaven, my Lord, I am not man enough to marry!

Lord Singul.

There is many as young as you, that have been Fathers, and have had children.

Affectionata.

If they were such as I am, they might father Children, but never get them.

Lord Singularity.

Thou art modest, Affectionata, but I will have you marry, and I will chose thee such a wife, as modest as thy self.

Affectionata.

Then we never shall have children, Sir.

Lord Singul.

Love and acquaintance will give you confidence; but tell me truly, Affectionata, didst thou never court a Mistriss?

Affectionata.

No truly, Sir.

Lord Singularity.

Well, I will have you practice Courtship, and though I will not directly be your Band or Pimp, yet I will send you amongst the effe­minate Sex, where you may learn to sport with Ladies, as well as fight with Turks.

Affectionata speaks softly to her self; pray Jove they do not search me.
Exeunt.

Scene 26.

Enter the Lady Wagtail, and the Lady Amorous.
LAdy Wagtail.

I can tell you news?

Lady Amorous.

What news?

Lady Wagtail.

Sir Serious Dumb can speak again!

Lady Amorous.

I am sorrow for that, for now he may tell tales out of School.

Lady Wagtail.

If he do, we will whip him with the rods of tongues, which is more sharp than the rods of wyer.

Lady Amorous.

We may whip him with words, but we our selves shall feel the smart of reproch.

Lady Wagtail.

How simply you talk, as if reproch could hurt a woman; when reproch is born with us, and dyes with us.

Lady Amorous.

If reproch have no power of our Sex, why are all women so carefull to cover their faults, and so fearfull to have their crimes di­vulged.

Lady Wagtail.

Out of two reasons; first, because those of the masculine Sex, which have power, as Fathers, Uncles, Brothers and Husbands; would cut their throats, if they received any disgrace by them; for disgrace belongs more to men than women; The other reason is, that naturally women loves secrets; yet there is nothing they can keep secret, but their own particular faults, neither do they think pleasure sweet, but what is stollen.

Lady Amorous.

By your favour, women cannot keep their own faults se­cret.

Lady Wagtail.
[Page 65]

O yes, those faults that may ruine them if divulged, but they cannot keep a secret that is delivered to their trust; for naturally women are unfit for trust, or council.

Lady Amorous.

But we are fit for faction.

Lady Wagtail.

The World would be but a dull World, if it were not for industrious factions.

Lady Amorous.

The truth is, that if it were not for faction, the World would lye in the cradle of Peace, and be rock'd into a quiet sleep of secu­rity.

Lady Wagtail.

Pr [...]thee talk not of quiet, and peace, and rest, for I hate them as bad as death.

Lady Amorous.

Indeed they resemble death, for in death there is no wars nor noise.

Lady Wagtail.

Wherefore it is natural for life, neither to have rest nor peace, being cantrary to death.

Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
AFfectionata.

My Lord, I hear the King hath invited you to attend him in his progress this Summer.

Lord Singularity.

Yes, but I have made my excuse, and have got leave to stay at home; for I will tell thee truly, that I had rather march ten miles with an Artillery, than travel one with a Court; and I had rather fight a bat­tel, than be bound to ceremony, or flattery, which must be practised if one live at Court: Besides, I have been bred to lead an Armie, and not to follow a Court; And the custom of the one have made me unacquainted, and so unfit for the other; for though I may truly say I am a good Souldier, yet I will confess ingenuously to thee, I am a very ill Courtier.

Affectionata.

I think they are the most happiest, that are least acquainted with a great Monarchs Court.

Lord Singularity.

I will tell thee a discourse upon this theam in the time of Henry the eighth of England, there were many Courtiers of all degrees about him, and the theam of their discourse was, who was the happiest man in England; So all the Nobles and inferiour Courtiers agreed unanimously it was his Majesty, and it could be no man else; and they all said, that their judgements was so clear in that point, that it could not admit of a contra­diction, or dispute: Said Henry the eighth, by the body of our Lord, you are all mistaken; then said one of the Courtiers, I beseech your Majesty to tell us who is the happiest man; By the Lord, said the King, that Gentle­man that lives to his profit, and dare moderately spend for his pleasure, and that neither knows me, nor I know him, he is the happiest man in the King­dom; and I am of Henry the eights opinion; but howsoever, it were better to be such a one that goeth with the bagge and baggage of an Armie, than one of the tail of a Court.

Affectionata.
[Page 66]

But your Lordship would not refuse to be as the chief, as to be a Favourite; for a Favourite is more sought, feared and flattered, than the King himself.

Lord Singularity.

I think I should not refuse to be a Favourite, by reason a Favourite is a General to command, Martial and Conduct in all affairs, both at home and abroad, in peace and in war, and all by the power and authority of the commission of Favourites.

Affectionata.

Which Commission hath a greater and larger extent than any other Commission.

Lord Singularity.

You say right, for it extends as far as the Kings power.

Exeunt

Scene 27.

Enter the Lady Bashfull, and Reformer her woman.
REformer.

Madam, shall your wedding be private, or publick?

Lady Bashfull.

Private.

Reformer.

I wonder you will have it private.

Lady Bashfull.

Why do you wonder?

Reformer.

Because the wedding-day is the only triumphant day of a young maids life.

Lady Bashfull.

Do you call that a triumphant day, that inslaves a woman all her life after; no, I will make no triumph on that day.

Reformer.

Why, you had better have one day than none.

Lady Bashfull.

If my whole life were triumphant, it would be but as one day when it was past, or rather as no day nor time; for what is past, is as if it never were; and for one day I will never put my self to that ceremonious trouble, which belongs to feasting; revelling, dressing and the like.

Reformer.

I perceive your Ladyship desires to be undrest upon the Wed­ding-day.

Lady Bashfull.

No, that I do not, but as I will not be carelesly undrest, so I will not be drest for a Pageant show.

Exeunt.

Scene 28.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and AFfectionata
AFfectionata.

I think there is no Family more methodically ordered, pru­dently governed than your Lordships.

Lord Singularity.

It were a disgrace to my profession, if I should not well know how to command; for a good Commander in the field, can tell how to be a good Manager in his private Family, although a prudent Master of a Family knows not how to be a skilfull Commander in the field; but a pru­dent Master must have a trusty Steward, so a knowing General must have a [Page 67] carefull and skilfull Lieutenant-General, or else he will be very much trou­bled; also both Master and General must have other Officers, or else they will not find their Accounts or Conquests as he hopes or expects; For neither General nor Master can order every particular command, nor rectifie every particular errour himself; for a Generals Office, is only to direct, order and command the chief Officers, and not the common Souldiers: So the Master of a Family, is only to direct, order and command his Steward, he the rest of the Officers, and the common servants, every one must order those that be­longs to their several Offices.

Affectionata.

Then the common Servants are like the common Soul­diers.

Lord Singularity.

They are so, and are as apt to mutiny, if they be not used with strickt discipline: Thus, if a Master of a Family have the right way in the management of his particular affairs, he may thrive easily, have plenty, live peaceably, be happy, and carry an honourable port with an indif­ferent Estate, when those of much greater Estates, which knows not, nor practices the right method, or rules and governs not with strictness, his ser­vants shall grow factious, mutinous, and be alwaies in bruleries, by which disorders his Estate shall waste invisible, his servants cozen egregiously; he lives in penurie, his servants in riot, alwaies spending, yet alwaies wanting, forced to borrow, and yet hath so much, that if it were ordered with pru­dence, might be able to lend, when by his imprudence, he is troubled with stores, yet vex'd with necessity.

Affectionata.

I should think that no man ought to be a Master of a Family, but those that can govern orderly and peaceably.

Lord Singularity.

You say right, for every Master of a Family are petty-Kings, and when they have rebellions in their own small Monarchies, they are apt to disturb the general Peace of the whole Kingdom or State they live in; for those that cannot tell how to command their own Domesticks, and pru­dently order rheir own affairs, are not only uselesse to the Common-wealth, but they are pernicious and dangerous, as not knowing the benefit and neces­sity of obedience and method.

Exeunt.

Scene 29.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, and the Lady Amorous.
Lady Wagtail.

The Lord Singularity hath brought home the sweetest, and most beautifullest young Cavalier, as ever I saw.

Lady Amorous.

Faith he appears like Adonas.

Lady Wagtail.

Did you ever see Adonas?

Lady Amorous.

No, but I have heard the Poets describe him.

Lady Wagtail.

Venus and Adonas are only two poetical Ideas, or two Ideas in poetical brains.

Lady Amorous.

Why, Ideas hath no names.

Lady Wagtail.

O yes, for Poets christens their Ideas with names, as orderly as Christians Fathers doth their children.

Lady Amorous.

Well, I wish I were a Venus for his sake.

Lady Wagtail.
[Page 68]

But if you were only a poetical Venus, you would have little pleasure with your Adonas.

Lady Amorous.

Hay ho! He is a sweet youth.

Lady Wagtail.

And you have sweet thoughts of the sweet youth.

Lady Amorous.

My thoughts are like Mirtle-groves to entertain the Idea of the Lord Singularity's Son.

Lady Wagtail.

Take heed there be not a wild-boar in your Mirtle Image­narie Grove, that may destroy your Adonas Idea.

Lady Amorous.

There is no beast there, only sweet singing-birds called Nightingals.

Exeunt.

Scene 30.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and Affectionata.
AFfectionata.

Pray, my Lord, what Lady is that you make such inquiry for?

Lord Singularity.

She is a Lady I would have thee marry; One that my Father did much desire I should marry, although she was very young, and may be now about thy years, I hear her Father is dead, but where the Lady is, I cannot find out.

Affectionata.

Perchance she is married, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

Then we should find her out, by hearing who she hath marryed.

Affectionata.

But if she be not marryed, she being as old as I, I am too young for her, for Husbands should be older than their wives.

Lord Singularity.

But she is one that is well born, well bred, and very rich; and though thou art young in years, yet thou art an aged man in judgment, prudence, understanding, and for wit, as in thy flourishing strength.

Affectionata.

Perchance, my Lord, she will not like me, as neither my years, my person, nor my birth.

Lord Singularity.

As for thy years, youth is alwayes accepted by the effe­minate Sex; and thy person she cannot dislike, for thou art very handsom, and for thy birth, although thou art meanly born, thou hast a noble nature, a sweet disposition, a vertuous soul, and a heroick spirit; Besides, I have adop­ted thee my Son, and the King hath promised to place my Titles on thee, and hath made thee Heir of my whole Estate, for to maintain thee according to those Dignities.

Affectionata.

But I had rather live unmarried, my Lord, if you will give consent.

Lord Singularity.

But I will never consent to that, and if you be duti­full to me, you will marry such a one as I shall chose for you.

Affectionata.

I shall obey whatsoever you command, for I have nothing but my obedience to return for all your favours.

Lord Singularity.

Well, I will go and make a strickt inquiry for this Lady.

Lord Singularity Exit.
[Page 69] Affectionata alone.
Affectionata.

Hay ho! what will this come to, I would I were in my Grave; for love and fear doth torture my poor life; Heaven strike me dead! or make me this Lords wife.

Exeunt.

Scene 31.

Enter the Lady Wagtail, and the Lady Amorous
LAdy Amorous.

How shall we compass the acquaintance of the Lord Singularity's Son?

Lady Wagtail.

Faith Amorous, thou lovest boys, but I love men; wherefore I would be acquainted with the Lord Singularity himself; Beside, his adopted Son was a poor Beggar-boy 'tis said, and I cannot love one that is basely born.

Lady Amorous.

His birth may be honourably, though poor, and of low and mean descent; for if he was born in honest wedlock, and of honest Parents, his birth cannot be base.

Lady Wagtail.

O yes, for those that are not born from Gentry, are like course brown bread, when Gentry of ancient descent, are like flower often boulted to make white mancher.

Lady Amorous.

By that rule, surely he came from a Noble and Ancient Race; for I never saw any person more white and finely shap'd in my life than he is; and if fame speaks true, his actions have proved he hath a Gen­tlemans soul; But say he were meanly born, as being born from a Cottager, yet he is not to be despised nor disliked, nor to be lesse esteemed, or beloved, or to be thought the worse of, for was Lucan lesse esteemed for being a Stone-Cutter, or his wit lesse esteemed; or was King David lesse esteemed or obeyed, for being a Shepheard; or the Apostles lesse esteemed or believed, for being Fisher men, Tent-makers or the like; or the man that was chosen from the Plough, to be made Emperour; I say, was he lesse esteemed for being a Plough-man? No, he was rather admired the more; or was Horace esteemed, or his Poems thought the worse, for being Son to a freed man, which had been a slave; or was Homer lesse admired, or thought the worse Poet, for being a poor blind man; and many hundred that I cannot name, that hath gained fame, and their memories lives with Honour and Admiration in every Age, and in eve­ry Nation, Kingdom, Country and Family, and it is more worthy, and those persons ought to have more love and respect, that have merit, than those that have only Dignity, either from favour of Princes, or descended from their Ancestors; for all derived Honours, are poor and mean, in respect of self-creating honour, and they only are to be accounted mean and base, that are so in themselves; but those that are born from low and humble Parents, when they have merits, and have done worthy actions, they are placed higher in fames Court, and hath more honour by fames report, which sounds their praises louder than those of greater descent, although of equal worth and merit, and justly, for it is more praise-worthy, when those that were the [Page 70] lowest, and are as it were trod into the earth, or was born, as the phrase is, from the Dunghill, should raise themselves equal to the highest, who keeps but where they were placed by birth; but many times they keep not their place, but fall from the Dignity of their birth, into the myer of baseness, treachery and treason, when the other rises as the Sun out of a cloud of dark­nesse, darring forth glorious beams thorough all that Hemisphere.

Lady Wagtail.

I perceive by your discourse, Lovers are the best Disputers; Orators, and as I have heard, the best Poets; But I never heard you discourse so well, nor speak so honourably in all my life, wherefore I am confident, 'twas love spake, not you.

Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene 32.

Enter Affectionata, Nurse Fondly, and Foster Trusty her Husband.
NUrse Fondly.

My child, we can no longer conceal you, for we are accu­sed of murthering you, and are summoned to appear before a Judge and Jury.

AFfectionata.

For Heaven sake, conceal me as long as you can; for if I be known, I shall be utterly ruined with disgrace.

Nurse Fondly.

Whose fault was it? I did advise you otherwise, but you would not be ruled, nor counselled by me; and my Husband like an unwise man, did assist your childish desires.

Foster Trusty.

Well wife, setting aside your wisdom, let us advise what is best to be done in this case.

Nurse Fondly.

In this case we are either to be hanged, or she is to be dis­graced; and for my part, I had rather be hanged, for I am old, and cannot live long.

Foster Trusty.

If you were a young wench, thou mightest chance to escape hanging, the Judges would have taken pity on thee, but being old, will con­demn thee without mercy.

Nurse Fondly.

If I were not a pretty wench, and the Jurie amorous men, at least the Judges so, I should be hanged neverthelesse.

Affectionata.

Come, come, Foster Father, and Nurse, let us go and ad­vise.

Exeunt.

Scene 33.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, and a Captain.
LAdy Wagtail.

Pray tell me, what manner of Country is Italy?

Captain.

In short, Madam, there is more Summer than Winter, more Fruit than Meat, and more meat than Hospitality.

Lady Wagtail.

Why Captain, fruit is meat.

Captain.

I mean flesh-meat.

Lady Wagtail.

Out upon that Country, that hath neither Flesh nor Hospi­tality! But Captain, what are the natures, dispositions, and manners of the Italians?

Captain.

In general, Madam, thus, their natures, dispositions, and manners are, as generally all other people of every other Nation are, for the generali­ty of every Nation are alike, in natures, dispositions and persons; that is, some are of good, and some are of bad, some handsom, and some ill-favou­red; but for the most part, there are more ill-favoured than handsom, more soul than fair, and the general manner of the whole World is, to offer more than present, to promise more than perform, to be more faigning than real, more courtly than friendly, more treacherous than trusty, more covetous than generous, and yet more prodigal than covetous; but as for the Italians, they are more luxurious than gluttonous, and they love pleasures more than Heaven.

Lady Wagtail.

They have reason, by my troth; for who can tell whether in Ioves Mansion, there are so many sweet and delightfull pleasures, as in this World: But Captain, you do not tell me what pleasure the women have in Italy?

Captain.

Those women that are married, are restrain'd and barr'd from all courtly pleasure, or as I may say, the pleasure of Courtships; but the Cour­tezans have liberty to please themselves, and to be their own carvers.

Lady Wagtail.

And there is nothing I love so well, as to carve both for my self and others.

Captain.

And there is no Nation in the World, so curious, and ingenuous in the art of carving, as the Italians.

Lady Wagtail.

I am resolved to go into Italy, if it be but to learn the art of carving, but I will leave my Husband behind me; for you say, wives have not that free liberty of carving, and if I leave my Husband, I may pass for a Widow, though not for a maid.

Captain.

But Madam, you are past your travelling years, for the best time for women to travel, is about twenty.

Lady Wagtail.

By your favour, Sir, a woman never grows old, if she can but conceal her age, and say she is young.

Captain.

But she must often repeat it.

Lady Wagtail.

She must so, which she may easily do, talking much, for women wants not words, neither are we sparing of them; But Captain, I must intreat your company, for you are acquainted with the Country, and hath the experience of the humours and natures of that people, and having been a Souldier and a Traveller, will not be to seek in the wayes of our jour­ney.

Captain.
[Page 72]

I shall wait upon you, Madam.

Lady Wagtail.

No Captain, you shall be as Master, to command, and I will be your Servant to obey.

Captain.

You shall command me, Madam.

Exeunt.

Scene 34.

Enter Affectionata alone.

O! How my soul is tormented with love, shame, grief and fear (she stops a little) I am in love, but am ashamed to make it known, Besides, I have given the World cause to censure me, not only in concealing of my Sex, and changing of my habit, but being alwaies in the company of Men, acting a masculine part upon the Worlds great Stage, and to the publick view; but could I live thus concealed, I should be happy, and free from censure: But O curst fortune! that pleasure takes in crossing Lovers, and basic time that makes all things as restless as it self, doth strive for to divulge my acts, when I have no defence, or honest means for to conceal them; for if I do oppose, I shall become a Murtherer, and bear a guilty conscience to my grave, which may torment my soul, when as my body is turn'd to dust.

Stops.

But since there is no remedy, i'l weep my sorrows forth, and with the water of my tears, i'l strive to quench the blushing heat, that like quick lightening, flashes in my face.

Enter the Lord Singularity, finding Affectionata Weeping.
Lord Singularity.

My dear Affectionata, What makes thee so melancholly, as to be alwaies weeping?

Affectionata.

I must confess, my Lord, here of late my eyes have been like Egypt, when it is over-flown with Nilus, and all my thoughts like Crocko­diles.

Lord Singularity.

What is the cause?

Affectionata.

Alas, my Lord, causes lyes so obscure, they are seldom found.

Lord Singularity.

But the effects may give us light to judge what causes are.

Affectionata.

Effects deceives, and often cozens us, by reason one effect may be produced from many several causes, and several effects proceeds from one cause.

Lord Singularity.

But thy tears seems as if they were produced from some passion.

Affectionata.

Indeed they are produced from passions and appetites, for pas­sions are the rayes of the mind, and appetites the vapour of the senses, and the rayes of my mind hath drawn up the vapour of my senses into thick moist clouds, which falls in showering tears.

Lord Singularity.

Tell me thy griefs, and thy desires, that I may help the one, and ease the other.

Affectionata.
[Page 73]

Alas, my Lord, I cannot, for they lye in the conceptions; and conceptions ariseth like mysts, and my thoughts like clouds, lyes one above another.

Lord Singularity.

Come, come, let reason the Sun of the soul verifie those misty conceptions, and disperse this dull humour, that the mind may be clear, and the thoughts serene.

Affectionata.

I will strive to bring in the light of mirth.

Exeunt.

Scene 35.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, the Lady Amorous, and Sir Humphry Bold.
LAdy Wagtail.

Good Sir Humphry Bold, carry us to the Court of Iudicatures, to hear the great Tryal, which is said to be to day.

Sir Humphry Bold.

You would go to hear the condemnation of an old man, and his old wife.

Lady Wagtail.

No, we would go to hear the confessions, as whether they have murthered the young Lady that is missing, or not.

Sir Humphry bold.

Why, that you may hear from other relations, as well as from their own mouths, and so save you so much pains and trouble, as you will have to get a place, and to stand so long a time, as the examining, accu­sing, confessing, freeing, or condemning, which will require so long a time, as Ladies will find great inconveniencies, and be put mightily to it.

Lady Wagtail.

But I long to hear and see the manner of it.

Sir Humphry Bold.

I will wait upon you, but you will be very much crouded.

Lady Amorous.

I had rather see them hanged, if they be guilty, than hear them judged and condemned.

Sir Humphry Bold.

Why, a condemning Judge is the chief Hang-man, for he hangs with his word, as the other with a cord.

Lady VVagtail.

Will the Lord Singularity be there?

Sir Humphry Bold.

Yes certainly, for he is the man that doth accuse them.

Lady Amorous.

And will his Son be there?

Sir Humphry Bold.

I know not that.

Exeunt.

Scene 36.

Enter the Iudges and Iury-men, as in a Court of Judicature; the Lord Singularity, Foster Trusty, and Nurse Fondly, and many others to hear them.
JUdges.

Who accuses these persons of murther?

Lord Singularity.

I, my Lord.

Foster Trusty.

We beseech your Honours, not to condemn us before you have found us guilty.

Lord Singularity.

It is a proof sufficient, my Lord, they cannot clear them­selves, or produce the party that was delivered to their trust and care.

Iudges.

Jurie, do you find them guilty or not?

Iuries.

Guilty, my Lord.

Iudges.

Then from the Jurie, we can—.

Enter Affectionata, drest very sine in her own Sexes habit, and stops the Iudges sentence.
Affectionata.

Hold, condemn not these innocent persons for their fidelity, constancy and love; I am that maid they are accused to murther, and by good circumstances can prove it.

All the Assembly, Iudges and Iurie, seems as in a maze at her beauty, and slares on her. The Lord Singularity, as soon as he seeth her, starts back, then goeth towards her, his eyes all the time sixt on her; speaking as to himself.
Lord Singularity.

Sure it is that face.

He takes her by the Hand, and turns her to the light; are not you my Affectionata, whom I adopted my Son.
Affectionata.

Shame stops my breath, and chokes the words I should utter.

Lord Singularity.

For Heaven sake speak quickly, release my fears, or crown my joyes.

Affectionata.

My Lord, pray pardon loves follies, and condemn not my modesty for dissembling my Sex; for my designs were harmless, as only to follow you as a servant: For by Heaven, my Lord? my only desire was, that my eyes, and my eares might be fed with the sight of your person, and sound of your voice, which made me travel to hear, and to see you: But since I am discovered, I will otherwise conceal my self, and live as an Anchoret from the view of the World.

Lord Singularity.

Pray let me live with you.

Affectionata.

That may not be, for an Anchoret is to live alone.

Lord Singularity.

If you will accept of me for your husband, we shall be as one.

Affectionata.
[Page 75]

You have declared against marriage, my Lord.

Lord Singularity.

I am converted, and shall become so pious a devote, as I shall offer at no Alter but Hymens, and since I am your Convert, refuse me not.

Affectionata.

I love too well to refuse you.

He kneels down on one knee, and kisses her hand.
Lord Singularity.

Here on my knee I do receive you as a blessing, and a gift from the Gods.

He riseth.
Affectionata.

Most Reverend Judges, and Grave Jury, sentence me not with censure, nor condemn me to scandals, for waiting as a Man, and serving as a Page; For though I dissembled in my outward habit and behaviour, yet I was alwaies chaste and modest in my nature.

Exeunt.

Scene 37.

Enter the Lady VVagtail, and Lady Amorous.
LAdy Wagtail.

Now Lady Amorous, is your mind a Mirtel-grove, and your thoughts Nightingals to entertain the Idea of your Adonas.

Lady Amorous.

Her discovery hath proved the boar that kill'd him; but I desire much to be army Adonas Funeral, which is the Lady Orphants wed­ding.

Lady Wagtail.

I am acquainted with some of the Lord Singularity's Cap­tains and Officers, and I will speak to some of them to speak to the Lord Singularity to invite us.

Lady Amorous.

I pray do, for since my Adonas is dead, I will strive to in­amour Mars, which is the Lord Singularity himself.

Lady Wagtail.

Faith, that is unfriendly done, for I have laid my designs for himself.

Lady Amorous.

I fear both of our designs may come to nothing, he is so inamoured with his own She-Page, or female Son.

Exeunt.

Scene 38.

Enter Nurse Fondly, and Foster Trusty.
NUrse Fondly.

O Husband! This is the joyfullest day that ever I had in my whole life, except at mine own wedding.

Foster Trusty.

Indeed, this day is a day of Iubile.

Nurse Fondly.
[Page 76]

Of Iuno, say you; but Husband, have you provided good chear, and enough; for here are a world of Guests come, more than was invited, and you being Master Steward, will be thought too blame, if there be any thing wanting.

Foster Trusty.

If you be as carefull to dress the Brides Chamber, as I to provide for the bridal Guest, you nor I shall be in a fault.

Nurse Fondly.

I saith, if you have done your part, as I have done my part, we shall deserve praise.

Foster Trusty.

I saith, we are almost so old, that we are almost past praise.

Nurse Fondly.

None can merit praise, but those in years; for all Worthy, Noble and Heroick Acts requires time to do them, and who was ever wise, that was young?

Foster Trusty.

And few are praised that are old, for as fame divulgeth merits, so time wears out praise, for time hath more power than fame, striving to destroy what fame desires to keep. The truth is, time is a Glutton, for he doth not only strive to destroy what fame divulgeth, but what himself begets and produceth.

Exeunt.

Scene 39.

Enter the Lord Singularity, and the Lady Orphant, as Bride and Bride-groom, and a company of Bridal-guests.
Enter Musitians, and meets them.
MUsitioners.

We desire your Excellence will give us leave to present you with a Song written by my Lord Marquiss of New-Castle.

Lord Singularity.

Your present could have never been less acceptable, by reason it will retard my marriage.

Lady Orphant.

Pray, my Lord, hear them.

Lord Singularity.

Come, come, dispatch, dispatch.

He seems not to listen to them. All the time his eyes fixt on the Bride.
SONG.
Love in thy younger age,
Thou then turn'd Page;
When love then stronger grew,
The bright sword drew.
Then Love it was thy fate
To advise in State.
My Love adopted me
His childe to be.
Then offered was my hap
A Cardinals Cap.
Loves juglings thus doth make
The Worlds mistake.
Lord Singularity.
[Page 77]

By Heaven, Musitioners, you are all so dillotarie with your damnable and harsh prologue of tuning before you play, as the next Parliament will make it felony in Fidlers, if not treason, when your Great Royal Eares; begin with a F [...] to you.

Musitians.

Why, my Noble Lord, we have done.

Lord Singularity.

By Heaven, there spake Apollo! Give them ten Pieces.

Musitians.

Madam, an Eppilanian! we have more to express our further joy, and then we will pray for blessings on you both.

Lord Singularity.

O! It will be my funeral song, you rogues, know all de­lays doth kill me; and at this time your best Musick sounds harsh, and out of tune.

Lady Orphant.

Pray let them sing that one song more; so ends your trouble of them.

Lord Singularity.

Begin, quick, quick.

SONG.
O Love, some says thou art a Boy!
But now turn'd Girl, thy Masters joy.
Now cease all thy fierce alarms,
In circles of your loving arms.
Who can express the joys to night,
'Twil charm your senses with delight,
Nay, all those pleasures you'l controul,
With joyning your each soul to soul.
Thus in Loves raptures live, till you
Melting, dissolv into a dew;
And then your aery journey take,
So both one constellation make.
The Song done, the Musick playes, as the Bride and Bridegroom goeth.
FINISH

The Comedy named the Several Wits. The wise Wit, the wild Wit, the cholerick Wit, the humble Wit.

The Names of the Persons.
  • MOnsieur Generosity.
  • Monsieur Nobilissimo.
  • Monsieur Perfection.
  • Monsieur Importunate.
  • Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
  • Monsieur Profession.
  • Monsieur Comorade.
  • Monsieur Discretion.
  • Monsieur Compliment.
  • Doctor Freedom, a Doctor of Physick.
  • Madam Mere.
  • Madamosel Caprisia.
  • Madamosel Doltche.
  • Madamosel Solid.
  • Madamosel Volant.
  • A Grave Matron.
  • Madamosel Doltches Nurse.
  • Two Maid-servants.

PROLOGUE.

THis Play I do present to Lady wits,
And hope the wit, each several humour fits;
For though all wit, be wit, as of wit kind,
Yet different be, as men, not of one mind;
For different men, hath different minds we know,
So different Wits, in different humours flow.
The cholerick Wit is rough, and salt as brine,
The humble Wit flows smooth, in a strait line:
A wise Wit flows in streams, fresh, pure and clear,
Where neither weeds, nor troubled waves appear:
But a wild wit in every ditch doth flow,
And with the mudde doth soul, and filthy grow.

THE COMEDY NAMED THE SEVERAL WITS.
ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and her maid.
MAID.

Madam, Monsieur Importunate is come to visit you.

Madam. Caprisia.

Did not I tell you, I would receive no visits to day.

Maid.

I did tell him that you desired to be excused; but he said, he would not excuse you, for he must see you.

Madam. Capris.

Go tell him I have taken Physick.

Maid.

I did tell him so, but he said, he would stay untill it had done wor­king.

Madam. Capris.

I would it were working in his belly.

Ex.

Scene 2.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
BOn Compaignon.

Lady, hearing of your great wit, I am come to prove report.

Madam. Volante.

You will find him a lyer, Sir.

Bon Compaignon.

I had rather report should be a lyer, than I a Lover.

Madam. Volante.

Why, then we agree in a mind, for I had rather be thought a fool, than to be troubled with a fools company.

Bon Compaignon.

You need not be troubled with that, for love is strongest absented.

Madam. Volante.

O! but there is an old Proverb, that love will break tho­rough stone-walls, wherefore if you be in love, you will haunt me like a Fai­ry, no locks nor bolts will keep you out, for fairy love will creep thorough a creavice.

Bon Compaignon.
[Page 80]

Faith Lady! I find now, that love is the Queen of Fay­ries, for it hath crept thorough the key-hole of my eares, and hath got into my head, and their dances such roundelayes, as makes my brain dissie.

Madam. Volante.

If once your brain begins to be dissie, your senses will stagger, and your reason will fall down from its feat, and when the reason is displaced, and the wit is distemper'd, the mind become mad, and to prevent the mischief that may follow, I will depart in time.

Ex.

Scene 3.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, as at the door meets Monsieur Importunate, he stops her passage.
MOnsieur Importunate.

You shall not pass, untill you have paid me a tri­bute.

Madam. Caprisia.

What Tribute?

Monsieur Importunate.

A kiss.

Madam. Capris.

I will pay no such tribute, for I will bring such a number of words armed with such strong reasons, as they shall make my way.

Monsieur Importunate.

Your words will prove poor Pilgrims, which come to offer at the Altar of my lips.

Madam. Capris.

Nay, rather than so, they shall come as humble Petitioners, and as it were, kneeling at your heart, shall with innocency beg for gentle ci­vility.

Monsieur Importunate.

I will shut the gates of my ears against them, and my lips as a bar shall force them back, being a precise factious rout.

Madam. Capris.

Satire shall lead my sharp words on, break ope those gates, and anger like consuming fire shall both destroy your will and base desire.

Monsieur Importunate.

I will try that.

Madam. Capris.

But I will rather make a safe retreat, than venture, least your rude strength might overcome my words.

She goeth back, he follows her
Monsieur Importunate.

I will march after, at the heels of you.

Ex.

Scene 4.

Enter Madamosel Doltche, and Monsieur Compliment.
DOltche.

Sir, you prayse me so much, as I may doubt, or rather believe you flatter me; for it is not possible to be so rare a creature, as you ex­press me to be, unless I were something divine, perchance I may be worthy of some of your inferiour Prayses, but not all your high and mighty ones.

Monsieur Compliment.

You are more than either I can express, or think you to be.

Mad. Doltche.

Nay, if I be above your thoughts, I am above your de­light; for man-kind takes no great pleasure in that they comprehend not.

Mons. Compliment.

I believe you do not comprehend how well I love you.

Mad. Doltche.

No truely, for love is like infinite, it hath no circumference, wherefore I will not trouble my self in loves wayes, since it is an endlesse journey.

Mons. Compliment.

But surely, Lady, though you cannot find that worth in me, as merits your esteem and affection, yet you will favour me for your la­thers command, and love me for his desire.

Doltche.

If my Father desires me to dye, I shall satisfie his desire, for it is in my power to take away my own life, when I will; but it is not in my power to love those my Father would have me; for love is not to be com­manded, nor directed, nor governed, nor prescribed, for love is free, and not to be controuled; Also I may marry a man my Father desires me, but sure my Father will not desire, nor command me to marry, if I cannot love the man he would have me marry, as I ought to do a Husband.

Ex.

Scene 5.

Enter Madam. Caprisia, and a Grave Matron.
MAtron.

Madamosel Caprisia, there is a Gentleman, one of my acquain­tance doth desire to see you.

Madam. Capris.

He desires more than I do, for I never see a man, but I wish a vail before my sight, or one before his.

Matron.

Have you taken a surfeit of eyes, as you hate to look on a mans face.

Madam. Capris.

Yes, of wanton eyes, that skips from face to face, which makes me love the blind.

Matron.

I wonder whether the soul may be satisfied, or surfeit as the sen­ses do.

Capris.

The thoughts, passions and appetites, which are begot betwixt the soul and senses, will surfeit, if they be over-fed.

[Page 82] Enter Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
Bon Compaignon.

What is that Lady that is over-fed?

Capris.

A fools-head.

Bon Compaignon.

How can a fools head be over-fed?

Capris.

With hearing and seeing more than it can digest into under­standing.

Bon Compaignon.

You have not such a head, Lady, for your head is so full of wit, as it perpetually flows thorough your lips; yet whatsoever it doth re­ceive, the Son of reason doth digest, and refines into spirits of senses.

Capris.

I must confess, my tongue is more fertil than my brain, the which comes more words from the one, than sense or reason from the other; but least I should over-fill your ears with my idle talks, I will leave you.

Ex.
Bon Compaignon.

And I will follow you, for my ears are unsatisfied, ha­ving but a taste of her wit, which makes a greater appetite.

Bon Compaignon, and Matron Ex.

Scene 6.

Enter Madamosel Solid, Monsieur Profession, and Monsieur Co­morade his friend.
MOnsieur Prosession.

Lady, you live, as if you lived not, living so solitary a life.

Lady Solid.

Indeed, few doth live as they should, that is, to live within themselves; for the soul, which is the supream part of the life, is never at home, but goeth wandering about, from place to place, from person to person, and so from one thing to another, and not only the soul wanders thus; but all the Family of the soul, as the thoughts and passions; for should any thing knock at the gates of the soul, which are the senses, or enter the cham­bers of the soul, which is the heart, and the head, they would find them empty, for the thoughts and passions, which passions are of the Bed-cham­ber, which is, the heart and Presence-chamber, which is, the head where­in they ought to wait, are for the most part, all gone abroad; as for the thoughts, they are gone to inquire news, walking and running into every Vil­lage, Town, City and Country, and Kingdom, all to inquire what such and such persons said or acted, and the particular affairs of every particular per­son, and every particular Family, as whether they increase with riches, or decay with poverty; whether they live beyond their means, or keep within their compasse; what men and women are in love, who are constant, and who are false; what contracts are signed, or what contracts are broken; who marries, and who lives single lives; who is happy in marriage, and who is not; what children is born, who hath children, and who hath none; who is handsome, and who is ill-favoured; who dyes, and of what diseases they died of; whether they left wealth or were poor, or who were their Heirs, [Page 83] or Executors; who are Widowers, Widows or Orphants; who hath losses, crosses and misfortunes, who is in favour or disgrace with such Princes or States; who is at Law, what suits there is lost or gained; what bribes were given and taken, who was arrested, or imprisoned for debts; or set in the Pillary or Stocks for disorder, or cast into the Counter for misdemeanour; who is accused or imprisoned for Robbery, Murther or Treason; who is con­demned or reprieved; what deaths they died, or torments indur'd; what Laws there is made, repeald or broke; what Officers or Magistrates there are made, plac'd or displac'd, or put out; what factions or bruleries there is, what leagues and associates there is made betwixt States and Princes; vvhat Wars, or Peace there is, or like to be betwixt such or such Kingdoms; vvhat triumphs, or shevvs there is, or like to be; vvhat Mountebanks, Tumblers, and Dancers there is; vvhat strange Birds, Beasts or Monsters there is to be seen; what Drunkards, Bavvds and Whores there is, vvhat Da [...]s hath been sought, and the cause of their quarrels; who hath lost at play, and vvho hath vvon, vvhat nevv fashions there is; vvhat Stuffs, Silks, Laces, and Imbroideries there is; vvhat Lords, Ladyes, Knights or Esquires hath nevv Coaches or Live­ries; vvhat rich cloths they had, or have; what Church is most frequented, vvhat Balls, Masks, Plays & Feasts there is, or like to be, and many the like vain, idle, unusefull, unprofitable inquiries, observations and entertainments; their thoughts imployes and vva [...]ts their time vvith: as for the passions and affe­ctions, they are as much abroad, as the rest of the thoughts, some being vvith such and such men, or such and such vvomen, as first vvith one, and then vvith another; or vvith such a house, or houses, or lands, or vvith such Jevv­els, or Place, or Hangings, or Pictures, or the like; also the passions and af­fections wander; amongst Beasts, as with such a Horse, Dog, Monkey, or the like; or with Birds, as with such a Hawk, Cock of the Game, or pra­ting Parrot, or singing Linet, or the like; or the passions and affections are attending, watching, or seeking after such or such Offices or Commands, Governments or Titles; nay, the very soul itself goeth after such and such designes, so as it doth, as it were, run away from it self, it follows the World, and worldly things, but never draws any benefit to it self, but that soul that keeps at home, which very few souls doth; imployes it self, for it self, it on­ly views the World for knowledge, yet so, as it looks, as out of a window on a prospect, it uses the World out of necessity, but not serves the World out of slavery; it is industrious for its own tranquility, fame and everlasting life, for which it leaves nothing unsought, or undone, is a wise soul.

Monsieur Profession.

Madam, my soul is tyed to your soul, with such an un­dissoulable knot of affection, that nothing, no, not death can lose it, nor break it asunder; wherefore, wheresoever your soul doth go, thine will follow it, and bear it company.

Madam Solid.

Then your soul vvill be incognita, for my soul vvill not know whether your soul will be with it, or not.

Ex.
Monsieur Comorade.

Faith Thom. its happy for thy soul, to be drawn by her magnetick soul; for that may draw, lead or direct thy soul to Heaven; otherwise thy soul will fall into Hell with the pressure of they sins, for thy soul is as heavy, as crime can make it.

Mons. Prof.

Why, then the divel would have found my soul an honest soul, in being full weight, his true coyn, & the right stamp of his Picture, or Figure, [Page 84] for vvhich he vvould have used my soul vvell, and if Heaven gives me not this, Lady, Hell take me.

Monsieur Comorade.

Certainly you may be the Divels guest, but whether you will be the Ladys Husband, it is to be doubted.

Mons. Profession.

Well, I will do my endeavour to get her, and more, a man cannot do.

Ex.
Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Importunate.
MOnsieur Importunate.

You are the rarest beauty, and greatest wit in the World.

Mad. Capris.

Wit is like beauty, and beauty is oftener created in the fan­cie, than the face; so wit oftener by opinion, than in the brain, not, but surely there may be a real beauty, and so a real wit, yet that real wit, is no wit to the ignorant, no more than beauty to the blind, for the wit is lost to the un­derstanding, as beauty is lost to the eyes, and it is not in nature to give, what is not in nature to receive, nor in nature to shew what is not in nature to be seen; so there must be eyes to see beauty, and eares to hear wit, and under­standing to judge of both, and you have neither judgments eyes, nor under­standings ears, nor rational sense.

Monsieur Importunate.

VVhy, then you have neither beauty nor wit.

Mad. Capris.

I have both, but your commendations are from report; for fools speaks by rote, as Parrots do.

Ex.
Monsieur Importunate solus.
Monsieur Importunate.

She is like a Bee loaded with sweet honey, but her tongue is the sting, that blisters all it strikes on.

Ex.

Scene 8.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
Bon Compaignon.

Lady, why are you so silent.

Madam Volante.

VVhy soul I speak to those that understands me not.

Bon Compaignon.

VVhy? are you so difficult to be understood.

Mad. Volante.

No, but understanding is so difficult to find.

Bon Compaignon.

So, and since there is such a total decay of understanding in every brain, as there is none to be found, but in your own, you will make a new Common-wealth in yours, where your thoughts, as wife Magistrates, and good Citizens, shall govern and traffick therein, and your words shall be as Letters of Mart, and your senses shall be as legate Embassadors that lives in other Kingdoms, which takes instructions, and give intelligence, or rather your thoughts are destinies, and fates, and your words their several de­crees.

Mad. Volante.

Do you think my thoughts can warrant Laws, or can my words decree them?

Bon Compaignon.
[Page 85]

I believe your thoughts are so wise and just, that what­soever they allow of, must be best, and your words are so witty, rational; po­sitive and powerfull, as none can contradict them.

Mad. Volante.

Good Sir, contradict your self, or Truth will contradict you.

Bon Compaignon.

Nay faith, I will never take the pains to contradict my self; let Truth do what she will.

Ex.

ACT II.

Scene 9.

Enter Madam la Mere, and her daughter Madamosel Caprisia.
Madam Mere.

Daughter, did you entertain the Lady Visit civilly?

Mad. Capris.

Yes Mother, extraordinary civilly, for I gave her leave to entertain herself with her own discourse.

Mad. Mere.

That was rudely.

Mad. Capris.

O no, for certainly it is the height of courtship to our sex, to let them talk all the talk themselves; for all women takes more delight to discourse themselves, than to hear another; and they are extreamly pleased, if any listens, or at lest seems to listen to them, For the truth is, that tal­king is one of the most luxurious appetites women have; wherefore I could not be more civiller, than to bar and restrain the effeminate nature in my self, to give her tongue liberty.

Madam. Mere.

But you should have spoken a word now, and then, as giving her civilly some breathing rest for her discourse to lean upon.

Mad. Capris.

Her speech was so strong, and long-winded, as it run with a full speed, without stop or stay, it neither need spurre nor whip; the truth is it had been well, if it had been held in with the bridle of moderation, for it ran quite beyond the bounds of discretion, although sometimes it ran upon the uneven wayes of slander, other times upon the stony ground of censure, and sometimes in the soul wayes of immodesty, and often upon the furrows of non-sense; besides, it did usually skip over the hedges of Truth, and certainly, if the necessities of nature, and the separations of Neigh-bour­hood, and the changes and inter-course of, and in the affairs of the VVorld, and men did not forcibly stop, sometimes a womans tongue, it would run as far as the confines of death.

Mad. Mere.

But let me tell you Daughter, your tongue is as sharp, as a Serpents sting, and will wound as cruelly and deadly where it bites.

Capris.

It proves my tongue a womans tongue.

Mad. Mere.

VVhy should a womans tongue have the effects of a Serpents sting.

Capris.

The reason is evident, for the great Serpent that tempted, and so perverted our Grandmother Eve in Paradise, had a monstrous sting, and our Grandmother whetted her tongue with his sting, and ever since, all her effe­minate rase hath tongues that stings.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter Madamosel Doltche, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
BOn Compaignon.

Lady, Monsieur Nobilissimo is so in love with you, as he cannot be happy, untill you be his wife.

Doltche.

I wonder he should be in love with me, since I have neither beau­ty to allure him, nor so much riches, as to intice him, nor wit to perswade him to marry me.

Bon Compaignon.

But Lady, you have vertue, good nature, sweet dispositi­on, gracefull behaviour, which are sufficient Su [...]jects for love to settle on, did you want what you mentioned, out you have all, not only what any man can with or desire with a wife, but you have as much as you can wish and desire to have your self.

Doltche.

I will rather be so vain, as to strive to believe you, than rudely to contradict you.

Bon Compaignon.

It is neither erroneous, nor vain to believe a truth, Lady.

Doltche.

Nor civil to make a doubt, Sir; but I am obliged unto you for that, you help to cover my defects, and wants in nature, with your civil com­mendation, and your kind estimation of me.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter Monsieur Importunate, and Madamosel Caprisia.
IMportunate.

My fair wit, you look as if you were angry with me.

Capris.

You dwell not so long in my mind, as to make me angry, my thoughts are strangers to your figures.

She offers to go away, and he holds her from going.
Importunate.

Nay faith, now I have you, I will keep you perforce, untill you pay me the kiss you owe me.

Capris.

Let me go, for I had rather my eyes were eternally seal'd up, my ears for ever stopt close from sound, than hear or see you.

I care not whether you hear, or see me, so you will kisse me.

Capris.

Let me go, or otherwise my lips shall curse you, and my words be­ing whetted with injurie, are become so sharp, as they will wound you.

Importunate

I will keep you untill your words begs for mercy in the most humblest stile, and after the most mollifying manner.

Capris.

Hell take you, or Earth devoure you like a beast, never to rise.

Importunate.

Love strike your heart with shooting thorough your eyes.

Capris.
[Page 87]

May you be blown up with pride, untill you burst into madnesse, may your thoughts be more troubled than rough waters, more raging than a tempest; may your senses feel no pleasure, your body find no rest, nor your life any peace.

Importunate.

May you love me with a doting affection; may I be the only man you will imbrace, and may you think me to be as handsome as Narcis­sus did himself.

Capris.

You appear to me in all the horrid shapes that fancy can in­vent.

Enter Madam Mere.
Madam Mere.

Why, how now daughter, alwayes quarreling.

Capris.

Can you blame me, when I am beset with rudeness, and assaulted with uncivil actions.

Madam Mere.

Let her alone, Monsieur Importunate, for she is a very Shrew.

Importunate.

Well, go thy wayes, for all the Shrews that ever nature made, you are the cursest one.

Ex.

Scene 12.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and a Grave Matron.
Volante.

I am not of the humour; as most vvomen are, vvhich is, to please themselves vvith thinking, or rather believing, that all men that looks on them, are in love vvith them: But I take pleasure, that all men that I look on, should think I am in love vvith them; vvhich men vvill soon be­lieve, being as self-conceited as vvomen are.

Matron.

But vvhere is the pleasure, Lady.

Volante.

Why, in seeing their phantastical garbs, their strutting postures, their smiling faces, and the jackanapesly actions, and then I laugh in my mind, to think vvhat fools they are, so as I make my self merry at their folly, and not at my own.

Matron.

But men vvill appear as much Jackanapeses, when they are in love vvith you, as if they thought you vvere in love vvith them, for all Lovers are apish, more or less.

Volante.

I grant all Lovers are, but those that think themselves beloved, ap­pears more like the grave Babboon, than the skipping Iackanapes; for though their actions are as ridiculous, yet they are vvith more formality, as being more circumspectly foolish, or self-conceitedly vain.

Matron.

Well, for all your derisions and gesting at men, I shall see you at onetime or other, shot vvith Cupids arrovv.

Volante.

By deaths dart, you may; but never by loves arrovv; for death hath povver on me, though love hath none.

Matron.

There is an old saying, that time, importunity and opportunity, vvins the chastest She, vvhen those are joyned vvith vvealth and dignity; but [Page 88] to yield to a lawfull love, neither requires much time, nor pleading, if the Sui­ters have but Person, Title and Wealth, which women for the most part do prize, before valour, wisdom or honesty.

Volante.

Women hath reason to prefer certainties before uncertainties; for mens Persons, Titles and Wealths, are visible to their view and knowledge, but their Valours, Wisdoms and Honesties, doth rest upon Faith; for a coward may fight, and a fool may speak rationally, and act prudently some­times, and a knave may appear an honest man.

Marrons.

They may so, but a valiant man, will never act the part of a cow­ard; nor a wise man prove a fool, nor an honest man appear a knave.

Volante.

There can be no proof of any mans Valour, Wisdom or Ho­nesty, but at the day of his death, in aged years, when as he hath past the danger in Wars, the tryals in Miseries, the malice of Fortune, the tempta­tions of Pleasures, the inticements of Vice, the heights of Glory, the changes of Life, provokers of Passion, deluders of Senses, torments of Pain, or painfull Torments, and to chose a Husband that hath had the Tryals, and ex­periences of all these, is to chose a Husband out of the Grave, and rather than I will marry death, I will live a maid, as long as I live, and when I dye, let death do what he will with me.

Ex.

Scene 13.

Enter Monsieur Profession in mourning; then enters his Friend, Monsieur Comorade.
MOnsieur Comorade.

Well met, I have travelled thorough all the Town, and have inquired of every one I could speak to, and could neither hear of thee, nor see thee.

Profession.

It were happy for me, if I had neither ears nor eyes.

Comorade.

Why, what is the matter, man?

He observes his mourning and then starts.
Gods-me! Now I perceive thou art in mourning: which of thy Friends is dead?
Profession.

The chiefest friend I had, which mas my heart; For that is dead, being kill'd with my Mistress cruelty, and buryed in her incon­stancy.

Comorade.

I dare swear, not the whole heart; for every mans heart, is like a head of Garlick, which may be divided into many several cloves: Wherefore, cheer up, man; for it is but one clove, that death, or love, hath swallowed down into his Stomach, to cure him of the wind-cholick; and since thy heart hath so many cloves, thou mayst well spare him one, and be never the worse; But if it be buryed, as you say, in your Mistresses incon­stancy; it is to be hop'd it will be converted into the same inconstant humour, and that will cure the other part of thy heart.

Profession.
[Page 89]

O! She was the Saint of my thoughts, and the Goddesse of my soul.

Comorade.

Prethee let me be thy moral Tutor, to instruct thee in the know­ledge of Truth, and to let thee know, that vertue is the true Goddesse, to which all men ought to bow to; and that youth, beauty and wealth, are sixt to be forsaken, when vertue comes in place; and vertue is constant, both to its principals and promises; Wherefore, if thy Mistresse be inconstant, she cannot be vertuous, wherefore let her go.

Monsieur Profession setches a great sigh, and goes out without speaking a word.
Comorade alone.
Comorade.

I think his heart is dead in good earnest; for it hath no sense of what I have said.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter Madamosel Mere, and her Daughter Madamosel Caprisia.
MERE.

Daughter, you have a sufficiency of wit and beauty, to get many Lovers to chose a Husband, if you had but patience to enter­tain, and prudence to keep them; But your being crosse, will lose your Lo­vers, as soon as your beauty hath taken them.

Capris.

It is no prize for a woman to have such Lovers, that hath amo­rous natures; for it is their nature that drives them to her, and not the womans beauty or wit, that draws them to her; and there is less force required to drive, than to draw; but the truth is, that most men hath such threed-bare souls, as if the nap of their understanding were worn of; or indeed, their souls seems, as if there were never any woven thereon, as that nature hath made all their souls, thin and course, or as if time had Moath-eaten them, which makes me, although not to hate you, yet to despise that Sex; for men that should imitate the Gods, yet are they worse than Beasts, which makes me shun their beastly company.

Mere.

Daughter, you speak and judge passionately, and passion can never reason well; for how is it possible, for reason to exercise its function, when passion opposes, and is too strong for it.

Capris.

Truth may be delivered in passion, but not corrupted with passion; for truth is truth, howsoever it be divulged, or else it is no truth, but false­hood.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter Monsieur Perfection, and Madamosel Solid, drest very fine.
PErfection.

You are wondrous fine, to day, Madam.

Solid.

If I seem fine, to day, I am obliged more to my fancie, than my wealth, for this finerie.

Perfection.

The truth is, you are so adjousted, so curiously accoutred, as I perceive, judgement and wit were joyned associates in your dressing.

Solid.

I had rather be commended, or applauded for judgement and wit, than for wealth and beauty; for I had rather have my soul commended, than my person, or fortunes.

Perfection.

Certainly, I believe you have a more rational soul, than any other of your Sex have.

Solid.

Alas? My soul is but a young soul, a meer Novice soul, it wants growth, or my soul is like a house, which time the architectour hath newly begun to build; and the senses, which are the Labourers, wants information and experience, which are the materiall for the rational soul to be built on, or with; but such materials as hath been brought in, I strive and endeavour to make the best, and most convenient use for a happy life.

Perfection.

How say you? the best use for a good Wife!

Solid.

No, that little reason I have, tells me, to be a Wife, is to be unhap­py, for content seldom in marriage dwells, disturbance keeps possession.

Perfection.

If you disprayse marriage, you will destroy my hopes, and frustrate my honest design.

Solid.

VVhy? what is your design?

Perfection.

To be a Suiter to you.

Solid.

And what is your hopes?

Perfection.

To be your Husband.

Solid.

If I thought marriage were necessary, although unhappy, yet there would be required more wit and judgement in chosing a Husband than in dressing my self; wherefore it were requisite, that some of more wit and judgement than my self, should chose for me, otherwise I may be betray'd by flattery, outward garb, insinuations or false-hood, and through an unex­perienced innocency, I may take words and shews, for worth and merit, which I pray the Gods I may not do; for to marry an unworthy man, were to me to be at the height of affliction, and marriage being unhappy in it self, needs no addition to make it worse.

Perfection.

Madam? Discretion forbids me to commend my self, although I am a Lover; For had I merits worthy great praises, it were unfit I should mention them; but there is not any man or woman, that is, or can be ex­actly known, either by themselves or others; for nature is obscure, she ne­ver divulges herself, neither to any creature, nor by, or through any creature; for the hides herself under infinite varieties, changes and chances; She dis­guises herself with antick Vizards, she appears sometimes old, sometimes young, sometimes vaded and withered, sometimes green and flourishing, sometimes feeble and weak, sometimes strong and lusty, sometimes defor­med, and sometimes beautifull; sometimes she appears with horrour, some­times with delight, sometimes she appears in glimsing lights of knowledge, [Page 91] then clouds herself with ignorance. But, Madam, since we are as ignorant of our souls, as of our fortunes, and as ignorant of our lives, as of our deaths; we cannot make any choice upon certainties, but upon uncertainties, and if we be good whilst we live, our deaths will be our witnesse to prove it; in the mean time, let our promises stand bound for us, which is the best ingagement we can give; although it may sail; and let our marriage be as the Bond of agreement, although we may forfeit the same, yet let us make it as sure as we can.

Solid.

I will consider it, and then I will answer your request.

Perfection.

That is, to yield.

Solid.

It is like enough.

Ex.

Scene 16.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Importunate.
IMportunate.

My fair Shrew, are you walking alone.

Caprisia.

My thoughts are my best Companions.

Importunate.

Pray, let a thought of me be one of the company.

Capris.

When you enter into my mind, you do appear so mean, as my nobler thoughts, scorns that thought that bears your figure.

Importunate.

Thoughts are as notes, and the tongue is the Fiddle that makes the musick; but your words, as the cords, are out of tune.

Capris.

You say so, by reason they are not set to your humour, to sound your prayse.

Importunate.

I say you are very handsome, nature hath given you a surpas­sing beauty, but pride and self-conceit, hath cast such a shadow, as it hath darkened it, as vaporous clowds doth the bright Sun.

Capris.

Your opinions are clowdy, and your tongue like thunder, strikes my ears with rude, uncivil words.

Ex.
He alone.
Importunate.

I perceive humility, dwels not with beauty, nor with; but is, as great a stranger, as with Riches and Titles.

Ex.

Scene 17.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Monsieur Discretion.
DIscretion.

Madam, the same of your wit, drew me hither.

Volante.

I am sorry my wit hath a greater fame, than my worth, that my vain words should spread further than my vertuous actions, for noble fame is built on worthy deeds.

Discretion.

But it were pity you should bury your wit in silence; Besides, your discourse may profit the hearers, either with delight or instructi­ons.

Volante.

O no, for discourses pleases according to the humour, or under­standing of the hearers; Besides, it is the nature of mankind, to think each other fools, and none but themselves wise; Then why should I wast my life to no purpose, knowing times motion swift.

Discretion.

You do not wast your life through your words, if your words gets you a fame, and esteem of the VVorld.

Volante.

VVhat shall I be the better, in having the VVorlds esteem, nay, it is likely that prayses (whilst I live) may do me harm, creating vain and false opinions in my imaginations of self-conceit, of being wiser, or wittier, than really I am; which opinions may make me commit errors, and I had rather the VVorld should laugh at me, for want of wit, than scorn me for my follies.

Discretion.

But if witty discourses, will get you an esteem, what will your wise actions, and vertuous life; and prayse is the reward to all noble en­deavours; beside, prayse is no burthen, but it often serves as a ballance, to make the life swim steady in Sea-faring VVorld: But yet, Lady, I would not have your wit out-run your prayse, which it will do, if you spur it too hard, for wit must be used like a strong spirited horse, it must be restraind with a bridle, not prick'd with the spur, least it should run away, and fling the Rider, which is, the Speaker, into a ditch of disgrace; neither must it run wildly about, but must be wrought, to obey the hand and the heel, which is, time and occasion, to stop, and to change, as when to speak, and to whom to speak, and on what to speak, and when to make a stop of silence, other­wise, it will run out of the smooth paths of civility, or the clean wayes of modesty: Besides, wit must not only be taught, to amble in rhime, and to trot in prose, but to have a sure footing of sense, and a setled head of reason, least it should stumble in disputes, or fall into impertinent discourses; like­wise, wit may be taught to go in aires of fancies, or low, upon the ground of proof.

Volante.

But Sir, you must consider, that women are no good managers of wit, for they spoyl all their tongue rides on, hackneys it out, untill it be­comes a dull jade.

Discretion.

Least I should give an ill example of tyreing in our allego­rical discourse, I shall kiss your hands, and take my leave for this time.

