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sonage, to whom I am much indebted in kind- best wins you; or in a mirth, who talks roughness, as he is to me; and therefore presuine upon liest, is most sweetest : nor can you distinguish the payment of his tongue, and that he will lay truth from forgeries, mists from simplicity; witout good words for me: and to speak truth, for ness those two deceitful monsters, that you have Such needful occasions I only preserve him in entertained for bridegrooms. bond : and sometimes he may do me more good

Wid. Deceitful! here in the city by a free word of his mouth, than Pye. All will out. if he had paid one-half in hand, and took dooms- Idle. 'Sfoot, who has blabbed, George; that day for t'other.

foolish Nicholas ? Sir And. In troth, sir, without soothing be it Nob. For what they have bėsotted your easy spoken, you have published much judgment in blood withal, were nought but forgeries : the forthese few words.

tune-telling for husbands, the conjuring for the Sir Olid. For you know, what such a man ut- chain sir Godfrey heard the falsehood of, all, ters will be thought effectual

, and to weighty pur nothing but mere knavery, deceit, and cozenage. pose; and therefore into his mouth we'll put the Wid, 0 wonderful ! indeed I wondered that approved theme of their forgeries.

my husband, with all his craft, could not keep Skir. And I'll maintain it, kuight, if she'll be hiinself out of purgatory. true.

Sir God. And I more wondered, that my chain Enter a Servant.

should be gone, and my tailor had none of it.

Mury. And I wondered most of all, that I Sir Olio. How now, fellow?

should be tied from marriage, having such a mind Ser. May it please you, sir, my lord is newly to it. Come, sir John Pennydub, fair weather lighted from his coach.

on our side: The moon has changed since yesSir Oliv. Is my lord come already? His ho- ternight. nour's early.

Pye. The sting of every eril is within me. You see he loves me well. Up before seven! Nob. And that you may perceive I feign pot Trust me, I have found him night-capped at ele- with you, behold their fellow actor in those for

geries; who, full of spleen and envy at their so There's good hope yet: come, I'll relate all to sudden advancements, revealed all their plot in him,

[Excunt. anger.

Pye. Base soldier, lo reveal us!

Wid. Is't possible we should be blinded so, and SCENE IV.-A Street ; a Church appearing.

our eyes open?

Nob. Widow, will you now believe that false Enter Idle, PYEBOAND, Sir Godfrey, and ED- which too soon you believed true?

MOND; the Widow in a bridal dress; Sir John Wid. O, to my shame, I do.
PENNYDUB, Mary, and Frances; Nicholas,

Sir God. But under favour, my lord, my chaia FRAILTY, and other Altendunts. To them a was truly lost, and sţrangely found again. Nobleman, Sir OLIVER MUCKHILL, and Sir

Nob. Resolve him of that, soldier. ANDREW TIPSTAFF.

Skir. In few words, knight, then thou wert the

arch-gull of all. Nob. By your leave, lady.

Sir God. How, sir? Wid. My lord, your honour is most chastely Skir. Nay, I'll prove it: for the chain was bat welcome.

hid in the rosemary-bank all this while; and thou Nob. Madam, though I came now from court, got'st hiin out of prison to conjure for it, who did

come not to flatter you. Upon whom can lit admirably, fustianly; for isdeed what needed justly cast this blot, but upon your own forehead, any other, when he knew where it was? that know not ink froin milk? such is the blind Sir God. O villainy of villaiuies ! But box besotting in the state of an unheaded woman

carne my chain there? that's a widow. For it is the property of all you Skir. Where's Truly la, Indeed la, he that will that are widows (a handful excepted) to hate not swear, but lie; he that will not steal, but rob; those that honestly and carefully love you, to the pure Nicholas Saint-Antlings? maintenance of credit, state, and posterity; and Sir God. O villain ! one of our society, strongly to dote on those that only love you to Deemed always holy, pure, religious : undo you. Who regard you least, are best re- A puritan a thief! When was't ever heard? garded; who hate you most, arc best beloved. Sooner we'll kill a man, than steal, thou know'st. And if there be but one man amongst ten thou- Out slave! Ill rend my lion from thy back, sand millions of men, that is accurst, disastrous, With mine own hands. and evilly planeted; whom Fortune beats most, Nich. Dear master! O! whom God bates most, and all societies esteem Nob. Nay knight, dwell in patience. And oor, least, that man is sure to be a husband. Such is widow, being so near the church, 'cwere great po the peevish moon that rules your bloods. Au im- ty, nay uncharity, to send you home again witte pudent fellow best wooes you, a flattering lip out a husband, Draw nearer, you of true me


