A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 17

[49] [Old copy, _a_.]

[50] The old word for engineer: so in Heywood's "Edward IV., Part II.," 1600, sig. M 3--

"But it was not you At whom the fatal _enginer_ did aim."

Ben Jonson uses it in his "Cataline," act iii. sc. 4--

"The _enginers_ I told you of are working."

[51] A well-known instrument of torture.

[52] Dekker, in his "Bellman of London," sig. H 2, explains _foist_ to be a pickpocket; and instances of the use of it in this sense, and as a rogue and cheater, may be found in many of our old writers.

[53] It will be recollected that Brainworm, in "Every Man in his Humour," is represented upon a wooden leg, begging in Moorfields, like an old soldier. [See further in Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," iv.

38-40.]

[54] This pa.s.sage, among others, is quoted by Steevens in a note to "Twelfth Night," to show that _cut_, which also means a _horse_, was employed as a term of abuse. In "Henry IV., Part I.," Falstaff, for the same purpose, uses _horse_ as synonymous with _cut:_ "Spit in my face, and call me _horse_."

[55] [_i.e._, Furtively.]

[56] [An allusion to the romance ent.i.tled "The Mirror of Knighthood."]

[57] She has just referred to the well-known work "The Mirror of Knighthood," and by _Bevis_ she means Bevis of Hampton. _Arundel_ was the name of his horse, and _Morglay_ of his sword. Morglay is often used for a sword in general.

[58] In the old copy it is printed _pinkanies_, and from what follows it seems that the expression has reference to the redness of Sir Abraham's eyes from soreness. The following pa.s.sage is to the same effect: "'Twould make a horse break his bridle to hear how the youth of the village will commend me: 'O the pretty little _pinking nyes_ of Mopsa!' says one: 'O the fine fat lips of Mopsa!' says another."--Day's "Isle of Gulls," 1606, sig. D 4.

Shakespeare ("Antony and Cleopatra," act ii. sc. 7), speaks of "plumpy Bacchus with _pink eyne;_" and Lodge, in "The Wounds of Civil War,"

has _pinky neyne_, [vii. 167.] In both these instances drinking is supposed to have occasioned the redness.

ACT V., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.

BEL. t.i.tles and state, d'ye call it? O content!

Thou art both beauty, means, and all in marriage.

Joy dwells not in the princes' palaces: They that envy 'em do not know their cares.

Were I the queen of gold, it could not buy An hour's ease for my oppressed heart.

O, were this wedlock knot to tie again, Not all the state and glory it contains, Join'd with my father's fury, should enforce My rash consent! but, Scudmore, thou shalt see This false heart (in my death) most true to thee.

[_Shows a knife hanging by her side._ My lord, my father, all the company, Did note my sudden sadness now at supper; Yet came I out, and put on feigned mirth, And mean to sit out this night's revels, too, To avoid all suspect may grow in 'em, Lest my behaviour should my intent reveal: Our griefs, like love, we hardly can conceal[60].

Yon come my sisters. Are the masquers ready?

_Enter_ LUCIDA, _with her willow garland on, and_ KATHERINE.

LUC. They are gone to dress themselves. Master Nevill's come.

I would I had not vow'd to live a maid!

I am a little taken with that gentleman, And yet if marriage be so full of ill, Let me be married to my garland still.

KATH. In troth, thy state is happier much than ours.

Were never two like us unfortunate!

LUC. Thy case indeed I needs must pity much, Because I think thy virtue slandered; But for my lady sister, if she reap Sad discontent, 'tis none's but her own fault: I knew the pa.s.sages 'twixt her and Scudmore.

BEL. Sister, I wonder you will name a man, I think not on: he was no match for me.

Why d'ye blame me, that should rather blame Your wandering eye, to love a man lov'd me?

LUC. Well, 'tis too late now to expostulate.

But, my poor little Kate, where is thy man?

KATH. Lost, lost, in troth: to-morrow I shall hear, I make account, he's gone some five-years' voyage, Till this disgrace of ours be overblown; And for my Captain Pouts, by this time he Is ten mile on the river toward Gravesend.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN WORLDLY _with_ SERVANTS, _with torches and cudgels_.

SIR J. WOR. Stand you two there. Sirrah, go you with me.

Why, how now, girls! here still? what, and your ladys.h.i.+p?

Away! away, I say: go take your places.

Some torches for my lady! You sirrah, [_Exeunt_ BELLAFRONT, LUCIDA, KATE.

Is my Lady Ninny awake yet?[61]

SER. Yes, sir, she is awake, but she is scant sober: the first thing she called for was her aqua-vitae bottle.

SIR J. WOR. Who is with her?

SER. The good Sir Innocent and her gentlewoman.

SIR J. WOR. Go, tell 'em I desire their company, The masque stays on 'em, say; and d'ye hear, The sides of one o' th' chairs must be let out For her great ladys.h.i.+p.

SER. Marry, shall it, sir. [_Exit_ SERVANT.

_Enter_ NEVILL, COUNT, PENDANT, _and_ SIR ABRAHAM, _in their masquing robes;_ SIR ABRAHAM _gnawing on a capon's leg_.

NEV. Soul! man, leave eating now: look, look! you have all dropped o'

your suit.

ABRA. O sir, I was in love to-day, and could not eat; but here's one knows the case is altered. Lend me but a handkerchief to wipe my mouth, and I ha' done.

NEV. Soul! how this rascal stays with the rest of our things.

SIR J. WOR. How now, son Count? what, ready, Master Nevill?

NEV. All ready, ready; only we tarry for our vizards and our caps: I put 'em to a knave to do,[62] because I would have 'em the better done.

ABRA. If you put 'em to a knave, you are like to have 'em the worse done.