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A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VI

R >> Robert Dodsley >> A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VI




DUNSTAN.
My gracious lord, if I might counsel you,
I would counsel you to judge as he deserves.
He that disdains his father in his want,
And wilfully will disobey his sire,
Deserves, my lord, by God's and nature's laws,
To be rewarded with extremest ills:
Then, as your grace hath 'stablish'd laws for government,
So let offenders feel the penalties.

KING.
Ay, Dunstan; now thou speakest as fits a councillor,
But not as friend to him whom Edgar loves.
Father, what wouldest thou have me do in this?
Thou seest thy son is sorry for his fault,
And I am sure thou would not wish his death,
Because a father's care commands the contrary.
Then, gentle father, let me plead for him,
And be his pledge for shunning wilful ills.

FATHER.
Will Edgar now be found a partial judge,
In pleading pardon for a graceless child?
Is it not true,
That one coal of fire will burn many houses,
And one small brack in finest cloth that is,
Will both disgrace and blemish the whole piece?
So wilful children, spotted with one ill,
Are apt to fall to twenty thousand more;
And therefore, mighty sovereign, leave to speak,
And pass just sentence on Philarchus' life.

PHILARCHUS.
My life? dear father, that sentence were too hard:
Let me be banish'd from my country's bounds,
And live as exil'd in some wilderness,
Barr'd from society and sight of men;
Or let me hazard fortunes on the seas,
In setting me aboard some helmless ship,
That either I may split upon some rock,
Or else be swallowed in the purple main,
Rather than die in presence of my king,
Or bring that sorrow to your aged years.
If this suffice not, then let me be arm'd,
And left alone among ten thousand foes;
And if my weapon cannot set me free,
Let them be means to take my life from me.

KING.
Father, what say you to Philarchus now?
Are you content to pardon his amiss?
Dunstan, I promise thee, it grieves me much,
To hear what piteous moan Philarchus makes:
Methinks I see sad sorrow in his face,
And his humility argues him penitent.
But, father, for I will not be the judge,
To doom Philarchus either life or death,
Here, take my robes, and judge him as thou wilt.

FATHER.
Then, virtuous prince, seeing you will have it so,
Although the place be far unfit for me,
I am content your grace shall have your mind.
Thus, like an ass attired in costly robes,
Or like a ring thrust in a foul sow's snout,
So do these robes and sceptre fit mine age.
But for I am judge, Philarchus, stand thou forth,
And know, as there is nothing so good, but it hath some inconvenience,
So there is no man whatsoever without some fault:
Yet this is no argument to maintain thy wilful disobedience.
As the rose hath his prickle, the finest velvet his brack,
The fairest flower his bran, so the best wit his wanton will.
But, Philarchus, thou hast been more than wanton,
Because thou hast disobeyed the laws both of God and nature:
The tears that thou hast shed might warrant me,
That thou art penitent for thy amiss,
Besides, my son, a father's natural care
Doth challenge pardon for thy first amiss.

KING.
Father, well said: I see thou pitiest him.

FATHER.
Nay, stay, my lord:
This did I speak as father to Philarchus;
But now, my lord, I must speak as a judge.
And now, Philarchus, mark what I set down.
Because thou hast been disobedient,
And wronged thy aged father wilfully,
And given a blow to him that nourished thee,
And thereby hast incurr'd thy mother's curse,
And in that curse to feel the wrath of God,
And so be hated on the earth 'mongst men;
And for I will be found no partial judge,
Because I sit as God's vicegerent now,
Here I do banish thee from England's bounds,
And never to----

KING.
There stay: now, let me speak the rest.
Philarchus, thou hast heard thy father's doom,
And what thy disobedience moved him to;
Yet for thou wast once bedfellow to the king,
And that I loved thee as my second self, thou shall
Go live in France, in Flanders, Scotland, or elsewhere,
And have [an] annual pension sent to thee.
There may'st thou live in good and honest sort,
Until thou be recalled by the king.

