The Scornful Lady Part 8

_Morec_. And Widow as I say be your own friend: your husband left you wealthy, I and wise, continue so sweet duck, continue so. Take heed of young smooth Varlets, younger Brothers: they are worms that will eat through your bags: they are very Lightning, that with a flash or two will melt your money, and never singe your purse-strings: they are Colts, wench Colts, heady and dangerous, till we take 'em up, and make 'em fit for Bonds: look upon me, I have had, and have yet matter of moment girle, matter of moment; you may meet with a worse back, I'le not commend it.

_Wid_. Nor I neither Sir.

_Mor_. Yet thus far by your favour Widow, 'tis tuffe.

_Wid_. And therefore not for my dyet, for I love a tender one.

_Mor_. Sweet Widow leave your frumps, and be edified: you know my state, I sell no Perspectives, Scarfs, Gloves, nor Hangers, nor put my trust in Shoe-ties; and where your Husband in an age was rising by burnt figs, dreg'd with meal and powdered sugar, saunders, and grains, wormeseed and rotten Raisins, and such vile Tobacco, that made the footmen mangie; I in a year have put up hundreds inclos'd, my Widow, those pleasant Meadows, by a forfeit morgage: for which the poor Knight takes a lone chamber, owes for his Ale, and dare not beat his Hostess: nay more--

_Wid_. Good Sir no more, what ere my Husband was, I know what I am, and if you marry me, you must bear it bravely off Sir.

_Mor_. Not with the head, sweet Widow.

_Wid_. No sweet Sir, but with your shoulders: I must have you dub'd, for under that I will not stoop a feather. My husband was a fellow lov'd to toyle, fed ill, made gain his exercise, and so grew costive, which for that I was his wife, I gave way to, and spun mine own smocks course, and sir, so little: but let that pa.s.s, time, that wears all things out, wore out this husband, who in penitence of such fruitless five years marriage, left me great with his wealth, which if you'le be a worthie gossip to, be knighted Sir. [_Enter_ Savil.

_Morec._ Now, Sir, from whom come you? whose man are you Sir?

_Savil_. Sir, I come from young Master _Loveless_.

_Mor_. Be silent Sir, I have no money, not a penny for you, he's sunk, your Master's sunk, a perisht man Sir.

_Savil_. Indeed his Brother's sunk sir, G.o.d be with him, a perisht man indeed, and drown'd at Sea.

_Morec_. How saidst thou, good my friend, his Brother drown'd?

_Savil_. Untimely sir, at Sea.

_Morec_. And thy young Master left sole Heir?

_Savil_. Yes Sir.

_Morec_. And he wants money?

_Sav_. Yes, and sent me to you, for he is now to be knighted.

_Mor_. Widow be wise, there's more Land coming, widow be very wise, and give thanks for me widow.

_Widow_. Be you very wise, and be knighted, and then give thanks for me Sir.

_Savil_. What sayes your wors.h.i.+p to this mony?

_Mor_. I say he may have mony if he please.

_Savil_. A thousand Sir?

_Mor_. A thousand Sir, provided any wise Sir, his Land lye for the payment, otherwise--

_Enter_ Young Loveless _and_ Comrades _to them._

_Savil_. He's here himself Sir, and can better tell you.

_Mor_. My notable dear friend, and worthy Master _Loveless_, and now right wors.h.i.+pfull, all joy and welcom.

_Yo. Lo_. Thanks to my dear incloser Master _Morecraft_, prethee old Angel gold, salute my family, I'le do as much for yours; this, and your own desires, fair Gentlewoman.

_Wid_. And yours Sir, if you mean well; 'tis a hansome Gentleman.

_Young Lo_. Sirrah, my Brother's dead.

_More_. Dead?

_Yo. Lo_. Dead, and by this time soust for Ember Week.

_Morecraft_. Dead?

_Young Lo_. Drown'd, drown'd at sea man, by the next fresh Conger that comes we shall hear more.

_Mor._ Now by my faith of my body it moves me much.

_Yo. Lo._ What, wilt thou be an a.s.s, and weep for the dead? why I thought nothing but a general inundation would have mov'd thee, prethe be quiet, he hath left his land behind him.

_Morecraft._ O has he so?

_Young Lo._ Yes faith, I thank him for't, I have all boy, hast any ready mony?

_Morecraft._ Will you sell Sir?

_Young Lo._ No not out right good Gripe; marry, a morgage or such a slight securitie.

_More._ I have no mony, Sir, for Morgage; if you will sell, and all or none, I'le work a new Mine for you.

_Sav._ Good Sir look before you, he'l work you out of all else: if you sell all your Land, you have sold your Country, and then you must to Sea, to seek your Brother, and there lye pickled in a Powdering tub, and break your teeth with Biskets and hard Beef, that must have watering Sir: and where's your 300 pounds a year in drink then? If you'l tun up the Straights you may, for you have no calling for drink there, but with a Canon, nor no scoring but on your s.h.i.+ps sides, and then if you scape with life, and take a f.a.ggot boat and a bottle of _Usquebaugh_, come home poor men, like a tipe of Thames-street stinking of Pitch and Poor-John. I cannot tell Sir, I would be loth to see it.

_Capt._ Steward, you are an a.s.s, a meazel'd mungril, and were it not again the peace of my soveraign friend here, I would break your fore-casting c.o.xcomb, dog I would even with my staffe of Office there. Thy Pen and Inkhorn n.o.ble boy, the G.o.d of gold here has fed thee well, take mony for thy durt: hark and believe, thou art cold of const.i.tution, thy eat unhealthful, sell and be wise; we are three that will adorn thee, and live according to thine own heart child; mirth shall be only ours, and only ours shall be the black eyed beauties of the time. Mony makes men Eternal.

_Poet._ Do what you will, 'tis the n.o.blest course, then you may live without the charge of people, only we four will make a Family, I and an Age that will beget new _Annals_, in which I'le write thy life my son of pleasure, equal with _Nero_ and _Caligula_.

_Young Lo._ What men were they Captain?

_Capt_. Two roaring Boys of _Rome_, that made all split.

_Young Lo_. Come Sir, what dare you give?

_Sav_. You will not sell Sir?

_Young Lo_. Who told you so Sir?

_Sav_. Good Sir have a care.