A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 112

CAPT. What to do? why I'll be hanged, if all this company do not guess.

JOLLY. Prythee, what should we stay for?

CAPT. For the widow and her niece. Are they worth the watching for a' night?

WILD. Yes, certainly.

CAPT. Then take my counsel, and let me give it out y' are married. You have new clothes come home this morning, and there's that you spoke of I'll fetch from the tailor's; and here's a parson shall rather give them his living than stay for a licence; the fiddlers, too, are ready to salute 'em.

CARE. But if they refuse?

JOLLY. Which, upon my conscience, they will.

CAPT. As you hope, else you are laughed at for missing the widow.

Ned, follow my counsel; appear at her chamber-window in thy s.h.i.+rt, and salute all that pa.s.ses by. Let me alone to give it out, and invite company, and provide dinner; then, when the business is known, and I have presented all your friends at court with ribands, she must consent, or her honour is lost, if you have but the grace to swear it, and keep your own counsel.

CARE. By this hand, he has reason, and I'll undertake the widow.

WILD. It will incense them, and precipitate the business, which is in a fair way now; and if they have wit, they must hate us for such a treachery.

CAPT. If they have wit, they will love you: beside, if it come to that, we two will swear we saw you married, and the parson shall be sworn he did it. Priest, will you not swear?

PAR. Yes, anything; what is't, Captain?

WILD. If this jest could do it, yet 'tis base to gain a wife so poorly. She came hither, too, for sanctuary; it would be an uncivil and an unhospitable thing, and look as if I had not merit enough to get a wife without stealing her from herself: then, 'tis in mine own house.

CAPT. The better; nay, now I think on't, why came she hither? How do you know the plague is there? all was well at dinner; I'll be hanged if it be not a plot: the lovers, too, whom you abused at dinner, are joined with them: a trick, a mere trick of wit to abuse us! and to-morrow, when the birds are flown, they'll laugh at you, and say, two country-ladies put themselves naked into the hands of three travelled city wits, and they durst not lay hold on them.

CARE. A pox upon these niceties!

WAN. If they have not some design upon you, hang me: why did they talk so freely before me else?

CARE. Let's but try; we are not now to begin to make the world talk; nor is it a new thing to them to hear we are mad fellows.

CAPT. If you get them, are they worth having?

WILD. Having? yes.

CAPT. If you miss them, the jest is good. Prythee, Ned, let me prevail; 'tis but a mad trick.

WILD. If we would, how shall we get into the chamber?

WAN. Let me alone for that; I'll put on my country simplicity, and carry in a chamber-pot; then, under pretence of bolting the back-door, I'll open it--and yet I grudge them the sport so honestly; for you wenchers make the best husbands: after you are once married, one never sees you.

CAPT. I warrant thee, wench.

WAN. No, faith, I have observed it, they are still the doating'st husbands, and then retreat and become justices of the peace, and none so violent upon the bench as they against us poor sinners.

Yet I'll do it; for upon my conscience, the young gentlewoman will fall upon her back, and thank me.

[_Exit_ WANTON.

CAPT. Away, go then, and leave your fooling; and in the morning, Ned, get in, and plead naked with your hands in the bed.

PAR. And if they cry, put your lips in their mouths, and stop them.

CAPT. Why, look you, you have the authority of the church too.

WILD. Well, I am now resolved: go you about your part, and make the report strong.

CARE. And d'ye hear? be sure you set the cook at work, that if we miss, we may have a good dinner and good wine to drink down our grief.

CAPT. Miss! I warrant thee, 'twill thrive.

[_Exit_ CAPTAIN.

CARE. Nay, if I knock not down the widow, geld me, and come out to-morrow complete uncle, and salute the company with, You are welcome, gentlemen, and Good-morrow, nephew Ned.

WILD. Uncle Tom, good morrow, uncle Tom.

_Enter_ WANTON.

WAN. All's done; the door is open, and they're as still as children's thoughts: 'tis time you made you ready, which is to put off your breeches, for 'tis almost day. And take my counsel, be sure to offer force enough, the less reason will serve: especially you, Master Wild, do not put a maid to the pain of saying, Ay.

WILD. I warrant thee, wench; let me alone.

CARE. We'll in and undress us, and come again, for we must go in at the back-door.

WILD. I'll meet you. Is the Captain gone?

[_Exeunt_ WILD _and_ CARELESS.

WAN. Yes, yes, he's gone.

JOLLY. Come, Master Parson, let us see the cook in readiness.

Where are the fiddlers? What will become of our plot? for the coachman, Master Sad, and his friend, will stink of their jest if this thrive.

PAR. They have slept all night, on purpose to play all day.

JOLLY. When the ribands and points come from the Exchange, pray see the fiddlers have some; the rogues will play so out of tune all day else, they will spoil the dancing, if the plot do take.

_Enter_ WILD _and_ CARELESS _in their s.h.i.+rts, with drawers under, nightgowns on, and in slippers_.

WAN. Let's see them in the chamber first, and then I shall go with some heart about the business. So, so, creep close and quietly: you know the way; the widow lies in the high bed, and the pallet is next the door.

[_They kneel at the door to go in; she shakes her coats over them._

WILD. Must we creep?

WAN. Yes, yes, down upon your knees always, till you get a woman, and then stand up for the cause: stay, let me shake my smock over you for luck's sake.