 Act 5 of Amends for Ladies by Nathan Field. Act 5, Scene 1. Enter Subtle with Husband. She is not to be cursed. It cannot be. Had you a wife and I were in your case, I would be hanged even at the chamber door where I attempted, but I'd lay her flat. Why, tell me truly, would it please you best to have her remain chaste or conquered? Oh, friend, it would do me good at the heart to have her overcome. She does so brag and stand upon her chastity force suit. Why then, in plain terms, sir, the fort is mine. Your wife has yielded. Uptails is her song. The deed is done. Come now, be merry, man. Is the deed done indeed? Come, come, you jest. Has my wife yielded? Is Uptails her song? Faith come to prose. How got you to the matter first, huh? Pish, you are so bashful now. Why, by my truth I'll tell you, because you are my friend. Otherwise, you must note, it is a great hurt to the art of whore mastery to discover. Besides, the skill was never mine of the price. Very good, on, sir. At first she was horrible stiff against me. Then, sir, I took her by the hand, which I kissed. Good, sir. And I caught her pretty rogue, and I thrust my finger betwixt her breasts, and I made lips. At last I pulled her by the chin to me, and I kissed her. Hmm, very good. So at the first she kissed very strangely, close and untoward. Then I said to her, think but upon the wrongs, the intolerable wrongs, the rogue your husband does you. Aye, that was very good. What said she to you then, sir? Nay, I went on. First, quote I, think how he hath used you. Do you know means, given all your clothes to his punks, struck you, turned your grey eyes into black ones? But yet… A pretty conceit. Quoth I, these things are nothing in the rascal. Think but what a base whore master the rascal is. Did you call me rascal so often? Are you sure? Yes, an offner. For said I, none comes amiss to the rogue. I have known him, quote I, do three lousy beggars under hedges in a riding of ten miles. And I swore this too. T'was very well, but you did lie. On pray. Fish! One must lie a little. Now, sir, by this time she began to kiss somewhat more openly and familiarly. Her resistance began to slacken, and my assault began to stiffen. The more her ballwork decayed, the more my battery fortified. At last, sir, a little fumbling being passed to make the conquest more difficult, she perceived my artillery mounted, falls flat upon her back, cries me out aloud. Alas, I yield! Use me not, roughly friend! My fort that like Troy town ten years hath stood besieged and shot at, did remain unwon. But now it is conquered. So the deed was done. Then came the hardest service. Forward with your tale, sir. Cetera quis nasit, lassi requievimus ambo, Proveniant maidis sig me he sape thease. Which is as much as to say I am a cuckold in all languages. But sure, tis not so. It is impossible my wife should yield. Hey, day, he now it was impossible she should hold out. And now it is impossible she should yield. Stay you but here, and be an ear witness to what follows. I'll fetch your wife. Aside. I know he will not stay. Exit. Love all. Aside. Good faith, sir, but he will. I do suspect some navery in this. Here will I hide myself when thought is gone. If they do odd unfitting, I will call witness and straight away sue for a divorce. Exit. Enter wife and settle. I knew he would not stay. Now, noble mistress, I claim your promise. What was that, good servant? That you would lie with me. If with any man, but prithee first consider with thyself. If I should yield to thee, what a load thy conscience would bear about it. For I wish quick thunder may strike me if I yet have lost the truth or whiteness of the hand I gave in church, and will not be thy happiness as thou thinkest. That thou alone shouldst make a woman fall that did resist all else, but to thy soul a bitter corrosive, that thou didst stain virtue that else had stood immaculate. Nor speak I this as yielding unto thee, for it is not in thy power worth thou the sweetest of nature's children and the happiest to conquer me, nor in mine own to yield, and thus it is with every pious wife. Thy daily railing at my absent husband makes me endure thee worse, for let him do the most preposterous, ill-relishing things. To me, they seem good since my husband does them, nor am I to revenge or govern him, and thus it should be with all virtuous wives. Do you not know, fair mistress, a young gentleman about this town called Bald? Where did he lie last night, sweet mistress? Oh, oh, are you catched? I saw him slip out of the house this morning, as naked as this truth. And for this cause I have told your husband that you yielded to me, and he, I warrant you, will blaze it thoroughly, as good do now then, as be thought to do. No, it will not be yet, thou injurious man, how wilt thou write me in my husband's thoughts that, on a false surmise and spite, has told a tale to breed incurable discontent? Bald was that old wench that did serve the widow, and thinking by this way to gain her love missed of his purpose, and was thus catcheared, nor care she to proclaim it to the world. Zounds, I have wronged you, mistress, on my knees. Niels. I ask your pardon, and will never more attempt your purity, but neglect all things till that foul wrong I have read in your night I have expelled, and set your loves aright. Enter husband. Which now is already done, madam, wife. Niels. Upon my knees with weeping eyes, heavyed hands, I ask thy pardon. O sweet virtuous creature, I frithy break my head. Rise, rise, sir, pray. You have done no wrong to me, at least, I think so. Heaven hath prevented all my injury. I do forgive, and marry you anew. Come, we are all invited to the weddings. The lady-honor and the rich old count, young bold unto another