ship, state, and credit; that should not stand so Wid. Pardon me, worthy sirs: I and my daughfar off from a widow, and suffer forged shapes to come between you. Not that in these I blemish Have wronged your loves. the true title of a captain, or blot the fair mar- Sir Oliv. 'Tis easily pardoued, lady, if you gent of a scholar; for I honour worthy and de- vouchsafe it now. serving parts in the one, and cherish fruitful vir- Wid. With all my soul. tues in the other. Come, lady, and you virgin, Fran. And I, with all my heart. bestow your eyes and your purest affections upon Mary. And I, sir John, with soul, hearts, lights, men of estimatiou both in court and city, that and all. have long wooed you, and both with their hearts Sir John. They are all mine, Moll. and wealth sincerely love you.

Nob. Now, lady, Sir God. Good sister, do. Sweet little Franke, What honest spirit hut will applaud your choice, these are men of reputation : you shall be wels And gladly furnish you with hand and voice? come at court; a great credit for a citizen.- A happy change, which makes even heaven rcSweet sister,

joice. Nob. Corne, her silence does consent to't. Come, enter into your joys; you shall not want Wid. I know not with what face

for fathers, now; I doubt it not, believe me, Nob. Poh, poh, with your own face; they de- But that you shall have hands enough to give ve.58 sire no other.

[Ereunt omnes.

58 Though Shakespeare has ridiculed the Puritans in his All's Well that Ends well, and Twelfth Night, yet he seems not to have had the smallest share in the present comedy. The author of it, however, was well acquainted with his plays, as appears from resemblances already pointed out. There is little at. tempt at character throughout the piece, and that little has not proved very successful. The suitors are an unmeaning group; and, though we have eight of the sanctimonious tribe on the stage, they are by no means nicely discriminated from each other. Nicholas St Antlings indeed might have been designed for their chief, as he possesses most of their qualities, i. e. is the greatest hypocrite of them all.- I have not met with the old hallad from which our comedy receives its title ; but am told, that the second of these performances has no other obligation to the first.–STEEYENS.

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SCENE 1.- A Room in Culverly Hall, ripe, makes so many fallings;.viz. mad wenches,

because they are not gathered in time, are fain to Enter OLIVER and Ralpu.

drop of themselves, and ther: 'tis common you Oliv. Sirrah Ralph, my young mistress is in know for every man to take them up. such a pitiful passionate humour for the long ab- Oliv. Mass thou say'st true, 'tis common insence of her love

deed. But sirrah, is neither our young master Ralph. Why, can you blame her? Why, apples returned, nor our fellow Sam come froin Loghanging longer on the tree than when they are don?

1“ A booke called A Yorkshire Tragedy," was entered by Thomas Pavier at Stationers' Hall, Maya, 160, and the play, or rather interlude, was printed by him in the same year, under the title of A Yorkshire Tragedy, not so new as lamentable and true. The murder, on which this short drama is founded, was committed in 1604, and a ballad was made upon it in the following year; of which, probably, this tragedy is only an enlargement. The fact is thus related in Stowe's Chronicle, anno 1604:-" Walter Call verly of Calverly, in Yorkshire, Esquier, murdred two of his young children, stabbed his wife into the bodie, with full purpose to have murdred her, and instantly went from his house to have slaide bis youngest child at nurse, but was prevented. For which fact, at bis triall in Yorke, hee stood mute, aod was judged to be prest to death; according to which judgment he was executed at the castell of Yorke the 5th of August."

The piece before us was acted at the Globe, together with three other short dramas that were repre sented on the same day under the name of All's Orie, as appears from one of the titles of the quarto, 100%, which runs thus : “ All's One, or one of the foure plaies in one, called a Yorkshire tragedy; as it was plaied by the king's majestie's plaiers.” Shakspeare's name is atii xed to this piece.- MALONE.


