A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II - Various
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_Cap_. Yes, surely, and the lead mines in _Darbishire_ hold still for
the Allom businesses. But come; will you walke, Sir?
_En_. I do use to goe a foote sometymes but when I ride; and then I must
confesse there is no striving with the streame. You were in _London_
lately: they say the people are more affected to beare baiting then in
former tyme.
_Cap_. There are some a late are drawne like beares to the stake; but
for your owne part the gout and the grand pox are all one to you. What
price beare[s] meat in the shambles?
_En_. Flesh rises and falls as it us'd to doe, sir; but a Countrey life
is the best when all's done. What thinke you of a bridg from _Lion_ key
to _Flaunders_? You may guess I talke at randum, gentlemen; but you must
not interpret all foolish discourse a distemper of the braine: Lords
would take it for a _Scandalum Magnatum_ and your Ladies would bee angry
too.
_Enter Sir Francis and Lady_.
Now you talke of Ladies--
_Cap_. By no meanes, Mr. _Engin_; that gentleman loves you not. Come,
ile bring up the rere. Where's _Thomas_?
[_Exeunt Underwit, Captain, Courtwell and Engine_.
_Tho_. Ile follow, sir.--I would give my fower marks a yeare that I
could talke like that mad gentleman. Hee's here and there and
everywhere. How will his tongue run when his Coggs are oild; theile
drench him! [_Exit_.
_Fra_. Although I mist a happines, I applaud
Your nimble wit that securd both our honours.
You have an excellent Instrument too o' your gentlewoman.
_La_. Oh she deliver'd to the life how you
Were troubled with the Stone. At first I did
Beleev't my selfe, and thinke of the sad consequence.
But tyme is pretious now: although our Starres
Have not been yet propitious to our meeting
Ile try my art to night to make 'em shine.
With happie influence on our Loves.
_Fra_. Most excellent Madam, how?
_La_. Ile not engage
Your visit to my chamber, since the first
Prov'd so unfortunate, but come to youres.
_Fra_. This night? wonot your husband be at home.
_La_. Yes.
_Fra_. You enjoy but one bed.
_La_. Without witchcraft, sir,
I have a stratageme to delude my husband
And all his jealous waking eyes, a plott
That cannot faile if you dare but expect me.
_Fra_. I grow immortall with my hopes and fancie
More than the worlds most pretious Empire in
Our first embrace. I should runne back into
An Infant once agen, and by degrees
And tyme grow up to meet so vast a happines.
Ages in expectation spent were poore
And easy sufferings weigh'd against this triumph!
Methinkes I am not man but something of
A more exalted essence: humane nature
Hath not capacity to understand
And owne theis spatious blessings.
_La_. No more rapture;
But with the confidence of a lover spread
Your equall thoughts, and in your heart and armes
Prepare an entertainement for that guest
That hath no life or name but what you give.
A kisse! and leave our soules to thinke upon
The joyes this night attend us.
_Fra_. Sullen day,
Do not tire now; tis downehill all the way.
[_Exeunt severally_.
_Act the Fourth_.
[SCENE 1.[260]]
[_Captain,[261] Underwit, Courtwell and Musicians,
discovered in the Tavern_.]
_Capt_. Come, my _Apollos_, my _Orpheuses_ or my _Bacchus_ his
Minst[rels], which, to leave poeticall expressions, in broader phrase
is Taverne fidlers, some of your new tunes, my Masters; doe you heare?
1. Do you meane Mr. _Adson_'s[262] new ayres, Sir?
_Cap_. I, Sir; but they are such phantasticall ayres as it putts a Poet
out of his witts to rhime to them; but let mee heare.
1 _Play_.
_Capt_. No, I doe not like that.
1 _Play againe_.
_Capt_. Nor that. (_Play againe_)--No, no, no, neither.
1. An't please your Worship, Mr. _Capt_., our Boyes can singe songs
to these.
_Cap_. No, no, saveing your presence, your Boyes have nothing,
sarreverence,[263] but Love songs, and I hate those monstruously, to
make thinges appeare better then they are, and that is but _deceptio
Visus_, which after some embraceings the parties see presently what
it is.
_The Musique Playes_.
(_Hee sings and reeks and fillips all the time
with his finger, then sayees_:)
_Cap_. I, I, this thumping tune I like a life; a Song, a Song to it!
_One Singes.
This Song.