Ex.
[Page 97] Madamosel alone.
She fetches a great sigh.
Volante.

Monsieur Discretion is a handsom man, he hath a wise counte­nance, and a manly garo; his discourse is rational and witty, sober and di­fercet: But good Lord! how foolishly I talk to him? I never spake duller, nor so senselesly, since I was taught words, and he came purposely, as he told me, to hear me speak, and prove my wit; But it was a sign he heard none, for he grew soon a weary of my company, he staid so short a time: I am troubled often with prating fools, whose visits are as tedious, as their discour­ses: But Lord! why do I condemn others, as fools, when this Gentleman, Monsieur Discretion, hath proved me one.

Ex.

ACT III.

Scene 18.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Importunate.
IMportunate.

What? musing by your self, alone! May I question your oughts?

Capris.

If you do, you will not be resolved, for there is none at home, to give you an answer.

Importunate.

Why, where are they? wandring abroad?

Capris.

They like a brood of Birds, are flown out of their Neasts; for thoughts flies with swifter speed, than time can do, having large wings, of quick desire.

Importunate.

Faith, you are a great wit!

Capris.

You are a great trouble!

She offers to go forth, He stayes her; She is angry.
Capris.

What, you will not force me to stay against my will?

Importunate.

Yes, that I will; For your Father saith, you shall be my Wife, and then you will imbrace, and kiss me, as coy as you are now.

Capris.

Which if I do, I wish my arms, when they do wind about your waste, may sting as Serpents, and that my kisses may prove poyson to your lips.

Importunate.

What, are you seriously angry; Nay, then 'tis time to leave you.

Ex.
The Lady alone.
Capris.

I have heard, that gallant men are civil to our Sex, but I have met with none, but rough, rude, rugged natures, more cruel than wild Tygars.

[Page 98] Enter Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
Bon Compaignon.

Why do you complain of our Sex, Lady? what is it you would have?

Capris.

I would have a gray-headed wisdom, a middle-aged humour, a fresh mouthed wit, a new bloom'd youth, and a beauty that every one fan­cies.

Bon Compaignon.

Why, so you have.

Capris.

Then I have what I desire.

She goes out.
Bon Compaignon.

O! She hath a sharp wit, it is vitral wit.

Ex.

Scene 19.

Enter Madamosel Solid, and Monsieur Comorade.
COmorade.

Lady, you have kill'd a Gentleman.

Solid.

Who, I! why, I never had the courage to kill a fly.

Comorade.

You have kill'd him with your disdain.

Solid.

I am sorry he had so weak a life, as so slight a cause, as a womans disdain, could destroy it; but for my part, I disdain no man, although I can­not intimately love all men.

Comorade.

He is but one man, Lady.

Solid.

And I have but one particular love to give, or rather I may say, to be gain'd, for I cannot dispose of it; for it will be only disposed by it self, without my leave, so as I must be guided by that which will not be guided by me? I can lend my pity, but not give him my love.

Comorade.

I suppose you have given him some encouragement, and hopes, if not an assurance, by reason, he sayes, you have forsaken him.

Solid.

Not unless common civility, be an encouragement, and ordinary conversation gives hopes; as for an assurance, indeed I gave Monsieur Pro­fession; For I did assure him, I could not love him, as he would have me love him, as Husband. But, O vain man! to brag of that he never had.

Comorade.

'Tis no brag, Lady, to confess he is forsaken.

Solid.

It is a brag, for in that he implyes, he hath been beloved, for the one must be, before the other.

Comorade.

Pray Madam, let me perswade you, to entertain his love, he is a Gentleman who hath worth, person and wealth, all which he offers you, as to his Goddesse, and a good offer is not to be refused, Lady, when it may lawfully be taken.

Solid.

You say true, Sir, and could I perswade my love, as easily as you can commend the man, 'tis likely I should not refuse him.

Comorade.

But you will be thought cruel, to let a Gentleman dye, for want of your love.

Solid.

Why, put the case I have other Lovers, as passionate, and worthy as he; how would you have me divide my self amongst them? Or can you [Page 99] tell me how to please them; I cannot marry them all, the Laws forbids it, and to be the common Mistresse to them, all honour, and honesty forbids it; for though there is some excuse for men, who hath by custom their liberty in amours, because their amours obstructs not nature, so makes breach of honesty; but women are not only barr'd by nature, but custom of subjection, and modesty of education, wherefore, if they should take liberty to seve­ral Lovers, or loves courtships, they would not only dishonour themselves, and their whole Sex, and their living friends; but their dishonour would out­reach their Posterity, and run back to their Fore-fathers, that were dead long, long before they were born; for their unchaste lives, would be as marks of disgrace, and spots of infamie upon the Tombs of those dead Ancestors, and their ashes would be full'd with their stains, whereas, a chast woman, and a gallant man, obliges both the living, and the dead; for they give honour to their dead Ancestors in their Graves, and to those friends that are living in the World, and to those that shall succeed them; Besides, their exam­ples of their vermes, for all Ages to take out patterns from.

Comorade.

Madam, you have answered so well, for your self, and Sex, as I can say no more in the behalf of my friend.

Ex.

Scene 20.

Enter Madam la Mere, and Madamosel Caprisia her daughter.
MEre.

Daughter, your tongue is so sharp, as it is not only poynted, but edged on both sides.

Capris.

Use, Mother, will blunt the poynt, and flat the edges.

Mere.

No, Daughter, the more 'tis used, the sharper it will be, for words and passions, are the whetstones to that Razor.

Capris.

As long as that Razor shaves no reputation, let it raze, or shave, what it will.

Ex.

Scene 21.

Enter Madamosel Solid, Madamosel Doltche, Madamosel Vo­lante, and a Grave Matron.
MAtron.

Madamosel Solid, what say you to Monsieur Ralleries wit?

Solid.

I say of him, as I would of a wild or skittish jade, who hath only strength to kick and fling, but not to travel, or to bear any weight; so Rallerie, is antick postures, and laughing reproaches, not solid and judicious discourses, or continued speeches, the truth is, a ralleying wit, is like ob­structed, or corrupted lungs, which causes difficult, and short breathing; So that wit, is short and pussing, spurting out words, questions and replyes; 'tis squib wit, or boys sport

Matron.
[Page 100]

Madamosel Doltche, what say you of Monsieur Satericals wit?

Doltche.

As I would of frosty weather; his wit is sharp, but wholesome, and though he hath a frowning brow, yet he hath a clear soul.

Matron.

Madamosel Volante, What say you of Monsieur Pedants wit.

Volante.

As I would of Leeches; for as Leeches sucks bloud from the back parts of men, and spues it forth, when rubb'd with salt; so Monsieur Pedant sucks wit from other mens pens, and mouths, and then spues it sorth again; being rubb'd with the itch of prayse; But all the learned knows, the wit was no more his own, than the bloud that was suck'd, was the Lee­ches.

Matron.

What say you of Monsieur Lyricks wit?

Volante.

As I would of a Bird, that chirps more than sings.

Matron.

Madamosel Doltche, What say you of Monsieur Tragedians wit?

Doltche.

As I would of Winter, wherein is more rain than Sun-shines, more storms than calms, more night than day; so his wit, hath more melan­cholly than mirth, causing, or producing tears, sighs and sadnesse; the truth is, his wit dwels in the shades of death.

Matron.

Madamosel Solid, what say you to Monsieur Comicals wit?

Solid.

As I would of the Spring, which revives, and refreshes the life of every thing, it is lightsom and gay; So Monsieur Comicals wit is chearfull, pleasant, lively, natural and profitable, as being edifying.

Ex.

Scene 22.

Enter Madam la Mere, and Madamosel Caprisia, her Daughter
MERE.

Daughter, let me tell you, you have brought your Hogs to a fair Market.

Capris.

That is better, than to keep them in a foul stye, Mother.

Mere.

You cannot speak without crossing.

Capris.

Nor readily crosse without speaking.

Mere.

I am sure, your bitter discourses, and crosse answers, hath caused the Lady, namely, the Lady Hercules, to send a rayling message, by a Messen­ger, to declare her anger for your abusive discourses against her.

Capris.

I never mentioned her in my discourse, in my life.

Mere.

But you speak against big, and tall women.

Capris.

I gave but my opinion of the size, and Sex, not of any particular, and I may speak freely, my opinion of the generalities.

Mere.

You may chance, by your opinion of the generalities, to be gene­rally talk'd of.

Capris.

VVhy, then I shall live in discourse, although discourse were dead in me, and who had not rather live, although an ill life, than dye?

Mere.

But you might live so, as to gain every bodyes good opinion, if you would palliate your humour, and sweeten your discourse, and endeavour to please in conversation.

Capris.
[Page 101]

Which do you mean, Mother! either to please my self, or the company?

Mere.

Why, the company.

Capris.

That is impossible, for in all company, there is diversities, and contrarieties of humours, passions, appetites, delights, pleasures, opinions, judgements, wits, understandings, and the like, and for talking, speaking and discoursing, they are inter-changing, inter-mixing, reasoning, arguing dispu­ting, which causes contradictions, wherefore to agree in, and to every hu­mour, passion, opinion, and discourse, is impossible; indeed one may seem­ly, or truly agree, and approve of any one opinion or discourse; but not a diversity of discourses, opinions; also one may flatteringly applaud, or sooth any particular persons humour, but not diverse persons, diverse hu­mours, but to flatter, is base, as to approve in their words, and disapprove in their thoughts, as to commend, or applaud that, or those, that is not praise-worthy: But howsoever, for the soothing of any bodies humour, I will ne­ver take the pains, for why should I make my self a slave to the several hu­mours of mankind, who is never in one humour two minutes, and why may not I think, or desire to be flattered, and humoured, as well as others, and when I am not flattered, and humoured, to be as much displeased at others, as others at me: VVherefore, good Mother, be not you displeased, that I chose rather to displease my self, than any body else, besides your self.

Mere.

You will follow your own wayes, Daughter.

Capris.

I cannot walk safer, than in my own ground, Mother.

Ex.

Scene 23.

Enter Monsieur Perfection, and Madamosel Solid.
SOlid.

Dear Mistress, I fear my absence hath made you forget me.

Solid.

No certainly, I cannot forget you, by reason my brain is hung about with the memory of your worthy nature, and meritorious actions; which my love doth admire, and takes delight for to view each several piece and part.

Perfection.

Do you love me?

Solid.

How can I chose but love, when in my infancy, such a number of words, in your praise, was thrown into my ears, like seeds into the Earth, which took root in my heart, from which love sprouted forth, and grew up with my years.

Perfection.

And will you be constant?

Solid.

As day is to the Sun!

Perfection.

Do you speak truth?

Solid.

Truly, I have been bred up so much, and so long, in the wayes of truth, as I know no tract of dissembling; and therefore, certainly, my words will ever keep within the compass of Truth, and my actions will alwaies turn, and run with that byas, but why do you seem to doubt, in making such questions.

Perfection.

I will truly confess, I have heard, that since I have been in the Countrey, you had entertained another Lover.

Solid.
[Page 102]

It's false, but false reports, is like breathing upon a pure and clear Glasse, it dimns it for a time; but that malicious breath, soon vanishes, and leaves no stain behind it; so I hope your jealousie will do the like, it will vanish, and leave no doubt behind it.

Perfection.

I hope you are not angry with me, for telling you, or for being my self troubled, at what was reported.

Solid.

No, for innocency is never concern'd, it always lives in peace and quiet, having a satisfaction in it self, wherefore reports only siezes on the guilty, arresting them with an angry turbulency.

Perfection.

But, perchance you may be angry for my jealousie.

Solid.

No, for jealousie expresses love, as being affraid to lose, what it desires to keep.

Perfection.

Then, I hope you do not repent the love you have placed on me.

Solid.

Heaven may sooner repent of doing good, than I repent my love and choyce.

Perfection.

Dear Mistress, my mind is so full of joy, since it is clear'd of suspition, and assured of your love, as my thoughts doth fly about my brain, like birds in Sun-shine weather.

Ex.

Scene 24.

Enter Monsieur Nobilissimo, and Madamosel Doltche.
NObilissimo.

Sweet Lady, will you give me leave to be your Servant!

Doltche.

I wish I were a Mistress worthy of your service.

Nobiliss.

There is no man shall admire more your beauty, and wit, nor be more diligent to your youth, nor shall honour your merits, and love your vertue more than I.

Doltche.

Indeed, I had rather be honoured for my merit, than for my birth, for my breeding, than for my wealth, and I had rather be beloved for my vertue, than admired for my beauty; and I had rather be commended for my silence, than for my wit.

Nobilissimo.

It were pity you should bury your great wit in silence.

Doltche.

My wit is according to my years, tender and young.

Nobilissimo.

Your wit, Lady, may entertain the silver haired Sages.

Doltche.

No surely, for neither my years, nor my wit, are arrived to that degree, as to make a good companion, having had neither the experience of time, nor practice of speech; for I have been almost a mute hitherto, and a stranger to the VVorld.

Nobilissimo.

The VVorld is wide, and to travel in it, is both dangerous and difficult; wherefore, you being young, should take a guide, to protect and direct you, and there is no Guide nor Protector so honourable, and safe, as a Husband; what think you of marriage.

Doltche.

Marriage, and my thoughts, live at that distance, as they seldom meet.

Nobilissimo.

VVhy, I hope you have not made a vow, to live a single life.

Doltche.
[Page 103]

No, for the Laws of Morality, and Divinity, are chains, which doth sufficiently restrain mankind, and tyes him into a narrow compasse; and though I will not break those chaining Laws, to get lose, and so become lawless; yet I will not tye nature harder with vain opinions, and unnecessary vows, than she is tyed already.

Nobilissimo.

You shall need no Tutour, for you cannot only instruct your self, but teach others.

Doltche.

Alas, my brain is like unplanted ground, and my words like wild fruits, or like unprofitable grain, that yields no nourishing food to the understanding; Wherefore, if I should offer to speak, my speech must be to ask questions, not to give instructions.

Nobilissimo.

Certainly, Lady, nature did study the architectour of your form, and drew from herself the purest extractions, for your mind, and your soul, the essence or spirits of those extractions, or rather you appear to me, a miracle, something above nature, to be so young and beautifull, and yet so vertuous, witty and wise, grac'd with such civil behaviour; for many a grave beard, would have wagg'd with talking, lesse sense, with more words.

Doltche.

Youth and age, is subject to errors, one for want of time to get experience, the other through long time, wherein they lose their me­mory.

Nobilissimo.

Pray let me get your affections, and then I shall not lose my hopes of a vertuous Lady to my wife.

Ex.

Scene 25.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Generosity.
GEnerosity.

Lady, are you walking studiously alone? may I not be thought rude, if I should ask what your studies are?

Capris.

I am studying, how some studies for pain, some pleasure, some dangers, some quarrels, some to be wicked, some to be learned, some to be ignorant, some to be foolish, some to be famous, but few to be wise.

Generosity.

Who studies to be wicked?

Capris.

Thieves, Murtherers, Adulterers, Lyers, and Extortioners.

Generosity.

Who studies to be learned?

Capris.

Linguists.

Generosity.

Who studies to be ignorant?

Capris.

Divines.

Generosity,

Who studies quarrels?

Capris.

Lawyers.

Generosity.

Who studies dangers?

Capris.

Souldiers.

Generosity.

VVho studies to be fools?

Capris.

Buffoones.

Generosity,

VVho studies fame?

Capris.

Poets.

Generosity.

VVho studies pleasure?

Capris.
[Page 104]

Epicures.

Generosity.

VVho studies pain?

Capris.

Epicures.

Generosity.

Do Epicures study both for pain, and pleasure?

Capris.

Yes, for they that surfeit with pleasure, must endure pain; and Epicures studies the height of pleasure, which no sooner injoyed, but pain follows.

Generosity.

VVho studies to be wise?

Capris.

They that study Temperance, Prudence, Fortitude and Ju­stice.

Generosity.

And, what study you?

Capris.

I study how I may avoid the company of mankind, also, to be quit of your Lordships presence.

He alone.
She goeth out.
Generosity.

She is so handsome, no humour can ill become her.

Ex.

Scene 26.

Enter Monsieur Profession, and Monsieur Comorade.
Comorade.

Thom. Give me leave to rejoyce with thee, for the resurrecti­on of thy heart, that was kill'd with thy Mistresses cruelty, and buried in her constancy.

Profession.

VVell, well? make your self merry.

Comorade.

But prethee, in what plight is thy heart? I doubt it is lean, weak and pale, and in a puling condition, lying in the Grave of thy Mistresses in­constancy.

Profession.

Faith, I cannot tell; the good Angel that brought into life, can give a better account of it, than I can.

Comorade.

VVhere shall I seek this good Angel? amongst the effeminate or masculine Sex: For I suppose, it is an Angel that is of one Sex, although I have heard, Angels are of neither Sex; but prethee, of which shall I in­quire.

Profession.

Of the divine Sex, and the divinest of her Sex.

Comorade.

You may as well bid me inquire of that which is not to be found, for every particular man that is a Servant to any particular of these an­gelical creatures, will prefer his own Mistress, to be the divinest, and so the most absolutest.

Profession.

All men that sees my Mistresse, and doth not adore her, as the only She, is damned in ignorance, and condemned to perpetual blindnesse.

Comorade.

Say you so, then I will not see her, for fear I should be one of the damned, and therefore I will give over that design, as the search of her, and go to a Tavern, and drink the good health of thy heart, and leave the in­quiry after it, and if you will go with me, so.

Profession.

I cannot, without the breach of gratitude, deny thy kindnesse; wherefore, I will bear thee company.

Ex.

Scene 27.

Enter Doctor Freedom, and Madamosel Doltche, Madamosel Solid, Madamosel Volante.
Solid.

O, you are welcome, Doctor Freedom.

Doctor.

If I be not welcome now, I shall never be welcome.

Volante.

Why, Doctor? what Present have you brought us? that can make you so acceptable, is it perpetual youth, or undeniable beauty, or ever­lasting life? But prethee, Doctor, what is it that will make thee so wel­come?

Doctor.

Why, my self; here being so many young Ladies together, and not a man amongst them.

Volante.

Thy self, Doctor! why, thou art not worth the dregs of an Uri­nal, of a sick water, if it were not for our charity, and generosity, more than thy merit, ability or service, you would have but a cold entertainment, and a rule welcome.

Doctor.

Well, my young, wity, saterycal Patient, you will take a surfeit of fruit, milk, puddings, pyes, or sweet-meats, one of these dayes, and then you will flatter me.

Volante.

You say right, Doctor; but now I speak truth, and is not that better than to flatter, or dissemble; For there is none but sick, and deprav'd souls, that will deliver Truth with a quarter, half, or three quartred face, like Merchants, or mechanick, that would sell off their ill commodities, with a broken light, but a noble and healthfull soul, shews the full face of Truth, in a clear light; wherefore, the sick and base, will flatter, but the noble and free, will speak truth.

Doctor.

VVell, I am sure you think better of me in your thoughts, than your words expresses.

Volante.

Let me tell you, my words and thoughts, are so well acquainted, as they never dissemble, and there is such a friendship betwixt them, as they never move several wayes, but runs even together: But let me tell thee, Do­ctor, I have such a spleen to thy Sex, as I desire to kill them, at least, to wound them with spitefull words; and I wish I had beauty enough for to damn them, causing them to be perjured, by forsaking other women, they were bound by sacred vows, and holy bonds.

Enter Monsieur Discretion.
Discretion.

It is well, Master Doctor, that you can be priviledg'd amongst the young Ladyes, at all times, when such as I, that have not your Profession, are oftentimes shut, and lockt out.

Doctor.

Faith, if you have no better entertainment, than I have had since I came, it were better you were from them, than with them, for their tongues are as sharp as needles.

Volante.

'Tis a sign we want work, when we are forc'd to stitch our wit upon you.

Discretion.

How dare you anger the Doctor, when your life lyes upon his skill.

Volante.
[Page 106]

O! His skill lyes upon chance, and it is a chance, whether he kills, or cures, is it not, Doctor?

Doctor.

No, for I can kill my Patients, when I will, although not cure them, when I will.

Volante.

VVell, then, Doctor, when I would dye, I will send for you, but not when I would live.

Discretion.

Your Servant, Ladies.

Monsieur Discretion goeth out.
Doctor.

Good Lady Wit, follow Monsieur Discretion, he will make you a wise Lady, and make your wit discreet, as it should be.

Volante.

O Doctor! how you mistake, for wit cannot be made, it is a Creator, and not a Creature; for wit was the first Master, or Mistress of Arts; the first Husband-man, Granger, Gardiner, Carver, Painter, Graver, Caster and Moulder, Mason, Joyner Smith, Brasier, Glazier, the first Chand­ler, Vintener, Brewer, Baker, Cook, Confectioner, the first Spinster, VVeaver, Knitter, Tayler, Shoo-maker, and millions the like; also wit was the first Navigator, Architector, Mathematician, Logitian, Geometrician, Cosmo­grafir, Astronomer, Astrologer, Philosopher, Poet, Historian and Hearold; also wit made the first Common-wealth, invented Laws for Peace, Arms for VVars, Ceremonies for State and Religion; also musick, dancing, dressing, masking, playing for delight and pleasure; wit divides time, imployes time, prevents time, and provides for time; it makes Heavens, and Hells, Gods and Divels.

Doctor.

VVell, go thy wayes, for though thou hast a heavenly mind, and an angelical beauty, yet thou hast a devilish wit,

Volante.

It shall be sure to torment thee, Doctor, but do you hear, Doctor? pray present my service to Monsieur Discretion, and tell him, it was a signe he lik'd not our company, he made so short a stay.

Doctor.

He perceived by your usage of me, that if he stayd, you would beat him out of your company, with your two edged tongues; but I will tell him what a Rallery you are.

Volante.

I hope you will give me a good report, for I have fully charged you.

Doctor.

You have over-charged me, and therefore it is likely I shall break into exclamations.

Ex.

ACT IV.

Scene 28.

Enter Monsieur Importunate, and Madamosel Caprisia.
IMportunate.

Lady, if I may not be your Husband, pray let there be a friendship between us?

Capris.

What kind of friendship would you make? for there are so many, and of such different natures, as I know not which you would be; as some friendship is made by beauty, some by flattery, some by luxurie, some by factions, others by knavery, and all for interest.

Importunate.

None for love?

Capris.

No, but some are made by lust, but they last not long.

Importunate.

And is there no friendship made by vertue?

Capris.

O no, for vertue may walk all the World over, and meet never a friend, which is the cause she lives alone; for all the World thinks her too rigid for Society, which makes mankind adhere to her enemie vice.

Importunate.

Doth not marriage make a friendship?

Capris.

Very seldom, for marriage is like a Common-wealth, which is a contract of bodyes, or rather a contract of interest, not a friendship betwixt souls, and there is as much Faction, and oftener civil Wars in marriage, than in publick Common-wealths.

Importunate.

I desire our friendship may be Platonick.

Capris.

That is too dangerous, for it oftimes proves a Traytor to Cha­stity.

Ex.

Scene 29.

Enter Monsieur Nobilissimo, Madamosel Doltche, and her Nurse.
NUrse.

Sir, you must give me leave to chide you, for staying so long with my Nurse-child, as you keep her from her dinner, either go away, or stay and dine with her.

Nobilissimo.

Good Nurse, be patient, for though I am engaged to dine with other company; yet her discourse is such charming musick, as I have not power to go from her, as yet.

Doltche.

If my discourse sounds musical, 'tis only when you are by, but when you are absent, the strings of my voice, or speech, is as if they were bro­ken, for then my tongue is out of Tune, and my wit is out of humour.

Nobilissimo.

My dearest and sweetest Mistress, may your merits be rewar­ded [Page 108] by Fame, your vertue by Heaven, your life by Nature, and all your earthly desires by Fortune.

Doltche.

And my love by the return of yours:

Nobilissimo.

When I forsake you, may Hell take my soul, and Divels tor­ment it for ingratitude and perjury.

Ex.

Scene 30.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and a Grave Matron.
MAtron.

Madamosel Doltche seems to be a very fine, sweet Lady, well-behav'd, sober, modest, discreet, and of a gentle nature.

Volante.

Most commonly, every one seems best at the first sight, by reason they put on their civilest demeanors, gracefullest garbs, modestest counte­nance, and speaks their most choycest phrases, or words, when they meet strangers; all which, makes them appear to their advantage, when after ac­quantaince, they will seem but vulgar, as when they are used to their ordina­ry garbs, countenances and phrases, and that their natures and dispositions were known, they will appear to be no better than their Neighbours; nay, perchance not so good; the like will Madamosel Doltche appear to you.

Matron.

I do suppose she looks more familiar on her acquaintance, than strangers, and it is likely, she looks more grave, and sober on strangers, than on her known friends, and familiars; yet those several looks and countenan­ces, may be as pleasing, and obliging, the one, as the other; for though the one may be more kind, the other may be more respectfull; for every ones countenance and behaviour, is to be ordered according to the several degrees or relations of several persons, and to several persons, and to several sexes, or according to their condition, state, life and fortune, and according to the times and occasions; for women are, or should be, more free and confident to, and in the company of women, than men; and men are more respect­full in their discourse and behaviour to women, than to their own Sex, and a merry countenance in a sad condition or state of life or fortunes, would not be seemly; mirth in the house of mourning, would be inhumane, or to dance or sing over the Graves of their Parents, Children, Husbands, Wives or Friends, would be unnatural, or to be merry in the time of a general calami­ty, as in timate of VVars, Plagues, or Pamine, or Deluges, or to be sad or froward in a general rejoycing; but a sad countenance, and a grave behaviour, is as sitting, and seems comely and handsome in a time of calamity, as a merry countenance, and a dancing behaviour, in a time of rejoycing; for tears becomes the face, sometimes, as well as smiles, and blushing may ap­pear and expresse a modest nature to strangers, when to familiar acquaintan­tances, blushing might be thought an accuser, or witnesse of some crime, yet bashfull eyes at all times, becomes modest Virgins.

Volante.

I hate bashfull eyes, for they are like to troubled waters, thick and unsteady, rouling from place to place, without an assurance; for modest Virgins may look upon the VVorld with a confident brow, if they have no guilt to stain their cheeks with blushes, and surely amongst well-brod persons, [Page 109] there is none so rude, injurious, or uncivil, to force the bloud to rise, or stop the light, in causing bashfull eyes, but such as condemns a confident counte­nance in Virgins faces; my eye of understanding will cast a despising glance on such ridiculous fools, and the tongue of reason condemns them.

Ex.

Scene 31.

Enter Madam la Mere, and Madamosel Caprisia her daughter.
MERE.

I wonder, Daughter, you should be so rudely uncivil to Monsieur Generosity, to use him so unkindly, as to entertain him with scornfull words, and disrespectfull behaviour.

Capris.

Why did he come to visit me?

Mere.

To offer his service, and to professe his affection to your person and vertue.

Capris.

I care not for his service, or affection.

Mere.

But he is a person of an honourable Title, and can make you a great Lady.

Capris.

Give me leave to tell you, Mother, that nature hath given me Ti­tles of Honour, Wit and Beauty, to which all men will bow to, with re­spect; Titles from Kings, poor petty things to those.

Mere.

But Daughter, let me tell you, that wit and beauty, without mo­desty, civility and vertuous courtesie, may insnare facile fools, and allure fond persons, but not perswade the judicious to esteem you, nor the constant to sue to you, nor true love to desire you; you may have vain Boasters, and amotous Flatterers to court you; but none that is wise, or honourable, will marry you, and to use this Noble Lord so disrespectfully, who is indued with vertue, and adorned with the graces, and beloved of the Muses, is a crime unpardonable.

Capris.

Mother, the Muses and the Graces are Witches, which enchants the soul, and charms the Spirits, and makes the Senses extravagant, and the actions desperate.

Mere.

Methinks they should charm you; if they have such power.

Capris.

My humour is a Spell against all such charms.

Ex.

Scene 32.

Enter Monsieur Profession, and Monsieur Comorade his Friend.
COmorade.

You are well met, for I was going to your lodging to see you.

Profession.

And I am now going home, and therefore let us go toge­ther.

Comorade.

Where have you been?

Profession.

At a house you often resort to.

Comorade.

What, at a Bawdy-house?

Profession.

Yes.

Comorade.

Why, how durst you venture?

Profession.

Why?

Comorade.

Why! why if your angelical Mistresse should come to hear of it; Faith, she would bury your heart again.

Profession.

Yes, is it were not out of her power.

Comorade.

Why, hath she not the Possession?

Profession.

No saith.

Comorade.

How comes that to passe?

Profession.

I know not how, but upon some dislike, it grew weary, and by some opportunity, it found it stole home, and since it hath promised never to leave me again; for it hath confessed to me, it hath been most miserably tor­mented with doubts, fears, jealousies and despairs.

Comorade.

Prethee let me tell thee, as a friend, that thy heart, is a false ly­ing heart, for there inhabits no torments amongst angelical bodies.

Profession.

By your favour, in Plutoes Court, there be Angels as well, and as many as in Ioves; But let me tell you, that if I did not love you very well, I would call you to an account, for calling my heart, a false lying heart.

Comorade.

Prethee pacifie thy self, for I am sure I have had but a heartless friend of thee, all the time of thy hearts absence, and if I should rayle of thy heart, thou hast no reason to condemn me; but prethee, tell me, had not thy heart some pleasure sometimes to mitigate the torments?

Profession.

No saith, for my heart tells me, that what with rigid vertue, cruel scorn, and insulting pride, it never had a minutes pleasure, nor so much as a moment of ease; and if that there were no more hopes of happiness amongst the Gods in Heaven, than there is amongst the Goddesses on Earth, it would never desire to go to them, or dwell amongst them: Nay, my heart says, it should be as much affraid to go to Heaven, and to be with the Gods, as mortals are to go to Hell, to be with Divels.

Comorade.

But if pleasure, and happiness, is not to be found with vertue, nor with the Gods, where shall we seek for it.

Profession.

I will tell you what my heart saith, and doth assure me; that is, that pleasure lives alwaies with vice, and that good fellowship is amongst the damned, and it doth swear, it is a most melancholly life, to live with those that are called the blessed, which are the Goddesses on Earth.

Comorade.

Why, then let us return to the house from whence you came.

Profession.

No faith, I am dry, wherefore I will go to a Tavern.

Comorade.

Content.

Ex.

Scene 33.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia alone, in a studeous humour, walking for a time silently; then speaks.
CApris.

Which shall I complain of? Nature or Education; I am compassionate by nature; for though I am froward, I am not cru­el, I am pious by education; for though I am froward, I am not wicked, I am vertuous by nature, and education; for though I am froward, I am neither dishonest, unchaste, base, or unworthy: Why then, 'tis Fortune I must complain of, for Fortune hath given me plenty, and plenty hath made me proud, and pride hath made me self-conceited, self-conceit hath bred disdain, and disdain scorn; So pride, disdain, and scorn, makes me disap­prove all other creatures actions, or opinions, but my own; and this disap­proving is that which men calls cross, pievish, and froward disposition, being most commonly, accompanied with sharp satyrical words, and angry frowns.

These faults i'l conquer, whereresoere they lye;
I'l rule my froward humour, or i'l dye.
Ex.

Scene 34.

Enter Madamosel Solid, and a Matron.
SOlid.

Lord! Lord! I wonder men and women should spend their time so idley, and wast their lives so vainly, in talking so ignorantly, and acting so foolishly upon the great Stage, or the Stage of the great World.

Matron.

VVhy, how would you have them spend their time, or talk, or act?

Solid.

I would have them spend their time, to gain time, as to prevent or hinder times oblivion, and to speak and act to that design,

—That when their bodies dye,
Their Names and Fames, may live eternally.
Matron.

But it is not in every mans, or womans power, to get same, for some are made uncapable by nature, others are hindred by fortune, some are obstructed by chance, others want time and opportunity, wealth, birth and education, and many that are pull'd back by envie, spite and malice.

Solid.

VVhat man or woman soever, that nature is liberal to, may eter­nalize themselves; as for fortune, she may hinder the active, the like may chance, envie, spite and malice, but cannot hinder the contemplative; the like may time and opportunity; but poor poverty and birth, can be no hin­drance to natural wit, for natural wit, in a poor Cottage, may spin an after­life, enter-weaving several colour'd fancies, and threeds of opinions, making fine and curious Tapestries to hang in the Chambers of fame, or wit may [Page 112] and carve Images of imaginations, to place and set forth the Gardens of fame, making fountains of Poetry, that may run in smooth streams of verse, or wit may paint and pensel out some Copies, and various Pictures of Na­ture, with the pensels of Rhethorick on the grounds of Philosophy, to hang in the Galleries of fame; Thus the Palacesses of fame may be furnished and adorn'd by the wit of a poor Cottager.

Ex.

Scene 35.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, alone.
CApris.

Item, I am to be courteous, but not familiar; to be merry, but not wild; to be kind, but not wanton, to be friendly, but not intimate; to be sociable, but not troublesome; to be conversable, but not talkative; to look soberly, but not frowningly; to return answers civilly, to ask questions wisely, to demand rights honestly, to argue rationally, and to maintain opi­nions probably: These rules I will strictly observe, and constantly practice.

Enter Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
Capris.

Sir, I cry peccavi, and ask your pardon, for speaking so unhand­somely of the effeminate Sex, when I was last in your company; for my in­discretion made me forget, so as not to remember, that all men hath either VVives, Sisters, Daughters or Mothers: But truly, my discourse proceeded neither from spite or malice, but from the consideration of my own faults, which being so many, did bury the good graces of other women, for though I am vertuously honest, yet I am but rudely fashion'd, and untoward for conversation; but though my discourse had a triangular countenance, for it seem'd foolish, spi [...]efull and wicked; yet pray, Sir, believe, the natural face, was a perfect, round, honest face.

Bon Compaignon.

Lady, what faults soever, your Sex is guilty of, your vertues will get their pardon, and your beauty will cover their blemishes.

Capris.

I wish my indiscretion had not discovered my froward imperfecti­ons, but I am sorry, and shall hereafter endeavor to rectifie my errours.

Ex.

Scene 36.

Enter Monsieur Nobilissimo, and Nurse.
NObilissimo.

Good Nurse, where is my vertuous, sweet Mistresse?

Nurse.

In her chamber, Sir.

Nobilissimo.

VVhat is she doing?

Nurse.

She is reading.

Nobilissimo.

VVhat Books doth she read? are they Divinity, Morality, Philosophy, History or Poetry?

Nurse.
[Page 113]

Sometimes her study is of one, and then of another; But now I think, her chief study, is you, wherein she may read humanity.

Enter Madamosel Doltche, and seeing Monsieur Nobilissimo with her Nurse, starts back, and then comes forth blushing.
Nurse.

Lord child! what makes you blush?

Doltche.

Not crimes, but my blushing, is caused by a sudden assault, or surprisal meeting him; I did not expect to meet at this time, which raised up blushes in my face; for blushing is like the full and falling tide; for the bloud flows to the face, and from thence ebbes to the heart, as passions moves the mind;

And thoughts as waves, in curling folds do rise,
And lashfull eyes, are like the troubled skies.
Nobilissimo.

Sweet Mistress, crimes cannot stain your cheeks with blushes, but modesty hath penseld Roses there, which seems as sweet, as they look fair.

Doltche.

I desire my looks and countenance, may alwaies appear so, as they may never falsly accuse me; and as I would not have my looks, or counte­nance, wrong my innocency, or deceive the Spectators, so I would not have my heart be ungratefull to bury your presence in silence; Wherefore, I give you thanks, Sir, for the noble Present you sent me to day.

Nobilissimo.

I was affraid you would not have accepted of it.

Doltche.

Truly, I shall refuse no Present you shall send me, although it were ushered with scorn, and attended with death.

Nobilissimo.

My kind Mistress, I shall never send you any Present, but what is ushered by my love, attended by my service, and presented with the offer of my life.

Nurse.

Child, you are very free of kind words.

Doltche.

And my deeds shall answer my words, is need requires; yet I am sorry if my speaking over-much, should offend; but I chose rather, to set bosses of words on the sense of my discourse, although it obscures the glosse of my speech, than my love should be buried in my silence.

Nobilissimo.

Sweet Mistresse, your loving expressions gives such joy unto my heart, and such delight unto my hearing, as my soul is inthron'd in hap­pinesse, and crown'd with tranquility.

Nurse.

Pray Heaven, you both may be as full of Love, Joy and Peace, when you are married, as you express to have now; But let me tell you, young Lovers, that Hymen is a very temperate, and discreet Gentleman in love, I will assure you; neither doth he expresse himself in such high poe­tical Raptures, for his discourse is plain, and ordinary.

Nobilissimo.

Nay, sometimes his discourse is extraordinary, as when he hath Wars; but Nurse, thou art old, and the fire of love, if ever thou hadst any, is put out by old Father Times extinguisher.

Doltche.

True love never dyes, nor can time put it out.

Nobilissimo.

'Tis true, but Nurse seems by her speech, as if she had never known true love; for true love, as it alwaies burns clear, so it alwaies flames high, far infinite is the fewel that feeds it.

Nurse.

Well, well? young Lovers, be not so confident, but let me advise [Page 114] you to ballance reason on both sides, with hopes, and doubts, and then the judgement will be steady.

Nobilissimo.

But in the scales of love, Nurse, nothing must be but confi­dence.

Nurse.

Yes, there must be temperance, or love will surfeit, and dye with excess.

Doltche.

Love cannot surfeit, no more than souls with grace, or Saints of Heaven.

Ex.

Scene 37.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, alone.
CApris.

My smiles shall be as Baits, my eyes as Angels, where every look shall be a hook to catch a heart; I'l teach my tongue such art, to plant words on each heart, as they shall take deep root, from whence pure love shall spring; my lips shall be as flowery banks, whereon sweet Rhethorick grows, and cipherous fancy blows; from which banks, love shall wish to gather Posies of kisses, where every single kisse shall differ as Roses, Pinks, Violets, Primroses, and Daffidillies, and the breath therefrom, shall be as fragant as the touch, soft thereon, and as the Sun doth heat the Earth, so shall my imbraces heat my Lovers thoughts with self-conceit, which were before like water, frozen with a dejected and despairing cold. Hay ho!

Ex.

ACT V.

Scene 38.

Enter Monsieur Profession, and Madamosel Solid.
PRofession.

Dear Mistress, you are the only She that is fit to be crown'd; the sole Empresse of the World.

Solid.

Let me tell you, Sir? I had rather be a single Shepheardesse, than the sole Empress of the World; for I would not be a Mistress of so much power, to be as a Servant to so much trouble.

Profession.

But, put the case Alexander were alive, and would crown you Empress of the World, you would not refuse that honour, but accept of it, for the sake of renown.

Solid.

Yes, I should refuse it, for if I could not get renown by my own merits, I should wish to dye in Oblivion, for I care not; Nay, I despise such [Page 115] honours and renowns, as comes by derivations, as being deriv'd from another, and not inherent in my self, and it is a poor, and mean renown, that is gain'd or got, only by receiving a gift from a fellow-creature, who gives out of pas­sion, appetite, partiality, vain-glory, or fear, and not for merit or worth­sake; wherefore, no gifts but those that comes from the Gods, or Nature, are to be esteem'd, or received with thanks, but were to be refused, had man the power to chose, or to deny.

Profession.

Sweet Mistress, nature hath crown'd you with beauty and wit, and the Gods hath given you a noble soul.

Solid.

I wish they had, for the Gods gifts are not like to mans, and natures crown is beyond the golden crown of Art, which are greater glories, than Power, Wealth, Title or Birth, or all the outward honours gain'd on Earth; but I desire the Gods may crown my soul with reason and understanding; Heaven crown my mind with Temperance and Fortitude; Nature crown my body with Health and Strength, time crown my life with comely and discreet age; Death crown my separation with peace and rest; and Fame crown my memory with an everlasting renown; thus may my creation be to a happy end.

Profession.

Gods, Fortune and Fates hath joyned to make me happy in your love, and that which will make me absolutely happy, is, that I shall marry you, and imbrace you as my wife.

Solid.

The absolute happiness is, when the Gods imbraces man with mer­cy, and kisses him with love.

Ex.

Scene 39.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia.
CApris.

Hay, ho! who can love, and be wise? but why do I say so? For reason loves wisely; 'tis only the mistaken senses that loves foolishly; indeed, the sense doth not love, but sondly, and foolishly affects, for it, 'tis an humoursome and inconstant appetite that proceeds from the body, and not that noble passion of true love which proceeds from the soul: But O! what a ridiculous humour am I fallen into, from a cholerick humour, into an amorous humour; Oh! I could tear my soul from my body, for having such whining thoughts, and such a mean, submissive, croaching, feigning, flattering humour, and idle mind; a cholerick humour, is noble to this, for it is commanding, and seems of an heroick spirit, but to be amorous, is base, beastly, and of an inconstant nature.

Oh! How apt is busie life to go amisse,
What foolish humours in mans mind there is:
But O! The soul is far beyond the mind,
As much as man is from the beastly kind.
Ex.

Scene 40.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Doctor Freedom.
DOctor.

Are you weary of, your life? that you send me; for you said, you would not send for me, untill you had a desire to dye.

Volante.

True, Doctor, and if you cannot cure me, kill me.

Doctor.

In my conscience, you have sent for me to play the wanton.

Volante.

Why, Doctor? If I do not infringe the rules and laws of mo­desty, or civility, I cannot commit wanton faults,

Doctor.

Yes faith, your tongue may play the wanton,

Volante.

Indeed, Doctor, I had rather tell a wanton truth, than a mo­dest lye.

Doctor.

Well, what is your disease?

Volante.

Nay, that you must guesse, I can only tell my pains.

Doctor.

Where is your pain?

Volante.

In my heart and head.

Doctor.

Those be dangerous parts, but after what manner are your pains?

Volante.

On my heart there lyes a weight, as heavy as the World on Atlas shoulders; and from my melancholly mind, arises such damps of doubts, as almost quenches out the fire of life, did not some hope, though weak, which blows with fainting breath, keep it alive, or rather puffs than blows, which intermitting motions, makes my pulse unequal, and my bloud to ebbe and flow, as from my heart, unto my face; and from my face, unto my heart again; as for my head, it feels drousie, and my spirits are dull; my thoughts uneasily doth run, crossing, and striving to throw each other down; this causes broken sleeps, and frightfull dreams, and when I awake at every noyse, I start with fears, my limbs doth shake.

Doctor.

VVhy, this disease is love, wherefore I cannot cure you; for love no more than wit, can neither be temper'd, nor yet be rul'd, for love and wit, keeps neither moderate bounds, nor spares diet, but dyes most commonly of a surfeit.

Volante.

O yes, discretion can cure both.

Doctor.

Then send for Monsieur Discretion, and hear what he sayes to you, for your disease is past my skil.

Volante.

By your industry, Doctor, help may be found, in giving directi­ons, and ordering the cordial.

Doctor.

So I understand you would have my counsel what you should do, and my industry to order, and get a meeting between Monsieur Discretion and you, and to make the match betwixt you.

Volante.

You understand me right.

Doctor.

VVell, I will study the means, and trye if I can procure thee a man.

Volante.

Good fortune be your guide.

Doctor.

And Monsieur Discretion, your Husband,

Ex.

Scene 41.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, alone.
CApris.

Thoughts be at rest, for since my love is honest, and the person I love worthy, I may love honourably, for he is not only learned with study, experienced with time and practice, but he is natures favourite, she hath endued his soul with uncontrouled reason, his mind with noble thoughts, his heart with heroick generosity, and his brain with a supream wit; Besides, she hath presented his judgement and understanding, with such a clear Pro­spective-glasse of speculations, and such a Multiplying-glass of conception, as he seeth farther, and discerns more into natures works, than any man she hath made before him.

She slops a little time, then speaks.

But let me consider? I have us'd this worthy Gentleman uncivilly, nay rudely, I have dispised him; wherefore he cannot love me, for nature ab­hors neglect, and if he cannot love me in honesty, he ought not to marry me, and if I be not his wife, for certain I shall dye for love, or live a most un­happy life, which is far worse than death. Hay ho!

Enter Madam la Mere her Mother.
Mere.

What, Daughter, sick with love?

Capris.

O, Mother? love is a Tyrant, which never lets the mind be at rest, and the thoughts are the torments, and when the mind is tormented, the bo­dy is seldom in health.

Mere.

Well, to ease you, I will go to this Lord Generosity, and pray him to give you a visit.

Capris.

By no means, Mother, for I had rather dye with love, than live to be despised with scorn, for he will refuse your desires, or if he should come, it would be but to express his hate, or proudly triumph on my unhappy state.

Madamosel Caprisia goes out.
Madamosel Mere alone.
Mere.

She is most desperately in love, but I will endeavour to settle her mind.

Ex.

Scene 42.

Enter Doctor Freedom, and Madamosel Volante.
DOctor.

Am not I a good Doctor now, that hath got you a good Hus­band?

Volante.

Nay, Doctor, he is but a Suiter, as yet.

Doctor.

Why do not you woe upon the Stage, as the rest of your Como­rades doth?

Volante.
[Page 118]

O fye, Doctor Discretion never whines our love in publick.

Doctor.

So you love to be in private?

Volante.

Why, Doctor, the purest love is most conceal'd, it lyes in the heart; and it warms it self by its own fire.

Doctor.

Take heed, for if you keep it too tenderly, and close, it may chance to catch cold when it comes abroad.

Volante.

True love ought to keep home, and not to gossip abroad.

Enter a Servant-maid.
Servant-maid.

Madam Monsieur Discretion is come to visit you.

Volante.

Come, Doctor, be a witnesse of our contract?

Doctor.

I had rather stay with your maid.

Volante.

She hath not wit to entertain you.

Doctor.

Nor none to anger me.

Volante.

Pray come away, for no wise man is angry with wit.

Doctor.

I perceive, if I do not go with you, that you will call me fool.

Ex.

Scene 43.

Enter Monsieur Comorade, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.
BOn Compaignon.

Comorade, what cause makes you so fine to day?

Comorade.

I am going to two weddings to day.

Bon Compaignon.

Faith, one had been enough; but how can you divide yourself betwixt two Bridals?

Comorade.

I shall not need to divide my self, since the Bridals keeps toge­ther; for they are marryed both in one Church, and by one Priest, and they feast in one house.

Bon Compaignon.

And will they lye in one bed?

Comorade.

No surely, they will have two beds, for fear each Bride-groom should mistake his Bride.

Bon Compaignon.

VVell, I wish the Bride-grooms, and their Brides joy, and their Guests, good chear.

Comorade.

VVill not you be one of the Guests?

Bon Compaignon.

No, for a Bon Compaignon shuns Hymens Court, neither will Hymen entertain him: But who are the Brides and Bride-grooms?

Comorade.

Monsieur Nobilissimo, and Madamosel Doltche, and Monsieur Perfection; and Madamosel Solid.

Bon Compaignon.

Is Monsieur Profession a Guest there.

Comorade.

No, for he swears now, that he hates marriage, as he hates death.

Bon Compaignon.

But he loves a Mistress, as he loves life.

Ex.

Scene 44.

Enter Monsieur Generosity, and Madamosel Caprisia; he follow­ing her.
GEnerosity.

Lady, why do you shun my company, in going from me, praystay, and give my visit a civil entertainment; for though I am not worthy of your affection, yet my love deserves you civility.

Capris.

I know you are come to laugh at me, which is ignobly done; for heroick, generous spirits, doth not triumph on the weak effeminate Sex.

Generosity.

Pray believe I am a Gentleman, for if I loved you not, yet I would never be rude, to be uncivil to you, or your Sex; But I love you so well, as when I leave to serve you with my life, may nature leave to nourish me, fortune leave to favour me, and Heaven leave to blesse me, and then let death cast me into Hell, there to be tormented.

Capris.

I am more obliged to your generous affections, than to my own merits.

Generosity.

The ill opinion of your self doth not lessen your vertues, and if you think me worthy to be your Husband, and will agree, we will go strait to Church, and be marryed.

Capri.

I shall not refuse you.

Ex.
FINIS.

PROLOGUE.

THE Poetress sayes, that if the Play be bad,
She's very sorry, and could wish she had
A better plot, more wit and skill to make
A Play that might each several humour take;
But she sayes, if your humours are not fixt,
Or that they are extravagantly mixt;
Impossible a Play for to present
With such variety, and temperiment;
But some will think it tedious, or find fault,
Say the Design or Language is stark naught;
Besides, the loose unsetled brains, she fears
Seeth with squint eyes, and hears with Asses ears;
But she is confident all in this round,
Their understandings clear, and judgements sound;
And if her Play deserves not praise, she knows
They'l neither scoff in words, nor preposterous shows:
Without disturbance, you will let it dye,
And in the Grave of silence let it lye.

Youths Glory, and Deaths Banquet.
THE FIRST PART.

  • 1. THe Lord de L'amour.
  • 2. Sir Thomas Father Love.
  • 3. Master Comfort, Sir Thomas Father Loves Friend.
  • 4. Master Charity, the Lord de L'amours Friend.
  • 5. Adviser, the Lord de L'amours man.
  • 6. A Iustice of Peace.
  • 1. The Queen Attention.
  • 2. The Lady Incontinent, Mistriss to the Lord de L'amour.
  • 3. The Lady Mother Love, wife to Sir Thomas Father Love.
  • 4. The Lady Sanparelle, daughter to Sir Thomas Father, and Lady Mo­ther Love.
  • 5. The Lady Innocence, the assianced Mistriss or Wife to the Lord de L'amour.
  • 6. Passive, the Lady Innocences maid:
  • 7. Falshood, an informer to maids of the Lady Incontinent.
  • Physitians.
  • Natural Philosophers, Moral Phi­losophers, young Students.
  • Souldiers, Lovers, Mourners, Vir­gins, Servants and others.

ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, and his wife, the Mother Lady Love.
MOther Love,

Husband, you have a strange nature, that ha­ving but one child, and never like to have more, and this your childe a daughter; that you should breed her so strictly, as to give her no time for recreation, nor no li­berty for company, nor freedom for conversation, but keeps her as a Prisoner, and makes her a slave to her book, and your tedious moral discourses, when other children have Play-fellows, and toyes to sport and passe their time withall.

Father Love.

Good wife be content, doth not she play when she reads books of Poetry, and can there be nobler, amiabler, finer, usefuller, and wi­ser companions than the Sciences, or pleasanter Play-fellows than the Muses; can she have freer conversation, than with wit, or more various recreations than Scenes, Sonets and Poems; Tragical, Comical, and Musical, and the like; Or have prettier toyes to sport withall, than fancie, and hath not the liberty so many hours in the day, as children have to play in.

Mother Love.

Do you call this playing? which sets her brain a wor­king to find out the conceits, when perchance there is none to find out, but are cheats, and cozens the Readers with empty words, at best, it sills her head but with strange phantasmes, disturbs her sleep with frightfull dreams of transformed bodyes of Monsters, and ugly shaped vices of Hells and Furies, and terrifying Gods of Wars and Battles, of long travels, and dangerous escapes, and the pleasantest is but dark groves, gloomy fields, and the hap­piest condition; but to walk idly about the Elizium fields; and thus you breed your daughter, as if your Posterity were to be raised from a Poets phantastical brain.

Father Love.

I wish my Posterity may last but as long as Homers lines.

Mother Love.

Truly, it will be a fine airey brood! No no, I will have her bred, as to make a good houswife, as to know how to order her Family, breed her Children, govern her Servants, entertain her Neighbours, and to fashion herself to all companies, times and places, and not to be mewed and moped up, as she is from all the World, insomuch, as she never saw twen­ty persons in one company in all her life, unless it be in pictures, which you set her to stare on above an hour everyday: Besides, what Father doth edu­cate their Daughters, that office belongs to me; but because you have ne­ver a Son to tutor, therefore you will turn Cotqucan, and teach your daugh­ter, which is my work.

Father Love.

Let me tell you, Wife, that is the reason all women are fools; for women breeding up women, one fool breeding up another, and as long as that custom lasts there is no hopes of amendment, and ancient cu­stoms [Page 124] being a second nature, makes folly hereditary in that Sex, by reason their education is effeminate, and their times spent in pins, points and laces, their study only vain fashions, which breeds prodigality, pride and en­vie.

Mother Love.

What? would you have women bred up to swear, swag­ger, gaming, drinking, Whoring, as most men are?

Father Love.

No, Wife, I would have them bred in learned Schools, to noble Arts and Sciences, as wise men are.

Mother Love.

What Arts? to ride Horses, and fight Dewels.

Father Love.

Yes, if it be to defend their Honour, Countrey and Reli­gion; For noble Arts makes not base Vices, nor is the cause of lewd actions, nor is unseemly for any Sex; but baseness, vice and lewdnesse, invents un­handsome and undecent Arts, which dishonours by the practice either Sex.

Mother Love.

Come, come, Husband, I will have her bred, as usually our Sex is, and not after a new fashioned way, created out of a self-opiniated, that you can alter nature by education: No, no, let me tell you, a woman will be a woman, do what you can, and you may assoon create a new World, as change a womans nature and disposition.

Enter the Lady Sanspareille, as to her Father, as not thinking her Mother was there.
Sanspareille.

O, Father! I have been in search of you, to ask you a que­stion concerning the Sun.

When she sees her Mother, she starts back.
Mother.

What have you to do with the Sun, and lives in the shade of the Worlds obscuritie.

Sansp.

VVhy, Madam? where would you have me live? can I live in a more serene aire, than in my Fathers house, or in a purer, or clearer light, than in my Parents eyes, or more splendrous, than in my Parents com­pany.

Mother.

I would have you live at Court there, to have honour, favour and grace; and not to lose your time ignorantly, knowing nothing of the VVorld, nor the VVorld of you.

Sansp.

Can I live with more honour, than with my Father, and You, or have more favour than your loves; or is there a greater grace, than to be Daughter of vertuous Parents; can I use, or imploy my time better, than to obey my Parents commands? need I know more than honesty, modesty, ci­vility and duty: As for the VVorld, mankind is so partial to each self, as they have no faith on the worth of their Neighbour, neither doth they take no­tice of a Stranger, but to be taken notice of.

Mother Love.

Yes, yes, your beauty will attract eyes and ears, which are the doors to let in good opinion, and admiration.

Sansp.

Had I a tongue like a Cerces-wand to charm all ears that heard me, it would staight transform men from civil Obligers, to spitefull Detractors, or false Slanderers; my beauty may only serve but as a bribe to tempt men, to intrap my youth, and to betray my innocency.

Mother.

To betray a fools-head of your own! Lord! Lord! how the [Page 125] dispositions of Youth is changed since I was young! for before I came to your Age, I thought my Parents unnaturall, because they did not provide me a Husband.

Sanspareille.

If all youth were of my humour, their dispositions are chang­ed indeed; for Heaven knows, it is the only curse I fear, a Husband.

Mother Love.

Why? then you think me curst in Marrying your Fa­ther.

Sansp.

No Madam, you are blest, not only in being a Wife, (a condition you desired) but being marryed to such a man that wishes could not hope for.

Mother Love.

Why then, my good Fortune may encourage you, and raise a hope to get the like.

Sansp.

O no! It rather drives me to dispair, beleiving there is no se­cond.

Mother Love.

Come, come, you are an unnatural Child to flatter your Father so much, and not me, when I endured great pains to breed, bear, and nurse you up.

Sansp.

I do not flatter, Madam, for I speak nothing but my thoughts, and that which Love and duty doth allow, and truth approve of.

Father Love.

Come, come Wife, the Jeerals wit will out-argue both ours.

Ex.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lord de l' Amour, and the Lady incontinent.
LAdy Incontinent.

Have I left my Husband, who was rich, and used me well? and all for love of you! and with you live as a VVanton! by which I have lost my esteem, and my honest reputation, and now to be for­saken, and cast aside, despised and scorned! O, most base! for what can be more unworthy, than for a man to profess friendship to a Lady, and then forsake her?

Lord de l' Amour.

Madam, you do me wrong, for my heart is as firmly yours, as ever it was, and burns with as clear a flame, as ever it did.

Lady Incontinent.

It is not like it will continue so, since you now are resol­ved to marry.

Lord de l' Amour.

The reasons are so powerfull, that perswades me, by rea­son there is none lest of my Family besides my self; and my Fathers com­mands so terrifying, and my vows so binding, as I know not how to avoid it.

Lady Incontinent.

But since your Father is dead, what need you fear his commands, and for your vows, those may be dispenced with, for a summe of money to the Church for the poor.

Lord de l' Amour.

But would you have me cut off the line of my Poste­rity by never marrying?

Lady Incontinent.

Perchance, if you marry, you may have no children, or your wife may prove barren, or if you have children, they may prove fools; for she you are affianced to, is none of the wisest.

Lord de l' Amour.
[Page 126]

That is none of my fault.

Lady Incontinent.

But why will you marry so soon?

Lord de l' Amour.

I will not marry yet, for my affianced is young, and well may stay two or three years.

Lady Incontinent.

But if you will not marry her this two or three years, why must she come to live with you in your house.

Lord de l' Amour.

By reason her Father is newly dead, and hath left her to my protection, as having right to her, and by her, to her estate.

Lady Incontinent.

And when she comes, I must deliver up the rule and government of your house and Family to her; for I suppose you will make her the Mistriss to command, dispose and order as she pleaseth.

Lord de l' Amour.

By no means, for you that are the Mistriss of my heart, shall also be Mistriss of my Estate.

Lady Incontinent.

Then pray give her to my charge and education; for I hear she is of a high spirit, and a proud heart, being spoyled with self-will, given her by the fondnesse of her Father.

Lord de l' Amour.

Pray order her as you think good, she shall be your hand-maid.

Exeunt

Scene 3.

Enter the Lady Sanspareille, repeating some verses of her own making.
SAnspareille.
Here flows a Sea, and there a sire doth flame,
Yet water and fire still is but the same:
Here the sixt earth, and there the aire streams out,
All of one matter moving round about;
And thus the earth, and water, sire and aire,
Out of each others shapes transformed are.
Enters her Mother, and hears her last verse.
Mother.