PHILARCHUS.
Thanks, gracious king, for this great favour shown,
And may I never live, if I forget
Your grace's kind and unexpected love,
In favouring him whom all the world forsook:
For which my orisons shall still be spent,
Heavens may protect your princely majesty.
And, loving father, here upon my knee,
Sorry for my amiss, I take my leave
Both of yourself, my king, and countrymen.
England, farewell, more dearer unto me,
Than pen can write, or heart can think of thee.
[_Exit_.

KING.
Farewell, Philarchus; and, father, come to Court;
And, for Philarchus' sake, thou shalt not want.

FATHER.
Thanks, virtuous king; I humbly take my leave.
[_Exit_.

KING.
Dunstan, I promise thee, I was like to weep,
To hear what piteous moan Philarchus made.

DUNSTAN.
Here your grace hath showed yourself to be
Edgar, so famed for love and virtuous government;
And I pray God your grace may live to be
Long England's king to reign with verity.

[_Exeunt_.

[_Enter_ HONESTY.]

HONESTY.
'Tis strange to see how men of honesty
Are troubled many times with subtle knavery:
For they have so many cloaks to colour their abuses,
That Honesty may well suspect them, but dares not detect them;
For if he should, they have by their knavery
Got so many friends, that though never so bad,
They will stand in defence with the best.
I was at the water-side, where I saw such deceit--
I dare not say knavery--in paying and receiving
Custom for outlandish ware, that I wond'red to see,
Yet durst not complain of: the reason was,
They were countenanced with men of great wealth,
Richer than I a great deal, but not honester.
Then I went into the markets, where I saw petty knavery
In false-measuring corn, and in scales,
That wanted no less than two ounces in the pound.
But all this was nothing, scant worth the talking of;
But when I came to the Exchange, I espied in a corner of an aisle
An arch-cosener; a coneycatcher, I mean,
Which used such gross cosening, as you would wonder to hear.
But here he comes fine and brave:
Honesty marks him down for a knave.

[_Enter_ CONEYCATCHER.]

CONEYCATCHER.
Why so, 'tis an ill wind blows no man to profit;
And he is but a fool that, when all fails, cannot live upon his wit.
I have attired myself like a very civil citizen,
To draw fourscore pound from a couple of fools.
A gentleman, having made over his land by deed of gift,
Means to cosen a broker with a false conveyance.
All's one to me; I shall lose nothing by the bargain.
But here comes the broker: I will walk, as I regarded him not.

[_Enter_ BROKER.]

BROKER.
God save you, sir: I see you keep your hour.
But hear you, sir; hath the gentleman that conveyance
You told me of ready? I hope, sir, I
Shall need misdoubt no deceit in the matter,
For I mean plainly, and so, I hope, do you.

CONEYCATCHER.
Sir, as concerning the conveyance, I assure you,
'Tis so good, and he hath such good interest in it,
That, were I furnish'd with so much money presently,
No man in the world should have it but myself.
And for own part, you need not suspect me,
For I would not discredit myself for a thousand pound;
For the gentleman is my very friend,
And, being in some want, is enforc'd to pawn land
For the supplying of a present necessity.
Tush, the interest is good, I warrant you.

HONESTY.
And that's much worth: some will say,
A crafty knave needs no broker,
But here is a crafty knave and a broker too:
There wants not a knave, then, I imagine. [_Aside_.

BROKER.
But tell me, sir, when did he promise to be here?
What, will it be long, ere he come?

CONEYCATCHER.
Nay, it will not be long, ere he come,
For the conveyance was made, ere I came from the scrivener's,
And in good time here he comes. God save you, sir:

[_Enter_ GENTLEMAN.]

Here is the man I told you of, that would lend you the money.
He is a very honest man; and but for my sake, I know,
He would not do it. But is the land despatch'd another way?
If you be ready to seal, he is ready with the money.
Hear you, sir, you have a good bargain; despatch it quickly.

BROKER.
Being advertised by my friend, this honest merchant,
That you have certain land to pawn for present money,
Now, I had not so much money of mine own at this time,
But I made means to borrow so much of a friend of mine,
Because I would not have you fall in bad men's handling.

GENTLEMAN.
I thank you, sir, for this unspeakable favour.
If you deal amiss with me, I am undone for ever.