_The Juice of Spanish squeez'd Grapes is It
That makes a dull Braine so full of witt;
The Lemonades cleere sparkling wine
The grosser witts too, doth much refine.
Then to bee foxd[264] it is no crime,
Since thickest and dull Braines It makes sublime.
The Stillyards Reanish wine and Divells white,
Who doth not in them sometimes take delight?
If with Mimique Gestures you'le keep you from sadnes,
Then drinke lusty Clarett twill put you in Madnes;
And then to settle you no hopes in Beer
But wholesome Potts of Scotch ale though its deere_.
_Cap_. But looke you, Child, you say the Divells white in your Song. You
have beene ill catechiz'd, Boy, for a _White Divell_ is but a poeticall
fiction[265]; for the Divell, God bless us, Child, is blacke.
_Boy_. No, Captaine, I say white wine at the Divell.
_Cap_. That's true; thats a good Boy, indeed. _Underwit_, lend mee a
Peice to give these harmonious men there. And now begon, my Masters,
without noise, for I will have no more fiddle-faddle for my money, no
tunes of supererrogation after the Musicall Bill is paid.
[_Exeunt[266] omnes_.
[SCENE 2.]
_Enter Thomas_.
_Tho_. They are all drunke already, and such Confusion in their heads
and tongues, my master kisses the next man and calls him Mistres
_Dorothy_; Mr. _Courtwell_, possest with the spiritt of defiance to
_Cupid_, is ready to beat him for being in love; my Projector dead drunk
in a Chaire, and the Captaine peepeing into his mouth like a tooth
drawer and powring downe sack which he feeles not, but his chapps shut
againe like a spring lock till he returne with a key to open his teeth,
to poure in the next health.
_Enter Courtwell_.
_Cou_. My Cloake and sword, Drawer.
_Tho_. Tis here, sir.
_Cou_. Thou art a pretty fellow; here's half a Crowne, say I am
gone _Thomas_.
_Tho_. You are pretty well.
_Enter Captaine and Underwit_.
_Un_. What shalls doe with him; this Engine burnes like _Etna_.
_Cap_. Throw him into the River.
_Un_. Hee's able to mull the _Thames_ well, for my owne part would
Mistresse _Dorothy_ were here to open her files.
_Cou_. Did you not name a woman. I will have no mention of any thing
that's female.
_Un_. May not a man talke of Sack?
_Cap_. Sack is a soveraigne medicine.
_Un_. Oh very Soveraigne.
_Cap_. Is it not _hic et hec_ sack, both for he and she. Stay, is my
Countryman gone? come hither, _Thomas_; do you thinke I am drunke?
_Tho_. Truly, Captaine, I cannot tell.
_Cap_. You cannot tell? there's your ignorance. Drink is a vice I am as
little given to as another man, for I doe abhorre it in my selfe. I do
wonder how any reasonable man can be drunk; therefore every wise man
take Counsell and example by me, and he may see very plainely what an
odious thing it is; for you must follow your leader, and vertue, which
is an Antient--
_Tho_. Vertue an Antient?
_Cap_. I, an Antient old gentlewoman that is growne very poore, and
nobodie knowes where she dwells very hard to find her out, especially
for a Capt.; you will find it very difficult for a Livetenent. But wee
will endeavour the best wee can; you see my courses, I have travel'd to
find her out, and I could never yet see her at a baudihouse.
_Un_. Who is to be seene at a baudihouse? to the right hand countermarch.
_Tho_. He talkes of vertue, sir.
_Un_. Vertue? she never comes there; why do you thinke she should be
there, Captaine?
_Cap_. Why, because she is an old gentlewoman and might keepe the house.
_Tho_. Alas, Captaine, Mistris _Vertue_ is poore and leane.
_Cap_. Nay, then she is not fit to be a baud, but tell me did you ever
see her, or if so did you ever doo't with her?
_Un_. No, but twas none of my fault; I know not what I may do in time
when she understands the wordes of Command.
_Tho_. He does not meane Mistris _Dorothy_: but, Captaine, I would faine
know the reason why your baudes are so fat still.
_Cap_. A plaine case: they lie fallow and get hart, then they keepe
themselves so in health and so soluble with stewd prunes; and then
sipping of sack is a great matter to fatten 'em. But they are as good
people as a man shall keepe company withall, and bring up the young
gentlewomen so vertuously. I came into one of their houses tother day
for a carreere, and I found the baud sick upon her death bed, very
religious and much given to repentance for those poore sins she had
comitted. When she had taken order for her soule, she told me the young
gentlewoman I look'd for was in the next roome; and desiring her upon
her blessing to give me content, she turnes herselfe to the wall and
gives up the ghost very privatly, because she was loth to trouble us.
