[Kills herself]
AMIN. I have a little human nature yet,
That’s left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand.
[Returns]
EVAD. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late.
O, I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste.
Dies
ASP. O, O, O!
AMIN. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel
A stark affrighted motion in my blood;
My soul grows weary of her house, and I
All over am a trouble to myself.
There is some hidden power in these dead things,
That calls my flesh unto ’em; I am cold:
Be resolute, and bear ’em company.
There’s something yet, which I am loath to leave:
There’s man enough in me to meet the fears
That death can bring; and yet would it were done!
I can find nothing in the whole discourse
Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;
Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act,
The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up;
I have not such another fault to answer:
Though she may justly arm herself with scorn
And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,
When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow:
I will not leave this act unsatisfied,
If all that’s left in me can answer it.
ASP. Was it a dream? there stands Amintor still;
Or I dream still.
AMIN. How dost thou? speak; receive my love and help.
Thy blood climbs up to his old place again;
There’s hope of thy recovery.
ASP. Did you not name Aspatia?
AMIN. I did
ASP. And talked of tears and sorrow unto her?
AMIN. ’Tis true; and, till these happy signs in thee
Did stay my course, ’twas thither I was going.
ASP. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers:
Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge,
But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand:
I am Aspatia yet.
AMIN. Dare my soul ever look abroad again?
ASP. I shall sure live, Amintor; I am well;
A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.
AMIN. The world wants lines to excuse thy loss;
Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.
ASP. Amintor, thou must stay; I must rest here;
My strength begins to disobey my will.
How dost thou, my best soul? I would fain live
Now, if I could: wouldst thou have loved me, then?
AMIN. Alas,
All that I am’s not worth a hair from thee!
ASP. Give me thine hand; mine hands grope up and down,
And cannot find thee; I am wondrous sick:
Have I thy hand, Amintor?
AMIN. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast.
ASP. I do believe thee better than my sense.
O, I must go! farewell!
Dies
AMIN. She swounds74—Aspatia!—Help! for God’s sake, water,
Such as may chain life ever to this frame!—
Aspatia, speak!—What, no help yet? I fool;
I’ll chafe her temples. Yet there’s nothing stirs:
Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls,
And let her answer me!—Aspatia, speak!—
I have heard, if there be any life, but bow
The body thus, and it will show itself.
O, she is gone! I will not leave her yet.
Since out of justice we must challenge nothing,
I’ll call it mercy, if you’ll pity me,
You heavenly powers, and lend forth some few years
The blessèd soul to this fair seat again!
No comfort comes; the gods deny me too.
I’ll bow the body once again.—Aspatia!—
The soul is fled for ever; and I wrong
Myself, so long to lose her company.
Must I talk now? Here’s to be with thee, love!
[Wounds himself]
Enter Servant
SER. This is a great grace to my lord, to have the new king come to him: I must tell him he is entering.—O God!—Help, help!
Enter Lysippus, Melantius, Calianax, Cleon, Diphilus, and Strato
LYS. Where’s Amintor?
SER. O, there, there!
LYS. How strange is this!
CAL. What should we do here?
MEL. These deaths are such acquainted things with me,
That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand
Stiff here for ever! Eyes, call up your tears!
This is Amintor: heart, he was my friend;
Melt! now it flows.—Amintor, give a word
To call me to thee.
AMIN. O!
MEL. Melantius calls his friend Amintor, O,
Thy arms are kinder to me than thy tongue!
Speak, speak!
AMIN. What?
MEL. That little word was worth all the sounds
That ever I shall hear again.
DIPH. O, brother,
Here lies your sister slain! you lose yourself
In sorrow there.
MEL. Why, Diphilus, it is
A thing to laugh at, in respect of this:
Here was my sister, father, brother, son;
All that I had.—Speak once again; what youth
Lies slain there by thee?
AMIN. ’Tis Aspatia.
My last is said. Let me give up my soul
Into thy bosom.
Dies
CAL. What’s that? what’s that? Aspatia!
MEL. I never did
Repent the greatness of my heart till now;
It will not burst at need.
CAL. My daughter dead here too! And you have all fine new tricks to grieve; but I ne’er knew any but direct crying.
MEL. I am a prattler: but no more.
[Offers to stab himself]
DIPH. Hold, brother!
LYS. Stop him.
DIPH. Fie, how unmanly was this offer in you!
Does this become our strain?75
CAL. I know not what the matter is, but I am grown very kind, and am friends with you all now. You have given me that among you will kill me quickly; but I’ll go home, and live as long as I can.
Exit
MEL. His spirit is but poor that can be kept
From death for want of weapons.
Is not my hands a weapon good enough
To stop my breath? or, if you tie down those,
I vow, Amintor, I will never eat,
Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that
That may preserve life! This I swear to keep.
LYS. Look to him, though, and bear those bodies in.
May this a fair example be to me,
To rule with temper; for on lustful kings
Unlooked-for sudden deaths from God are sent;
But cursed is he that is their instrument.