I am sure you are transformed from what you should be, from a sober, young maid, to a Stage-player, as to act Parts, speak Speeches, rehearse Verses, sing Sonets, and the like,

Sansp.

Why, Madam; Stages and publick Theaters, were first ordained and built, for the education of noble youth, where they might meet to pra­ctise how to behave themselves civily, modestly, gently, comely, gracefully, manly, and majestically; to speak properly, timely, fitly, eloquently, ele­gantly, tunably, tonably, readily, sagely, wittily. Besides, Theators were not only Schools to learn or practise in, but publick patterns to take example from; Thus Theaters were profitable, both to the Actors and Spectators; for as these Theaters were publick Schools, where noble principles were taught, so it was the dressing rooms of vertue, where the Actors, as her Ser­vants did help to set her forth. Also these Theaters were as Scaffolds, where­on vices were publickly executed; and, Madam, if you please but to consi­der, [Page 127] you will perceive, that Thrones are but glorious Theaters, where Kings and Princes, and their Courtiers acts their parts; likewise places of Judica­ture, are but places where Judges and Lawyers acts their parts; Nay, even Churches are but holy Theaters, where the Priest and People acts their de­vout parts. But, Madam, you mistake, making no difference betwixt the noble and base, the generous and mercenary; for, shall all noble persons that fights dewels of honour, be call'd Fencers; or shall a King, when he runs at the Ring, or Tilt, shall he be called a Jockey, or Post, when he rides hor­ses of Manage, shall he be a Quirry, or a Rider; or shall Kings, Princes or noble Persons, that dances, sings, or playes on Musick, or presents themselves in Masks, be thought, or called Dancers, or Fidlers, Morris-dancers, Stage-players, or the like, as in their masking attire: No those are Riders, Fencers, Dancers, Fidlers, Stage-players, and the like, that are mercenary, setting Ver­tuosus to sale, making a mercenary profit, and living thereof; but if such opi­nions should be held, then no Vertuosus should be learn'd of noble Persons, because there are mercenary Tutours and Teachers, nor no arts understood, because of Mechanicks, nor no Sciences understood, because of Pedants, nor no manners, nor gracefull behaviours practised because of Players, nor none must write, because of Clerks, nor none must pray because of beneficed Priests, nor there must none understand the Laws, or plead their own causes, because of feed Lawyers; if these opinions or rules were followed, all the nobler and better sort, would be boars, clowns and fools, nor no civility, good manners, nor vertues would be known amongst them.

Mother.

Well, well, I will have you shew your self, and be known, and I known by you; for why should not I be as ambitious to be praised in your beauty, as your Father in your wit; but by that time you have gotten a suffi­cient stock of wit to divulge to the World, your beauty will be dead and buried, and so my ruines will have no restoration, or resurrection.

Sansp.

Madam, I do humbly and dutifully acknowledge, that what beau­ty or wit I have, it was derived from my Parents.

Mother.

Wherefore you ought to do, as your Parents will have you, and I say, I will have you be a Courtier.

Sansp.

Would you have me go to live at the Court, Madam?

Mother.

Yes marry would I.

Sansp.

And to do as Courtiers do?

Mother.

Yes marry would I.

Sansp.

Alas, Madam, I am unpractised in their arts, and shall be lost in their subtle and strange waies.

Mother.

Therefore I would have you go to learn them, that you may be as expert as the best of them, for I would have you shoot such sharp darts thorough your eyes, as may wound the hardest and obduratest hearts.

Sansp.

Amorous affections, Madam, and wanton glances are strangers to my eyes and heart; neither can I perswade nor command them to be other­wise than they are.

Mother.

Why, I would not have you either wanton, or amorous, but to be kind and civil, to invite a rich, noble Husband.

Sansp.

Why, say I had the power to pick and choose amongst the noblest and the richest men, a Husband out, you cannot promise me a happy life, fortune may set a Crown of Diamonds on my head, yet prick my heart with thorns, bind up my spirits with strong chained fears, my thoughts imprisoned in dark melancholly, and thus my mind may prove [Page 128] a Hell unto my life, and my Husbands actions devils to torment it.

Mother.

No disputing, but let my will be obeyed.

Sansp.

It is fit it should be by me, although it brings my ruine.

Lady Mother goes out.
Sanspareille alone.
Sanspareille.
Ioy gave me wings, and made my spirits fly,
Hope gave me strength to set ambition high;
Fear makes me old, as paulsie shakes each limb,
My body weak, and both my eyes are dimb:
Like to a Ball, which rackets beats about,
So is my heart strucken twixt hope and doubt.
Ex.

Scene 4.

Enter the Lady Incontinent, and one of her women.
LAdy Incontinent.

I observe, the Lord de L'amour useth the Lady Inno­cence with more respect than he was used to do; and I observe his eyes meets her when she comes in place where he is, and follows her whereso­ever she goeth, and when she stands still, they are sixt upon her.

Woman.

Truly she hath power, if she will put it in force to command a heart, at least to perswade a heart to love her; for certainly, she is very beau­tifull, if it were not obscured under a sad countenance, as the Sun behind a dark cloud; but sometimes, do what she can in despite of her sadnesse, it will keep out, and the other day when you were gone abroad, I saw her dance, sing and play on a Gittur [...], all at one time.

Lady Incontinent.

And how did it become her?

Woman.

Truly, she sung so sweetly, played so harmoniously, danced so gracefully, and looked so beautifully, that if I had been a man, I should have been in love with her.

Lady Incontinent.

I charge you break her Gittar, tell her she sings not well, and that her dancing doth ill-become her.

Woman.

Perchance she will not believe me.

Lady Incontinent.

Oh yes, for youth are credulous, even against them­selves.

Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene 5.

Enter the Lady Sanspareille, and walks a turn or two, as contem­plating.
SAnspareille.
Ambitious thoughts flyes high, yet never tires,
Wing'd with the swiftest thoughts of desires;
Then thoughts of hopes runs busily about,
Yet oft are stop'd with thoughts of fear and doubt,
And thoughts of mirth and melancholly strives,
All thoughts are restless till the body dyes.
Enter Sir Father Love.
Father Love.

My childe, it is a sign you are melancholly, that you are in a poetical vain.

She weeps.
Father.

Why do you weep?

Sansp.

Melancholly thoughts makes tears to flow thorough my eyes.

Father.

Melancholly! why, thou art not come to the years of melan­cholly; 'tis aged brows on which sad Saturn sets, and tired thoughts on which he reigns, and on grieved heart his heavy taxes layes; but those that are young, he leaves to other powers, neither hath fortune set her turning foot upon thy head, for thou art in the same worldly condition that thou wert born to; wherefore thy mind may be quiet, and thy thoughts merry and free.

Sansp.

Surely, sir, it is not alwaies age, nor yet cross fortunes that clouds the mind, for some are old and mean, poor and despised, yet merry, and hu­mours gay, and some are young and fairer, and rich, and well esteemed, ho­noured and loved, and yet their thoughts dejectedly doth move, and humour dull as lead; 'tis nature makes melancholly, neither age nor evil fortune brings it.

Father.

But what makes thee sad, my child?

Sansp.

Ambition, Sir.

Father.

What doth your ambition aim at? If it be honour, I have an E­state will buy thee an honourable Husband; if it be riches, I will be saving, and live thriftily, if it be gallantry, or bravery, I will maintain thee at the hight of my fortune, wear Frieze my self, and adorn thee in Diamonds, Silver and Gold.

Sanspareille.

Heaven forbid! that my vanity should prodigally spend your Estate, or my covetousnesse pinch and starve your Life, or that my pride should be match'd with noble honour, which should be as humble as great.

Father.

It cannot be for wit and beauty, for, surely nature hath made her self poor, by giving you so much.

Sansp.
[Page 130]

My dear Father, know it is fame I covet, for which were the am­bitions of Alexander and Caesar joyned into one mind, mine doth exceed them, as far as theirs exceeded humble spirits, my mind being restless to get the highest place in Fames high Tower; and I had rather fall in the adventure, than never try to climb; wherefore, it is not titled Honour, nor Wealth, nor Bravery, nor Beauty, nor Wit that I covet, but as they do contribute to adorn merit, which merit is the only foundation whereon is built a glorious fame, where noble actions is the architectour thereof, which makes me de­spairingly melancholly, having not a sufficient stock of merit, or if I had, yet no waies to advance it; but I must dye like beasts, forgotten of mankind, and be buried in Oblivions grave.

Father.

If it be fame my child covets, it is a noble ambition; and Heaven pardon me, if I speak vain-gloriously of what is my own, yet I speak but my opinion, when I say, I do believe there is none so fit to raise a fame, as thou art.

Sansp.

Sir, your love speaks, as willing to incourage me; but know Sir; it is not a vulgar fame I covet, for those that goeth with equal space, and even hights, are soon lost, as in a crowd or multitude; but when fame is inthron'd, all Ages gazes at it; and being thus supremly plac'd up high; Like as an Idol, gets Idolatry: Thus singularity as well as merit, advances fame.

Father.

Child, thou speakest alwaies reason, and were my life the only singular way to raise thy fame, thou shouldst have it.

Sansp.

Heaven forbid! For that would raise my infamie, if I should build upon my Fathers noble life. But, Sir, do you love me?

Father.

Yes, above my life! for thou art the life of my life!

Sansp.

Do you love me as well as you think you could your Grand-chil­dren?

Father.

No comparison can be made, for thou art come immediately from my loynes, those but from the Ioines of my Issue, which is estranged from me, and for their affections, Grand-childrens is but weak, only they keep alive my name, not love, for that dyes in the second descent, and many times the first.

Sansp.

But, Sir; would not you think me strangely unnatural, and unwor­thy of your love, to wish or desire you to break the line of your Posterity, and bury succession in my grave?

Father.

Unnatural! no, for your vertue can ask nothing of me, that my love will think unreasonable to give, and for my Posterity, I had rather it should end with merit, than run on in follies; or who knows but their evil or base actions may blemish all their Predecessours; besides, it is with succes­sion, as with a married pair; for if the wife be chast, the World will give the honour only to the woman, but if she be false, the World will lay the disgrace on the Husband, and think she sees some defect, which makes her prefer another before him. So in succession, if their succession proves fools, cowards, avaricious, treacherous, vitious, or the like, the World straight judges these imperfections and vices were in hereditarie, and that they were attaint, or stained from the root or stock, but if they prove wise, valiant, generous, just, or the like, they think they were particular gifts of nature, or education, thus the faults of succession many descents after, may darken like black clouds, the bright light of their Predecessours worth and merit; Besides, there is no certainty of a continued line, nor doth many children give an assurance to their Father at the day of his death; for when he dyes, doubts closes his [Page 131] eyes, and fears blowes out lifes fire, therefore I had rather live in thy fame, than live or dye in an infamous and foolish succession.

Sansp.

Heaven make me thankfull that my desires and my fathers ap­provement agrees. Sir, you have not only bred me with a tender love, but with a prudent Industry. And I have followed your instruction with a Reli­gious Ceremony. Keept to your principles with a pious Conscience, and since nature and education hath joyned together in my tender years, to make my life propitious; If fortune favour me, and opportunity promote me; but we are to consider which way I shall steer the course of my life, and if you will please I will tell you how I have designed my voyage.

Father.

Heaven prosper the through it, and send the a safe passage, where­soever thou adventurest.

Sansp.

Then first, it is to be considered, I am but a small and weak vessell, and cannot swim upon the rough and boysterous Seas, which are pitcht fields, and fighting Armyes, wherein I shall be shattered in the croud, and drowned in the confusion of disorder, wherefore I must swim in the calm rivers of peace where their is no such storms, nor high billows, only some cross winds may chance to rise, which may hinder me but not drown me; this calm river is a Theater, and the rough Sea as I said a pitcht field; my self the ship, you the steeradg, and fame the port, then thus I will relate how I have designed the voyage of my life; first never to marry, if I may have your consent to live a single life, for that time which will be lost in a married condition, I will study and work with my own thoughts, and what new In­ventions they can find out, or what probabilityes they conceive, or phancies they create, I will publish to the world in print before I make them common by discourse, but if I marry, although I should have time for my thoughts and contemplations, yet perchance my Husband will not approve of my works, were they never so worthy, and by no perswasion, or reason allow of there publishing; as if it were unlawfull, or against nature, for Women to have wit. And strives allwayes if their wives have wit, to obscure it. And I am of that opinion, that some men are so inconsiderately wise, gravely fool­ish and lowly base, as they had rather be thought Cuckolds, than their wives should be thought wits, for fear the world should think their wise, the wi­ser of the two; and that she rules, and governs all the affairs at home; for most men, rather than they will not shew their power, and Authority, will appear a Quat-queen, that is an effeminate scold. Secondly, I will not receive, nor give private vissits, or entertainments; but from those, and to those, that duty, and gratitude and loyalty enjoyns me; for in private visits, or enter­tainments, is onely so much time stuft with senceless, vain, idle, light discour­ses, or flattering compliments, wherein time and life is unprofitably lost. Thirdly, I would never speak but in publick, for if nature, and education, have given me wit, I would not willingly bury it in private discourses; be­sides, privat hearers are secret Thieves, and boldly steals, having no witnesses, to betray, or reveale the truth, or divuldge their thefts; and so they will adorn their discourses with my wit, which they steal from me. Fourthly, I will ne­ver speak of any considerable matter, or subject, or of any new conception; but I will have them ready writ to print them, so soon as my discourse of them is past, or else print them before I discourse of them; and afterwards explain them by my tongue, as well as by my pen, least they should mistake the sence of my workes, through Ignorance; for those subject; that are only discourst off, in speach, flyes away in words; which vanisheth as smoak, or [Page 132] shadows, and the memory or remembrance of the Author, or Oratour, melts away as oyle, leaving no sign in present life, or else moulders as dust, leaving no Monument to after-posterity, to be known or remembred by; when write­ing, or printing, fixes it to everlasting time, to the publick view of the World; besides, a passing discourse makes the tongue, but as an Almner, to give wit to poor Sharkes to feed them; which Sharkes eats, without giving praise or thankes, never acknowledging at whose cost they live at: Nay, so unthank­full they are, that they will bely the Authors and themselves; saying, it was their own; and it is a certain rule, that those Authors they steal most from, they will dispraise, and rale most at: And some are so foolish, and of such short memoryes, that they will repeat the Authors wit, to the Authors self; and as confident, as it had been created, or invented, out of their own brains. Fifthly, I will select times, for several discourses and subjects, to discourse in publick, to several Audiences; to which, you may, if you please, invite the grave and wise, to hear me, and being a woman Oratour, the singularity will advance my fame the more; besides, many accidents may we chance to meet, which may prove as steps to ascend, or Mount up. Thus Sir, if you please to approve of my design, I shall follow the means, or wayes unto it; if not, I shall submit to what you shall think will be better for me.

Father.

I do approve of your design so well, as I cannot but admire it. And I believe the best designer that ever was, never cast such a mould, or laid such a plot, or drew such a draught, to raise a fame on; or to work a fame out.

Sansp.

But Sir, you must arm yourselfe against all oppositions, and Bara­codo your ears against all cross perswaders; and muster your forces of hopes, drawing them into a body of confidence, and march with a resolution, either to dye in the adventure, or to triumph with victory, and to live ever­lastingly, in a glorious fame; for Sir, we shall meet wranglers, and jesters, scorners, and scoffers, disputers, and opposers, contradictors and lyers; which envy and malice will bring against us, but consider Sir, that when the foot of fame hath trod upon the tongue of envy, it will be silent.

Father.

Never fear me child, if thou faintest not.

Sansp.

I fear not my self, for I have an undoubted faith, that the Child of such a father can neither be a Coward, nor a fool; for from you I receive a value or prize, although of my self I should be worth nothing; and Parents and Children may speak freely their thoughts, let them move which way they will, for Children ought not to conceal them; but if deceit must be used: let it be with strangers not friends.

Father.

O Child! thou hast spoke but what I thought on, and the very same I wisht; finding thy tongue volable, thy voyce tuneable, thy speech eloquent, thy wit quick, thy expressions easy, thy conceits and conceptions new, thy fancies curious and sine, thy Inventions subtle, thy dispositions sweet and gentle, thy behaviour gracefull, thy countenance modest, thy per­son beautifull, thy yeares young; all this I thought to my self might raise the a Trophy, when a Husband would bury the in his armes; and so thou to become thy own fames Tomb.

Sansp.

Oh! But how shall we pacify my mother, who is resolved not to be quiet, until I go to live at the Court; as likewise to marry.

Father.

I have thought of that, and you know that your mother is well bred, a tender mother and a chast wife; yet she is violent, and is not to be altered from her opinions, humours, and will, till time wearyes her out of [Page 133] them, wherefore we must not oppose her; but rather sooth her in her hu­mour, and for marrying, we will allwayes find some fault in the man, or his E­state, person or breeding, or his humour; or his wit, prudence, temperance, courage, or conduct, or the like, which we may truly do without dissem­bling; for I believe there is no man, but that some exceptions may be justly found to speak against him; but you and I will sit in Councel about it.

Ex.

Scene 6.

Enter the Lord de l' Amour, and meets the Lady Innocence.
LOrd de l' Amour.

Well met, for if accident had not befriended me, you would not have been so kind as to have met me; for I percieve you stri­ved to shun me.

Lady Innocence.

The reason is, I was affraid my presence would not be acceptable.

Lord de l' Amour.

You never stay to try whether it would or not, but surely if your conversation be answerable to your beauty, your Company cannot but be pleasing.

Lady Innocence.

I doubt I am to young to be hansome, for time hath not shapt me yet into a perfect form, for nature hath but laid the draught, & mixt the collours, for time to work with, which he as yet hath neither placed, nor drawn them right, so that beauty in me is not as yet fully finished; and as my beauty, so I doubt my wit, is imperfect, and the ignorance of youth makes a discord in discourse, being not so experiencedly learned, nor artificially pra­ctised, as to speak harmoniously, where the want makes my conversation dull with circumspection and fear; which makes my wordes flow through my lips, like lead, heavy and slow.

Lord de l' Amour.

Thy wit sounds as thy beauty appears, the one charms the eares, the other attracts the eyes.

Lady Innocence.

You have been more bountifull to me in your praises, than Nature in her gifts.

Lord de l' Amour.

Since I perceive you to be so pleasing, we will be better acquainted.

Ex.

Scene 7.

Enter 2. or 3. Philosophers.
This Scene of the Phylosophers the Lord Marquess writ.
1. PHilosopher.

Come my learned brothers, are we come now to hear a girle to read lectures of natu­rall Philosophy to teach us? Are all our studyes come to this?

2. Philosopher.

Her doting father is to blame, he should be punished for this great affront, to us that's learned men.

3. Philosopher.

Philosophers should be men of yeares, with grave and Au­ster lookes, whose countenances should like rigid lawes affright men from vanityes; with long wise beards, sprinkled with gray, that every hair might teach, the bare young Chins for to obey. And every sentence to be delive­red like the Law, in flames and lightning, and flashes with great thunder, a foolish girle to offer for to read: O times! O manners!

1. Philosopher.

Beauty and favour and tender years, a female which na­ture hath denyed hair on her Chin, so smooth her brow, as not to admit one Philosophycall wrinckle, and she to teach, a Monster tis in Nature; since Na­ture hath denyed that sex that fortitude of brain.

2. Philosopher.

Counsel her father that her mother may instruct her in high huswifry, as milking Kyne, as making Cheese, Churning Butter, and raising past, and to preserve consectionary, and to teach her the use of her needle, and to get her a Husband; and then to practise naturall Philosophy without a Lecture.

3. Philosopher.

'Tis a prodigious thing, a girle to read Philosophy; O di­vine Plato! how thy Soul will now be troubled, Diogenes repents his Tub, and Seneca will burn his bookes in anger. And old Aristotle wish he had never been the master of all Schooles, now to be taught, and by a girle.

1. Philosopher.

Have patience and but hear her, and then we shall have matter store to speak and write against her, and to pull down her fame; in­deed her very lecture will disgrace her more than we can write, and be re­venged thus by her tongue.

2. Philosopher.

Content, let us then go and hear her, for our sport, not be­ing worth our anger.

Ex.
Here ends the Lord Marquess of Newcastle.

ACT III.

Scene 8.

Enter the Lady Innocence and her Maid.
MAid.

By my truth Mistriss the Lord de l' Amour is a fine person.

Lady Innocence.

The truth is, that he seems as if Nature had given to time the finest and richest stuff in her Shop, to make his person off, and time as the Tayler hath wrought and shapt his person into the most becom­ing fashion; but yet, if his Soul be not answerable to his person, he is sine no otherwayes; but as a fashionable and gay sute of Cloath on a deformed body, the Cloathes may be fine and hansome, but the body ill favoured; so the body may be hansome, but the Soul a foul deformed creature.

Maid.

But a fine and hansome body may hide a deformed Soul, although a fine sute of Clothes will not hide a deformed body; for a deformed body will be perceived in dispight of the fine Clothes.

Lady Innocence

So will a deformed Soul in the dispight of a hansome body, for the Soul will appear in the Actions, as the body in the shape; being as crooked in vice as the body in Limbs.

Maid.

What is the actions of the Soul?

Lady Innocence.

The passions and will.

Maid.

But man obscures the passions and restrains the will.

Lady Innocence.

So man may obscure his body, and bombast his Cloathes; but it is as impossible to restrain an evil will, as to make a crooked body straight.

Ex.

Scene 9.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, bringing in the Auditours into a large roome, nobly furnished, where at one end or side is a place raised and railed with guilt rayles; for the Lady Sanspareille to stand on.
FAther Love.

Gentlemen, pray do not think me rude by drawing you from your serious studies, by an intruding invitation; to hear a young student discourse.

1. Philosopher.

'Tis true Sir, we should have been glad to have heard you discourse, for you might instruct us, where as a young student is rather to be instructed; for it is time that brings knowledg or gets wit, or speakes elo­quently.

Father Love.

'Tis true, but yet in some naturall ingenuity it is as strong as time, and produceth that which time of it selfe could not do.

2. Philosopher.
[Page 136]

Sir, if your young students wit, be as fine as her standing place, it will be delightfull.

3. Philosopher.

Sir, you have adorned her Theater to inthrone her wit.

Father.

Gentlemen. I wish her wit may furnish, and so adorn your under­standing, but if you please to sit, such as it is, shall be presented to you.

Being all placed, the Lady Sanspereille enters upon the mounted place, drest all in black; fit for the gravity of the Company.
The Company upon her entrance seems to be struck with amaze of her beauty, they speak to her Father.
1. Philosopher.

Sir, we perceive now, you have invited us to feast our eyes, not our eares.

Father.

Gentlemen, if you please to give her so much patience to hear her, then judge, or censure, as you please.

Then they all cry Whist, Whist.
After the Lady by her Civill bows had given respect to all the Company, with a modest and amiable Countenance, with a gentle and well pleased eye, and a gracefull and winning behaviour, thus speaks.
Lady Sanspareile.

The Majesty of Age, and sage gravity, are objects able to put unexperienced and unpracticed youth out of Countenance; and bash­fullness is the greatest enemy to discourse, for it discomposes the Counte­nance, disturbes the thoughts, disorders the words, and confounds the sence therein; but youth hath many times this advantage, that it apprehends not the disgrace, that experienced years and deeper judgment doth; For the truth is, bashfullness proceeds from too great an apprehension; but I not appre­hending far enough, may comit errours through a confident ignorance, but if you think my confidence too much, for my youth; yet pray judge not my modesty to litle for my Sex, for speaking belongs as much to the Female Sex as to the Masculine; so as it be on sober Subjects, and to grave Fathers, and wise men, or intruth to any degree of Age, or Sex, or Birth; so as it be timely, suitably, rationably, and modestly delivered; And why may not women speak in publick and to publick assemblies, as well as in privat visits, and particular entertainments, and to particular persons and acquaintance? And in reason it should be more commendable, that womens discourse and actions are such, as they fear no witness. Nay, they ought never to speak or shew themselves to those persons that are not domestick, without sufficient witness, for privat discourses, which are like whisperings, and secret meetings, and particular en­tertainments, are subject to loos customs, rude behaviours, and lascivious dis­courses, mischievous designes, and dangerous plots, all which takes leave without warrant, and assaults without warning; yet it is probable this Audi­tory will think my Father is too indulgent to his Child, to let her to make publick Orations, or that he is too vain glorious, as to believe or hope his Child may get applause, or esteem in the world, by her discourses. But First, I must remember them, that it is naturall for Parents to be fond of their Children; Secondly, it is no crime nor indiscretion, for a Father to believe or think his Child may have as much wit as any other mans Child, if he have given as good education: Thirdly, it is not against nature and reason, but [Page 137] that women may discourse of several subjects as well as men, and that they may have as probable opinions, and as profitable inventions, as fresh fancies, as quick wits, and as easy expressions, as men; if their education be answe­rable to their naturall capacityes and ingenuityes; As for my selfe, I must tell this assembly, I have been bred industriously, for I have been instructed with as much knowledg as my yeares was capable to understand; but the truth is, that my educatours strove to ripen my understanding, before the naturall time, like those that hastens fruit to be ripe, forcing it by artificiall means, not staying for the naturall heat of the Sun, so was my understanding, like as the tree, and my wit as the fruit, by which it wants the Aromaticall, and delicious relish, that naturall time gives; which makes me fear, my wit will relish to the eares of the hearers, as such forced fruits to the tast of the eaters: I have only this request, that, though you may dislike it for want of the naturall sweetness; yet pray esteem of it for the rarity, as being not usuall for one of my years and Sex, to speak, argue, and make Orations in a publick assembly; but it is likely, this assembly may think this is a vain glorious Prologue, to my following discourse; But I must tell this worthy, grave, and learned, assem­bly, that I am not bound to follow a vain custome, nay, I may say, a dishonest one, as when Oratours do dissemble, as on my Conscience most do, selfe love being naturall to all; besides, many times they disgrace their birth, by a dis­sembling humbleness, and bely their thoughts, knowledge and education, when as they say, they are unworthy to speak to such an assembly; and that they are unlearned, their knowledg is little, their understanding dull, their judgment weak; their capacity narrow, and that they are unexperienced and unfurnished of expressions, to deliver the subject, or matter of their discourse; if this or the like which they say be true, they abuse the Auditory, and them­selves, to invite them or draw them, to hear that, they think is not worth the listening to, and if they be not so (as they say) they bely the nature, and edu­cation, which heaven forbid I should be so ungratefull to nature, so base to my birth, so undutifull to my Educatour, and so unthankfull to the Gods. No, no, I will not be so, for I will publickly acknowledg natures favours, who hath given me more wit, than time hath given me yeares; she hath furnish­ed me with ingenuity, beyond an ordinary proportion, and hath drawn the plat form of my mind Mathematically, and pensiled me with her best coul­lourd dyes, for which I am bound morally to serve her; As for my birth, as I am of the same kind of Mankind; I am equall with the rest, let my conditi­on be never so poor, I have no reason to be ashamed of the Kind; but my birth is Honourable by length of time, as for my education, it hath been sin­gular, having not been bred as other Children accustomarilie are, who hath liberty to fling away their youthfull time in idle sports, or useless learnings, and those that they are taught by, are young and unexperienced Tutours; but I must tell this worthy and experienced assembly, that I was not bred with powdered Curles, but silver hairs, Age, I bowed to, and obeyed with duty, Age, I viewed with respects, and listened to with attention; Age, directed my senses, manured my brain; pulled up, or out, the rootes of ignorance, and weedes of errours, sowed knowledg, and planted understanding; for, my educatour, which was my dear Father, hath been industrious, carefull, prudent, bountifull, and studious, for my improvement; for which my treble duty doth attend his life, and my prayers supplicates for to prolong it, which hea­ven knows, I desire beyond my own; As for the Gods which gives all good, let those that dare be unthankfull, I dare not, such as Atheists that believes in [Page 138] none; but pardon me for intruding one your patiences, with a tedious and self discourse, although I could not well avoid it, but now, with your leave, most Noble Auditours, I shall first treat of Nature, although Nature is an end­less Theam to treat of; for though that the principles of Nature, or Natures principles may be easily numbred, yet the varietyes which change doth make on those principles are infinite; for well may Nature, if man by Art can make infinite varietyes, by change of few principles, as for example in musick, from 8. Notes, by change, infinite Tunes, are, or can be made; from the figure of 1. to 9. what Multiplication? From 24. letters, how far can the mind dictate it self in, numerous words, and different languages? Thus Nature the tutress to man, and onely man, have taught him to imitate her; for, though she is the Mother to all other Creatures, yet man is her beloved Child; for she, like as a fond parent, leads and directs man to discoveryes, and as it were, points and markes out their wayes, and as a diligent Tutress, explains and expounds her selfe by her works, and her several works, like as several books hath several prints, and are bound in several vollums, and are keep [...] safe in several Libraryes, of several Ages, by aged time; but some­times Nature behaves her selfe like a Huntress, and makes Mankind as her Hounds, to hunt out the hidden effects of unknown causes, leading Mankind by three several strings, as by the string of observation, the string of concepti­on, and the string of experience, and as hounds snuffs and snuffels on the Paths they tread, so mans thoughts, like as hounds noses, are busily imployed. And as hounds springs out upon a following sent, and with open mouth makes a loud cry; so men, when they make any new discoveryes, divulges it with their voyces, or noyses of the tongue and pen; yet man at this hath no reason to take exceptions, because he gaineth knowledg thereby, and Nature may use her own as she pleases; but sometimes Nature is as a Paintress, and the mind of man is as the Copy of Nature, drawn by her selfe; for the mind of man is as infinite as Natures selfe, having no dimension, nor extension, and the thoughts are the infinite Creatures therein, and the brain is the ground to paint on, and the motions of life are the pensills to work, or draw with. And in these Copyes Nature views her selfe, yet all animal Creatures, espe­cially Mankind, seems of a middle mixture, as, not so gross as the Earth, nor so pure as the Heavens, which is the cause man is difficult to some things, and easy to others; as it is easyer for the eyes to look down on the earth, than to stare up to the Heavens, and for the feet to step down on steps, than to step up on stayres, or for the whole body to slyde down a hill, than to clamber up a hill, so it is easier for life to slyde down to vice, than to mount up to virtue, for what is purest is still placed highest, that is the reason that the Coelestiall bodyes are placed ove [...], as the Terrestriall body under us; and we being mixt, are placed in the midst: Upon this Text give me leave to treat of the two Globes, the Coelestiall, and the Terrestriall, in the Coelestiall, there are Se­ven Worlds, where the Sun is the Center World, which being a flame, streams forth in lynes of light, upon the other Six Worlds; and as those Six Worlds, or the Seventh World, moves, so have they light or darkness; but the Sun which is the flaming World, or the World of flame, is fed as a Lamp with an oyly substance, from the other Six Worlds, which oyly sub­stance the Sun sucks to him, from thence, by attracting Motions, these Six Worlds I will similize to Six Udders, paps, or breasts, from which the Sun, like as a young greedy appetite sucks, and draws out, each in their turns, and as I said by attraction, this oyly moisture, which oyly moisture is as the [Page 139] milk; the Worldly Udders, or Uddery Worlds, doth as all Udders doth, which as soon as they are drawn dry fills again, and if they be not sufficiently drawn, their moisture grows thick and gross; like as crudled milk, which corrupts and becomes Ulcerous, from whence runs venemous matter, which falling down breeds amongst animals, many diseases as the rot murring, and the like amongst beasts; And amongst men the Smale pox, measels, and all sorts of feavers, even to the plague, & according as the corruptions are, or runs, the diseases are more dangerous, or less violenter, or weaker, lasts longer, or ends sooner; and if these Udders be drawn faster than they can be naturally filed, they become chopt and dry, empty and shrunk, which causeth dearth and famine; And though we cannot see a dearth in the face of the Moon, and the rest of the Planets, as on the face of the Earth, nor see famine in the face of the Moon, as in the face of a Man; yet for all we know, there may be dearths, plagues, and warres in those Planets, as in particular Kingdoms; although the Planets have no such Intelligences from each other, as particular Kingdoms hath; yet questionless they have Traffick and Commerce, though mankind cannot visibly perceive, which way, or by what means. Also the Planet [...], by their circular motions, may draw up vapours from the Sea, and earth, like as the Wheels of water Mils. As for the Terrestriall globe, it turns upon a Pole, as a Pig upon a Spit, and the Sun is the fire that rosts it; but when the Sun is scorching hot, the earth like overroasted meat, it burnt and black, and when that over cold moist vapors, quenches out the heat of these firy beams, then is the earth as raw; but when as equall heat, at equall di­stance, by equall Motions, agrees Simpathetically, then is the Terrestriall globe well drest, and full of gravy, which causes nurishing health; but to draw to a conclusion of my Philosophicall lecture, I will similize the Coelestiall, and Terrestriall globes, which globes, are as Man and Wife; the Coelestiall as the Husband, the Terrestriall as the Wife, which breeds and bears, what the Coe­lestiall begets, For the Coelestiall and the Terrestriall globes are Natures work­ing houses, where, Animals, Vegetables, and Minerals, are wrought into se­veral figures, shapt, and formed into divers fashions, like as Smiths makes diverse fashioned things out of mettals, so Nature is as the Smith, the Earth as the mettal, the Sun as the fire, the Sea as the quenching water, the aire as the Bellows, youth is the Furnace; time is the Forge, and motion is the Ham­mer, both to shape, and break assunder; but for fear I should break your patience, I shall desist from speaking any more at this time.

After a modest and humble respective bow to the assembly.
She goeth out.
The whilst the Audience holds up their hands in admiration.
1. Philosopher.

Now you have heard her, what do you say?

2. Philosopher.

I say let us go home and make a fune­rall pile of our bookes,This written by my Lord Marquess. that are Philosophy, burn them to Ashes, that none may file as Phenix like out of that dust.

3. Philosopher.

No, throw them at those foolish men that walk in black, who would be thought learned by the outside; although they are unlettered.

4. Philosopher.

Take heed of that, for so they may have hopes of a resur­rection, and so rise again in ragged covers, and tattered torn sheets, in old Duck-lane, and quack their to be bought.

1. Philosopher.
[Page 140]

No, no, we will all now send for Barbers, and in our great Philosophies despair, shave of our reverend beards, as excrements, which once did make us all esteemed as wife, and stuff boyes foot-balls with them.

2. Philosopher.

Nature, thou dost us wrong, and art too prodigall to the effeminate Sex; but I forgive thee, for thou art a she, dame Nature thou art; but never shewed thy malice untill now, what shall we do?

3. Philosopher.

Faith all turn gallants, spend our time in vanity and sin, get Hawks and Hounds, and running Horses, study the Card and Dye, Rich Cloathes and Feathers, wast our time away with what this man said, or what that man answered, backbite and raile at all those that are absent, and then renownce it with new Oathes Alamode.

4. Philosopher.

No, no, honour this Virgin whose wit is supreme, whose judgment is Serene as is the Sky, whose life is a Law unto her selfe and us, virtue her handmaid, and her words so sweet, like to harmonious musick in the Aire, that charms our Senses and delights the Soul, and turns all passions in our hearts to love, teaches the aged, and instructs the youth, no Sophister, but Mistriss still of truth.

Ex.
Here ends my Lord Marquisses.

Scene 10.

Enter the Lord de l'Amour, and the Lady Innocence.
LOrd de l'Amour.

I begin to be so fond of your Company, as I cannot be long absent therefrom.

Lady Innocence.

'Tis your favours to me, which favours are above my merits, indeed I have no merits, but what your favour creates.

Lord de l'Amour

You seem so virtuous, and sweetly dispositioned, and are so beautifull and witty, as I cannot but admire, and love you.

Lady Innocence.

I dare not be so rude, not yet so ungratefull, to speak against my selfe, now you have praised me, for your words are like to Kings, which makes all currant coyn they set their stamp on; although the substance should be mean and of no value.

Lord de l'Amour.

Thy words are Musicall.

Lady Innocence.

I wish I could speak as eloquently upon every subject, as several birds sings sweety in several Tunes, to please you.

Lord de l'Amour.

Do you love me so well, as to wish it onely for my sake.

Lady Innocence.

Yes, and how should I do otherwise, for my affections to you was ingrafted into the root of my infancy, by my Fathers instructions and perswasious; which hath grown up with my Age.

The Lady Incontinent peeps in, and sees them together, (speaks to her selfe) in the mean time they seem to whisper.
Lady Incontinent.

Are you both so serious in discourse, I will break your friendship, or I will fall to the grave of death in the attempt.

Lady Incontinent goes out.
Lord de l'Amour.
[Page 141]

Heaven make you as virtuous as loving, and I shall be happy in a Wife.

Lord de l'Amour goes out.
Lady Innocence alone.
Lady Innocence.

Heaven make him as constant, as I virtuous, and I shall be sure of a gallant man to my Husband.

Ex.

ACT IV.

Scene 11.

Enter the Lady Sanspareille, and takes her place, her Father, and her Audience about her, being all Morall Philosophers.
When she had done her respects speaks.
SAnsp.

By my fathers relation to me, I understand, that all this worthy As­sembly, are students in morality; wherefore I shall treat this time of pas­sions, wherein I make no question, being all sage, that you have not only learnt to distinguish them, but have practiced, how to temper, and govern them; but perchance you will say to your selves, what need she speak of that, which have been so often treated of, only to make repetitions of former Authors; but you all know without my telling you, that new applications may be made, on often preached Texts, and new arguments may be drawn from old principles, and new experiences may be learnt from former follies; but howsoever, my discourse shall not be very long, least redious impertinen­cies should make it unpleasant to your eares, & cause too great a loss of time, to your better imployments; but my discourse is, as I said on the passions, which I will first divide, as the Ancient Philosophers, into two, love, and hate. First, I will treat of pure love, which is self-love, for love to all other things is but the effects thereof. And is derived therefrom, self-love is the sole passi­on of the Soul, it is a passion pure in it self, being unmixt, although all other passions do attend it, this passion, called self-love, is the legitimated Child of Nature, being bred in infinite, and born in eternity; yet this passion of self-love, being the Mother of all other love is oftentimes mistaken for a fond, or a facile disposition, bred from a weak constitution of the body, or a strong, or rather exstravagant appetite of the Senses; or from a gross constitution, or evill habit, or custome of life, or an ill example of breeding; but these Childish humours, facile, and easy dispositions, foolish and earnest desires, gross, and greedy appetites, Inconstant, and evill Natures, these are not pure love, as the effects of self-love, for it doth it self hurt; but they are the effects of the body, and nor of the Soul, for some of them proceeds from a gross strength of body, hot, and active spirits, others from a tenderness, and weak­ness of body, and faint spirits; but the true passions of love, which is self-love, but mistake me not, for when I say self-love, [...], as is apper­taining [Page 142] thereto, as love of honour, love of virtue, humane love, naturall love, pious love, Sympatheticall love, which are the true begotten Children of self-love: This love, hath no other object, but perfection, it hath an absolute command over life, it conquers death, and triumphs over torments, but every soul hath not this pure love, for there is a seeming self-love, and a reall self-love; but as I said, every soul hath it not, for it is with souls, and the passi­ons therein, as with bodyes, and the sensuall life, some bodyes are more healthfull, and strong, others infirm and weak, some are fair, and well favou­red, others foul and ill favoured, some are straight & well shapt, others crook­ed and deformed, some high, some low, some are of long life, others of short life, some lifes have more actions than others, some more sensitive relishes, than others, some good Natures, some bad, and all of that sort of Animals, we call mankind, and as the body and sensitive Spirits, so for the Soul and rationall Spirits, for some hath (as I may say) more Soul than others, as some hath larger Souls than others, some purer than others, as being more Serene; & some hath more ingenuity, and understanding than others. So passions, although one and the same sorts of passions, yet in some Souls, they are more Serene, and ele­vated than others; but many times the pure passions of the Soul is so allyed, with the gross humours of the body, as they become base, and of no good use; but in the passion of pure love, for the most part, dwels naturally Melan­cholly: I mean, not that dry, cold, sharp humour, bred in the body, which makes it Insipid, inclosing the Soul, (as it were,) within Walls of stone, which causeth a dull, heavy, and stupid disposition, as it oppresseth, and lyes, like a heavy burthen on the Soul, hindering the active effects thereof; but this naturall Melancholly, dwells not in every Soul, but onely in the noblest; for it is the noblest effect, of the noblest passion, in the noblest Soul. As for the passion of hate, it is not that lothing, or aversion, which is caused by a full, or sick Stomack, or surfetted Senses, or glutted Appetites, or cross hu­mours, or an Antipathy of dispositions, or evill fortunes, or the like; but the true passion of hate, is, in the Soul, not bred in the body; yet hate is a bastard passion of self-love, begot by opposition, bred from corruption, and born with disturbance, this hate as it is derived, from the bowels, and loynes of self-love, so it pursues self-loves enemyes, which is suspect falshood, and neg­lect: With this passion of hate, anger is a great Companion; these two pas­sions being seldome assunder; but anger is oftentimes mistaken, as all the rest of the passions are, but this passion of anger, is one of the uselest passions of the Soul, and is so far from assisting forritude, as many think it doth; as it is an opposite enemy to it, for it cannot suffer patiently, and oftimes knows not what it Acts, or on what it Acts, or when it Acts; this passion is one of the furyes of the Soul, which oftimes deposes reason; but a Chollerick dispo­sition, is sooner to be pardoned, and less to be feard, being bred in the body, and as the humour ebbes, and flowes, this disposition is less, or more. But to return to the two Principle passions, which is love, and hate; I will at this time similize them, to two several Kingdoms, or Regions, love being the lar­gest, for it reaches to the shades of death, and strongest, for it can indure, and hold out the assaults of any torment, being intrenched with fidelity, fortifi­ed with constancy, imbatled with courage, victualled with patience, and ar­med, or manned with resolution; and were it not for the many labyrinths of feats, running in and out, with continuall doubts, wherein, the con­tent of the mind, is oftentimes lost, otherwayes it would be as pleasant a [...] as it is a strong one, having large prospects of honour, and Land-Skips [Page 143] of perfection; green Meddows of hopes, wherein grows sweet Prim­roses of Joy, and clear springs of desires, runs in swift streams of industry, by the banks of difficulty, besides this Kingdome is allwayes serene, for the Sun of Fervency of allwayes shines there: In this large Kingdome of love, reigns naturall Melancolly, who is the Heroick Royallest, soberest, and wisest Prince born, in the mind, he directs his Actions with pru­dence, defends his Kindome with courage, indures misfortunes with patience, moderates his desires with temperance, guides his Senses with judgment, orders his Speech with Sence, and governs his thoughts with reason, he is the commander of the Appetites; living in the Court of ima­ginations, in the City of silences, in the Kingdome of love, in the little world called Man; and the greatest favorite to this Prince, is wit, and the Muses, are his Mistrisses, to whom he applies his Courtship, recreating himself in their delightful! Company, entertaining himself with Balls, Maskes, Pasto­rills, Comedyes, Tragedyes, and the like, presenting them in the Bowers of fancy, built in the Gardens of Oratory, wherein growes flowers of Rhetorick; but the greatest enemies to this Prince, is unseasonable mirth, which oftimes disturbes his peace, by bringing in an Army of empty words, sounding their loud Trumpets of laughter, shooting of bald jests, beating the drums of idle­ness, with the sticks of ridiculous Actions. But hate, although it be a King­dome that is very strong, by reason it hath high mountainous designes, hard Rocks of cruelties, deep pits of obscurity, many Quagmires of subtilty, by which advantages, this Kingdome is inpregnable; yet the Kingdome of its self is barren, and Insipid, bearing nothing but thorny Bushes, of mischief and moss, of ill Nature, no noble thoughts, or worthy Actions, the climate is various, for the Aire of the mind is gross, having thick mists of envy, which causeth several sicknesses of discontent, other whiles it is very cold and sharp with spight, other times it is sulphury hot, with malice, which flashes light­ning of revenge, which in a thundery fury breaks out: In this Kingdome of hate, reigns anger, who is a Tyrant, and strikes at every smale offence, and many times on Innocence, and so unjust, as he seldome takes witnesses, pride, and jealousy, are his favourites, which governs all with scorn, and executes with fury; he imposes taxes of slander, and gathers levies of detracti­on; exception is his secretary, to note both wordes and Actions, he accu­seth the Senses with mistakes, and beheads the Appetites, on the Scaffolds of dislike, he strangles truth, with the Cords of Erronious opinions, and tor­tures the thoughts one Wheels of foul suspition, whipping imagination with disgrace, he confounds the Speech with disordered hast, that neither Sence, nor wordes, can take their right places; but anger dyes as most Tyrants doth, being kild by repentance, and is buryed in salt teares; betwixt these two Kingdoms of love, and hate, runs a salt Sea, of sorrow, which sometimes breaks into the Kingdome of love, and sometimes into the Kingdome of hate, from this Sea arises thick vapours of grief, which gathers into dark Clouds of sadness, which Clouds dissolves into showring tears, or windy sighs; but if this Sea be rough with the storms of misfortunes, or fomented with the tempest of impatience, it makes a dolourous noise of complaints, and laments, roleing with restless bellowes of discontent, this is the King­dome of love, but when this Sea breaks into the Kingdome of hate, it makes a hidious noise, a roaring, with exclamations, and cursings. Also from this Sea flowes four rivers, quite through these two Kingdoms; two through the Kingdome of hate, and two through the Kingdome of love, those two [Page 144] through the Kingdome of love, are pitty, and compassion; which when they meet makes a full tide, of Charity, and overflowes with bounty; but those that runs through the Kingdome of hate, are the two rivers, of fury, and despair, when these two rivers meet, they make a full tide of madness, and overflowes with mischief; but fearing I should drown your patience with my overflowing discourse, I shall desist for this time.

After a Civill respects
She goeth out.
And one of the Company after she was gone speaks thus.
My Lord Marquess writ this following speech.

Were all dead Moralls Writers, risen again, and their each several souls crusht into one, that Soul would languish, till it sted the earth, in deep des­pair, to see their gloryes last, and all their vaster writings, so dispised.

Thus by the Musick of a Ladyes tongue,
Whose Cords, with wit, and judgment, is thus strung.
Ex.
Here ends my Lord Marquess.

Scene 12.

Enter the Lady Innocence and Adviser, an old Man, of the Lord de l'Amours, as following the Lady Innocence.
ADviser.

Pray young Lady stay, and take good Counsel along with you.

Lady Innocence.

Good Counsel is a guest I would willingly entertain, and be glad of his acquaintance, and endeavour, to make a perfect friendship with, and a constant Companion.

Adviser.

Then pray Madam have a care of the Lady Incontinent, for she is full of designs against you, as I perceive by what I hear her say to my Lord.

Lady Innocence.

Your Lord is a person of so much worth, and merit, as he will not yield to plots of destruction, to destroy the Innocent, he hath more Charity to heal a wound, than cruelty to make one; his tender Nature, and compassionat disposition, will strive to dry wet eyes, not force dry eyes to weep.

Adviser.

My Lord, Madam, is a generous, and noble Lord, but she is a dissembling crafty Lady, and knowes how to attract my Lord, and to winn him, to be of her beliefe, and I give you warning as a faithfull Servant, both to my Lord and you.

Lady Innocence.

I thank you friend, for your advertising me of this Lady; but I shall trust my self to heavens protection, fortunes favour, and your [...]ds noble, and just Nature.

Ex.

Scene 13.

Enter two Men.
1. GEntleman.

The Lady Sanspareilles wit, is as if it would over-power her brain.

2. Gentleman.

O no, for her brain seems so well tempered, as if there were no conceptions, which springs therein, or propositions, or knowledge, pre­sented thereunto; but it doth digest them with great ease, into a distin­guishing understanding, otherwise she could not deliver her mind, and ex­press her conceits, or opinions, with such method, and facility, as she doth.

1. Gentleman.

She hath a Monstrous wit.

2. Gentleman.

No, her wit is not a Monstrosity, but a generosity of Na­ture, it is Natures bounty to her.

1. Gentleman.

Certainly, Nature was never so bountifull, to any of that Sex, as she hath been to her.

2. Gentleman.

The truth is, she favours the Female Sex, for the most part, more than she doth the Masculine Sex; because she is of the Female kind herself.

1. Gentleman.

Faith, I could wish that I never wisht before.

2. Gentleman.

What wish is that?

1. Gentleman.

Why, I wish, I were a Woman, but such a Woman as the Lady Sanspareille.

2. Gentleman.

Ovid speaks of a Woman, that wisht her self a Man, and the Gods granted her with, and she became a Man; but I never heard of a Man that was changed into a Woman.

1. Gentleman.

That was, by reason they never wisht that change.

2. Gentleman.

That is a sign they thought the change would be far the worse.

1. Gentleman.

Indeed, generally it would be so.

2. Gentleman.

Well, for thy sake, I wish thou hadst thy wish.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter the Lady Innocence, as musing by her self alone.
Then Enter her Maid Passive.
PAssive.

My dear Mistriss, what makes you so studious, as you are become pale with musing?

Lady Innocence.

The reason is, that my Soul is flown out of my body, with the wings of desire, to seek for love; and my thoughts laboriously wanders after it, leaving my Senses, to a soiltary life, and my life to a Melancholly musing.

Passive.

Faith, I had rather be buryed under the ruins of hate, than have a Melancholly life.

Lady Innocence.
[Page 146]

And I am Melancholly, for fear I should be so buryed.

Passive.

If you would have love, you must give love.

Lady Innocence.

Indeed love is like a Coy-Duck, it goeth out to invite, or draw in others.

Passive.

Nay faith, a Coy-Woman cannot do so, for the Coyer she is, the fewer Lovers she will have, for Coynes starves Lovers, wherefore, if you would not starve your beloved, you must be free, and twine about him, as the Ivy doth the Oke.

Lady Innocence.

Modesty forbids, it but were it lawfull, and that it did not infring the Lawes of modesty, I could hang about his neck, as the earth to the Center, but I had rather starve my delights, than do an Act immodest, or sursite his affection.

Ex.

ACT V.

Scene 15.

Enter the Lady Sanspareille, and her father, with the Audience, she takes her place, and, after a Civill respects to the Company, speaks:
SAnspareille.

Noble Gentlemen, you are welcome, and, though I cannot promise to feast your Eares, with an eloquent Banquet; yet I hope it will prove so, as I hope it will not cause a dislike; for the several dishes of my discourse shall neither be bitter with rayling, nor sharp with spite, nor salt brined with Satyr, nor lushious with flattery, and, though it may prove tastless to the gusto of your humour, yet it will not be disagreeing to the stomack of your reason, nor dangerous to the life of your understanding; but, by reason this worthy Assembly is mixt, as Oratours, Poets, young Students, and Souldi­ers, it will be hard for me to divide my discourse so, as to give each Compa­ny a Civil entertainment, but howsoever my indeavour shall not be wanting; for that wit I have, I shall waite upon you, I shall first speak to the young Students, because youth, and learning, is the beginning of life, and knowledge, and young brains are like plain paper books, where time as a hand, experi­ence as a pen, and practice as Ink, writes therein; and these books conteins several and divers Chapters. The First, is of knowledge. The Second, and Third Chapters, are of memory and understanding; these Chapters are but short. The Fourth, and Fift Chapters, are conceptions and imaginati­ons; this Chapter conteins more than half the book. The Last Chapter, is remembrance, which is also a very long Chapter, and the variety of thoughts are the several letters, in which these Chapters are writ; but they, are not all writ after one kind of writing, neither are they writ with one, and the same language; For knowledge is writ in great and plain letters, memory and un­derstanding, in siner, and smaller letters; Conceptions, and Imaginations, after the manner of way, as like Hierogyphiks, Remembrance is writ, as after the like way of Characters; Knowledge is writ, in the Originall Language [Page 147] as we may liken to Hebrew; Memory and Understanding, are writ, in a language derived therefrom: Conception, and Imagination, are written in heathen Greek; Remembrance is writ in a mixt, or compounded language, like as English, but yet it is most like, that we call old English: But the most profitablest School is consideration; And the best Tutour is reason, and when the mind is distempered, or obstructed with Ignorance, education is the best Physick which purges it, cleanses and freeth it, from all gross, and foul, and filthy Errours; but the Educatours, which are the Physitian [...], should be well chosen; for the plain truth is, that youth should be taught by those that are grave, and sage, that they may learn experience by the Second hand, otherwayes Age only knows, but hath no time to practise in; but if that youth be taught good principles, their life growes high by Noble deeds, and broadly spreads with Honours, but when that youth have liberty to sport, and play, casting their learning time away, they grow like poi­sonous plants, or weeds, which makes their life swell big, with veno­mous passions, and dispositions, and burst with evil deed, but youth, their understanding is like their years, and bodyes, little and weak, for the Soul is improved by the Senses, but Educatours, their Physicians presents to their Senses, the most wholesom, and nurishing meat; for, as the body is nurished and grows strong, by good disgestion, so doth the Soul gain know­ledge by information, but, if the food be unwholesom, or more than the Stomach be able to digest, or that the body is not fed sufficiently, the body becomes lean, weak, saint, and sick, so the Soul, or mind; If the senses be imperfect, or the objects more than can be well disenst, or too many for the temper of the brain, or that the brain be too cold, or to hot, then the Soul or mind, like the body, decayes, for, like as the bodily senses, so the senses of the Soul decayes; for the understanding as the Spirits, grows saint, the judgment as the liver, wan, and weak, the memory as the eyes, grows dim and blind, the thoughts as the several limbs, grows feeble and lazy; but some remedy is for those diseases; for the speculative notes helpes the dull memory, cordiall learning, the faint understanding, purging, and opening, experience, the wan and obstructed judgment, and necessity exercises the lazy thoughts; but if the brain be defective, or the Soul imperfect from the birth, there is no re­medy, for then the reason proves a dwarf, and the understanding a fool; but if the Soul be perfect, and the brain well tempered, then the Soul is like the serene and azure Sky, wherein reason as the Sun, gives light to all the Ani­mal World, where the thoughts, as several Creatures, lives therein; some being bred in the deep, and restless Ocean, of Imagination, others, as from the fixt Earth of knowledge, springs; and, as the Gods governs the World, and the Creatures therein, so the Soul should govern the body, and the Appe­tites thereof; which governing, is to govern still to the best: As for the con­tinuance of the World, so for the prolonging of the life of the body, which government I wish to the Soul of every young Student here. In the next place, I shall speak to Oratours, whose study, and practice is language, and language, although it is not born with man, yet it is bred with man, or in man, either by their education, or their own Invention; for, if language had a beginning, it was invented by the Creature, if no beginning, it was taught them by the Gods; for, though that Nature made such Organs, as was pro­per to express language with, yet it seems as if she did not Creat language, as a principal work, but if she did, then Oratours tongues are Natures Mu­sicall instruments; but the best Musicall Instruments were better to lye un­plaid [Page 148] with, than to sound out of Tune, or to strike jarring discord, which displeaseth more than the harmony can delight, so likewise it were better not to speak, than to speak to no purpose, or to an evill design, but Oratory, or Rhetorick, is as all other Musick is, which lives more in sound than in sub­stance, it charms the eare, but it cannot inchant the reason, it may enslave the passions, but not conquer the understanding, it may obstruct truth, and abuse virtue, but it can neither destroy the one, nor corrupt the other, it can flatter up hopes, and raise up doubts, but it cannot delude experience, it can make factions, and raise tumults; but seldome rectify disorders; for it is to be ob­served, that in those States, or Nations, where Oratory, and Rhetorick flou­risheth most, the Common-wealth is for the most part distempered, and Ju­stice looses her seat, and many times the State looses its former Government, Customs and Lawes, witness the Romans, Athens, and Lacedemonians, and others, that were ruined by their flourishing Rhetorick, and factious Ora­tory; but it is thought that the flowers of Rhetorick is much vaded since the time of the Athens, through the whole World, and that the lively Cullours are quite lost, if it be so, then surely the deffect is much in the first education, of Children; for in Infancy is a time, these should take a good print, but their Nurses is their Grammar, and her tongue is their first Tutour, which most commonly learns them the worst part of Speech, which parts are Eight; as impertinent questions, cross answers, broken relations, false re­ports, rude speeches, mistaking words, misplaccing words, new words of their own making without a signification: Wherefore, parents that would bring up their Children elegantly, and eloquently, they must have a learned Grammar, and a wise Tutour at the first, to teach them, for the mouth as the Press, Prints the breath as the paper, with words, as the Ink, and reason, and sense, bindes them up into a book, or vollume of dis­courses; but certainly the Oratours of this Age for eloquence, and elegancy, comes not short of the eloquent Oratours of Athens, or any other State, they only use it to better designs, than to make Warrs on their Neighbours, to banish their Citizens, or those that ought to be rewarded, to alter their Government, and ruine their state; no worthy Oratours, you use your eloquence for peace, love, and unity, and not for fac­tion War and ruine; for which, may the Gods of eloquence assist you. But there is two sorts of Oratours, the one bred up in Schools of Art, to rules, forms and tenses, the other is bred up in the School of Nature, which only observes her rules, and studies her works; for though all Oratours are not Poets, yet all Poets are naturall Oratours, and hath a naturall, eloquent, and elegant, and easy expression; for, if a man should have a Poeticall brain, if he had not a full expression to deliver his conceits, they would be as if they were not, for, as their may be several fancies, and conceits, raised from one object or subject, so there requires several significant words, to express them; for, as time is the markes of eternity, so words are the markes of things, but in­deed Poets hath a harder task than Oratours, for Oratours builds their dis­course upon solid grounds, when Poets builds their discourse upon airy foundations, but the two principles of Poetry, is similizing, and distinguishing, which are fancy, and judgment, and some Poets braines are so happy, that as soon as they have bre, or created any fancy, the tongue is ready to deliver them; but some brains are a long time in breeding, and some fancies puts the brain into great pains, and hot, and painfull throwes; and some tongues as ill Midwifes, strangles strong fancies in the birth, but a [Page 149] volable tongue, is like an expert, and understanding Midwife, which makes easy, safe, and quick dispatch, for wit and judgment, are both the Children of the brain, begot by Nature; being both Twin Sisters, and so Ingenious, and Inventive they are, that they build their arguments so curiously, and compile the sence into so small a compass, that there is no waste room, nor superfluous wordes, nor painted phraises, nor useless parentheses, nor ob­structed Sentences, for they build with phancy, and compile with similizing cut, and carved, with Allegoryes, polisht with numbers, and oftimes adorned with Rhime, the persons to which wit, and judgment; the Children of Na­ture are placed, as Sojourners, or Boorders, are Poets, who are Natures favou­rites, and for the education of her Children, she rewards them, by inriching their mindes, though not their purses; for she leaves that to Fortune, but Fortune through Envy to Nature, is seldome their friend: Also Nature, gives her Favourite Poets delights; for Poets takes more delight, and plea­sure in their own thoughts and conceptions, than an absolute Monarch in his power and Supremacy; for like as Birds, that hops from Bough to Bough, whereon they sit and sing; so Poets thoughts moves, from Theam, to Theam, making sweet Melody; and as Hens broods Chickens, which Chickens, are not hacht, untill they have strength to pick a passage through their shels, with their Bils, and when they are sledg'd, flies from their Nest on a high perching branch, so the brain layes Imaginations, and brood, fancies, and the tongue as a Bil, picks a passage through the lips, and being feathered with words, winged with verse, flyes up even with numbers, to fames high Tow­er; but the Muses the Handmaids to Nature, doth as all other Maidens, loves the Courtship of the Masculine Sex, which is the cause, or reason they seldome visit their own Sex, but passes their time in the Company, and Con­versation of men; by some men, they are only admired, and loved, by o­thers, they are saed to, and enjoyed, which happy Suters, are Poets; but the Muses, as all other Female takes a delight to enjoy their Lovers alone, that makes them seperate themselves from other Company; and Poets as all Lo­vers, doth love solitude: wherefore, Poets the lovers of the Muses, and the Muses lovers of the Poets, oftimes chooseth a soletary life, as being a Para­dise, for Innocent delight, wherein the Senses lyes on soft banks of repose, the whilst the mind with a sober, and serious peace, wal [...]es in the silent shades of contemplation, shunning the hot and burning Sun of high ambition, and there the active thoughts; the Children of the mind, in harmless sports, doth with the Muses play, and on their heads Garlands of Phancy wear, made all of Rhetoricks choisest flowers, whose Cullours fresh and gay, thus are the thoughts adorned and deckt, as the fair Month of May; about this paradise, which paradise is a soletary life, the calm smooth River of safety flowes, which Winds, or Circles in the life, from suffering, or acting injury, or wrong: And from this River of safety, runs many streams of pleasures, wherein the mind refreshing Bathes, secure and free, no false witness to accuse their Innocency; no tempestuous storms, nor dreadfull Thunders hard, nor flash­ing lightning there appears, all is their Serene and clear, unless sometimes thin Clouds of Melancholly falls in fresh showring tears, or from the heart ariseth some gentle sighs, which breathing out Fans, like to Zephyrus Winds; and in this solitary life 3. Trees doth grow, Peace, Rest, and Silence, are they named, the fruits they bare, is plenty, ease, and quite.

