give her my fan ?
Del. You were best ask your husband.
Fran. Shall L Tom?
Civ. Ay, do, Pranke ; I'll buy thee a new one with a longer
handle.
Fran. A russet one, Tom.
Civ. Ay, with russet feathers.
Fran. Here, sister ; there's my fan toward household, to keep
you warm.
Luce. I thank you, sister.
Weath. Why. this is well : and toward fair Luce's stock.
Here's forty shillings : and forty good shillings more,
I'll give her, marry. Come, Sir Lancelot,
I must have vou friends.
Sir Lane. Not I: all this is counterfeit; he will consume it,
were it a million.
Flow, Sen. Sir. what is your daughter's dower worth ?
Sir Lane. Had she been married to an honest man.
It had been better than a thousand pound.
Flow. Sen. Pay it to him, and I'll give you. my bond
To make her jointure better worth tnan three.
Sir Lane, "four bond, Sir ! why. what are you ?
Flow. Sen. One whose word in London, though I say it.
Will pass there for as much as yours.
Sir Lane. Wert not thou late that unthrifb's serving-man ?
Flow. Sen. Look on me better, now my scar is off:
Ne'er muse, man, at this metamorphosis.
Sir Lane. Master Flowerdale !
M. Flow. My father ! O, I shame to look on him.
Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.
Flow. Sen. Son, son, I do ; and joy at this tlnr change.
And apnlaud thy fortune in this virtuous mai((
Whom heaven hath sent to thee to save thy soul.
Luce. This addeth joy to joy ; high heaven be praised.
Weath, Master Flowerdale, welcome from death, ffood Mas-
ter Flowerdale. 'Twas said so here, 'twas said so here, good
faith.
Flow. Sen. I caused that rumour to be spread myself,
Because I'd see the humours of m^ son.
Which to relate ihe circumstance is needless.
And, sinnah, see
You run no more into that same disease :
For he that's once cured of that malady.
Of riot, swearing, drunkenness, and pnde.
And falls again into the like distress,
That fever ^8 deadly, doth till death endure :
Such men die mad, as of a calenture.*
* Burning fever.
dbyGoOgk
248 LOKDON PBOOIGAL. [ACT V,.
M, Flow. Heaven helping me. Til hate the course as helL
Flow, Jun. Say it, and do it, cousin, all is well.
Sir Lane. Well, being in hope you'll prove an honest man,
I take you to ms favour. Brother Flowerdale,
Welcome with all my heart : I see your care
Hath brought these acts to this conclusion^
And I am glad of it. Come, let's in, and feast.
Oli. Nay, zofb you a while. You promised to make Sir Arthur
and me amends : here is your wisest daughter ; see which on us
shell have.
Sir Lane. A Qod's name, vou have my good will ; get hers.
OH. How say you, then, oamsel ?
Del. ly Sir, am yours.
OU. Why, then send for a vicar, and chil have it despatched in
a trice ; so chiL
Del. Pardon me, Sur ; I mean that I am yours
In love, in duty, and affection;
But not to love as wife : it shall ne'er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.
SirArth. Do not condemn yourself for ever, virtuous fSur;
you were bom to love.
Oli. Why you say true, Sir Arthur; she was ybore to it, so
well as her mother :— but^ I pray you, show us some zamples or
reasons why you will not marry ?
Del. Not that I do condemn a married life
(For 'tis, no doubt, a sanctimonious thing).
But for the care and crosses of a wife ;
The trouble in this world that children bring.
My vow's in heaven, on earth to live alone ;
Husbands, howsoever goo<L I will have none.
OU. Why, then, che will Uve a bachelor too. Che zet not a
vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me.— Come, shall's go to
dinner?
Flow. Sen. To-morrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane :
To-night well frolic in Master Civet's house.
And to each health drink down a full carouse.
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THE PURITAN:
OR,
THE WIDOW OF WATLING STREET.
d by Google
THE PURITAN.
