Enter the Drawer in the tavern before, with WINIFRED.
Draw. How fare you now, lady?
Win. Much better, my good friend, than I wish: as one desperate of her fame, now my life is preserv’d.
Draw. Comfort yourself. That Power that preserved you from death can likewise defend you from infamy, howsoever you deserve it. Were not you one that took boat late this night, with a knight and other gentlemen at Billingsgate?
Win. Unhappy that I am, I was.
Draw. I am glad it was my good hap to come down thus far after you, to a house of my friends here in Saint Kath’rine’s, since I am now happily made a mean to your rescue from the ruthless tempest, which, when you took boat, was so extreme, and the gentleman that brought you forth so desperate and unsober, that I fear’d long ere this I should hear of your shipwrack, and therefore, with little other reason, made thus far this way. And this I must tell you, since perhaps you may make use of it, there was left behind you at our tavern, brought by a porter hir’d by the young gentleman that brought you, a gentlewoman’s gown, hat, stockings, and shoes; which, if they be yours, and you please to shift you, taking a hard bed here in this house of my friend, I will presently go fetch you.
Win. Thanks, my good friend, for your more than good news. The gown with all things bound with it are mine; which if you please to fetch as you have promis’d, I will boldly receive the kind favor you have offered till your return; entreating you, by all the good you have done in preserving me hitherto, to let none take knowledge of what favor you do me, or where such a one as I am bestowed, lest you incur me much more damage in my fame than you have done me pleasure in preserving my life.
Draw. Come in, lady, and shift yourself; resolve that nothing but your own pleasure shall be us’d in your discovery.
Win. Thank you, good friend; the time may come, I shall requite you.
Exeunt Drawer and WINIFRED.
Slit. See, see, see! I hold my life, there’s some other a-taking up at Wapping now! Look, what a sort of people cluster about the gallows there! in good troth, it is so. O me! a fine young gentleman! What, and taken up at the gallows? Heaven grant he be not one day taken down there! A’ my life, it is ominous. Well, he is delivered for the time. I see the people have all left him; yet will I keep my prospect awhile, to see if any more have been shipwrack’d.
Enter QUICKSILVER, bareheaded.
Quick. Accurs’d that ever I was sav’d or born!
How fatal is my sad arrival here!
As if the stars and Providence spake to me,
And said, “The drift of all unlawful courses,
Whatever end they dare propose themselves,
In frame of their licentious policies,
In the firm order of just destiny,
They are the ready highways to our ruins.”
I know not what to do; my wicked hopes
Are, with this tempest, torn up by the roots.
Oh, which way shall I bend my desperate steps,
In which unsufferable shame and misery
Will not attend them? I will walk this bank,
And see if I can meet the other relics
Of our poor shipwrack’d crew, or hear of them.
The knight, alas, was so far gone with wine,
And th’ other three, that I refus’d their boat,
And took the hapless woman in another,
Who cannot but be sunk, whatever Fortune
Exit.
Hath wrought upon the others’ desperate lives.
Enter PETRONEL and SEAGULL, bareheaded.
Pet. Zounds, Captain, I tell thee we are cast up o’ the coast of France. ‘Sfoot! I am not drunk still, I hope! Dost remember where we were last night?
Sea. No, by my troth, knight, not I; but methinks we have been a horrible while upon the water and in the water.
Pet. Ay me, we are undone forever. Hast any money about thee?
Sea. Not a penny, by Heaven!
Pet. Not a penny betwixt us, and cast ashore in France!
Sea. Faith, I cannot tell that; my brains nor mine eyes are not mine own yet.
Enter two Gentlemen.
Pet. ‘Sfoot! wilt not believe me? I know ‘t by th’ elevation of the pole, and by the altitude and latitude of the climate. See! Here comes a couple of French gentlemen; I knew we were in France; dost thou think our Englishmen are so Frenchified that a man knows not whether he be in France or in England, when he sees ’em? What shall we do? We must e’en to ’em, and entreat some relief of ’em. Life is sweet, and we have no other means to relieve our lives now but their charities.