[Page 150]On which the mind deliciously cloth seed,
Whose lushious Iuice, tranquility as fat doth breed;
Reason the Nerves, and Grissels of the mind,
Grows strong, and cures the understanding blind;
Ther's none but Fools, this happy life would shun,
Such as would seek in ruggid wayes to run:
O Fools! O Fools! to love their torments so,
That they will rather choose to hell, than Heavens go.

But there is no man can enjoy this worldly Paradise, without a defence; for none can live in peace, that is not prepared as ready for War, for both the Theological, Civil, Common, and Accustomary Laws, are protected by the Marshall Law, and the Marshall Power, is the Supream Authority, placing, and displacing, and is the Monarchical Power, that doth not only protect all other Laws, but commands them with threats, and is obeyed with Terrour and fear, honoured for the fame, and hated for the Tiranny; but Souldiery is a painfull, carefull, and dangerous, although noble profession, but as I said, tis one of the safest, and securest protections; for it is protecti­on to the weak, and infirm, to the decreped, and aged, to the shiftless youth, and to the saint, fearfull, and tender esfeminate Sex, it is a guard unto the Ash­es of the dead, to the Monuments of the Meritorious, and to the Temples of the Gods. And were it not for Marshall-Discipline, there could be no peace kept, truth and right would be torn from the Owners, Justice would be pul­led out of her Seat, Monarchy thrown out of his Throne, and though a Soul­dier may loose his life sooner than Nature did ordain; yet in recompence, honour buryes him, and fame builds him a glorious Monument over his sleep­ing Ashes; but by reason that fame is a Souldiers chief reward, I ought not to pass it by, whithout mentioning it; As for fame, it is a second life, and as I may say, the Soul of merit; but there is a difference, betwixt the Records of time, Fame, and Infamy; for there are many things, that are writ in the Re­cords of time, that is, neither in Fames Tower, nor Infamies Dungeon, that which is writ in the Records of time, is strange accidents, unlucky chances; unusuall Objects, unexpected preferments, or advancements, by Fortunes fa­vour, or partiall affections, also great ruines, losses, and crosses, also Plagues, Deaths, Famines, Warres, Earthquakes, Meteors, Comets, unusuall Sea­sons, extraordinary Storms, Tempests, Floods, Fires, likewise great strength, very old Age, Beauty, deformities, unnaturall Births, Monsters, and such like, which time Records: But Fame is the Godess, of eminent, and Merito­rious Actions, and her Palace is the Heaven, where the renowns which are the Souls of such Actions, lives; I say Eminent, and Meritorious Acti­ons; for all Meritorious Actions, are not Eminent, but those that transcends an usuall degree, as extraordinary valour, Patience, Prudence, Ju­stice, Temperance, Constancie, Gratitude, Generosity, Magnaminity, Indu­stry, Fidelity, Loyalty, Piety, also extraordinary Wisdome, Wit, Ingenui­ties, Speculations, Conceptions, Learning, Oratory, and the like; but it is not sufficient to be barely indued with those vertues, and qualities, but these vertues, and qualities, must be elevated, beyond an ordinary degree, inso­much, as to produce some extraordinary Actions, so as to be Eminent; for Fame dwells high, and nothing reaches her, but what is Transcendent, either in worth, or power; for it is to be observed, that none but Ioves Mansion is [Page 151] purely free, from deceit, and corruptions, for Nature is artified, and fame is often forced by fortune, and conquering power, and sometimes bribed by flattery, and partiality, and in Times Records there is more false reports than true, and in Infamous Dungeon, which is deep, although not dark, being in­lightened by the eye of knowledge, and the lamp of Memory, or Remem­brance, which divulges, and shewes to several, and after Ages, the evill deeds which lyes therein, as Thefts, Murther, Adultery, Sacriledg, Injustice, evill Government, foolish Counsells, Tyrany, Usurpation, Rapine, Extortion, Treason, broken promises, Treachery, Ingratitude, Cosening, Cheating, Sherk­ing, Lying, Deluding, Defrauding, factions, Disobedience, Follies, Errours Vices, Fools, Whores, Knaves, Sicophants, Sloth, Idleness, Injury, Wrong, and many Hundreds the like; yet many Innocent vertues, and well deser­ving deeds, at least good Intentions, lyes in the Dungeon of Infamy, cast therein by false constructions, evil Events, Malice, Envy, Spight, and the like; Sometimes some gets out by the help of right interpretation, friendly assi­stance, or eloquent pleading: but yet these are very seldome, by reason the Dungeon is so deep, that it allmost requires a supernaturall strength, to pull out any dead therein, for therein, they are oftner buried in Oblivion, than translated by pleading; but as I said, many Innocents are unjustly cast into Infamies Dungeon, and lyes for ever therein, and many a false report is writ in times Records, and never blotted thereout: And many vain, and unwor­thy Actions, feigned vertues, and vitious qualities, hath got not only into Fames Palace, but are placed high in Fames Tower; and good successes, although from evill designs, and wicked deeds, doth many times usurp, the most cheif­est, and highest places, as to be set upon the Pinacle, for fortune conquering, power and partiality, forceth, carries, and throwes more into fames Palace, than honest Industry, leads, or merit advances therein, or unto which is un­just, yet not to be avoided; for Fortune, and victory, are powerfull, and so powerfull, as many times they tred down the Meritorious, and upon those pure footstoole, they raise up the unworthy and base; thus fames base Born, thrust out the Legitimat heirs, and usurp the Right, and Lawfull Inheri­tance, of the Right owners of fames Palace: Wherefore worthy Heroicks, you cannot enjoy fame, when you will, nor make her sound out so loud, as you would, nor so long as you would, nor where you would have her, unless you force her, which is only to be done by the assistance of time, the providence of forecast, the diligence of prudence, the Ingenuity of Industry, the direction of opportunity, the strength of Power, the agility of Action, the probability of opinion, the verity of truth, the favour of Fortune, the esteem of Affection, the guilts of Nature, and the breeding of education; besides that, fame is of several humours, or Natures, and her Palace stands on several soyles, and her Trumpet sounds out several Notes, Aires, Strains, or Dities; for some Aires, or Strains, are pleasant, and chearfull, others sad and Melancholly; and sometimes she sounds Marches of War, some to Charge, some to Re­treat; also sometimes her Palace stands on Rocks of adversity, other times on the flat soyles of prosperity, sometimes in the Sun shine of plenty, other times in the shade of poverty, sometimes in the flowery Gardens of peace, other times in the bloody fields of War; but this is to be observed, that fame at all times sounds out a Souldiers Renown louder than any others; for the sound of Heroick Actions spreads furthest, yet the renown of Poets sounds sweetest; for fame takes a delight to sound strains of wit, and Aires of Fan­cies, and time takes pleasure to record them; but worthy Heroicks, give [Page 152] me leave to tell you, that if time and occasion doth not fit, or meet your No­ble ambitions; you must fashion your Noble ambitions to the times, and take those opportunities that are offered you; for if you should slip the sea­son of opportunity, wherein you should soe the seeds of Industry, you will loose the harvest of Honourable deeds, so may starve, wanting the bread of report, which should feed the life of applause; but noble Heroicks, when you adventure, or set forth, for the purchase of Honour, you must be armed with fortitude, and march along with prudence, in an united body of patience, than pitch in the field of fidelity, and fight with the Sword of Justice, to maintain the cause of right, and to keep the priviledges of truth, for which, you will be intailed the Heirs, and Sons of fame; and my wishes and Prayers shall be, that you may be all Crowned with Lawrell.

After she had made her respects.
She goeth out.
My Lord Marquess, writ these following Speeches.
A Souldier.

Silence all thundring Drums, and Trumpets loud, with gliste­ring Arms, bright Swords, and waving Plumes.

And the feared Cannon powdered, shall no more,
Force the thin Aire with horrour for to roare;
Nor the proud sleeds, with hollow hoofes to beat
The humble Earth, till Ecchoes it repeat.
This Lady makes Greek Tactiks to look pale,
And Caesars Comentaries blush for shame.
The Amazonian Dames, shakes at her Name.
Poets.

The Lady Muses are deposed, unthroned from their high Pal­lace of Parnassus-Hill.

Where she in glory, with Poetick slames, there sits,
In Triumph, Emperess of wits;
Where her bright beams, our Poets doth inspire,
As humble Mortalls, from her gentle fire:
She is the only Muses, gives Phancy slore,
Else, all our Poets, they could write no more.
Oratour.

Were the oyled tongue of Tully now alive, and all the rest of glibed tongued Oratours, with their best arguments, to force a truth, or else with subtilty of slight to avoid it; those tongues with trembling Palsies, would be all struck dumb, with wonder and amazement, to hear truth Cloathed so gently, as to move all Oratours, their passions into love, admi­red Virgin.

Then all the Auditory goeth out.
Here ends my Lord Marquesses.
FINIS.

THE SECOND PART OF Touths Glory, and Deaths Banquet.

ACT I.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lord de l'Amour, and the Lady Innocence; the Lord de l'Amour seems to appear angry.
LAdy Innocence.

My Lord, what makes you frown on me, surely I never willingly offended you?

Lord de l'Amour.

But the report I hear of you offends me.

Lady Innocence.

I hope my behaviour is not lyable to any aspertion or evil censure; for, as you have used me civi­ly, so I have behaved my self modestly.

Lord de l'Amour.

I perceive you are a subtil insinuating young Lady.

Lady Innocence.

Think me not subtil, for being so brod as not to slight your Love; not so uncivil, as to scorn your noble favours; but strive to merit your worthy affections; but if I have erred in my endeavours, pray pardon me, and if you please to tell me my errour, I shall rectify it.

Lord de l'Amour.

I hear you will speak more lyes, than tell truths.

Lady Innocence.

Truly I am too strict a Votary to truth to tell a lye.

Lord de l'Amour.

I should be glad you were vowed one of her Order.

Lady Innocence.

I am so, and have taken the habit of sincerity upon me.

Lord de l'Amour.

Tell me truly, do you never use to lye?

Lady Innocence.

If you have opinion that I never, or seldome, speak truth, let me say what I will, you will still believe it is a lye; but truly, I did never tell a lye as I do know of, but did alwayes speak truth.

Lord de l'Amour.

I hear to my great grief you have many faults, pray mend them.

Lady Innocence.

I am sory there are so many ill reports, or rather aspersions laid on me as to grieve you; but surely, youth cannot commit many faults; but Age, that hath had time to commit faults in; but if you can believe my faults surmounts not all accounts: I shall desire to know them.

Lord de l'Amour.

Examine yourself, and you will find them.

Lady Innocence.

I shall call a particular Councel, and make a General search, and what thoughts, words, or actions, I can find guilty, or prove Cri­minal, I shall condemn, and sacrifice them on the Altar of Repentance, and crave mercy and forgiveness.

Lord de l'Amour.

Pray do so.

Ex.
[Page 154] Lady Innocence alone.
'Tis strange his humour should be so suddenly changed, from loving professions, kind expressions, and pleasing smiles, to sharp words, and angry frowns; and that he should seem to love me as much as he did, & now, to believe me so little, as it seems he doth, I hope it is only the superfluities of his affections, that runs into the in­discretion of jealousie.
Ex.
Enter Sanspareile and her Audience. As soon as she hath taken her standing place,
A Messenger Enters.
Messenger.

The Queen of Attention is come to be one of your Audi­ence.

The Company makes a bustle.
Enter the Queen of Attention, and her Train.
Sir Thomas Father Love kneels down, and kisses her hand.
Queen.

I am come to hear, and see your Daughter, whom same reports to be the wonder of this Age.

Father.

It had been more proper, and fit, for my Daughter to have waited at your Court-Gates, untill your Majesty had comanded her into your pre­sence, than for your Majesty to come hither, to hear, and see her; but she being a plain bred girle, durst not be so bold.

Queen.

If your Daughters wit be answerable to her beauty, she is a won­der indeed.

Sanspareile comes off from the place where she stands, and makes 3. Obeysan­ces, and coming near kneels down, and kisses the Queens hand.
Lady Sanspareile.

Madam, this gracious honour, and honourable grace, is beyond the management of my young years; the evil of my weak confidence, and the compass of my little wit, and my obscure breeding, hath made me so Ignorant, that I know not in what manner I should behave, or address myself towards your Majesty; but if I commit faults in misbehaviour, pray im­pute it to my ignorant youth, and not to disobedience.

Queen.

I see nothing yet in your behaviour, but that you may be not only a pattern for young, but also for grave Age, to take example from.

Sanspareile.

Madam, the generosity of your Maiesties Nature, the Mag­nificence of your Majesties mind, and the Charity of your Majesties disposi­tion, gives an overflowing commendation, like to the goodness of the Gods, that gives more to the Creature, than the Creature can deserve.

Queen.

Let me tell you young Lady, your speeches are as pleasing to the eare, as your beauty is delightfull to the eye.

Sanspareile.

Your Majesty is like a Deity, can turn or translate words, like poor Mortals, into a glorified sence, like as into a glorified body.

Queen.
[Page 155]

Sir Thomas Father Love, if your Daughter speak at all times, and alwayes so eloquently, I should not wonder you let her speak in pub­lick.

Father,

I beseech your Majesty, that you will rather judge me an over fond Father, which is natural, than a vain opiniatour, in that I give her liberty to speak in publick.

Queen.

If it were a vanity, it might be well forgiven; but pray let me hear her speak.

Sanspareile makes three obeysances as she steps back from the Queen to her standing-place, and then ascends.
Sanspareile.

Great Queen! I, nor no other, should offer, or dare to speak before, or to such Supreme persons as your Majesty, without a sore preme­ditation; for the words and behaviours of speakers should be fitted to the de­grees and qualities, Powers, Offices, and Authorities of the Auditory; But your Majesties commands makes that an obedient duty, that would other­wayes be a presumption; wherefore, on the ground of duty I speak at this time before your Majesty; but the Royalty of your person, the brightnesse of your beauty, the fame of your vertues, and the glorious splendour of your Majestical Grandeur hath so amazed me, that my understanding is as it were blind, which will cause my tongue to stagger, and my words to run stumbling out of my mouth; but I hope your Justice will pardon them; For, as Divine Justice belongs to the Gods, moral Justice to Nature; so humane Justice to Monarchial Princes, which justice is weighed and measured out according to merit, or desert, be they good or bad: For which Justice Gods and Prin­ces are both feared and loved; and Justice is the chief Pillar or upholder of Monarchical States and Common-wealths; for without Justice there can be no Government, and without Government there can be no Rule, and without Rule there can be no peace, and where peace is not, there will be warrs and, warrs causeth ruine and destruction; But for the most part, those Kingdomes that have arrived to the height of Glory, declines or falls to ruine: The reason is, that a low condition is necessitated, and weak; wherefore they seek for help to strengthen themselves, which makes or rather forces every particular person to associate, & unite either by Laws of Covenants, to which they submit and obey: But when a Kingdom is in a Glorious condition, and is full of prosperity, every particular Citizen or man thinks he can stand upon his own foundation, flinging off their suppor­ters, which is Duty, and obedience, which makes them fall to ruine; For when men comes to that height of pride, caused by prosperity, that they all strive to be Superiours, and Commanders; they become Factious and muti­nous against the Magistrates, Rulers, or Governours; which Factions begets warrs, either by calling in Forriegners, or by making, or siding into parties a­mongst themselves; for it is to be observed, that States, or Monarchies do oftner fall by the pride and Factions of the Commons, or Subjects, than by the Tyranny of the Rulers or Governours; But it is the nature of the vulgar sort of man-kind, to be the most basest, fearfulest & dejected Creatures in ad­versity, that Nature hath made, and in prosperity to be the proudest, insulting­est and imperious and cruelest of all Creatures. But Kings and Royal Prin­ces should do as Gods, which is to keep their Subjects in aw, with the Super­stitious fear of Ceremonies; wherefore Princes should do no actions, no, not the meanest, without Ceremony to astonish the vulgar; for Ceremonies be­gets [Page 156] fear, fear begets Superstition, Superstition Reverence, Reverence Obedi­ence, Obedience brings Peace, Peace brings Tranquility; But where Cere­monie is not used, the Gods are neglected, and Princes dispised; for Ceremo­nie is the Throne which Gods and Princes sits on, which being pulled a­way, they fall from their Glory; for Ceremonie is the Royal Crown which makes them Majestical, it is the Scepter by which they rule, it is the Altar at which all the Subjects kneel, do bow, and they offer up there their natural free liberty.

But most glorious Princess, you and your Subjects are like the Sun, and the rest of the Planets, moving perpetually, keeping their proper Sphere, they moving in civiler loyalty about you, to receive the light of your Authority, and you move in them as the just center, spreading your glorious beams round about the Circumference of your Dominions, and in the light of your com­mands they see their duty: And your Laws are like the fixed Starrs, which twinkling move in the night of great offences, and doth assist the innocent with sparkling light. And your Majesty governs like the Gods, your wis­dome by your Works is known, and by your Wisdome is your Power Immense.

So doing her respects, comes off from her standing, and with three Reve­rences comes to the Queen.
Queen.

Young Lady let me tell you, that you are fit to be a Governesse, (although you be very Young) that can speak so well of Govern­ment.

Sanspareile.

'Tis happier for me to be a Subject to so gracious a Sovereign, than if I were govern a people my self.

Ex.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lady Innocence, and her Maid.
PAssive.

Madam, you retire your self more to solitary than you were used to do.

Lady Innocence.

Because I find the world not only more foolish, but more wicked than I thought it was, but who would endure the world, or the worlds folly, since solitarinesse is sweet and melancholly?

Passive.

The truth is, that words pleaseth the world more than reason; and vice is exercised more than vertue.

Lady Innocence.

You say right, for words takes the world of man-kind by the ears, drawing them about even where they please; when reason is not heard, also vice will be imbraced, and vertue kickt away; thus words and vice will get a room, both in the head and heart, when reason and vertue are barr'd out, but if perchance they are crowded in, they are straight thrown out as unfit guests, or troublesome intruders.

Passive.

But Madam, let me advise you from so much solitude, for obscu­rity shadows vertue, and buries beauty.

Lady Innocence.

And Solitude doth hide defects, as well as Excellencies.

Passive.
[Page 157]

But you have no defects to hide.

Lady Innocence.

Nor Excellencies to divulge.

Enter the Lady Innocence, the Lord de l'Amour
Ex. Passive.
Lord de l'Amour.

Tis strange you can be so crafty in dissembling, and yet so young; for you appear to me to be innocently modest, and of a bashfull Na­ture, and yet it is told me you are so impudently bold, speaking so wantonly, as it is a shame to Nature, which makes me fear you will prove disho­nest.

Lady Innocence.

Perchance I might learn modest words, but not the significati­on; yet surely I never spake such words I understood not, nor have I many speaking faults to accuse me.

Lord de l'Amour.

I am told you speak so knowingly of marriage, as if you were a mother of many children.

Lady Innocence.

The mystery of marriage I neither know, nor guesse at, neither do I know how children are bred or born.

Lord de l'Amour,

If you be so ignorant, you may loose your Virginity for want of knowledge and wit to keep it.

Lady Innocence.

I have been taught, none can be devirginated that suffers not immodest action, if so, I am a pure Virgin, and my thoughts are so in­nocent, and my life so honest, as I wish the Chambers of my mind or soul, (which is the brain and the heart) were set open to your view; there should you see the pictures in the one, and read the letters in the other, for truth re­cords all in the heart, and memory pencils all that the imaginations or Sen­ses brings into the brain.

Lord de l'Amour.

I cannot but believe what is so confidently reported; but your words are such charms, as they inchant my angry passions, and makes my will a prisoner.

Lady Innocence.

Let reason, as a Knight of Chevalry, and truth as his E­squire, set him free, and open the gates of understanding, then you might see vertue cloathed with white Innocency, and truth free from the bonds of falshood.

Lord de l'Amour.

So you were as wife as witty.

Lady Innocence.

Wisdome is built upon the Foundation of Experience; wherefore none can be wise but those that are old; but though I am too young to be wise, yet not to be vertously honest.

Lord de l'Amour.

Pray Heaven you prove so.

Ex.
Lady Innocency alone.
Heaven blesse my innocency from Thieves of slander, that strives to steal away my honest Fame.
Ex.

Scene 3.

Enter two Men, or Scholars.
1 GEntleman.

This Lady Sanspareile hath a strange spreading wit, for she can plead causes at the Bar, decide causes in the Court of Judi­cature, make Orations on publick Theaters; act parts, and speak speeches on the Stage, argue in the Schooles, preach in the Pulpits, either in Theology, Philosophy, moral and natural, and also phisick and Metaphysick.

2. Gent.

The truth is, she is ushered by the Muses, led by the Sciences, and attended by the Arts.

Ex.

Scene 4.

Enter the Lady Innocence, alone.
Lady Innocence.

I do perceive my shiftlesse youth is round beset with enemies.

Suspitions round about me placed,
With slandring words my same disgraced:
My innocency, as crast is thought,
My harmlesse life to ruine brought;
Who will adore the Gods, if they
Vice, vertue, in one ballance lay?
Ex.

ACT II.

Scene 5.

Enter the Lady Sanspareile, all in white Satin, like as a Bride, and her Father and her audience, which are all Lo­vers; these stand gazing upon her.
SAnspareile.

This Noble assembly may chance to think it a vanity in me, never to receive any particular visit or adresse from any particular or sin­gle person, but I do so, by reason life is lost in particular acquaintance, as small Rivers are in running through the earth. But in the publick, life swims as in a full Sea, having a fair gale of observation, and Sailes of opportune time to swim withall, marking the Card of actions, and the Needle of dispositions [Page 159] drawn or turned by the Loadstone of affection, to the North-pole of Experi­ence, to guide me safe from the Rocks of slander, and quick-sands of scandal, till I come to the Port of death, there to unload my Lifes Merchandise; and I hope my Voyage may be so prosperous, as I may be inriched with the praises of After-Ages.

Likewise, the reason why I choose to speak in publick, is, that I would not speak idely, for in publick I shall take care of what I speak, and to whom I speak, when in private visitations to single persons, my speech may be care­lesse with negligence, in which I may throw away my time with my words; For, to speak to no purpose, is to make words useless, and words is the marks to distinguish things, and Figures to number merits with, and Notes to record the noble Acts of men.

But at this time I am to speak by my Fathers command, upon a Subject which my contemplation hath no acquaintance with, which is marriage, and I hear by my Father, that you have all treated with him, or rather intreated him to bestow me in marriage, which is to make me unhappy, not but that I believe what I hear, which is, that you are all persons of Quality, Birth, Breed­ing, and Merit, far beyond my desert, yet with the best, if any best there be, being all worthy; yet were I a wife to any one, I might be unhappy, by rea­son marriage is an incumbered life, although the Husband and the Wife were fitly matcht for years, Births, Fortunes, Dispositions, Humours, Capacities, Wits, Conversations, Constancies, Vertues, and affections; and first, by your leave, I will discourse of mens marriage, by reason Man being accounted the Supremer Creature, and alwayes bearing Rule, he shall be first placed. As for marriage, to men it is a great hinderance to a speculative life, it cuts off Phancies Wings, and quenches out the Poetical Fire, it breaks the Engine of invention, disturbs sweet contemplation, corrupts honest Counsels, ob­structs all Heroick actions, obscures fame, and often times causes infamy by the wifes inconstancies, and many times by her indiscretion; for a man is dis­honoured if his wife is but thought wanton, or but inclining to be amorous, and though she be as sober in her Nature, and as constant as any woman can be, yet the very suspition is a disgrace, and if the suspition is a disgrace, what is a visible truth? His very Neighbours makes Horns as he passeth by their doors, whilst he sadly and shamefully hangs down his head with a dejected countenance, which makes him seem a Coward and a Fool, although it be unjust that the faults of the wife should be a blemish to the Husbands honour; yet so it is, this being the greatest cause why Husbands are jealouse, which jealousie is more for their Honours sake, than for their Wives affections; thus you see how dangerous a thing it is for man to marry, who must trust his honour to the management of a Foolish Woman, and women naturally like children, inconstant, unlesse education doth rectifie their frail natures, pee­vish humours, various appetites, and inconstant affection: Likewise mar­riage is not only apt to corrupt the mind with jealousie, but with Covetous­nesse; for the extreme fondnesse and natural love of Parents to their Chil­dren, maks them strive by all their endeavours to inrich them; this makes them gripe their Tennants, pinch and half starve their servants, quarrel and dispute with their neighbours, corrupt Judges take Bribes, besides it makes men apt to rebell, and turn Traitorus, murmuring at their Taxes and impositions, it also makes them timorous and fearful in warrs, by reason their wife and chil­dren may be ruined by their death. Also it makes them dull in their Con­versations, [Page 160] by reason they are alwayes plodding for their worldly affairs; and for the Muses, had a husband time to entertain them, yet the wife would right them, or drive them from him, with their quarreling disputes, or sencelesse prizes; besides most women are as jealouse of the Muses, as of their Maids; but to treat or discourse of married women, is to discourse of a most unhappy life, for all the time of their lives is insnared with troubles, what in breeding and bearing children, what in taking and turning away Ser­vants, directing and ordering their Family, counting their expences, and dis­bursing their revenues, besides the vexations with their servants, for their quarreling and combining, for their sloth and sluttery, for their spoiles and carlessnesse, for their treachery and couzenage, and if they have Children, what troubles and griefs do unsue? Troubled with their frowardnesse and un­towardnesse, the care for their well being, the fear for their ill doing, their grief for their sicknesse, and their unsufferable sorrow for their death; Yet this is the best part, and not to be avoided: But if these troubles be joyned with an ill Husband, it heightens their torments; for if he be a Drunkard, she had better be marryed to a Beast, her nostrils is stencht with the Lees of wine, her eyes are offended with his rude behaviour, and her ears are struck with a cursed noise of cursing and Oaths; and if he be a Gamester, she lives in an unsetled condition, she knows not how soon she may want; for if she have plenty one day, she may be in a condition to beg the next. And if her Hus­band be inconstant, and loves variety of women: O how jealousie torments her, besides the wrongs she suffers from him! what affronts she receives from his Mistresse! How is she dispised amongst her neighbours? sleighted by her servant, suspected by the world for having some defect? as either to be in­continent, sluttish, foolish, froward, crosse, unkind, ill natured, sickly, or dis­eased, when perchance the woman may be worthy to be marcht with a tem­perate, wise, valiant, honest, rich and honourable man; and if women go fine, and take pleasure in themselves, and Garments, their Husbands are jea­louse; and if they regard not themselves or Garments, their Husbands dislikes rhem; For though men will swear to their wives they like them better in their old cloaths, than other women in their glorious Apparrel; because they would not have them expensive, yet if their wives neglect themselves, regarding not their dressing, but sleights all outward Adornmentss, and change of Garments as prodigal spend-thrifts, they starve their Husbands esteem in their thrifty plainness, Consumes their affections in their peiced Petti­coates, and buries their Husbands love in their dirty raggs; And from the Dunghill of dirty raggs, and grave of soul Linnen, is their Husbands transfor­med to beastly Adulteries, stealing by degrees out of one Form into another, as from a doting Husband, to a fond Husband, form a fond to a discreet Hus­band, from a discreet, to a careful Husband, from a careful, to a carelesse, from a carelesse, to a disliking, from a disliking, to a hating, and then they be­gin to wander; As first, an eye glances, from an eye glance, to an admirer; from an admirer, to a professour, from a professour, to a dissembler; from a dissembler, to an Adulterer; then for the dresses and garments of his Mistress, First, from clean, to new; from new, to fine; from fine, to brave; from brave, to glorious; from glorious to fantastical; from fantastical to profusely vari­ous from profusely, various to any dirty Slut. But his wife (on the other side, if his wife desires) appears handsome, and practises civil behaviour, and endeavours to be sine, takes care to be cleanly, observes to be fashionable, her [Page 161] Husband straight becomes jealouse, although she doth this for his sake, and to keep his affection, yet he thinks it is for the affection and sake of some other man, which causeth private discontents, from private discontents to quarreling disputes; from quarreling disputes, to publick exclamations, from publick exclamations, to open defiance; from open defiance, to devorcement; and though I cannot say this by, or from experience, having it only from re­lation, yet I do as faithfully believe it, as if I were experienced therein: On which faith, I made a vow never to marry, since I hear men are so hard to please, and apt to change; wherefore if I were marryed, instead of discoursing of several arguments, I should be groaning and sighing, and weep­ing, with several pains and vexations; and instead of a silent solitary contem­plation, a clamorous quarrelsome conversation; instead of a peaceable life, I should be alwayes in civil warrs; and instead of being happy, I should be mi­serable; for mariage is like a ship, which always lyes on the roughest Bilows of the Sea, rouling from side to side with discontents, sailing uncertainly, with inconstancy, and various winds, But noble, civil, kind and affectionate Gentle­men, as I have told you, I have made a vow never to marry, and surely mar­riage is not so happy an estate, or so pleasing a condition of life, as to perswade me to break my vow, neither can flattering Rhetorick, nor inticing beauty, nor adoring, admiring, deploring, praying, weeping Suters perswade me, no, not a bleeding Suter, were I sure he would dye, did he not enjoy me; for I will never be so dishonourable, perjurious, and impious, to break the holy Laws, and pull the Virgin Altars down, built in the conscience, on which are vows offered to Gods on high: Should I blow out that with faint inconstan­cy, that pure bright Vestal Fire of innocency, from whence the Essence of chast thoughts ascends to Heaven high; But rather than I would break my vow, I wish my ears as deaf as death, that hears no flattering sounds, nor sad complaints, nor terrifying threats, my eyes as dark as night, least light should bring some false deluding object in, for to deceive me; my heart like Ada­mant, so hard love cannot enter, nor pity nor compassion wound; but how­soever, I connot be wife to you all; wherefore since I cannot be every mans wife, I will dye every mans Maid. But I must tell this Noble Assembly, their meeting hath occasioned a quarrel here; for bashfulnesse, and confi­dence hath fought a Duel in my Cheeks, and left the staines of bloud there.

After her Respects.
Ex.
All her Audience, her Lovers goeth out silently, some lifting up their eyes, others their hands, some striking their hands on their breast, and the like.
Ex.

Scene. 6.

Enter the Lady Innocence alone.

WHilst I was in his favour, my mind was like a pleasant Garden, where seve­ral Phancies like several Birds, did make sweet melody; and in this Gar­den a large, high Tree of Noble ambition grew; whereon hung fruits of hopes, but low misfortunes now hath cut it down, and therewithall have built a house, where melancholly dwels, darkened with Clouds of discontents, and winds of sighs, and show­ers of tears, doth blow and powre thereon.

She weeping and sighing.
Ex.

Scene. 7.

Enter the Lady Incontinent, and the Lord de l'Amour.
LAdy Incontinent.

Faith you will be well wived, for your assianced is known to be a Lyer, and feared she will be a Whore, and proved a Thief.

Lord de l'Amour.

How, a Thief?

Lady Incontinent.

Why, she hath stolen my Pearl Chain worth a thousand Pounds.

Lord de l'Amour.

Tis impossible.

Lady Incontinent.

It is not impossible to prove a Thief.

Lord de l'Amour.

No, for there is too many to misse; but sure it is impos­sible she should prove one, she is so honourably born, and I never heard but she was Vertuously bred.

Lady Incontinent.

By your favour, Covetousnesse or Necessity, may tempt Honourable Births, and corrupt minds, that with plenty would be honest e­nough.

Lord de l'Amour.

I grant, misery may prove some Noble souls sprung from Honourable stocks, yet not to be so wickedly base as to steal, although so un­worthy as to shark.

Lady Incontinent.

Why, sharking is next Neighbour to stealing, or as near Kindred as an Equivocation is to a Lye.

Lord de l'Amour.

But she was never so necessitated, as to make her either a shark, or a Thief, having alwayes plenty.

Lady Incontinent.

But she is covetous, and youth that is fond of all things they see, desires to enjoy all things they have not, and will endeavour by any means or wayes to compass their desires.

Lord de l'Amour.

I never found my Youth prompt to any such Acts.

Lady Incontinent.

Without more discourse, she hath stole my Chain, and I can prove it.

She goeth out alone.
[Page 163] Lord de l'Amour alone

Tis strange, I know not what to think, or how to iudge, which of the two Ladies is a Divel; for surely one of them is.

Ex.

ACT III.

Scene 8.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1 GEntleman.

The Lady Sanspareile is the miracle of this age, the world doth not parrallel her with the like; for her behaviour is graceful and becoming, her Countenance modest and wife, her speech Majestical and witty, yet grave and learned, and her Oratory is after a New way.

2 Gent.

It is reported, that there are many men come from all parts of the world to hear her, aad those that cannot understand this Language, comes only to see her, so famous is she to all the world.

1 Gent.

She is a great Honour to our Nation.

2 Gent.

I hear she doth intend to plead in the behalf of poor Suiters, and hath asked leave of the Queen to be a pleader at the Barr, for all such as suf­fered wrong as injustices, and for such Clients as hath just causes, but hath not means to follow the Law, as to see the Lawyers, & she will plead for them gratis.

1 Gent.

It is a pious and Noble Act.

2 Gent.

Also her Father hath challenged all the eloquent Oratours of our Nation, to make Orations extemporately; likewise he hath challenged the most famous Schollars and learned men to dispute with her.

1 Gent.

Her Father is most doatingly fond of her.

2 Gent.

He hath reason, and out of love to her he is building a very fine Library, to lay in all her Works; for they say she writes much, and hath writ many excellent Works.

1 Gent.

She deserves a Statue for her self, as well as a Library for her Works.

Ex.

Scene 9.

Enter the Lady Innocence, and Adviser. the Lord de l'Amours Man.
ADviser.

Madam, my Lord and the Lady Incontinent hath sent me to tell you, you must come to be examined about the Chain.

Lady Innocence.

I am so shrunk up with fear, that methinks I could thrus [...] my self into a Nut-shell to hide myself.

Adviser.

Faith if you could, it would not conceal you; for they would crack the Nut-shell and find you out.

Adviser goes out.
Lady Innocence alone.
O that Innocency should tremble as much as guilt, with fear; but if they did b [...] know how little I value the riches of the world, they would not believe I should s [...]e [...] so frivolous a thing.
Enter as to the Lady Innocence, the Lord de l'Amour, the Lady Incontinent, and a Iustice; and the Ladies two Maids, Informer and Falshood.
Lord de l'Amour.

The Lady Incontinent hath brought a Iustice, who hath power to make you confesse.

She falls a shaking.
Lady Incontinent.

You may perceive her guilty, she trembles and shakes & looks so pale.

Lady Innocence.

Pray judge me not guilty by my countenance, bring it not as a witnesse against me, for the childish fears in my heart, causeth a trem­bling, which like an Earthquake, shakes my body, and makes my breath as pent up Air, that pants for passage, striving to get forth, and my innocent bash­fulnesse, or my bashful innocency, makes my eyes like perturbed lights, that see nothing cleerly; my words to flow like rough and broken streams; for my mind is so troubled, and my passions in such a storm, as my words can nei­ther flow easie, nor free.

Lady Incontinent.

Here be two that will witnesse that she stole the Chhain.

Falshood.

I will swear she took the Chain of Pearl, and put it in her poc­ket, and so went out of the room with it.

Lord de l'Amour.

Why did not you follow her, and take it from her.

Falshood

I thought she would bring it again, for I never suspected she would deny it.

Lord de l'Amour.

And will you witnesse the same Informer?

Informer.

I will witnesse I saw it in her hand, looking on it.

Lord de l'Amour.

What say you for your self Lady Innocence?

Lady Innocence.
[Page 165]

I say my accusements doth not make me guilty of a crime; but I confess I took the Chain in my hand, out of a curiosity, and trial of my judgment or skill, to see whether I could find any defect, in somuch valued, esteemed, and high-prized a thing as Pearl; but not any wayes out of a cove­ton; Appetite, as to steal it, nor had I any tempting thoughts thereto, nor wisht I that or the like should be lawfully given me.

Lord de l'Amour.

What did you with it, when you had done viewing it?

Lady Innocence.

I laid it on the Table from whence I took it off.

Lady Incontinent.

But here are those that will swear you carried it away with you.

Maids.

Yes that we will.

Lady Innocence.

I cannot alwayes avoid a false accusation.

Lord de l'Amour.

Will you swear you did not?

Lady Innocence.

Yes, If my Oath will be taken.

Lady Incontinent.

Well, you did take it that is certain, wherefore you were best confess it, or you shall be wrackt to make you confess it.

Lady Innocence.

I will never bear false-witness against my self; I will dye first.

Lady Incontinent.

My Lord, pray let her be carried away, and be whipt, until the be forced to confess it.

Lady Innocence.

Let me killed first: for to be whipt is base, and is only fit for Gally-slaves, or those that are born from Slaves; but to be kill'd is Noble, and gives an Honourable triumph.

Iustice.

Young Lady, you are heer accus'd by two Witnesses, and unless you can bring Evidence to clear you, you are liable to punishment.

Lady Innocence.

Truly Sir, I have but two invisible Witnesses, Conscience and Innocency, to plead for me, and Truth my Judge, who cannot be brib'd, although it may be over-powr'd, by false and slanderous reports.

Iustice.

But it is imagin'd by your best friends, you are guilty.

Lady Innocence.

Neither my friends, nor enemies, can create me a Crimi­nal, with their Imaginations.

Lord de l'Amour.

But speak, are you guilty?

Lady Innocence.

To what purpose should I speak? for what can I say to those that make it their delight to accuse, condemn, and execute? or what justice can I expect to have, where there is no equity? wherefore, to plead were a folly, when all hopes are cut off; to desire life, a double misery, if I must indure Torments; but silence, and patience, shall be my two Compa­nions, the one to help me in my suffering, the other to cut of impertinen­cies.

She goes out from them.
Lord de l'Amour.

What think you Justice, is she guilty?

Lady Incontinent.

Why should you make a question, when it hath been proved by Witnesses? Come Justice, Come, and drink a Cup of Sack, and give your opinion then.

The Lady Innocence comes, as passing by, alone.
Lady Innocence.

I am so confidently accus'd of this Theft, as I am half per­swaded I did take the Chain, but that Honour and Honesty sayes I did not.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love at one door, and a servant-Maid at the other door.
SIr Thomas Father Love.

Where is your Mistriss? the people do flock about the house to see her, as I think they will pull it upon my head if she shews not her self to them, wherefore call her.

The Maid goes out.
Enter the Lady Sanspareile.
Sir Thomas Father Love.

Come, Come Child, there are such expectations without for thee; but what makes thee to look so heavy?

Lady Sanspareile.

Truly Sir, I am not well.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Not well? Heaven bless thee; where art thou Sick?

Lady Sanspareile.

I cannot say I am very sick, or in any great pain; but I find a general alteration in me, as it were a fainting of spirits.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Prethee say not so, thou dost so affright me; but thou art not very sick, art thou?

Lady Sanspareile.

I hope I shall be better Sir.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

My dear Child go to bed, whilst I send for some Doctors to thee.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter the Lady Innocence, alone.

TO whom shall I powre out my sad complaint? for all do them a Melan­choly mind. O Gods! how willingly would I be buried in the grave with dust, and feast the worms, rather than live amongst mankind! Oh! Oh! that these Melancholy damps arising from my afflicted Soul could extinguish the Lamp of life, or that my sad and grieved thoughts that feed upon my troubled Spirits, could bite with sorrows teeth, the thread of life asunder.

She sits down on the ground, leaning her Cheek on her hand, and weeps.
Enter to her, her Maid Passive.
Passive.

My sweet Mistriss, why do you weep?

Lady Innocence.

The spring of grief doth send forth streams of tears to wash off my disgrace, and the foul spots which slandring tongues have stain'd, or rather slain'd my reputation; for which my eyes, did they not weep, would seem unnaturally unkind; but my dead reputation is imbalm'd with salt tears, bitter groans, shrowded in sorrows, and intomb'd in misery.

Passive.

My dear Lady, you are imbalm'd with the pretious gums of [Page 167] Virtue, and sweet spices of wit wrapt up in youth and beauty, and are intomb­ed, or rather inthroned in honest hearts; wherefore waste not your self with grief; for certainly the world will condemn your Accusers, and not you.

Lady Innocence.

Those feeble hopes cannot my spirits uphold, they give no light of comfort to my mind; for black despair, like Melancholy night, mustles my thoughts, and makes my Soul as blind. O but why do I thus mourn in sad complaints, and do not curse Fortune, Fates, and destiny, their Wheels, there spindel, threads, and Chains?

She heaves up her hands, and lifts up her eyes.
May Nature great, turn all again to nought,
That nothing may with joy receive a thought.
She goes out in a very Melancholy posture.
Passive alone.

She is deeply Melancholy, Heavens ease her mind.

Ex.

Scene 12.

Enter 2. or 3. Doctors.
1. DOctor.

The Lady Sanspareile cannot live, for the hath no pulse.

2. Doctor.

No, she is descending to the grave.

3. Doctor.

But had we best tell her Father so?

1. Doctor.

No, by no means as yet.

2. Doctor.

Why not? he will know when she is dead.

Enter the Lady Mother Love, as to the Doctors.
Lady Mother Love.

Mr. Doctors, What, do you mean to let my Daugh­ter dye? will you not prescribe something to give her?

1. Doctor.

Madam, we shall do our best, you may be confident.

Lady Mother.

What if you prescribed a Glister, or a Purge?

1. Doctor.

I shall not need Madam.

Lady Mother.

Why, if any one be sick, they ought to have some re­medies applyed to them:

2. Doctor.

We shall consider what course is best to be taken.

Lady Mother Love.

For Gods sake do not neglect her.

Ex.
Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, to the Doctors.
Sir Thomas Father Love.

Mr. Doctors, what is your opinion of my Daughter?

1. Doctor.

Truly Sir, she is very dangerous sick.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

I can find no pulse she hath.

2. Doctor.

Nor we Sir, that makes us doubt her.

Father Love.

Pray consult about her what is best to be done.

1. Doctor.

We shall Sir.

Ex.

Scene 13.

Enter the Lord de l'Amour, and the Lady Innocence.
LOrd de l'Amour.

What makes you look so gastly pale?

Lady Innocence.

I am so ashamed of my accusation, as my bashfullness is beyond all blushing, as greatest griefs are beyond all tears, it causes my limbs to tremble, face look pale, like Death's assault, making my courage fail.

Lord de l'Amour.

Perchance you are asham'd to confess so base a crime; you may confess to me, for I shall strive to hide your faults, and cover them with some excuse; wherefore confess; for though it be a fault to steal, yet it is a double fault to hide it with a Lye, and by these crimes you do offend the Gods; nor will their anger be remov'd, unless you confess and ask pardon.

Lady Innocence.

Your Doctrine is very good, and Application well appli­ed, had I been Guilty; but being Innocent, they are vainly uttered.

Lord de l'Amour.

I hope you will agree to resign the interest you have to me, if I should desire you.

Lady Innocence.

Saints never offred up their Souls to God more willingly, than I all interest to you; not but that I love you, yet I should be loath to be bound to one that hath so ill an opinion of me, as you have.

Lord de l'Amour.

The World would condemn me, if I should marry you, to stain my Posterity with your Crimes.

Lady Innocence.

O Heavens, is my scandal of so deep a dye, as to stain Pre­decessors and Posterity! yours may avoid it, but my Predecessors are spot­ted all over.

She goes out weeping.
Lord de l'Amour.

I cannot chuse but love her, although I fear she is guilty; but I perceive she is resolv'd not to confess, as being asham'd of it.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter the Lady Sanspareile in a bed, as being sick, the bed drawn on the stage, and her Father kneels by the bed-side whilst she speaks as dying.
SAnspareile.

Let spotless Virgins bear me to my grave, and holy An­thems sing before my Herse, and soft-toucht Instruments to play the while, and keep just time with tears, that trickling fall from the sad eyes of my most sorrowful friends; and one my Coffin spread upon a covering of smooth Sattin, white, to signify here how I lived a Virgin, pure I lived and dy­ed; and let my works which I have wrought, and spun out of my brain, be given to times Library, to keep alive my name.

And set a Lilly-Garland on my Herse,
On every leaf therein, stick on a verse;
[Page 169]And when my Coffin to the grave you bring,
Let Poets on my Herse some verses fling.
For whilst I liv'd I worship'd Nature great,
And Poets are by Nature savoured.
I in the Muses Arms desire to Dye,
For I was bred up in their Company:
And my requesl's to them, when I am dead,
I may amongst them be remembered.

But death drawes near, my destiny is come; Father farewell: may time take up my years, which death cuts off, and add them to your life: Peace keep your mind, and Comfort give you rest.

He weeps.

But why do you weep dear Father? my life's not worth your tears; yet Heavens doe weep, and mingle with dull earth their Cristal streams, and earth's refresht thereby; so is not death, for death is ever dry.

Father.

O Child! O Child! my heart will break.

Sanspareile.

Sir, why do you sigh and groan, and grieve, that I must dye? life is perpetual, and death is but a change of shape.

Only I wish that Death may order it so,
That from your rootes I may your flower grow.
I fear not Death, nor am I loath to dye:
Yet I am loath to leave your Company.

But O the Muses stay my dying lips to close. Farewel

Dyes.
Her Father starts up from her Bed-side, and stares about the Bed; and the dead Lady is drawn off the stage.
Father.

What art thou sted? dear Soul wheredost thou goe? stay and I will bear thee Company.

Stares about.

Where art thou Soul? why mak'st thou such great haste? I pray thee stay, and take thy aged Fathers Soul along with thee, left it should wander in the dark and gloomy shades to find thee out. O! O death! quick dispatch, Let me unprisoned be, my body is old, decayed and worn, times ruins shews it. Oh! Oh! let life fall, for pitty pull it down.

[stops a time]

Am I not dead? you cruel powers above, to lengthen out an old mans life in misery and pain; why did not Time put out the sight of both my eyes, and also deaf my ears, that I might neither hear, nor see, the death of my lifes joy? O Luxurious Death, how greedily thou feedst on youth and beauty, and leist old Age hang withering on lifes tree? O shake me off, let me no longer grow, if not, grief shall by force snip off my tender stalk, and pitty lay me in the silent grave. Heark, Heark, I hear her call me? I come, I come Childe.

He feches a great sigh.

O no, she is gone, she is gone, I saw her dead; her head hung down, like as a Lilly, whose stalk was broke by some rude blusterous wind.

He stares about.

There, there I see her on her dutious knee; Her humble eyes cast to the ground; Her spotlesse hands held up for blessings crave, asking forgivenesse for faults not done. O no, She is dead! She is dead! I saw her eye-lids cloze [Page 170] like watry Clouds, which joyn to shut out the bright Sun; and felt her hands which Death made cold and numb, like as to Cristal balls; She is gone, she is gone, and restless grows my mind; thoughts strive with thoughts, & struggle in my brain, passions with passions in my heart make War.

My Spirits run like suries all about;
Help help for Heavens sake, and let life out.
Ex.

Scene 15.

Enter the Lady Mother Love alone.
LAdy Mother Love.

O my daughter! my daughter is dead, she is dead. Oh that ever I was born to bear a Childe to dye before me. Oh she was the Comfort of my Heart, the pleasure of my Eyes, the delight of my life. Oh she was Good, she was Sweet, she was Fair. O what shall I do, what shall I do?

Ex.

Scene 16.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, half distracted.
SIr Thomas Father Love.

Mercury lend me thy winged feet, that I may fly to Heaven, there to observe, how all the Gods and Godesses doe gaze upon my Beautiful Childe; for she is fairer than the light that great Apollo gives; and her discourse more ravishing than the Musick of the Spheres; but as soon as she sees me, she will leave them all, and run unto me, as she used to do, kneeling will kiss my hands, which she must not do, being a Goddess, and I a Mortal, wherefore, I must kneel to her, and carry her an offering; but what shall the offering be? Let me think. Why I will kneel and offer up my Aged life unto her Memory; but now I think of it better, I cannot dye in Heaven; wherefore, let me Study, let me Study, what she did love best when she lived upon the Earth; O I now remember, when I did ask her what she lov'd best, she would Answer, her Father and her Fame; but I believe, if she were here it would be a hard Question for her to resolve, which she preferr'd; and being not to be separated in Affection, we will not part in our Resurrection; wherefore Mercury farewel: for I will fly up with the Wings of her good Fame.

And carry up her Wit, and there will strow
It on Heavens floor, as bright as Stars will show;
Her Innocency shall make new Milky waies,
Her Virtue shall Create new Worlds to praise
Her never-dying Name.
Ha, Ho! It shall be so, it shall be so.
Ex.

ACT IV.

Scene 17.

Enter the Lady Innocence alone, studious, with her eyes to the ground, thou casting them up speaks.
LAdy Innocence.

I am not so much in love with the World, as to desire to live, nor have I offended Heaven so much, as to be afraid to dye; then way should I prolong my life, when Honour bids me dye? for what Noble Soul had not rather part with the Body, than live in Infamy? Then tis not Death that affrights me, and yet I find my Soul is loath to leave its bodily Mansion; but O to be buried in Oblivions grave is all I fear; no Monumental Fame, nor famous Monument, my Soul displeases, that makes it loath to leave the body in forgotten dust, whilst it doth sadly wander in the Aire.

She walks a turn or two as in a musing thought, then speaks.

Soul be at ease, for the Memory of the dead is but like a dying Beauty, vades by degrees, or like a Flower whither'd, hath neither Sent, Colour, nor Tast, but moulders into dust: so hath the mind no form of what is past.

But like as formless heaps those Objects lye,
And are intomb'd in the dark Memory.

O Foolish Vanity, to be so much a slave to Fame, since those that Fame doth love the best, and favoureth most, are not Eternal. Wherefore

Nature perswades me to release my woe,
Though foolish Superstition Natures foe
Forbids it, yet Reason aloud sayes dye;
Since Ease, Peace, Rest, doth in the grave still lye.
Walkes about as in a silent musing, then speaks.

I am resolv'd, then Come sweet Death, thou friend that never fails, give me my liberty. But stay my hasty resolution; for I would not willingly go to the grave as beasts doe, without Ceremony; for I being friendless, those hu­mane Funeral rites will be neglected, none will take the pains, nor be at the charge to see them perform'd; but some base vulgar person will throw me into the Earth without respect or regard; wherefore I will Living perform the Ceremonies, and as a guess or friend be at my own Funeral; it shall be so, and I will prepare it.

Ex.

Scene 18.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love alone, and for a time walkes as in a musing or thinking, with his eyes cast on the ground, then speaks.
FAther Love.
Multitudes of Melancholy thoughts croud in my brain,
And run to pull down Reason from his Throne;
Fury as Captain leads the way,
Patience and Hope is trod upon:
O these distracted thoughts burrie my Soul about,
Seeking a place to get a passage out.

But all the Ports are stopp'd. O Cursed Death, for to prolong a life that is so weary of its Mansion.

Enter Mr. Comfort Sir Thomas Father Loves friend.
Friend.

Sir, will you give order for your Daughters Funeral, and direct how you will have her interred?

Father Love.

How say you? why I will have you rip my body open, and make it as a Coffin to lay her in, then heave us gently on sighs fetcht deep, and lay us on a Herse of sorrowful groans, then cover us with a Dark, Black, Pitchy, Spungy Cloud, made of thick Vapour, drawn from bleeding hearts; from whence may tears of showers run powring down, making a Sea to drown remembrance in.

But O remembrance, is a fury grown,
Torments my Soul, now she is gone.
Friend.

Sir, where there is no remedy, you must have patience.

Father Love.

Patience, out upon her, she is an Idle lazy Gossip, and keep; none Company but Cowards and Fools, and slothful conscientious Persons; neither is she usefull but for indifferent imployments: for what is of extraordi­nary worth, Patience doth but disgrace it, not set it forth; for that which is transcendent and Supreme, Patience cannot reach. Wherefore give me Fury, for what it cannot raise to Heaven, it throwes it straight to Hell; were you ne­ver there?

Friend.

No, nor I hope shall never come there.

Father Love.

Why Sir, I was there all the last Night, and there I was tor­tured for chiding my Daughter two or three times whilst she lived; once because she went in the Sun without her Mask; another time because her Gloves were in her Pocket, when they should have been on her Hands; and another time, because she slep'd when she should have studied, and then I remember she wept. O! O! those pretious tears! Devil that I was to grieve her sweet Nature, harmless Thoughts, and Innocent Soul. O how I hate my self, for being so unnaturally kind. O kill me, and rid be of my painful life.

Friend.

He is much distracted, Heaven cure him.

Exeunt.

Scene 18.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1. GEentleman.

The Miracle is deceas'd, the Lady Sanspareile I hear i [...] dead.

2. Gent.

Yes, and it's reported her Statue shall be set up in every College, and in the most publick places in the City, at the publick charge; and the Queen will build a Sumptuous and Glorious Tomb on her sleeping Ashes.

1. Gent.

She deserves more than can be given her.

2. Gent.

I hear her death hath made her Father mad.

1. Gent.

Though her death hath not made every one mad like her Father, yet it hath made every one melancholy; for I never saw so general a sadness in my life.

2. Gent.

There is nothing moves the mind to sadnesse, more than when Death devouts Youth, Beauty, Wit, and Virtue all at once.

Ex.

Scene 19.

There is a Hearse placed upon the Stage, covered with black, a Garland of Ciprus at the head of the Herse, and a Garland of Mirtle at one side, and a Basket of Flowers on the other.

Enter the Lady Innocence alone, drest in White, and her hair hound up in several coloured Ribbons; when she first comes in speaks thus.
LAdy Innocence.

O Nature, thou hast created bodies and minds subject to pains & torments, yet thou hast made death to release them! for though Death hath power over Life, yet Life can command Death when it will; for Death dares not stay, when Life would passe away; Death is the Ferry­man, and Life the Wastage.