gentlewoman, we in the widow are invited thither. Embrace, and love henceforth more really, not so like worldlings. Here, then, ends all strife. Thus false friends are made true by a true wife. Ex-unit. Seen to. Enter old count, wrapped in furs. The lady-honor, dressed like a bride. The lord proudly, well tried, bold, leading fee-simple, like a lady masked. Husband, wife, subtle, widow. To them, brother, with a letter. Seldom with his wife. Health and all joy unto this fair assembly. My brother, who last tied, is gone for France. A branch of willow feathering his hat. Bat me salute you, lady, and present you with this letter written in his blood. He prays no man for his sake ever more to credit woman. Nor no lady ever to believe man. So either sex shall rest uninjured by the other. This is all, and this I have delivered. I, and well, you pronounce rarely. Did you never play? Yes, that I have. The fool, some lords do. Set forward there. Oh, oh, oh, oh, a pox are this cold. A cold of this pox, you might say. I am afraid. How full of ghastly wounds his letter shows. Oh, oh. Swoons. Look to my sister. So, the lady swoons. Strong water there. If strong breath would recover her, I am for her. Alas, good lady. Coughs perpetually. He has fetched her again with coughing. Convey me to my bed. Send for a priest and a physician. Your bride, I fear. Instead of apothelamians, shall need a dirge or epitaph. Oh, lead me in. My body dies of my soul's purged sin. Ex-yunt, maid, grace, wife, husband, subtle. Hymen comes towards us in a morning-rub. I hope, friend, we shall have the better day. I'll fetch the parson and physician. Exit, Lord, proudly. They are both ready for you. Exit, brother. Madam, this is the gentlewoman who, something bashful, does desire your pardon that she does not unmask. Good master well-tried. I would not buy her face. And for her manners, if they were worse, they shall not displease me. I thank your ladyship. Look how he old arse my father stands. He looks like the bear in the play. He has killed the lady with his very sight. It's God help me, I am the most due to forbear unmasking me, that I might tell him his own as can be. Why, by no means. The widow comes towards you. Oh, oh, oh, oh. Servant, God give you joy. And gentlewoman, or lady, as full joy I wish to you. No doubt that I will hinder you, your love. But here I am come to do all courtesy to your fair self, and husband, that shall be. I thank you heartily. To heart, speak smaller, man. I thank you heartily. You're going to this gear too, master bold. Not to your coughing gear, my lord. Though I be not so old or rich as your lordship, yet I love a young wench as well. As well as my lord? Nay, by my faith, that you do not love a young wench as well as he. I wonder you will be as unmennerly to say so. They, master well tried. Proth is, I love them well. But they love me not. You see what ill luck I have with them. Pox on thus cold still say I. Where got you this cold, my lord? It can get in nowhere that I can see, but at your nostrils are eyes. All the other parts are so barricaded with fur. It got in at his eyes, and made that bird-line there, where Cupid's wings do hang untangled. Is this your wife that shall be, master bold? Be so bold as kiss her. Widow and bold whisper aside. Sir, forbear, I have one bold enough to kiss my lips. O old coxcom, kiss thy name natural son. It is worse than a justice's line with his own daughter. But, master well tried, when will the widow break this matter to me? Count sits in a chair and falls asleep. Not till the very close of all. She dissembles it yet, because my lord, your father, is here, and her other suitor, bold. That's all one. He's the plot of my side. Tis needless, master bold. But I will do anything you require to satisfy you. Why should you doubt I will forbid the bands, for so your friend he had told me? I should rather doubt that you will not marry. Madam, by heaven! As fully I am resolved to marry now, will too, if you do not ender it, as ever lover was. Only because the world has taken notice some passage twists you and me, and then to satisfy my sweetheart ear, who, poor soul, is afraid to have some public disgrace put upon her, I do require some small thing at your hands. Well, I will do it. And this profess besides, Married, you shall as welcome be to me as my own brother, and yourself, fair lady, even as myself, both to my board and bed. Ah-ha! I'll like you that. Now she begins. Abundant thanks unto your widowhood. Sounds. My father's asleep on his wedding day. I wondered where his cough was all this while. Enter, Injen, like a doctor. A parson, brother, Lord proudly, seldom, mistress seldom, husband, wife, and subtle. I pray for Bear the Chamber. Noise does hurt her. Her sickness, I guess, rather the mind than of her body. For her pulses beat well. Her vital functions not decay to wit. But have their natural life and operation. My lord, be cheered. I have an ingredient about me shall make her well. I doubt not. In master parson, it shall be yours to pray. The soul's physician should still have the way. Exit Injen, parson shuts the door. How she is she, pray? In troth exceeding ill. Very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think I'll not escape it. Did you mark how she eyed the physician? Oh, God, I. She is very loth to die. Ah, that's now the better sign, I can tell you. And when the parson came to her, she turned away, and still let the physician hold her by the hand. But see what fort and a bridegroom takes. My conscious knows now this is a most preposterous match. Yet, for the commodity, we wink at all inconvenience. My lord. My lord. I'd resue you for waking of me. Now shall I have such a fit of coffee? Ah, whapless wife, that shall