BROKER.
I would not deal amiss with any man for a thousand pound.

HONESTY.
And yet he will cut a man's throat for twelve-pence.
Here is a cluster of knaves; here lacks but the baily of Hexham.
[Aside.]

BROKER.
Well, sir, here is the money: will it please you seal the assurance.

GENTLEMAN.
With all my heart.

HONESTY.
God save her, sirs, and her good friends; her is a poor Welshman,
come as far as Carnarvon, in Wales, to receive a little money, and
here a has paid her I cannot tell what.
[_To_ BROKER.] Here, you master; what, is it not brass money?

BROKER.
No, honest fellow; 'tis a good angel in gold.

HONESTY.
Who told him my name? [_Aside_.]
Hear you, master: a has a great deal more in her bosom, but a will
take her leave.

CONEYCATCHER.
Nay, stay and dine with me.
I must fetch him over for all his gold. [_Aside_.]

HONESTY.
Marry, I thank her, good master: I will wait upon her, I warrant you.

BROKER.
Now, sir, have you seal'd and subscribed?

GENTLEMAN.
I have, sir.

BROKER.
And you deliver this as your deed to my use?

GENTLEMAN.
With all my heart, sir; and hope you will use me well.

BROKER.
We will talk of that another time: here is your money.

GENTLEMAN.
I thank you, sir: I'll be gone.

CONEYCATCHER.
Hear you, sir; was not this bravely done? [_Aside_.]

GENTLEMAN.
Excellent: hold, here is forty pound, as I promised thee.

CONEYCATCHER.
I thank you, sir. Do you hear, sir, you have got a thousand pound
by the bargain; but much good may it do you.
[_Exit_.

BROKER.
God-a-mercy; and here's forty pound for thy pains.
Such another match, and I'll give thee a hundred pound.
[_Exit_.

CONEYCATCHER.
I thank you, sir, God b'w'y'. Now to my Welshman.
Sirrah, let me see thy piece of gold;
I'll tell thee whether it be weight or no.
Hast thou any more? I'll give thee white money for it.

HONESTY.
Yes, a has a great deal more in her bosom,
But a will have no whit' money: O, a loves red money.

CONEYCATCHER.
Well, I'll keep them for thee, till thou come to my house.

HONESTY.
Why, Cutbert, wilt thou never leave thy old knavery?
Why, we should gree together like bells,
If thou wert but hanged first.
Why, we are as near kin together
As the cates[299] of Banbury be to the bells of Lincoln.
Why, man, we are all birds of a feather,
And whosoever says nay, we will hold together.
Come, you mad slave, thou dost not know me.
Tush! I have done many better tricks than this.

CONEYCATCHER.
Why, you base slave, take you me for your fellow?
Why, I am of good reputation in the city,
And held in account with the best.

HONESTY.
And yet you are Cutbert the Coneycatcher,
The bailiff's son of Hexham, whose father, being dead,
The devil carried to hell for his knavery.
How sayest thou, art not thou his son?
This grave black cloak makes you so proud,
You have forgotten who was your father.

CONEYCATCHER.
Nay, I have not forgotten that my father was a bailiff,
A man that would live to himself.
And yet, in faith, he gave me nothing at his death
But good counsel, how to live in the world.
But, sirrah, as thou knowest me, I pray thee, bewray me not,
And in anything I can, command me.

HONESTY.
Tush! fear not me, I will be as secret as thyself.
But, sirrah, 'tis thus, if thou wilt do one thing,
I shall tell thee, I will give thee an hundred pound:
'Tis nothing with thee, I am sure.

CONEYCATCHER.
Tush! tell me what it is; I'll do it, I warrant thee.

HONESTY.
Nothing but this; to swear upon a book
That thou sawest a gentleman pay a farmer
Four hundred pound, as the last payment of a farm
That the said gentleman bought of him.

CONEYCATCHER.
Tush! if this be all, let me alone, I will do it.
Why, 'tis nothing for me to swear,
For I am forsworn already: but when is the day?