She kneels down and prayeth
But here great Nature, I do pray to thee,
Though I call Death, let him not cruel be:
Great Jove I pray, when in cold earth I lye,
Let it be known how innocent I die.
[Then she rises and directs her self to her Herse.]
Here in the midst my sadder Hearse I see;
These Verses the Lord Marquesse writ.
Covered with black, though my chief Mourners be,
Yet I am white, as innocent as day,
As pure as spotlesse Lillies born in May;
My loose and flowing hair with Ribbons ty'd,
To make Death Amorous of me, now his Bride;
[Page 174]Watchet for truth, hair-colour for despair,
And white as innocent as purest Ayre;
Scarlet for cruelty to stop my breath,
Darkning of Nature, black, a type of death.
[Then she takes up the Basket of Flowers, and as she strews them speaks.]
Roses and Lillies 'bout my Coffin strew,
Primroses, Pinks, Violets fresh and new:
And though in deaths cold arms anon I lye
[weeps]
I'le weep a showr of tears these may not dye,
A Ciprus Garland here is for my head,
To crown me Queen of Innocence, when dead;
A Mirtle Garland on the left side plac't,
To shew I was a Lover; pure & chast;
Now all my saddest Rites being thus about me,
And I have not one wish that is without me.
[She placeth her self on her Herse, with a Dagger or pointed knife in her hand.]
Here on this Herse I mount the Throne of death,
Peace crown my soul, my body rest on earth:
Yet before I dye,
Like to a Swan I will sing my Elegie.
[She sings as she is sitting on the Herse, thus.]
Life is a trouble at the best,
This Song the Lord Marquesse writ.
And in it we can find no rest;
Ioyes still with sorrows they are Crown'd,
No quietnesse till in the ground.
Man vexes man, still we do find,
He is the torture of his kind:
False man I scorn thee in my grave
Death come, I call thee as my slave.

Here ends my Lords Writing.

And just then stabs her self.
In the mean time the Lord de l'Amour comes and peeps through the Curtain; or Hanging, and speaks as to himself, whilst she is a dying.
Lord de l'Amour.

I will observe how she passes away her time, when she is alone.

Lady Innocence.

Great Iove grant that the light of Truth may not be put out, with the extinguisher of Malice.

Lord de l'Amour.

How she feeds her melancholy!

He enters and goeth to her.

What are you acting a melancholy Playby your self alone?

Lady Innocence.

My part is almost done.

Lord de l'Amour.
[Page 175]

By Heaven she hath stabb'd her self.

[Calls Help, Help]
Lady Innocence.

Call not for help, life is gone so farr tis past recovery; wherefore stay and hear my last words; I die, as judging it unworthy to out-live my honest Name, and honourable Reputation. As for my accusers, I can easily forgive them, because they are below my Hate or Anger, neither are worthy my revenge; But you, for whom I had not only a devout, but an Idolatrous Affection, which offered with a zealous Piety and pure Flame the sincerity of my heart; But you, instead of rewarding my Love, was cruel to my life and Honour, for which my soul did mourn under a Veil of sad­nesse, and my thoughts covered with discontent sate weeping by: But those mourning Thoughts I have cast off, cloathing my self with Deaths pale Gar­ments; As for my pure Reputation, and white Simplicity, that is spotted with black Infamy by Hellish slander, I have laid them at Heavens Gates, just Gods to scoure them clean, that all the World may know how innocent I have been: But Oh! farewel, my fleeting Spirits pure Angels bear a­way.

Lord de l'Amour.

O speak at the last! Are you guilty or not?

Lady Innocence.

I am no more guilty of those crimes laid to my charge, than Heaven is of sin.

O Gods receive me. Oh! Oh!

Dies.
Lord de l'Amour.
Great Patience assist me; Heart hold life in,
Till I can find who is guilty of this sinn.
Ex.
The Herse drawn off the Stage.

Scene 20.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, brought in a Chair as sick, his Friend by him.
Mr. Comfort Friend.

How are you now?

Father Love.

O Friend! I shall now be well, Heaven hath pitty on me, and will release me soon; and if my Daughter be not buryed, I would have her kept as long out of the Grave as she can be kept, that I might bear her company.

Friend.

She cannot be kept longer, because she was not unbowelled.

Father Love.

Who speaks her Funeral Oration?

Friend.

Why Sir, your distemper hath so disordered all your Family, as it was not thought of.

Father Love.

She shall not go to the Grave without due Praises, if I have life to speak them: Wherefore raise me up, and carry me to the Holy place before her Herse, thus in my Chair, sick as I am; For I will speak her Fu­neral Oration, although with my last words, Thus will I be carryed living to my Grave.

He is carried out in a Chair by Servants.
Ex.

Scene 21.

Enter the Lord de l' Amour alone, as in a Melan­choly humour.
LOrd de l'Amour.

When I do think of her, my mind is like a tempestu­ous Sea, which foams and roars, and roles in Billows high; My brain like to a Ship is wracked, and in it's ravenous Waves my heart is drowned; And as several winds do blow, so several thoughts do move; some like the North with cold and chilly Fears, others as from the South of hot Re­venge do blow;

As from the East despairing storms do rise,
A Western grief blows tears into mine eyes.
Walks about, and weeps.
Enter Master Charity his Friend.
Mr. Charity.

My Lord, why are you so melancholy for that which is past, and cannot be help'd?

Lord de l'Amour.

Oh! the remembrance of her death, her cruel death, is like the Infernal Furies, torments my soul, gives it no case nor rest; For some­times my soul is flung into a Fire of Rage,

That burns with furious pain,
And then with frozen despair it rips it up again.

But I unjust and credulous, I was the cause of her untimely death.

Enter the Maid that accused her.
Falshood.

O my Lord, forgive me, for I have murdered the innocent La­dy you grieve for; for my false Accusation was the hand that guided the dag­ger to her heart; but my Ladies command was the Thief that stole the Chain, for she commanded me to take the Chain, and accuse the Lady of the Theft, for which she gave me the Chain for a reward; This I will wit­nesse by oath unto you and all the World; For it is heavier than a world up­on my Conscience.

Lord de l'Amour.

Why did your Lady so wicked an act?

Falshood.

Through Jealousie, which bred Envy, Envy Malice, Malice Slander, and this Slander hath produce Murder.

Enter Informer, the other Maid.
Informer.

Oh my Lady! My Lady hath hanged her self; for when she heard Falshood was gone to tell your Lordship the truth of the Chain, she went into a base place and hung her self; and upon her breast I found this written Paper.

She gives it de l'Amour to read.
Lord de l'Amour.

It is the Lady Incontinents Hand-writing.

He reads it.

I have been false to my Marriage-bed, lived impudently in the sin of Adultery, [Page 177] in the publick face of the World; I have betray'd the trust imposed to my charge, standered the Innocent, poysoned the Instrument I imployed, Falshood. All which being summ'd up, was worthy of hanging.

[Falshood falls down dead.]
Lord de l'Amour.

She hath sav'd me a labour, and kept my Heroick Ho­nour free from the stains of having laid violent hands on the Effeminate Sex.

Friend.

What shall be done with this dead Body?

Lord de l'Amour.

Let her Ladies body, with hers, be thrown into the Fields, to be devoured of Beasts.

Ex.

ACT V.

Scene 22.

Enter the Funeral Herse of the Lady Sanspareile, covered with white Satine; a silver Crown is placed in the midst; her Herse is born by six Virgins all in white, other Virgins goe before the Herse, and strew Flowers, white Lillies, and white Roses: The whilst this Song is sung.
This Song was writ by the Lord Marquesse.
SPOtlesse Virgins as you go,
Wash each step as white as Snow,
With pure Chrystal streams, that rise
From the Fountain of your eyes.
Fresher Lillies like the day
Strew, and Roses as white as they;
As an Emblem to disclose
This Flower sweet; short liv'd as those.

The whilst her Father is carryed as sick in a Chair, the Chair covered with black, and born black by Mourners, he himself also in close Mourning; when they have gone about the Stage.

The Herse is set neer to the Grave, there being one made.

Then the Father is placed in his Chair, upon a raised place for that purpose, the raised place also covered with Black; he being placed, speaks her Fu­neral Sermon.

Father Love.

Most Charitable and Noble Friends, that accompany the Dead Corps to the Grave, I must tell you, I am come here, although I am as a Dead Man to the World, yet my desire is to make a living Speech, before I go out of the world, not only to divulge the Affections I had for my Daugh­ter, but to divulge her Virtue, Worth, and good Graces; And as it is the cu­stome for the nearest Kindred, or best and constantest Friends, or longest ac­quaintance, to speak their Funeral Oration, wherein I take my self to be all, [Page 179] wherefore most fit to speak her Funeral Oration; For I being her Father, am her longest acquaintance, and constantest Friend, and nearest in Relation, wherefore the, fitest to declare unto the world my natural and Fatherly Love, Death will be a sufficient witnesse; For though I am old, yet I was health­ful when she lived, but now I cannot live many hours, neither would I, for Heaven knows, my affections struggle with Death, to hold Life so long as to pay the last Rites due to her dead Corps, struck by Death's cruel Dart: But most Noble and Charitable Friends, I come not here with eye fil'd with sal [...] tears; for sorows thirsty Jaws hath drunk them up, sucked out my blood, & left my Veins quite dry, & luxuriously hath eat my Marow out; my sighs are spe [...]t in blowing out Life's Fire, only some little heat there doth remain, which my affections strive to keep alive to pay the last Rites due to my dead Child, which is, to set her praises forth, for living Virtuously; But had I Nestors years, 'twould prove too few, to tell the living Stories of her Youth, for Nature in her had packed up many Piles of Experience, of Aged times, be­sides, Nature had made her Youth sweet, fresh and temperate, as the Spring; and in her brain, Flowers of Fancies grew, Wits Garden set by Natures hand, wherein the Muses took delight, and entertained themselves therein, Singing like Nightingales, late at Night; or like the Larks ere the day begin; Her thoughts were as the Coelestial Orbes, still moving circular without back ends, surrounding the Center of her Noble mind, which as the Sun gave light to all about it; her Virtues twinkled like the fixed Starrs, whose mo­tion stirs them not from their fix'd place; and all her Passions were as other starres, which seemed as only made to beautifie her Form; But Death hath turned a Chaos of her Form, which life with Art and Care had made, and Gods had given to me: O cursed death, to rob and make me poor! Her life to me was like a delightful Mask, presenting several interchanging Scenes, de­scribing Nature in her several Dresses, and every Dresse put in a several wa [...] Also her life was like a Monarchy, where Reason as sole King, did govern al her actions; which actions, like as Loyal Subjects did obey those Laws which Reason decreed; Also her life was like Ioves Mansions high, as being placed above this worldly Globe; from whence her Soul looked down on duller earth, mixt not, but viewed poor mortals here below; thus was her life a­bove the world, because her life prized not the Trifles here; Perchance this Noble Company will think I have said too much, and vainly, thus to speak.

That Fathers should not praise their Children so,
Because that from their Root and Stock did grow;
Why may not Roots boast if their Fruites be good?
As hindering worth in their own Flesh and blood,
Shall they dissemble, to say they are naught,
Because they are their own? sure that's a fault
Unpardonable, as being a lye that's told,
Detracting lyes, the baser lyes I hold.
Neither can strangers tell their life and worth,
Nor such affections have to set them forth,
As Parents have, or those thats neer of Kin,
Virtuous Partiality, sure that's no sin,
And virtue, though she be lovliest when undrest
[Page 178]Yet she is pleas'd, when well she is exprest.
But Oh! my words have spent my stock of breath,
And Life's commanded forth by powerful Death;
When I am dead, this company I pray,
The last rites done, me by my daughter lay;
And as her soul did with the Muses flye,
To imitate her in her a verse, I dye.
He falls back in his Chair and is dead.
Mr. Comfort.

Noble Friends, you heard his request, which was; to be bu­ryed in his daughters grave; and whilst you show your charity, in laying the Corps of his daughter in the grave, I will carry out his body, and put it into a Coffin, and then lay him in the same grave.

[The Company said, Do so.] Goes out with the body.

The whilst the Virgins take up the Lady Sanspareiles Herse, and whilst they are putting it into the grave, this Song following was sung.

This Song was writ by the Lord Marquesse of New-ca­stle.
Tender Virgins, as your Birth,
Put her gently in the earth,
What of Moral, or Divine,
Here is lapt up in this shrine;
Rhetorick dumb Philosophy,
Both those arts with her did dye.
And grieved Poets cannot choose,
But lament for her their Muse.

When she was putting into the Grave, this Song following was sung.

Her Tomb, her Monument, her Name,
Beyond an Epitaph her Fame;
Death be not proud, imbracing more
Now, than in all thy reign before;
Boasting thy Triumphs, since thou must
But justly glory in her dust,
Let thy Dart rust, and lay it by,
For after her none's sit to dye.
[After this her Peal is Rung on Lutes, by Musicians.] And the Company goes out.

Scene. 23.

A Tomb is thrust on the Stage, then the Lord de l'Amour enters.
LOrd de l'Amour.

Now I am free, no hinderance to my own Tragedy.

[He goeth to the Tomb.]

This Tomb her sacred Body doth contain.

[He draws his Sword, then he kneels down by the Tomb, and then prayes.]

[Page 180]Dear Soul, pardon my crimes to thee; they were crimes of ignorance, n [...] malice.

Sweet gentle Spirit [...], flye me not, but stay,
And let my Spirits walk thy Spirits way;
You lov'd me once, your Love in death renew,
And may our soules be as two Lovers true;
Our Blood's the Bonds, our wounds the Seals to Print
Our new Contract, and Death a witnesse in't.
[He takes his Sword.]
Had I as many lives as Poors in skin,
He sacrifize them for my ignorant sin.
[As he speaks he falls upon his Sword.]
Enter his Friend, Master Charity.
[He seeing him lye all in blood, almost dead, runs to him, and heaves him up.]
Friend.

I did fear this, which made me follow him, but I am come too late to save his life. O my Lord speak if you can!

Lord de l'Amour.

Friend, lay me in this Tomb, by my affianced Wife; for though I did not usher her to the grave, I will wait after her.

[Dyes.]

EPILOGUE.

Noble Spectators, now you have seen this Play,
And heard it speak, let's hear what now you say;
But various judgements, various sentences give,
Yet we do hope you'l sentence it may live.
But not in Prison be condemn'd to lye,
Nor whipt with censure, rather let it dye
Here on this Stage, and see the Funeral Rites,
Which is, to put out all the Candle lights.
And in the grave of darknesse let it rest,
In peace and quiet, and not molest
The harmlesse soul, which hopes Mercury may
Unto the Elizium fields it safe convey.
But if you sentence life, the Muses will
Attend it up unto Parnassus Hill.
If so, pray let your hands, here in this place,
Clap it, as an applause, the triumph grace.
FINIS.

The first Part of the Lady Contemplation.

The Actors Names.
  • Lord Title.
  • Lord Courtship.
  • Sir Experience Traveller.
  • Sir Fancy Poet.
  • Sir Golden Riches.
  • Sir Effeminate Lovely.
  • Sir Vain Complement
  • Sir Humphrey Interruption.
  • Mr. Adviser.
  • Doctor Practise, and other Gen­tlemen.
  • Tom Purveyer.
  • Roger Farmer.
  • Old Humanity.
  • Servants, and others.
  • The Lady Contemplation.
  • The Lady Conversation.
  • The Lady Visitant.
  • The Lady Ward.
  • The Lady Virtue.
  • Lady Amorous.
  • Mrs. Troublesome.
  • Mrs. Governesse, the Lady Vir­tues Attendant.
  • Nurse Careful, Nurse to Lady Ward.
  • Maudlin Huswife, Roger Far­mers wife.
  • Mall Mean-bred, the daughter.
  • Nan Scape-all, Maid to the La­dy Virtue.

The first Part of the Lady Contemplation.
ACT I.

Scene 1.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and the Lady Visitant.
VIsitant.

What Lady Contemplation, musing by your self alone?

Contemplation.

Lady Visitant, I would you had been ten miles off, rather than to have broken my Contemplation.

Visitant.

Why, are you so godly, to be so serious at your Devo­tion?

Contemplation.

No faith, they were Contemplations that pleas'd me better than Devotion could have done; for those that contemplate of Heaven, must have death in their mind.

Visitant.

O no, for there is no Death in Heaven to disturb the joyes thereof.

Contemp.

But we must dye before we come to receive those joyes; and the terrifying thoughts of Death, take away the pleasing thoughts of Hea­ven.

Visitant.

Prethee let me know those pleasing thoughts.

Contemplation.

I did imagine my self such a Beauty, as Nature never made the like, both for Person, Favour, and Colour, and a Wit answerable to my Beauty, and my Breeding and Behaviour answerable to both, my Wisdome excelling all: And if I were not thus as I say, yet that every one should think I were so; for opinion creates more, and perfecter Beauties, than Nature doth. And then that a great powerful Monarch, such a one as Alexander, or Caesar, fell desperately in love with me, seeing but my Picture, which was sent all about the world; yet my Picture (I did imagine) was to my disad­vantage, not flattering me any wayes; yet this Prince to be inamoured with this shadow for the substance sake: Then Love perswaded him to send me his Picture, which represented him to the life, being extreamly handsome, yet had a manly and wise countenance. This Picture being brought by Em­bassadours, which Embassadours when they came, treated with me about marriage with this sole Emperor, all other Kings and Princes being but Tri­butaries; receiving these Embassadours with great civility and respect, yet behaving my self with a reserved and Majestical behaviour, which the Em­bassadours observing, said, I was the only Lady that was fit to be the only Emperours wife, both for my Beauty, Carriage, and Wit: When after a modest Fear, and seeming Humility, I had reason'd against the marriage, at last by their perswasion I consented; then was there Post after Post, and Mes­senger after Messenger, sent with letters from the Emperour to me, and from me to the Emperour; he admiring my letters, for the elegancy of the stile, and eloquency of the wit, and admiring my Picture for the beauty; one while [Page 183] reading my letters, and another while viewing my Picture, made him impa­tient for my Company, which made him send to his Embassadours, that with all speed they should bring me away, sending to all the Princes whose King­domes I was to passe thorow, that they should guard me with Armyes, but not retard me with Olimpias, or the like, but to convey me safe and speedily: Whereupon I took my Journey (most of the Kingdome where I was born petitioning to wait on me); but by reason I could not take them all, unlesse I should depopulate the Kingdome, I would carry none, lest I should displease those that were to be left behind; but as I went out of the City where I dwelt, all the streets were strewed with dead Lovers, which had lived only on hopes, so long as I lived amongst them: But when they knew for certain I was to depart, their hopes vanished, and they dyed with despair. The Em­bassadours seeing such a Mortality, caused the Army that was my guard to march apace, and my Coaches to trundle away, thinking it was the Plague; but at last, after my Beauty had killed millions in the Kingdomes I passed thorow, I arrived at that part of the world where the Emperour was, who was a joyed man to hear of my coming, and had made great preparations a­gainst my arrival; but some few dayes before my arrival, he sent a Chariot which was made of the thinnest plated gold, because it should be light in the Carriage, but the body of the Chariot was enameled and set with pre­cious stones, the Horses trappings were only great Chains of pearls, but the horses reigns were Chains of gold, that might be strong enough to check their hot Spirits, and swift speed; as for my self, I was only cloathed in white Sa­tin, and a Crown of Diamonds on my head, like a Bride, for I was to be marryed as soon as I met the Emperour; but as I past along, all the High­wayes were beset with Crouds of people, which thronged to see me, and when they saw me, they cryed out I was an Angel sent from the Gods; but your coming spoyl'd the Triumph, and brake the Marriage.

Visitant.

No. no it is retarded for a time, the next musing Contemplation the marriage Nuptial will be.

Contemplation.

If you had not come and hinder'd me, I should have go­ver'nd all the world before I had left off Contemplating.

Visitant.

But if you make such hast to be at the Government of the whole world, you would want a Theam for your thoughts to work upon, for you can aim at no more than all the world.

Contemplation.

O yes, rather than fail I would make new worlds, but this wil last me a long time in shewing you what wise Laws I make, what upright Justice I give, ordering so, as the whole world should be as one united Fami­ly; and when I had shewed my wisdome in Peace, then my thoughts should have raised Warres, wherein I would have shewed my valour and con­duct.

Visitant.

Prethee be not so imprudent to cast away precious time, and to bury thy life in fantasms.

Contemplation.

Why prethee, they manage time best, that please life most; For it were better not to be, than to be displeased; for there is none that tru­ly lives, but those that live in pleasure, & the greatest pleasure is in the imagina­tion not in fruition; for it is more pleasure for any person to imagin themselvs Emperour of the whole world, than to be so; for in imagination they reign & Rule, without the troublesome and weighty cares belonging thereto; neither have they those fears of being betrayed or usurped as real Emperours have; [Page 184] Besides, the whole general Race of Man-kind, may this way be the particular Emperour of the whole World, if they will; but those that desire to be Emperours any other wayes, have but sick judgements, for the mind is all, for is that be pleased, man is happy.

Visitant.

Well, well, I had rather have the Material world, than you Airy Fictions.— But confess really to me, if you should not think your self ac­curst if you were to have no other Lovers, but what your Fancy cre­ates.

Contemplation.

No truely, for I finding none so exact as my Fancy creates, makes all men appear worse than they are: For imagination doth like Pain­ters, which takes all the gracefullest lines, and exactest Features from two or three good faces, and draws them into one: this is the reason that there may be handsomer Pictures drawn, than any Creature born; because, Nature di­stributes and divides her Favours, as to the generality, when Painter contract them into particulars; for there was never any, unlesse born as a wonder, that hath no exceptions; besides, my Lovers which my Fancy cre­ates, never make me jealouse, nor never disturb me; come to me, and goe from me; speak or are silent as I will have them, and they are behaved, quali­fied, and adorned to my humour, also of what Birth, Age, Complexion, or Stature I like best; thus their persons and souls are created in my brain, live in my Contemplation, and are dead and buryed in my forgetfulnesse, but have a Resurrection in my remembrance,

Visitant.

Prethee do not lose the pleasure of the World, for the sake of dull Contemplation.

Contemplation.

Why, the greatest pleasures that can be in Fruition, I take in Imagination: for whatsoever the sence enjoyes from outward objects, they may enjoy in inward thoughts. For the mind takes as much pleasure in cre­ating of Fancies, as Nature to create and dissolve, and create Creatures anew: For Fancy is the Minds creature, & imaginations are as several worlds, where­in those Creatures are bred and born, live and dye; thus the mind is like infinite Nature.

Visit.

Prethee leave thy infinite folly.

Contem.

It is my infinite delight.

Ex.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lady Poor Virtue weeping, and her Governesse.
GOverness.

Madam, why do you weep, and grieve your self almost to death?

Poor Virtue.

Have I not reason? my Father being kill'd, and I left friendlesse all alone, my Mother dying as soon as I was born.

Governesse.

There is no reason you should grieve for your Father, since he dyed in the defence of his King and Country.

Virtue.

Tis true, and I glory in his valiant loyal Actions, yet I cannot choose but mourn for the losse of his life, and weepe upon his death.

Governess.
[Page 185]

Methinks the greatest cause you have to weep, is, for the loss of your Estate, which the Enemy hath seized on, and you left only to live on Charity.

Poor Virtue.

I cannot mourn for any thing that is in Fortunes power to take away.

Governess.

Why? Fortune hath power on all things in the World.

Poor Virtue.

O no, she hath power on nothing but base dross, and outward forms, things moveable; but she hath neither power on honest hearts, nor noble Souls; for 'tis the Gods infuse grace, and virtue; nor hath she power or Reason, or Understanding, for Nature creates, and disposes those; nor doth she govern Wisdome, for Wisdome governs her; nor hath she power on Life and Death, they are decreed by Heaven.

Governess.

And will you weep at Heavens decree?

Poor Virtue.

The Heavens decrees hinder not humanity, nor natural af­fection.

Governess.

Well, ever since your Mother dyed, I have governed your Fa­thers House, and pleased him well; but since he is kill'd, and that there is nothing for me to govern, I will take my leave of you and seek another place; and I hope fortune will favour me so as to direct me to some Widdower, or old Batchelour, which desires a comely huswifly woman to order their pri­vate affairs.

Poor Virtue.

I wish you all happiness, and if I were in a condition, I would make you a present.

Exeunt.

Scene 3.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1. GEntleman.

Sir, My Lord is so busy since his Fathers Death, with Stewards, Atturnies, and such like, about ordering his Estate, as I am loath to disturb him; but as soon as he hath done speaking to them, I will wait upon you to my Lord.

2. Gentleman.

Sir, I shall wait my Lords leasure.

Enter the Lady Ward and Nurse Care­ful, they pass over the Stage.
2. Gent.

Sir, what pretty young Lady is that which passes by?

1. Gent.

She is a great Heiress, and was Ward to my old Lord, and he upon his Death-bed charged his Son my young Lord to marry her.

2. Gent.

Surely small perswasions might serve turn; for her Virtue is Rhetorick enough to perswade, nay to force affection.

1. Gent.

Yet my Lord is discontented, he would rather choose for him­self, than that his Father should have chosen for him; for it is the Nature of Mankind to reject that which is offered, though never so good; and to prize that they cannot get, although not worth the having.

2. Gent.

Of what Quality, of Birth, and Nature, and disposition is she of?

1. Gent.

She is Honourably Born, and seems to be of a sweet disposition; but of a Melancholy Nature.

[Page 186] Enter a Servant.
Servant.

Sir, my Lord desires the Gentleman would be pleased to walk in.

Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene 4.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and Sir Humphrey Interruption.
INterruption.

Lady, what makes you so silently sad?

Contemplation.

Pardon me Sir, I am not sad at this time, for my thoughts are merry, and my spirits lively.

Interrupt.

There is no appearance of mirth in you, for mirth hath alwayes a dancing heel, a singing voyce, a talking tongue, and a laughing face.

Contempl.

I have such merry Companions sometimes; but I seldome dance, sing, talk, or laugh my self.

Interrupt.

Where are those Companions? I desire to be acquainted with them, and keep them Company.

Contempl.

You cannot keep them Company, for the place they inhabit in, is too little for your Corporal body to enter; besides, they are so curious, choyce, and nice Creatures, as they will vanish at the very sight of you.

Interrupt.

Why Lady, I am none of the biggest sized Men, nor am I of a terrible aspect; I have seen very fine and delicate Creatures.

Contempl.

But you never saw any of these Creatures.

Interrupt.

Pray where do they dwell, and what are their Names? I long to visit them.

Contempl.

They dwell in my head, and their Sirnames are called thoughts; but how you will visit them I cannot tell, but they may visit you.

Interrupt.

Faith Lady, your relation hath made me despair of an enter­view, but not a friendly entertainment, if you please to think well of me.

Contempl.

Thoughts are free, and for the most part they censure according to fancy.

Interrupt.

Then fancy me such a one, as you could like best, and love most.

Contempl.

That I cannot doe, for I love those best which I create my self, and Nature hath taught me to prize whatsoever is my own most, although of smaller valew, than what's anothers, although of greater worth.

Interrupt.

Then make me yours, by creating me anew.

Contempl.

That is past my skill; but if you will leave me alone, I will think of you when you are gone; for I had rather of the two entertain you in my thoughts, than keep you Company in discourse; for I am better pleased with a solitary silence, or a silent solitariness, than with a talking conversation, or [Page 187] an entertaining talking, for words for the most part are rather useless spent, than profitably spoke, and time is lost in listning to them, for few tongues make Musick, wanting the Cords of Sense, or sound of Reason, or singers of Fancy, to play thereon.

Interrupt.

But you will injure your wit, to bury your wit in solitary silence.

Contempl.

Wit lives not on the tongue, as language doth, but in the brain, which power hath, as Nature, to create.

Interrupt.

But those are aery not material Creatures.

Contempl.

'Tis true, but what they want in substance, they have in variety; for the brain can create Millions of several Worlds fill'd full of several Crea­tures, and though they last not long, yet are they quickly made, they need not length of time to give them form and shape.

Interrupt.

But there is required Speech to express them, or they are made in vain, if not divulged.

Contempl.

Speech is an enemy to Fancy; for they that talk much, cannot have time to think much; and Fancies are produced from thoughts, as thoughts are from the minde, and the minde which doth create the thoughts, and the thoughts the fancies, is as a Deity; for it entertains it self with it self, and only takes pleasure in its own works, although none other should par­take, or know thereof; but I shall talk a World out of my head, wherefore farewel.

Ex.

Scene 5.

Enter Poor Virtue, and her Maid Nan Scrapeall.
NAn Scrapeall.

Now your Estate is seized on, you have not means to keep a Servant, as to pay them for their service.

Poor Virtue.

No truly Nan, but that which grieves me most, is, that I have not wherewithall to reward thee for thy past service.

Nan Scrapeall.

I have served you these seven years, and have had nothing but my bare wages, unless it were some of the worst of your cast Clothes; for Mrs. Governess took order I should have none of the best; but I hope you will pay me my half years wages that is due to me.

Poor Virtue.

Truly Nan I am not able, for not only my Estate, but all the Money, Jewels, Plate, and other goods you know was seized on, all that my Father left, or had a right to, unless it were my single self; and if you will take my service for half a year for payment, I will be very honest, dutiful, and diligent.

Nan Scrapeall.

No by my troth, for you have been bred with so much at­tendance, curiosity, and plenty, as you will rather prove a charge than a pay­ment; but if you can get means by your youth, and beauty, I shall come and claim what is owing me.

Poor Virtue.

When I am able you shall not need to challenge it; for I will pay you before you ask.

Nan Scrapeall goes out, and Poor Virtue sits down as in a deep study.
[Page 188] Enter an old gray headed man namely Humanity, who seeing her in so Melancholy a Posture, falls a weeping.
Poor Virtue.

Why weepst thou old Humanity?

Humanity.

For the ruine of your noble family. I came a boy to your Grandmother the great and rich Lady Natures service, she being then newly married to your Grandfather the Lord Propriety; from whence sprung your Father the Lord Morality; your Grandfather, and Grandmother dying, I ser­ved your Father, who soon after married your Mother the Lady Piety, they living, whilst she lived, with Peace and Tranquillity; but she dying, left you only to your Father, as a pledg of their loves; and indeed, you are so like them both, as all must confess they were your Parents, although they knew not your Birth; and yet none can tell which you resembled most: thus have I lived to see your Grandfather, and Grandmother, and Father, and Mother dead, and Peace, and Tranquillity fled; and you sweet Virtue left dessolate and forlorn, both of friends and fortune; but sweet Lady comfort your self, for I have a little fortune, which I got honestly in your Fathers service; and as long as that lasts you shall not want.

Poor Virtue.

I thank you, but you are old Humanity, and ready to go upon Crutches, and age and infirmities are shiftless; wherefore keep it for thy own use.

Humanity.

Why, so is unexperienced youth, both shiftless, and strength­less.

Poor Virtue.

Tis true, yet youth hath an encreasing advantage; for time carryes youth up, but time pulls Age down; wherefore I will not take that from thee, that will cause thee to be the poorer, or hazard you to want; I shall only desire your advise, what I shall do, and what course I shall follow.

Humanity.

Alas sweet Lady, necessity will drive you into many ex­tremities.

Poor Virtue.

I shall have fortitude to arm me; but what Counsel will you give me?

Humanity.

The best way for you will be to get into some great Ladies ser­vice, and in such a place or office as to attend upon her Person, there you may live with honour and respect.

Poor Virtue.

I had rather shrow'd my honest Poverty in a thatcht house, than live in a Palace to be pointed at for my misfortunes; for in this Age, misfortunes are accounted crimes, and poverty is condemned as a thief, and hang'd in the Chains of scorn; wherefore if I could get a service in an ho­nest poor Farmers house, I might live happy, as being most obscure from the World, and the Worlds Vices; for vice encreases more in Palaces than in Cottages; for in Palaces Pride Plows, Faction Sowes, Riot Reaps, Extortion Threshes, Covetousness Whoords up the grain or gain; there youth is corrup­ted with Vanity, Beauty catcht with Flattery, Chastity endangered with Pow­er, and Virtue slandered by Envy; besides, great Persons use their Servants too unequally, making them either Masters, or Slaves; where in an humble Cottage the industrious, and laborious Masters command their Servants friendly and kindly, and are obeyed with love; wherefore good Humanity, seek me out such a Place to live in, to serve.

Humanity.

I will, for I will never forsake you as long as I live, or at least so long as I have leggs to goe.

Poor Virtue.
[Page 189]

When you cannot visit me, I will visit you, for I shall never be ungrateful.

Ex.

Scene 6.

Enter the Lady Conversation, and Sir Experience Traveller.
COnversation.

Sir Experience Traveller, you that have been so great a tra­veller, pray tell me what Nations have the rarest Beauties, and which the greatest Wits?

Sir Experience Traveller.

In all my travels, the rarest Beauty that I have seen, and the greatest Wit that I have heard of, is your self, sweet Lady Con­versation.

Conver.

Then you have lost your labour; for you might have seen my Beauty, and have heard my Wit, at lesse Charges, and more ease.

Experience Tra.

Tis true Madam, had I only travelled to see a fair Lady, and hear a witty discourse.

Conver.

Why, many travel to lesse purpose.

Experience Tra.

Tis true Madam, for some travel meerly to learn to make a leg or congy with a good grace, and to wear their cloaths, or acouster themselves fashionably. But I have observed in my travels, that very cold Countries, and very hot Countries, have neither so many Beauties, nor so much Wit, at lest not so much as more temperate Countries have.

Conver.

What is the reason of that?

Exper. Trav.

I cannot conceive the reason, unlesse the extream coldnesse of the Climate should congele their Spirits, and stupifie their Brains, making the Spirits unactive to get, and the Brain too barren to breed and bear Wit.

Conversation.

So then you make the Spirits and the Brain the Parents to Wit.

Exper. Trav.

Yes Madam.

Conver.

And what reason give you for the scarcity of Beauties in very cold Climates?

Exper. Trav.

Beauty, Madam, is as tender and fading in the growth, as a Flower, although it be fresh and sweet; and the more delicate it is, the more subject to be nipt with the hard Frost, and to be withered with raw colds.

Conver.

Then hot Countries should produce good store.

Exper. Trav.

No Madam, for extream heat dryes up Wit, as water in a Spring, and Sun-burns beauty.

Conver.

But hot Brains are thought to produce the greatest VVits.

Expe. Trav.

Yes, if they be equally tempered with moisture; for as heat in moisture are Generators of all Creatures, so of Wit; but if the moisture exceed the heat, the Brain, or Mind becomes stupid, if the heat exceeds the moisture, the Brain or Mind becomes mad.

Conver.

VVhat Nation hath the best Language?

Expe. Trav.

There are but three commendable things in Language, those [Page 190] are to be significant, copious, and smooth, and the English tongue hath the perfection of all, there being an oyle, or butter made of the cream of all o­ther Languages. Thus, what with the Temperature of the Climate, and the soft, smooth, spreading Language, England produces rarer Beauties, and eloquenter Orators, and finer Poets, than any other Nation in the world; and the Nobility and Gentry live not only in greater grandeur, than in other Na­tions, but naturally appear or look with a more splendid Great­nesse.

Conver.

Tis true, they did so in former times, when the Crown kept up Ceremony, and Ceremony the Crown; but since that Ceremony is down, their grandeur is lost, and their splendor put out; and no light thereof re­mains: But they are covered with a dark rudenesse, wherein the Clown ju­stles the Lord, and the Lord gives the way to the Clown; the Man takes the wall of his Master, and the Master scrapes legs with Cap in hand to the Ser­vant, and waits upon him, not out of a generous and noble Nature, but out of a base servile fear, and through fear hath given the Power away.

Exper. Trav.

I am sorry to hear the Nobility is so degenerated.

Ex.

Scene. 7.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and his Friend Master Adviser.
ADviser.

I wonder your Lordship should be so troubled at your Fathers commands, which was to marry the Lady Ward, unlesse she had been ill-favoured and old.

Lord Courtship.

O that's the misery! that she is so young, For I had rather my Father had commanded me to marry one that had been very old, than one that is so young; for if she had been very old, there might have been some hopes of her death; but this young Filly will grow upon me, not from me; besides, those that are young give me no delight, their Company is dull.

Adviser.

VVhy, she is not so very young, she is fifteen years of Age.

Lord Court.

Give me a Lady to imbrace about the years of twenty, rather than fifteen; then is her Beauty like a full-blown Rose in Iune, her VVit like fruit is ripe and sweet, and pleasant to the ear; when those of fifteen are like to green sharp Fruit, not ripened by the Sun of Time. Yet that's not all that troubles me; but I cannot endure to be bound in VVedlocks shackles, for I love variety, and hate to be ty'd to one.

Adviser.

VVhy, you may have the more variety by marrying.

Lord Court.

No faith, 'tis a Bar; for if I should but kisse my wives Maid [...] which a thousand to one but I shall, my wife, if she doth not beat her Maid, making a hideous noise, with scoldings, yet she will pour, and cry, and feign her self sick, or else she would Cuckold me, and then I am paid for all.

Adviser.

Faith my Lord, it is a hundred to one but a man when he is mar­yed [Page 191] shall be Cuckolded, were he as wife as Solomon, as valiant as David, as fortunate as Caesar, as witty as Homer, or as handsome as Absalom; for Wo­men are of the same Nature as men, for not one man amongst a thousand makes a good Husband, nor one woman amongst a thousand makes an honest Wife.

Lord Court.

No saith, you might well have put another Cypher and made it ten thousand.

Adviser.

Well my Lord, since you must marry, pray let me counsel you: This Lady Ward being very young, you may have her bred to your own Humour.

Lord Court.

How is that?

Adviser.

VVhy, accustome her to your wayes before you marry her; let her see your several Courtships to several Mistresses, and keep wenches in your house; and when she is bred up to the acquaintance of your customes, it will be as natural to her.

Lord Court.

VVhat, to be a whore?

Adviser.

No, to know your humours, and to be contented there­at.

Lord Court.

VVell, I will take your advice, although it is dange­rous: And as the old saying is, the Medicine may prove worse than the disease.

Adviser.

VVhy, the worst come to the worst, it is but parting.

Lord Court.

You say true; but yet a divorce will not clearly take off the disgrace of a Cuckold.

Ex.

Scene 8.

Enter Poor Virtue, and old Humanity.
HUmanity.

I have found out a service, a Farmer which hath the report of an honest labouring man, and his wife a good huswifely woman; they have onely one daughter about your years, a pretty Maid truely she is, and seems a modest one; but how you will endure such rough and rude work, which perchance they will imploy you in, I cannot tell, I doubt you will tire in it.

Poor Virtue.

Do not fear, for what I want in strength, my industry shall supply.

Humanity.

But you must be fitted with cloaths according, and proper to your service.

Poor Virtue.

That you must help me to.

Humanity.

That I will.

Ex.

ACT III.

Scene 9.

Enter Sir Fancy Poet, and the Lady Contemplation.
SIr Fancy Poet.

Sweet Lady Contemplation, although your thoughts be ex­cellent, yet there are fine curiosities and sweet pleasures to be enjoyed in the use of the world.

Contemplation.

Perchance so, but would not you think that man a Fool that hath a great estate, a large convenient house, well situated, in sweet and healthfull Aire, pleasant and delightful, having all about for the eyes to view Landskips, and Prospects; beside, all the inside richly furnished, and the Master plentifully served, and much company to passe his time with, as a re­sort of men of all Nations, of all Ages, of all qualities or degrees, and pro­fessions, of all humours, of all breedings, of all shapes, of all complexions: Likewise a recourse for all Wits, for all Scholars, for all Arts, for all Sci­ences; Also Lovers of all sorts Servants of all use, and imployments; Thus living luxuriously with all rarities and varieties, and yet shall go a begging, debasing himself with humble crouching, inslaving himself to Obligations, living upon cold Charity, and is denyed often times unkindly, or kickt out scornfully, when he may be honoured at home, and served in state, would not you think that this man had an inbred basenesse, that had rather serve un­worthily, than command honourably; that had rather be inslaved, than free? Besides, that mind is a fool that cannot entertain it self with it's own thoughts; a wandring Vagabond, that is never, of seldome at home in Contemplation; A Prodigal to cast out his thoughts vainly in idle words, base to inslave it self to the Body, which is full of corruption, when it can create bodilesse Creatures like it self in Corporalities; with which self Creatures, it may nobly, honestly, freely, and delightfully entertain it self. VVith which, the mind may not only delight it self, but improve it self; for the thoughts, which are the actions of the mind, make the soul more healthful and strong by ex­ercises; for the mind is the soules body, and the thoughts are the actions thereof.

Fancy Poet.

After what manner will you form this Body?

Contempl.

Thus, Understanding is the Brain, Reason the Liver, Love is the heart, Hate the Spleen, Knowledge the Stomach, Judgement the Sinews, Opi­nions the Bones, VVill the Veins, Imaginations the Blood, Fancy the Spirits, the Thoughts are the Life, and Motion, or the Motions of the Life, the out­ward Form is the Mind it self, which sometimes is like a Beast, sometimes like a Man, and sometimes like a God.

Fancy Poet.

And you my fair Goddesse.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady Amorous.
LAdy Amorous.

My Lord, you are too covetous to take a wife meerly for her riches.

Lord Courtship.

Believe me Madam, I do esteem of such Riches as Money, as I do of Marriage, and in my nature I do hate them both; for a man is en­slaved by either: wherefore I would shun them if I could, and turn them out of doors, but that some sorts of necessity and conveniency inforce me to en­tertain them; the one for Posteritie sake, the other for subsistence of present life, besides convenient pleasures.

Lady Am.

The Lady Ward, who is to be your wife, seems of a very dull disposition.

Lord Court.

She is so, but I like her the better for that, for I would have a deadly dull Wife, and a lively Mistresse, such a sprightly Lady as you are.

Lady Am.

In truth my Lord, I am of a melancholy Nature.

Lord Court.

Certainly Madam, you onely know the Name, not the Nature, for your Nature is alwayes fresh, and sweet, and pleasant, as the Spring.

Lady Am.

O no, my mind is like to VVinter, and my thoughts are numb and cold.

Lord Court.

If your thoughts were so cold, your words would be as if they were frozen between your lips, all your discourse would melt by drops, not flow so smoothly and swiftly into mens eares, as they at all times do.

Lady Am.

Tis true, I am merry when I am in your company, but in your absence I am as dull as a cloudy day, and as melancholy as dark night.

Lord Court.

I cannot believe so well of my self, as that my company can be the light of your mirth, but I know that your company is the Sun of my life, nor could I live without it.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter the Lord Title, Sir Effeminate Lovely, and Sir Golden Riches.
LOrd Title.

This is a barren Country, for in all this progresse I have not seen a pretty Country wench.

Effeminate Lovely.

Nor I.

Golden Riches.

Nor I.

Lord Title.

If an person can tell, it is Tom Purveyer.

[Page 194] Enter Tom Purveyer.

Now Tom Purveyer, are there no pretty wenches in this part of the Coun­trey?

Tom Purveyer.

Yes that there are, an it please your Lorship, and not far off, two as pretty wenches as are in the Kingdome, and no dispraise to the rest.

They all speak.
All.

Where? where?

Tom Purveyer.

Hard by here, at a Farmers House, the one is his Daught­er, the other is his Servant-Maid.

All.

Prethee Tom show us the house.

Tom Purveyer.

Not all at once; but one after another.

All.

Nay faith Tom, let us all see them at once; but we will Court them apart.

Tom Purveyer.

Content.

Exeunt.

Scene 12.

Enter the Lady Conversation, and Sir Fancy Poet.
LAdy Conversation.

What is the reason that Mercury is feign'd to be the patron of Thieves?

Sir Fancy Poet.

That is to be the patron of Scholars, for Scholars are the greatest Thieves, stealing from the Authours they read, to their own use.

Lady Convers.

And why are Scholars counted the greatest Thieves?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Because that they steal the Spirits, or life of renown, out of the treasury of Fame; when all other sorts of Thieves steal but the goods of Fortune, which is nothing but a Corporal dross.

Convers.

And why is he feigned the talkative God?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Because Scholars talk more than other men, and most com­monly so much, as they will let none speak but themselves; and when there is a Company of Scholars together, they will be so fierce in disputes, as they will be ready to go to cuffs for the Prerogative of their opinion.

Convers.

The Prerogative of the tongue you mean; but why are Scholars apt to talk most?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Because they overcharge their heads with several Authors, as Epicures do their Stomacks with variety of meats, and being overcharged, they are forced to vent it forth through the mouth, as the other through the gut; for the tongue, as a Feather, tickles the throat of Vainglory, vomiting out the slime of Learning, into the ears of the hearers; but some heads, as Stomacks which are naturally weak, are so grip'd, by reason it doth not dis­gest well, as they vent nothing but windy Phrases; and other brains which are hot and moist, by reason of a facil memory, disgest so fast, as they do nothing but purge loose Sentences; and other brains that are too dry and Incipid, are so costive, as their restringency strains out nothing but strong lines.

Convers.

What is that, Non-sense?

Sir Fancy Poet.
[Page 195]

Indeed they are hard words without sense.

Convers.

What makes a good Poet?

Sir Fancy Poet.

A quick Fancy.

Convers.

What makes a good Oratour?

Sir Fancy Poet.

A ready Tongue.

Convers.

What makes a good Physician?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Much Practice.

Convers.

What makes a good Divine?

Sir Fancy Poet.

A Holy Life.

Convers.

What makes a good States-Man?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Long experience, great observance, prudent industry, in­genuous wit, and distinguishing judgment.

Convers.

What makes a good Souldier?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Change of Fortune, Courage, Prudence, and Patience.

Convers.

What makes a good Courtier?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Diligence, Flattery, and time-serving.

Convers.

VVhat makes a good Prince, or Governour?

Sir Fancy Poet.

Justice, Clemency, Generosity, Courage, and Prudence mixt together.

Convers.

VVhat makes a good VVoman?

Sir Fancy Poet.

A Poet.

Convers.

VVhy a Poet?

Sir Fancy Poet.

By reason the Poetical wits convert their natural defects into sweet graces, their follies to pure innocencies, and their Vices into He­roick Virtues.

Convers.

By these descriptions, you make as if women were more obliged to Poets than to Nature.

Sir Fancy Poet.

They are so; for where Nature, or Education, makes one good, or beautiful VVoman, Poets make ten; besides, Poets have not only made greater numbers of beautiful women, but perfecter beauties than ever Nature made.

Convers.

Then let me tell you, that women make Poets; for women kindle the masculine brains with the fire of Love, from whence arises a Poetical flame; and their Beauty is the fuel that feeds it.

Sir Fancy Poet.

I confess, were there no women, there would be no Poets; for the Muses are of that Sex.

Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene 13.

Enter Roger Farmer, and Maudling his Wife.
MAudling Huswife.

Truly Husband our Maid Poor Virtue is a very in­dustrious Servant as ever I had in my life.

Roger Farmer.

Yes wife, but you were angry with me at first because I per­swaded you to take her.

Maudling Huswife.

VVhy, she seem'd to be so fine a feat, as I thought she would never have setled to her work.

Roger Farmer.

Truly VVife, she does forecast her business so prudently, and doth every thing so orderly, and behaves her self so handsomely, car­ryes her self so modestly, as she may be a Pattern to our Daughter.

Maudling Huswife.

I am a better Pattern my self.

Exeunt.

Scene 14.

Enter Poor Virtue with a Sheephook, as comming from tending her sheep, and the Lord Title meets her.
LOrd Title.

Fair Maid, may I be your Shepheard to attend you.

Poor Virtue.

I am but a single Sheep that needs no great attendance, and a harmless one, that strayes not forth the ground I am put to feed.

Lord Title.

Mistake me not fair Maid, I desire to be your Shepheard, and you my fair Shepheardess, attending loving thoughts, that feed on kisses sweet, folded in amorous arms.

Poor Virtue.

My mind never harbors wanton thoughts, nor sends immodest glances forth, nor will infold unlawful love, for chastity sticks as fast unto my Soul, as light unto the Sun, or heat unto the fire, or motion unto life, or ab­sence unto death, or time unto eternity, and I glory more in being chast, than Hellen of her beauty, or Athens of their learning and eloquence, or the Lace­demonions of their Lawes, or the Persians of their Riches, or Greece of their Fa­bles, or the Romans of their Conquests; and Chastity is more delightfull to my mind, than Fancy is to Poets, or Musick to the Ears, or Beauty to the Eyes, and I am as constant to Chastity, as truth to Unity, and Death to life; for I am as free, and pure from all unchastity as Angels are of sin.

Poor Virtue goes out.
Lord Title alone.
Lord Title.

I wonder not so much at Fortunes gifts, as Natures curiosities, not so much at Riches, Tittle and power, as Beauty, VVit, and Virtue, joyn'd [Page 197] in one; besides, she doth amaze me by expressing so much learning, as if she had been taught in some famous Schools, and had read many histories, and yet a Cottager, and a young Cottager, tis strange.

Ex.

Scene 15.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and Mr. Adviser.
ADviser.

My Lord, doth my Counsel take good effect?

Lord Courtship.

Yes faith, for she seems to take it very patiently, or elce she is so dull a Creature as she is not sensible of any injury that's done her.

Adviser.

How doth she look when you adress, and salute your Mi­striss?

Lord Courtship.

She seems to regard us not; but is as if she were in a deep contemplation of another world.

Adviser.

I think she is one of the fewest words, for I never heard her speak.

Lord Courtship.

Faith so few, as I am in good hope she is tongue-tyed, or will grow dumb.

Adviser.

That would be such a happiness, as all married men would en­vy you for.

Lord Courtship.

They will have cause, for there is nothing so tedious as talking women, they speak so constraintly, and utter their Nonsence with such formality, and ask impertinent questions so gravely, or else their dis­course is snip snap, or so loud and shrill, as deafs a mans ears, so as a man would never keep them Company, if it were not for other reasons.

Adviser.

Your Lordship speaks as if you were a woman-hater.

Lord Courtship.

O Pardon me, for there is no man loves the Sex better than I; yet I had rather discourse with their beauty than their wits; besides, I only speak of generalities, not particularities.

Ex.

Scene. 16.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and Sir Humphrey Interruption.
INterruption.

Lady, pray make me partaker of some of your conceptions.

Contempl.

My conceptions are like the tongue of an extemporary Oratour, that after he hath spoke, if he were to speak upon the same subject he could hardly do it, if it were not impossible just to speak as he did, as to express the same subjects in the same expressions, and way of his natural Rhetorick; for the sense may be the same, but the expressions, & way of Rhetorick wil hard­ly be the same; but 'tis likely will be very different, and so differing, as not to be like the same, but the same premeditated Rhetorick, will many times [Page 198] serve to many several designs, or preaching, pleading, or speaking, the Theam or cause being altered; This is the difference betwixt extemporary Orato­ry, and premeditated Oratory, the one may be spoke, as many times as an O­rator will, and make the same Oratory serve to many several Subjects; the o­ther being not fixt, but voluntary, vanishes out of the remembrance, the same many times do my conceptions.

Interrup.

But I hope all are not vanished, some remain; wherefore pray expresse or present any one of your conceptions after what manner of way you please.

Contempl.

Why then I will tell you, I had a conception of a Monster, as a Creature that had a rational soul, yet was a Fool: It had had a beautiful and perfect shape, yet was deformed and ill-favoured; It had clear distinguish­ing senses, and yet was sencelesse; It was produced from the Gods, but had the nature of a Devil; It had an eternal life, yet dyed as a Beast, It had a body, and no body.

Interrup.

What Monster call you this?

Contempl.

I call him Man.

Interrup.

This is a Man of your own conception.

Contemp.

A man of Natures creating is as monstrous for though man hath a rational soul, yet most men are fools, making no use of their reason; and though Man hath a beautiful and perfect shape, yet for the most part, they make themselves deformed and ill-favoured with antick postures, violent passions, or brutish vices; and man hath clear distinguishing Senses, yet in his sleep, or with sumes, or drink, he is sencelesse: Man was produced immediately from the Gods, yet man being wicked, and prone to evil, hath by evil wick­ednesse the nature of a Devil; Man 'tis said, shall live for ever, as having an eternal life, yet betwixt this life and the other, he dyes like a Beast, and turns to dust as other Creatures do; but the only difference between the man Na­ture creates, and the man my Conceptions create is, that Natures man hath a real substance as a real body; whereas my conceptive man is only an Idea, which is an incorporal man, so as the body of my concepted man, is as the soul of Natures created man, an incorporality.

Ex.

Scene 17.

Enter the Lord Title, and Mall Mean-bred.
LOrd Title.

Written by my Lord Marquess of New-castle.Well, I have lost my first Course in Love, and now like an angry bloody Gray-hound, I will down with the first I meet, were she as innocent as a Dove, or as wise as a Serpent, down she goes.

Enter Mall Mean-bred.

But soft, here's Loves game, and Ile flye at her. Fair One, for so you are.

Mall Mean-bred.
[Page 199]

Truly Sir I am but a Blouse.

Lord Title.

Think better of your self, and believe me.

Mall Mean.

My Father hath told me, I must not believe a Gentleman in such matters.

Lord Title.

Why sweetest? I am a Lord.

Mall Mean.

A Lord; Lord blesse your Worship then, but my Father gave me warning of a Lord, he said they might nay, say and swear too, and do any thing, for they were Peers of the Realm, there was no medling with them he said, without a Rebellion, blesse me from a Lord, for it is a naughty thing, as they say, I know not.

Lo. Title.

Do you value me so little, when I can make you an Apocryphal Lady?

Mall Mean.

The Apocrypha forsooth is out of my Book, I have been bred purer than to meddle with the Apocrypha, the Gods blesse us from it, and from all such ill things.

Lo. Title.

Well, in short, will you love me?

Mall Mean.

I am so ashamed to love a Lord forsooth that I know not how to behave my self.

Lo. Title.

I will teach you.

Mall Mean.

If your Honour will take the pains to teach a poor ignorant Country Maid, I will do the best I can to learn forsooth; but will it not be too much pains for your Honour, do you think?

Lo. Title.

No no, it will be both for my Honour, and my pleasure, and for the pleasure of my Honour.

Mall Mean-bred.

Blesse us, how the Lords doe. It backward and forward at their pleasure, the finest that ever was; but what would your Honour have of me?

Lo. Title.

By this kiss Ile tell you.

He goes to kiss her, she seems nice and coy.
Mall Mean.

O fie, fie, good your Honour, do not scandalize your lips to kisse mine, and make me so proud as never to kisse our Shepherd again.

He offers.
Mall Mean.

No fie.

Lo. Title.

I will and must kisse you.

[He strives]
Mall Mean-bred.

Nay, good your Honour, good your Honour.

He kisses her.

What are you the better now? But I see there is no denying a Lord, for­sooth it is not civil, and they are so peremptory too, the Gods blesse them, and make them their Servants.

Lo. Title.

This kisse hath so inflamed me, therefore for Loves sake, meet me in the Evening, in the Broom close here.

Mall Mean.

I know the Close forsooth, I have been there before now.

Lo. Title.

Well, and when we meet I will discover more than yet I have done.

Mall Mean.

So you had need forsooth, for nothing is discovered yet, either on your side, or mine, but I will keep my promise.

Lo. Title.

There spoke my better Angel; so adiew.

Mall Mean.

An Angel, I will not break my word for two angels, and I hope there will be no dew neither, God shield you forsooth.

Ex.
Here ends my Lord Marquesse.

Scene 18.

Enter Sir Effeminate Lovely, following Poor Virtue.
Sir Effeminate Lovely.

Fair Maid, stay and look upon my person.

Poor Virtue.

Why, so I do.

Effem. Love.

And how do you like it?

Poor Vir.

As I like a curious built house, wherein lives a vain and self-con­ceited owner.

Effem. Love.

And are not you in love with it?

Poor Vir.

No truly, no more than with a pencilled Picture.

Effem. Love.

Why, I am not painted.

Poor Vir.

You are by Nature, though not by Art.

Effem. Love.

And do you despise the best and curiousest Works of Na­ture?

Poor Vir.

No, I admire them.

Effem. Love.

If you admire them, you will admire me, and if you admire me, you will yield to my desires.

Poor Vir.

There may be admiration without love, but to yield to your de­sires, were to abuse Natures VVorks.

Effem. Love.

No, It were to enjoy them.

Poor Vir.

Nature hath made Reason in man, as well as Sence, and we ought not to abuse the one, to please the other; otherwise man would be like Beasts, following their sensualities, which Nature never made man to be; for she created Virtues in the Soul, to govern the Senses and Appetites of the Body, as Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Conscience.

Effem. Love.

Conscience? VVhat is that, natural fear?

Poor Vir.

No, it is the tenderest part of the Soul, bathed in a holy dew, from whence repentant tears do flow.

Effem. Love.

I find no such tender Constitution, nor moist Complexion in my Soul.

Poor Vir.

That is, by reason the Fire of unlawful Love hath drunk all up, & seared the Conscience dry.

Effem. Love.

You may call it what Fire you will, but I am certain it is your Beauty that kindles it, and your Wit that makes it flame, burning with hot desires.

Poor Vir.

Pray Heaven my Virtue may quench it out again.

Poor Virtue goes out.
Lovely alone.
Effem. Love.

I am sure Nature requires a self-satisfaction, as well as a self-preservation, and cannot, nor will not be quiet without it, esteeming it beyond life.

Ex.

Scene 19.

Enter the Lady Ward, and Nurse Careful.
Lady Ward.

I wonder my Lord Courtship, he being counted a wise man; should make me his Baud, if he intends to make me his Wife, and by my troth Nurse, I am too young for that grave Office.

Nurse Careful.

How ignorantly you speak Child? it is a sign you have been bred obscurely, and know little of the world; or rather it proves your Mother dyed before you could speak, or go, otherwise you would be better experien­ced in these businesses.

Lady Ward.

My Mother, Nurse, Heaven rest her soul, she would never have made me a Baud.

Nurse Careful.

No, why then she would not do as most Mothers do now a dayes; for in this age Mothers bring up their daughters to carry Letters, and to receive messages, or at lest to watch at the door left their Fathers should come unawares, and when they come to make some excuse, and then the Mother laughs, and sayes her daughter is a notable witty Girle.

La. Ward.

What, for telling a lye?

Nurse Careful.

Yes, when it is told so, as to appeare like a truth.

Lady Ward.

But it is a double fault, as to deceive the Father, and be a Baud to the Mother.

Nurse Careful.

Why, the Mother will execute the same Office for the daugh­ter when she is marryed, and her self grown into years; for from the age of seven or eight years old, to the time they are maryed, the Daughter is a Baud to the Mother; and from the time of their marriage, to the time of their Mothers death, the Mother is a Baud to the Daughter; but if the Mother be indifferently young, and hath a young tooth in her head, as the old saying is, they Baud for each other.