Exeunt
1. A stately dance.
2. Excels her.
3. Corpse.
4. In turn.
5. Testy.
6. Euphemistic oath.
7. Turn them back.
8. Excepting the King.
9. Foolish.
10. Squabble.
11. Flageolets.
12. Tightly
13. The first occurred when Phaeton failed to control the horses of the sun.
14. The text is doubtful.
15. This passage is made up of a series of plays upon words connected with games of cards.
16. Lose the game.
17. Untimely.
18. Artful.
19. In turn.
20. Emblem of the deserted lover.
21. Sensitive.
22. Stay awake.
23. As a
hawk.
24. Be rid of.
25. Declare.
26. Secretly.
27. Asps.
28. Dido, deserted by Aeneas.
29. Deserted by Theseus.
30. Deceiving.
31. Addressing the embroidered image of Theseus.
32. Ariadne was abandoned on the island of Naxos.
33. Indolent, idle.
34. A laughing-stock.
35. Melantius.
36. Lively.
37. Ingenuous.
38. Flatterers.
39. Place.
40. Trick of testiness.
41. Deceived.
42. Mollify
43. Alive.
44. Fine gloves made in Milan.
45. Graceful bearing.
46. The dog-star, Sirius.
47. Cowardly.
48. Daunt.
49. Tame wolf.
50. Price.
51. A marsh, the haunt of Hydra, the monster slain by Hercules.
52. Killed for boasting about the number of her children—a stock type of grieving, weeping woman.
53. Except.
54. Request trial by combat.
55. Pounce on them.
56. Braggarts.
57. Blood in the shedding of which I have been careless.
58. Heirs frustrating his succession.
59. Family
60. Astrologers.
61. Uncontrolled.
62. Determined to do.
63. Mars, making love to Venus, was caught in a net by her husband, Vulcan.
64. Shooting stars.
65. Were incorporated in your blood.
66. Susceptible.
67. Handsomely dressed and attended.
68. Deaths.
69. Paper to be filled in at his pleasure.
70. I have been charged.
71. Foolish.
72. In respect of.
73. Surpass.
74. Swoons.
75. Stock.
A CHASTE MAID
IN CHEAPSIDE
THOMAS MIDDLETON
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND
SIR OLIVER KIX
TOUCHWOOD senior
TOUCHWOOD junior
ALLWIT
YELLOWHAMMER, a goldsmith
TIM, his son
Tutor to Tim
DAVY DAHANNA, Sir Walter’s poor kinsman and attendant
Parson
Two Promoters
Porter, Watermen, &c
LADY KIX
MISTRESS TOUCHWOOD, wife of TOUCHWOOD senior
MISTRESS ALLWIT
MAUDLIN, wife of YELLOWHAMMER
MOLL, her daughter
Welshwoman, mistress to SIR W. WHOREHOUND
Country Girl
SUSAN
Maid, Midwife, Nurses, Puritans, and other Gossips, &c
A CHASTE MAID IN CHEAPSIDE
ACT I, SCENE I
Enter Maudlin and Moll
MAUD. Have you played over all your old lessons o’ the virginals?1
MOLL. Yes.
MAUD. Yes? you are a dull maid a’ late; methinks you had need have somewhat to quicken your green sickness2—do you weep?—a husband: had not such a piece of flesh been ordained, what had us wives been good for? to make salads, or else cried up and down for samphire.3 To see the difference of these seasons! when I was of your youth, I was lightsome and quick two years before I was married. You fit for a knight’s bed! drowsy-browed, dull-eyed, drossy-spirited! I hold my life you have forgot your dancing: when was the dancer with you?
MOLL. The last week.
MAUD. Last week? when I was of your bord4
He missed me not a night; I was kept at it;
I took delight to learn, and he to teach me;
Pretty brown gentleman! he took pleasure in my company:
But you are dull, nothing comes nimbly from you;
You dance like a plumber’s daughter, and deserve
Two thousand pound in lead to your marriage,
And not in goldsmith’s ware.
Enter Yellowhammer
YEL. Now, what’s the din
Betwixt mother and daughter, ha?
MAUD. Faith, small;
Telling your daughter, Mary, of her errors.
YEL. Errors? nay, the city cannot hold you, wife,
But you must needs fetch words from Westminster:
I ha’ done, i’faith.
Has no attorney’s clerk been here a’ late,
And changed his half-crown-piece his mother sent him,
Or rather cozened you with a gilded twopence,
To bring the word in fashion for her faults
Or cracks in duty and obedience?
Term ’em even so, sweet wife,
As there’s no woman made without a flaw;
Your purest lawns have frays, and cambrics bracks.5
MAUD. But ’tis a husband solders up all cracks.
MOLL. What, is he come, sir?