have thee. That I ever must let thee sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough. You have a proper gentleman to your son, my lord. He were fitter for this young lady than you. Do you mark that again? Oh, sweet widow. He, ah, wife, he a fool's head of his own. No, of my father's. What should he do with, ah, ah, ah, ah? What, with a cough? Why, he would spit, and that's more than you can do. Your bride, my lord, is dead. Ah, Mary. Even God be with her. Reef will not help it. A most excellent spouse. How fair she master doctor. Zounds, what's here? Hey, hey. How now? How now? Looking in at the window. Look, look, look. The parson joins the doctor's hand in hers. Now the doctor kisses her by this light. Now goes his gown off. Hey, day. He has red bridges on. Zounds. The physician has got on the top of her. But like, it is the mother she has. Hark! The bed-creaks. Sart, the door's fast. Break them open. We are betrayed. Frank, draws and holds out a pistol. No breaking open doors. He that stirs first, I'll pop a leaden pill into his guts. Shall purge him quite away. No haste, good friends. When they have done what's fit, you shall not need to break the door. They'll open it themselves. A curtain drawn, a bed discovered. Engine with his sword in his hand and a pistol. The lady in her petticoat. The parson. Thy blood-base villain shall answer this. The brother set back to back. I'll die thy nuptial bed in thy heart's gore. Come, come, my lord. It is not so easily done. You know it is not. Forgive this by attempt upon your sister. Before God and man, she was my wife. An air-bed-rid couch. I'll have my wench to get diseases on. Well, maist thou term her so that has consented, even with her will to be dishonoured. Not so yet have I lain with her. But first, witness this priest. We both were married. True it is, Tomonnet. Their contracts run into a marriage, and that, my lord, into a carriage. I will undo thee, priest. Knit is too late. I am undone already by wine and tobacco. I defy thee, thou temporal lord. Purdy, thou never shalt keep me in jail, and, hence, springs my reason. My act is neither felony nor treason. Aye, sir. But you do not know what kindred she may have. Come, come, come. There is no remedy. And weigh it right. In my opinion, my honoured lord, and everybody's else. This is a match fitter ten thousand times than your intent. Most certain, Tis. Besides, this gentleman, your brother in law's well-parted and fair mean'd, and all this come about, you must conceive, by your own sister's wit, as well as his. Come, come, Tis, but getting of me knighted, my lord, and I shall become your brother well enough. Brother, your hand. Lords may have projects still, but there's a greater lord will have his will. This is dispatch. Now, madam, is the time for I long to be at it. Your hands, we are. Now, boys. My lord and gentlemen, I crave your witness to what I now shall utter. Twix, this gentleman, and myself, there have been some love passages, from which here I do free him. And he take this lady— Lie ye, and pray him take this lady— Which, with a mother's love, I give to him, and wish all joy may crown their marriage. Nay, madam, yet she is not satisfied. Bald gives her a ring, and she puts it on her thumb. Further, before ye all, I take this ring, as an assumptions, by the virtue of which I bind myself in all my lands and goods, that in his choice I'll be no hindrance, or by forbidding bans, or claiming him myself for mine, but let the match go on without my check, which he intends as now. And once again I say, I bind myself. Then once again I say, widow, thou art mine. Priest, marry us. This match I did intend. Ye all are witnesses. If thou hinder it, widow, your lands and goods are forfeit mine. Nay, take me too, since there's no remedy. Ye widow, without goods, sell scurvily. Hey, God, give you joy. Slight, I am cussed on all sides. I had good hope of the widow of my self, but now I see everybody leaves me saving her. Trove, my lord, and that will stick by you, I warrant. But how, sir, shall we self this gentle woman? Anger, whore. Fie, you are too uncivil. Hold in thy face. I do defy thy tones. Nay, hold fair, lady. Now I think upon, the old count has no wife. Let's make a match. If he be so contented With all my heart Then kiss your spouse. Good. She has a beard. Oh, now, my son. Fee simple, unmasks. Does the Lord fee simple? Father, lend me your sword. You and I have made a couple of fine foos, are we not? If I were not valiant now, and meant to beat them all, here would lie a simple disgrace upon us. A fee simple one indeed. Mark now what I'll say to him. Do hear me, my masters. Damn me. You're all the son of a whore. Do you lie? And I will make it good with my sword. This is called roaring, father. I'll not meddle with you, sir. You are my blood. And I fleshed you, you know. And I have a charge coming. I must not fight now. Has either of you anything to say to me? Not we, sir. Then have I something to say to you? Have you anything to say to me? Yes. Mary have I, sir. Then I have nothing to say to you, for that's a fashion. Father, if you will come away with your cough, do. Let me see how many challenges I must get rid. You shall hear on me, believe it. Nay, we'll not now part angry. Stay the feasts that must attend the weddings. You shall stay. Why then, all friends? I thought you would not have had the manners to bid us stay dinner neither. Then all our friends and lady wife, I crown thy virtues with this wreath, and that it may be said, there's a good wife. A widow and a maid. They set garlands on their heads. Yet mine is now approved the happiest life, since each of you hath changed to be a wife. Exeunt. End of Act V. End of Amends for Ladies by Nathan Field.