To merriment to-night, i' my Light-Heart,
And like a noble poet, to have had
My last act best: but all fails i' the plot.
Lovel is gone to bed; the lady Frampul

And sov'reign Pru fall'n out: Tipto and his regiment

Of mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his
whoop Barnaby, [tropicks.
To his hoop Trundle: they are his two
No project to rear laughter on, but this,
The marriage of lord Beaufort with Lætitia.
Stay! what is here! the sattin gown redeem'd!
And Pru restor❜d in't to her lady's grace!

Fly. She is set forth in't! rigg'd for some
employment!

Host. An embassy at least!
Fly. Some treaty of state!

Host. "Tis a fine tack about! and worth
the observing.

How did they shew on goody Taylor's back! Like a caparison for a sow, God save us!1 Thy putting 'em on hath purg'd, and hallow'd em [nicks. From all pollution meant by the mechaPru. Hang him, poor snip, a secular shop-wit!

H' hath nought but his sheers to claim by, and his measures:

His prentice may as well put in for his And plead a stitch.

Lad. They have no taint in 'em Now of the taylor.

[needle,

say.

Pru. Yes, of his wife's hanches, Thus thick o' fat; I smell 'em, o' the Lad. It is restorative, Pru! with thy but chafing it,

A barren hind's grease may work miracles.
Find but his chamber-door, and he will rise
To thee! or if thou pleasest, feign to be
The wretched party herself, and com'st
unto him

In formá pauperis, to crave the aid
Of his knight-errant valour, to the rescue
Of thy distressed robes! name but thy
gown,

And he will rise to that!

1

Pru. I'll fire the charm first,

I had rather die in a ditch with mistress Shore, [has it, Without a smock, as the pitiful matter Than owe my wit to clothes, or ha' it beholden.

Host. Still spirit of Pru!

Fly. And smelling o' the sovereign! Pru. No, I will tell him, as it is indeed; I come from the fine froward, Frampul lady, Once was run mad with pride, wild with self-love; [scorn'd her, But late encountring a wise man, who And knew the way to his own bed, without Borrowing her warming-pan, she hath recover'd

Part of her wits; so much as to consider How far she hath trespass'd, upon whom, and how.

And now sits penitent and solitary,
Like the forsaken turtle, in the volary
Of the Light-Heart, the cage, she hath
abus'd,

Mourning her folly, weeping at the height
She measures with her eyes, from whence
she is fall'n,
[wood.
Since she did branch it on the top o' the
Lad. I pr'y thee, Pru, abuse me enough,

that's use me

As thou think'st fit, any coarse way, to humble me,

Or bring me home again, or Lovel on: Thou dost not know my sufferings, what I [freeze,

feel,

My fires and fears are met; I burn and
My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up
With all the fibres, and the inass of blood
Within me, is a standing lake of fire,
Curl'd with the cold wind of my gelid sighs,
That drive a drift of sleet through all my
body,

And shoot a February through my veins.
Until I see him, I am drunk with thirst,
And surfeited with hunger of his presence.
2 I know not wher I am, or no, or speak,
Or whether thou dost hear me.

Pru. Spare expressions.

I'll once more venture for your ladyship, So you will use your fortunes reverendly. Lud. Religiously, dear Pru; Love and his mother, [altars, I'll build them several churches, shrines, and

2

Epig. 96.

Lat. Room for green rushes, raise the
fidlers, chamberlain,

Call up the house in arms.
Host. This will rouze Lovel.
Fly. And bring him on too.
Lat. Sheelee-nien

Runs like a heifer, bitten with the brieze,
About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing.
Fly. For what, my lord?

Lat. Yo' were best hear that from her,
It is no office, Fly, fits my relation.
Here come the happy couple! Joy, lord
Beaufort.

Fly. And my young lady too.
Host. Much joy, my lord!

SCENE IV.

Beaufort, Frank, Servant. [To them.] Beau. I thank you all; I thank thee, father Fly.

Madam, my cousin, you look discompos'd, I have been bold with a sallad after supper, O' your own lettice here.

Lad. You have, my lord.

But laws of hospitality, and fair rites,
Would have made me acquainted.

Beau. I' your own house,

I do acknowledge: else I much had trespass'd.

But in an inn, and public, where there is

licence

I do not see, how any storm or tempest Can help it now.

Pru. The thing being done and past, Yet bear it wisely, and like a lady of judgment.

Bea. She is that, secretary Pru.
Pru. Why secretary,

My wise lord? is your brain lately married! Bea. Your reign is ended, Pru, no sovereign now:

Your date is out, and dignity expir'd.

Pru. I am annull'd, how can I treat with Lovel,

Without a new commission?

Lad. Thy gown's commission.

Host. Have patience, Pru, expect, bid the lord joy.

Pru. And this brave lady too. I wish them joy.

Pei. Joy. Jor. Joy. Jug. All joy.

Host. I, the house full of joy.

Fly. Play the bells; fidlers, crack your strings with joy.