Ralph. Neither of either, as the puritan bawd Ralph. Ay, that's true, for she bears the blows. says. 'Slid I hear Sam. Sam's come; here he Oliv. Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years' is; tarry ;—come i'faith : now my nose itches for wages my young mistress knew so much; she'd

run upon the left hand of her wit, and ne'er be Olio. And so does mine elbow.

her own woman again. Sam. (Within.] Where are you there? Boy, Sam. And I think she was blest in her cradle, look you walk my horse with discretion. I have that he never came in her bed. Why, he has rid him simply : I warrant his skin sticks to his consumed all, pawned his lands, and made his back with very heat. If he should catch cold, university brother stand in wax for him : there's and get the cough of the lungs, I were well ser- a fine phrase for a scrivener. Puh! he owes ved, were I not?

more than his skin is worth.

Oliv. Is't possible?
Enter Sam.

Sam. Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his

wife whore, as familiarly as one would call Moll What, Ralph and Oliver!

and Doll; and his children bastards, as naturally Both. Honest fellow Sam, welcome i'faith. as can be. But what have we here? I thought What tricks hast thou brought from London? 'twas something pulled down my breeches; I

Sam. You see I am hanged after the truest fa- quite forgot my two poking sticks: these came shion; three hats, and two glasses bobbing upon from London. Now any thing is good here that them; two rebato wires ? upon my breast, a cap- comes from London. case by my side, a brush at my back, an almanack Oliv. Ay, far-fetched, you know, Sam.- But ir my pocket, and three ballads in my codpiece. 3 speak in your conscience i'faith; have not we as Nay, I am the true picture of a common ser- good poking-sticks i'the country as need to be vint-inan.

put in the fire ? Oliv. I'll swear thou art; thou may'st set up Sam. The mind of a thing is all; the mind of when thou wilt: there's many a one begins with a thing is all; and, as thou said'st even now, farless, I can tell thee, that proves a rich man ere fetched are the best things for ladies. he dies. But what's the news from London, Oliv. Ay, and for waiting-gentlewomen too. Sam?

Sam. But Ralph, what, is our beer sour this Ralph. Ay, that's well said; what's the news thunder? from London, sirrah? My young mistress keeps Ralph. No, no, it holds countenance yet. such a puliug for her love.

Sum. Why then, follow me; I'll teach you the Sam. Why, the more fool she ; ay, the more finest humour to be drunk in: I learned it at ninny-hammer she.

London last week. Ol. Why, Sam, why?

Both. l'faith, let's hear it, let's hear it. Sam. Why, he is married to another long ago. Sam. The bravest humour! 'would do a man Both. l'faith? You jest.

good to be drunk in it: they call it knighting in Sam. Why, did you not know that till now? London, when they drink upon their knees. Why, he's married, beats his wife, and has two or Both. 'Faith, that's excellent. three children by her: For you must note, that Sam. Come follow me; I'll give you all the deany woman bears the more when she is beaten." grees of it in order, ?


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See notes on Much Ado about Nothing, last edit. vol. ii. p. 321.-STEEVENS,
Rebato was the name of an ancient head-dress. The wires were used to distend the hair or lace.-

In my codpiece.—See note on the Two Gentlemen of Verona, last edit. vol. i. p. 165.-STEEVENS. 4 The true picture of a common serving-man. I remember to have seen one of these representations of a man loaded with several domestic instruments and utensils. It was painted against a buttery fronting the screen of an ancient hall. I think another hieroglyphic of the same kind is still visible at one of our public schools or colleges. In the year 1566 is entered on the Stationers' books “ The pourtraicture of a trusty servant."-STEEVENS.

Any woman bears the more when she is beaten. Alluding to the old unmannerly proverb, that says, A troman and a walnut tree bear the better for being thrashed.-STEEVENS. They call it kuighting in London, when they drink upon their knees. So in K. Henry IV. Part II. :

“Do mo right,

“ And dub me knight.See the note there, vol. v. p. 597. edit. 1778.-MALONE. ? I'll give you all the degrees of it in order.--Alluding perhaps to Philocothonista, or the Drunkard ; a pamphlei by Thomas Haywood, in which all these degrees are set down with the most minute exactness.

copy of this piece that I have met with, was publisbed in 1635, but the first edition of it is Perhaps of much elder date. -STEEVENS.


