 Dramatis personae of amends for ladies by Nathan Field. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Count, Father of Lord Feesimple. Read by Laurie Wilson. Lord Feesimple. Read by Thomas Peter. Lord Proudly. Read by Son of the Exiles. Sir John Loveall, called Husband. Read by Major Toast. Subtle, his friend. Read by Alan Mapstone. Injin, in love with Lady Honor. Read by Laurie Wilson. Frank, his younger brother. Read by Chuck Williamson. Bold, in love with Lady Bright. Read by Rob Marland. Well-tried, his friend. Read by Todd. Seldom, a citizen. Read by Neema. Roarers. Horbang. Read by Caroline. Bots. Read by phone. Teardchaps. Read by April, 6090. And Spillblood. Read by Sandra Schmidt. Sargents. Read by Lourda. Page. Read by Stuffy. Drawer. Read by Scarlet G. Priest. Read by Beth Thomas. Lady Honor, called Maid. Read by Lianya. Lady Perfect, called Wife. Read by T.J. Burns. Lady Bright, called Widow. Read by Sonia. Grace Seldom. Read by Eva Davis. Maul Cutpurs. Read by April, 6090. Stage Directions. Read by Kay Hand. End of Dramatis, Personae. Act 1 of Amends for Ladies by Nathan Field. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Amends for Ladies. Act 1. Scene 1. Enter the Lady Honor, the Lady Perfect, the Lady Bright. A Wife? The happiest date? It cannot be. Yes. Such a Wife as I, that have a man, as if myself had made him. Such a One, as I may justly say, I am the Rib, belonging to his breast. Widow and Maid. Your lives, compared to mine, are miserable. Though wealth and beauty meet in each of you, poor Virgin, all thy sport is thought of love, and meditation of a man, the time and circumstance, ere thou canst fix thy thoughts, and one thy fancy will approve. That trouble already may be passed. Why, if it be, the doubt he will not hold his brittle faith, that he is not a compatible choice, and so your noble friends will cross the match, doth make your happiness uncertain still, or say you married him, what he would prove. Can you compare your state, then, to a Wife? Nay, all the freedom that a Virgin hath is much to be preferred. Who would endure the humours of so insolent a thing as is a husband? Which, of all the heard, runs not possessed with some notorious vice, drinking or whoring, fighting, jealousy, even of a page at twelve, or of a groom that rubs horse-heels? Is it not daily seen, men take wise but to dress their meat, to wash and starch their linen? For the other matter, or of lying with them, that's but when they please. And what so how the joy be of the bed? The pangs that follow procreation are hideous, or you wives have gulled your husbands, with your loud shriekings, and your deathful throes, a wife or widow to a Virgin's life. Why should the best of you think you enjoy the roost and rule that a free widow doth? I am mine own commander, and the bliss of woors and of each variety frequents me as I were a maid. No, brother, have I to dice my patrimony away, as you, my maiden madam, may. No husband's death stand I in doubt on. For thanks be to heaven, if mine were good, the grievous loss of him is not to come. If he were bad, he's gone, and I no more embrace my injury. But be yours ill, you nightly clasp your hate, or good, why, he may die or change his virtue. And thou, though single, hast the bad fellow as bad as the worst husband, thought of one, and what that is men with their wives do do, and long expectance till the deed be done. A wife is like a garment used and torn, a maid, like one made up, but never worn. A widow is a garment worn threadbare, selling at second hand, like brokers wear. But let us speak of things the present time makes happy to us, and see what is best. I have a servant, then, the crown of men, the fountain of humanity, the prize of every virtue, moral and divine, young, valiant, learned, well-born, rich and shaped, as of wise nature, when she fashioned him, her meant to give him nothing but his form. Yet all additions are conferred on him, that may delight a woman. The same youth to me have sacrificed his heart, yet I have checked his suit, laughed at his worthy service, made him the exercise of my cruelty. Whilst constant as the sun, for all these clouds, his love goes on. Enter Injun. Peace. Here is the man, your name. Widow will stand aside. Good moral to the glory of our age, the Lady Perfect and the Lady Bright. Meeting the wife and widow. The virtuous wife and widow, but to you, the Lady Honour, and my mistress, the happiness of your wishes. By this light, I never heard one speak so scarcely, utter such stale wet, and pronounce so ill. But to you, my Lady Honour and my mistress, the happiness of your wishes. Stop your wit. You and feign show these ladies, what a hand you hold over your servant shall not need. I will express your tyranny well enough. I have loved this lady since I was a child, since I could construe a ma. Now she says I do not love her, because I do not weep. Lay mine arms o'er my heart, and wear no garters. Walk with mine eyes in my hat, sigh and make faces, for all the poets in the town do laugh at. Pox others howling love, dislike a dog, shut out at midnight. Must love knees be powdered, lie, steeped in brine, or will it not keep sweet? Is it like beef in summer? Did you ever hear one talk fostin, like a butcher thus? Disfoolish this same telling folks we love. It needs no words. It will show itself in deeds. And did I take you for an entertainer, a lady that will ring one by the finger, whilst on another's toes she treads and cries, By God, I love but one, and you are he. Either them, thinking himself the man, I'd tell you in your ear, put for the business, which granted or denied. Madam, God be waying. Come, these are daily slanders that you raise on our infirm and unresisting sex. You never met, I'm sure, with such a lady. Oh, many by this light I've seen a chamber frequented like an office of the law. Clients succeed at midnight one another, whilst the poor madam hath been so distressed, which of her lovers to show most countenance to, that her dull husband has perceived her wiles. Nay, perhaps to order. Many of those husbands are base enough to live upon it. I have seen another of them cheat by this light at cards, and set her woman to talk to the gentleman that played, that so distracted they might oversee. O fire upon ye, I dare swear you lie. Do not fear, mistress, you will be foresworn. You men are all foul-mouthed. I warrant you talk thus of me and other ladies here, because we keep the city. Ho-ho, profane, that thought would damn me. Will you marry yet? No, I will never marry. Shall we then, couple unlawfully? For indeed this marrying is but proclaiming what we mean to do, which may be done privately in civil sort, and none the wiser, and by this white hand the rack, strappado, or the boily boot should never force me tell to wrong your honour. May I believe this? Let it be your creed. But if you should prove false, nay, now unhang your sword, except you mean to hang yourself. Why, where have you been drinking? S'foot, you talk like one of these same rambling boys that reign in Turnbull Street. How do you know? Indeed. My knowledge is but speculative, not practic, though. I have it by relation from such observers as yourself, dear servant. I must profess. I did think well of thee. But get thee from my sight. I never more will hear or see thee, but will hate thee, deadly, as a man-enemy, or a woman turned. Ladies, come forth. Enter widow, wife. Caesar! What courtesy you have done to me! A strange praise of you had newly left my lips, just as you entered. And how you have deserved it with your carriage! Villain! Thou hast hurt my honour to these friends. For what can they imagine but some ill hath passed betwixt us by thy broad discourse? Where my case theirs, by virgin chastity, I should condemn them. Hence, depart my sight. Madam, but hear me. O that these were men, and durst but say or think you ill for this. I have so good a cause upon my side that I would cut their hearts out of their breasts, and the thoughts out of them that injured you. But I obey your haste, and for my penance will run, of course, never to see you more. And now I lose you. May I lose the light, since in that beauty dwelt my day or night. Exit, Injun. Is this the virtuous youth? Your happiness? Wherein you thought you'd see'd so far above ours? If one man could be good, this had been he. See, here come all your suitors and your husband, and room the laughter. Here's the Lord Fee-simple. What gentlewoman does he bring along? Enter, husband, embracing subtle. The Lord Fee-simple, with young bold, like a waiting gentlewoman, and well-tried. Well-tried, husband, and subtle, talk with wife. One and thirty gold morrows to the fairest, wisest, richest widow that ever conversation coped with all. Three score and two unto the wisest Lord, that ever was strained in university. O courteous, bounteous widow! She has outbid me thirty-one good morrows at a clap. But my Lord Fee-simple, you forget the business imposed on you. Gentlewoman, I cry thee mercy, but tis a fault in all lords, not in me only. We do use to swear by our honours, and as we are noble, to dispatch such a business with such a gentleman. And we are bound, even by the same honours we swear by, to forget it in a quarter of an hour, and look as if we had never seen the par-day when we meet next, especially if none of our gentlemen have been considered. I but all yours have, for you keep none, my Lord. Besides, though it stands with your honour to forget men's businesses, yet it stands not with your honour if you do not do a woman's. Why then, madam, so it is that I request your ladyship to accept into your service this gentle woman, for truth and honesty I will be bound. I have known her too long to be deceived. Aside. This is the second time I have seen her. Why, how now, my Lord, a pro-ferro of gentle women to service, like