A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 114

SIS. Undone, undone!

BUT. Why, mistress, how is't? how is't?

SIS. My husband has forsook me.

BUT. O perjury!

SIS. Has ta'en my jewels and my bracelets from me.

THOM. Vengeance, I played the thief for the money that bought 'em.

SIS. Left me distressed, and thrust me forth o' doors.

THOM. d.a.m.nation on him! I will hear no more.

But for his wrong revenge me on my brother, Degenerate, and was the curse of all, He spent our portion, and I'll see his fall.

JOHN. O, but, brother--

THOM. Persuade me not.

All hopes are s.h.i.+pwreck'd, misery comes on, The comfort we did look from him is frustrate, All means, all maintenance, but grief is gone; And all shall end by his destruction. [_Exit_.

JOHN. I'll follow, and prevent what in this heat may happen: His want makes sharp his sword; too great's the ill, If that one brother should another kill. [_Exit_.

BUT. And what will you do, mistress?

SIS. I'll sit me down, sigh loud instead of words, And wound myself with grief as they with swords.

And for the sustenance that I should eat, I'll feed on grief, 'tis woe's best-relish'd meat.

BUT. Good heart, I pity you, You shall not be so cruel to yourself, I have the poor serving-man's allowance: Twelve pence a day, to buy me sustenance; One meal a day I'll eat, the t'other fast, To give your wants relief. And, mistress, Be this some comfort to your miseries, I'll have thin cheeks, ere you shall have wet eyes.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SCARBOROW.

SCAR. What is a prodigal? Faith, like a brush, That wears himself to furbish[418] others' clothes, And, having worn his heart even to the stump, He's thrown away like a deformed lump.

O, such am I: I have spent all the wealth My ancestors did purchase, made others brave In shape and riches, and myself a knave.

For though my wealth rais'd some to paint their door, 'Tis shut against me saying I am but poor: Nay, even the greatest arm, whose hand hath grac'd My presence to the eye of majesty, shrinks back, His fingers clutch, and like to lead, They are heavy to raise up my state, being dead.

By which I find spendthrifts (and such am I) Like strumpets flourish, but are foul within, And they (like snakes) know when to cast their skin.

_Enter_ THOMAS SCARBOROW.

THOM. Turn, draw, and die; I come to kill thee.

SCAR. What's he that speaks like sickness? O, is't you?

Sleep still, you cannot move me: fare you well.

THOM. Think not my fury slakes so, or my blood Can cool itself to temper by refusal: Turn, or thou diest.

SCAR. Away.

THOM. I do not wish to kill thee like a slave, That taps men in their cups, and broach[es] their hearts, Ere with a warning-piece they have wak'd their ears; I would not like to powder shoot thee down To a flat grave, ere thou hast thought to frown: I am no coward, but in manly terms And fairest oppositions vow to kill thee.

SCAR. From whence proceeds this heat?

THOM. From sparkles bred By thee, that like a villain--

SCAR. Ha!

THOM. I'll hollow it In thine ears, till thy soul quake to hear it, That like a villain hast undone thy brothers.

SCAR. Would thou wert not so near me! yet, farewell.

THOM. By Nature and her laws make[419] us akin-- As near as are these hands, or sin to sin-- Draw and defend thyself, or I'll forget Thou art a man.

SCAR. Would thou wert not my brother!

THOM. I disclaim thee[420].

SCAR. Are we not offspring of one parent, wretch?

THOM. I do forget it; pardon me the dead, I should deny the pains you bid for me.

My blood grows hot for vengeance, thou hast spent My life's revenues, that our parents purchas'd.

SCAR. O, do not rack me with remembrance on't.

THOM. Thou hast made my life a beggar in this world, And I will make thee bankrupt of thy breath: Thou hast been so bad, the best that I can give[421].

Thou art a devil: not with men to live.

SCAR. Then take a devil's payment

_Here they make a pa.s.s one upon another, when at Scarborow's back come in_ ILFORD, WENTLOE, _and_ BARTLEY.

ILF. He's here; draw, gentlemen.

WEN., BART. Die, Scarborow.

SCAR. Girt round with death!

THOM. How, set upon by three! 'Sfoot, fear not, brother; you cowards, three to one! slaves, worse than fencers that wear long weapons. You shall be fought withal, you shall be fought withal.

[_Here the brothers join, drive the rest out, and return_.

SCAR. Brother, I thank you, for you now have been A patron of my life. Forget the sin, I pray you, which my loose and wasteful hours Hath made against your fortunes; I repent 'em, And wish I could new-joint and strength your hopes, Though with indifferent ruin of mine own.

I have a many sins, the thought of which Like finest[422] needles p.r.i.c.k me to the soul, But find your wrongs to have the sharpest point.

If penitence your losses might repair, You should be rich in wealth, and I in care.

THOM. I do believe you, sir: but I must tell you, Evils the which are 'gainst another done, Repentance makes no satisfaction To him that feels the smart. Our father, sir, Left in your trust my portion: you have spent it, And suffered me (whilst you in riot's house-- A drunken tavern--spill'd my maintenance, Perhaps upon the ground with o'erflown cups;) Like birds in hardest winter half-starv'd, to fly And pick up any food, lest I should die.

SCAR. I pr'ythee, let us be at peace together.