The Scornful Lady. Beaumont Francis

partie. This is right Court fashion: Men, Women, and all woo, catch that catch may. If this soft hearted woman have infused any of her tenderness into her Lady, there is hope she will be plyant. But who's here?

      Enter Sir Roger the Curate.

      Roger. Gad save you Sir. My Lady lets you know she desires to be acquainted with your name, before she confer with you?

      Wel. Sir, my name calls me Welford.

      Roger. Sir, you are a Gentleman of a good name. I'le try his wit.

      Wel. I will uphold it as good as any of my Ancestors had this two hundred years Sir.

      Roger. I knew a worshipfull and a Religious Gentleman of your name in the Bishoprick of Durham. Call you him Cousen?

      Wel. I am only allyed to his vertues Sir.

      Roger. It is modestly said: I should carry the badge of your Christianity with me too.

      Wel. What's that, a Cross? there's a tester.

      Roger. I mean the name which your God-fathers and God-mothers gave you at the Font.

      Wel. 'Tis Harry: but you cannot proceed orderly now in your Catechism: for you have told me who gave me that name. Shall I beg your name?

      Roger. Roger.

      Wel. What room fill you in this house?

      Roger. More rooms than one.

      Wel. The more the merrier: but may my boldness know, why your Lady hath sent you to decypher my name?

      Roger. Her own words were these: To know whether you were a formerly denyed Suitor, disguised in this message: for I can assure you she delights not in Thalame: Hymen and she are at variance, I shall return with much hast. [Exit Roger.

      Wel. And much speed Sir, I hope: certainly I am arrived amongst a Nation of new found fools, on a Land where no Navigator has yet planted wit; if I had foreseen it, I would have laded my breeches with bells, knives, copper, and glasses, to trade with women for their virginities: yet I fear, I should have betrayed my self to a needless charge then: here's the walking night-cap again.

      Enter Roger.

      Roger. Sir, my Ladies pleasure is to see you: who hath commanded me to acknowledge her sorrow, that you must take the pains to come up for so bad entertainment.

      Wel. I shall obey your Lady that sent it, and acknowledge you that brought it to be your Arts Master.

      Rog. I am but a Batchelor of Art, Sir; and I have the mending of all under this roof, from my Lady on her down-bed, to the maid in the Pease-straw.

      Wel. A Cobler, Sir?

      Roger. No Sir, I inculcate Divine Service within these Walls.

      Wel. But the Inhabitants of this house do often imploy you on errands without any scruple of Conscience.

      Rog. Yes, I do take the air many mornings on foot, three or four miles for eggs: but why move you that?

      Wel. To know whether it might become your function to bid my man to neglect his horse a little to attend on me.

      Roger. Most properly Sir.

      Wel. I pray you doe so then: the whilst I will attend your Lady. You direct all this house in the true way?

      Roger. I doe Sir.

      Wel. And this door I hope conducts to your Lady?

      Rog. Your understanding is ingenious. [Ex. severally.

      Enter young Loveless and Savil, with a writing.

      Sa. By your favour Sir, you shall pardon me?

      Yo. Lo. I shall bear your favour Sir, cross me no more; I say they shall come in.

      Savil. Sir, you forget who I am?

      Yo. Lo. Sir, I do not; thou art my Brothers Steward, his cast off mill-money, his Kitchen Arithmetick.

      Sa. Sir, I hope you will not make so little of me?

      Yo. Lo. I make thee not so little as thou art: for indeed there goes no more to the making of a Steward, but a fair Imprimis, and then a reasonable Item infus'd into him, and the thing is done.

      Sa. Nay then you stir my duty, and I must tell you?

      Young Lo. What wouldst thou tell me, how Hopps grow, or hold some rotten discourse of Sheep, or when our Lady-day falls? Prethee farewel, and entertain my friends, be drunk and burn thy Table-books: and my dear spark of velvet, thou and I.

      Sa. Good Sir remember?

      Young Lo. I do remember thee a foolish fellow, one that did put his trust in Almanacks, and Horse-fairs, and rose by Hony and Pot-butter. Shall they come in yet?

      Sa. Nay then I must unfold your Brothers pleasure, these be the lessons Sir, he left behind him.

      Young Lo. Prethee expound the first.

      Sa. I leave to maintain my house three hundred pounds a year; and my Brother to dispose of it.

      Young Lo. Mark that my wicked Steward, and I dispose of it?

      Sav. Whilest he bears himself like a Gentleman, and my credit falls not in him. Mark that my good young Sir, mark that.

      Young Lo. Nay, if it be no more I shall fulfil it, whilst my Legs will carry me I'le bear my self Gentleman-like, but when I am drunk, let them bear me that can. Forward dear Steward.

      Sav. Next it is my will, that he be furnished (as my Brother) with Attendance, Apparel, and the obedience of my people.

      Young Lo. Steward this is as plain as your old Minikin-breeches. Your wisdom will relent now, will it not? Be mollified or—you understand me Sir, proceed?

      Sav. Next, that my Steward keep his place, and power, and bound my Brother's wildness with his care.

      Young Lo. I'le hear no more of this Apocrypha, bind it by it self Steward.

      Sav. This is your Brothers will, and as I take it, he makes no mention of such company as you would draw unto you. Captains of Gallyfoists, such as in a clear day have seen Callis, fellows that have no more of God, than their Oaths come to: they wear swords to reach fire at a Play, and get there the oyl'd end of a Pipe, for their Guerdon: then the remnant of your Regiment, are wealthy Tobacco-Marchants, that set up with one Ounce, and break for three: together with a Forlorn hope of Poets, and all these look like Carthusians, things without linnen: Are these fit company for my Masters Brother?

      Young Lo. I will either convert thee (O thou Pagan Steward) or presently confound thee and thy reckonings, who's there? Call in the Gentlemen.

      Sav. Good Sir.

      Young Lo. Nay, you shall know both who I am, and where I am.

      Sav. Are you my Masters Brother?

      Young Lo. Are you the sage Master Steward, with a face like an old Ephemerides?

      Enter his Comrades, Captain, Traveller, &c.

      Sav. Then God help us all I say.

      Young Lo. I, and 'tis well said my old peer of France: welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen; mine own dear Lads y'are richly welcome. Know this old Harry Groat.

      Cap. Sir I will take your love.

      Sav. Sir, you will take my Purse.

      Cap. And study to continue it.

      Sav. I do believe you.

      Trav. Your honorable friend and Masters Brother, hath given you to us for a worthy fellow, and so we hugg you Sir.

      Sav. Has given himself into the