an old knitting woman? Where hath she dwelt before? She dwelt with young bold sister, he that is my co-rival in your love. She requested me to advance her to you, for you are a dubbed lady, so is not she yet. But now you talk of young bold. When did you see him, lady? Not this month, Master Weltride. I did conjure him to forebear my sight. Indeed, swore if he came I'd be denied. But this strange you should ask of him. He, too, will won't never to be asunder. Faith, madam, we never were together, but we differed on some argument or other. And doubting, lest our discord might at length breed to some quarrel, I forebear him too. He, quarrel, bold, hang him. If he dost have quarrelled, the world knows he's within a mile of an oak has put him to it, and soundly. I never cared for him in my life, but to see his sister. He's an ass, pox, an aren't ass, for do you think any but an aren't ass would offer to come a-wooing when a lord attempts? He, quarrel, he dares not quarrel. But he dares fight, my lord, upon my knowledge, and rail no more, my lord, behind his back, for if you do, my lord, blood, must ensue. Draws. My honor dies. I am dead. Swoons. Oh, it's light. What's the matter? Bring him by the nose. A pair of riding spurs now were worth gold. Pins or ours good. Prick him, prick him! He's come again. Lift him up. How fair is your lordship? Oh, friends, you have wronged my spirit to call it back. I was even in Elysium at rest. But why, sir, did you swoon? Well, though I die, Mr. Weltride, before all these I do forgive you, because you are ignorant of my infirmity. Oh, sir, it's not up yet. I die again. Put up now whilst I wink, or I do wink forever. Dizz up, my lord. Open your eyes. But I pray, tell me, is this antipathy twixed bright steel and you natural, or how grew it? I'll tell you, sir. Anything bright and edged works thus strongly with me. Your hilt's now. I can handle his boldly. Look you else. Nay, never blame my lord, Mr. Weltride, for I know a great many will swoon at the sight of a shoulder, a mutton, or a quarter, a lamb. My lord may be excused, then, for a naked sword. This lord and this knight in dog-collars would make a fine brace of beagles. But, on my faith, it was mightily overseen of your father, not to bring you up to foils, or if he had bound you prentice to a cut's law and iron monger. Ha! Pox, hang him, old gouty fool. He never brought me up to any lordly exercise, as fencing, dancing, tumbling, and such like. But, forsooth, I must write and read, and speak languages, and such base qualities fit for none but gentlemen. Now, sir, would I tell him? Father, you are a count. I am a lord. A Pox are writing and reading and languages. Let me brought up as I was born. But how, my lord, can you first not to endure the sight of steel? Why, I'll tell you, sir. When I was a child, an infant, an innocent. Maid, aside. It was even now. I, being in the kitchen, in my lord my father's house, the cook was making minced pies. So, sir, I, standing by the dresser, there lay a heap of plums. Here was he mincing. What did me? I, sir, being a notable little witty cox-com, but popped my hand just under his chopping-knife, to snatch some raisins. And so was Cuttle the hand, and never since could I endure the sight of any edge-tool. Indeed, they are not fit for you, my lord. And now you are all so well satisfied in this matter. Pray, ladies, how like you this, my gentle woman? In troth, madam, exceedingly well, I. If you be provided, pray, let me have her. It should be my request, but then I am full. What can you do? What's her name, my lord? Her name? I know not. What's her name, Master Weldride? Her name? Slid, tell my lady your name. Mistress Mary Pryncox, forsooth. Mistress Mary Pryncox? She has wit, I perceive that already. Me thinks she speaks as if she were my lord's brood. Brood, madam, till's well known I am a gentle woman. My father was a man of five hundred per annum, and he held something in capite, too. So does my lord, something. Nay, by my troth, what I hold in capite is with little or nothing. I have apt breeding. However, my misfortune now makes me submit myself to service. But there is no ebb so low, but hath his tide again. When our days are at worst, they will mend in spite of the frowning destinies, for we cannot be lower than earth, and the same blind dame that hath cast her blare eyes hitherto upon my occasions, may turn her wheel, and at last wind them up with her white hand to some pinnacle that prosperously may flourish in the sunshine of promotion. Oh, mouthful of agility! I would give twenty marks now to any person that could teach me to convey my tongue, sans dhumbling, with such dexterity to such a period. For her truth and her honesty I am bound before, but now I have heard a talk, for her wit I will be bound body and goods. Otslite, I will not leave her for my hood. I never met with one of these eloquent old gentle women before. What age are you, mistress Mary-Prince Cox? I will not lie, madam. I have numbered fifty-seven summers, and just so many winters have I passed. But they have not passed you. They lie frozen in your face. Madam, if it shall please you to entertain me, sir, if not I desire you not to misconstrue my good will. There's no harm done. The doors as big as it was, and your ladyship's own wishes crown your beauty with content. As for these frumping glance, let them do their worst. It is not in man's power to hurt me. It is well known I came not to be scoffed. A woman may bear and bear till her back burst. I am a poor, gentle woman, and since virtue hath nowadays no other companion but poverty, I set the hare's head unto the goose-giblets, and what I want one way I hope I shall be enabled to supply the other. And please, God, that thou art not past children. Is it even so, my lord? Nay, good Prince Cox, do not cry. I do entertain you. How do you occupy? What can you use? Anything fit to be put into the hands of a gentle woman? What are your qualities? I can sleep on a low stool. If your ladyship be talking in the same room with any gentleman, I can read on a book, sing love songs, look up the louvre light, hear and be deaf, see and be blind, be ever dumb to your secrets, swear and equivocate, and whatsoever I spy, say the best. O rare crone, how art thou endued? But why did Master Bold Sister put you away? I beseech you, madam, to neglect that desire, though I know your ladyship's understanding to be sufficient to partake, or take in the greatest secret can be imparted, yet— Nay, prithee, tell the cause. Come, here's none but friends. Faith, madam, hey-ho! I was, to confess truly, a little foolish in my last service to believe men's oaths, but I hope my example, though prejudicial to myself, will be beneficial to other young gentle women in service. My mistress's brother, the gentleman you named even now, Master Bold, having often attempted my honour but finding it impregnable, vowed love and marriage to me at the last. I, a young thing, and raw, being seduced, set my mind upon him, but friends contradicting the match, I fell into a grievous consumption, and, upon my first recovery, lest the intended sacred ceremonies of nuptials should succeed. His sister, knowing this, thought it fit in her judgment we should be father asunder, and so put me out of her service. God's a mercy for this discovery in faith! Oh, man, what art thou when thy cock is up? Come, will your lordship walk in this dinner time? Enter hastily, seldom, with papers on his arm. Who's this? Who's this? This is our landlord, Master Seldom, an exceedingly wise citizen, a very sufficient understanding man, and exceeding rich. Miracles are not ceased. Good morrow, landlord. Where have you been sweating? Good morrow to your honours. Thrift is industrious. Your ladyship knows we will not stick to sweat for our pleasures. How much more ought we to sweat for our profits? I am come from Master Injun this morning. Who is married? Or to be married? And though your ladyship did not honour his nuptials with your presence, he hath by me sent each of you a pair of gloves, and grace Seldom, my wife, is not forgot. Exit. God give him joy. Excellent. That's all things most impossible change now. O perjured man, oaths are but words, I see. But wherefore should not we, that think we love upon full merit, that same worth once seizing, seces our love too, and find new desert? Alas, we cannot. Love's a pit which, when we fall into, we never get out again. And this same horrid news which mere sorts, I would forget, love blanches blackest faults. O what path shall I tread for remedy, but darkest shades, where love with death doth lie? Exit. Monent. Husband, wife, subtle. Sir, I have often heard my husband speak of your acquaintance. Nay, my virtuous wife. Had it been but acquaintance, this is absence had not appeared so uncouth. But we too were school-fellows together, born and nursed, brought up and lived since, like the Gemini. Had but one suck. The tavern or the ordinary, where I was married, that saw one of us without the other, said we'd walked by halves. Where, dear, dear friend, have you been all this while? O most sweet friend, the world so vicious, that had I, with such familiarity, frequented you, since you were married, possessed and used your fortunes as before, as in like manner you commanded mine, the depraved thoughts of men would have proclaimed some scandalous rumours from this love of ours, as saying mine reflected on your lady. And what a wound had that been to our souls, when only friendship should have been the ground to hurt your honour and your confident peace, spite of mine own approved integrity. Wife, kiss him, bid him welcome, pox of the world. Come, come, you shall not part from me in haste. I do command thee, use this gentleman, and all things like myself, if I should die, I would bequeath him in my will to thee. Sir, you