The earliest


And of the body ;-and so much unlike SCENE II.-Another Apartment in the same. Hinself at first, as if some vexed spirit

Had got his form upon him. He comes again. Enter Wife. Wife. What will become of us ? All will away:

Re-enter Husband. My husbavd never ceases in expense,

He says I am the cause : I never yet Both to consume his credit and his house;

Spoke less than words of duty and of love. And 'uis set down by heaven's just decree,

Hus. If marriage be honourable, then cuckolds That riot's child must needs be beggary.

are honourable, for they cannot be made without Are these the virtues that his vouth did promise ? marriage. Fool! what meant I to marry, to get Dice and voluptuous meetings, midnight revels, beggars ? Now must niy eldest son be a knare or Taking bis bed with surfeits; ill beseeming

nothing; be cannot live upon the fool, for be will The ancient honour of his house and name?

have no land to maintain him. That mortgage sits And this not all, but that which kills me most, like a snaffle upon inine inheritance, and makes When he recounts his losses and false fortunes,

me cbew upon iron. My second son must be a The weakness of his state so much dejecied,

promoter, and my third a thief, or an under-putNot as a man repentant, but half mad

ter; a slave pander. Oh beggary, beggary, to His fortunes cannot answer his expense.

what base uses dost thou put a man! I think the Ile sits, aud sullenly locks up his arms;

devil scorns to be a bawd; be hears himself more Forgetting heaven, looks downward; which makes proudly, has more care of his credit.—Base, sla

vish, abject, filthy poverty! Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart:

Wife. Good sir, by all our vows I do beseech Walks heavily, as if his soul were earth;

you, Not penitent for those his sins are past,

Show me the true cause of your discontent. But vexed his money cannot make them last :

Hus. Money, money, money; and thou must A fearful inelancholy, ungodly sorrow.

supply me. O, youder he comes; now in despight of ills Wife. Alas, I am the least cause of your disI'll speak to him, and I will hear bim speak,

content ; And do my best to drive it from his heart. Yet what is mine, either in rings or jewels, Enter Husband.

Use to your own desire; but I beseech you,

As you are a gentleman by many bloods, Hus. Pox o'the last throw! It made five hun- | Though I myself be out of your respect, dred angels

Think on the state of these three lovely boys Vanish from my sight. I am damned, I'm damned; You have been father to. The angels have forsook me. Nay, it is

Hus. Puh! bastards, bastards, bastards ;' be Certainly true : for he that has no coin

got in tricks, begot in tricks. Is damned in this world; he is gone,


gone. Wife. Heaven knows how those words wrong Wife. Dear husband !

me : but I may Hus. O! most punishment of all, I have a Endure these griefs among a thousand more. wife.

O call to mind your lands already mortgaged, Wife. I do entreat you, as you love your soul, Yourself wound into debts, your hopeful brother Teli me the cause of this your discontent. At the university in bonds for you, Hus. A vengeance strip thee naked! thou art Like to be seized upon; andcause,

Hus. Have done, thou harlot, Effect, quality, property; thou, thou, thou. (Erit. Whom, though for fashion-sake I married, Wife. Bad turned to worse; both beggary of I never could abide. Think'st thou, thy words the soul

Shall kill my pleasures? Fall off to thy friends;

& Enter Wife. It is observable, that the poet has not given a name to any of the persons exhibited is. this piece, except the three servants.-MALONE.

The author might not think himself at liberty to use the real names belonging to his characters, and at the same time was of opinion that fictitious ones would appear unsatisfactory, as the true were universally known, either from the ballad spoken of by Mr Malone, or from the prose narratives published soon after these notorious murders were committed. See note the last.-STEEVENS.

Puh! bastards, bastards, bastards. — Though the author has thougbt it necessary to deviate from his story as it is still related in Yorkshire, yet here he seems to have had the original cause of this unbapo py gentleman's jashness in his mind. Mr Calverly is represented to have been of a passionate disposition, and to have struck one of his children in the presence of his wife, who pertly told him, to correct children of his own, when he could produce any. On this single provocation be is said to have immediately committed all the bloody facts wat fugnisha matter for the tragedy before us. He died possessed of a large estate.--STEEVENS.

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