YEL. Sir Walter’s come: he was met
At Holborn Bridge, and in his company
A proper fair young gentlewoman, which I guess,
By her red hair and other rank6 descriptions,
To be his landed niece, brought out of Wales,
Which Tim our son, the Cambridge boy, must marry:
’Tis a match of Sir Walter’s own making,
To bind us to him and our heirs for ever.
MAUD. We’re honored then, if this baggage would be humble,
And kiss him with devotion when he enters.
I cannot get her for my life
To instruct her hand thus, before and after,—
Which a knight will look for,—before and after:
I’ve told her still ’tis the waving of a woman
Does often move a man, and prevails strongly.
But, sweet, ha’ you sent to Cambridge? has Tim word on’t?
YEL. Had word just the day after, when you sent him
The silver spoon to eat his broth in the hall
Amongst the gentlemen commoners.7
MAUD. O, ’twas timely.
Enter Porter
YEL. How now?
POR. A letter from a gentleman in Cambridge.
[Gives letter to Yellowhammer]
YEL. O, one of Hobson’s8 porters: thou art welcome.— I told thee, Maud, we should hear from Tim. [Reads] Amantissimis carissimisque ambobus parentibus, patri et matri.9
MAUD. What’s the matter?
YEL. Nay, by my troth, I know not, ask not me:
He’s grown too verbal; this learning’s a great witch.
MAUD. Pray, let me see it; I was wont to understand him. [Reads] Amantissimis carissimis, he has sent the carrier’s man, he says; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri et matri, pay the porter, or it makes no matter.
POR. Yes, by my faith, mistress; there’s no true construction in that: I have took a great deal of pains, and come from the Bell sweating. Let me come to’t, for I was a scholar forty years ago; ’tis thus, I warrant you: [Reads] Matri, it makes no matter; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri, pay the porter; amantissimis carissimis, he’s the carrier’s man, and his name is Sims; and there he says true, forsooth, my name is Sims indeed; I have not forgot all my learning: a moneymatter, I thought I should hit on’t.
YEL. Go, thou’rt an old fox; there’s a tester10 for thee.
[Gives money]
POR. If I see your worship at Goose-fair, I have a dish of birds for you.
YEL. Why, dost dwell at Bow?
POR. All my lifetime, sir; I could ever say bo to a goose. Farewell to your worship.
Exit
YEL. A merry porter.
MAUD. How can he choose but be so,
Coming with Cambridge letters from our son Tim.
YEL. What’s here? maxime diligo;11 faith, I must to my learned counsel with this gear,12 ’twill ne’er be discerned else.
MAUD. Go to my cousin then, at Inns of Court.
YEL. Fie, they are all for French, they speak no Latin.
MAUD. The parson then will do it.
YEL. Nay, he disclaims it,
Calls Latin papistry, he will not deal with it.—
Enter a Gentleman
What is’t you lack, gentleman?
GENT. Pray, weigh this chain.
[Gives chain, which Yellowhammer weighs]
Enter Sir Walter Whorehound, Welshwoman, and Davy
SIR WAL. Now, wench, thou art welcome
To the heart of the city of London.
WELSH. Dugat a whee.13
SIR WAL. You can thank me in English, if you list.
WELSH. I can, sir, simply.
SIR WAL. ’Twill serve to pass, wench;
’Twas strange that I should lie with thee so often.
To leave thee without English, that were unnatural.
I bring thee up to turn thee into gold, wench,
And make thy fortune shine like your bright trade;
A goldsmith’s shop sets out a city maid.—
Davy Dahanna, not a word.
DAVY. Mum, mum, sir.
SIR WAL. Here you must pass for a pure virgin.
DAVY. Pure Welsh virgin!
[Aside] She lost her maidenhead in Brecknockshire.
SIR WAL. I hear you mumble, Davy.
DAVY. I have teeth, sir;
I need not mumble yet this forty years.
SIR WAL. The knave bites plaguily!
YEL. What’s your price, sir?
GENT. A hundred pound, sir.
YEL. A hundred marks14 the utmost;
’Tis not for me else.—What, Sir Walter Whorehound?
Exit Gentleman
MOLL. O death!
Exit
MAUD. Why, daughter—Faith, the baggage is
A bashful girl, sir; these young things are shamefaced;
Besides, you have a presence, sweet Sir Walter,
Able to daunt a maid brought up i’ the city:
A brave court-spirit makes our virgins quiver,
And kiss with trembling thighs; yet see, she comes, sir.
Re-enter Moll
SIR WAL. Why, how now, pretty mistress? now I’ve caught you:
What, can you injure so your time to stray
Thus from your faithful servant?
YEL. Pish, stop your words, good knight,—’twill make her blush else,—
Which sound too high for the daughters of the freedom15
Honor and faithful servant! they are compliments
For the worthies of Whitehall or Greenwich;
E’en plain, sufficient subsidy words16 serves us, sir.
And is this gentlewoman your worthy niece?
SIR WAL. You may be bold with her on these terms; ’tis she, sir,
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