are most welcome, and let scandalous tongues no more deter you. I dare use you, sir, with all the right belonging to a friend. And what I dare, I dare let all men see, my conscience, rather than men's thoughts, be free. Will you look in? We'll follow you. Exit, wife. Now, friend, what think you of this lady? Why, sweet friend, that you are happy in her. She is fair, witty and virtuous, and was rich to you. Can there be an addition to a wife? Yes, constancy, for tis not chastity that lives remote, from all attempt is free, but their tis strong and pure, where all that wood doth resist, and turns them virtuous too. Therefore, dear friend, by this loves masculine kiss, by all our mutual engagements past, by all the hopes of amity to come, be you the settler of my jealous thoughts, and make me kill my fond suspect of her, by assurance that she is loyal, otherwise that she is false, and then as she is past cure, my soul shall ever after be past care. That you are fittest for this enterprise you must needs understand, since proof she true in this your trial, you, my dearest friend, whom only rather than the world besides I would have satisfied of her virtue, shall see and best conceal my folly. Proof she weak? tis better you should note than any man, who can reform her and do me no wrong. Chemical metals and bright gold itself by sight are not distinguished, but by the test. Thought makes good wives, but trial makes the best. To the unskillful owner's eyes alike, the bristo sparkles as the diamond, but by a lapidary the truth is found. Come, you shall not deny me. Do not wrong so fair a wife friend, and so virtuous, whose good name is a theme unto the world. Make not a wound with searching where there was none. Misfortune still such projects does pursue. He makes a false wife that suspects a true, yet since you so importune, give me leave to ruminate a while, and I will straight follow and give you an answer. You must do it. Exit. Assure yourself, dear Coxcombe, I will do it, or strangely be denied. All's as I wished. This was my aim, although I have seemed strange. I know this fellow now to be an arse, a most unworthy husband, though in view he bears himself thus fair. She knows it too. Therefore the stronger are my hopes to gain her. And, my dear friend, that will have your wife tried, I'll try her first, then trust her, if I can. And, as you said most wisely, I hope to be both touched down to your wife and lapidary. Exit. End of Act 1. Act 2 of Amends for Ladies by Nathan Field. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act 2, Scene 1. Enter seldom and his wife, Grace, working as in their shop. Husband, these gloves are not fit for my wearing. I'll put them in the shop and sell them. You shall give me a plain pair for them. This is wonderful, wonderful. This is thy sweet care and judgment and all things. This goodness is not usual in our wives. Well, Grace seldom, that thou art fair is nothing. That thou art well-spoken is nothing. That thou art witty is nothing. That thou art a citizen's wife is nothing. But, Grace, that thou art fair, that thou art well-spoken, that thou art witty, that thou art a citizen's wife, and that thou art honest. I say and let any man deny at the ken. It is something. It is something, I say. It is seldom something. And for all the sunshine of my joy, mine eyes must reign upon thee. Enter, Maul Cut-Purse, with a letter. By your leave, Master seldom, have you done the hangers I bespake for the night? Yes, Mary, have I, Mistress, Ike and Heak? I'll fetch them to you. Exit. Zounds. Does not your husband know my name? If it had been somebody else, I would have called him Cacoldy Slave. If it had been somebody else, perhaps you might. Well, I may be even with him. All's clear. Pretty rogue, I have longed to know thee this twelve months, and had no other means but this to speak with thee. There's a letter to thee from the party. What party? The night, Sir John Loveall. Hence, lewd impudent, I know not what to term thee. Man or woman, for nature, shaming to acknowledge thee for either, hath produced thee to the world without a sex. Some say thou art a woman, others a man, and many thou art both woman and man, but I think rather neither. Or man and horse, as the old centaurs, were feigned. Why, how now, Mistress, what lacky? Are you so fine with a pox? I have seen a woman look as modestly as you, and speak as sincerely, and follow the friars as zealously, and she has been as sounds a jumbler as air paid for it. Tis true, Mistress Vapenny, I have sworn to leave this letter. Do you hear, you sword and target, to speak in your own key? Marry Amberie, long Meg, thou that in myself, me thinks, alone and looks like a rogue and whore under a hedge. Baud, take your letter with you, and be gone, when next you come, my husband's constable, and bridewell is hard by. You've a good wit, and can conceive. Enter seldom with hangers. Look you, here are the hangers. Let's see them, fee, fee. You have mistook me quite. Exit. Enter Lord Proudly. Here's my Lord Proudly. My horse, lacky. Is my sister honourable? I think her ladyship, my lord, is not well, and keeps her chamber. All's one. I must see her. Have the other ladys dined? I think not, my lord. Then I'll take a pipe of tobacco here in your shop, if it be not offensive. I would be loath to be thought to come just at dinnertime. To his servant. Garçon, fill, sirra. Enter page with a pipe of tobacco. What said the goldsmith all the money? Seldom, having fetched a candle, walks off at the other end of the shop. Lord Proudly sits by his wife. He said, my lord, he would lend no man money, but he does not arrest. How got that wit into Cheapside Trill? He is a cock old. Saw you my lady today? What says she? Takes tobacco. Marry, my lord. She said her old husband has a great payment to make this morning, and had not left her so much as a jewel. A pox of her old cat's chaps. The teeth she had have made a trans-migration into hair. She hath a bigger beard than I by this slight. Lord whispers to Grace. This custom in us citizens is good. Thus walking off, when men talk with our wives, it shows us courteous and mannerly. Some count it baseness. He's a fool that does so. It is the highest point of policy, especially when we have virtuous wives. Five-five, you talk uncivilly, my lord. Uncivilly mew? Can a lord talk uncivilly? I think you, a finical taffeta-pipkin, may be proud I'll sit so near it. Uncivilly mew. Your mother's cat has kittened in your mouth, sir. Pretty but note, young fellow. Does he not walk and look as if he did desire to be a cock old? But you do not look as if you could make him one. Now they have dined to my lord. Enter, lord, fee-simple and well-tried. God save your lordship. How dost thou, cause? Has thou got any more wit yet? No, by my troth, I have but little money with that little wit I have, and the more wit ever the less money. Yet as little as I have of either, I would give something that I durse but quarrel. I would not be abused thus daily as I am. Save you, my lord. Good master well-tried. You can inform me, pray. How ended the quarrel betwixt young bold and the other gentleman? Why, very fairly, my lord, on honourable terms. Young bold was injured, and did challenge him, fought in the field, and the other gave him satisfaction under his hand. I was bold second, and can show it here. Tis strange there was no hurt done. Yet I hold the other gentleman far the better man. So do not I. Besides they say the satisfaction that walks in the ordinary is his counterfeit. He lies that say so, and I'll make it good, and for I know my friend is out of town. What man soever wrongs him is my foe. I say he had full satisfaction. Nay, that which we may call submission, that the other sought peace first. And who denies this? Lord, knight, or gentleman. English, French, or scott. I'll fight, and prove it on him with my sword. No, sweet master well-tried, let's have no fighting, till, as you have promised, you have ridden me from this foolish fear, and taught me to endure, to look upon a naked sword. Well, and I'll be as good as my word. But do you hear, cousin proudly, they say my old father must marry your sister, on her, and that he would disinherit me, and entail all his lordships on her, and the heir he shall beget on her body. Is true or not? There is such a report? Why, then I pray, God, he may die an old cuckoldy slave. O world, what art thou? Where is parents' love? Can he deny me for his natural child? Yet see a fornicator, old and stiff, not where he should be. That's my comfort yet. As for you, my lord, I will send to you as soon as I dare fight, and look upon the steel, which, master well-tried, I pray, let be with all possible speed. What did ye this afternoon? Faith, I have a great mind to see long Meg, and the ship, and the fortune. Nay, in faith, let's up, and have a rest at Primero. Agreed, my lord, and toward the evening I'll carry you to the company. Well, no more words. Exeunt, lord proudly, lord fee-simple, and well-tried. I wonder, sir, you will walk so, and let anybody sit, preting to your wife. Well, I am Anne, I thrust him out of the shop by the head and shoulders. There were no policy in that, wife. So should I lose my custom. Let them talk themselves weary, and give thee love tokens. Still, I lose not by it. Thy chastity's impregnable, I know it. Had I a dame, whose eyes did swallow youth? Whose unchaste gulf together did take in, masters and men, the foot-boys and their lords, making a gallimoffery in her blood? I would not walk thus, then. But, virtuous wife, he that in chaste ears pours his ribald talk, but gets hate to himself, and not consent, and even his dirt, thrown hard against a wall, rebounds and sparkles in the throat of his eyes. So ill words, uttered to a virtuous dame, turn and defile the speaker with red shame. Exeunt. Scene two. Enter