Sea. Pray you, do you beg on ’em then; you can speak French.
Pet. Monsieur, plaist il d’avoir pitie de nostre grande infortunes? Je suis un povre chevalier d’Angleterre qui a souffri l’infortune de naufrage.
1 Gent. Un povre chevalier d’Angleterre?
Pet. Oui, monsieur, il est trop vraye; mais vous scaves bien nous sommes toutes subject a fortune.
2 Gent. A poor knight of England? — a poor knight of Windsor, are you not? Why speak you this broken French, when y’ are a whole Englishman? On what coast are you, think you?
Pet. On the coast of France, sir.
1 Gent. On the coast of Dogs, sir; y’ are i’ th’ Isle a’ Dogs, I tell you. I see y’ ave been wash’d in the Thames here, and I believe ye were drown’d in a tavern before, or else you would never have took boat in such a dawning as this was. Farewell, farewell; we will not know you, for shaming of you. — I ken the man weel; he’s one of my thirty pound knights.
2 Gent. No, no, this is he that stole his knighthood o’ the grand day for four pound, giving to a page all the money in’s purse, I wot well.
Exeunt Gentlemen.
Sea. Death! Colonel, I knew you were overshot.
Pet. Sure I think now, indeed, Captain Seagull, we were something overshot.
Enter QUICKSILVER.
What! my sweet Frank Quicksilver! dost thou survive, to rejoice me? But what! nobody at thy heels, Frank? Ay me! what is become of poor Mistress Security?
Quick. Faith, gone quite from her name, as she is from her fame, I think; I left her to the mercy of the water.
Sea. Let her go, let her go! Let us go to our ship at Blackwall, and shift us.
Pet. Nay, by my troth, let our clothes rot upon us, and let us rot in them; twenty to one our ship is attach’d by this time! If we set her not under sail this last tide, I never look’d for any other. Woe, woe is me! what shall become of us? The last money we could make the greedy Thames has devour’d; and, if our ship be attach’d, there is no hope can relieve us.
Quick. ‘Sfoot, knight! what an unknightly faintness transports thee! Let our ship sink, and all the world that’s without us be taken from us, I hope I have some tricks in this brain of mine shall not let us perish.
Sea. Well said, Frank, i’ faith. O my nimble-spirited Quicksilver! ‘Fore God, would thou hadst been our colonel!
Pet. I like his spirit rarely; but I see no means he has to support that spirit.
Quick. Go to, knight! I have more means than thou art aware of. I have not liv’d amongst goldsmiths and goldmakers all this while but I have learned something worthy of my time with ’em. And, not to let thee stink where thou stand’st, knight, I’ll let thee know some of my skill presently.
Sea. Do, good Frank, I beseech thee.
Quick. I will blanch copper so cunningly that it shall endure all proofs but the test: it shall endure malleation, it shall have the ponderosity of Luna, and the tenacity of Luna, by no means friable.
Pet. ‘Slight! where learn’st thou these terms, trow?
Quick. Tush, knight! the terms of this art every ignorant quacksalver is perfect in; but I’ll tell you how yourself shall blanch copper thus cunningly. Take ars’nic, otherwise call realga (which indeed is plain ratsbane); sublime him three or four times; then take the sublimate of this realga and put him into a glass, into chymia, and let him have a convenient decoction n
atural, four-and-twenty hours, and he will become perfectly fix’d; then take this fixed powder, and project him upon well-purg’d copper, et habebis magisterium.
Ambo. Excellent Frank, let us hug thee!
Quick. Nay, this I will do besides: I’ll take you off twelvepence from every angel, with a kind of aqua fortis, and never deface any part of the image.
Pet. But then it will want weight!
Quick. You shall restore that thus: take your sal achyme prepar’d, and your distill’d urine, and let your angels lie in it but four-and-twenty hours, and they shall have their perfect weight again. Come on, now; I hope this is enough to put some spirit into the livers of you; I’ll infuse more another time. We have saluted the proud air long enough with our bare sconces. Now will I have you to a wench’s house of mine at London, there make shift to shift us, and, after, take such fortunes as the stars shall assign us.