Lady Ward.

But why doth not the Mother Baud for her Daughter, before she is marryed.

Nurse Care.

O there is reason for that, for that may spoil her fortune, by hindering her marriage: for marriage is a Veile to cover the wanton face of adultery, the like Veil is Baud-mothers, and Baud-daughters; for who would suspect any lewdnesse, when the Mother and the Daughter is toge­ther?

La. Ward.

And are not Sons Pimps for their Fathers, as Daughters are for their Mothers?

Nurse Careful.

No saith, Boys have facility, or ingenuity as Girles have; besides, they are kept most commonly so strictly to their Bookes, when Girles have nothing else to do; but when they have cast away their Books, and come to be marryed men, then they may chance to Pimp for their Wives.

Lady Ward.

O fie Nurse, surely a man will never play the Pimp to Cuckold himself.

Nurse Care.

O yes, if they be poor, or covetous, or ambitious; and then if they have a handsome woman to their wife, they will set her as a bait to catch their designs in the trap of Adultery; or patient, quiet, simple, fearful [Page 202] men will, if they have a Spritely wise, they will play the Pimp, either for fear, or quiet; for such men to such wives, will do any thing to please them, although it be to Cuckold themselves.

La. Ward.

But surely Nurse no Gentleman will do so.

Nurse Gare.

I know not who you call Gentleman, but those that bear up high and look big, and vant loud, and walk proud, and carry the out-side of a Gentleman, will do so.

La. Ward.

Certainly Nurse they are but Bastard Gentry, or else they are degenerated.

Nurse Careful.

An incipid Branch may spring from a sound Root, ma­ny a withered and rotten Plum may hang on a good Tree.

La. Ward.

And do Wives play the Bauds for their Husbands, as the Hus­bands play the Pimps for their Wives?

Nurse Care.

Most often; for they will make Gossiping meetings, on purpose for their Husbands to Court other women; for they know when their Hus­bands minds are fill'd with amorous love, they will not muse upon their acti­ons, nor examine their wayes; besides, when as the Husband would take his liberty without disturbance, he will wink at the liberty his wife takes, and so will be procures for each other, and the Ladys acquaintance are Confi­dents.

La. Ward.

Confidents, what is that, Nurse?

Nurse Careful.

Why it is thus, two Ladies make friendship, or at least call Friends, and if any man desires to be a Courtly Servant to one of them, he addresses himself to the other, and expresses what Passions and Affections he hath for her friend, and so makes his complaints and affections known to her; whereupon she recommends his addresses and service to her Friend; thus doing a friendly Office by carrying and declaring his professions, and re­turning her Friends civil answers, appointing places for each others love-meetings, the other will do as much for her.

La. Ward.

Why this is a Baud.

Nurse Care.

O peace Child, for if any body heard you say so, they would laugh at you for a Fool, but 'tis a sign you never was a Courtier, for I knew a young Lady that went to Court to be a Maid of Honour; and there were two young Ladies that were Confidents to each other, and a great Prince made love to one of them, but adddrest himself to the other, as being her Friend; this young Maid askt why he did so, it was answered, she was the Princes Mistresse Confident; and just as you ask me, what said she, is a confi­dent a Baud; whereupon the whole Court laught at her, and for that only question condemned her to be a very Fool, nay, a meer Changling.

La. Ward.

VVell Nurse, say what you will, Confident is but a Courtly name for a Baud.

Ex.

Scene 20.

Enter Sir Effeminate Lovely, and Mall Mean-bred.
SIR Effeminate Lovely.

Those wandering Stars that shine like brightest day, are fixt on me, the Center of your love.

This following Scene was writ by the Lord Marquess of New-castle.
Mall Mean-bred.

O Heavens!

Sir. Effem. Lovely.

Happy to touch those Lillies in your cheeks mingled with Roses, loves perfumed bath.

Mall. Mean-bred.

They grow forsooth in our Garden.

Sir Effem. Lovely.

You are the Garden of all sweets for love, your blush­ing lips of the Vermillion die, and those twin cherries,give me leave to taste.

Mall Mean-bred.

Truly Sir, I understand no Latin, but I will call our Vi­car to you, and he shall expound.

Sir Effem. Lovely.

No dearest Dear, my lovely Dear, my dearest Love, my lovelyest Dear.

Mall Mean-bred.

I never cost you any thing as yet, Sir.

Sir Effem. Lovely.

Why, then no Lady of Arcadie bred.

Mall Mean-bred.

Truly Sir, this is as our Vicar saith, like Hebrew without poynts, to be read backwards; say any thing forward in Notthingham-shire; speak, that I may guess at, and I will answer your VVorship, though truly, it is as fine as ever I understood not.

Effem. Lovely.

Why then sweet heart I love you, and would gladly enjoy you.

Mall Mean-bred.

O sie, enjoy is a naughty word forsooth, if it please you.

Effem. Lovely.

It would please me, your thoughts of what you mince.

Mall Mean-bred.

Thoughts are free forsooth, and I love whole joints with­out mincing.

Effem. Lovely.

Why then in plain English, I would have your Maiden-head.

Mall Mean-bred.

O dear, how will you get it, can you tell? Truely, true­ly, I did not think such naughty words would come forth of so fine a Gentle­mans mouth.

Effem. Lovely.

But tell me truely, do you think me fine?

Mall Mean.

You will make me blush now, and discover all; so fine cloaths, the Taylor of Norton never made such, and so finely made, unbotton­ed and untrust doth so become you; but I do hang down my head for shame; and those Linnen Boot-hose (as if you did long to ride,) do so become you, and your short Coat to hang on your left arm; O sweet, O sweet, and then your Hat hid with so fine a Feather, our Peacocks tailes are not like it; and then your hair so long, so finely curled, and powder'd in sweets, a sweeter Gentleman I never saw. My love's beyond dissembling, so young, so fresh, so every thing, I warrant you; O Sir, you will ravish me, but yet you can­not.

Effem. Lovely.

O how you have made me thankfulnesse all over for this [Page 204] your bounty to me; wherefore my earthly Paradise, let us meet in the next Close, there under some sweet Hedge to tast Loves aromatick Banquet at your Table.

Mall Mean.

O Sir, you blushes I consent; farewel; do not betray me then, you must not tell.

Farewell my sweetest, granting of my sute,
Shall still inslave me, and be ever mute.
Here ends my Lord Marquesse's Scene.
Ex.

Scene 21.

Enter Poor Virtue, and Sir Golden Riches following her.
Golden Riches.

Stay lovely Maid, and receive a Fortune.

Poor Virtue.

I am Fortune proof Sir, she cannot tempt me.

Gold. Rich.

But she may perswade you to reason.

Poor Virtue.

That she seldome doth, for she is alwayes in extremes, and

Extremes are out of Reason's Schools,
That makes all those that follow Fortune Fooles.
Gol. Rich.

What do you Rime, my pretty Maid?

Poor Virtue.

Yes Rich Sir, to end my discourse.

Golden Riches.

I will make you Rich, if you will receive my gifts.

Poor Virtue.

I love not gifts Sir, because they often prove bribes to cor­rupt.

Gold. Rich.

Why, what do you love then?

Poor Vir.

I love Truth, Fidelity, Justice, Chastity; and I love obedience to lawful Authority, which rather than I would willingly and knowingly infring, I would suffer death.

Gold. Rich.

Are you so wilful?

Poor Vir.

No, I am so constant.

Gold. Rich.

But young Maid, you ought not to deny all gifts, for there are gifts of pure affection, Love-gifts of Charity, gifts of Humanity, and gifts of Generosity.

Poor Virtue.

They are due debts, and not gifts; For those you call gifts of pure Love, are payments to dear deserving friends; and those of Charity are payments to Heaven; and those of Humanity are payments to Nature, and those Generosity, are payments to Merit, but there are vain-glorious gifts, covetous gifts, gifts of fear, and gifts that serve as Bauds to corrupt foolish young Virgins.

Gold. Rich.

Are you so wise to refuse them?

Poor Vir.

I am so virtuous as not to take them.

Ex.

ACT V.

Scene. 22.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and Lady Visitant.
Visitant.

What still musing, O thou idle creature?

Contemp.

I am not idle, for I busie my self with my own fancies.

Visitant.

Fancies are like dust, soon raised, and suddenly blown away.

Contemp.

No, they are as fire-works that sparkling flie about; or ra­ther stars, set thick upon the brain, which gives a twinckling delight unto the mind.

Visitant.

Prethee delight thy friends with thy conversation, and spend not thy time with dull thoughts.

Contemp.

Pray give me leave to delight my self with my own thoughts, since I have no discourse to entertain a hearer.

Visitant.

Why, your thoughts speak in your mind, although your tongue keeps silence.

Contemp.

'Tis true; but they disturb not the mind with noise, for noise is the greatest enemy the mind hath: and as for my part, I think the most useless sense that Nature hath made, is hearing: the truth is, that hear­ing and smelling might well have been spared, for those two senses bring no materials into the brain; for sound and scent are incorporal.

Visitant.

Then put out all the senses.

Contemp.

There is no reason for that, for the eyes bring in pictures which serve the mind for patterns to draw new fancies by, and to cut, or carve out figurative thoughts, and the last serves towards the nourishment of the bo­dy, and touches the life.

Visitant.

But wisedome comes through the ear by instruction.

Contemp.

Wisedome comes through the eye by experience; for we shall doubt of what we only hear, but never doubt of what we see perfectly: But the ground of wisedom is Reason, and Reason is born with the soul, where­fore the ear serves only for reproof, and reproof displeases the mind, and seldome doth the life any good; nay many times it makes it worse, for the mind being displeased, grows angry, and being angry, malicious, and being malicious, revengeful, and revenge is war, and war is destruction.

Visitant.

But if you were deaf, you would lose the sweet harmony of musick.

Contemp.

Harmony becomes discord by often repetition, and at the best it doth but rock the thoughts asleep; whereas the mind takes more plea­sure in the harmony of thoughts, and the musick of fancy, than in any that the senses can bring into it.

Visitant.

Prethee let this harmonious musick cease for a time, and let us go and visit the Lady Conversation.

Contemp.

It seems a strange humour to me, that all mankind in general should have an itching tongue to talk, and take more pleasure in the wag­ging thereof, than a beggar in scratching where a louse hath bit.

Visitant.
[Page 206]

Why, every part of the body was made for some use, and the tongue to express the sense of the mind.

Contemp.

Pardon me, tongues were made for taste, not for words, for words wa an art which man invented: you may as well say, the hands were made to shuffle cards, or to do juggling tricks, when they were made to de­fend and assist the body; or you may as well say, the leg were made to cut capers, when they were made to carry the body, and to move, as to goe from place to place; for, though the hands can shuffle cards, or juggle, and the legs can cut capers, yet they were not made by Nature for that use, nor to that purpose; but howsoever, for the most part, the sense and reason of the mind is lost in the number of words; for there are millions of words for a single figure of sense, and many times a cyphre of nonsense stands instead of a figure of sense: Besides, there are more spirits spent, and flesh wasted with speaking, than is got or kept with eating, as witness Preachers, Pleaders, Players, and the like, who most commonly die with Consumptions; and I believe, many of our effeminate Sex do hurt the lungs with over-exercising of their tongues, not only with licking and tasting of Sweet-meats, but with chatting and prating, twitling and twatling; for I cannot say speaking, or discoursing, which are significant words, placed in a methodical order, then march in a regular body upon the ground of Reason, where sometimes the colour of Fancy is flying.

Visitant.

Now the Flag of your wit is flying, is the fittest time to encoun­ter the Lady Conversation; and I make no question but you will be Victori­ous, and then you shall be Crowned the Queen of Wit.

Contempl.

I had rather bury my self in a Monument of Thoughts, than sit in the Throne of Applause for Talking.

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter the Lord Title to Poor Virtue, who sat under a little hedge, bending like a Bower. He sits down by her.
LOrd Title.

Sweet, why sit you so silently here?

Poor Virtue.

My speech is buried in my thoughts.

Lord Title.

This silent place begets melancholy thoughts.

Poor Virtue.

And I love melancholy so well, as I would have all as silent without me, as my thoughts are within me; and I am so well pleased with thoughts, as noise begets a grief, when it disturbs them.

Lord Title.

But most commonly Shepherds and Shepherdesses sit and sing to pass away the time.

Poor Virtue.

Misfortunes have untuned my voice, and broke the strings of mirth.

Lord Title.

Misfortunes? what misfortunes art thou capable of? Thou hast all thou wert born to.

Poor Virtue.

I was born to die, and 'tis misfortune enough I live, since my life can do no good: I am but useless here.

Lord Title.
[Page 207]

You were born to help increase the world.

Poor Virtue.

The world needs no increase, there are too many creatures al­ready, especially mankinde; for there are more than can live quietly in the world; for I perceive, the more populous, the more vicious.

Lord Title.

'Tis strange you should be so young, so fair, so witty as you are, and yet so melancholy; thy poverty cannot make it, for thou never knewest the pleasure of riches.

Poor Virtue.

Melancholy is the only hopes I do rely upon, that though I am poor, yet that may make me wise; for fools are most commonly mer­riest, because they understand not the follies that dwell therein, nor have e­nough considerations of the unhappiness of man, who hath endless desires, unprofitable travels, hard labours, restless hours, short pleasures, tedious pains, little delights, blasted joys, uncertain lives, and decreed deaths; and what is mirth good for? it cannot save a dying friend, nor help a ruined Kingdome, nor bring in plenty to a famished Land; nor quench out ma­lignant Plagues; nor is it a ward to keep misfortunes off, though it may tri­umph on them.

Lord Title.

But you a young Maid, should do as young Maids do, seek out the company of young Men.

Poor Virtue.

Young Maids may save themselves that labour, for Men will seek out them, or else you would not be sitting here with me.

Lord Title.

And are you not pleas'd with my company?

Poor Virtue.

What pleasure can there be in fears?

Lord Title.

Are you afraid of me?

Poor Virtue.

Yes truly; for the ill example of men, corrupts the good principles in women: But I fear not the perverting of my Vertue, but mens incivilities.

Lord Title.

They must be very rudely bred, that give you not respect, you being so very modest.

Poor Virtue.

'Tis not enough to be chastly modest and honest, but as a ser­vant to my Mr. and Mrs. I must be dutiful, and careful to their commands, and on their employments they have put to me: wherefore I must leave you Sir, and go fold my sheep.

Lord Title.

I will help you.

Exeunt.

Scene 24:

Enter Sir Golden Riches, and Mall Mean-bred.
GOlden Rich.

Sweet-heart, I have no Sonnets,

This Scene was writ­ten by my Lord Mar­quiss of Newcastle.

Songs, or stronger Lines, with softer Poesie to melt your Soul, nor Rhetorick to charm your Eares, or Logick for to force, or ravish you, nor lap't in richer cloaths embalm'd in Sweets, nor Courtly Language; but am an Ancient Squire, by name Sir Golden Riches, which hath force in all things, and then in Love; for Cupid being blinde, he is for feeling, and look here my We [...]ch, this purse is stuff'd with Gold, a hundred pounds.

Mall Mean-bred.

Let me see, poure it on the ground.

Gold. Rich.
[Page 208]

I will obey thee: Look here my Girl.

He poures it on the ground.
Mall Mean-bred.

O dear, how it doth shine for­sooth! it almost blinds mine eyes; take it away, yet pray let it stay: truly I know not what to do with it.

Gold. Rich.

No? why it will buy you rich Gowns, ap'd in the Silk-worms toyls, with stockings of the softer silk, to draw on your finer legs, with rich lace shooes, with roses that seem sweet, and garters laced with spangles like twinckling Stars, embalm your hair with Gessimond Pomaetums, and rain Odoriferous Powders of proud Rome.

Mall Mean-bred.

O Heaven! what a Wench shall I be, could I get them! But shall we have fine things of the Pedlar too?

Gold. Rich.

Buy all their packs, and send them empty home.

Mall Mean-bred.

O mighty! I shall put down all the Wenches at the May-pole; then what will the Bag-piper say, do you think? Pray tell me, for he is a jeering knave.

Gold. Rich.

Despise the Rural company, and that windy bag, change it for Balls with greatest Lords to dance, and bring the Jerkin Fiddles out of frame.

Mall Mean-bred.

Then I shall have a Mail-Pillion, and ride behind our Thomas to the dancing.

Gold. Rich.

No, you shall ride in rich gilt Coaches, Pages and Lacquies in rich Liveries, with Gentlemen well cloath'd, to wait upon you.

Mall Mean-bred.

And be a Lady; then I will be proud, and will not know Thomas any more, nor any Maid that was acquainted with me.

Gold. Rich.

You must forget all those of your Fathers house too; for I'll get a Pedigree shall fit you, and bring you Lineally descended from Great Charlemain.

Mall Mean-bred.

No, I will have it from Charls wayn my Fathers Carter; but I would so fain be a Lady, and it might be: I will be stately, laugh with­out a cause, and then I am witty, and jeer sometimes, and speak nonsense aloud. But this Gold will not serve for all these fine things.

Gold. Rich.

Why then we will have hundreds and thousands of pounds, until you be pleas'd, so I may but enjoy you in my Arms.

Mall Mean-bred.

No Maid alive can hold our these Assaults, Gold is the Petarr that breaks the Virgins gates, a Souldier told me so. VVell then, my Lord Title, farewel, for you are an empty name; and Sir Effeminate Lovely, go you to your Taylor, make more fine cloaths in vain.

I'll stick to Riches, do then what you will,
The neerest way to pleasure buy it still.
Exeunt.

Scene 25.

Enter the Lady Ward alone.
LAdy Ward.

Why should Lord Courtship dislike me? Time hath not plowed wrinkles in my face, nor digged hollows in my cheeks, nor hath he set mine eyes deep in my head, nor shrunk my sinews up, nor suck'd my veins dry, nor fed upon my flesh, making my body insipid and bate; nei­ther hath he quenched out my wit, nor decay'd my memory, nor ruin'd my understanding; but perchance Lord Courtship likes nothing but what is in perfection; and I am like a house which Time hath not fully finished, nor Education throughly furnished.

Scene 26.

Enter Poor Virtue, and Sir Golden Riches meets her comming from Mall Mean-bred.
Golden Riches.

Sweet-heart, refuse not Riches, it will buy thee friends, pacifie thy enemies; it will guard thee from those dangers that throng upon the life of every creature.

Poor Virtue.

Heavenly Providence is the Marshal which makes way for the life to pass through the croud of dangers, and my Vertue will gain me honest friends, which will never forsake me, and my humble submission will pacifie my enemies, were they never so cruel.

Gold. Rich.

But Riches will give thee delight, and place thee in the midst of pleasures.

Poor Virtue.

No, it is a peaceable habitation, a quiet and sound sleep, and a healthful body, that gives delight and pleasure, and 'tis not riches; but riches many times destroy the life of the body, or the reason in the soul, or, at least, bring infirmities thereto through luxury; for luxury slackens the Nerves, quenches the Spirits, and drowns the Brain, and slackned Nerves make weak Bodies, quenched Spirits, timorous Minds, a drowned Brain, a watry Understanding, which causeth Sloth, Effeminacy, and Sim­plicity.

Gold. Rich.

How come you to know so much of the world, and yet know so few passages in it, living obscurely in a Farmers house?

Poor Virtue.

The Astronomers can measure the distance of the Planets, and take the compass of the Globe, yet never travel to them; nor have they Embassadors from them, nor Liegers to lie therein to give Intelligence.

Gold. Rich.

How come you to be so learnedly judicious, being so young, poor, and meanly born and bred?

Poor Virtue.

Why, Fire, Air, Water, and Earth, Animals, Vegetables, and Minerals, are Volumes large enough to express Nature, and make a Scholar learn to know the course of her works, and to understand many ef­fects [Page 210] produced therefrom. And as for Judgment and Wit, they are brother and sister; and although they do not alwayes, and at all times agree, yet are they alwayes the children of the Brain, being begot by Nature. Thus what Wit or Knowledge I have, may come immediatly from Nature, not from my Birth or Breeding; but howsoever, I am not what I seem.

Exeunt.

Scene 27.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and the Lady Visitant.
Visitant.

What makes you look so sad?

Contempl.

Why Monsieur Amorous's visit hath been the cause of the death of one of the finest Gentlemen of this Age.

Visitant.

How, pray?

Contempl.

Why thus; my Imagination (for Imagination can Create both Masculine and Feminine Lovers) had Created a Gentleman that was handsomer and more beautiful than Leander, Adonis, or Narcissus; vali­anter than Tamberlain, Scanderbeg, Hannibal, Caesar, or Alexander; sweeter-natur'd than Titus, the delight of mankinde; better-spoken, and more e­loquent than Tully, or Demosthenes; wittyer than Ovid, and a better Poet than Homer. This man to fall desperately in love with me, as loving my Vertues, honouring my Merits, admiring my Beauty, wondring at my Wit, doting on my Person, adoring me as an Angel, worshipping me as a God­dess; I was his Life, his Soul, his Heaven. This Lover courted my affe­ction: with all the industry of Life, gifts of Fortune, and actions of Ho­nour; sued for my favour, as if he had sued to Heaven for mercy; but I, as many cruel goddesses do, would neither receive his obligations, nor regard his vowes, nor pity his tears, nor hearken to his complaints, but rejected his Sute, and gave him an absolute denyal; whereupon he was resolved to dye, as believing no torments could be compared to those of my disdain; and since I would not love him living, he hoped by dying, his death might move my pity, and so beget a compassionate remembrance from me; wher­upon he got secretly neer my chamber-door, and hung himself just where I must go out, which when I saw, I starred back in a great fright, but at last running forth to call for help to cut him down, in came Monsieur Amorous, which hinderance made me leave him hanging there, as being ashamed to own my cruelty; and he hath been talking, or rather prating here so long, as by this time my kind Love is dead.

Visitant.

O no, for Lovers will hang a long time before they dye; for their necks are tuff, and their hearts are large and hot.

Contempl.

Well, pray leave me alone, that I may cut him down, and give him Cordials to restore life.

Visitant.

Faith you must let him hang a little time longer; for I have un­dertaken to make you a sociable Lady this day; wherefore you must goe a­broad to a friends house with me.

Contempl.

Who I? what do you think I will goe abroad, and leave my Lover in a twisted string? his legs hanging daugling down, his face all black and swelled, and his eyes almost started out of his head; no, no, pray goe alone by your self, and leave me to my Contemplation.

Visitant.
[Page 211]

Well, if you will not goe, I will never see you, nor be friends with you again.

Contempl.

Pray be not angry, for I will go, if you will have me, although I shall be but a dull companion; for I shall not speak one word; for where­soever I am, my thoughts will use all their Industry to cut the string, and take him down, and rub and chafe him against a hot fire.

Visitant.

Come, come, you shall heat your self with dancing, and let your Lover hang.

Contempl.

That I cannot; for active bodies and active brains are never at once, the one disturbs the other.

Visitant.

Then it seems you had rather have an active brain, than an active body.

Contempl.

Yes; for when the brain doth work, the understanding is in­riched, and knowledge is gained thereby: whereas the body doth oft-times waste the life with too much exercise.

Visitant.

Take heed you do not distemper your brain with too much exer­cising your thoughts.

Contempl.

All distempers proceed from the body, and not from the minde; for the minde would be well, did not the humours and appetites of the body force it into a distemper.

Visitant.

Well, upon the condition you will goe, you shall sit still, and your wit shall be the Musick.

Contempl.

Prethee let me rest at home; for to day the strings of my wit are broken, and my tongue, like a fiddle, is out of tune: Besides, Contem­plative persons are at all times dull speakers, although they are pleasant thinkers.

Exeunt.
FINIS.

The Second Part of the Lady Contemplation.

The Actors Names.
  • Lord Title.
  • Lord Courtship.
  • Sir Fancy Poet.
  • Sir Experienced Traveller.
  • Sir Humphry Interruption.
  • Sir Golden Riches.
  • Sir Effeminate Lovely.
  • Sir John Argument.
  • Sir Vain Complement.
  • Master Inquirer.
  • Doctor Practice.
  • Old Humanity.
  • Roger Farmer.
  • Thom. Purveyor.
  • 2. Beadles, Gentlemen and others.
  • Lady Amorous.
  • Lady Ward.
  • Lady Contemplation.
  • Lady Conversation.
  • Lady Visitant.
  • Poor Virtue.
  • Mistris Troublesome.
  • Mistris Gossip.
  • Mistris Messenger, Lady Amorous's woman.
  • Nurse Careful.
  • Maudlin Huswife, Roger Farmers wife.
  • Mall Mean-bred, their daughter.
  • Mistris Troublesomes maid.
  • Servants and others.

The Second Part of the Lady Contemplation,
ACT I.

Scene. 1.

Enter Sir Effeminate Lovely, and Poor Virtue.
EFfeminate Lovely.

Sweet-heart, you are a most Heavenly Crea­ture.

Poor Virtue.

Beauty is created and placed oftner in the fan­cy, than in the face.

Effem. Lovely.

'Tis said there is a Sympathy in likeness; if so, you and I should love each other, for we are both beautiful.

Poor Virtue.

But 'tis a question whether our Souls be answerable to our Persons.

Effem. Lovely.

There is no question or doubt to be made, but that loving souls live in beautiful persons.

Poor Virtue.

And do those loving soules dye, when their beauties are de­cayed and withered?

Effem.

The subject pleads it self, without the help of Rhetorick, for Love and Beauty lives and dies together.

Poor Virtue.

'Tis Amorous Love that dies when Beauty is gone, not Ver­tuous Love; for as Amorous Love is bred, born, lives, and dies with the ap­petite: so Vertuous Love is Created, and shall live with the Soul forever.

Effem. Lovely.

You may call it what love you please.

Poor Virtue.

It is no love, but a disease.

Exeunt.

Scene 2.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady Ward.
LOrd Courtship.

Why did you leave the Lady Amorous company so un­civilly, as to go out of the room, leaving her all alone?

Lady Ward.

I heard your Lordship was coming, then I thought it was fit for me to withdraw; for I have heard Lovers desire to be alone.

Lord Courtship.

Do you desire to be alone with a man?

Lady Ward.

I am no such Lover, for I am too young as yet, but I know not what I shall or may be wrought or brought to, but time and good ex­ample may instruct and lead me into the way of amorous love.

Lord Courtship.

May it so?

Lady Ward.

Why not? for I am docible, and youth is apt to learn.

Lord Court.
[Page 214]

But before I marry you, I would have you learn to know how to be an obedient wife, as to be content, and not murmure at my actions, al­so to please my humour, but not to imitate my practice.

Lady Ward.

If I might advise your Lordship, I would advise you to take such a Portion out of my Estate, as you shall think just or fit, and then quit me, and choose such a one as you shall like, for I shall never please you; for though I may be apt to learn what will please my self, yet I am dull and intractable to learn obedience to anothers will, nor can I flatter their delights.

Lord Court.

I finde you have learned, and now begin to practice how to talk; for now your sober silence seems as dead and buried in the rubbish of follish words; But let me tell you, a talking wife will never please me; wherefore practise patience, and keep silence, if you would enjoy the hap­piness of peace.

The Lord Courtship goes out.
Lady Ward alone.
Lady Ward.

There can be no peace, when the mind is discontented.

Exit.

Scene. 3.

Enter Lord Title, and Poor Vertue.
POor Virtue.

Why do you follow me so much, as never to let me rest in peace and quiet alone? Is it that you think I have beauty? and is it that you are in love with? why, to cure your disease, I will deform it; or do you think I have wit to cure that Imagination? I will put my tongue to silence. I am sure it cannot be my Vertue that inflames you to an intem­perance; for Vertue is an Antidote against it: But had you all the beauty in Nature squeez'd into your form, and all the wit in Nature prest into your brain, and all the prosperities of good fortune at your command, and all the power of Fate and Destiny at your disposal, you could not perswade me to yield to your unlawful desires; for know, I am honest without self-ends; my virtue, like to Time, still running forward, my chastity six'd as E­ternity, without circumferent lines; besides, it is built on the foundation of Morality, and roof'd and cicl'd with the faith of Religion, and the materi­als thereof are Honour, which no subtil Arguments can shake the one, nor no false Doctrine can corrupt or rot the other; neither is the building sub­ject to the fire of unlawful love, nor the tempestuous storms of torments, nor the deluge of poverty, nor the earthquakes of fear, nor the ruines of death; for so long as my Soul hath a being, my Chastity will live. But were you as poor as I, even to move pity, or so lowly and meanly born, at might bring contempt and scorn from the proud, yet if your mind and soul were endued with noble qualities, and heroical vertues, I should sooner em­brace your love, than to be Mistris of the whole World; for my affecti­on to merit hath been ingrafted into the root of my Infancy, which hath grown up with my yeares, so that the longer I live, the more it in­creases.

Lord Title.

You cannot think I would marry you, although I would lie with you.

Poor Virtue.
[Page 215]

I cannot but think it more possible that you should marry me, than I to be dishonest.

Lord Title.

Thou art a mean poor wench, and I nobly descended.

Poor Virtue.

What though I am poor, yet I am honest, and poverty is no crime; nor have my Ancestors left marks of infamy to shame me to the world.

Lord Title.

Thy Ancestors? what were they but poor peasants? where­fore thou wilt dignifie thy Race, by yielding to my love.

Poor Virtue.

Heaven keep them from that dignity that must be gained by my dishonesty: no, my chastity shall raise a Monumental Tomb over their cold dead ashes.

Poor Virtue goes out.
Lord Title alone.
Lord Title.

What pity it is Nature should put so noble a soul into a mean­born body.

Exit.

Scene 4.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady VVard.
LOrd Courts.

Pray go visit the Lady Amorous, and if her husband be ab­sent, deliver her this letter.

Lady Ward.

Excuse me my Lord.

Lord Courts.

Wherefore?

Lady Ward.

I am no Carrier of Love-letters.

Lord Courts.

But you shall carry this.

Lady Ward.

But I will not.

Lord Courts.

Will you not?

Lady Ward.

No, I will rather endure all the torments that can be in­vented.

Lord Courts.

And you shall; for I will torture you if you do not; for I will have you drawn up high by the two thumbs, which is a pain will force you to submit.

The Lady Ward falls into a passion.
Lady Ward.

Do so if you will; nay scrue me up into the middle-Region, there will I take a Thunderbolt, and strike you dead, and with such strength I'll fling it on you, as it shall press your soul down to the everlasting shades of death.

Lord Courts.

Sure you will be more merciful.

Lady Ward.

No more than Devils are to sinful souls; there will I be your Bawd, to procure you variety of torments; for I had rather be one in Pluto's black Court, caused by my own revenge, than to be a Bawd on earth, which is a humane Devil.

Lord Courts.

You are mad.

Lady Ward.

Might every word I speak prove like a mad dogs bite, not only to transform your shape, and turn your speech to barks and howl­ings, but that your soul may be no other than the souls of beasts are.

Lord Courts.

You are transformed from a silent young Maid to a raging Fury.

Lady Ward.

May all the Furies that Hell inhabites, and those that live [Page 216] on earth, torment your minde, as racks do torture bodies, and may the ve­nom of all malice, spleen, and spight, be squeez'd into your soul, and poy­son all content, your thoughts flame like burning oyl, and never quench, but be eternally a siery Animal; and may the fire feed onely on your self, and as it burns, your torments may increase.

The Lady Ward goes out.
Lord Courtship alone.
Lord Courts.

She is mad, very mad, and I have only been the cause.

Exit.

Scene 5.

Enter the Lord Title, and Poor Virtue,
LOrd Title.

Fairest, will not you speak?

Poor Virtue.

My words have betrayed my heart, as discovering the se­crets therein: wherefore I will banish them, and shut the doors of my lips against them.

Lord Title.

What, for saying you love me. Sweet, why do you weep?

Poor Virtue weeps.
Poor Virtue.

Tears are the best Cordials for a heart opprest with grief.

Lord Title.

I should hate my self, if I could think I were the cause. But pray forbear to weep.

Poor Virtue.

Pray give my grief a liberty, my tears are no disturbance, they showre down without a ratling noise, and silent fall without a murmuring voice; but you disturb me: Wherefore for pity-sake leave me, and I will pray you may enjoy as much prosperity as good fortune can present you with, and as much health as Nature can give you, and as much tranquillity as Hea­ven can infuse into a mortal creature.

Lord Title.

Neither Fortune, Nature, nor Heaven can please me, or make me happy in this world without you.

Poor Virtue.

O you torment me.

Exit, the Lord follows her.

Scene 6.

Enter Sir Humphry Interruption to the Lady Contemplation.
SIr Humphry Inter.

Surely Lady Contemplation your thoughts must needs be very excellent, that they take no delight but with themselves.

Lady Contempl.

My thoughts, although they are not material, as being pro­fitable, yet they are innocent, as being harmless.

Sir Humphry Inter.

Yet your thoughts do the world an injury, in burying your words in the grave of silence.

Lady Contempl.

Let me inform you, that sometimes they creep out of [Page 217] their graves as Ghosts do, and as Ghosts walk in solitary places, so I speak to my solitary self, which words offend no ears, because I speak to no ears but my own; and as they have no flatterers to applaud them, so they have no censurers to condemn them.

Sir Humphrey Inter.

But you bury your life, whilst you live retir'd from company.

Lady Contempl.

O no, for otherwise my life would be buried in company; for my life never enjoys it self, but when it is alone; and for the most part, all publick societies are like a discord in Musick, every one playing several contrary parts in their actions, speaking in several contrary notes, striking on several contrary subjects, which makes a confusion; and a confused noise is like a disorder'd multitude, only the one offends the ear, as the other of­fends the eyes; and there can be no pleasure but in harmony, which harmo­ny is Quantity, Quality, Symmetry, and Unity; and though quality, quantity, and symmetry are brought by the Senses, yet Unity is made in the mind. Thus Harmony lives in the minde; for without the minde, the senses could take no delight.

Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene. 7.

Enter the Lady Ward, and Doctor Practice.
DOctor Practice.

How do you Lady?

Lady Ward.

Why very well Doctor, how do you?

Doctor Prac.

Why I was sent, as being believed you are mad.

Lady Ward.

Troth Doctor that's no wonder; for all the world is mad, more or less.

Doctor Prac.

Do you finde any distemper in your head?

Lady Ward.

My head will ake sometimes.

Doctor Pract.

I mean a distemper in your minde.

Lady Ward.

My minde is troubled sometimes.

Doctor Pract.

That is not well: let me feel your pulse.

Lady Ward.

Why Doctor, can you know the temper of my mind, by the feeling of my pulse?

Doctor Pract.

There is a great Sympathy between the Minde and the Body.

Lady Ward.

But I doubt, Doctor, your learned skill is many times de­ceived by the pulse; you will sooner find a mad distemper in the tongue or actions, than in the wrists.

Doctor Pract.

In troth Lady, you speak reason, which those that are mad do not do.

Lady Ward.

O yes, Doctor, but they doe, as you cure Diseases, by chance.

Exeunt

Scene 8.

Enter the Lord Title alone.
LOrd Title.

O Love, dissembling love, that seem'st to be the best of passi­ons, and yet torments the soul!

He walks in a melancholy muse.
Enter Master Inquirer.
Master Inquirer.

What makes your Lordship so melancholy, as to shun all your friends, to walk alone?

Lord Title.

I am in Love.

Master Inqui.

There are many remedies for love.

Lord Title.

I would you could tell me one.

Master Inqui.

May I know the Lady you are in love with?

Lord Title.

The Lady say you? she is a poor Lady [...]

Master Inqui.

Your Lordship is so rich, as you may marry without a por­tion,

Lord Title.

O I could curse my fate, and rail at my destiny.

Master Inqui.

For what?

Lord Title.

To make me fall in love with one I am asham'd to make her known.

Master Inqui.

Is she so mean, and yet so beautiful?

Lord Title.

O she hath all the Beauties and Graces that can attract a soul to love; for surely Nature sate in Councel to make her body, and the Gods sate in Councel to compose her mind.

Master Inqui.

May not I see her?

Lord Title.

Yes.

Master Inqui.

Where may I find her?

Lord Title.

Upon the next Plain, under a bush that bends much like a bower, there she most commonly sits to watch her sheep; but I will goe with you.

Master Inqui.

Your Lordship is not jealous?

Lord Title.

All Lovers think their Beloved is never secure enough.

Exeunt.

Scene 9.

Enter Nurse Careful, as in a fright, unto the Lady VVard.
Nurse Careful.

O my Child, I am told that on a sudden you turned mad!

Lady Ward.

Surely Nurse your fear, or what else it may be, you seem to me to be more mad than I can find in my self to be.

Nurse Caref.

That shews you are mad.

Lady Ward.

If I am mad, I suck'd the madness from your brest.

Nurse Caref.
[Page 219]

I do confess, Child, I have not had those mad vagaries since I gave suck, as I had before.

Lady Ward.

'Tis a signe you are grown old, Nurse.

Nurse Caref.

I confess, Youth is oftner mad than Age; but dear Child tell me, art thou mad?

Lady Ward.

Prethee Nurse, lest thou shouldst become mad, goe sleep to settle thy thoughts, and quiet thy mind, for I remember a witty Poet, one Doctor Don, saith,

Sleep is pains easie salve, and doth fulfil
All Offices, unless i [...]'t [...] to kill.
Nurse Careful cries out, as in a great fright.
Nurse Caref.

O Heaven, what shall I do, what shall I do!

Enter Doctor Practice.
Doctor Pract.

What is the matter Nurse, what is the matter you shreek out so?

Nurse Caref.

O Doctor, my Child is mad, my Child is mad; for she re­peats Verses.

Doctor Pract.

That's an ill signe indeed.

Lady Ward.

Doctor, did you never repeat Latine Sentences when you have read Lectures, nor Latine Verses, when you did Dispute in Schools?

Doctor Pract.

Yes, Sweet Lady, a hundred times.

Lady Ward.

Lord, Doctor, have you been mad a hundred times, and re­covered so often!

Nurse Caref.

Those were Latine Verses, those were Latine Verses Child.

Doctor Pract.

Faith Lady you pose me.

Lady Ward.

Then Doctor go to School again, or at least return again to the University and study again, and then practise not to be posed.

Doctor Pract.

Nurse, she is not well, she must be put to a diet.

Lady Ward.

But why, Doctor, should you think me mad? I have done no outragious action; and if all those that speak extravagantly should be put to a diet, as being thought mad, many a fat waste would shrink in the doub­let, and many a Poetical vein would be dryed up, and the flame quench'd out for want of radical oyl to prolong it; Thus Wit would be starved, for want of vapour to feed it; The truth is, a spare diet may make room in a Scholars head for old dead Authors to lie in; for the emptyer their heads are of wit, the fuller they may be fill'd with learning; for I do imagine, old dead Au­thors lie in a Scholars head, as they say souls do, none knows where, for a million of souls to lie in as small a compass as the point of a needle.

Doctor Pract.

Her brain is hotly distemper'd, and moves with an extraordi­nary quick motion, as may be perceiv'd by her strange fancy: wherefore Nurse you had best get her to bed; if you can, and I will prescribe some me­dicine and rules for her.

Exit Doctor.
Nurse Caref.

Come sweet child, let me put thee to bed.

Lady VVard.

I will go to bed, if you would have me, but good Nurse believe me, I am not mad; it's true, the force of my passion hath made my Reason to erre; and though my Reason hath gone astray, yet it is not lost: But consider well Nurse, and tell me what noble minde can suffer a base ser­vitude without rebellious passions? But howsoever, since they are of this o­pinion, I am content to cherish it, if you approve of it; for if I seem mad, [Page 220] the next of my kindred will beg the keeping of me for the sake of my E­state; and I had rather lose my Estate, and be thought mad, than lose my honour in base offices, and my free-born liberty to be inslaved to whores; and though I do not fear my honest youth can be corrupted by ill example, yet I will not have my youth a witness to wicked and base vice.

Nurse Caref.

By no means, I do not approve of these strange wayes; be­sides, you are a Ward to a gallant man, and may be Mariage will alter his humour; for most commonly those back-holders that are the greatest Li­bertines, make the best Husbands.

Lady Ward.

'Tis true, he is of a noble nature, valiant and generous, pru­dent, and just, and temperate in all delights, and free from all other vices but Incontinency, civil and obliging to all the world, but to me, and I could love him better than life, could he be constant, and only love me as he ought to do a Wife; otherwise, Death were more pleasing to me.

Exeunt.

Scene 10.

Enter the Lady Contemplation musing, and the Lady Visitant comes to her.
LAdy Contempl.

You were born to do me a mischief.

Lady Visit.

Why how?

Lady Contempl.

Why you have routed an Army.

Lady Visit.

Which way?

Lady Contempl.

I did imagine my self Married, my Husband being a Ge­neral of an Army, who had fought many Battels, and had won many Vi­ctories, conquer'd many Nations, at last an unfortunate day of Battel be­ing fought, my Husband being too active and venturous, making lanes of slain bodies as he went, and his horse riding thorow Rivers of blood, those Ri­vers rising so high, as his horse was forced to swim; but the blood growing thick to a jelly, obstructed his way, which made his horse furious, which fury added to his strength, forced a passage over a hill, or heap of slain bo­dies; but the horses spirits being spent with fury and labour, fell strength­less to the ground, with my Husband upon his back; and being in the midst of his Enemies Army, his Enemies seeing him fall, ran about him in great numbers, and so took him prisoner: whereupon his Souldiers soon missing him, thought he was kill'd; upon which belief, their courages grew cold, their limbs unactive, and their spirits so benumm'd, as they all seemed like to a number of stone-statues; which unactive dulness gave their Enemies the Day without any after-blows. I being in the Camp, hearing of my Husbands misfortunes, ran with a distracted fear towards the Enemies Camp; I being espy'd by some of my Husbands scatter'd Troops, was stop'd in the way, and so brought back to my Tent again; where, when I was there, some of my Husbands Officers of the Army told me, That though the Day was lost, yet there was a considerable Body left; which I no sooner heard, but my spirits took new life, and then excusing my fear, told those Comman­ders it was not through fear that made me run out of my Tent; for I did [Page 212] not fly from my Enemies, but to them, and that I sought death, and not life; and to express my courage, I told them, That if they would give me leave, I would take my Husbands Office, and lead the Army: They told me, that if the rest of the Commanders would agree to it, they were well contented: So when all the Commanders met together, I spake thus un­to them.

Noble Friends, and valiant Souldiers, you may think it a vain ambition for me to desire to lead your Army, especially against so potent an Enemy, and being a woman, which female Sex are usually unexperienced in Mar [...] ­al Affairs, as also by nature fearful, which fears may ruine an Army, by gi­ving wrong direction, causing a confusion through distraction; and truly an Army were not to be trusted unto a woman; management and ordering, if that Records had not given us Precedents, which is, that Woman have led Armies, have fought valiantly themselves, and have had good success, and not so much by fortunes favour, as by their own wise Conduct: And to shew that Pallas is a friend unto her own Sex, is, that in all History, there are very few women than can be found, that have lost Battels in the field of Wars, but many that have won Battels; and in all publick Affairs it is to be observed, the Gods do generally assist our Sex, whereby to shew their own power, and to abate the haughty pride of men. But to induce you more; for men trust not so much unto the Gods, as to their own strength, is, that you are present in all Councels and Actions, to assist and direct me; besides, I am Wife unto your General, who was and is an expert Souldier, and a valiant man, although he now had ill fortune; but ill fortune neither lessens valour nor experience, but rather increases them. This gallant and wise man, my Husband and your General, his Discourses have been my Tutors, and his Example hath and shall be my Guide; and if you dare trust me, I dare venture; otherwise I shall stay in my Tent, and pray for your good success. After I had left off speaking, an old Commander which had served long in the Wars, and was much esteemed, answered me as thus.

Noble Lady, although your youth doth disswade us, yet your beauty and wit doth encourage us; for what man, although he were possest with fear itself, can run away when a fair Lady sights? for beauty triumphs in all hearts, and commands the whole world: wherefore that man that shall or will deny to follow your Command, is of a bastard-kind, although a lawful Issue. With that all the rest of the Commanders cry'd or call'd out, that none was so fit to Lead and Command them as I. Thus being chosen, I call'd a general Muster of my Souldiers, and then gave order that some of the broken Regiments should be mended and made up with other broken Regiments, also I made new Officers in the room of those that were slain or taken prisoners, and after, I surveyed my Artillery and Ammunition; which done, I drew my Army into a Body, and after I had given Orders and Directions for the Souldiers to march towards the Enemies Camp, which when the Enemy heard of a new Army coming towards them, they drew out the Body of their Army in Battel Array: But I shunn'd to fight so soon as appeared, by reason my Army was tyred with marching; wherefore I gave order to Intrench: Besides, I thought it might give my souldiers more courage, when accustomed to the fight and neighbourhood of the Enemies: But withall, I made some of them give intelligence to the Ene­my that a woman led the Army, by which they might despise us, and so be­come [Page 222] more negligent, by which negligence we might have an advantage: In the mean time I sent to Treat of a Peace, and to have my Husband set at liberty; but the Enemy was so averse to a peace, as they returned me both jesting and scornful Answers: So when I saw no peace could be made, I drew out my Army into Battel Array; which when the Enemy perceiv'd, they did the like; but it will be too tedious at this time to tell the Form and Figures I put my Army into, as also what Commanders led, or who omman­ded the Horse, or who commanded the Foot that day; only let me tell you, I led the Van my self, and was Accoutred after this manner: I had a Mas­culine Suit, and over that a cloth of silver Coat, made close to my waste, which reached to the ankles of my legs; and those Arms I wore being all gilt, were Back, Brest, Gorget, Pot and Gantlet, all being made light accor­ding as my strength would bear: In my hand I carried my Sword; for be­ing not accustomed, I could not wear a sword by my side, as men do, but whensoever rested, I tyed it to my Saddle-bow, and on my Head-piece I wore a great Plume of Feathers: As for my Horse, he was cole-black, on­ly a white star on his fore-head, and three white feet; my Saddle was crim­son Velvet, but so imbroidred with silver and gold, as the ground could not be seen: But when I was mounted, I spoke as following unto the com­mon souldiers.

Worthy Friends, and laborous, and valiant Souldiers, you may justly won­der to see a Woman thus Accoutred like a man, and being one of the ten­der female Sex to be arm'd as a souldier, and in a posture to fight a Bat­tel: Also you may fear the successe of my Command, by reason I am young, and unexperienced, as also unpractised in the Wars: But fear not, the gods are with me, and will assist me, and have promised to give you victory by my Conduct; for they will conduct me: But the Gods suffer'd the other Battel to be lost, because many Victories had made you proud, and conceit­ed of your selves, and your own valours, trusting more to your own strength, than to their favours or powers, whereupon the Gods destroy'd many of you; but since they have taken pity of you, drawn to it by your humility: whereupon the Gods have commanded me to Lead and Conduct you; and they have also commanded me to tell you, That if you trust in them, and fight couragiously, that you shall have Victory, and rich Spoils; for I heard the common people, of which common souldiers were of, were apt to be su­perstitious, and to believe in any new reports, as also to believe in Miracles, Prophecies, and the like, and withall, very covetous; all which, made me feign my self to be commanded immediately from the Gods, and to be sent as from the Gods to command them, and to declare such promises to them; for all the common souldiers sight for Spoils, not for Honour.

Lady Visitant.

O but it is not good to dissemble.

Lady Contempl.

Pardon me; for without policy (which is deceit) there can be neither government in peace or war: wherefore it is a vertue in a States-man, or a Commander, to be a dissembler, although it be a vice in a­ny other man; but you have put me out as you always do, and therefore I will tell you no more.

Lady Visitant.

Nay, pray make an end.

Lady Contempl.

I will not; but I could have told you how I kill'd the Ge­neral of the Enemy with my own hand, and how I releas'd my Husband, and of such gallant Acts as you never heard the like of.

Lady Visitant.

O pray tel me.

Lady Contempl.
[Page 223]

Which if I do, let me never contemplate more, which would be worse than death to me, by reason it is the onely pleasure of my life.

Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene. 11.

Enter Poor Vertue alone.
POor Vertue.

O Love, though thou art bred within the Soul, yet by the Senses thou art begotten, or else by some Opinions; for Virtue is but the Tutor, or Guide, for to instruct or lead thee in a perfect way [...] bur though I lead Love right, yet may it meet Opposers.

Exit.

Scene 12.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and Doctor Practice.
LOrd Courts.

How do you find my Ward?

Doctor Pract.

Truly she is somewhat distemper'd; for her wit is ve­ry quick.

Lord Courts.

That's it; for she being naturally of a dull disposition, and of a milde humour, and her brain slow of conceits, as also unpractis'd in speaking, should of a sudden fall into high raptures.

Doctor Pract.

You say true, my Lord; and it is to be fear'd this distem­per will increase.

Lord Courts.

Pray Doctor have a regard and care to her distemper; for I would not willingly have a Wife that is more mad than natural wo­men are.

Exeunt.

Scene 13.

Enter Lord Title, and Master Inquirer.
LOrd Title.

She is not here.

Enter Poor Virtue, with a sheephook in her hand.
Lord Title.

O yonder she comes.

Master Inqui.

She hath a garb not like a Farmers Maid, but rather one [Page 224] that's nobly born, and her garments, though mean, sit nearly on her body.

Master Adviser goeth to her.

Fair Shepherdess, it is a melancholy life you lead.

Poor Virtue.

It is a course of life suits best to my condition.

Master Inqui.

You may change this condition if you please.

Poor Virtue.

I had rather lie honoured in death, than by dishonour raised to glorious state of life.

Master Inqui.

But here you live like a creature not produced by mankind, amongst beasts, having no conversation by discourse.

Poor Vir.

Want of Speech makes not beasts beasts, but want of Reason, & want of Reason makes a man a beast; and speech rather disturbs than bene­fits the life, when silence and pure thoughts make men like Angels, whereas speech sometimes expresses men like Devils, blaspheming Heaven and God, fomenting factions amongst their kind, betraying trust & friendship, cozening innocency, slattering vice, reproaching virtue, and with distractions strives to pull down honour from its feat; where silence refines the thoughts, ele­vates the fancy, quickens wit, strengthens judgment, allays anger, sweetens melancholy, and collects the Reason.

Master Inqui.

Thou art a wonder, and for this one Speech I doe adores thee.

Poor Virtue.

I should be sorry so worthy a person, and so noble a Gentleman as you seem to be, should adore my Speech, when it might be chance that did produce it, and not wit or judgment.

Master Inqui.

Thy speech is like to Orpheus Harp, it charms all ears that hear it.

Poor Virtue.

I wish my Speech were like a Loadstone, to draw the iron hearts of men to pity and compassion, to charity and devotion.

Poor Virtue offers to be gone.
Lord Title.

Pray stay and choose me for your Love, and let me go along with you.

Poor Virtue.

An Amorous Lovers, as I believe your Lordship is, never walks in sober pace, nor hath a constant and assur'd minde; for Amorous Lovers run with might and main, as if desires were catch'd with haste.

Poor Virtue goes out, Lord Title follows her.
Master Inquirer alone.
Master Inqui.

I perceive Farmers breed pretty Maids, and honest, as well as Lambs and Doves, and witty and well-behav'd Maids, as well as Courts and Cities do. O that I were unmatied, that I might wed this Sweet, Fair Country-maid!

Enter Mall Mean-bred, with a pail in her hand.
Master Inqui.

But stay, here comes another by my troth, a very pretty Lass, but yet her garments sit not so neat, nor becoming, nor is her behavi­our so graceful as the other Maids was. Sweet Mistris!

Mall Mean-bred.

Pray keep your jeers to your self, I am no Mistris.

Master Inqui.

You may be my Mistris, if you please, and I will be your servant.

Mall Mean-bred.

What to do?

Master Inqui.
[Page 225]

What you please.

Mall Mean-bred.

I am seldome pleased, and an idle fellow will anger me more.

Master Inqui.

I will be very industrious, if you please to set me to work.

Enter Maudlin Huswife her Mother, she falls a beating her.
Maudlin.

You idle slut, do you stand loytering here, when it is more than time the Cows were milk'd?

[Mall Mean-bred flings away her milking-pail.]
Mall Mean-bred.

Go milk them your self with a murrain, since you are so light-finger'd.

Maudlin.

I will milk your sides first.

The Mother goeth to beat her again, Mall Mean-bred her daughter runs away from her mother, she follows her, running to catch her.
Master Inqui.

I marry Sir, this is right as a Farmers daughter should be; but in my Conscience the other Maid that was here before her is a bastard, begot by some Gentleman.

Exeunt.

Scene 14.

Enter Sir John Argument, and the Lady Conversation.
LAdy Conversa.

Let me tell you, Sir Iohn Argument, Love delivers up the whole Soul to the thing beloved; and the truth is, none but one soul can love another.

Argum.

But Justice, Madam, must be the rule of Love; wherefore those souls which Love must give the bodies leave to joyn.

Conversat.

O no; pure souls may converse without gross bodies.

Argument.

Were it not for the Senses, Madam, souls could have no ac­quaintance, and without an acquaintance, there can be no reciprocal affecti­on; and will you make the Senses, which are the souls chief confidence, to be strangers or enemies?

Conversat.

I would have them converse, but not interrupt.

Argum.

The bodies must have mutual friendship and correspondency with each other, or otherwise they may dissemble, or betray the souls; or abuse the trust, loose appetites or wandring senses or contrary humours; and what can interrupt Love more than the disagreement of bodies?

Conversat.

The Senses and Appetites of the Body, are but as subject to the Soul.

Argument.

But 'tis impossible for Forein Princes, as I will compare two loving souls unto, can live in peace and mutual amity, if their subjects disagree.

[Page 226] Enter Mistris Troublesome.
Conversat.

O Mistris Troublesome, you are welcome; for you shall end the dispute between Sir Iohn Argument and I.

Troublesome.

If you cannot decide the Dispute your selves, I shall never do it. But what is the Dispute Madam?

Conversat.

Whether there can be a perfect friendship of Souls without a reciprocal and mutual conversation and conjunctions of Bodies?

Troublesome.

Faith, Madam, I think it would be a very faint friendship betwixt the Souls, without the Bodies.

Conversat.

I perceive Sir Iohn Argument and you would never make Pla­tonick Lovers.

Troublesome.

Faith, Madam, I think Platonick is a word without sense.

Argument.

You say right, Mistris Troublesome, it is an insensible love.

Conversat.

It is the Soul of Love.

Troublesome.

What's that, Madam, a Ghost, or Spirit?

Conversat.

Indeed it hath no material body.

Argument.

No, for it is an incorporal thing.

Troublesome.

What is an incorporal thing, Sir Iohn?

Argument.

Why, nothing.

Troublesome.

Pray leave this discourse, or else you will talk nonsense.

Argument.

That's usual in Conversation.

Conversat.

Setting aside this discourse at Mistris Troublesomes request, Pray tell me how the Lady Contemplation doth?

Troublesome.

Faith Madam, by the course of her life one might think she were an incorporal thing.

Conversat.

Why?

Troublesome.

Because she makes but little use of her Body, living always within her Minde.

Conversat.

Then her Body stands but as a Cypher amongst the Figures of her thoughts.

Troublesome.

Just so, by my Troth.

Conversat.

Pray bring me acquainted with the Lady Contemplation.

Troublesome.

If it be possible, I will; but the Lady Visitant can do it bet­ter than I.

Conversat.

I am resolv'd I will visit her.

Exeunt.

Scene 15.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady Ward.
LOrd Courtship.

What, is your passion over?

Lady Ward.

My passion will strive to maintain my honour, and you may take my life; but as long as I live, my passion will fight in the quarrel. But what man of honour will make a Bawd of her he intends to make his Wife? and what man of honour will be cruel to those that are weak, helplesse, and shiftlesse? and what man of honour will be uncivil to the meanest of our Sex? It is more noble to flatter us, than to quarrel with us; [Page 227] but that I have heard you are valiant, I should think you were a base cow­ard, and such a one that would quarrel in a Brothel-house, rather than fight in a Battel: But I perceive you are one that loves Pleasure more than Ho­nour, and Life more than Fame; and I hate to be in that mans company, or to make a Husband, whose courage lies in Volupmousness, and his life in Infamy: I will sooner marry Death, than such a man.

The Lady Ward goes out.
Lord Courtship alone.
Lord Courts.

Her words have shot through my soul, and have made a sen­sible wound therein. How wisely she did speak! how beautiful appear'd! Her minde is full of honour, and the actions of her life are built upon noble principles; so young, so wise, so fair, so chaste, and I to use her so basely as I have done! O how I hate my self for doing so unworthily!

Exit.

Scene 16.

Enter Sir Effeminate Lovely, and Poor Virtue.
EFfemin. Lovely.

The more ground is troden on, the easier the path to walk in.

Poor Virtue.

It seems so, that you visit me so often.

Effem. Lovely.

Why, thou art such sweet company, and behav'st thy self so prettily, as I cannot choose but visit thee.

Poor Virtue.

I would, if I could, behave my self so to the world, as my indiscretion might not defame me.

Effem. Lovely.

Why do you think of a Fame?

Poor Virtue.

VVhy not? since fame many times arises from poor Cottages, as well as from great Palaces; witness the Country labouring-man, that was taken from the plough, and made an Emperour, as being thought sittest to rule, both for Justice and VVisedome, and he was more famous than those that were born of an Heroick Line, and were of Royal dignity; and David a shepherd, became a King. 'Tis Merit that deserves a fame, not Birth; and sometimes Merit hath its desert, though but seldome.

Effem. Lovely.

Thy discourse would tempt any man.

Poor Virtue.

Mistake not my discourse, it hath no such devilish design; for to tempt, is to pervert: 'Tis true, my Nature takes delight to delight and please others, and not to crosse or displease any, yet not to tempt, or to de­lude with counterfeit demeanors, or fair insinuating words, smooth speech, or oiled tongue, to draw from Virtues side, but to perswade and plead in Virtues cause.