HONESTY.
Why, to-morrow,

CONEYCATCHER.
But where shall I meet you?

HONESTY.
Why, upon the Exchange at eight o'clock.

CONEYCATCHER.
I will not miss: till that time, farewell. [_Exit_.

HONESTY.
Fare well? [_Aside_.] Nay, you will scant fare well
By that time I have done: but I must about my business,
To find some knack to know this knave at large.
[_Exit_.

_Enter_ ETHENWALD.

ETHENWALD.
The night draws on,
And Phoebus is declining towards the west.
Now shepherds bear their flocks unto the folds,
And wint'red oxen, foddered in their stalls,
Now leave to feed, and 'gin to take their rest:
Black, dusky clouds environ round the globe,
And heaven is covered with a sable robe.
Now am I come to do the king's command;
To court a wench, and win her for the king:
But if I like her well, I say no more,
'Tis good to have a hatch before the door.
But first I will move her father to prefer
The earnest suit I have in canvassing,
So may I see the maid, woo, wed,
Ay, and bed her too. Who is here? what ho!

_Enter_ OSRICK.

OSRICK.
Earl Ethenwald, welcome. How fares our friends at court?
What cause constrains your honour, that thus late
You visit us, that dream not of your coming?

ETHENWALD.
My lord, I am come unlooked-for, very true;
So is my coming yet conceal'd from you.

OSRICK.
Your honour shall repose you here to-night,
And early as you please begin your task;
Time serves not now. Come, Ethenwald,
As welcome as the king himself to me.

ETHENWALD.
Now, Ethenwald, if fortune favour thee,
Thou may'st prove happy love to Alfrida. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ HONESTY, _and the_ KING _disguised_.

HONESTY.
This is the place, and this th'appointed time. I know
He'll keep his word, for he thinks me his friend.

KING.
But tell me, Honesty, am I not well disguised?
Can any man discern me by my looks
To be the king? Take heed of that,
For then our game is marr'd: and hast
Thou promised him what reward he shall have?

HONESTY.
Tush! fear not you; for you never knew honest man
Dissemble with his friend, though many friends
Dissemble with honest men. But, my lord,
The cards be shuffled, and here comes a knave.

_Enter_ CONEYCATCHER.

CONEYCATCHER.
'Tis strange to see how men of our knowledge live,
And how we are hated of the baser sort,
Because, forsooth, we live upon our wit:
But let the baser sort think as they will,
For he may best be termed a gentleman,
That, when all fails, can live upon his wit.
And if all fails, then have I got a wench
That cuts and deals to maintain my expense.
Now I use her, as men use sweetest flowers,
That while they are sweet and pleasant to the eye.
I do regard them for their pleasant smell;
But when their colour fades, and scent decays,
I cast them off for men to trample on.
But to the purpose: here is the gentleman,
My honest friend did lately tell me of. [_Aside_.
Sir, though I had another business of import,
That might have hind'red me from coming here,
Yet in regard I am loth to break my word,
I have set my other business clean apart,
Because you should not judge amiss of me.

HONESTY.
I find you kind, sir, and yourself shall see
How I will labour to requite your courtesy.
[_To the_ KING.] This is the honest man I told you of,
One that will do your pleasure in the cause,
So be it you will content him for his pains.

KING.
Else God forbid: and, good sir, thus it is,
I bought a farm of one that dwells here by,
And for an earnest gave an hundred pound:
The rest was to be paid as six weeks past.
Now, sir, I would have you as witness,
That at my house you saw me pay three hundred pound,
And for your pains I will give you a hundred pound;
Besides, I will stand your friend in what I may.
You hear the cause;
What, will your conscience serve you to do it?

CONEYCATCHER.
How say you, sir? My conscience? then you touch me!
I tell you, sir, my conscience will serve me to do more than this.
Why, I have been a post-knight[300] in Westminster this twelve year,
And sworn to that which no one else would venture on.
Why, I have sworn against mine own father for money:
I have sworn right or wrong--any ways--for money,
When I have received money before witness, I swore to the contrary;
And do you misdoubt me in so slight a matter as this,
When I have sworn against father, mother, and all my kin?