Ambo. Notable Frank, we will ever adore thee!
Exeunt all but SLITGUT.
Enter Drawer with WINIFRED new attir’d.
Win. Now, sweet friend, you have brought me near enough your tavern, which I desired that I might with some color be seen near, inquiring for my husband, who, I must tell you, stale thither last night with my wet gown we have left at your friend’s, which, to continue your former honest kindness, let me pray you to keep close from the knowledge of any; and so, with all vow of your requital, let me now entreat you to leave me to my woman’s wit, and fortune.
Draw. All shall be done you desire; and so all the fortune you can wish
Exit Drawer.
for attend you.
Enter SECURITY.
Sec. I will once more to this unhappy tavern before I shift one rag of me more; that I may there know what is left behind, and what news of their passengers. I have bought me a hat and band with the little money I had about me, and made the streets a little leave staring at my nightcap.
Win. Oh, my dear husband! where have you been to-night? All night abroad at taverns? Rob me of my garments, and fare as one run away from me? Alas! is this seemly for a man of your credit, of your age, and affection to your wife?
Sec. What should I say? how miraculously sorts this! Was not I at home, and call’d thee last night?
Win. Yes, sir, the harmless sleep you broke; and my answer to you would have witness’d it, if you had had the patience to have stay’d and answered me; but your so sudden retreat made me imagine you were gone to Master Bramble’s, and so rested patient and hopeful of your coming again, till this your unbelieved absence brought me abroad with no less than wonder, to seek you where the false knight had carried you.
Sec. Villain and monster that I was! How have I abus’d thee! I was suddenly gone indeed, for my sudden jealousy transferred me! I will say no more but this, dear wife: I suspected thee.
Win. Did you suspect me?
Sec. Talk not of it, I beseech thee; I am ashamed to imagine it. I will home, I will home; and every morning on my knees ask thee heartily forgiveness.
Exeunt SECURITY and WINIFRED.
Slit. Now will I descend my honorable prospect, the farthest-seeing sea-mark of the world: no marvel, then, if I could see two miles about me. I hope the red tempest’s anger be now overblown, which sure I think Heaven sent as a punishment for profaning holy Saint Luke’s memory with so ridiculous a custom. Thou dishonest satire! Farewell to honest married men! farewell to all sorts and degrees of thee! Farewell, thou horn of hunger, that call’st th’ inns a’ court to their manger! Farewell, thou horn of abundance, that adornest the headsmen of the commonwealth! Farewell, thou horn of direction, that is the city lanthorn! Farewell, thou horn of pleasure, the ensign of the huntsman! Farewell, thou horn of destiny, th’ ensign of the married man! Farewell, thou horn tree, that
Exit.
bearest nothing but stone fruit!
SCENE II
[A room in TOUCHSTONE’S, house.]
Touch. Ha, sirrah! thinks my knight adventurer we can no point of our compass? Do we not know north-north-east, north-east and by east, east and by north, nor plain eastward? Ha! have we never heard of Virginia, nor the Cavallaria, nor the Colonoria? Can we discover no discoveries? Well, mine errant Sir Flash, and my runagate Quicksilver, you may drink drunk, crack cans, hurl away a brown dozen of Monmouth caps or so, in sea-ceremony to your bon voyage; but, for reaching any coast, save the coast of Kent or Essex, with this tide, or with this fleet, I’ll be your warrant for a Gravesend toast. There’s that gone afore will stay your admiral and vice-admiral and rear-admiral, were they all (as they are) but one pinnace, and under sail, as well as a remora, doubt it not; and from this sconce, without either powder or shot. Work upon that now! Nay, an you’ll show tricks, we’ll vie with you a little. My daughter, his lady, was sent eastward by land to a castle of his i’ the air, in what region I know not, and, as I hear, was glad to take up her lodging in her coach, she and her two waiting women (her maid, and her mother), like three snails in a shell, and the coachman a-top on ’em, I think. Since, they have all found the way back again by Weeping Cross; but I’ll not see ’em. And, for two on ’em, madam and her malkin, they are like to bite o’ the bridle for William, as the poor horses have done all this while that hurried ’em, or else go graze o’ the common. So should my Dame Touchstone too; but she has been my cross these thirty years, and I’ll now keep her to fright away sprites, i’ faith. I wonder I hear no news of my son Golding! He was sent for to the Guildhall this morning betimes, and I marvel at the matter; if I had not laid up comfort and hope in him, I should grow desperate of all. See, he is come i’ my thought! —
Enter GOLDING.