** A BOOEE called The Comedie of the Puritan Wydowe " was
entered at Stationers' Hall by G. Eld, August 6, 1607 ; and the
play was published by him in the same year, with the following
title : " The Puritaine, or the Widdow of Watling Streete. Acted
by the Children of Paules. Written by W. S/' This circum-
stance alone might lead us to suspect that it was not the compo-
sition of Shakspeare; for it does not appear that any one of his
pieces was acted by the children of St. Paul's. But without
having recourse to any argiunent of that kind, it may be suffi-
cient to say that there is no authority whatsoever for attributing
this comedy to him. The colour of the style is entirely different
fW)m that of his plays, and it was, as we see, not printed under
his name in his lifetime : it is not mentioned as his production
by any contemporary writer, nor was it, I believe, ever attri-
buted to him till Kirkman, a bookseller, in one of his cata-
logues, chose to interpret the letters W. S. to mean "William
Shakspeare.
I suppose this piece to have been written by William Smith,
whose name has been ahready mentioned in the preliminary
observations on "Locrine," and who was likewise the author of
two other plays, " The Palsgrave, or the Hector of Grermany,"
printed in the year 1616, and the " Freeman's Honour," a per-
formance that was, I believe, never published.
dbyGoogk
THE PURITAN:
OB,
THE WIDOW OF WATLING STKEET.
PERSONS BEPRESENTED.
SIR GODFREY PLUS, Brother-in-
law to the Widow Plug.
EDMOND, Son to the Widow.
SIR OLIVER MUCKHILL, a rich
City Knight, and Suitor to the
Widow.
SIR JOHN PENNYDUB, a Country
Kmghtf and Suitor to Mary.
SIR ANDREW TIPSTAFF, a Cour-
tier, and Suitor to Frances.,
GEORGE PYEBOARD, a Scholar.
THE SHERIFF OF LONDON.
C APTA IN IDLE, a Highwayman.
RAVENSHAW, } Sherds Serjeants.
DOGSON, a Catchpole.
CORPORAL OATH, a vainglorious
Fellow.
NICHOLAS ST. ANT-^ c^„„*. /«
LINGS, Servants to
SIMON ST. MAKY.\^°^fj!^
OVERIES, f %ZiZ
FRAILTY, J ^OV^^'
PETER SKIRMISH, an Old Soldier.
A NOBLEMAN.
A GENTLEMAN CITIZEN.
LADY PLUS, a Citizen*s Widow.
^IaJ^,^^* } A«- ^0 Daughters.
Shbritf*8 Officers, Kbvpsr of
THC Marshalsea Prison, Mu-
sicians, and Attbnoants.
Scene. — London.
ACT I.
SCENE I.— A, Garden behind the Widow's Eouse.
Enter the Widow Plus, Pbances, Maby, Sib Godfbby, and
Edmond, all in mourning ; the latter in a Cyprus hat: the
Widow wringing her hands, and bursting out into passion, as
newly come from the burial of her husband.
Wid. O, that ever I was bom, that ever I was bom !
Sir God. Nay, good sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good
comfort ; show yourself a woman now or never.
Wid. O, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the
sweetest husband, that ever lay by woman.
Mr God. Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest,
virtuous, discreet, wise man. He was my brother, as right as
right
dbyGoogk
252 THE PUBITAK. [aCT L
TFtd, O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a
man so well given to a woman. Oh !
Sir God. Kav, hut, kind sister, I could weep as much as any
woman ; hut, alas, our tears cannot call him a^ain. Methinks
you are well read, sister, and know that death is as common as
homo, a common name to all men. A man shall he tf^en when
he's making water. Nay, did not the learned parson, Mssber
Pigman, tefl us even now, — that all flesh is IVail— "We are bom
to die— Man has but a time— with such like deep and profound
persuasions ? as he is a rare fellow, you know, and an excellent
reader. And for example (as there are examples abundance),
did not Sir Humphrey Bubble die t'other day? There's a lusty
widow ! why, she cried not above half an hour. For shame, for
shame !— Then followed him old Master Fulsome, the usurer :
there's a wise widow ; why, she cried ne'er a whit at all.
Wid, O, rank not me with those wicked women ; I had a hus-
band out-shined 'em aU.
Sir God. Ay, that he did, i' faith ; he out-shined 'em alL
Wid, Dost thou stand there, and see us all weep, and not once
shed a tear for thy father's death P oh, thou imgradous son and
heir, thou !