HONESTY.
I told you, sir, how resolute you should find him:
He doth it without fear, I warrant you. I think
That in London you could not have found a man so fit
For your purpose. I knew his father, sir:
A man of honest reputation, and one whose life
Was witness to the life he led: he was a bailiff, sir,
Though I say't, but no bailiff that used deceit;
He had too good a conscience for that.

KING.
All the better for that; for it should seem by his
Behaviour that he hath had good bringing-up.

CONEYCATCHER.
Indeed, my father in his lifetime was a man
Given to the fear of God, and to use much devotion.

HONESTY.
Ay, but he gave nothing for God's sake, except it were
Hard words, or blows; and they had been better kept than given.
But hush! here comes the judge.

_Enter_ PERIN _a judge, and_ DUNSTAN _a farmer_.

KING.
Hear you, sir;
If you be in readiness, here is the judge.

CONEYCATCHER.
Ay, sir: I fear not,
I warrant you: is that your adversary?
What an old crust it is!

HONESTY.
I think the villain hath a face hardened with steel;
He could never be so impudent else.

DUNSTAN.
If it please your worship, this is the man
That wrongfully would have my farm from me,
Facing me down that he hath paid me that,
Which he never off'red, nor I never received:
And this day he hath promised to make proof,
That he hath paid me full four hundred pound.

KING.
And so I can; and here's my witness to it,
That saw me when I paid the money.

DUNSTAN.
Why, I am sure he will not say it.
I never saw the man in all my life.

CONEYCATCHER.
No, sir? but I saw you, and was a witness
When this gentleman paid you three hundred pound,
As the last payment for the farm he bought.

PERIN.
But where was the money tendered?

CONEYCATCHER.
At the gentleman's house.

PERIN.
You see, father, this merchant will be witness,
That he saw so much money tend'red,
And you received it, being full satisfied,
As the last payment for the farm he bought.
And if this merchant take his oath against you,
That seven days past he saw the money tendered,
I must pass sentence, then, against you needs.
[_To_ CONEYCATCHER.] But will you swear on the Bible this is true?

CONEYCATCHER.
Ay, sir, and to that intent I came hither;
For I will never refuse to swear a truth, while I live.

DUNSTAN.
Yet, ere thou speak, vouchsafe to hear me speak.
Full threescore winters, gentle sir, I have pass'd,
And age hath brought grey hairs upon my head:
Look but upon my face, and thou shalt see
The perfect pattern of humility.
Thou man of worth, or citizen, whate'er thou be,
Weigh but my charge, and then thou wilt not swear.
I have five sons, all pretty, tender babes,
That live upon the farm that he would have;
Twelve hundred sheep do feed upon the plains,
That yearly bring a great increase to me,
Besides a hundred oxen, fatly fed,
That every winter feed within my stalls,
And twenty poor men, living near my house,
I daily feed, and all upon my farm.
Go but among my neighbours, where I dwell,
And hear what good report they give of me.
The poor man never yet went from my door,
But to my power I did relieve his want:
I was no farmer that enrich'd myself,
By raising markets and oppressing poor,
But I have sold my corn full many times
At better rate than I could well afford,
And all to help my needy brethren,
Then, ere thou swear'st, call all these things to mind,
And thou wilt weep, and leave to swear untruths--
Confusion to thy body and thy soul.

PERIN.
Well, if thou be well-advised, take thy oath;
But yet remember before whom thou swearest,
The God of truth and perfect equity,
Which will revenge wrong to the innocent
With thousand plagues and tortures worse than death.

CONEYCATCHER.
By the holy contents of this Bible,
And by that just God before whom I stand,
I saw this man----

KING.
Peace! shameless villain, execrable wretch,
Monster of nature, degenerate miscreant!
Who ever knew or heard so vile an oath
Vilely pronounc'd[301] by such a damned slave?
Have I such monstrous vipers in my land,
That with their very breaths infect the air?
Say, Dunstan, hast thou ever heard the like?

DUNSTAN.
My liege,
Such loathsome weeds must needs infect the corn;
Such cankers perish both the root and branch,
Unless they be soon spied, and weeded out.