How now, son? What news at the Court of Aldermen?
Gold. Troth, sir, an accident somewhat strange; else, it hath little in it worth the reporting.
Touch. What? It is not borrowing of money, then?
Gold. No, sir; it hath pleas’d the worshipful Commoners of the city to take me one i’ their number at presentation of the inquest ——
Touch. Ha!
Gold. And the alderman of the ward wherein I dwell to appoint me his deputy ——
Touch. How?
Gold. In which place I have had an oath minist’red me, since I went.
Touch. Now, my dear and happy son, let me kiss thy new Worship, and a little boast mine own happiness in thee. — What a fortune was it (or rather my judgment, indeed) for me first to see that in his disposition which a whole city so conspires to second! Ta’en into the livery of his company the first day of his freedom! Now, not a week married, chosen Commoner and alderman’s deputy in a day! Note but the reward of a thrifty course. The wonder of his time! Well, I will honor Master Alderman for this act, as becomes me, and shall think the better of the Common Council’s wisdom and worship, while I live, for thus meeting, or but coming after me, in the opinion of his desert. Forward, my sufficient son! and, as this is the first, so esteem it the least step to that high and prime honor that expects thee.
Gold. Sir, as I was not ambitious of this, so I covet no higher place; it hath dignity enough, if it will but save me from contempt; and I had rather my bearing in this or any other office should add worth to it than the place give the least opinion to me.
Touch. Excellently spoken! This modest answer of thine blushes, as if it said, “I will wear scarlet shortly.” Worshipful son! I cannot contain myself; I must tell thee, I hope to see thee one o’ the monuments of our city, and reckon’d among her worthies, to be rememb’red the same day with the Lady Ramsey and grave Gresham, when the famous fable of Whittington and his puss shall be forgotten, and thou and thy acts become the posies for hospitals; when thy name shall be written upon conduits, and thy deeds play’d i’ thy lifetime by the best companies of actors, and be call’d their get-penny. This I divine; this I prophesy.
Gold. Sir, engage not your expectation farder than my abilities will answer; I, that know mine own strengths, fear ’em; and there is so seldom a loss in promising the least that commonly it brings
with it a welcome deceit. I have other news for you, sir.
Touch. None more welcome, I am sure.
Gold. They have their degree of welcome, I dare affirm. The colonel and all his company, this morning putting forth drunk from Billingsgate, had like to have been cast away o’ this side Greenwich; and, as I have intelligence by a false brother, are come dropping to town like so many masterless men, i’ their doublets and hose, without hat or cloak or any other ——
Touch. A miracle! the justice of Heaven! Where are they? Let’s go presently and lay for ’em.
Gold. I have done that already, sir, both by constables and other officers, who shall take ’em at their old Anchor, and with less tumult or suspicion than if yourself were seen in ‘t, under color of a great press that is now abroad; and they shall here be brought afore me.
Touch. Prudent and politic son! Disgrace ’em all that ever thou canst; their ship I have already arrested. How to my wish it falls out that thou hast the place of a justicer upon ’em! I am partly glad of the injury done to me, that thou mayst punish it. Be severe i’ thy place, like a new officer o’ the first quarter, unreflected. You hear how our lady is come back with her train from the invisible castle?
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 188