husband and wife. Sound. You are whore. Though I entreat him fair before his face in compliment or so, I not esteem him truly as this rush. There's no such thing as friendship in this world, and he that cannot swear, disassemble, lie, wants knowledge how to live, and let him die. Sir, I did think you had esteemed of him, as you made show. Therefore I used him well. And yet, not so, but that the strictest eye, I durst, have made a witness of my carriage. Plague of your carriage. Why, he kissed your hand, looked babies in your eyes, and winked and pinked. You thought I had esteemed him? Sublud you whore. Do not I know that you do know you lie. When did you hear me say and mean one thing? Oh, I could kick you now, and tear your face, and eat thy breast like others. Sir, you may, but if I know what hath deserved all this, I am no woman, because he kissed my hand unwillingly. A little louder, pray. You are a base, fellow, an unworthy man, as a poor gentlewoman matched with all. Why should you make such show of love to any, without the truth? Thy beastly mind is like some decayed tradesman, that doth make his wife entertain those for gain he not endures. Pish! swell and burst. I had rather with thy sword be hewed to pieces than lead such a life. Out with it, valiant sir, I hold you for a drawer upon women, not on men. I will no more conceal your hallow heart, but and report you as you are in truth. This is called marriage. Stop your mouth, you whore. Thy mother was a whore if I be one. You know there's company in the house. Enter, subtle. Sweet friend, what, have you writ your letter? Tis done, dear friend. I have made you stay too long. I fear you'll be benighted. Fine, no, no. Madam and sweetest wife, farewell. God bless us. Make much of master's subtle here, my friend. Kisses her. Till my return, which may be even as tapens, according as my business hath success. Exit. How will you pass the time now, fairest mistress? In truth, I know not. Wives without their husbands. Me thinks are lower in days. Indeed. Some wives are like dead bodies in their husband's absence. If any wife be, I must needs be so, that have a husband far above all men, untainted with the humours others have, a perfect man, and one that loves you truly. You see the charge he left of your good usage. Fish. He's an ass. I know him, a stunk ass, of a most barbarous condition, false-hearted to his friend, rough unto you. A most dissembling and perfidious fellow. I care not if he heard me. This I know, and will make good upon him with my sword, or any for him, for he will not fight. Thigh, servant, you show small civility, and less humanity. Do you equate my husband's love thus ill? For what do you think of me, that you will utter to my face such harsh, unfriendly, slanderous injuries, even of my husband? Sir, forbear I pray. My ears or your own tongue. I am no housewife to hear my husband's merit, thus depraved. His merit is a halter by this light. You think he's out of town now? No such matter. But garner solid, and hath impoduned me, to try your chastity. It cannot be. Alas, he is as free from jealousy, and ever was, as confidence itself. I know he loves me too, too heartily, to be suspicious, or to prove my truth. If I do feign in ought, nare may I purchase the grace I hope for. And, fair mistress, if you have any spirit, or wit, or sense, you will be even with such a wretched slave. Heaven knows I love you as the air I draw. Think but how finally you may cuckold him, and safely too with me, who will report to him that you are most invincible, your chastity not to be subdued by man. When you know I am a whore? A whore? Fine, no. That you have been kind or so, your whore hath live in Picket Hatch, Turnbull Street. Wife, aside. Your whore lives there. Well, servant, leave me to myself a while. Return anon, but bear this hope away. Shall be with you, if I at all do stray. Exit subtle. Why, here's right worldly friendship. You're well met. Oh, man, what are you? Why is our poor sex still made the disgraced subjects in these plays, for vice is folly and inconstancy? When, were man looked into with such critical eyes of observation, many would be found so full of gross and base corruption, that none, unless the devil himself turned writer, could feign so badly to express them truly? Some wives, that had a husband now, like mine, would yield their honors up to any man. Far be it from my thoughts. Oh, let me stand, thou God of marriage and chastity, and honor to my sex. No injury compel the virtue of my breast to yield. It's not revenge for any wife to stain the nuptial bed, although she be yoked ill. Who falls because her husband so hath done? Cure's not his wound, but in herself makes one. Exit wife. Scene three. Enter Injun reading a letter. Sits down in a chair, and stamps with his foot. To him a servant. Who brought this letter? A little Irish foot-boy, sir. He stays without for an answer. Bid him come in, Lord. What deep dissimblers are these females all? How far, unlike a friend this lady used me. And here, how like one mad in love she writes. Enter maid, like an Irish foot-boy, with a dart, gloves in her pocket, and a handkerchief. So bless me, heaven, but thou art the prettiest boy that ere ran by a horse, as thou dwelt long with thy fair mistress. I came but this morning, sir. How fair is thy lady, boy? Like to a turtle that hath lost her mate. Drooping, she sits. Her grief, sir, cannot speak. Had it a voice articulate, we should know how and for what cause she suffers, and perhaps, but is unlikely, give her comfort, sir. Weeping, she sits, and all the sound comes from her. Is like the murmur of a silver brick, which her tears truly would make there about her. Sat she in any hollow constant. Believe me, boy, thou hast a passionate tongue, live expression, or thy memory hath carried thy lesson well away. But wherefore mourns thy lady? Sir, you know, and would to God I did not know myself. Alas, it cannot be for love to me. When last I saw her, she reviled me, boy. With bitterest words I wished me never more to approach her sight. And for my marriage now I do sustain it, as a penance due to the desert that made her banish me. Sir, I dare swear, she did presume no words, nor dangers had been powerful to restrain your coming to her, when she gave the charge. But are you married, truly? Why, my boy, does think I mock myself? I send her gloves. The glove she has returned to you, sir, by me, and praise you give them to some other lady, that you'll deceive next, and be purge her too. Sure, you have rolled her. Sir, she badly tell you. She now thought goodness to wealth in many men. But what there was of goodness in the world? She thought you had it all. But now she sees, the jewel she esteemed as counterfeit, that you are but a common man yourself, a traitor to her and her virtuous love, that all men are betrayers, and their breasts as full of dangerous gulfs as is the sea, where any woman, thinking to find harbour, she and her honour are precipitated, and never to be brought with safety off. Alas, my hapless lady desolate, distressed, forsaken virgin! Sure, this boy is of an excellent nature, who so newly taken to her service feels his mistress' grief. As he and they were all familiar friends, why weep as thou, gentle lad? Who hath won tear, and would not save from all occasions, from brother's slaughters and from mother's deaths, to spend it here for my distressed lady? But, sir, my lady did command me beg to see your wife, that I may bade her the sad report. What creature could make you untie the hand fast pledged onto her? Wife, wife, come forth! Now, gentle boy, be judge! Enter Injun's brother, like a woman, masked. Injun kisses her. If such a face as this being paid with scorn by her I did adore, had not full power to make me marry. By the God of love, she's a fair creature, but faith should be fairer. My lady, gentle mistress, one that thought she had some interest in this gentleman, who now is only yours, commanded me to kiss your white hand, and to sigh and weep, and wish you that content she should have had, in the fruition of her love you hold. She bad me say, God give you joy to both. Yet this with all, if you were married, no one her footsteps evermore should meet, nor see her face but in a winding sheet. Alas, poor lady, faith I pity her, and but to be in the same state could forego anything I possess to ease her woe. Love's blessing light upon thy gentle soul, men rail at women, mistress, butest we are forced in cruel, ten times more unkind. You are smoother far, and of a softer mind. Sir, I have one request more. Gentle lad, it must be one of a strange quality that I deny thee. Both thy form and mind inform me that thy nurture hath been better than to betray thee to this present life. Tis that you would vouchsafe to entertain me. My feet do tremble under me to bear my body back unto my uncouth lady, to assure her grief. What heart so hard would owe a tongue to tell so sad a tale to her? Alas, I dare not look upon her eyes, where wronged love sits like the basilisk, and sure, would kill me for my dire report, or rather, should I not prepare like death. Holding up his dart. When every word I spake shot through her heart, more mortally than his unsparing dart. Let me speak for the boy. To what end, love? No. I will sue to him to follow me. In troth I love thy sweet condition, and may live to inform thy lady of thee. Come in. Dry, dry thine eyes, respite thy woe. The effects of causes crown or overthrow. Scene 4 Enter lord proudly, lord fee-simple, well-tried, seldom, widow, bold, pinning, and a rough, wife. Slight, what should be become of her? You swear she passed not forth of doors, and in the house she is not? Did you not see her, Prince Cox? This same board has brought her letters from some younger brother, and she is stolen away. Board? I defy, or indeed your