Effem. Lovely.

Thy very looks would gain a cause, before thy tongue could plead.

Poor Virtue.

Alas! mans countenance is like the Sea, which ebbs and flows as passion moves the minde.

Effem. Lovely.

I am sure Love moves my minde, and makes it in a fiery heat.

Poor Virtue.
[Page 228]

If it be noble Love, it is like the Sun, which runs about to give both light and heat to all the world, that else would sit in darknesse, and be both cold and steril; so doth a noble minde run with industry to help those in distresse, his bounty heats, his counsel and advice gives light.

Effem. Lovely.

I love you so much, Sweet-heart, that since you will not be my Mistris, you shall be my VVife.

Poor Virtue.

Indeed I will not.

Effem. Lovely.

VVill you refuse me?

Poor Virtue.

Yes.

Effem. Lovely.

VVherefore?

Poor Virtue.

Because I know, though you may use me well at first, after a time you'l be divorc'd.

Effem. Lovely.

I will never part from thee.

Poor Virtue.

O yes but you will, for youth and beauty most commonly are inconstant; for vain ambition, and flattering praises, corrupt that mind that lives therein, and is pleased therewith.

Poor Vertue goes out.
Effeminate Lovely alone.
Effem. Lovely.

Well, I will become a new man, and cast off all vanity, and study Moral Philosophy, to gain this Maid; for then perchance she will love me.

Exit.

Scene 17.

Enter Lady Conversation, and Sir Vain Complement.
LAdy Conversat.

Complements are the worst sort of Conversation, for they are not sociable; besides, Truth holds no intelligence nor corre­spondence with them.

Sir Vain Compl.

Truth is no Complement as flattery, and I speak nothing but what truth hath dictated to my tongue.

Lady Conversat.

Those praises you gave me were writ by speech, in so fine a style of Eloquence, with such flourishing Letters of words, as I cannot believe but that custome of self-conceited wit or passion, hath given the Scribe, which is the Tongue, a bribe to slatter me.

Enter the Lady Contemplation, and Mistris Troublesome, to the Lady Conver­sation, and Sir Vain Complement.
Lady Conversat.

This is a wonder to see you, Lady Contemplation, abroad, I doubt it doth Prognosticate some change of Fortune, pray Iove it be good.

Lady Contempl.

All the ill will fall on me, Madam.

Mistris Troubles.

Nay, faith Madam, she accounts company a worse for­tune than the ruine of a Kingdome, and you cannot conceive with what dif­ficulty I have got her abroad; for at first I did perswade her with all the [Page 229] Rhetorick I had, and pleaded with as powerful arguments as I could finde, any promised more than I was able to perform, and nothing of this could get her forth, until I told her I would bring your Ladyship to visit her, and that forced her out; for she said, she would rather trouble you, than you should trouble her.

Lady Conversat.

Faith, Contemplation, thou art only sit to keep beasts com­pany; for what difference is there betwixt beasts and men, but Conver­sation.

Lady Contempl.

Indeed beasts want that folly of idle Conversation, and the error of speaking, as much as the vanity of dressing, and the custome of dissembling; for they spend their time more prudently, quietly, easily, ho­nestly, so more happily; and if it were for no other reason than speaking, I had rather be a beast, than of mankinde.

Lady Conversat.

O fie, O fie, you are a beastly Lady.

Lady Contempl.

No, Madam, beasts have no false Titles of Honour, their honour lives in their natures, not in their names.

Lady Conversat.

Who that may choose, or have their liberty, would spend their time in idle thoughts?

Lady Contempl.

All that are wise, and would be happy; for should not we think that man were mad, that leaves a peaceful habitation, and thrusts him­self in forein broyls? or should not we think a King were most unjust, that makes his peaceful and obedient subjects slaves to strange Princes? The Mind's a Common-wealth, and the Thoughts are the Citizens therein, and Reason rules as King, or ought to doe: But there is no reason we should vex our Thoughts with outward things, or make them slaves unto the world.

Lady Conversat.

But thoughts would want imployment, were it not for the world, and idlenesse were worse than slavish toyls.

Lady Contempl.

The thoughts, without the worlds materials, can Create millions of worlds, only with the help of Imagination.

Lady Conversat.

Then your Minde and the World are meer strangers.

Lady Contempl.

I say not so; for though the World draws not my Minde to wander up and down, yet my Minde draws the World to it, then pensils out each several part and piece, and hangs that Landskip in my Brain, on which my thoughts do view with Judgments eyes. Thus the world is in my Minde; although my Minde is not in the world.

Lady Conversat.

Then you inchant the world?

Lady Contempl.

I had rather inchant the world, than the world should in­chant me.

Lady Conversat.

If the Minde be a Common-wealth, as you said even now it was, Pray tell me of what degree the Passions are of?

Lady Contempl.

They are the Nobles thereof, and Magistrates therein; each several Passion still governs in its turn and office.

Lady Conversat.

And what are the Appetites?

Lady Contempl.

The Appetites are none of the Mind's Citizens, but they are an unruly Rout that dwell in the Senses, which are the Suburbs of the Body: Indeed the Appetites are the Out-Lawries, and doe oft-times much hurt with their disorders, insomuch as they, many times, disturb the mindes tranquillity, and peace. But, Madam, lest the appetite of talking should di­sturb the Mind, I shall kiss your Ladyships hand, and leave you to those that are more delightful and pleasanter company than I am.

Exit.
Mistris Trouble.
[Page 230]

Lady Conversation, I perceive you and Sir Vain Complement are grown dull with the Lady Contemplations company.

Lady Conversat.

Mercury defend me from her; for I would not keep her company for Ioves Mansion.

Vain Compl.

And Cupid defend me from her; for I would not be bound to Court her for the Favours Venus gives to Mars.

Conversat.

Lord what a dull piece of gravity she is!

Vain Compl.

She looks as if she convers'd with none but Ghosts and Spirits, walking in Moon-shine, and solitary and dismal places.

Conversat.

Let us talk of her no more; for I am so far from keeping her acquaintance, as I hate to hear her nam'd.

Exeunt.

Scene 18.

Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady Ward.
LOrd Courtship.

My Sweet, Fair Maid, I cannot hope thy Pardon, for my crimes are not only great, but many; for I have not only us'd you un­kindly, uncivilly, ungentlemanly, which are vices and crimes that Canker­fret the Fame of Honour, and burie all noble qualities; but I have used you barbarously, cruelly, and inhumanly, which are sins sufficient to annihi­late all the Masculine Race; and surely, if there be that we call Justice in Nature, it will, unless thy virtue redeem them, and save them with thy pity: wherefore, for the sake of the generality, though not for my particular, par­don me. Thus will you become a Deity to your whole Sex and ours.

Lady Ward.

I am sure your Lordship is a particular punishment to me, which Heaven send me quit of.

She goes out, he follows her.

ACT IV.

Scene. 19.

Enter Sir Fancie Poet, and the Lady Contemplation.
SIr Fan. Poet.

Lady, you smother your thoughts, and stifle your conce­ption in the close Closet of Study.

Lady Contempl.

No Sir, I only keep them warm, being tender and weak.

Sir Fan. Poet.

They will grow stronger in the Air of Conversation; but when continually kept close in the Chamber of Contemplation, they will be apt to fall into many several diseases, as melancholy Opinions, and extrava­gant Fancies, which may over-heat the minde, and sire the thoughts: where­fore Lady let me give you Counsel.

Lady Contempl.

What Counsel would you give me? as a Lawyer, or Phy­cian?

Sir Fan. Poet.
[Page 231]

As a Physician.

Lady Contempl.

For the Body, or the Minde?

Sir Fan. Poet.

For the Minde.

Lady Contempl.

The Physicians for the Minde are Divine:

Sir Fan. Poet.

No, the best physicians for the Minde are Poets.

Lady Contempl.

How will you prove that?

Sir Fan. Poet.

By Example and Skill; for when the Minde is raging mad; Poets, with gentle perswasions, in smooth numbers, and soft musick, cure it; and when the Mind is despairing, Poets draw hopes into numbers, which beats out the doubtful Foe: And for Example.

David with his Poetical Inspirations, and Harpsical harmonious Musick, allay'd the ill Spirit, and raging passion of Saul; for Poets take from the sweet Spring of Nature, an Oil of Love, and from Heaven, the Balsom of Mercy, and pour them through golden numbers, and pipes of wit, into the fester'd wounds of despair, when oft-times Divines, in stead of suppling Oil, pour in corroding Vitriol, and in stead of healing Balsoms, pour in burning Sulphure, which are terrifying threats, and fearful menaces: where­fore Lady, let me advise you as a Poetical Physician, to keep your minde cool, and your thoughts in equal temper; wherefore in order thereto, when the minde is wrapt in the mantle of Imagination, if it finds it self very hot therewith, let it lay that mantle by, and bathe it self in the fresh, clear, pure Rivers of Discourse.

Lady Contempl.

By your favour, Sir, for the most part, the Mind becomes hotter with the motion of the tongue, than the mantle of Imagination; for when the tongue hath liberty, it runs wildly about, and draggs the minde af­ter it; and rather than I will have my minded dragg'd and hurried about by my unruly tongue, which will neither endure the bit of Reason, nor the bri­dle of Discretion, but runs beyond all sense, I will tye up my tongue with the cords of silence, in the stable of the mouth, and pull down the Port-cullis of the teeth before it, and shut the doors of my lips upon it. Thus shall it be treble lock'd, and kept with the Key of Judgment, and the Authority of Prudence.

Exeunt.

Scene 20.

Enter the Lady Conversation, and a Grave Matron.
LAdy Conversat.

Did you hear him say he had layn with me?

Matron.

Yes, Madam.

Lady Conversat.

O the wicked, base vain-glory of men, to bely the pure chastity of a woman! But surely he did not plainly express so much in clear words, as by nods, winks, shrugs, dark sentences, or broken discourses?

Matron.

He said plainly, he had layn with you in an unlawful manner.

Lady Conversat.

Fates assist me in revenge; for it is no dishonour to be re­veng'd of a base person, that hath maliciously slander'd me, or vain-glori­ously injur'd me.

Matron.

Revenge is against the Laws of Honour, Madam.

Lady Conversat.

It may be against the Tenets of some particular Reli­gion, [Page 232] or religious Opinions. But a noble revenge is the ground or foundati­on of Heroick Honour.

Matron.

But what do you call a Noble Revenge?

Lady Conversat.

First, to be an open Enemy, as to declare the enmity; next, to declare their endeavour to prosecute to the utmost of their power, either their Enemies Estate, Liberty, and Life; whereas a base Revenger is to dissemble, in professing they have forgotten and forgiven their injury, and pardon'd their Enemy, yet under-hand and disguisedly endeavour to do their Enemy a mischief. Not but an honourable Revenger may choose their time for executing their revenge; but they must declare they will be revenged be­fore they execute their revenge, and let their Enemies stand upon their Guard.

Matron.

But a revengeful woman is not good.

Lady Conversat.

Why not, as well as a revengeful man? For why may not a woman revenge her scandaliz'd honour as well as a man? Is there any reason why it should be a dishonour for a man to pass by a disgrace, and for a woman to revenge her disgrace? Is it not as great a blemish to the honour of a woman, to be said to be unchaste, as for a man to be said to be a Cow­ard? And shall a woman only sit and weep over her lost honour, whilest a man fights to regain his? And shall it be thought no dishonour for a man to pistol, or at least bastonade another man for an injury, or an affront re­ceiv'd, and a fault for a woman to do, or cause to be done the like? Must women only sit down with foolish patience, and endure wrong, when men may execute revenge with fury? These were both injustice, and an unjust act of Education to our Sex; as also it would be an unjust sentence, not on­ly from men, but from the Gods, since neither Gods nor men will suffer in­jury, wrong, or dishonour, without revenge: But if Gods, Men, and Edu­cation should be so unjust to our Sex, yet there is no Reason in Nature we should be so unjust to our selves: But for my part, as I am constant to an honest friend, and can easily forgive an honourable Enemy, so I can never forgive a malicious Foe, nor forget a vain-glorious bragging fool, or false slandring knave, but will persecute them to the utmost of my power, and the weight of my revenge should be according to the pressure of my injury, or dishonour.

Matron.

But let me tell you, Madam, those that brag are seldome be­liev'd, and there is none that believe these vain bragging Ranters; for it's well known, that all Ranters are idle deboyst persons, and do usually belye the most Honourable and Chaste Ladies, for which all worthy persons hate them, and account them so base, as they will shun their companies; no man of honour will come near them, unless it be to beat them. But if you appear to the world as concerned, you may raise those doubts which would never have been raised, had you took no notice thereof.

Lady Conversat.

Indeed Disputes raise doubts; wherefore I will not bring it into a Dispute, but take your Counsel, and take no notice of it.

Matron.

You will do vvisely, Lady.

Exeunt.

Scene 21.

Enter Sir Golden Riches to Poor Virtue.
SIr Gold. Rich.

I vvish my tongue as smooth as oil, to make my vvords as soft as Air, that they may spread about your heart, there intermixd with your affection.

Poor Virtue.

Words cannot win my love, no more than wealth, nor is my heart subject to those infections.

Sir Gold. Rich.

I will build thee Palaces of burnish'd gold, where thou shalt be worshipd whilest thou livest, and when thou diest, I will erect a Mo­nument more famous than Mausolus's was.

Poor Verrtue.

My Virtue shall build me a Monument far richer, and more lasting; for the materials with which it shall be built, shall be try'd Chasti­ty, as pure Gold, and Innocency, as Marble white, and Constancy, as undis­solving Diamonds, and Modesty, as Rubies red, Love shall the Altar be, and Piety, as Incense sweet, ascend to Heaven, Truth, as the Oil, shall feed the Lamp of Memory, whereby the flame of Fame shall never goe out.

Exit.
Sir Golden Riches alone.
Sir Gold. Rich.

And is She gone? are Riches of no force? Then I wil bu­ry my self within the bowels of the Earth, so deep, that men shall never reach me, nor Light shall find me out.

Exit.

Scene 22.

Enter Mistris Messenger, and the Lady Amorous's woman, and Lord Courtship.
MIstris Messenger.

My Lord, my Lady, the Lady Amourous, remembers her Service to you, and sent me to tell you her Husband is gone out of Town, and She desires to have the happiness of your company.

Lord Courtship.

Pray present my Service in the humblest manner to your Lady, and pray her to excuse me; for though I cannot say I am sick, yet I am far from being well.

Mistris Messen.

I shall, my Lord.

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter the Lord Title, and then enters a Servant to him.
SErvant.

My Lord, there is an old man without desires to speak with you.

Lord Title.

Direct him hither.

Servant goes out.
Enter Old Humanity.
Lord Title.

Old man, what have you to say to me?

Old Humanity.

I am come to desire your Lordship not to persecute a poor young Maid, one that is friendless, and your Lordship is powerful, and therefore dangerous.

Lord Title.

What poor Maid do you mean?

Old Human.

A Maid call'd Poor Virtue.

Lord Title.

Do you know her?

Old Human.

Yes.

Lord Title.

Are you her Father?

Old Human.

No, I am her servant, and have been maintain'd by her Noble Family these threescore years, and upwards.

Lord Title.

Ha, her Noble Family! what, or who is She?

Old Humanity.

She is a Lady, born from a Noble Stock, and hath been choisely bred, but ruin'd by misfortunes, which makes her poorly serve.

Lord Title.

Alas he weeps! Who were her Parents?

Old Human.

The Lord Morality, and the Lady Piety.

Lord Title.

Sure it cannot be: But why should I doubt? her Beauty, Wit, and sweet Demeanour, declares her Noble Pedigree: The Lord Morality was a Famous man, and was a great Commander, and wise in making Lawes, and prudent for the Common Good: He was a Staff and Prop un­to the Common-wealth, til Civil Wars did throw it down, where he fell under it. But honest friend, how shall I know this for a truth?

Old Human.

Did not your Lordship hear he had a Child?

Lord Title.

Yes that I did, an only Daughter.

Old Human.

This is She I mention, and if Times mend, will have her Fa­thers Estate, as being her Fathers Heir; but to prove it, and her Birth, I will bring all those servants that liv'd with her, and with her Father, and all his Tenants, that will witness the truth.

Lord Title.

When I consider, and bring her and her Actions to my minde, I cannot doubt the truth, and for the news, thou shalt be my Adopted Father, and my Bosome-friend; I'll be a staff for thy Old Age to lean upon, my shoulders shall give strength unto thy feeble limbs, and on my neck shalt lay thy restless head,

Old Human.

Heaven bless you, and I shall serve you as my Old Age will give me leave.

Exit Lord Title, leading him forth.

Scene 24.

Enter Lord Courtship, and the Lady VVard.
LOrd Courts.

Thou Celestial Creature, do not believe that I am so pre­sumptuous to ask thy love, I only beg thy pardon, that when my body lies in the silent grave, you give my restless soul a pass, and leave to walk a­mongst sad Lovers in dark and gloomy shades; and though I cannot weep to shew my penitence, yet I can bleed.

He offers her a Dagger.

Here, take this Instrument of Death, for only by your hands I wish to die.

Give me as many Wounds as Pores in skin,
That I may bleed sufficient for my sin.
Lady VVard.

It seems strange to me, that you, a wise man, or at least ac­counted so, should fall into such extreams, as one while to hate me to death, and now to profess to love me beyond life!

Lord Courts.

My Debaucheries blinded my Judgment, nor did I know thy worth, or my own errour, until thy wise wit gave the light to my dark understanding, and you have drawn my bad life, and all my unworthy acti­ons therein, so naturally in your discourse, as now I view them, I do hate my self as much as you have cause to hate me.

Lady VVard.

I only hate your Crimes, but for those excellent Qualities, and true Virtues that dwell in your Soul, I love and honour; and if you think me worthy to make me your Wife, and will love me according as my honest life will deserve your affections, I shall be proud of the Honour, and thank Fortune or Heaven for the Gift.

Lord Courts.

Sure you cannot love me, and the World would condemn you if you should, and all your Sex will hate you.

Lady VVard.

The World many times condemns even Justice her self, and women, for the most part, hate that they should love and honour.

Lord Courts.

But can you love me?

Lady VVard.

I can, and do love you.

Lord Courts.

How happy am I, to enjoy a world of Beauty, Wit, Virtue, and sweet Graces.

Leads her forth.
Exeunt.

Scen. 25.

Enter the Lord Title, and Roger Farmer, and Maudlin Huswife his Wife.
LOrd Title.

Honest Roger and Maudlin, This Scene was written by the Lord Mar­quiss of Newcastle. I present you with a kind Good-morrow.

Roger.

Present me? Bless your Lordship, I should present you with a couple of Capons.

Lord Title.

'Tis a salutation when you salute; but how do you then?

Roger.

Very well, I thank your Honour: How do you?

Lord Title.

Well, enough of Complements, I am come with a Petition to you.

Roger.

What is that, is't please your Honour?

Lord Title.

A Sute.

Roger.

Byrlaken I have need of one, for I have but poor and bare cloath­ing on.

Lord Title.

No, Roger, it is a request and desire I have you should grant.

Roger.

Grant, or to Farm let, no Sir, I will not part with my Lease.

Lord Title.

Roger, you understand me not, therefore let me speak with Maudlin your Wife.

Roger.

There she is Sir, spare her not, for she is good metal I'll warrant your Honour; wipe your lips Maudlin, and answer him every time that he moves thee, and give him as good as he brings: Maudlin, were he twenty Lords, hold up your head, Maudlin, be not hollow.

Maudlin.

I'll warrant you Husband, I'll satisfie him.

Lord Title.

Honest Maudlin.

Maudlin.

That's more than your Lordship knows.

Lord Title.

Why then Maudlin.

Maudlin.

That's my name indeed.

Lord Title.

You have a maid here in your house.

Maudlin.

I hope so forsooth; but I will not answer for no Virgin in this wicked world.

Roger.

Well said Maudlin; Nay your Honour will get nothing of my Maudlin, I'll warrant you.

Lord Title.

Well, this supposed Maid is Poor Virtue, that's her name, I de­sire you will let her live with me, this Poor Virtue.

Maudlin.

God bless you Honour from her, it is not fit for a Lord, and a great Noble-man to meddle with Virtue, your Honour should not foul your fingers with her: Besides, she will never stay in a great mans house, neither is it fit she should; and your Honours servants will hate her like the Devil, for she will please no body as she should do, a very peevish, ill-natur'd girle forsooth she is.

Lord Title.

Why how doth she agree then with you?

Maudlin.

Alas forsooth, if it please your Honour, Virtue may live in a Cottage, when she will be whipt out of a Court, or a great Lords Palace; they may talk of her, but they will never give her leave to live and board with them: It may be they give their Chaplain leave to talk of her a Sun­days, or so forsooth, but talk's but talk, for they forget her the six days after, [Page 237] and never mind her; for indeed she is a very peevish girle, and not fit for Gentlefolks company, that's the truth of it, hardly for poor folks.

Lord Title.

VVhy you agree well with her?

Maudlin.

Nay by the faith of my body do I not; for I can hardly goe to Market, and be merry, as I use to be, and all long of her peevishnesse: nay I cannot goe to order one of our busie Thrashers, but she troubles me; or to speak with the Carter, but she whip, in presently, or discourse with the Plough-man about his plough-share, how he should order it for my advan­tage, but she troubles me; or about our Husbandman, how and where he should sow his Seed, but she vexes me still: Such a life, the Gods help me, as I am e'en weary of my self. Speak Roger, is it not true?

Roger.

True Maudlin as steel, I never was merry since she vvas in my house, the May-pole is dovvn since she came.

Maudlin.

I Roger that 'tis, the more the pity.

Roger.

And the Towns Green is a Meadow, and the poor Big-pipers cheeks are fallen into a Consumption, hardly wind to speak vvithall; the Morris-dan­cers bells are silenc'd, and their crosse garters held superstitious, idolatrous, and profane; the May-Lord and his Lady depos'd, and the Hobby-horse is forgotten; nay the Whitson-Lord and Lady are banish'd, Merry Wakes abo­lish'd, and the poor Ale-wives beggar'd,

Maudlin.

I, I, and all since this melancholy girle Virtue came into our house.

She cries.

I cannot choose but cry.

Lord Title.

Thou art true Maudlin then.

Maudlin.

Yes, with small beer, that's the calamity of it; therefore blesse every good subject from so melancholy a thing as this girle Virtue is: But we have a Daughter, and it please your Honours worship, that will give you good content, and please most of your Houshold; for she is a lusty Wench, though I say't that should not say't: Did you but see her swim like a Tench on our Town-green, incircling the May-pole, and at the end of a Horn-pipe, when she is to be kiss'd, how modestly the wryes her head away, but so as to be civil; nay she hath been well Educated, my own natural Daughter, for in­deed Roger, I was with Child with her before you maried me.

Roger.

Peace Maudlin, all Truths are not to be spoken of; for should that be, many a Worshipful Person would be very angry; but our Vicar made all well betwixt thee and me, Maudlin: But I beseech your Honour take my Daughter, for you will find her another manner of woman than Virtue is, for she is not like her ifaith, nor any thing that belongs to her, she is better blest than so.

Lord Title.

No, I will have Poor Virtue, or none.

Roger.

Faith if you have Virtue, you are sure to have her poor, for I never knew any of her Family rich, the Gods do not blesse them, I think, in this world; but if you will have her, take her, shall he not, Maudlin?

Maudlin.

Yes, Husband, and the house is well rid of her, and let us bless our selves for it; for now we shall be like our Neighbours again, we will not abate them an hair, the best in the Parish shall not live merryer than we will now for all Sports: Why, Vanity and Sin, Husband, is the Liberty of the Subject, and the seven Deadly Sins are the Fundamental Laws of the Kingdome, from the greatest to the least, if poor folks might have their right. Well, your Honour shall have her, but you will be as weary of her as we have been, the Gods bless your Honour, but alas you do not know what this [Page 238] Girle Virtue is, Lords have no guess at her.

Lord Title.

Well Maudlin, let me have her, I desire no more.

Maudlin.

Nor we neither, if it pleases your Honour, and so the Gods give you good of her.

Roger.

Let me speak to his Honour, Maudlin.

Lord Title.

Do so Roger.

Roger.

I give yourdship many thanks.

Lord Title.

For what?

Roger.

For ridding our house of this troublesome Girl.

Lord Title,

And I thank you for it too.

Roger.

VVhen thanks on all sides happen, we are eas'd.

Lord Title.

And I with your Poor Virtue am well pleas'd.

The Lord goes out.
As they were going forth, Maudlin speaks.
Maudlin.

Mark the end of it, Roger.

Roger.

Yes Maudlin, the End Crowns the Work.

Exeunt.
Here ends my Lord Marquiss's Scene.

ACT IV.

Scene. 26.

Enter the Lady Visitant to the Lady Contemplation, who was musing to her self.
LAdy Visit.

What always musing? Shall I never find thee in a sociable humour?

Lady Contempl.

I would you had come sooner, or stayd longer away.

Lady Visit.

Why prethee?

Lady Contempl.

I will tell you: A while since, there came the Muses to visit me, being all either mad, or drunk, for they toss'd and tumbl'd me, and rumbl'd me about, from one to the other, as I thought they would a divi­ded me amongst them: At last came in the Sciences to visit me, with sober Faces, grave Countenances, stayd and formal Behaviours, and after they had Saluted me, they began to talk very seriously to me, their Discourse being Rational, Probable, Wise, Learned, and Experienc'd; but all the while the Muses would not let me alone, one pull'd me to Dance, another to Sing, another to play on Musick, others to recite Verses, speak Speeches, and Act parts of Plays, and the like [...] Whereupon I gravely turned the in­corporal head of my rational Soul, nodding it to them to be quiet, and let me alone, but still they playd with me: At last my Thoughts, which are the language of the Soul, spoke to them, and pray'd them to forbear, until such time as the Sciences were gone; but they would not be quiet, nor silent, doe [Page 239] what I could, but would interrupt the Sciences in the midst of their Dis­course, with their idle Rimes, light Fancies, and odd Numbers, insomuch as the Sciences departed: Whereupon the Muses did rejoyce, and skip, and run about, as if they had been wilde: And in this jocund humour, in came the Arts, even a whole Common-wealth; for there were not only Politick Arts, Civil and Combining Arts, Profitable and necessary Arts, Military Arts, and Ceremonious Arts; but there were Superstitious Arts, Idola­trous Arts, false, factious, and mischievous Arts, destructive and wicked Arts, base and mean Art, foolish, childish, vain, superfluous and unprofita­ble Arts: Upon all these Arts the Muses made good sport; for at some they flung jests, scorns, and scoffs, and some they stripp'd naked, but to others they were cruel, for some they stayd their skins off, and others they made very Skeletons of, dissecting them to the very bones; and the truth is, they spa­red not the best of them, but they had one saying or other to them: But when all the Arts departed, they took me, and carry'd to the Well of Heli­con, and there they threw me in over head and cares, and said they would Souse me in the Liquor of Poetry; but when I was in the Well, I thought verily I should have been drown'd, for all my outward Senses were smo­ther'd and choak'd, for the water did blind my eyes, stop'd my ears and no­strils, and fill'd my mouth so full, as I had not so much space as to spout it sorth; besides all my body was so numb, as I had no feeling, insomuch, as when they took me out of this Well of Helicon, into which they had flung me, I seem'd as dead, being quite senseless: Whereupon they all agreed to take and carry me up on Parnassas Hill, and to lay me on the [...] thereof, that the Poetical Flame, or Heat therein, might dry and warm me; after which agreement they took me up, every one bea [...]ing a part o [...] m [...], or was industrious about me, for some carried my Head, others my Legs, some held my Hands, others imbraced my Waste, another oiled my Tongue, and o­thers powr'd Spirits into my Mouth, but the worst-natur'd Muse pinch'd me, to try if I was sensible, or not, and the sweetest and tenderest natur'd Muse wept over me, and another was so kind as to kiss me; but when they had brought me up to the top of the Hill, and laid me thereupon, I felt such a heat, as if they had laid me on AEtna; but after I had layn some time, I felt it not so hot, and so less and less, until I felt it like as my natural heat; just like those that goe into a hot Bathe, at first crie out it is insufferable and scalding hot, yet with a little use will sinde it cool enough: But whilest I lay on Parnassus Hill, I began to make a Lyrick Verse, as thus.

Bright, Sparkling hot Poetick sire,
My duller Muse Inspire
Unto thy Sweeter Lyre:
My Fancies like as Notes all sit
To play a Tune of VVit
On well-strung Numbers fit.

But your unfortnnate Visit hath pull'd me so hastily down from the Hill, that the force of the speed hath crack'd my Imaginary Fiddle, broke the Strings of my Wit, blotted the Notes of Numbers, so spoil'd my Song.

Lady Visit.

Prethee, there is none that would have taken the pains to have sung thy Song, unlesse some blind Fidler in an Alehouse, and then not any one would have listen'd unto it, for the fume of the drink would stop the [Page 240] sense of their ears: Besides, Drunkards love not, nor delight in nothing but beastly Nonsense; but howsoever I had done thee a friendly part, to fetch thee down from off that monstrous high Hill, whereby the vastnesse of the height might have made you so dizzy, as you might have fallen there-from on the sharp stones of Spite, or at least, on the hard ground of Censure, which might have bruised, if not wounded the Reputatio of thy Wit.

Lady Contempl.

Let me tell you, you had done me a Courtesie to have let me remain'd there some time; for if you had let me alone, I might there have improv'd the Stature of my Wit, perfected the Health of my Judg­ment, and had nourished the Life of my Muse.

Exeunt.

Scene 27.

Enter the Lord Title, and the Lady Virtue, Cloathed like her Self.
LOrd Title.

Still I fear my fault is beyond a Pacification, yet the Gods are pacified with submissive Actions, as bended knees, repentant tear, im­ploring words, sorrowful Sighs, and dejected Countenances, all which I gave to thee.

Lady Virtue.

Though there is always in my minde an obedient respect to Merit, yet a scorn is a sufficient cause to make a rebelling of thoughts, words, and actions; for though I am poor, yet I am virtuous, and Virtue is to be pre­ferr'd before Wealth or Birth, were I meanly born. But howsoever, true Love, like a great and powerful Monarch, soon disperses those rebellious passions, and quiets those factious thoughts, and all murmuring speeches, or words, are put to silence, banishing all frowning Countenance, returning humble looks into the eyes again.

Lord Title.

Then you have pardon'd me.

Lady Vertue.

Yes.

Lord Title.

And do you love me?

Lady Virtue.

As Saints do Heaven.

Lord Title kisses Lady Virtues hands
Lord Title.

Your Favours have rais'd my spirits from the grave of Melan­choly, and your pure Love hath given me a new Life.

Lady Virtue.

So truly I love you, as nothing but death can destroy it; my, I am of that belief, that were I dead, and turned to ashes, my dust, like firm and lasting steel, would fly unto you, as to the Loadstone, if you were at such distance as nothing might oppose.

Lord Title.

Thus Souls, as well as Bodies, love.

Exeunt.
Enter the Lord Courtship, and the Lady Amorous.
LAdy Amorous.

Since I cannot have the happinesse of your Lordships company at my House, I am come to wait upon you at your House.

Lord Courts.

Your Ladyship doth me too great an honour.

Lady Amorous.

Your Lordship is grown very Courtly. Pray how comes our familiar friendship so estranged, and set at distance with Comple­ments?

Lord Courts.

Madam, my wilde manners have been so rude to your Fair Sex, as I am become a scorn and shame unto my self.

Lady Amorous.

I hate Civility and Manners in a man, it makes him ap­pear sneakingly, poorly, and effeminate, and not a Cavalier: Bold and free Actions become your Sex.

Lord Courts.

It doth so in a Camp amongst rude and rough Souldiers, whose Breeding never knew Civility, nor will obey gentle Commands, sub­mitting only to rigorous Authority: But to the fair, tender, effeminate Sex, men should offer their service by their admiring Looks, civil Discourses, and humble Actions, bowing as to a Deity; and when they are pleased to fa­vour their servants, those Favours to be accounted beyond the Gifts of Iove.

Lady Amorous.

Have I Cuckolded my Husband, dishonour'd my Family, defam'd my self for your sake, and am I thus rewarded and thrown aside with civil Complements? O basest of men!

Lord Courts.

I am sorry I have wronged your Husband, but more sorry I have dishonour'd you, and what satisfaction a true repentance can make, I offer upon the Altar of a Reformed Life.

Lady Amor.

Do you repent? O false man! May you be cursed of all your Sex, and die the death of Orpheus.

Lady Amorous goes out.
Lord Courtship alone.
Lord Courts.

It is beyond the power of Iove to please the various humours of Woman-kind.

Exit

Scene 29.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1 GEntleman.

There was never so many Noble Persons Married in one day, in one City, I think, before those that are to Marry to mor­row.

2 Gentlem.

Who are they?

1 Gentlem.

Why, do you not hear?

2 Gentlem.
[Page 240]

No.

1 Gentlem.

Surely you have been either dead or deaf.

2 Gentlem.

I have been in the Country.

1 Gentlem.

That is some reason indeed; but the Newes of the City uses to travel in Letters on Post-horses into the Country.

2 Gentlem.

No faith, for the most part they come in slow Waggons; but tell me who those are that are to be Maried to morrow?

1 Gentlem.

Why first there is the Lord Title and the Lady Virtue. Se­condly, the Lord Courtship and the Lady VVard. Thirdly, there is Sir Famit Poet and the Lady Contemplation. Fourthly, the Lady Conversation and Sir Experienc'd Traveller. And fifthly, the Lady Visitant and Sir Humphry In­terruption.

2 Gentlem.

I will do my endeavour to see them all; for I will go to each Bridal House.

1 Gentlem.

How will you do so, being all maried on a day?

2 Gentlem.

Why I will bid Good-morrow to the one, and I will goe to Church with another, and dine with the third, and dance the afternoon with the fourth, and see the fifth a bed.

1 Gentlem.

That you may do.

Exeunt.

Scene 30.

Enter Mistris Troublesome, and her Maid.
MIstris Troubles.

Lord there are so many Weddings to be to morrow, as I know not which to go to! Besides, I shall displease those I go not to, being invited to them all.

Maid.

If you would displease neither of them, you must seign your self sick, and go to none of them.

Mistris Troubles.

None of them, say you? that would be a cause to make me die; for I would not but be a guest to one of them for any thing could be given me: But I am resolved to go to the Lady Conversation and Sir Ex­perienc'd Travellers Wedding, for there there will be the most company, and it is company that I love better than the Wedding-cheer; for much company is a Feast to me.

Maid.

Truly Mistris, I wonder you should delight in company, you being in years.

Mistris Troubles.

Out you naughty Wench, do you say I am old?

Maid.

No indeed, I did not name old.

Mistris Troubles.

Then let me tell you, that those women that are in years, seek company to divulge their Wit, as youth to divulge their Beauty; and we Aged Wits may chance to catch a Lover from a young Beauty: But I should applaud my own wit, if it could contrive to bring each Bride and Bridegroom into one Assembly, making Hymen's Monarchy a Republick, where all should be in common.

Maid.

So Mistriss you would prove a Traytor to Hymen, which is a Bawd.

Mistris Troubles.

Faith I will turn you away for your boldness.

[Page 241] Enter Mistris Gossip.
O Mistris Gossip you are welcome, what Newes!
Mistris Gossip.

I am come to tell you, that the five Bridals meet with their Guests and good Cheer at the City-Hall, and make their several Compa­nies Joyning as one, as one Body, and there will be such Revelling, as the like was never before.

Mistris Troubles.

Iuno be thanked, and Venus be praised for it; for I was much perplex'd concerning their Divisions, till you came and brought me this good Newes of their Corporation.

Exeunt.

Scene 31.

Enter the Lord Title, and the Lady Virtue as his Bride, both of them richly attired, and Old Humanity following them.
LOrd Title.

Come Old Humanity, and be our Father, to ioyn and give us in the Church; and then when we are Maried, we will live a Country-life, I as a Shepherd, and this Lady as my Fair Shepherdess.

Exeunt.

Scene 32.

Enter the Lady Ward as a Bride, and her Nurse Nurse Careful.
NUrse Careful.

My dear Child, you appear as a sweet budding Rose this morning.

Lady Ward.

Roses are beset with thorns, Nurse, I hope I am not so.

Nurse Caref.

By'r Lady your Husband may prove a thorn, if he be not a good man, and a kind Husband; but Oh my heart doth ake.

Lady Ward.

Wherefore doth it ake?

Enter Lord Courtship as a Bridegroom.
Lord Courts.

Come Sweet, are you ready? for it is time to go to Church, it is almost twelve a clock.

Lady Ward.

I am ready, but my Nurse doth affright me, by telling me her heart doth ake, as if she did fore-know by her experien'd age some ill for­tune towards me, or that I shall be unhappy in my mariage.

Lord Courts.

Her heart doth not ake for you, but for her self, because she cannot be a young fair bride, as you are, as being past her youth; so that her heart doth ake out of a sad remembrance of her self, not for a present, or a future cause for you.

Nurse Caref.

Well, well, I was young indeed, and a comely bride when I was maried, though I say it, and had a loving bridegroom, Heaven rest his soul.

Exeunt.

Scene 33.

Enter the Lady Visitant as a Bride, to the Lady Con­plation, another Bride.
LAdy Visit.

Come, I have brought all my bridal guests hither to joyn with yours, for we will go to Church together: Wherefore prethee come away, our Bridegrooms and our Guests stay for you.

Lady Contempl.

I will go to them by and by.

Lady Visit.

Why, I hope you do not stay to muse upon Phantasmes, saith Mariage will banish them out of your head, you must now imploy your time with Realities.

Lady Contempl.

If I thought Mariage would destroy or disturb my Con­templations, I would not marry, although my Wedding-guests were come, and my Wedding-dinner ready drest, and my Wedding-cloaths on; nay, were I at the holy Altar, I would return back.

Lady Visit.

That would be such an action, as all the Kingdome would say you were mad.

Lady Contem.

I had rather all the World should not only say I were mad, but think me so, rather than my self to be unhappy.

Lady Visit.

Can want of Contemplation make you unhappy?

Lady Contem.

Yes, as unhappy as a body can be without a soul; for Con­templation is the life of the soul, and who can be happy that hath a dead soul?

Lady Visit.

By my troth I had rather be dead, than have such a dull life.

Enter Maid.
Maid.

Madam, the Bridegroom is coming hither.

Lady Contempl.

I will prevent him, and meet him.

Exeunt.

Scene 34.

Enter the two Gentlemen.
1 GEntlem.

Come away, come away, they'l be all married before we shall get to Church.

2 Gentlem.

There will be enough Witnesses, we may well be spared; but so I share of the Feast, I care not whether they be married or not.

1 Gentle.

The truth is, the benefit to us will be only in eating of their meat, and drinking of their wine.

2 Gentlem.

And I mean to be drunk, but not for joy of their Mariages, but for pleasure of my Gusto.

Exeunt.

Scene 35.

Enter the five Couples, and all the Bridal Guests: The Bride­grooms and the Brides dance, and the while the Bridal Torches are held in their hands: Then a `Poet speaks thus to them.
Speaker.
What Lines of Light doe from those Torches spin,
Which winds about those Ladies whiter skin?
But from their Eyes more Splend'rous Beams doe run,
As bright as those that issue from the Sun.
Wherein the lesser Lights wax dull and dim,
Or like as Minnes in an Ocean swim.
Enter Mall Mean-bred.
MAll Mean-bred.

By your good leave Gentlefolks,

The Lord Maquiss writ this Scene

I am come here to complain of this Hog-grubber Sir Golden Riches, who did tempt me with Gold till he had his desire, you know all what it is, and I like an honest woman, as it were, kept my word, and performed truly as any woman could do: Speak, canst thou detect me either in word or deed? and like a false and covetous wretch as thou art, performed nothing with me as thou shouldst have done, I am sure of that: Is't not a truth? speak coverous wretch, speak.

Sir Gold. Rich.

Why, what did I promise you?

Mall Mean-bred.

Why thou didst promise me an hundred pounds in gold, shew'd it me, and then took it away again; nay further, thou saidst I should be a Lady, and have a great parimanus Coach gilt, with neighing Horses, and a Coachman, with a Postilion to ride afore: Nay, nay, I remember well e­nough what you said, you talkd of Gesemond, Pomatum, and Roman Gunpow­der for my hair, and fine gowns and stockings, and sine lac'd silk garters, and roses shining like Stars, God bless us!

Sir Gold. Rich.

Did I, did I?

Mall Mean-bred.

Yes, that you did, you know what you did, and how you did, and so do I; and Gentlefolks as I am a true woman, which he knows I am, I never had more than this white fustion wastecoat, and three pence to buy me three penyworth of pins, for he would allow me no incle to tie it withall, and this old stamel peticoat, that was his great Grand­mothers in Eighty eight, I am no two-legg'd creature else.

Sir Gold. Rich.

But I bought you velvet to gard it withall.

Mall Mean-bred.

Yes, that's true, an old black velvet Jerkin without sleeves, that had belonged to one of Queen Elizabeth her learned Counsel in the Law of blessed Memory, primo of Her Reign, and you bought it of an old Broker at Nottingham; and as I am a true Christian woman, if our Neigh­bour Botcher could almost few it on, it was so mortified.

Sir Gold. Rich.

I bought you shooes, and ribbons to tie them withall.

She shewes her shooes.
Mall Mean-bred.

Look Gentlefolks, a pair of wet-leather shooes, that have given me a Cold, and two leather points that he calls ribbons, like a lying false man.

Sir Gold Rich.
[Page 246]

I am sure I bought you stockins and garters.

Mall Mean-bred.

Old Doncaster-stockins, that I was sain to wash my self with a little borrow'd sope, and they were footed with yellow fustion too, and the garters he talks of were lists of cloth, which a Taylor gave me for my New-years-gift, and I cannot chuse but grieve to see his unkindnesse; I gave you satisfaction often, but you never satisfied me, I will take it upon my death.

Sir Gold. Rich.

Go Gill Flirt, pack away hence.

Mall Mean-bred.

Nay that puts me in mind of the Pedlars pack you pro­mis'd me, and I never had so much bought as that I might whissle for them; but I will follow thee to Hell, but I will have something more out of thee than I have had, or else I will make all the Town ring of me.

Enter two Beadles.
Sir Gold. Rich.

Here Beadles, take her to the Correction-house, Bridewell, and let her be punished.

Mall Mean-bred.

Is it so, thou miscreant? well, I thought to be thy Bride, and not Bridewel, I never thought it in my conscience.

Here ends my Lords writing.
Lord Title,

Pray stay.

Enter Thom. Purveyor.
The Lord Title whispers to Thom. Purveyor, then turns to Mall Mean-bred.
Lord Title.

Mall, although you deceived me, and broke your promise, you I will not only save you from the punishment you were to suffer at the Cor­rection-house, but I will give thee a Husband here, lusty Thom. Purveyor, to whom, for taking thee to Wife, I will give him a lease of fifty pounds a year. Here Tom, take her and go marry her.

Mall Mean-bred.

Heaven bless your Honour.

Tom.

Come Mall, let us go Wed, for fifty pounds a year is better than thy Maiden-head.

Exeunt.
FINIS.

The First Part of the Play called WITS CABAL.

The Actors Names.
  • Monsieur Heroick.
  • Monsieur Tranquillities Peace.
  • Monsieur Vain-glorious.
  • Monsieur Satyrical.
  • Monsieur Censure.
  • Monsieur Sensuality.
  • Monsieur Inquisitive.
  • Monsieur Busie.
  • Monsieur Frisk.
  • Liberty, the Lady Pleasure's Gentle­man-Usher.
  • Madamoiselle Ambition.
  • Madamoiselle Superbe.
  • Madamoiselle Pleasure.
  • Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit.
  • Madamoiselle Faction.
  • Grave Temperance, Governess to Ma­damoiselle Pleasure.
  • Madamoiselle Portrait.
  • Mother Matron.
  • Wanton, Excess, Ease, Idle, Sur­fet, Waiting-maids to Madamoiselle Pleasure.
  • Flattery, Madamoiselle Superbe's wait­ing-maid.
  • Servants and others.

The First Part of the Play called WITS CABAL.
ACT I.

Scene I.

Enter Madam Ambition alone:
Ambition.

I would my Parents had kept me up as birds in dark­ness, when they are taught to sing Artificial Tunes, that my ears only might have been imploy'd; and as those Teachers whistle to birds several times, so would I have had Tutors to have read to me several Authors, as the best Poets, the best Historians, the best Philosophers, Moral and Natural, the best Grammarians, Arithme­ticians, Mathematicians, Logicians, and the like. Thus perchance I might have spoke as eloquently upon every subject, as Birds sing sweetly several tunes; but since my Education hath been so negligent, I wish I might do some no­ble Action, such as might raise a monumental Fame on the dead Ashes of my Fore-fathers, that my Name might live everlastingly.

Exit.

Scene 2.

Enter Madamoiselle Superbe, and Flattery her Woman.
Madam Superbe.

I hate to be compared to an inferiour, or to have an inferiour compared to me: wherefore if I were Iove, I would damn that creature that should compare me to any thing lesse than my self.

Flattery.

Your Ladyship is like a Goddess, above all comparison: where­fore I think there is none worthy to match in Mariage with you, unless there were some Masculine Divine Creature on Earth to equal you, as surely there is none.

Superbe.

I shall not willingly marry, unless it were to have a command o­ver my Husband.

Flattery.

But Husbands, Madam, command Wives.

Superbe.

Not those that are Divine Creatures.

Flattery.

Husbands, Madam, are Reprobates, and regard not Divinity, nor worship Earthly Deities.

Superbe.

Whilst they are Suters, they worship, and women command their wooing servants.

Flattery.

The truth is, all Suters do worship with an Idolatrous zeal, but their zeals tire at length, as most zeals do, and men are content to be com­manded, whilest they are Courting servants, and do obey with an industri­ous [Page 249] care, and with an humble and respectful Demeanor, a submissive and awful Countenance, with an admiring and listning Ear, pleasing and ap­plausing Speech, insomuch as their Mistris might think they commanded not only their Senses, but also their Souls; yet after they are maried, they be­come from being servants, to be Masters, and they are so far from obeying, as they command, and instead of an humble and respectful demeanour, and an awful countenance, they will be haughty and surly, and their faces will be cloathed in frowns, and instead of an admiring eye and a listning ear, they will neither regard nor take notice of their Wives, unless it be to throw a scornful glance, and instead of a pleasing and applausing speech, they will reprove, discommend, or threaten. Thus, although they serve as Slaves when they are wooing Suters, yet they rule as Tyrants when they are Husbands, as all Slaves do that come to rule, prove Tyrants, like as the most fierce zealous Supplicants oft-times prove Atheists, or Reprobates.

Superbe.

Then I must never marry; for I cannot endure to be command­ed, but must be admired and adored.

Flattery.

'Tis fit you should, being a Divine Creature, Madam.

Exeunt.

Scene 3.

Enter Madamoiselle Pleasure, and Grave Temperance her Gover­ness, and five Waiting-maids, namely, VVanton, Idle, Ease, Excess, and Surfet.
VVAnton.

Women that love the Courtship of men, must change themselves into as many several humours as Protheus shapes; as sometimes gay and merry, sometimes grave and majestical, sometimes me­lancholy, sometimes bashful and coy, sometimes free and confident, some­times patient, and sometimes cholerick, sometimes silent, and sometimes dis­coursive, according as they find those humours they meet with.

Ease.

Let me tell you, Wanton, they must love Courtship well, that will take such pains to transform themselves so often, to please, or rather to get Lovers.

Temperance.

You say well, Ease, but they rather lose than gain by the bar­gain; for the charge of troublesome observance, is more than the profit they receive therefrom.

Ease.

Truly, Mistris Temperance, there is no delight in pains-taking, ask my Lady Pleasure.

Madam. Pleasure.

No truly Ease; but a sweet civility, a modest behaviour and countenance, and a pleasing speech, gains more Lovers than a metamor­phos'd humour.

Temperance.

In truth a well-temper'd humour is easie to themselves, and delightful to others.

Wanton.

You speak for Lovers, but there is a difference betwixt Court­ship and Love; for dull Love is contented to be entertained only with plain truth, and is constant to an honest heart, but sprightly Courtship delights in extravagancies, lives in varieties, but dies in particulars or singularities.

Pleasure.

True delight lives in true love.

Temperanc.
[Page 250]

And true Love lives in Temperance.

Ease.

And Temperance lives in Ease.

Idle.

And Ease lives in Idleness.

Wanton.

And Idlenesse lives in Wantonnesse, and Wantonnesse lives in Pleasure.

Pleasure.

Let me tell you, VVanton, that Pleasure doth not live in Wan­tonnesse nor Idlenesse; for Pleasure lives in Peace, maintained by Plenty, instructed by Prudence, protected by Justice, and governed by Grave Tempe­rance here.

Exeunt.

Scene 4.

Enter Monsieur Vain-glorious, and his Man.
VAin-glorious.

All the Ladies in the City are in love with me, and that woman thinks her self happy that can receive a Courtship from me; but I mean to marry none but Madamoiselle Ambition, nor would I marry her but for my particular ends, for she is rich.

Servant.

She is so, if they be rich that have vast desires. But are you sure you shall have her?

Vain-glorious.

Yes, for her Friends and I am agreed, and I know she can­not deny me; for what woman would not be proud to marry me?

Servant.

'Tis said she is a Noble Lady.

Vain-glorious.

Faith she will be but a trouble to me; but I will only keep her for breed, and entertain myself, and lead my life with Madamoiselle Pleasure, and she shall share of the riches that Madamoiselle Ambition brings.

Servant.

Now you talk of riches Sir, what shall we do with the rich Ca­binet you bought? must that be carried to Madamoiselle Pleasure?

Vain-glorious.

Yes, but I have other presents to send along with it, which I will give order for.

Exeunt.

Scene 5.

Enter Monsieur Sensuality, and Monsieur Censure.
SEnsuality.

Live under these lawes? I will sooner live under the Turks.

Censure.

What makes thee such an enemy to these lawes, Monsieur Sensuality?

Sensuality.

Why Monsieur Censure, I am fined a hundred pounds for kis­sing a Mistris, and getting a child.

Censure.

Indeed the Turks government is the only government for such men as would have many Wives, Concubines, and Slaves.

Sensuality.

Why, he is a slave that lives not under such government; for what greater slavery is there than to be tyed to one woman? I am sure our Fore-fathers, who were godly men, were not tyed to such slavery; they had [Page 251] their liberty as the Turks, and such like wise governments, a to have as ma­ny Wives and Mistresses as they please, or at least as many as they can maintain.

Censure.

Although you may think that government wise, because it fits your Appetite, yet well-tempred men, 'tis likely, will be of another opini­on, as to think the strict Canon-Laws of Europe are better for the good of Common-wealths, and every particular Family, by restraining one man to one woman, than to let them have more, or as many as they will.

Sensuality.

If well-temperd men be of that opinion, they are fools, which I will soon prove them to be. As first for the Common-wealth, there is no­thing more disadvantagious; for those Commonwealths flourish with great­est glory, that are fullest populated, by reason populated Kingdomes are strongest, both for their own defence, and against Forein Enemies, as being able to conquer others by Invasions, inlarging their Dominions with their numbers, increasing their numbers with their numerous issues, begot and born from their many Wives, Concubines, and Slaves: when by our niggardly laws Kingdoms become uninhabited and barren for want of men to till and manure the ground: And as for our Wars, they'd seem as private Chal­lenges, and our Armies as particular Duellers, being met with their Se­conds to decide their petty quarrels, and to shew their valour by the ha­zard of their lives, and our Battels seem slight Skirmishes, or like a Company or Rout that kill each other in an idle Fruy. Thus in comparison of other Em­pires, all Europe is but as one Kingdom, for numbers of men, and Martial Forces, when by the Extent it may be accounted the fourth part of the known World. And as for particular Families, want of children breeds discontent, and not only destroys industry, but makes spoil and unthrifts; for those that have no children, they care not what becomes of their goods, lands, or livings, spending them through cluelesness, or through riot: And as for Women, it spoils them from being good wives; for being sole Mi­strisses, having no Co-partners, nor Shares, neither of their Husbands, chil­dren, or estates, and being the only She that is served or attended, imbraced, loved, or maintained, grows proud, imperious, insults and domineers, and disputes with her Husband for preheminency, and the truth is, for the most part, obtains it. Thus men become slaves to the distaff for quietness sake, o­therwise there is such quarrels and brawleries, that his house and home, that should be his Couch of Ease, his Bed of Rest, his peaceable Haven, or haven of Peace, is for the most part his couch of thorns, his bed of cares, his hell of torments, or tormenting hell, and his whole Family are like a tempestuous Sea, where Passions hurl into Factions, and rise in waves of discontent: But when men have an absolute power over their wives, they force them into quiet obedience; and where men have many Wives, Con­cubines, and Slaves, the women are humbled into a submission, each woman striving which should be most serviceable, and who can get most love and favour; and as for Bastards, they are as much the Fathers children, as those that are got in Wedlock.

Censure.

But it is likely that Concubines and slaves will be false, and fa­ther their children on those that never begot them.

Sensuality.

Why so may Wives, and 'tis most probable they do so; but as other Nations do allow many Wives, Concubines, and slaves, so they give men power and rule to govern and restrain them; and the men are so wise in other Nations, as they suffer no other men but themselves to come [Page 252] neer them, hardly to look at the outside of their Seraglio's, as that part of the house they are lodged in.

Censure.

Thou hast spoke so well, and hast made so learned a Speech for many Wives, Concubines, and slaves, as I am converted, and will, if thou wilt, travel into such Kingdomes as allow such numbers and varieties, that I may be naturalliz'd to their liberties.

Exeunt.

Scene 6.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and Monsieur Inquisitive.
INquisitive.

What is the reason, Monsieur Satyrical, you do not marry?

Satyrical.

The reason, Monsieur Inquisitive, is, that I cannot find a wife fit for me.

Inquisitive.

Why, there are women of all Ages, Births, Humours, Sta­tures, Shapes, Complexions, Features, Behaviours, and Wits. But what think you of marrying the Lady Nobilissimo?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady that out-reaches my Ambition.

Inquisitive.

What think you of the Lady Bellissimo?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady for Admiration, and not for use.

Inquisitive.

What think you of marrying the Lady Piety?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady to be pray'd unto as a Saint, not to be imbraced as wife.

Inquisitive.

What think you of the Lady Modesty?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady that will not only quench amorous love, but the free matrimonial love.

Inquisitive.

What do you think of the Lady Sage?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady to rule as a Husband, and not to be ruled as a Wife.

Inquisitive.

What think you of the Lady Politick?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady fitter for Counsel than for Mariage.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Ceremony?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady fitter for a Princely Throne, than the Mari­age-bed.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Poetical?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady fitter for Contemplation than Fruition.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Humility?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady sooner won than enjoy'd.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Sprightly?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady that will disquiet my rest, being fitter for dancing than sleeping.

Inquisitive.

What say to the Lady Prodigal?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady I might feast with, but could not thrive with.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Vanity?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady too various and extravagant for my humour.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Victoria?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady I had rather hear of, than be inslaved by.

Inquisitive.

VVhat say you to the Lady Innocent Youth?

Satyrical.
[Page 253]

She is a Lady that may please with imbracing, but not with con­versing; she is fitter for love than for company, for Cupid than for Pallas, for sport than for counsel.

Inquisitive.

VVhat say you to the Lady Wanton?

Satyrical.

She is fitter for an hour than for an Age.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Poverty?

Satyrical.

She is fitter for my Charity than my Family.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Ill-favoured?

Satyrical.

She is a Lady fitter for a Nunnery than a Nursery; for Beads, than for Children.

Inquisitive.

What say you to the Lady Weakly?

Satyrical.

She is fitter for Death than for Life; for Heaven, than the World.

Inquisitive.

By your Answers I perceive you will not Marry.

Satyrical.

Have I not reason, when I can finde such Answers from the Sex?

Inquisitive.

But the Gods have commanded Mariage?

Satyrical.

But Saints doe choose a single life, and in case of Mariage, I will sooner follow the Example of the Saints, than the commands of the Gods.

Exeunt.

Scene 7.

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, Superbe, Bon' Esprit, Pleasure, Portrait, Faction, Grave Temperance, and Mother Matron
GRave Temperance.

Ladies, what think you of good Husbands?

Portrait.

I think well of good Husbands.

Bon' Esprit.

But it is a question whether good Husbands will think well of us.

Faction.

I think good Husbands may be in our thoughts, but not actually in the World.

Ambition.

I am of your opinion, they may be mention'd in our words, but not found in our lives.

Pleasure.

Faith we may hear of good husbands, and read of good wives, but they are but Romances.

Portrait.

You say right; for we may as soon finde an Heroick Lover, and see all his impossible Actions out of a Romance Book, as a good Hus­bands; but as for Wives, I will not declare my Opinion.

Bon' Esprit.

Nor I; but were there such men that would make good hus­bands, it were as difficult to get them, as for a Romantick Lover to get his Mistris out of an Inchanted Castle.

Pleasure.

For my part I had rather die a Maid, than take the pains to get a good Husband.

Superbe.

I wonder our Sex should desire to Marry; for when we are un­maried, we are sued and sought to, and not only Mistris of our selves, but our Suters: But when we are maried, we are so far from being Mistrisses, as we become slaves.

Pleasure.
[Page 254]

The truth is, there is no Act shews us, or rather proves us to be so much fools as we are, as in marrying: for what greater folly can there be, than to put our selves to that condition which will sorce us to sue to pow­er, when before that voluntary slavery we were in a condition to use power, and make men sue to us.

Ambition.

