Amp. O sir, the pride and scorns with which Languish, and die with me. you first Did entertain my passions and regard, Lucy. Ginet, my fears have in them too much prophecy; I told thee she would ne'er recover. Gin. For my poor part, I wish no easier bed At night than the cold grave where she must lie. Amp. Luce, Luce! intreat the gentleman to sit. Lucy. Sit near her, sir; you hear her voice grows weak. Amp. That you may see your scorns could not persuade My love to thoughts of danger or revenge, E. Pal. Who, I? sweet saint, take heed of your Your bounty carries cunning murder in't; Lucy. Nay, sir, no remedy; you must have all. Though you procured her death, the world shall not Report she died bebolden to you. Gin. Go to her, sir, she'll speak with you again. Amp. Sir, if mine eyes, in all their health and glory, Had not the power to warm you into love, Where are my hopes, now they are dim, and have Almost forgot the benefit of light? E. Pal. Not love! lady! Queen of my heart! what oaths Or execrations can persuade your faith Amp. I'd have some testimony, sir; if but Of gentle human race. E. Pal. What shall I do? Prescribe me dangers now, horrid as those Which midnight fires beget in cities overgrown, Or winter storms produce at sea; and try How far my love will make me venture to Augment the esteem of your's. Amp. That trial of your love which I request, Implies no danger, sir; 'tis not in me To urge any thing, but what your own desires E. Pal. Name it: like eager mastiffs, chained From the encounter of their game, my hot Fierce appetite diminisheth my strength. Amp. 'Tis only this; for fear some other should Enjoy you when I am cold in my last sleep, I would intreat you to sit here, grow sick, E. Pal. How! die with you! [Takes Lucy aside. 'Twere fit you hastened her to write down all She can bestow, and in some form of law: I fear she's mad; her senses are so lost, She'll never find them to her use again. E. Pal. Did you not hear what a fantastic suit She makes, that I would sit and die with her? Lucy. Does this request seem strange? you will do little For a lady, that deny to bring her Onward her last journey; or is't your thrift? E. Pal. My best, dear lady, I am willing to Amp. If this persuasion cannot reach at your Consent, yet let me witness so much love In you, as may enforce your languish and Decay, for my departure from your sight. Lucy. Can you do less than languish for her death? If Sit down here and begin; true sorrow, sir, you have any in your breast, will quickly Bring you low enough. E. Pal. Alas, good ladies, do you think my languishment And grief is to begin upon me now? Your letter gave me knowledge of the cause. E Pal. My face! I grant you, I bate inwardly; I'm scorched and dried, with sighing, to a mummy: My heart and liver are not big enough To choke a daw. A lamb laid on the altar for A sacrifice hath much more entrails in't. Lucy. Yet still your sorrow alters not your face. E. Pal. Why no, I say; no man that ever was Of nature's making, hath a face moulded With less help for hypocrisy than mine. Gin. Great pity, sir. E. Pal. Though I endured the diet and the Lay seven days buried up to the lips like a With her own hair, feeds him with buds of gua cum For his sallad, and pulp of salsa for E. Pal. More than heirs unlanded, or unjointured wives. Enter ENGINE. Eng. What shall we do? Sir Tyrant Thrift's come home. E. Pal. Sir Tyrant Thrift! Amp. He meets the expected hour, just to my wish. Lucy. What, hath he brought a husband for my lady? Eng. There is a certain one-legged gentleman, Whose better half of limbs is wood; for whom Kind nature did provide no hands to prevent Stealing; and, to augment his gracefulness, He's crooked as a witches pin. Lucy. Is he so much wood? Eng. So much, that if my lady were in health, And married to him, as her guardian did Propose, we should have an excellent generation Of bed-staves. Lucy. When does he come? Eng. To-night, if his slow litter will consent; For they convey him tenderly, lest his Sharp bones should grate together. Sir Pallatine, I wish you could escape my master's sight. E. Pal. Is he coming hither? Eng. He's at the door. My lady's sickness was No sooner told him, but he streight projects To proffer her a will of his own making : He means, sir, to be heir of all. If he Should see you here, he would suspect my loyalty, And doubt you for some cunning instrument, That means to interrupt his covetous hopes. E. Pal. Then I'll be