JBdm. Troth, mother, I should not weep. I'm sure. I am past
a child. I hope, to make all my old schoolfellows huigh at me;
I should be mocked, so I should. Pray, let one of my sisters
weep for me ; I'll laugh as much for her another time.
Wid, O, thou past-<grace, thou ! Out of my sight, thou grace-
less imp ! thou grievest me more than the deatn of thy mther.
O, thou stubborn only son ! Hadst thou such an honest man to
thy father— ^that would deceive all the world to get riches for
thee, and canst thou not afford a little salt water ? He that so
wisely did quite overthrow the right heir of those lands, wMch
now you respect not : up every morning betwixt four and five ;
so duly at Westminster-hall every term-time, with all his charts*
and Mrritings, for thee, thou wicked Absalon : O. dear husband !
JSdm, Weep, quoth-a ? I protest I am glad he's churched ;
for now he's gone, I shall spend in quiet.
Fran. Dear mother, pray cease ; half your tears suffice ;
*Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes :
Let me weep now.
Wid. O, such a dear knight, such a sweet husband have I lost
have I lost ! If blessed be the corse the rain rains upon, he had
it pouring down.
Sir God. Sister, be of good cheer. "We are all mortal our-
selves ; I come upon you freshly, I ne'er speak without comfort
Hear me what 1 shall say : — My brother has lefb you wealthy ;
you're rich*
Wid. Oh !
Sir God. 1 say you're rich : you are also fair*
Wid, Oh!
Sir God. Go to, you're fSair; you cannot smother it; beauty
will come to hght Nor are your years so far entered witii you,
» Papers.
dbyGoOgk
BCBMET.] THE ^UEITAIT. 258
but that you will be sought after, and may very well answer
another husband. The world is full of fine gallants; choice
enoagh, sister ; for, what should we do with alT our knights, I
pray, but to marry rich widows, wealthy citizens' widows, lusty
ndr-browed ladies ? Go to, be of good comfort, I say ; leave
snobbing* and weeping. Yet. my brother was a kind-hearted
man, — ^T would not nave the elf see me now. — Come, pluck up a
woman's heart. Here stand yp\a daughters, who be well estated,
and at maturity will also be inquired after with good husbands ;
io all these tears shall be soon dried up, and a better world than
ever. What, woman ! you must not weep still ; he's dead, he's
buried :— yet I cannot choose but weep for him.
Wid. Marry again I no, let me be buried quick then !
And that same part o' the choir whereon I tread
To such intent, O, may it be my grave !
And that the priest may turn ms wedding prayers,
Even with a breath, to funeral dust and ashes !
O, out of a miUion of millions, I should ne'er find such a bus-
bsmd; he was unmatchable, unmatchable. Nothing was too
hot, nor too dear for me. I could not speak of that one thing
that I had not. Beside, I had keys of all^ kept all, received all,
had money in my purse, spent what I would, went abroad when
I would, came home when I would, and did idl what I would.
O, my sweet husband ! I shall never nave the like.
Sir God. Sister, ne'er say so. He was an honest brother of
mine, and so ; and you may light upon one as honest again, or
one as honest- again may hght upon you: that's the properer
phrase indeed.
Wid. Never r O, if you love me, urge it not.
may I be the by-word of the world, IKneeU,
The oonunon talk at table in the mouth
Of every groom and waiter, if e'er more
1 entertain the carnal suit of man.
Mary, I must kneel down for fashion too.
Fran, And I, whom never man as yet hath scaled.
Even in this depth of general sorrow, vow
Never to marry, to sustain such loss
As a dear husband seems to be. once dead.
Mary. I loved my father well, too ; but to say.
Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death,
Sure I should speak false Latin, should I not ?
I'd as soon vow never to come in bed.
Tut ! women must live by the quick, and not by the dead.
Wid. Dear copy of my nusband, O let me kiss thee !
[_Ki3ses her hmbancPs picture.
How like him is this model ! This brief picture
2uickens my tears : my sorrows are renew'd
t this fresh sight
Sir God. Sistei>-
Wid. Away!
All honesty with him is tum'd to clay.
