Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9. Beaumont Francis

      Fed with a wound upon me, stampt at midnight.

      Hah, what are you?

      Pris. Now you may tell your self, Lady.

      Lady. Oh Mr. Priscian, what's the project,

      For you n'er come without one.

      Pris. First, your Husband,

      Sir Ruinous Gentry greets you with best wishes,

      And here has sent you your full share by me

      In five Cheats and two Robberies.

      Lady. And what comes it too?

      Prisc. Near upon thirteen pound.

      Lady. A goodly share,

      'Twill put a Lady scarce in Philip and Cheyney,

      With three small Bugle Laces, like a Chambermaid,

      Here's precious lifting.

      Pris. 'Las you must consider, Lady,

      'Tis but young Term, Attornies ha small doings yet,

      Then Highway Lawyers, they must needs ha little,

      We'ave had no great good luck to speak troth, Beauty,

      Since your stout Ladyship parted from's at Highgate,

      But there's a fair hope now for a present hunder'd,

      Here's mans Apparel, your Horse stands at door.

      Lady. And what's the virtuous plot now?

      Prisc. Marry Lady,

      You, like a brave young Gallant must be robb'd.

      Lady. I robb'd?

      Pris. Nay then —

      Lady. Well, well, go on, let's hear Sir.

      Pris. Here's a seal'd bag of a Hunder'd, which indeed

      Are Counters all, only some sixteen Groats

      Of white money i'th' mouth on't.

      Lady. So, what Saddle have I?

      Pris. Monsieur Laroon's the Frenchmans.

      Lady. That agen,

      You know so well it is not for my stride,

      How oft have I complain'd on't?

      Pris. You may have [Jockey's] then, the little Scotch one,

      You must dispatch.

      Lady. I'll soon be ready, Sir,

      Before you ha shifted Saddles, many Women

      Have their wealth flow to 'em, I was made I see

      To help my fortune, not my fortune me.

      Cun. My ways are Goblin-led, and the night-Elf

      Still draws me from my home, yet I follow,

      Sure, 'tis not altogether fabulous,

      Such Haggs do get dominion of our tongues

      So soon as we speak, the Inchantment binds;

      I have dissembled such a trouble on me,

      As my best wits can hardly clear agen;

      Piping through this old reed, the Guardianess,

      With purpose that my harmony shall reach

      And please the Ladies ear, she stops below,

      And ecchoes back my Love unto my Lips,

      Perswaded by most violent arguments

      Of self-love in her self; I am so self-fool,

      To doat upon her hunder'd wrinkl'd face;

      I could beggar her to accept the gifts

      She would throw upon me; 'twere charity,

      But for pities sake I will be a niggard

      And undo her, refusing to take from her;

      I'm haunted agen, if it take not now

      I'll break the Spell.

      Guard. Sweet Cuningam, welcome;

      What? a whole day absent? Birds that build Nests

      Have care to keep 'em.

      Cun. That's granted,

      But not continually to sit upon 'em;

      Less in the youngling season, else they desire

      To fly abroad, and recreate their labours,

      Then they return with fresher appetite

      To work agen.

      Guard. Well, well, you have built a Nest

      That will stand all storms, you need not mistrust

      A weather-wrack, and one day it may be

      The youngling season too, then I hope

      You'll ne'er fly out of sight.

      Cun. There will be pains,

      I see to shake this Burr off, and sweetest,

      Prethee how fares thy charge? has my good friend

      Sir Gregory, the countenance of a Lover?

      Guard. No by my troth, not in my mind, methinks

      (Setting his Worship aside) he looks like a fool.

      Cun. Nay i'faith, ne'r divide his Worship from him for that

      Small matter; Fool and Worship are no such

      Strangers now adaies, but my meaning is,

      Has he thy Ladies countenance of Love?

      Looks she like a welcome on him? plainly,

      Have they as good hope of one another,

      As Cupid bless us, we have?

      Guard. Troth I know not,

      I can perceive no forwardness in my charge,

      But I protest I wish the Knight better

      For your sake, Bird.

      Cun. Why thanks sweet Bird, and with my heart I wish,

      That he had as strong and likely hope of her

      As thou hast of me.

      Guard. Well, he's like to speed

      Ne'er the worse for that good wish, and I'll tell you

      Bird (for secrets are not to be kept betwixt

Скачать книгу