KING.
I'll be the husbandman to mow such tares--
Here, Honesty; let him be manacled,
And scar his forehead, that he may be known--
As Cain for murder, he for perjury.

CONEYCATCHER.
I beseech your grace, be good to me.

HONESTY.
Ay, you shall have a cold iron clapt in your forehead;
A hot one, I would say: you are a slave indeed.

CONEYCATCHER.
Good Honesty!

HONESTY.
Good villain, there's no help for you.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ ETHENWALD _alone_.

ETHENWALD.
My fancy's thoughts, like the labouring spider,
That spreads her nets to entrap the silly fly,
Or like the restless billows of the seas,
That ever alter by the fleeting air,
Still hovering past their wonted passions,
Makes me amazed in these extremities.
The king commands me on his embassage
To Osrick's daughter, beauteous Alfrida,
The height and pride of all this bounding ill;
To post amain, plead love in his behalf,
To court for him, and woo, and wed the maid.
But have you never heard that theme?
Deceit in love is but a merriment
To such as seek a rival to prevent.
Whither, distraught, roams my unruly thoughts?
It is the king I cosen of his choice,
And he nill brook Earl Ethenwald should prove
False to his prince, especially in love.
Then thus it shall be:
I'll tell the king the maid is fair,
Of nut-brown colour, comely and fair-spoken,
Worthy companion to an earl or so,
But not a bride for Edgar, England's king.
This will allay the strong effects in love
Fame wrought in Edgar's mind of Alfrida.
Well, I'll to court, and dally with the king,
And work some means to draw his mind from love.

_Enter a_ KNIGHT, SQUIRE, _and_ FARMER.

KNIGHT.
Neighbour Walter, I cannot but admire to see
How housekeeping is decayed within this thirty year;
But where the fault is, God knows: I know not.
My father in his lifetime gave hospitality
To all strangers,
And distressed travellers;
His table was never empty of bread, beef, and beer;
He was wont to keep a hundred tall men in his hall.
He was a feaster of all comers in general,
And yet was he never in want of money: I think
God did bless him with increase for his bountiful mind.

FARMER.
Truly, sir, I am sorry you are fallen into decay,
In that you want to maintain household charge;
And whereof comes this want? I will tell you, sir:
'Tis only through your great housekeeping.
Be ruled by me, and do as I advise you.
You must learn to leave so great a train of men,
And keep no more than needs of force you must,
And those you keep, let them be simple men,
For they will be content with simple fare.
Keep but a boy or two within your house,
To run of errands, and to wait on you,
And for your kitchen, keep a woman-cook,
One that will serve for thirty shillings a year;
And by that means you save two liveries.
And if ye will keep retainers towards you,
Let them be farmers, or rich husbandmen,
For you shall find great profit, sir, in keeping them:
For if you stand in need of corn or hay,
Send but to them, and you may have it straight.
And if you kill a beef, let it be so lean,
The butcher nor the grazier will not buy it.
Your drink is too strong, and tastes too much of malt:
Tush, single beer is better far, both for your profit,
and your servants' health.
And at a Christmas-time feast none at all,
But such as yield you some commodity;
I mean such as will send you now and then
Fat geese and capons to keep house withal:
To these and none else would I have you liberal.

KNIGHT.
Why, neighbour, my goods are lent me to no other end,
But to relieve my needy brethren; but God, I hope, hath in store for me.

FARMER.
Ay, trust you to that, and you may hap die a beggar.

SQUIRE.
Why, sir, if he should not trust in God, in whom should he trust,
for God is the giver of all good whatsoever?

FARMER.
True; and yet 'tis good for a man to trust to himself now and then;
for if you be down, and bid God help you up, and do not help yourself,
you may fortune lie and perish; and therefore serve God on Sundays, as
you are appointed, and thereby hope to be saved; for by your alms-deeds
you cannot, for if you give to the poor, there be many will say, he
thinks to be saved by his alms-deeds; and thus you shall be ill-thought
on for your good-will; and therefore learn to provide for yourself; let
God provide for the poor.

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