O my sweet husband ! Oh.
• Sobbing.
dbyGoogk
264 THE PUEITAK. [ACT I.
Fran. My dear father ! [Uxeunt Widow and Fbances.
Mary. Here's a puling, indeed I I think my mother weeps for
all the women that ever buried husbands ; for if from time to
time all the widowers'* tears in England had been bottled up, I
do not think all would have filled a three-halfpenny borne.
Alas, a small matter bucksf a handkerchief ! and sometimes the
'spital stands too nigh Saint Thomas a' Waterings-t Well, I
can mourn in good sober sort as well as another ; but where I
spend one tear for a dead father, I could give twenty kisses for a
quick § husband. ISxit.
Sir God. Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou mayst
be proud on't ; thou hast a kind, loving sister-m-law. How con-
sent ! how passionate ! how full of April the poor soul's eyes
are! Well, I would my brother knew on't: ne should tiien
know what a kind wife he had left behind him. 'Truth, an
'twere not for shame that the neighbours at the next garden
should hear me, between joy and grief I should e'en cry out-
right. \_ExU.
JSdm. So: a fair riddance! My father's laid in dust; his
coffin and ne is like a whole meat-pie, and the worms will cut
him up shortly. Farewell, old dad, farewell ! I'll be curbed in
no more. I perceive a son and heir may be quickly made a fool,
an he will be one; but I'll take another order.|| Now, she
would have me weep for him, forsooth ; and why ? because he
cozened the right heir, being a fooL and bestowed those lands on
me, his eldest son ; and therefore I must weep for him ; ha, ha !
Why, all the world knows, as long as 'twas his pleasure to get
me, 'twas his duty to get for me : 1 know the law in that point;
no attorney can gull me. Well, my uncle is an old ass, and an
admirable coxcomb. I'll rule the roast myself; I'U be kept
under no more ; I know what I may do well enough by my father's
copy : the law 's in mine own hands now. Nay, now I know my
strength, I'll be strong enough for my mother, I warrant you.
[ExU.
SCENE IZ—A Street.
Enter PrEBOlED and Skibmish.
Pye. What's to be done now, old lad of war ? Thou that were
wont to be as hot as a turnspit, as nimble as a fencer, and as
lousy as a school-master, now thou art put to silence like a sec-
tary. War sits now Uke a justice of peace, and does nothing.
Where be your muskets, calivers,ir and hot-shots ? in Long-luae,
at pawn, at pawn ? Now keys are your only guns ; key-guns,
key-guns,— and bawds the gunners ; who are your sentinels in
peace, and stand ready charged to give warning with hems, hums,
and pocky coughs : only your chambers are Ucensed to play upon
you, and drabs enow to give fire to 'em.
* In old English books the word widower is applied to both sexes.
t Soaks.
t I. e. those widows who shed most tears, are sometimes guilty of sadi
indiscretions as render them proper subjects for the public hospital.
§ I. e. alive. | Pursue another course. % Muskets.
dbyGoOgk
8CE17E II.] THE PUEITAl^. 255
Skir. Well, I cannot telL but I am sure it goes wrong with
me; for since the ceasure* of the wars I have spent above a
hundred crowns out of purse. I have been a soldier any time
this forty years ; and now I i)eroeive an old soldier and an old
courtier have both one destiny, and in the end turn both into
hob-nails.
JPfe, Pretty mystery for a beggar ; for indeed a hob-nail is the
true emblem of a beggar's shoe-soaL
Skir. I will not say but that war is a blood-sucker, and so ; but,
in my conscience (as there is no soldier but has a piece of one.
though it be full of holes, Uke a shot ancient ;t no matter,— 'twill
serve to swear by), in my conscience, I think some kind of peace
has more hidden oppressions, and violent heady sins (though
looking of a gentle nature), thftn a professed war.
JPyc, 'Troth, and for mine own part, I am a i)Oor gentleman,
and a scholar ; I have been matriculated in the university, wore
out six gowns there, seen some fools, and some scholars, some of
the city, and some of the country, kept order, went bare-headed
over the quadrangle, ate my commons with a good stomach, and
battled with discretion ;| at last, having done many sleights and
tricks to maintain my wit in use (as my brain would never en-
dure me to be idle), I was expelled the university, only for steal-
ing a cheese out of Jesus College.