gone. Eng. No, sir; he needs must meet you in Your passage down; besides, it is not fit For you, and your great hopes, with my dependency On both, to have you absent when my lady dies; Draw out the chest within, that's big enough [They draw in a Chest. E. Pal. How! laid up like a brush'd gown, under lock And key! by this good light, not I. Lucy. O sir, if but to save the honour of Your mistress' fame: what will he think to see So comely and so streight a gentleman Converse here with a lady in her chamber? And in a time that makes for his suspicion too, When he's from home? E. Pal. I hate inclosure, I; It is the humour of a distress'd rat. Gin. It is retirement, sir; and you'll come forth Again so sage! Amp. Sir Pallatine! Enter Sir Tyrant THRIFT. Thrift. Engine, where's my charge, Engine, my dear charge? Eng. Sick, as I told you, sir; and lost to all The hope that earthly med'cine can procure; Her physicians have taken their last fees, And then went hence shaking their empty heads, As they had left less brain than hope. Thrift. Alas, poor charge! come, let me see her, Engine. Lucy. At distance, sir, I pray; for I have heard Your breath is somewhat sour with overfasting, sir, On holiday eves. Thrift. Ha! what is she, Engine? Eng. A pure good soul, one that your ward desired, For love and kindred's sake, to have pear her at Thrift. Does she not gape for legacies? Eng. Fie, no; there's a cornelian ring, perhaps, She aims at, cost ten groats; or a wrought smock, My lady made now 'gainst her wedding, sir; Trifles, which maids desire to weep upon With funeral tales, after a midnight posset. Thrift. Thou said'st below, she hath made me her heir. Eng. Of all, even to her slippers and her pins. Amp. Luce, methought, Luce, I heard my guardian's voice. Eng. It seems her senses are grown warm again; Your presence will recover her. Thrift. Will it recover her? then I'll be gone. Eng. No, sir; she'll streight grow cold again. On, on; She looks that you would speak to her. see This doleful day! Amp. We all are mortal, sir. Thrift. I've taken care and labour to provide A husband for thee; he's in's litter now, Hastening to town; a fine young gentleman, Lucy. Your lady calls, sir; to her, and be kind. | Only a little rumpled in the womb, VOL. I. 2 Q With falls his mother took after his making. You for your tender pains, and wish you would Thrift. This will occasion more church build- And raising of new hospitals; there were You'll grant, in thankfulness to all my bounty. Thrift. O, dear Charge! any thing: your cousin here Shall witness the consent and act. Amp. Because I would not have my vanities Succeed my youthful pride i'the town: my plumes, Lucy. There, sir, there the chest stands. But make my death more sorrowful, thus to Thrift Alack, alack !- Bury her to-night, En- Eng. Not, sir, unless she dies. Her ancestors Have sojourned long here in St Barthol'mews, And there's a vault i' the parish church, kept only For her family; she must be buried there. Thrift. Ave, Engine, aye: and, let me see; the church, Thou know'st, joins to my house; a good prevention From a large walk; 'twill save the charge of torch-light. Eng. What funeral guests? the neighbours, sir, will look I'll have no more: nor, d' you hear, no burnt wine; I do not like this drinking healths to the memory O' the dead; it is prophane. Eng. You are obeyed: But, sir, let me advise you now, to trust Eng. In brief: you know, that all To die to-night. Eng. Alas, good soul! I'll undertake She shall do any thing to please you, sir. [Exit THRIFT. Amp. Engine, thou hast wrought above the power Of accident or art. Eng. If you consider't with a just And lib'ral brain: first, to prevent The access and tedious visits of the fiend, His love-sick monster; and theu rid him hence Upon a journey, to preserve this house Empty, and free to celebrate the rest Of our designs. Lucy. This, Engine, is thy holiday. [Lucy knocks at the Chest. What hoa! Sir Pallatine, are you within? E. Pal. Is Sir Tyrant Thrift gone? open, lady, open. Lucy. The casement, sir, I will a little, to Increase your witship's allowance of air; [Opens a wicket at the end of the Chest. E. Pul. How! lady of the lawn? You may believ't, if your discreet faith please. E. Pal. The pox take me if I like this; sure, when Th' advice of th' ancients is but asked, they'll say [ Your Turin and your Tuscan veal; with red Eng. D' you know this lady, sir? E. Pal. The Lady Ample! Her veil's off too, and in the lusty garb