The Scornful Lady. Beaumont Francis

hands of Varlets, not to be carv'd out. Sir, are these the pieces?

      Young Lo. They are the Morals of the Age, the vertues, men made of gold.

      Sav. Of your gold you mean Sir.

      Young Lo. This is a man of War, and cryes go on, and wears his colours.

      Sav. In's nose.

      Young Lo. In the fragrant field. This is a Traveller Sir, knows men and manners, and has plow'd up the Sea so far till both the Poles have knockt, has seen the Sun take Coach, and can distinguish the colour of his Horses, and their kinds, and had a Flanders-Mare leapt there.

      Sav. 'Tis much.

      Tra. I have seen more Sir.

      Sav. 'Tis even enough o' Conscience; sit down, and rest you, you are at the end of the world already. Would you had as good a Living Sir, as this fellow could lie you out of, he has a notable gift in't.

      Young Lo. This ministers the smoak, and this the Muses.

      Sav. And you the Cloaths, and Meat, and Money, you have a goodly generation of 'em, pray let them multiply, your Brother's house is big enough, and to say truth, h'as too much Land, hang it durt.

      Young Lo. Why now thou art a loving stinkard. Fire off thy Annotations and thy Rent-books, thou hast a weak brain Savil, and with the next long Bill thou wilt run mad. Gentlemen, you are once more welcome to three hundred pounds a year; we will be freely merry, shall we not?

      Capt. Merry as mirth and wine, my lovely Loveless.

      Poet. A serious look shall be a Jury to excommunicate any man from our company.

      Tra. We will not talk wisely neither?

      Young Lo. What think you Gentlemen by all this Revenue in Drink?

      Capt. I am all for Drink.

      Tra. I am dry till it be so.

      Poet. He that will not cry Amen to this, let him live sober, seem wise, and dye o'th' Coram.

      Young Lo. It shall be so, we'l have it all in Drink, let Meat and Lodging go, they are transitory, and shew men meerly mortal: then we'l have Wenches, every one his Wench, and every week a fresh one: we'l keep no powdered flesh: all these we have by warrant, under the title of things necessary. Here upon this place I ground it, The obedience of my people, and all necessaries: your opinions Gentlemen?

      Capt. 'Tis plain and evident that he meant Wenches.

      Sav. Good Sir let me expound it?

      Capt. Here be as sound men, as your self Sir.

      Poet. This do I hold to be the interpretation of it: In this word Necessary, is concluded all that be helps to Man; Woman was made the first, and therefore here the chiefest.

      Young Lo. Believe me 'tis a learned one; and by these words, The obedience of my people, you Steward being one, are bound to fetch us Wenches.

      Capt. He is, he is.

      Young Lo. Steward, attend us for instructions.

      Sav. But will you keep no house Sir?

      Young Lo. Nothing but drink Sir, three hundred pounds in drink.

      Sav. O miserable house, and miserable I that live to see it! Good Sir keep some meat.

      Young Lo. Get us good Whores, and for your part, I'le board you in an Alehouse, you shall have Cheese and Onions.

      Sav. What shall become of me, no Chimney smoaking? Well Prodigal, your Brother will come home.

      [Exit.

      Young Lo. Come Lads, I'le warrant you for Wenches, three hundred pounds in drink.

      [Exeunt omnes.

      Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

      Enter Lady, her Sister Martha, Welford, Younglove, and others.

      Lady. Sir, now you see your bad lodging, I must bid you good night.

      Wel. Lady if there be any want, 'tis in want of you.

      Lady. A little sleep will ease that complement. Once more good night.

      Wel. Once more dear Lady, and then all sweet nights.

      Lady. Dear Sir be short and sweet then.

      Wel. Shall the morrow prove better to me, shall I hope my sute happier by this nights rest?

      Lady. Is your sute so sickly that rest will help it? Pray ye let it rest then till I call for it. Sir as a stranger you have had all my welcome: but had I known your errand ere you came, your passage had been straiter. Sir, good night.

      Welford. So fair, and cruel, dear unkind good night. [Exit Lady. Nay Sir, you shall stay with me, I'le press your zeal so far.

      Roger. O Lord Sir.

      Wel. Do you love Tobacco?

      Rog. Surely I love it, but it loves not me; yet with your reverence I'le be bold.

      Wel. Pray light it Sir. How do you like it?

      Rog. I promise you it is notable stinging geer indeed. It is wet Sir, Lord how it brings down Rheum!

      Wel. Handle it again Sir, you have a warm text of it.

      Rog. Thanks ever promised for it. I promise you it is very powerful, and by a Trope, spiritual; for certainly it moves in sundry places.

      Wel. I, it does so Sir, and me especially to ask Sir, why you wear a Night-cap.

      Rog. Assuredly I will speak the truth unto you: you shall understand Sir, that my head is broken, and by whom; even by that visible beast the Butler.

      Wel. The Butler? certainly he had all his drink about him when he did it. Strike one of your grave Cassock? The offence Sir?

      Rog. Reproving him at Tra-trip Sir, for swearing; you have the total surely.

      Wel. You told him when his rage was set a tilt, and so he crackt your Canons. I hope he has not hurt your gentle reading: But shall we see these Gentlewomen to night.

      Rog. Have patience Sir until our fellow Nicholas be deceast, that is, asleep: for so the word is taken: to sleep to dye, to dye to sleep, a very figure Sir.

      Wel. Cannot you cast another for the Gentlewomen?

      Rog. Not till the man be in his bed, his grave: his grave, his bed: the very same again Sir. Our Comick Poet gives the reason sweetly; Plenus rimarum est, he is full of loope-holes, and will discover to our Patroness.

      Wel. Your comment Sir has made me understand you.

      Enter Martha the Ladies Sister, and Younglove, to them with a Posset.

      Rog. Sir be addrest, the graces do salute you with the full bowl of plenty. Is our old enemy entomb'd?

      Abig. He's safe.

      Rog. And does he snore out supinely with the Poet?

      Mar. No, he out-snores the Poet.

      Wel. Gentlewoman, this courtesie shall bind a stranger to you, ever your servant.

      Mar. Sir, my Sisters strictness makes not us forget you are a stranger and a Gentleman.

      Abig. In sooth Sir, were I chang'd into my Lady, a Gentleman so well indued with parts, should not be lost.

      Wel. I thank you Gentlewoman, and rest bound to you. See how this foul familiar chewes the Cud: From thee, and three and fifty good Love deliver me.

      Mar. Will you sit down Sir, and take a spoon?

      Wel. I take it kindly, Lady.

      Mar. It is