Skir. Is't possible ?
Pye. O ! there was one Welshman (Grod forgive him!) pursued
it hard, and never left, till I turn'd my staflF toward London ;
where, when I-came, all my friends were pit-holed, gone to graves ;
as indeed there was but a few left before. Then was I tum'd to
my wits, to shift in the world, to tower § among sons and heirs,
and fools, and gulls, and ladies* eldest sons ; to work upon nothing,
to feed out of flint : and ever since has my belly been much be-
holden to my brain. But now to return to you, old Skirmish :—
I say as you sa.j, and for my part wish a turbulency in the world ;
for I have nothing to lose but my wits, and I think they are as
mad as they will be : and to strengthen your argument the more,
I say an honest war is better than a bawdy peace. As touchinfr
my profession : the multipUcity of scholars, hatch'd and nourish'd
in tne idle calms of peace, makes them, like fishes, one devour
another ; and the comjnunity of learning has so played upon
affectio/hs, that thereby almost reUgion iscome about to phantasy,
and discredited by bemg too much sx)oken of, in so many ana
mean mouths. I myself being a scholar and a graduate, have no
other comfort by my learning but the affection i| of my words,
to know how, scholar-like, to name what I want ; and can call
myself a beggar both in Greek and Latin. And therefore, not to
• Ceasing. t Flag.
t From the use of tlje latter expression. Dr. Farmer supposes the author
to have been bred at Oxford, battling being the term used there to express
what is called sizing at Cambridge. Quadrangle is likewise, if I am not
mistaken, an Oxford, and not a Cambridge, phrase. Battles (at Oxford—
sizings at Cambridge) are certain portions of bread, beer, &c., got from
the college buttery, on credit.
^ /.«. rise like a hawk to descend on my prey. | J. e. affectation.
dbyGoOgk
256 THE PUBITAK- [ACT I.
cog* with peace, 111' not be afraid to say. 'tis a great breeder, but
a barren uourisner ; a great getter of cmldren, which must either
be thieves or rich men, knaves or beggars.
Skir, Well, would I had been bom a knave then, when I was
born a beggar ! for if the truth was known, I think I was b^^t
when my father had never a penny in his purse.
Pye. r uh ! faint not^ old Skirmish ^ let this warrant thee—
facilis descensus Avemt — ^*tis an easy journey to a knave ; thou
mayst be a knave when thou wilt : and Peace is a good madam
to all other professions, and an errant drab to us. I^t us handle
her accordingly, and by our wits thrive in despite of her : For,
since the law lives by quarrels, the courtier by smooth good-
morrows, and every profession makes itself greater by imperfec-
tions, why not we then by shifts, wiles, and forgeries? And
seeing our brains are our only patrimonies, let* s spend with
judgment ; not like a desperate son and heir, but like a sober and
discreet Templar ; one that will never march beyond the bounds
of his allowance. And for our thriving means, thus : — I myaeif
will put on the deceit of a fortune-teller.
Skir. A fortune-teller ? Very proper.
Pye. And you a figure-caster, or a conjurer.
Skir. A conjurer ?
Pye. Let me alone : 111 instruct you, and teach you to deceive
all eyes, but the devil s.
Skir. O ay, for I would not deceive him, an I could choose, of
all others.
Pye, Fear not, I warrant you. And so by those means we
shall help one another to patients ; as the condition of the age
affords creatures enough for cunning to work upon.
Skir, O wondrous! new fools and fresh asses.
Pye. O. fit,. fit; excellent.
Skir. "What, in the name of conjuring ?
Pye. My memory greets me happily with an admirable subject
to graze upon. The lady widow, whom of late I saw weeping in
her garden for the death of her husband, sure she has but a
waterish soul, and half oft by this time is dropped out of her
eyes: device well managed may do good upon her: it stands
firm ; my first practice shall be there.
Skir. You have my voice, George.
Pye. She has a grey gull to her hrother, a fod to her only son,
and an ape to her youngest daughter. I overheard them severally,
and from their words l*ll derive mv device ; and thou, old Peter
Skirmish, shalt be my second in all sleights.
