Lapas attēli
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Lord B. Nor coming on, sweet lady, things thus

standing.

Fly. But what's the heinousness of my offence,
Or the degrees of wrong you suffer'd by it?
In having your daughter match'd thus happily,
Into a noble house, a brave young blood,
And a prime peer of the realm ?

Lord B. Was that your plot, Fly?
Give me a cloke, take her again among you.
I'll none of your Light Heart fosterlings, no inmates,
Supposititious fruits of an host's brain,
And his Fly's hatching, to be put upon me.
There is a royal court of the Star-chamber,
Will scatter all these mists, disperse these vapours,
And clear the truth: Let beggars match with

beggars-

That shall decide it; I will try it there.

Nurse. Nay then, my lord, it's not enough, I see,
You are licentious, but you will be wicked.
You are not alone content to take my daughter,
Against the law; but having taken her,
You would repudiate and cast her off,
Now at your pleasure, like a beast of power,
Without all cause, or colour of a cause,
That, or a noble, or an honest man,

Should dare to except against, her poverty;
Is poverty a vice?

Lord B. The age counts it so.

Nurse. God help your lordship, and your peers

that think so,

If any be: if not, God bless them all,
And help the number of the virtuous,
If poverty be a crime! You may object
Our beggary to us, as an accident,
But never deeper, no inherent baseness.
And I must tell you now, young lord of dirt,
As an incensed mother, she hath more,

And better blood, running in those small veins,
Than all the race of Beauforts have in mass,
Though they distil their drops from the left rib
Of John o' Gaunt.

Host. Old mother of records,

Thou know'st her pedigree then: whose daughter is

she?

Nurse. The daughter and co-heirtothelord Frampul, This lady's sister.

Lady F. Mine! what is her name ?

Nurse. Lætitia.

Lady F. That was lost!

Nurse. The true Lætitia.

Lady F. Sister, O gladness! Then you are our

mother ?

Nurse. I am, dear daughter.

Lady F. On my knees I bless

The light I see you by.

Nurse. And to the author

Of that blest light, I ope my other eye,
Which hath almost, now, seven years been shut,
Dark as my vow was, never to see light,
Till such a light restored it, as my children,
Or your dear father, who, I hear, is not.

Lord B. Give me my wife, I own her now, and

will have her.

Host. But you must ask my leave first, my young lord. Leave is but light. -Ferret, go bolt your master, Here's gear will startle him. [Exit FERRET.] I

cannot keep

4 Than all the race of Beauforts, &c.] "The children of John o' Gaunt, by his third wife, Catherine Swinford, widow of sir Hugh Swinford, Bt. and daughter to sir Paen Roet, Kt. Guyen king at arms, took their name from the castle of Beaufort in France, which came to the house of Lancaster by Blanch of Artois, wife to Edmund Crouchback, the first earl of Lancaster. They were legitimated by Act of Parliament in the 20th of Richard II."

The passion in me, I am e'en turn'd child,
And I must weep.-Fly, take away mine host,

[Pulls off his disguise.

My beard and cap here from me, and fetch my

lord.

[Exit FLY.

I am her father, sir, and you shall now
Ask my consent, before you have her. --- Wife !
My dear and loving wife! my honour'd wife !
Who here hath gain'd but I? I am lord Frampul,
The cause of all this trouble; I am he

Have measured all the shires of England over,
Wales, and her mountains, seen those wilder nations,
Of people in the Peak, and Lancashire;
Their pipers, fidlers, rushers, puppet-masters,
Juglers, and gipsies, all the sorts of canters,
And colonies of beggars, tumblers, ape-carriers;
For to these savages I was addicted,
To search their natures, and make odd discoveries :
And here my wife, like a she-Mandevile,
Ventured in disquisition after me.

Re-enter FLY with lord FRAMPUL'Ss robes.

Nurse. I may look up, admire, I cannot speak Yet to my lord.

Host. Take heart, and breathe, recover, Thou hast recover'd me, who here had coffin'd Myself alive, in a poor hostelry,

In penance of my wrongs done unto thee,

Whom I long since gave lost.

Nurse. So did I you,

Till stealing mine own daughter from her sister,
I lighted on this error hath cured all.

Lord B. And in that cure, include my trespass,

mother,

And father, for my wife-

Host. No, the Star-chamber.

Lord B. Away with that, you sour the sweetest

lettice

Was ever tasted.

Host. Give you joy, my son,

Cast her not off again.

Enter LOVEL.

O call me father,

Lovel, and this your mother, if you like.

But take your mistress, first, my child; I have power

To give her now, with her consent; her sister
Is given already to your brother Beaufort.

Lov. Is this a dream now, after my first sleep,
Or are these phant'sies, made in the Light Heart,
And sold in the New Inn?

Host. Best go to bed,

And dream it over all. Let's all go sleep,
Each with his turtle. Fly, provide us lodgings,
Get beds prepared; you are master now of the inn,
The lord of the Light Heart, I give it you.
Fly was my fellow-gipsy. All my family,
Indeed, were gipsies, tapsters, ostlers, chamberlains,
Reduced vessels of civility.-

But here stands Prue, neglected, best deserving
Of all that are in the house, or in my Heart,
Whom though I cannot help to a fit husband,
I'll help to that will bring one, a just portion :
I have two thousand pound in bank for Prue,
Call for it when she will.

Lord B. And I as much.

Host. There's somewhat yet, four thousand pound!

that's better, Than sounds the proverb, four bare legs in a bed. Lov. Me and her mistress, she hath power to coin Up into what she will.

5 Than sounds the proverb.] The proverb, at full is, "There goes more to matrimony than four bare legs," &c.

Lady F. Indefinite Prue!

Lord L. But I must do the crowning act of bounty.

Host. What's that, my lord?

Lord L. Give her myself, which here

By all the holy vows of love I do.

Spare all your promised portions; she's a dowry
So all-sufficient in her virtue and manners,
That fortune cannot add to her.

Pru. My lord,

Your praises are instructions to mine ears,
Whence you have made your wife to live your servant
Host. Lights! get us several lights!

Lov. Stay, let my mistress

But hear my vision sung, my dream of beauty,
Which I have brought, prepared, to bid us joy,
And light us all to bed, 'twill be instead
Of airing of the sheets with a sweet odour.

Host. 'Twill be an incense to our sacrifice
Of love to-night, where I will woo afresh,
And like Mæcenas, having but one wife,
I'll marry her every hour of life hereafter.

[Exeunt with a song.

EPILOGUE.

Plays in themselves have neither hopes nor fears;
Their fate is only in their hearers' ears :
If you expect more than you had to-night,

The maker is sick, and sad. But do him right;

6 And like Mæcenas, having but one wife,

I'll marry her every hour of life hereafter.] Terentia, the wife of Mæcenas, is reported to have been not of the most gentle and complying manners, which necessarily produced many quarrels and reconcilements between her and her husband: this gave occasion to those words of Seneca, to which our poet alludes: Huncesse, qui uxorem millies duxit, cum unam habuerit. Epist. 114. WHAL.

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