lordship thinks you may make boards of whom you please. I'll take my oath upon a book. Since I met her in the necessary house in the morning, I ne'er set eye on her. She went not, out of doors. Sure, she has an invisible ring. Mary, she's the honester woman, who some of their rings are visible enough, the more shame for them still stay high. Let the pawn that Islington be searched. Go to. There's more have drowned themselves for love this year than you are aware of. Pish, you are a fool. So hard. Call him a fool again. By this light, and I will, as soon as ever you have shown me the swaggerers. Her clothes are all yonder, my lord. And even those same she had on to-day. Madam, where is your husband? Rid into the country. Oh, my conscience! Rid into France with your sister? Away, away for shame. Why? I hope she is not the first lady that has ran away with other women's husbands. It may be. She's told now to see a play. Who should go with her, man? Upon my life, you'll hear of her at Master Injun's house. Some love passed betwixt them, and we heard that he was married to-day to another. Sartre, I'll go see. Exit, lord proudly. Come to the swaggerers. Messy upon me. A man or a lord now? Exeunt, lord Fesimple, well tried. He is a quarrel with a lord and his sister. Princox has now not pinned in that rough yet. Ah! how thou fumblest! Truth, madam! I was never brought up to it. It is a chambermaid's work, and I have ever lived gentle woman, and been used accordingly. Exeunt. End of act two. Act three of amends for ladies by Nathan Field. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act three, scene one. Enter husband and subtle. She's a rare wife, believe it, sir. We're all such. We never should have false inheritors. Friend, there is no woman in the world can hold out in the end. If youth, shape, wit, met in one subject, do assault her aptly. For failing once you must not faint, but try another way. The paths of woman's minds are crooked and diverse. They have byways to lead you to the palace of their pleasures, and you must woo discreetly. First, observe the disposition of her you attempt. If she be sprightful and heroical, possess her that you are valiant and have spirit, talk nothing but of beating every man. That is your hindrance, though you do not do it, or dare not, tis no matter. Be she free, and of a liberal soul, give bountlessly to all your servants, and let your angels fly about the room, although you borrow them. If she be witty, so must your discourse. Get wit. What shifts, however you make for it, though it cost you all your land, and then a song or two is not a miss. Although you buy them, there's many in the town will furnish you. But still, I tell you, you must use her roughly. Beat her face black and blue. Take all her clothes, and give them to some punk. This will be ground for me to work upon. All this I have done. I have left her now as bare that. Should I die her fortune, or my conscience, would be to marry some tobacco-man. She is nothing but an old black work waistcoat, which would serve exceedingly well to sit at the shop and light pipes for the lousy footmen, and sweet friend first. Here's a jewel to present her. Then here's a sonnet rid against myself, which as thine own thou shall decast her with. Farewell, and happy success, s'attendee. Exit. He reads, Fairest still wilt thou be true, to man so false to thee. Did he lend a husband's Jew, thou didst owe him loyalty. But will curses, wanton blows, breed no change in thy white soul? Be not a fool to thy first vows, since his first breach doth thy faith control. No beauty else could be so chaste. Think not, thou honorist woman, then, since by thy conscience, or disgraced, are robbed of the dear loves of men. Then grant me my desire, that thou to prove a real husband, his adulterate love. Took ever man more pains to be a cuckold. Oh monstrous age, where men themselves we see, study and pay for their own infamy. Seem to. Enter Injun, Maid, Lord Proudly, Brother like a woman, swords drawn. Give me my sister, I'll have her both by heart. No earthly lord can pull her out of that, till he have plucked my heart first out. My lord, we're not inhospitable. I could wrung you here in my own house. I am so full of woe for your lost sister, that by all my joys hoped for in her, my heart weeps tears of blood. A whiter virgin and a worthier had nare creation. Letus Juan was black to her virginity and immaculate thoughts. Where hast thou hid her? Give her me again, for by the God of vengeance be she lost? The female hate shall spring betwixt our names. Shall never die, while one of either house survives? Our children shall, at seven years old, strike knives in one another. Let hell gate, and take me quick if I know where she is. But I am so charged with sorrow for her loss, being the cause of it, as no doubt I am, that I had rather fall upon my sword than breathe a minute longer. Offering to kill himself. Oh sir, hold! Thou shalt not need. I have a sword to bathe in thy false blood, inhumane murderer. Good sir, be pacified. I'll go. I'll run many a mile to find your sister out. She never was so desperate of grace, by violence, to rob herself of life. And so her soul in danger. Comfort, sir. She's but retired somewhere, on my life. Engine to his brother. Prithee, let me alone. Do I stand to defend that wretched life that is in doubt of hers? Here, worthy Lord, behold, my breast framed of thy sister's love. He would for thou shalt strike but unestocked. Since she is gone, that was the cause it lived. Out, false dissembler. Arth not married? No. Behold, it is my younger brother dressed. Plucks off his head-tire. A man, no woman, that hath gold the world, intended for a happier event than this that followed, that she now is gone. Oh, fond experiments of simple man, fooled to thy fate, since all thy project meant but mirth is now converted unto death. Lady Honour, aside. Oh, do not burst me, joy. That modesty would let me show myself to finish all. Nay, then thou hast my sister somewhere, villain. Tis plain now thou wilt still thy marriage. She is no match for thee, assure thyself. If all the law in England or my friends can cross it, it shall not be. Would tour so well, and that I knew the lady to be safe. Give me no ill words. Serve this boy, and I will wander like two pilgrims till we find her. If ye do love her as ye talk, do so. The love or grief that is expressed in words is slight and easy. Tis but shallow woe that makes a noise. Deepest waters still as go. I love her better than thy parents did, which is beyond a brother. Slave, thou liest. As hounds. About to strike. Kill him. Oh, hold. Sir, you dishonour much your brother, to counsel him against hospitality, to strike in his own house. You, Lord Insolentor, I will fight with you. Take this as a challenge and set your time. Tomorrow morning, Injun. Tis that I covet, and provoke thee for. Will you not strike him now? No, my good boy, is both discreet and just in his advice. Thy glories are to last but for a day. Give me thy hand. Tomorrow morning thou shalt be no lord. Tomorrow noon thou shalt not be at all. Psh, why do you think so? Have not I arms? A soul as bold as yours, a sword as true. I do not think your honour in the field without your lordship's liveries will have odds. Farewell, and let's have no excuses, pray. Exit proudly. I warrant you. Pray say your prayers to-night, and bring an ink horn, will ye, to set your hand to, a satisfactory recantation. Exit. A wretched maid. Whose sword can I pray for? But by the other's loss I must find death. O odious brother, if ye kill my love! O bloody love, if ye should kill my brother! Despair on both sides of my discontent tells me no safety rests but to prevent. Exit. Scene three. Enter widow and bold like Pryncox. What's o'clock, Pryncox? Bedtime, and please you, madam? Come, undress me. Would God had made me a man? Why, madam? Because I would have been in bed as soon as day. We are so long unpinning and unlacing. Yet many offers, madam, or quickly undone some time, but herein we have the advantage of men, though they can be a bed sooner than we. It's a great while, when they are a bed, here they can get up. Indeed, if they be well laid, Pryncox, one cannot get them up again in haste. O God! Madam, how mean you that! I hope you know ill things taken into a gentle woman's ears are the quick corruptors of maiden modesty. I would be loath to continue in any service unfit for my virgin estate, or where the world should take any notice of light behaviour in the lady I follow. For, madam, the main point of chastity in a lady is to build the rock of a good opinion amongst the people by circumstances, and a fair show she must make. See non-caste, ta-men-cote, madam, and though it be a wanton, madam, yet I beseech your ladyship, for your own credit and mine, let the bridle of judgment be always in the chaps of it, to give it head or restrain it, according as time and place shall be convenient. Ha-ha-ha! Precise and learned, Pryncox, dost not thou go to blackfriars? Most frequently, madam, and were the vessel that I am to partake, or retain any of the delicious dew that is there distilled. I tell thee, there's nothing uttered but carries a double sense, one good, one bad. But if the hero apply it to the worst, the fault lies in his or her corrupt understanding, not in the speaker. For to answer your let-in, pravis omnia prava. Believe me, Wench, if ill come into my fancy, I will purge it by speech. The less will remain within. A pox of these nice-mouthed creatures, I have seen a narrow pair of lips utter as broad a tale as can be bought for money. Indeed, an ill tale unuttered is like a maggot in a nut. It spoils the whitest colonel. You speak most intelligently, madam. Has not done yet. Thou art an old fumble, I perceive. Me thinks thou dost not do things like a woman. Madam, I do my