We must confess, when we well consider, it is very strange, since every Creature naturally desires and strives for preheminency, as to be supe­riour, and not inferiour; for all Creatures indeavour to command, and are unwilling to obey; for it is not only Man, but even the Beasts of the Field, the Birds of the Air, and the Fishes in the Sea; and not only Beasts, Birds, and Fish, but the Elements those creatures inhabite in, strive for superiori­ty; only Women, who seem to have the meanest souls of all the Creatures Nature hath made; for women are so far from indeavouring to get power, as they voluntarily give away what they have.

Portrait.

Talk not of womens souls, for men say we have no souls, only beautiful bodies.

Bon' Esprit.

But beautiful bodies are a degree of souls, and in my Con­science please men better than our souls could do.

Superbe.

If anything prove we have no souls, it is in letting men make such fools of us.

Matron.

Come, come Ladies, by Womens Actions they prove to have more, or at least better souls than Men have, for the best parts of the Soul are Love and Generosity, and Women have more of either than Men have.

Grave Temperance.

The truth is, that although Reason and Understand­ing are the largest parts of the Soul, yet Love and Generosity are the delica­test parts of the Soul.

Enter Monsieur Heroick.
Heroick.

Goodmorrow young Ladies, you appear this morning like sweet-smelling flowers, some as Roses, others as Lillies, others as Violets, Pinks, and Primroses, and your associating in a company together, is like as a Posie which Love hath bound up into one Bucket, which is a sit Present for the Gods.

Bon' Esprit.

If you would have us presented to the Gods, we must die; for we are never preferred to them but by Death: wherefore we must be gi­ven to Death, before the Gods can have us; they may hear us whilest we live, and we may hear of them, but partake of neither until we die.

Heroick.

O that were pity, Ladies; for there is nothing more sad in Na­ture, than when Death parts a witty Soul from a young beautiful Body, be­fore the one hath built Monuments of Memory, and the other gained Tro­phies of Lovers: And as for the Gods, you will be as acceptable to them when you are old, as when you are young.

Ambition.

As nothing could make me so sad as untimely death of Youth, Wit, and Beauty, so there is nothing could anger me more, as for Fortune to frown upon Merit, or not to advance it according to its worth, or to bury it in Oblivion, hindring the passage into Fames Palace.

Temperance.

For my part, I believe Death will neither call nor come for you before his natural time, if you do not send Surfet and Excess to call him to take you away.

Pleasure.

Indeed Mankind seem as if they were Deaths Factors; for they [Page 255] do strive to ingross and destroy all other creatures, or at least as many as they can; and not only other creatures, but their own kinde, as in Wars; and not only their own kinde, but themselves, in idle and unprofitable Adven­tures, and gluttonous Excess, thus as I said, they are Deaths Factors, buying sickness with health, hoping to gain pleasure, and to make delight their pro­fit, but they are cozen'd, for they only get Diseases, Pains, and Aches.

Matron.

Pray Ladies mark how far you are gone from the Text of your discourse, as from sweet-smelling flowers to stinking carrion, which are dead carkasses; from a lively good-morrow, to a dead farewel; from mirth to sadness.

Portrait.

You say right, Mother Matron; wherefore pray leave off this dis­course, for I hate to hear off death; for the thoughts of death affright me so, as I can take no pleasure of life when he is in my mind.

Heroick.

Why Ladies, the thought of death is more than death himself; for thoughts are sensible or imaginable things, but Death himself is neither sensible nor imaginable.

Portrait.

Therefore I would not think of him; and when I am dead, I am past thinking.

Superbe.

Let us discourse of something that is more pleasing than Death.

Heroick.

Then by my consent, Ladies, your discourse shall be of Venus and Cupid, which are Themes more delightful to your Sex, and most contra­ry to death; for Love is hot, and Death is cold; Love illuminates life, and Death quenches life out.

Bon Esprit.

Let me tell you Sir, Love is as apt to burn life out, as Death is to quench it out, and I had rather die with cold, than be burnt with heat; for cold kills with a dead numness, when heat kills with a raging mad­nesse.

Pleasure.

But Lovers are tormented with fears and doubts, which cause cold sweats, fainting of spirits, trembling of limbs; it breaks the sweet re­pose of sleep, disturbs the quiet peace of the mind, vades the colours of beau­ty, nips or [...]lasts the blossome of youth, making Lovers look withered, be­fore Time hath made them old.

Heroick.

It is a signe, Lady, you have been in love, you give so right a Character of a Lover.

Pleasure.

No, there requires not a self-experience to find out a Lovers trouble, for the outward Actions will declare their inward grief and pas­sion.

Superbe.

Certainly she is in love, but conceals it, she keeps it as a Secret.

Pleasure.

Love cannot be secret, the passion divulges it self.

Portrait.

Confess, Are you not in love?

Faction.

Nay she will never confess a Secret, unless you tell her one; for those that tell no secrets, shall hear none.

Portrait.

O yes, for a Secret is like a child in the womb; for though it be concealed for a time, it will come out at last, only some comes out easier than others, and some before their time.

Ambition.

Nay whensoever a secret comes out, it's untimely.

Faction.

Secrets are like Coy Ducks, when one is flown out, it draws out others, and returns with many.

Pleasure.

Then like a Coy Duck I will try if I can draw all you after me.

Exit Pleasure.
Bon' Esprit.
[Page 256]

She shall see she is like a Duck, which is like a Goose, and we like her, for we will follow her.

Exeunt.

Scene 8.

Enter Monsiuer Tranquillities Peace, and his Man.
TRanquill. Peace.

Have you been at Monsieur Busie's house, to tell him I desire to speak with him?

SerPant.

Yes, I have been at his house.

Tranquill. Peace.

And will he come?

Servant.

Faith Sir the house is too unwieldy to stir, and Monsieur Busie is too Active to stay at home: but the truth is, I went at four a clock this mor­ning, because I would be sure to find him and his servants, and their Master was flown out of his nest an hour before: Then I told his servants I would come about dinner-time, and they laugh'd, and ask'd me what time was that? I said I supposed at the usual time, about Noon, or an hour before or after, but they said their Master never kept any certain time of eating, be­ing full of business. Then I asked them what time that would be when he would come home to bed: They answered, that his time of Resting was as uncertain as his time of Eating. Then I pray'd them to tell me at what time they thought I might find him at home: They said it was impossible for them to guess, for that their Master did move from place to place, as swift as thoughts move in the Mind. Then I pray'd them that they would tell him when he came home, that you would desire to speak with him: They told me they would, but they did verily believe he would forget to come to you, by reason his head was so full of busie thoughts, or thoughts of business, as there was no room more for a thought to stay in. So I went away in despair, but coming home, I chanced to see him at a little distance, so I made all the haste I could to overtake him, placing my Eyes fixedly upon him, because I would not lose him; but his pace was so swift, and his several turnings in se­veral Lanes and Allyes were so many, as it was impossible for me to keep my measure, pace, or sight, for like a Bird, he did not only fly out of my reach, but out of my view; but by a second good fortune, I met him just at your Gate, and I stopp'd his way until I had told him your Message, which was, you would speak with him: He answered me, he could not possibly stay, for his businesse called him another way. I told him, that if he did not come and speak with you, or stay until you did come and speak with him, his Law-sute, which was of great Importance, would be lost, for you could not do him any further service to your Friends, that should help him, until he had resolved you of some questions you were to ask him; besides that, you wanted a Writing that he had. He told me that he was very much obliged to you for your favour to him, but he could not possibly stay to speak with you, for he had some businesse to do for two or three other men, and he must of necessity go seek those men out whom the businesse concerned; so that I could not perswade him by any means, although for his own good, to come in, or to stay till you went to him.

Tranquill. Peace.

Faith he is so busie, that he will neither do himself good [Page 257] nor any other man; for he runs himself out of the Field of Business, being over-busy, neither holding the Reins of Time, nor sitting steady in the Seat of Judgment, nor stopping with the Bit of Discretion, nor taking the Advan­tages of Opportunity; but totters with Inconstancy, and falls with Losse. Thus his busy thoughts do tire his Mind, so that his life hath a sorry, sore, and weary Journey.

Servant.

I think he is a man that is full of Projects.

Tranquill. Peace.

So full, as his head is stuff'd with them, and he begins many designs, but never finisheth any one of them; for his designs are built upon vain hopes, without a Foundation: But were his hopes solid with pro­bability, yet his inconstancy, and unsteady doubts, and over-cautious care, would pull down, or ruine his designs before they were half built.

Exeunt.

Scene 9.

Enter Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Ambition, Superbe, Pleasure, Faction, Grave Temperance, Mother Matron.
Enter Monsieur Sensuality.
POrtrait.

Monsieur Sensuality, let us examine you, What company have you met vvithall, that hath caused you to break your Word vvith us, when you had promised you would come, and carry us to a Play?

Pleasure.

If he carry us all, he will carry a very heavy load.

Matron.

Ladies should be heavy, and not light.

Portrait.

But Monsieur Sensuality, pray tell us where you have been, and with whom.

Sensuality.

Why I have been with as proper a Lady as any is in this City.

Ambition.

What do you mean by a proper Lady?

Bon' Esprit.

He means a prop'd Lady.

Sensuality.

I mean a Tall, Proportionable Lady, which is a comely sight.

Faction.

Not to my Eyes; for I never see a tall big woman, but I think she rather proceeds from the race of Titan than Iove, for she seems to be more Body than Soul, more Earth than Flame.

Sensuality.

For my part, I think there cannot be too much of a fair La­dy; and if I were to choose, I would choose her that had more body than soul, for her soul would be uselesse to me, by reason souls cannot be enjoy'd as bodies are.

Ambition.

Yes, in a spiritual conversation they may.

Sensuality.

I hate an incorporeal Conversation.

Superbe.

Why then you hate the Conversation of the Gods.

Sensuality.

I love the Conversation and Society of fair young Ladies, such as you are.

Portrait.

That is not the Answer to my question.

Sensuality.

Then let me tell you, Ladies, that most of our Sex do venture Heaven for your sakes, and will sooner disobey the Gods than you.

Bon' Esprit.
[Page 258]

So you make as if Women commanded Men against the Gods.

Sensuality.

No Lady, but we serve Women, when we should serve the Gods, and pray to your Sex, when the Gods would have us pray to them.

Pleasure.

The more wicked creatures are men.

Sensuality.

No, the more tempting creatures are women.

Faction.

So you will make us Devils at last; for the original of temptation came from Pluto.

Sensuality.

Temptation, Lady, was bred in Nature, born from Nature, and inhabites with all your Sex, as with Natures self, whom I have heard is a most beautiful Lady, and that is the reason, I suppose, she hath favoured women more than men, being her self of the Effeminate Sex: And the truth is, Nature hath been cruel to our Sex; for she hath not only made you so beautiful, as to be admired and desired, but so cruel, as to despise, reject and scorn us, taking pleasure in our torments.

Portrait.

If all Women were of my mind, we would torment you more than we do.

Faction.

We have tormented him enough with talking, therefore let us leave him.

Sensuality.

Nay Ladies, I will wait upon you.

Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene 10.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and Monsieur Frisk.
FRisk.

Monsieur Satyrical, I can tell you sad News.

Satyrical.

Let sadnesse sit upon the grave of Death, for I defie it.

Frisk.

But that man is in danger that stands as a Centre in a Circumference from whence all the malignant passions shoot at him, as Suspition, Spight, Envy, Hatred, Malice, and Revenge; and the more dangerous, by reason their Arrows are poysoned with Effeminate Rage.

Satyrical.

Let them shoot, for I am arm'd with Carelesnesse, and have a Spell of Confidence, which will keep me safe. But who are they that are mine Enemies?

Frisk.

No less than a dozen Ladies.

Satyrical.

If I can attain to fight with them apart, hand to hand, I make no question but to come off Conquerour; and if they assault me altogether, yet I make no doubt but I shall so skirmish amongst them, as I shall be on e­qual terms. But what makes the breach of peace betwixt me and the La­dies, and such a breach as to proclame Open Wars?

Frisk.

The Cause is just, if it be true as it is reported.

Satyrical.

Why what is reported?

Frisk.

It is reported you have divulged some secret favours those Ladies have given you.

Satyrical.
[Page 259]

It were ungrateful to conceal a favour: for favours proceed from generous and noble Souls, sweet and kind Natures.

Frisk.

But Ladies favours are to be concealed and lock'd up in the Closet of secrecie, being given with privacy, and promise not to divulge them; and it seems by report you have broke your promise, for which they swear to be revenged.

Satyrical.

Faith all Women, especially Ladies, their natural humour is like the Sea, which will be neither quiet it self, always ebbing and flowing, nor let any thing be at rest on it: I know not what the Fishes are that are in it, but for any thing I can perceive to the contrary, they live in a perpetual motion: So doe Ladies; for their Passions and Affections ebb and flow from object to object; for one while they flow with love, then ebb with hate, sometimes they are rough with anger, and stormy with rage, then indifferent calm with patience, but that is seldome: But in the Spring-tide of Beauty they overflow all with pride, and their thoughts, like Fishes, are in a perpe­tual motion, swimming from place to place, from company to company, from one meeting to another, and are never at rest.

Frisk.

Thou deserv'st to die the death of Orpheus.

Satyrical.

'Tis likely I shall, by reason I am a Satyrical Poet, and Women hate Satyre in Poetry, although not Wood or Forrest Satyrs; and the most extravagant and maddest Actions that ever were done, were done or acted by Women, and the truth is, Women are not only Batchelling some parts of the year, but all their life-long, for they drink vanity, and are mad-drunk with wantonnesse.

Frisk.

Let me tell you, that if I should be brought as a Witnesse, and should declare the truth, there were no hopes of mercy for thee.

Satyrical.

I grant it, if Women were to be my Judges.

Exeunt.

Scene 11.

Enter Excess, VVanton, Idle, and Surfet.
Excess.

Where shall we go for pastime to day? for our Lady hath left us to our own: pleasures to day.

Idle.

Let us go and swim in a Boat upon the River.

Wanton.

That is but a watrish Recreation; besides it is very dangerous, for many have been drowned in their idle pastimes.

Surfet.

If you will take my Counsel, let us go to the Lodge in the Park, and drink Sullybubs.

Wanton.

Yes, let us go, for the Lodge puts me into a good humour, and Sullybubs make me merry.

Idle.

You have reason, for it is a cheerly Cup, and a Cup of good fellow­ship, for we may all eat and drink together.

Surfet.

Yes by spoonfuls.

Excess.

I love to be drunk by spoonfuls, for then I am drunk by degrees, and not at one draught, as a pinte, or a quart at a draught, as men do; be­sides, though it be allowable for the sobrest noblest Women to be drunk with Wine-caudles, Sullybubs, Sack-possets, and the like, so it be by spoon­fuls, yet it were abominable and most dishonourable for Women to be [Page 260] drunk with plain Wine, and great draught, as men are; besides, in great draughts there is not that pleasure of taste, as in a little at a time.

Idle.

I believe that is the reason that Flemmings love to sip their Wine, be­cause they would have the pleasure of Taste.

Wanton.

No question but they learn'd that of the Effeminate Sex, who love to taste of every thing.

Surfet.

I do believe it; for all women love spoon-meat.

Excess.

'Tis true, and to drink in spoons.

Idle.

Talk no more of eating and drinking, but eat and drink without talk­ing, and afterwards talk to digest it.

Excess.

And after it is digested, let's eat and drink again.

Wanton.

So we shall do nothing but eat, drink, and talk.

Surfet.

Women do nothing else all their life-long.

Wanton.

By your favour but we do.

Excess.

Come, come, let us go.

Exeunt.

Scene 12.

Enter the Lady Ambition alone.
AMbition.

O that I might enjoy those pleasures which Poets fancy, living in such delight as nature never knew; nor that all Poets did write of me, not only to express their Wit, but my Worth, and that I might be praised by all mankind, yet not vulgarly, as in a croud of others praises, but my praises to be singularly inthron'd above the rest, and that all others commendations might have no other light but what proceeds from the splendor of my Fame: Also I wish that Nature had made me such a Beauty, as might have drawn the Eyes of the whole World as a Loadstone to gaze at it, and the splendor thereof might have inlightned every blind eye, and the beams therefrom might have comforted every sad heart, and the pleasing Aspect therein might have turned all passions into love; then would I have had Nature, For­tune, and the Fates, to have given me a free power of the whole World, and all that is therein, that I might have prest and squeezed our the healing Bal­somes, and sovereign Juices, and restoring Simples into every sick wounded and decayed body, and every disquieted or distemper'd mind: Likewise, that I might have been able to have relieved those that were poor and necessitous, with the hidden riches therein, and that by my power I might not only have obliged every particular creature and person, according to their worth and merit, but to have made so firm a peace amongst mankinde, as never to be dissolved.

Exeunt.

Scene 8.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and Monsieur Inquisitive.
INquisitive.

I wonder you should be an Enemy to Women.

Satyrical.

I am so far from being an Enemy to the Effeminate Sex, as I am the best friend they have: for I do as a friend ought to do, which is, to tell them truth, when other men deceive them with flattery.

Inquisitive.

But they complain, and say you exclame and rail against them.

Satyrical.

Their complaints proceed from their partial Self-love and Lu­xury: for they love pleasing flattery, as they do Sweet-meats, and hate rigid truth, as they do a bitter potion, although the one destroys their health, the other prolongs their life.

Inquisitive.

But they are so angry, as they all swear, and have made a vow to be revenged on you.

Satyrical.

Let them throw their spleens at me, I will stand their malice, or dart forth Amorous glances, they will not pierce my heart: for Pallas is my Shield, and Cupid hath no power.

Inquisitive.

If they cannot wound you with their Eyes, they will sting you with their Tongues, for Women are like Bees.

Satyrical.

If they are like Bees, their stings lie not in their Tongues.

Exeunt.

Scene 14.

Enter Mother Matron, Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Faction, Ambition, Pleasure
MAtron.

I can tell you News, Ladies.

Portrait.

What News, Mother Matron?

Matron.

Why there is a rich young Heir come to Town.

Superbe.

Some foolish Son of a miserable Father, who hath spared from his back and belly, to make his Son vain and prodigal. But what shall we be the better for this rich Heir?

Matron.

Why marry if you can get him, you will be so much the better as a rich Husband can make you.

Ambition.

He will first be got by the Cheats in the Town, which Cheats have more subtilty, and will be more industrious to get him, than the young­est and beautifullest, and wittyest Lady of us all; so as there is no hopes of gaining him, until he is so poor, as he is not worth the having.

Faction.

But if he could be had whilest he were rich, it were no great vi­ctory; for I dare say his Mothers Landry-maid might be as soon a Conque­ress, as a great Lady: But if we could conquer and imprison Monsieur Sa­tyrical in Loves Fetters, that would be a Conquest worthy Fames Trum­pet.

Pleasure.
[Page 262]

O that would be such an Exploit, as it would be an Honour to our Sex.

Bon' Esprit.

There is nothing I desire more, than to be she that might in­fetter him.

Portrait.

I long to insnare him.

Ambition.

So do I.

Bon' Esprit.

Faith I will lay an Ambuscado for him.

Matron.

Fie Ladies, sie, I am asham'd to hear the Designs you have no catch Monsieur Satyrical; such Fair, Young, Noble Ladies to be so wan­ton, as none will content you but a wilde, rough, rude Satyr.

Bon' Esprit.

If I were sure there were no other ways to get him, I would become a Wood-nymph for his sake.

Matron.

You have forgot the Nymph that was turned into a Bear.

Bon' Esprit.

O she was one of cruel Diana's Nymphs; but I will be none of her Order.

Matron.

No, I dare swear you will not; for 'tis unlikely you should, when you desire to imbrace a Satyr.

Bon' Esprit.

I do not desire to imbrace him, but to enamour him.

Matron.

Well, Ladies, your Parents gave you to my Care and Charge; but since you are so wilde, to talk of nothing but Nymphs, Woods, and Sa­tyrs, I will resigne up the Trust which was imposed on me, to your Pa­rents again; for I will not adventure my Reputation with such wanton young Ladies.

Bon' Esprit.

Mother Matron, let me tell thee, thy Reputation is worn out of thee, Time hath devoured it, and therefore thou hast no Reputation to lose.

Exeunt.

Scene 15.

Enter Monsieur Censure, and Monsieur Frisk.
FRisk.

Fath Tom. I have emptyed thy pockets.

Censure.

Thou hast pick'd my pockets with thy juggling Dice, for which, if thou wert a woman, and in my power, I would be reveng'd for my loss.

Frisk.

Why, what would you do if I were a Woman?

Censure.

I would condemn thee to a solitary silent life, which to a woman is worse than Hell; for company and talking is their Heaven, and their Tongues are more restless than the Sea, their Passions more stormy than the Winds, and their Appetites more unsatiable and devouring than fire; they are lighter than Air, more changing than the Moon.

Frisk.

What makes thee thus rail at the Effeminate Sex?

Censure.

Have I not reason, when Fortune is of the same gender?

Enter Madamoiselle Faction.
Frisk.

Faith Tom, I must tell.

Faction.

What will you tell?

Frisk.
[Page 263]

Why I will tell you, Lady, he hath rail'd most horribly against your Sex.

Faction.

That is usual: for all those men which never received, nor hope to receive any favour from our Sex, will rail against it.

Censure.

Those men have no reason, Lady, to commend you, if they ne­ver received neither profit nor pleasure from you; and those that have been cruelly used by your Sex, may lawfully rail against it.

Faction.

The Laws of Honour forbid it.

Censure.

But the Laws of Nature allow it, and Nature is the most pre­vailing law.

Faction.

Natures law is for Men to love Women, and Women Men, but in you and I there is not that Sympathy; for I dislike your Sex, as much as you do ours, and could rail with as free a will against it. The truth is, that although I do not hate men, yet I despise them; for all men appear to me either Beasts or Butter-flies, which are either sensual or vain: Indeed most men are worse than beasts; for beasts are but according to their kind, when men are degenerated by beastly Sensualies, from which they were made; for as most men are worse than beasts, so you are worse than most men.

Censure.

It is a favour, Lady, from your Sex, to rail against ours; for it is a sign you have considered us, and that we live in your memory, although with your ill opinions; yet it is better to live with Enemies, than not to be; and of all men, I have received the greatest favour from the chiefest of your Sex, which is your self, in that you have considered me most, though you have found me worst, yet it proves you have thought of me.

Faction.

If those thoughts and dispraises be favours, I will binde so many together, until they become as thick and hard as steel, of which you may make an Armour, to keep your Reputation from wounds of reproach.

She goes out.
Frisk.

There Tom. she hath paid thee both for thy Railings and Com­plements.

Censure.

She hath not payd me in current coyn.

Frisk.

It will pass for disgrace, I'll warrant thee.

Exeunt.

Scene 16.

Enter Madam Ambition, Faction, Portrait, Bon' Esprit, Pleasure.
BOn' Esprit.

There are but three things a gallant man requires, which is, a Horse, a Sword, and a Mistris.

Ambition.

Yet a gallant man wants Generosity; for the greatest honour for a man, is to be generous; for Generosity comprises all Virtues, good Qualities, and sweet Graces; for a generous man will never spare his life, purse, nor labour, for the sake of just Right, plain Truth, Honest Poverty, Distress, Misery, or the like; for a generous man hath a couragious, yet compassionate Heart, a constant and noble Mind, a bountiful Hand, an active and industrious Life; and he is one that joyes more to do good, than others to receive good.

Pleasure.
[Page 264]

There are few or none that have such noble Souls, as to prefer a­nothers good before their own.

Portrait.

The truth is, men have more promising Tongues, than perform­ing deeds.

Faction.

For all I can perceive, mans life is composed of nothing but de­ceit, treachery, and rapine.

Bon' Esprit.

Indeed mans mind is like a Forest, and his thoughts, like wilde beasts, inhabit therein.

Ambition.

Mans Mind is like a Sea, where his Thoughts, like Fishes, swim therein, where some Thought are like huge Leviathans, others like great Whales, but some are like Sprats, Shrimps, and Minnues.

Enter Monsieur Sensuality.
Sensuality.

What is like a Minnues?

Ambition.

A mans Soul.

Sensuality.

It is better have a soul, although no bigger than a Minnues, than none at all, as Women have; but if they have, I dare swear it is no bigger than a pins point.

Bon' Esprit.

Very like, which point pricks down thoughts into the Brain, and Passions in the heart, and writes in the Brain witty Conceits, if the point be sharp.

Sensuality.

No, no, it serves onely to raise their brains with Vanity, to ingrave their hearts with Falshood, and to scratch out their lives with Dis­content.

Pleasure.

We oftner scratch out mens lives than our own.

Sensuality.

Nay, you oftner scratch out our honour than our lives.

Faction.

For my part, I have an itch to be scratching.

Sensuality.

I believe you, for you have a vexatious soul.

Faction.

It hath cause to be vexatious, for the point of my soul is whetted with Aqua Fortis against your Sex.

Sensuality.

I'm sure, Lady, your tongue is whetted with Aqua Fortis.

Faction.

So is yours.

Sensuality.

If it be, let us try which point is sharpest.

Faction.

I will leave the Trial to Time and Occasion.

Exeunt.

Scene 17.

Enter Madam Superbe, and an Antient Woman.
VVOman.

Madam, I am an humble Suter to your Ladyship.

Superbe.

What is your sute?

Woman.

That you will be pleased to take a young Maiden into your ser­vice of my preferring.

Superbe.

In what place?

Woman.

To wait and attend on your person.

Superbe.

Let me tell you, that those servants that attend on my person, do usually accompany me in all my Pastimes, Exercises, and sometimes in Con­versation: [Page 265] Wherefore they must be such as are well born, well bred, well behav'd, modest, and of sweet dispositions, virtuous, and of strict life, other­wise they are not for me; and if I find them not so, I shall soon turn them away.

Woman.

Why Madam, even Diana her self, as severe and strict as she was, had some wanton Nymphs, that would commit errours; although they seem­ed all sober and modest, and profess'd chastity, yet they would slip out of the way and her presence sometimes.

Superbe.

But she never failed to turn them out of her service, and some she cruelly punished; so that what her severity could not prevent, yet her severity did punish; for Diana's practice was not to watch her wanton Nymphs, nor to hunt out their evil haunts, or lurking-places, to see their evil actions, but her practice was to hunt the more modest and temperate creatures, which were the beasts of the Fields and Forests: So, like as Diana, I shall not watch my Maids, nor pardon their rude or dishonourable actions.

Woman.

Pray Madam try this Maid, for she is very honourably born, and well bred, but poor.

Superbe.

I shall not refuse her for poverty: But as I will have some bound for the truth and trust of my vulgar servants, so I will have some bound for the behaviour, virtue, and modesty of my honourable servants, or else I will not take them.

Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene 18.

Enter Mother Matron, and meets Monsieur Frisk.
MAtron.

Monsieur Frisk, you are well met, for I was even now sending a Footman for you.

Frisk.

For what, good Mother Matron?

Matron.

Marry to come to a company of young Ladies, who do half long for you.

Frisk.

They shall not lose their longing, if I can help them.

Matron.

Now by my Troth, and that is spoke like a Gentleman; but let me tell you, there is a great many of them.

Frisk.

Why then there is the more choice.

Matron.

But there is no choosing amongst Ladies, you must take better for worse.

Frisk.

There is no worst amongst Ladies, they are all fair and good.

Matron.

Yfaith I perceive now why the Ladies desire your company so much as they do.

Frisk.

Why my dear Mother Matron?

Matron.

Because you speak well of them behind their backs, and pro­mise them much to their faces; and I will assure you, they have as pro­mising [Page 266] faces as you can promise them; but great Promisers are not good.

Frisk.

Will you say the Ladies faces are not good?

Matron.

I say mens promises are not good. But you are very quick with me, Monsieur Frisk, to take me upon the hip so suddenly; but, beshrew me, your sudden frisking Answer hath put me into a Passion, which hath percur­bed the sense of my Discourse. Lord, Lord, what power a villanous word hath over the passions!

Frisk.

If you please, Mother Matron, a kiss shall ask pardon for your vil­lanous word.

Matron.

And now, by my troth, I have not been kiss'd by a young Gentle­man above this twenty years; but now I am in haste, and cannot stay to re­ceive your gift, wherefore I will refer it until another time.

Frisk.

But I may forget to give it.

Matron.

Never fear that, for I shall remember you of it, when time shall serve: But come away, for the Ladies will be horrible angry I have stayd so long, for they were all going to dance, for the Fiddles were tuned, Tables and Stools removed, room made, and they in a dancing posture, only they stay for you to Frisk them about.

Exeunt.

Scene 19.

Enter Madam Superbe, and Flattery her Maid.
FLattery.

Madam, you behav'd your self more familiar to day, than your Ladyship was wont to do.

Superbe.

'Tis true, because those I convers'd with to day were but inferiour persons, and I speak more familiar to such persons as are below my quality, than those that are equal to me, to do them grace and favour; and if they take it not so, I can onely say my Civility was ignorantly placed on foolish and ignorant persons.

Exeunt.

Scene 20.

Enter Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Faction, Ambition.
POrtrait.

Some say Poems are not good, unlesse they be gloriously At­tired.

Faction.

What do they mean by glorious Attire?

Ambition.

Rhetorick.

Bon' Esprit.

Why gay words are not Wit, no more than a fair Face is a good Soul; and it is Wit which makes Poems good, not words.

Ambition.

Indeed Rhetorick is no part of the Body of Wit, no more than of the Soul, only it is the outward garment, which is Taylors work.

Bon' Esprit.

Then it seems, as if the Grammarians, Logicians, and Rhe­toricians, are the Taylors for Oratory, who cut shapes, sit places, seam and [Page 267] few words together to make several Eloquent Garments, or Garments of E­loquence, as Orations, Declarations, Expressions, and the like worditive work, as they please, or at least according to the fashion.

Ambition.

They are so.

Portrait.

Why then those that say Verse is not good, unless gloriously At­tyr'd, do as much as to say a man is a fool that hath not a fine Suit of Cloaths on, or, that a Curl'd Hair, sweetly powder'd, is a wise, or witty Brain, powder'd with Fancies. This surely is an unpardonable mistake, or rather an incurable madnesse, for there is neither Sense nor Reason in it.

Bon' Esprit.

It is not so much a madness, nor that we call Natural Fools, but Amorous Fools, or Finical Fools, or such as are Opinionated Fools, or Self-conceited Fools, or High-bound Fools.

Portrait.

High-bound Fools? What doe you mean by High-bound Fools?

Bon' Esprit.

Strong-lin'd Fools.

Faction.

Those are Learned Fools.

Bon' Esprit.

No, they are Conceited Fools; for their strength of Wit lies in a Conceit.

Ambition.

Those, for the most part, their Wit is buried in Oblivion.

Faction.

If there be any Wit to bury.

Enter Monsieur Sensuality.
Sensuality.

Who is so foolish to bury Wit?

Faction.

You, in the rubbish of words.

Portrait.

The only Grave to Wit is a foolish Ear.

Sensuality.

Let me tell you, Ladies, that Wit is so far from lying in a Grave, as it hardly settles any where; for it is so Agile, and flies so swiftly, and yet extends in breadth so far, as it spreads the wings of Fancy, not only over all the World, and every particular thing in the World, but one In­finite and Eternal Nature, and with the Bill of Conception picks a hole, whereby the Eyes of Imagination spy out the dark Dungeons of Pluto, and the glorious Mansions of Iove.

Portrait.

Then Poems need not the garments of Rhetorick.

Sensuality.

No more than a Fair Lady: And as for my part, I like Po­ems as I like a Woman, best uncloathed, for then I am sure they cannot de­ceive or delude me with false and feigned Shews.

Exeunt.

Scene 21.

Enter Madamoiselle Pleasure, and Grave Temperance, and her Woman.
TEmperance.

Madam, will you please to go abroad, and take the cool re­freshing Air to day?

Pleasure.

Yes, Temperance, if you will; but I had rather stay and entertain Monsieur Serious Contemplations company.

Temperance.
[Page 268]

Indeed Madam I will forbid his frequent Visits; for other­wise you will bury your self in his melancholy Conversation.

Pleasure.

Pray do not, for he is the greatest delight in life.

Temperance.

And then he brings such a numerous Train of Fancies and O­pinions, as fills up your Head, which is the largest room in your bodily house; insomuch, as none of your domestick Thoughts, which are the Minds usefullest servants, can stir about your lifes ordinary affairs.

Pleasure.

Why Temperance, Fancies are pretty youths, which make harm­less and innocent sport, to pass the time away.

Temperance.

We have so little time, as we shall not need to passe it idly away.

Pleasure.

As much as we complain of want of time, we have more than we can tell well how to spend.

Temperance.

Then pray forbid Monsieur Serious Contemplation not to bring his wilde, stubborn, and useless Opinions; for they make more disorder, and louder noise, and greater Factions, than if all the Dogs and Bears in the Town were set together by the ears, and more mischief comes thereby, than I can rectifie.

Enter Liberty, and Madamoiselle Pleasures Gentleman-Usher.
Pleasure.

Now Liberty, you are a Fore-runner of Visitants.

Liberty.

Yes Madam, for there are the five Sistres, the five Senses, come to visit you.

Pleasure.

They are the troublesomest Visitants that are; they are so extra­vagant, so impertinent, so various, and so humoursome, as I know not how to entertain them: But pray Liberty usher them into the Gallery where my pi­ctures hang, drawn by the Rarest and most Famous Masters; and let the Room be sweetly perfum'd, and bring a Banquet of the most delicious and choisest Drinks and Meats, and let there be sine linnen Napkins, and spread all the Floor over with downy Carpets, and set soft Cushions on the Couch­es, and whilest they are there, let the Musick sound harmoniously, with soft strokes, pleasing notes, and gentle strains: And Temperance, I desire you to Order the rest of the Entertainment, and let Ease wait upon you: As for you, Wanton and Surfet, I forbid you, as not to come into their Com­pany.

Exit Lady and Temperance.
Wanton.

Always when my Lady makes a great Entertainment, we are forbid to appear.

Surfet.

Although my Lady forbids me, yet the Company never leaves un­til they have found me out, so that I am still at the end of the Entertainment, like an Epilogue to a Play.

Wanton.

And I sometimes come in like a Chorus.

Exeunt.

Scene 22:

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Faction, Monsieur Heroick, Monsieur Frisk.
POrtrait.

O that I might have my wish!

Ambition.

What would you wish?

Portrait.

I would wish to be the only Beauty.

Heroick.

And if I might have my wish, I would wish to conquer all the World, and then to divide it to the Meritorious, and not to rule it my self: for I desire not the Power, but the Fame.

Bon' Esprit.

And if I might have my wish, I would wish to be the Su­premest Wit in Nature.

Frisk.

You three are sympathetical in Ambition; for one desires to in­captive all Hearts with her Beauty; the other desires to conquer all the World with his Valour; the third desires to confute all Mankinde with her Wit.

Heroick.

And what do you wish, Madamoiselle Ambition?

Ambition.

I wish I were Destiny, to link you all three together.

Faction.

Come leave your wishing, and let us go to see the Monster that is to be seen.

Bon' Esprit.

The most mostrous Creature I imagine, is a headless Maid.

Frisk.

What is that, a devirginated Maid?

Bon' Esprit.

Yes.

Ambition.

When she is devirginated, she is no Maid.

Bon' Esprit.

O yes; for as a Wife is one that is maried, a Widow one that hath been maried, so a Maid is one that was never maried, and a Virgin is one that never knew man, and a headless Maid is one that hath lost her Vir­ginity, and yet was never maried.

Faction.

If a devirginated Maid be a headless Monster, in the World there are many headless Monsters.

Heroick.

But the best of it is, Lady, their Monstrosity is invisible.

Bon' Esprit.

You say true; but they are not monstrous in Nature, but in Vice, for they are transformed by their Crimes.

Ambition.

So are Drunkards.

Bon' Esprit.

They are so; for all Curtezans and Drunkards are beasts: For though a Drunkard is not a headless beast, yet he is a brainless beast.

Portrait.

But what Monster is that you would have us to see?

Faction.

Why a woman with a Hogs face.

Bon' Esprit.

Then 'tis likely she hath a Sows disposition. But howsoever let us go.

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and Monsieur Inquisitive.
INquisitive.

One witty word, or saying from a fool, is, for the most part remembred, and often repeated, when from a Wit it would be hardly taken notice of.

Satyrical.

There is reason for that: for wit is more remarkable from fools, than those that have natural wits.

Enter Mother Matron.
Matron.

Monsieur Satyrical, I am come with a Message from a company of fair young Ladies; the Message is this: They desire that you would do them the favour to come to them, to judge of a Poem which they have made amongst themselves.

Satyrical.

Women make Poems? burn them, burn them; let them make bone-lace, let them make bone-lace.

Inquisitive.

You are an unjust Judge, to condemn their Poems to the fire, before you have examin'd them.

Satyrical.

The best tryal of a Ladies wit is the fire; besides, the fire will supply that want of Poetical heat which should make Poems, which heat womens brains cannot suffer.

Matron.

You are mistaken Sir, and mis-inform'd: for we women have as hot brains as any of the Masculine Sex of you all have.

Satyrical.

I grant your Sex have an unnatural heat, which makes them all mad.

Matron.

I think the Ladies were mad when they sent me for you.

Satyrical.

No doubt of it, and you are mad for coming.

Matron.

Your words will make me mad before I go away, although I came well-temper'd hither: beshrew me my very bones do quiver in my flesh to hear you.

Satyrical.

If thy bones quiver so much as to shake, they will soon powder into dust: for Age hath almost dissolv'd thee into ashes already, and Time hath eaten off thy flesh, as Crows do carrion.

Matron.

Out upon thee Satyr, a beastly man you are by my Troth, and so I will deliver you to the Ladies.

Satyrical.

You shall not deliver me to the Ladies, I will deliver my self to Death first.

Matron.

Thou art so bad, Death will refuse thee: but I will do your Er­rand I'll warrant you, I'll set a mark upon you that shall disgrace you.

Satyrical.

Thou canst not set a fouler mark than thy self upon me, there­fore come not near me.

Matron.

Worse and worse, worse and worse. O that I were so young and fair, as my Beauty might get me a Champion to revenge my quarrel! But I will go back to the Ladies, they are fair and young enough, as being in the Spring of Beauty, although I am in my Autumnal years.

Satyrical.

Thou art in the midst of the Winter of thine Age, and the Snow of Time is fallen on thy head, and lies upon thy hair.

Matron.
[Page 271]

They that will not live untill they are old, the Proverb sayes, They must be hang'd when they are young, and I hope it is your Destiny.

Exeunt.

Scene 24.

Enter Liberty, and Wanton, and Surfet.
LIberty.

I am come to tell you, Wanton and Surset, that my Lady is gone to receive the Visit of Monsieur Tranquillities Peace, who is come to see her, and old Matron Temperance is gone to wait upon her; wherefore you may go, for there is none left with the five Senses but Excess.

They run out, then enters the Five Senses in Antick Dresses, to distin­guish them, but they behave themselves as mad-merry, dancing about in Couples, as Hearing with Wantonness, Idle with Scent, and Ex­cess with Sigh, and Surfet with Taste, and Touch dances alone by her self, and when they have danced, they go out.
Exeunt.

Scene 25.

Enter Bon' Esprit, Superbe, Faction, Portrait, Ambition.
FAction.

I wonder Mother Matron should stay so long.

Portrait.

I cannot guess at the reason.

Bon' Esprit.

She might have deliver'd her Message twice in this time.

Enter Mother Matron; All the Ladies speak at once.
Ladies

Mother Matron, Welcome, welcome, welcome: What Newes? what Newes?

Faction.

What says Monsieur Satyrical?

Bon' Esprit.

Will he come?

Portrait.

Or will he not come? pray speak.

Superbe.

Are you dumb, Mother Matron?

Matron.

Pray Ladies give me some time to temper my passion; for if a house be set on fire, there is required sometime to quench it.

Ambition.

But some fires cannot be quenched.

Matron.

Indeed my fire of Anger is something of the nature of the un­quenchable fire of Hell, which indeavours to afflict the Soul, as well as to torment the Body.

Superbe.

Iove bless us, Mother Matron! Are you inflamed with Hell­fire?

Matron.

How should I be otherwise, when I have been tormented with a Devil?

Ambition.
[Page 272]

Jupiter keep us! What have you done, and with whom have you been?

Matron.

Marry I have been with a cloven-tongu'd Satyr, who is worse, far worse, than a cloven-footed Devil.

Bon' Esprit.

Is all this rage against Monsieur Satyrical?

Matron.

Yes marry is it, and all too little, by reason it cannot hurt him.

Faction.

How hath he offended you?

Matron.

As he hath offended you all, railed against you, most horribly railed against you: He says you are all mad, and hath condemned your Po­ems to the fire, and your imployment to the making of bone-lace.

Bon' Esprit.

Why these sayings of his do not offend me.

Ambition.

Nor me.

Portrait.

Nor me.

Superbe.

Nor me.

Matron.

But if he had said you had been old, and ill-favour'd, carrion for Crows, dust and ashes for the grave, as he said to me, then you would have been as angry as I.

Bon' Esprit.

No truly, I should have only laughed at it.

Faction.

By your favour, I should have been as angry as Mother Matron, if I had been as old as she; so I should have been concerned in the behalf of my Age.

Matron.

Marry come up, are you turned Lady Satyrical, to upbraid me with my Age? Is this my reward for my jaunting and trotting up and down with your idle Message to more idle persons, men that are meer Jack­straws, flouting companions, railing detractors, such as are good for nothing but to put people together by the cars?

Faction.

By the Effects it proves so, for you and I are very neer falling out: But I thought you would have given me thanks for what I said, as taking your part, and not inveterates your spleen.

Matron.

Can you expect I should give you thanks for calling me old? Can the report of Age be acceptable to the Effeminate Sex? But Lady, let me tell you, if you live you will be as old as I, and yet desire to be thought young: For although you were threescore, yet you would be very angry, nay in a furious rage, and take those to be your mortal Enemies that should reckon you to be above one and twenty, for you will think your self as beau­tiful as one of fifteen.

Faction.

I do not think so, although I believe our Sex have good opinions of themselves, even to the last gasp; yet not so partial, as to imagine themselves as one of fifteen at threescore.

Matron.

It is proved by all Experience, that all Mankind is self-conceited, especially the Effeminate Sex; and self-conceit doth cast a fair shadow on a foul face, and fills up the wrinkles of Time with the paint of Imagina­tion.

Portrait.

But the Eyes must be blind with Age, or else they would see the wrinkles Time hath made, in the despight of the paint of Imagination.

Superbe.

By your favour, Self-conceit doth cause the Eyes of Sense to be like false glasses, that cast a youthful gloss, and a fair light, on a wither'd skin: For though the deep lines in the face cannot be smoothed, yet the lines, or species, in, or of the sight, may be drawn by self-conceit so small as not to be perceived: And were it not for the Eyes of Self-conceit, and the Paint of Imagination, as Mother Matron says, which preserves a good Opi­nion [Page 273] of our selves, even to the time of our Death, wherein all remembrance is buried, we should grow mad, as we grow old, for the losse of our Youth and Beauty.

Matron.

I by my faith you would grow mad, did not Conceit keep you in your right wits.

Faction.

The truth is, our Sex grow melancholy, when our Beauty de­cayes.

Portrait.

I grow melancholy at the talking of it.

Ambition.

Let us speak of some other subject that is more pleasing than Age, Ruine, and Death.

Bon' Esprit.

Let us talk of Monsieur Satyrical again.

Matron.

He is a worse subject to talk of than Death.

Bon' Esprit.

As bad as he is, you shall carry another Message to him.

Matron.

I will sooner carry a Message to Pluto; for in my Conscience he will use me more civilly, and will send you a more respectful Answer than Monsieur Satyrical.

Bon' Esprit.

Indeed I have heard that the Devil would flatter; but I never heard that a Satyrical Poet would flatter.

Matron.

But a Satyrical Poet will lye, and so will the Devil; and there­fore talk no more of them, but leave them together.

Exeunt.

Scene 26.

Enter Temperance, and Madamoiselle Pleasure.
PLeasure.

O Temperance, I am discredited for ever, the Ladies the Senses are all sick: What shall I do?

Temperance.

You must send for some Doctors.

Pleasure.

What Doctors shall I send for?

Temperance.

Why Old Father Time, he hath practiced long, and hath great Experience; then there is Rest and Sleep, two very good & safe Doctors.

Pleasure.

Send Ease presently to fetch them, bid her make haste.

Exeunt.
Enter the five Senses, as being very sick, yet Touch seems not so sick as melancholy: They all pass silently over the Stage.
Enter Temperance, and Madamoiselle Pleasure.
Pleasure.

Temperance, are the Doctors come?

Temperance.

Yes, and gone again.

Pleasure.

And what have they prescribed?

Temperance.

Abstinence.

Pleasure.

And will that cure them?

Temperance.

They say it will prove a perfect cure: Probatum est.

Pleasure.

The next act I do, shall be to turn away Wanton, Idle, Excess, and Surfet.

Temperance.
[Page 274]

You will hardly get them out of your Service, although you should beat them out.

Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene 27.

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, and her Waiting-woman.
VVOman.

Madam, me thinks Monsieur Vain-glorious is a very pro­per man, and would be a fit Match for your Ladyship.

Ambition.

Let me tell you, I will never marry a man whose Soul hath Va­cuum; but that man I would marry, should have a soul filled with Natures best Extractions; his Head the Cabinet of Natures wisest Counsels, and cu­riousest Fancies; his Heart the Treasury of Natures purest, currentest, and Heroick Virtue: For if ever I marry, I will have a Husband that is able to govern Kingdoms, to Marshal Armies, to Fight Battels, and Conquer Nati­ons; and not a self-conceited Fool, or fantastical Gallant, such as speaks ta [...] ­ing Words, wears slanting Cloaths, walks with a proud Garb, looks with a disdainful Countenance, Courts Mistrisses, loves Flatteries, hates Superiors, and scorns Inferiors, keeps a greater Retinue than his Revenue will maintain, who like moths, eat through the cloth of his Estate, and he like another [...], plays so long in his Vain-glorious Flame, until he is consumed therein, span­ding with an open purse, and prodigal vanity, and yet receives with a cove­tous hand: So Vanity flies and flutters about in the heat of Prosperity, and dies in the Winter of Adversity. No, I will have a Husband, if ever I have any, whose Minde is settled like the Centre, which can neither rise nor fall with good or bad Fortune; and not a little Soul in a narrow Heart, and wit­less Brain.

Exeunt.

Scene 28.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical, and another Gentleman.
GEntlem.

Sir, I desire you will pardon me; but I am commanded to bring you here a Challenge.

Gives it.
Satyrical.

Are you the Second, Sir?

Gentlem.

No Sir.

He read.
Satyrical.

Are you a Pimp, Sir?

Gentlem.

I scorn your base words, for I am a Gentleman.

Satyrical.

Many a Gentleman scorns base words, but not base Actions.

Gentlem.
[Page 275]

I scorn both base words, and base Actions.

Satyrical.

It doth not seem so by the Challenge you have brought.

Gentlem.

Why, what is the Challenge?

Satyrical.

The Challenge is from a Woman, and I will read it to you.

He reads the Challenge.
Monsieur Satyrical,
I Challenge you, and am resolv'd to fight,
Not in the Field of Mars, as Champion Knight,
Nor in the Court of Venus will I be,
But to the Lists of Mercury Challenge thee:
Where all the Muses will Spectators sit,
To Iudge which is the great'st Victor of Wit.
The Weapons which we fight with must be Words,
For I a woman am, not us'd to Swords:
Custome and Education leaves us bare
To Natures Arms, the Arms of Death we fear.
Your Servant, Bon' Esprit.
Satyrical.

These two last Lines make you a Pimp, Sir.

Gentlem.

I must be contended, for there is no Revenge to be taken against Ladies: But Mother Matron had been a more properer Messenger than I for this Challenge.

Satyrical.

I shall send my Answer by a more inferiour person than you are, and so shall take my leave for this time.

Gentlem.

Your Servant.

Exeunt.

Scene 29.

Enter Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Faction, Ambi­tion, Superbe.
FAction.

All Poets and Musicians are mad, more or less: for Madness is caused by a distemper of the Brain, like as the Pulse, which beats quicker than the natural motion.

Bon' Esprit.

You mistake madness; for madness is not caused by the quickness of motion, but by the irregularity of the motion: And as for Poe­tical and Musical Motions, although they are quick, yet they keep Time, Time and Order, when those Motions that cause madness do not: But the quick-moving brains of Poets are caused by their lively & elevated Spirits, which are Active and Industrious, always creating for delight or profit, as Verses, Fan­cies, Scenes, Sonnets, or inventing Arts: And if you account these Ingenious and Divine Spirits to be mad, I shall desire to be mad too, as they are.

Faction.

But some Spirits are so quick, that they out run all Invention.

Bon' Esprit.

Those are neither the spirits of Poets nor Musicians; not but that Poets and Musicians may be mad as other men, but their madness is not [Page 278] caused by the Poetical and Harmonical spirits, but some other defects of the brain, or distemper of the spirits; but there are many mad, that are so far from Poetical Fancies, or Musical skill, or Inventions, as they can neither conceive the one, or learn the other, or understand either; but Musick and Poetry have oft-times cured madness, and certainly are the best and most ex­cellent Physicians for that disease: For though madness is but one and the same disease, as madness, yet the Causes and Effects are divers.

Superbe.

A Feaver in the Brain causeth madness.

Bon' Esprit.

It rather causeth madness to have outragion: Effects; but a cold brain may be mad: But it is neither heat nor cold that causeth mad­ness, but the irregularity of the Spirits.

Ambition.

But heat and cold may cause the irregularity of the Spirits: for as cold Livers make the Veins like standing ponds, which putrifies the blood for want of motion; so very cold Brains may be like Snow or Ice, to obstruct or bind the Spirits, hindring the regular motions.

Bon' Esprit.

You say right, and that is a stupid madness: And as a hot Liver may boyl and inflame the blood, so hot Brains may inflame the Spi­rits, causing Combustious Motions, as Thundring, which is a raging mad­nesse.

Enter Monsieur Censurer.
Censure.

Who is raging-mad?

Faction.

A despairing Lover.

Censure.

Hang him in his Mistris Frowns, or strangle him in the Cords of her Cruelty.

Superbe.

Would you be served so?

Censure.

Yes, when I am a mad Lover: For I had rather die than be in love with a hard-hearted Mistris; for of the two I had rather imbrace death than Court her, in which Courtship I should be Transform'd, or Metamor­phos'd into many several things: As I should be a River of Lovers Tears, a Ventidock of Lovers Sighs, an Aquaduct of Lovers Griefs, and a Chilling grotto of Lovers Fears; and rather than I would endure these Transformati­ons, I would be well contended to be annihilated.

Ambition.

O fie, had you rather be nothing than a Lover?

Censure.

I had rather be nothing, than a thing worse than nothing.

Faction.

Well, I hope to see you a desperate Lover at one time or o­ther.

Censure.

I hope not, for I have no cause to fear: for my Mind cannot be perswaded by my Fancy, or forced by my Appetites, nor betrayed by my Senses; for Reason governs my Brain, Temperance rules my Appetites, Prudence guards my Senses, and Fortitude keeps the possession and Fort of my Heart.

Faction.

Love will unthrone Reason, corrupt Temperance, bribe Prudence, and bear Fortitude out of the Fort of your Heart.

Censure.

For fear of that I will leave you, Ladies.

Exit.
[Page 277] Enter Mother Matron.
Matron.

News; News, Monsieur Satyrical hath vouchsaf'd to return you an Answer to your Challenge.

Bon' Esprit.

Who brought it?

Matron.

A scrubbed fellow in a thred-bare cloak, the rest of the Ladies say. Read it, read it, Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit.

She reads it to them.
Lady, you Challeng'd me in Arms to fight,
Appoint the place, the best time is at night
For Natural Duellers; yet I submit,
And shall obey to what hour you think fit:
I am content my Health for to engage,
And venture Life to satisfie your rage.
I am no Coward, I am not afraid
To fight a Duel with a young fair Maid,
Although old Mother Matron she should be
Your Second, for the Iudge what she doth see.
Matron.

He makes me the scurvy burthen of his more scurvy Verse, and scurrilous Answer: But I hope this Answer of his to your Challenge, will inveterate your spleen as much as his upbraiding my Age did mine.

Bon' Esprit.

I have not such reason to be so concern'd as you are; for I am honest, though you are old.

Matron.

May the Infamy of Vice wither the Blossoms of Youth, as Age doth the Flowers of Beauty, that there may be an equal return of Re­proach.

Bon' Esprit.

Indeed there is some Reciprocalness in Vice and Age.

Matron.

No, Vice and Youth are Reciprocal.

Ambition.

But I see no Reciprocalnesse betwixt Love and Monsieur Sa­tyrical.

Bon' Esprit.

I make no doubt but to bring Monsieur Satyrical into Cupid's snare.

Faction.

You may sooner bring your self into Vulcan's Net.

Bon' Esprit.

Well, mark the end and success.

Superbe.

Nay, rather we shall mark the endless folly.

Exeunt.

Scene 30.

Enter Madamoiselle Pleasure, and Monsieur Vain-glorious.
VAin-glorious.

Lady Pleasure, you are the swetest young Lady in the World, and the only delight in life.

Pleasure.

O Sir, you give a Wooers sentence, and self-love hath bribed your Judgment: for most speak partially, according to their Affections, and not according to Truth.

Vain-glor.
[Page 278]

Truth is a prating, preaching, tatling, twatling Gossip, and tells many times that which would be better conceal'd.

Pleasure.

Truth is the Eye of Knowledge, which brings men out of Igno­rance: It is the Scale of Justice, the Sword of Execution, the Reward of Me­rit: It is the Bond of Propriety, and the Seal of Honesty.

Vain-glor.

Truth is a Tyrant, condemning more than she saves.

Pleasure.

She condemns none but Fools, Knaves, Cowards, Irreligious, Licentious, and Vain-glorious persons, to be unworthy, base, false, and wicked.

Exit.
Vainglorious alone.
Vain-glorious.

She condemns Pleasure; for truly there is no such thing as Pleasure.

Exit.

Scene 31.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical alone.
SAtyrical.

I must marry, or bury succession in my Grave; but it's dange­rous, very dangerous. O Nature, Nature, hadst thou no other way to Create a man, unless thou mad'st a woman! But if thou wert forc'd by the Fates to make that Sex, yet thou hadst liberty to make her of a constant Mind; but thou art inconstant thy self, as being of female kind: But since I must marry, Discretion shall make the Choise, which will choose Virtue before Wealth, Wit before Beauty, Breeding before Birth; if she hath Virtue, she will be Chaste; if she hath Wit, she will be Conversable, if she hath good Breeding, she will be modest and well-behav'd. But where is that woman that is virtuously Chaste, wittily Conversable, and Modestly-behav'd? If any woman be thus, as I would have her, it is Madamoiselle Bon' Esprit, she seems to have a Noble Soul by her Honourable Actions, which women, for the most part, are so far from, as they seem, for the most part, to have no souls at all, by their mean and petty actions: Also she hath a Supernatural Wit, I mean supernatural, as being a woman; and her Wit is not only Ingenious, but Judicious, by which she will set a value on subjects of Merit and Worth, and despise those that are base; when fools know not how to prize the best, but chuse that is bad, not knowing what is good, so walk in Errours ways, which leads unto dishonour; but she, having Wit and Honour, knows the benefit of Honesty so well, as she will be Chaste for her own sake, were it not for her Husbands. But I most satyrically have tran­slated her sweet and harmless mirth, which was presented in her Elevated Verse into a wanton Interpretation. Diana, thou Goddess of Chastity, par­don me! But stay thoughts, whither wander you? let me examine you be­fore you pass any farther, as whether or no you are not led by the bow-string of Cupid, or the girdle of Venus, into the foul paths of vain desires, and del [...] ­ding beauty, to the labyrinth of destruction, there to be kept and incaptivated by the intanglements and subtill windings, and turnings, and various passa­ges of Amorous Love? But a strict Examination requires Time, and a just [Page 279] Judge decides not a Cause without Debate; therefore I will have another Contemplation of Consideration, before I address my Sute, or make known my Desires.

Exit.

Scene 32.

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, and Monsieur Vain glorious.
VAin-glor.

Madam, why should you refuse me?

Ambition.

Because I cannot love.

Vain-glor.

Not love me? why I am Valiant, Wise, Witty, Honest, Ge­nerous, and Handsome: And where will you find a man where all these Ex­cellencies do meet in one?

Ambition.

Now you have bragg'd of your self, I will plainly prove to you, that you are neither perfectly Valiant, nor Wise, nor Witty, nor Generous, nor truly Honest.

Vain-glor.

You cannot.

Ambition.

I can: And first for Valour. Have you gone to the Wars, and fought? why, millions do the like, and a poor Common Souldier will venture for sixpence on that which a vain Cavalier will hardly do to gain an immortal Fame: Or peradventure you have fought Duels, why every Drun­kard will do as much, who in their drink they not reason to consider Valour, which is only to fight for the sake of Honour; but most commonly Duels are fought through Anger, or Fear, or Scorn, or Revenge, or the like, which is not true valour, but they fight rather like beasts than men, as with Force, Fu­ry, or Appetite, caused by natural Antipathies, or through the heat of the blood, or desires or dislikes of the Senses: whereas true Valour is just, tem­perate, patient, prudent, and is the Heroick part, or Virtue of the Soul: And to be valiant, is to fight for the right of Truth, and the defence of Inno­cency, without Partiality, Covetousness, or Ambition: Also to prove your self Valiant, have you received misfortunes with patience, and suffred tor­ments with fortitude? Have you forgiven your Enemies, or spared a bloo­dy Execution for humanities sake, or releas'd rich prisoners without Ran­some, and poor without slavery? Have you heard your self slanderd with Patience, justify'd your wrongs with Temperance, fought your Enemies without Anger, maintained your Honour without Vain-glory, then you are Valiant.

And for Wisedome, wh