Pru. But lady Lætice, you shew'd a neglect

Un-to-be-pardon'd, to'ards my lady, your kinswoman,

Not to advise with her. Bea. Good politic Pru, Urge not your state advice, your after-wit3; 'Tis near upbraiding. Get our bed ready, chamberlain, [ceits,

And, host, a bride-cup; you have rare conAnd good ingredients; ever an old host, Upo' the road, has his provocative drinks.

Lat. He is either a good bawd, or a phy

sician.

Gi' him his doublet again, the air is piercing; You may take cold, my lord. See whom you ha' married,

Your host's son, and a boy.
Fly. You are abus'd.
Lad. Much joy, my lord.
Pru. If this be your Lætitia,

She'll prove a counterfeit mirth, and a clip'd
lady.
[boy!
Ser. A boy, a boy, my lord has married a
Lat. Raise all the house in shout and
laughter, a boy!

Host. Stay, what is here! peace, rascals, stop your throats.

boy's rags

Here to my door, to beg an alms of me? Nur. I did, good master, and I crave your pardon;

But 'tis my daughter, and a girl.
Host. Why said st thou

It was a boy, and sold'st him then to me
With such entreaty, for ten shillings, carlin?
Nur. Because you were a charitable man
I heard, good master, and would breed him
well,

I would ha' giv'n him you for nothing gladly. Forgive the lie o' my mouth, it was to save The fruit of my womb. A parent's needs [natures.

are urgent,

And few do know that tyrant o'er good But you reliev'd her, and me too, the [nurse,

mother,

And took me into your house to be the For which heaven heap all blessings on your head,

Whilst there can one be added!

Host. Sure thou speak'st

Quite like another creature than th' hast liv'd Here, i' the house, a Sheelee-nien Thomas, An Irish beggar.

Nur. So Tam, God help me.

Host. What art thou tell the match is a good match,

For aught I see ring the bells once again.
Bea. Stint, I say, fidlers.
Lad. No going off, my lord.

Bea. Nor coming on, sweet lady, things thus standing!

Fly. But what's the heinousness of my offence?

Or the degrees of wrong you suffer'd by it? In having your daughter match'd thus happily,

Into a noble house, a brave young blood,
And a prime peer o' the realm ?

Bea. Was that your plot, Fly?
Gr' me a cloke, take her again among you.
I'll none o' your Light-Heart fosterlings, no
inmates,

Supposititious fruits of an host's brain,
And his Fly's hatching, to be put upon me.
There is a royal court o' the Star-chamber,
Will scatter all these mists, disperse these
vapours,

And clear the truth. Let beggars match with beggars,

That shall decide it. I will try it there. Nur. Nay, then, my lord, it's not enough

I see

You are licentious, but you will be wicked. Yo' are not alone content to take my daughter,

Against the law; but having taken her,
You would repudiate, and cast her off,
Now at your pleasure, like a beast of power,
Without all cause, or colour of a cause,
That, or a noble, or an honest man,
Should dare t except against; her poverty,
Is poverty a vice?

Bea. Th' age counts it so.

Nur. God help your lordship, and your peers that think so,

If any be: if not, God bless them all,
And help the number o' the virtuous,
If poverty be a crime. You may object
Our beggary to us, as an accident,
But never deeper, no inherent baseness.
And I must tell you now, young lord of dirt,
As an incensed mother, she hath more
And better blood running i' those small
veins,

Than all the race of Beauforts have in mass,
Though they distil their drops from the
left rib
Of John o' Gaunt.

Host. Old mother o' records,

Thou know'st her pedigree then: whose daughter is she?

Which hath almost, now, seven years been shut,

Dark as my vow was, never to see light, Till such a light restor'd it, as my children, Or your dear father, who, I hear, is not.

Bea. Give me my wife, I own her now, and will have her.

Host. But you must ask my leave first, my young lord. [master, Leave is but light. Ferret, go bolt your Here's gear will startle him. I cannot keep The passion in me, I am e'en turn'a child,' And I must weep. Fly, take away mine host, [my lord; My beard and cap here, from me, and fetch I am her father, sir, and you shall now Ask my consent, before you have her. Wife! [wife! My dear and loving wife! my honour'd Who here hath gain'd but I? I am lord Frampul,

The cause of all this trouble: I am he Have measur'd all the shires of England

But here stands Pru, neglected, best deserOf all that are i' the house, or i' my heart; Whom though I cannot help to a fit hus[tion: I'll help to that will bring one, a just porI have two thousand pound in bank for Pru, Call for it when she will.

band,

Pru. My lord,

Your praises are instructions to mine ears, Whence you have made your wife to live your servant.

Host. Lights: get us several lights.
Lov. Stay, let thy mistress

But hear my vision sung, my dream of

beauty, [joy, Which I have brought, prepar'd, to bid us And light us all to bed, 'twill be instead Of airing of the sheets with a sweet odour.

Host. Twill be an incense to our sacrifice Of love to-night, where I will woo afresh, And like Mæcenas, having but one wife, I'll marry her every hour of life hereafter. They go out with a song.