Amp. Couldst thou believe, Thou bearded babe, thou dull ingenderer, Enter Younger PALLATINE. cious man Of land is now contented with his own length. E. Pal. Brother! mad girls these! couldst thou believ't, sirrah ? I am cottined up like a salmon pie, New sent from De'nshire for a token. Come, Break up the chest. Y. Pal. Stay, brother; whose chest is it? E. Pal. Thou'lt ask more questions than a constable In's sleep; pr'ythee dispatch. Y. Pal. Brother, I can But mark the malice and the envy of Y. Pal. Brother, you have prayed well; Heaven send her you : You must forsake your own fair fertile soil, Lucy. And dream, sir, of With satin trains behind them, ten yards long. Amp. Clothed all in purple, and embroidered with Embossinents wrought in imagery, the works Gin. And this attained, sir, by your wits. The muscatelli, and Frontiniac grape; Legged partridge of the Genoa hills. Eng. With your broad liver o' the Venetian ears. E. Pal. How! buried, and alive! Y. Pal. Brother, your hand. Farewell; I'm for the north: the fame of this E. Pal. I'll not endur't:-fire! murder! fire! Murder! treason! fire! Amp. Alas, you are not heard; The house contains none but ourselves. [Exeunt, carrying out the Chest. Enter THWACK, PERT, MEAGER. Pert. We bring you, sir, commends from Pallatine. Thwack. I had as lieve y' had brought it from Together with his horns boiled to a jelly, Mea. We mean the Younger Pallatine; one, 39 Then Trojans, &c.-Two lines of an ancient ballad. 40 Your angelots of Brie-Skinner, in his Etymologicon, voce Angelot, says, that the cheese known by that name is brought from Normandy; and he supposes it to have been so called from some person of the name of Angelot or Angelo, who first made, and perhaps impressed it with his own name, or mark. Which his false brother hath exposed you to. Pert. And, as we told you, sir, by his cominand, We have compounded with the constable, Thwack. And you believe, It seems, that your small, tiny officer Pert. Even so the moderns render it. Thwack. But, gentlemen, you ask a hundred pounds; 'Tis all I've left. I'd rather, sir, you'd take my mother from [Exit MEAGER. Thwack. These carnal mulcts and tributes are designed Only to such vain people as have land; Pert. Such land as we can share, sir, in the map. Thwack. Lo you there now! These live by their wits: Why should not I take the next key I meet, Cozened in my youth; cozened in my age! Pert. These are sad tales. Thwack. I will write down to the country, to dehort 42 The gentry from coming hither, letters Of strange dire news; you shall disperse them, sir. Pert. Most faithfully. Thwack. That there are lents six years long, proclaimed by the state: That our French and Deal wines are poisoned so Thwack. That our theatres are razed down; and where They stood, hoarse midnight lectures preached by wives Of comb-makers, and midwives of Tower-wharf. Pert. "Twill take impregnably. Thwack. And that a new plantation, sir, mark me, Is made i' the Covent Garden, from the sutlery O' the German camps and the suburbs of Paris; Where such a salt disease reigns, as will make Sassafras dearer than unicorns' horn. Pert. This cannot chuse but fright the gentry And more impoverish the town, than a Thwack. You shall, if my projections thrive, in Sir, than a year, stable your horses in Pert. Jog off; there's Pall, treating for your Y. Pal. The canopy, the hangings, and the bed, Are worth more than your rent; come, you're overpaid; Besides, the gentleman's betrayed; he is no bawd. Snore. Truly, a very civil gentleman; 'Las, he hath only roared, and sworn, and cursed, Since he was ta'en; no bawdry, I'll assure ye. Mrs Snore. Gossip Queasy, what a good 'yer 43 would ye have? Quea. I am content, if you and I were friends. Y, Pal. Come, come, agree; 'tis I that ever bleed, 41 For gold is a restorative, as well To liberty as health-Anthony Wood says, that Dr William Butler, the great physician of Cambridge, coming to visit Francis Tresham, “"as his fashion was, gave him a piece of very pure gold to put in his mouth; and upon taking out that gold, Butler said he was poisoned."-1. Athena Oxon. 329. Potable gold appears to have been a considerable article in the Materia Medica. In Baker's Practice of the neta and old Phisick, 1599, p. 440, &c. it is esteemed a specific in a vast number of disorders. 42 Dehort-i. e. advise against, to dissuade. S. 43 Good 'yer-See notes on King Lear, by Sir Thomas Hanmer and Dr Farmer, vol. 9. 1778. S. P. 547. edit. |