endeavour, and the best can do no more. They that could do better, it maybe would not, and then twer all one. But rather than be a burden to your ladyship, I protest sincerely, I would beg my bread. Therefore I beseech you, madam, to hold me excused, and let my good will stand for the action. Let thy good will stand for the action. If good will would do it, this many a lady in this land would be content with her old lord. And thou canst not be a burden to me without thou lie upon me. And that were preposterous in thy sex. Take no exceptions at what I say. Remember you said, stand even now. There was a word for one of your coat indeed. I swear, madam, you are very merry. God send you good luck. Has your ladyship no waters that you use at bedtime? No, in troth, printcocks. No, complexion. None but mine own, I swear. Did stow ever use any? No, indeed, madam. Now and then a piece of scarlet or so, a little white and red syruce. But in troth, madam, I have an excellent receipt for a night-mask as ever you heard. What is it? Balls, grease, worn-outs. Jordan almonds, blanched and ground, a quartum, red rose-water, half a pint, maize urine, newly covered, half a score drops. Phew! No more of thy medicine if thou lovest me. Few of our nights errant, when they meet a fair lady errant in the morning, would think her face had lain so plest at all night. Thou hast had some apothecary to thy sweetheart. But, leaving this face-physic, for by my troth, it may make others have good ones, but it makes me a scurvy one. Which of all the gallants in the town would stow make a husband of, if thou mightst have him for thy choosing? In truth, madam, but shall say I speak blindly, but let my love stand aside. I think it not fit indeed. Your love should stand in the middle. I say Master Belt. Oh, do but mark him, madam, his leg, his hand, his body, and all his members stand in print. Out upon thee, print-cocks! No! Me things, when it rides a handsome fellow. I like not these starched gallants. Masculine faces, and masculine gestures, please me best. How like you, Master Belt? Oh, fire upon him. When he is in his scarlet clothes, he looks like a man of wax, and I had a sleeve have a dog of wax. I do not think, but he lies in a case of nights. He walks as if he were made of jins, as if nature had wrought him in a frame. I have seen him sit discontented a whole play, because one of the pearls of his band was fallen out of his reach to order again. Why, bold madam, is clean contrary. Aye, but that's as ill. Each extreme is alike vicious. His careful carelessness is his study. He spends as much time to make himself slovenly as the other to be spruced. His scarters hang over upon the calves of his legs, his doublet unbuttoned, and his points untrusted, his hair in his eyes like a drunkard, and his head, worn on the hinder part of his head as if he cared more for his memory than his wit, makes him look as if he were distracted. Pryncox, I would have you lie with me. I do not love to lie alone. With all my heart, madam. Are you clean-skinned? Clean-skinned, madam? There's a question. And do you think I have the itch? I am an English woman. I protest. I scorn the motion. Nay, pretty Pryncox, be not angry. It's a sign of honesty, I can tell you. Faith, madam, I think it is but simple honesty that dwells at the sign of the scab. Well, well, come to bed, and we'll talk further of all these matters. Accent. Fortune, I thank thee. I will hold thee eyes for this good turn. Now she is mine indeed. Thou hast given me that success my project hoped. Off, false disguise, thou hast been true to me, and now be bold, that thou mayest welcome be. Accent. Scene four. Enter Horbang, Botz, Teardchaps, Spillblood, and Drawer. Several patches on their faces. Damn me, we will have more wine, sirrah, or we'll down into the cellar and drown thee in a butt of Malmsey, and he'll all the hog-seds and pieces. Hang him, rogue. Shall he die as honourable as the Duke of Clarence? Buy this flesh. Let's have wine, or I will cut thy head off and have it roasted and eaten in pie-corner next Bartholomew tide. Gentlemen, I beseech you consider where you are. Turnbull Street, a civil place. Do not disturb a number of poor gentle women. Master Horbang, Master Botz, Master Teardchaps, and Master Spillblood. The watch are abroad. The watch? Why, you rogue? Are not we the kings of Turnbull? Yes, marry are ye, sir. For my part, if you'll be quiet, I'll have a sign made of ye, and it shall be called the Four Kings of Turnbull. Will you fetch us wine? And a whore, sirrah? Why, what do you think of me? Am I an infidel, a Turk, a pagan, a Saracen? I have been at best turnips, and she swears all the gentle women went to see a play at the fortune, and are not come in yet, and she believes they suck with the players. Damn me, we must kill all those rogues. We shall never keep a whore honest for them. Go your way, sirrah. We'll have butter gala and a piece, and an ounce of tobacco. I beseech you, let it be but pottles. Sarat, you rogue. Exit drawer. Enter well-tried and Lord Free-Simple. Master well-tried, welcome as my soul. Enter drawer with wine, plate, and tobacco. No, but lard, how dost thou? As welcome as the tobacco and a wine, boy. Damn me, thou art. Bless me, and save you, gentlemen. They have not a one face among them. I would wish myself well from them. I would, I'd put out something upon my return. I had as leaf be at a balmethose. Pray, welcome this gentleman. Spill blood, aside. Is he valiant? Well-tried, aside. Faith, he is a little faulty that way. Somewhat of a bashful and backward nature. Yet I have brought him amongst you, because he hath a great desire to be fleshed. Yes, faith, sir. I have a great desire to be fleshed. Now Master well-tried said he would bring me to the only flesh mongers in the town. Well-tried, aside. Sir, he cannot endure the sight of steel. Not steel, zounts. Claps his sword over the table. Now I am going. Faints. Here's to you, sir. I'll fetch you again with a cup of sack. I pledge you, sir, and begin to you in a cup of claret. Well-tried, aside. Hark you, my lord. What will you say if I make you beat all these out of the room? Fee simple, aside. What will I say? Why, I say it is impossible. It is not immortal man. Well, drink a pace. If any brave you, out-brave him. I'll second you. They are a company of cowards, believe me. By this light I would they well, if I thought so. I would be upon the jack of one of them instantly, that same little damn me. But, Master well-tried, if they be not very valiant, or dare not fight, how came they by such cuts and couches and such broken faces? Why, their whores strike them with cans and glasses and quart-pots. If they have nothing by them, they strike them with a pox, and you know that will lay one's nose as flat as a basket-hilt dagger. Well, let me alone. This bully dares not drink. Dare I not, sir? Well said. Speak to him, man. You had best try me, sir. We four will drink four healths to four of the seven deadly sins. Pride, drunkenness, wrath, and lattery. I'll pledge him, and I thank you. I know him all. Here's one. Which of the sins? By my troth, even to pride. Why, well said. And in this do not you only pledge your mistress's health, but all the women's in the world. So, now this little cup to wrath, because he and I are strangers. Pray, boy, damn me, he shall be a rower. Damn me, I will be a rower, or it shall cost me a foal. The next place that foals, pray, let him have it. Well, I have two of my healths to drink yet. Letchery and drunkenness, which even shall go together. Why, how now, my lord? A moralist. Damn me! Are thou a lord? What virtues hast thou? Virtues. Enough to keep air a damn me company in England. He thinks you should think it virtue enough to be a lord. Will you not pledge your these healths, master well-tried? We'll have no observers. Why, Mons, you're poor bang. I am no playmaker, and for pledging your health, I love none of the four you drink to so well. Zunes, you shall pledge me this. Shall I? What's the matter? Dost hear me, master well-tried? Use thine own discretion. Thou wilt not pledge him, say so, and let me see if air a damn me of them all will force thee. Puff, will your lordship take any tobacco? You, lord with the white face. Heart, he cannot put it through his nose. Faith, you have narrow nose to put it through. The here I blow your face, Sarah. You'll pledge me, sir? Indeed, I will not. Damn me, he shall not, then. Lord, use your own words. Damn me is mine. I'm known by it all the town o'er. Do you hear? It is as free for me as you. Do you hear a patch? I have paid more fort. Nay, I'll bear him witness in a truth. His soul lies fort, my lord. Well-tried, you are grown proud since you got good clothes and have followed your lord. Strikes and they scuffle. I have known you lousy well-tried. Rourer, you'd buy. Draw and fight, throw pots and stools. Oh, jeezoo. Zanzun's cleave will be cleft. Pearl-mell, slash arms and legs. Heart, let me alone with him. Break off, and exeunt all the swaggerers. Why, now thou art a worthy white. Indeed, a lord of Lorne. I am a madman. Look, is not that one of their heads? Fine, no, my lord. Damn me, but is. I would not wish you to cross me a purpose. If you have anything to say to me, so. I am ready. Oh, brave lord, many a rourer thus is made by wine. Come, it is one of their heads, my lord. Why, so then I will have my humour. If you love me, let's go break windows somewhere. Draw, take your plate. For the reckoning, there's some of their cloaks. I will be no shot log to such. God's blessing all your hearts for thus ridding the house of them. Exeunt, end of act three. Act four of amends for ladies by Nathan Field. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act four, scene one. Enter widow undressed, a sword in her hand, and bowled in his shirt as started from bed. Uncivil man, if I should take thy life to a not-to-be-weight with thy attempt, thou hast for ever lost me. Madam, why, can love be get lost? Do I cover you unlawfully? Am I an unfit man to make an asbund of? Send for a priest, burst, consummate a match, and then to bed without more trouble. No, I will not do it. Why, you confess to me, as your gentle woman, I was the man your heart did most effect, that you did dough upon my mind and body. So, by the sacred and inviolate knot of marriage, I do, but I will not wed thee. Why, yet enjoy me now, consider, lady, that little but blessed time I was in bed, although I lay as by my sister's side, the world is apt to censure otherwise. So, it is necessity that we marry now. Pish! I regard not a distraught world. Fame from the tongues of men does injury oftener than justice, and as conscience only makes guilty persons not report, for shall we clear as springs unto the world, if our own knowledge do not make us so, that is no satisfaction to ourselves? So stand we never so leprous to man's eye. It cannot hurt hard-known integrity. You have trusted to that fond opinion this is the way to have a widowhood? By getting her to bed? Alas, young man, shouldst thou thyself tell thy companions thou hast dishonoured me? As you men have tongues forked and venomed against our subject sex, it should not move me, that note is not so. Therefore depart. Truth be my virtuous shield. Few widows would do thus. All modest would. To be in bed, and in possession, even of the marker I aimed at, and go off foiled and disgraced. Come, come, you'll laugh at me, be I my back. Publish I wanted spirit, and mock me to the ladies. Call me child, say you denied me, but to try the heat and zeal of my affection toward you. Then clapped up with a rhyme. As, for example, he coldly labs retires for one vain trial, for we are yielding when we make denial. Servant, I make no question, from this time you'll hold a more reverent opinion of some that wear long coats. And it's my pride to assure you that there are amongst us good, and with this continency. If you go away, I'll be so far from thinking it defect that I will hold you worthiest of men. Tart, I am tantalus, my long forefruits, bobs at my lips, yet still it shrinks from me. Have not I that which men say never fails to overcome any? Opportunity! Come, come, I am too cold in my assault. By all the virtues that you ever were in man or woman, I with reverence do love thee, lady, but will be no fool to let occasions slip a foretop from me. You will fail this way too. Upon my knees I do desire thee to preserve thy virtues, and with my tears my honour. Tis as bad to lose our worth to them, or to deceive who have held worthy opinions of us, as to betray trust. All this I implore for thine own sake, not mine. As for myself, if thou beest violent, by this stupid night and all the mischiefs her dark room hath bred, I'll raise the house. I'll cry a rape. I hope you will not ang me. That were murder, lady, a greater sin than lying with me, sure. Come, flatter not yourself with argument. I will exclaim the law hangs you, not I. Or if I did, I had rather far confound the dearest body in the world to me than that that body should confound my soul. You soul? Alas! Mistress, are you so fond to think a general destruction can be procured by such a natural act? Which beasts are born to and have privileging? Five, five. If this could be, far happier are insensitive souls in their creation than man, the prince of creatures. Think you, heaven, regard such mortal deeds or punish of those acts for which you have ordained us. You argue like an atheist. Man is never the prince of creatures, as you call him now, but in his reason. Fail that he is worse than horse or dog or beast of wilderness, and this death reason teaches us to do our actions unlike them. Then that which you termed in them a privilege beyond us, the baseness of their being, that express compared to ours. Horses, bulls and swine do leap their dams. Because man does not so shall we conclude his making happy less. You put me down, yet will not put me down. I am too gentle. Some of you, I have heard, love not these words, but force to have it done as they sing pricksong in the first sight. Go to, keep off by heaven and earth, I'll call else. How if nobody hear you? If they do not, I'll kill you with my own hand, never stare, or failing that, fall on this sword myself. Ah, widow wonderful, if thou beest not honest, now God forgive my mother and my sisters. Think but how finally, madame, undiscovered forever I might live, all day your gentle woman to do you service, but all night your man to do you service, newness of the trick if nothing else might stir you. Tis a stale one, and was done in the fleet ten years ago. Will you be gone? The door is open for you. Let me but tarry till the morning, madame, to send for clothes. Shall I co-naked home? Tis best time now. It is but one o'clock, and you may go unseen. I swear by heaven, I would spend all the night to sit and talk with you, if I dost trust you. I do love you so. My blood forsakes my heart, now you depart. So how? Will you marry me hereafter, then? No, you are too young, and I am much too old. I, and unworthy, and the world would say we married not for love. Good morrow, servant. Why so? These women are the errantest jugglers in the world. The rye-legged fellow is an ass to them. Well, I must have this widow, whatever come on it. Faith, she has turned me out of her service very barely. Ark, what's here? Music. Enter subtle with a paper, and his boy with a cloak. Subtle reads. Rise, lady mistress, rise. The night hath tedious been. No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes, nor slumber has made me sin. Is not she a saint, then say? Thought of whom keeps sin away. Rise, madam, rise, and give me light, whom darkness still will cover. An ignorance darker than night till thou smile on thy lover. All want day till thy beauty rise, for the grey morn breaks from thine eyes. Sing it now, sirra. The song is sung by the boy. S'foot, who's this young master bold? God save you. You're an early stirrer. You say true, master subtle. I have been early up. But as God helped me, I was never the nearer. Where have you been, sir? What's that to you, sir? At a woman's labour? Very good. I ne'er took you for a man midwife before. The truth is, I've been up all night at dice, and lost my clothes. Good morrow, master subtle. Pray God the watch be broke up. I thank you for my music. Exit. Tis palpable by this air. Her husband being abroad, bold, has leaned with her, and is now conveyed out of doors. Is this the lady perfect with a pox? The truth is, her virtuous chastity began to make me make a miracle of her still holding out to me, not withstanding her husband's most barbarous usage of her. But now, indeed, Tis no marvel, since another possesses her. Well, madam, I will go find out your cuckold. I'll be revenged on you, and tell a tale shall tickle him. This is a cheat in love not to be born, another to beguile me of the game I played for all this while. Exit. Scene two. Enter well-tried and bold, putting on his doublet. Fee simple, asleep on a bed, as in bold's chamber. You see, we made bold with your lodging. Indeed, I did assure myself you were fast for this night. But how the devil came this fool into your company? So foot, man, I carried him last night among the roars to flesh him. And, by this light, he got drunk, and beat him all. Why, then he could endure the sight of a drawn sword now. Oh, God, sir. I think in my conscience he will eat steel shortly. I know not how his conversion will hold after this sleep. But, in an hour or two last night, he was grown such a little, damn me, that I protest I was afraid of the spirit that I myself had raised in him. But this other matter, of your expulsion thus, mads me to the heart. Were you in bed with her? In bed, by heaven. I'll be hanged if you were not busy with your work. I'll be hanged if you were not busy too soon. You should have let her slept first. Zooms, man, she put her hand to my breasts, and swore I was no maid. Now, I, being eager to prove her words true, took that hint, and would violently have thrust her hand lower, when her thought, being swift at her my strength, made her no sooner imagine that she was betrayed, but she leaps out of bed, whips me down a sword that hung by, and, as if fortitude and justice had meant to a sister, spite of all argument, fair or foul, she forced me away. But is it possible thou shouldst have no more wit? Wouldst thou come away upon any terms but sure ones, having knight, her chamber, and herself naked in thine arms? By that light, if I had a son of fourteen whom I had helped thus far, that had served me so, I would breach him. That's hard. What would you have me done? Have done? Done? Done twice at least. Have played talk-win, and ravished her. Pish! Talk-win was a blockhead. If he had had any wit, and could have spoke, Lucrice had never been ravished. She would have yielded, I warrant thee, and so will any woman. I was such an erroneous heretic to love and woman as thou art till now. God's precious! It makes me mad when I think on't. Was there ever such an absurd trick? Now will she abuse thee horribly, say thou art a faint-hearted fellow, a milk-sob, and I know not what, as indeed thou art. Zoons, would you had been in my place? Sounds! I would I had. I would have so jumbled her honestly. Wouldst thou be held out at stay's end with words? Dost thou not know a widow's weak vessel, and is easily cast if you close? Well tried, you deal unfriendly. By this light I shall blush to be seen in thy company. Pray, leave my chamber. Pox upon your chamber. I care not for your chamber, nor yourself, more than you care for me. Spladd, I as little for you. Why, fare you well. Why, fare well. Yet well tried I pretty