Skir. Ne'er doubt me, George Pyeboard ;— only you must
teach me to conjure.
Pye. Puh ! I'll perfect thee, Peter : How now ! what's he ?
[Idle, pinioned, and attended by a guard of Sher^*s
officers, passes over the stage.
Skir. O George ! this sight kills me. 'Tis my sworn brother.
Captain Idle.
Pye, Captain Idle !
* Dissemble.
d by Google
8CEI7E in.] THE PUEITAN. 257
Skir. Apprehended for some felonious act or other. He has
started ou^— has made a night on%— laok*d silver. I cannot but
commend his resolution ; he would not pawn his buflf jerkin.* I
would either some of us were employed, or might pitch our
tents at usurers* doors, to kill the slaves as they peep out at the
wicket.
Ppe, Indeed, those are our ancient enemies ; they keep our
money in their hands, and make us to be hang'd for robbing of
them. But come, lers follow after to the prison, and know the
nature of his offence ; and what we can stead him in, he shall be
sure of it : and Til uphold it still, that a charitable knave is
better than a soothing Puritan. [Exeunt.
8CEKE III.— A street
Snter NICHOLAS St. Antlings,f SiMON St. Mary-Overies, and
Pbailty, in black scurvy mourning coats, with books at their
girdles, as coming from Church. To them Corporal Oath.
Nich. "WTiat, Corporal Oath ! I am sorry we have met with you,
next our hearts ; you are the man that we are forbidden to keep
company withal. We must not swear, I can tell you, and you
have the name for swearing
Sim. Ay, Corporal Oath, 1 would you would do so much as for-
sake us, Sir : we cannot abide you ; we must not be seen in your
comx)any.
Frail. There is none of us, I can tell you, but shall be soundly .
whipp'd for swearing.
Oath. "Why how now, we three 1% Puritanical scrapeshoes,
flesh o' Good-Fridays, a hand. [Shakes them by the hand.
AU. Oh !
Oaih. Why, Nicholas St. Antlings, Simon St. Mary-Overies,
has the devil possessed you, that you swear no better ? you half-
christen'd cal^mites, you ungodmother'd varlets.§ Does the first
lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to be coxcombs,
proud coxcombs, not once to do duty to a man of mark ? ||
Frail. A man of mark, quoth-a ! I do not think he can show
a beggar's noble.l
Oath. A corporal, a commander, one of spirit, that is able to
blow you up all three, vnth your books at your gu-dles.
Sim. We are not taught to beUeve that, Sir ; for we know the
l»reath of man is weak. [Oath breathes on Frailty.
Frail. Foh! you he, Nicholas; for here's one strong enough.
* Leathern apper-coat.
t The name of a church near Lombard-street. Antling*s is a corrup-
tion oi Anth(Uin*».
t A common sign in the time of Shakspeare, &c., consisting of two
men in fool's coats. The spectator or inquirer concerning^ its meaning,
was supposed to make the third.
S The Puritans objected to the practice of having godfathers and god-
mothers.
I /. e. of distinction.
\ I.e. a fartliing. A quibble between morAr, an ancient coin, value
0t. M., and marAr, oooinence.
â–¼OL.T.
dbyGoogk
258 THE PUBITAK. [aCT I.
Blow US up, Quoth-a ! he may well blow me above twelve score*
off on him : 1 warrant, if the wind stood right a man might smell
him from the top of Newgate to the leads of Ludg{Ube.t
Oath. Sirrah, thou hollow book of wax-candle f—
Nich. Ay, you may say what you will, so you swear not.
Oath, I swear by the —
Nich, Hold hold, good Corporal Oath ; for if you swear once,
we shall all fall down in a swoon presentljr.
Oath. I must and will swear, you quivering coxcombs: my
captain is imprisoned ; and by Vulcan's leather codpiece point § —
Nich. O Simon, what an oath was there !
FraU. If he should chance to break iL the poor man's breeches
would fall down about his heels ; for Venus allows him but one
point to his hose.
Oath. With these my bull^ feet I will thump ope the prison