stay. Now knowest I love thee. So heart, I love you as well. But for my spleen and collar I think I have as much as you. Well, friend, this is the business you must do for me. Repair unto the widow, where, give out tomorrow morn, I shall be married. Invite her to the wedding. I have a trick to put upon this lord, too, whom I made my instrument to prefer me. Watch shall follow, I will not ask, because I mean to see it. The jar's twix friends still keeps their friendship sweet. Exit. Fee simple, waking. Why, well tried, you rogue. What's that? A vision? Why, ha now, my lord, whom do you call rogue? The gentleman you name is my friend. If you were wise, I should be angry. Angry with me? I damn me, sir, and you be out with your sword. It's not with me, I tell you, as it was yesterday. I am fleshed, man, I. Have you anything to say to me? Nothing but this. How many do you think you've slain last night? By five, I never kill less. There were but four. My lord, you had best provide yourself and be gone. Three, you have slain stark dead. You jest. It's most true. Well tried, is fled. Why, let the roar as meadow with me another time. As for flying, I scorn it. I killed him like a man. When did you ever see a lord hang for anything? We may kill whom we list. Mary, my conscience pricks me. Ah, plague of this drink. What things it makes us do. I do no more remember this now than a puppy-dog. A bloody lord that ought to be dogged with a gore. Thane world, endure, for I will roar no more. Nay, stay, my lord. I did but tried a tenderness of your conscience. All this is nothing so, but to sweeten the tale I have for you, I foretold you this feigned mischance. It is a tale belonging to the widow. I think you are a witch. My grandmother was suspected. The widow has desired you by me to meet her tomorrow morning at church in some unknown disguise, lest any suspect it. For, quoth she, long hath he held me fast in his moist hand, therefore I will be his in up to your band. Both, I have ever taken you to be my friend. I am very wise now, and valiant. If this be not true, damnedly, sir, you are the son of a whore, and you lie, and I would make it good with my sword. I am what ere you please, sir, if it be not true. I will go with you to the church myself. Your disguise I have fought on. The widow is your own. Come, leave your fooling. If this be true, thou little boy bold, so true as thou tells to me, tomorrow morning when I have the widow, my dear friend shall thou be. Exeunt, scene three, enter maid like the foot boy, seldom with pits and honour a couple of sergeants. Sir, just most true, and in this shall you be unlike to other citizens, that arrest to undo gentlemen. Your clemency here, perchance, saves two lives, one from the other's sword, the other from the law's. This mourn they fight, and though your debtor be a lord, yet should he miscarry, certainly your debt were lost. Does thou serve the Lord proudly? Sir, I do. Well, such a boy as thou is worth more money than thy Lord owes me. Tis not for the debt I do arrest him, but to end this strife, which both may lose my money and his life. Enter Lord proudly with a riding-rod. My horse there, zounds I would not for the world, he should alight before me in the field, my name and honour were forever lost. Good morrow to your honour. I do hear your lordship this fair morning is to fight, and for your honour. Did you never see the play, or the fat night, height, old castle? Did tell you truly what his honour was? Why, how now, good man, flat cap, what thee lack? Whom do you talk to, sirra? We arrest you. Arrest me, rogue? I am a lord ye curse, a parliament man. Sir, we arrest you, though. At whose suit? At mine, sir. Why, thou base rogue, did not I set thee up, having no stock but thy shop and fair wife? Into my house with him. Away with him. Away with him. A plot, a trick by heaven. See, Injun's foot-boy, tis by his master's means. O coward slave, I'll put in bail or pay the debt. Ay, ay, ay, we'll talk with you within. Thrust him in. Exeunt. Enter Injun, looking on his sword and bending it, his brother like a man. If I miscarry, Frank, I pretty see all my debts paid. About five hundred pounds will fully satisfy all men, and my land, and what I else possess by nature's right, and thy descent, Frank, I make freely thine. I know you do not think I wish you dead, for all the benefit. Besides, your spirit so opposite to counsel to avert your resolution, that I save my breath, which would be lost in vain, to expire and spend upon your foe, if you fall under him. Frank, I protest you shall do injury upon my foe, and much disturbance too unto my soul departing. Dye I hear fairly, and on my single enemy's sword. If you should not let him go off untouched. Now, by the master of thy life and mine, I love thee, boy, beyond any example. As well as thou dost me, but should I go thy second to the field as thou dost mine, and if thine enemy kill thee like a man, I would desire never to see him more. But he should bear himself off with those wounds he has received from thee, from that time safe, and without persecution by the law. For what hap is our foes might be our own, and no man's judgment sits in justice place, but weighing other men's as his own case. He has the advantage of you, being a lord. For should you kill him, you are sure to die. And by some lawyer with a golden tongue that cries for right, tin angels on his side, you're daring meet him called presumption. But kill he, you. He and his noble friends have such a golden snaffle for the jaws of man devouring Pythagorean law, they'll reign her stubborn chaps even to her tail. And though she have iron teeth to meaner men, so master her, that who displeased her most, she shall lie under like a tired jade. For small boats on rough seas are quickly lost, but ships ride safe and cut the waves that tossed. Follow what may. I am resolved, dear brother. This monster valor that doth feed on men, groans in me for my reputation. This charge I give thee, too, if I do die, never depart from the young boy which late I entertained, but love him for my sake. And for my mistress, the lady on her, whom to deceive I have deceived myself, if she be dead, pray God I may give up my life a sacrifice on her brother's sword. But if thou liest to see her gentle brother, if I be slain, tell her I died because I had transgressed against her worthy love. This sword is not well mounted. Let's see thine. Enter maid, like a foot-boy. Your saying, sir, is in vain, for my lord proudly. Just at his taking horse to meet you here. At seldom suit, the citizen was arrested, upon an action of two hundred pounds. I saw it, sir, to strue. Oh scurvy lord, it had been a cleanly your shift did this to have had it hindered by command, he being a lord. But I will find him. Enter lord proudly. You see, valiant sir, I have got loose through all your stratagem. Oh rogue, are you there? Proudly stabs his sister. Must take double hard. Engine stabs proudly in the left arm. Coward, thou didst this, that I might be disabled, for the fight, all that thou mightst have some excuse to shun me, but is my left arm thou hast lighted on. I have no second. Here are three of you. If all do murder me, your consciences will more than hang you, damn you. Come, prepare. Brother, walk off, and take the boy away. Is he hurt much? Nothing, or very little. Proudly thrusts the boy out. I'll bind up your wound first. Your loss of blood may sooner make you faint. Engine, thou art a worthy gentleman. For this courtesy go to. I'll save thy life. Come on, sir. A pass or two. I'll cut your codpiece point, sir, with this thrust, and then down go your britches. Your lordship's mare. Pass. I had like to have spoiled your cutwork badly. Enter Maid like a foot-boy running. Brother, after her. Maid kneels at betwixt to them. Oh, master, hold your hand. My lord, hold yours, or let your swords meet in this ratchet breast. Yet you are both well. What blood you have lost. Give it, as for the injury you did. And now, be friends. S'heart is a loving rogue. Kind boy, stand up. Tis for thy wound he bleeds. My wrong is yet unsatisfied. Hence, away, it is a sister's loss that wets my sword. Maid, discovers herself. O stay, my lord. Behold your sister here, bleeding by your hand. Servant, see your mistress turn to thy servant, running by thy horse, whose meaning towards to have prevented this. That's all in vain. O noble lady. Most worthy pattern of all womankind. Inj'n, I am satisfied. Put up your sword. Sister, you must with me. I have a husband. The lord fee-simples' father. Old but rich. This gentleman is no match for you. Kneel not. That portion of yours I have consumed. Thus, marrying, you shall never come to want. O sweet, my lord, my brother. Do not force me to break my faith, or to a loaded bed. Force you he shall not, brother, bear her hints. She is my wife, and thou shalt find my cause ten times improved now. O have adieu, sir. Pass. Hold, hold, for heaven's sake. Was there a wretched lady put to this hazard? Sir, let me speak but one word with him, and I'll go with you, and undergo whatever you command. Do it quickly, for I love no whispering. To strange to see you, madam, with a sword. You should have come hither in your lady's clothes. Well, as you please, my lord, you are witness. What so her before hath passed betwixt us. Thus I do undo. When not I'm mad to think that thou couldst love me, that wouldst have slain my brother. Sayest true, sister? O thou fair future, wilt thou be as false as other ladies? Thou art my example. I'll kiss thee once. Farewell, for ever. Come, my lord, now match me with whom ye please, a tumbler. I must do this, else had they fought again. My own best sister. Farewell, master Injun. Ex-Yunt, proudly and made. O ancient truth to be denied of no man, and ill by the tales held sureer than a woman. Ex-Yunt. End of Act Four.