_Un_. By your relation theis appeare to be very good people. What if we
went to visit one of these Matrons? I have a great mind--
_Cap_. Wy, now you speake like an understanding soldier, and one that
may come to something in the end. Lett us therefore march on.
_Un_. March on to _Venus_ Warres.
_Cap_. For you know, _Thomas_, that the Spider and the Bee, the Spider
and the Bee, do both--something, but in troth I have forgott what tis.
_Un_. Tis no matter what; let us goe.
_Cap_. Goe? no more but goe? though I be a Captaine, if I be not chosen
in this imployment--
_Tho_. What, then, Captaine?
_Cap_. Why, then--I cannot goe.
_Tho_. Very right; but wo' not those young gentlewomen you talk'd of
give a man something to make a man afraid of pepper upon occasion?
_Cap_. You will be prating so long till I breake your head for
pretending to that which you have not, sirra.
_Tho_. Alas, I never had it in my life.
_Un_. What's that, Captaine?
_Cap_. Wit, I talke of wit.
_Un_, Who has any wit? does my man offer to have wit?
_Cap_. Nay, take no offence at it, for I meant none to either of you
by this sack. Drawer, give me my oath, cannot you drinke without wit?
cannot you game without wit?
_Un_. And yet by your favour the gamesters are cald the wits now.
_Cap_. Tis no wit to cozen; confederacy and dishonesty will doo't
without wit. Ile iustifie it: do not you know the receit of Cozenage?
take an ounce of knavery at the least,--and confederacie is but so many
knaves put together,--then you must take a very fine young Codling heire
and pound him as small as you can.
_Un_. And what then, Captaine?
_Cap_. Why, then you must cozen him.
_Un_. But which way?
_Cap_. Which way? Why, which way you will: is not cozen him enough? thou
art a pretty fellow, ile talke with thee. Thy name's _Thomas_; take
heed, I say still, _Thomas_, of being drunke, for it doth drowne the
mortall soule; and yours cannot swim, _Thomas_,--can it?
_Tho_. Not as I know, Captaine; if it scape fire tis as much as I
looke for.
_Within Eng_. Oh--oh--
_Cap_. What's that?
_Tho_. Tis Mr. _Engine_ recovered from his dead sleepe. [_Exit_.
_Un_. D'ee heare, Captaine, for all this I have a great mind to a wench,
and a wench I must have if there be one above ground. Oh _London,
London_, thou art full of frank tenements, give me _London_. Shall we
wheele about yet?
_Cap_. Give you _London_? Wo'nott _Cheapeside_ serve your turne, or the
_Exchange_?
_Enter Thomas_.
_Tho_. Oh, gentlemen, Mr. _Engine_ is surely bewitch'd.
_Cap_. What, what's the matter? bring the witch and Mr. _Engine_
before us.
_Tho_. He does vomit the strangest things yonder.
_Cap_. Did not I say, murder will out?
_Tho_. I thinke he has eaten and drunke nothing but Monopolies, and too
hard to be digested they come up againe.
_Within Eng_. Oh!
_Tho_. Harke, I must hold his head. [_Exit_.
_Cap_. Did not I tell you something would come out?
_Tho_. Pins, pins, they lay across his throat. I told you he was
bewitch'd. Heyday! cards and dice, out with 'em, the Divells a gamester
and paies the box soundly--Now, now, now.
_Un_. Whats that?
_Tho_. Tis something clammy,--now,--oh, tis sope!
_Cap_. Sope? give a man leave to wash his mouth.
_Un_. Does not the lyme burne his throat, _Thomas_?
_Tho_. Alas, poore gentleman, something now agen is ready to strangle
him; out with em,--hides, hides,--it was the hornes stuck in his gullett.
_Within_. Oh--
_Tho_. Well straind; what a foule stomack he has! open your mouth,
Mr. _Engine_.
_Cap_. Throw downe a pottlepot.
_Tho_. I have, sir, and it has come up full of medium wine; if you have
any charity come and helpe me to hold his head; now agen!
_Within_. Oh, oh, oh!
_Un_. This is very strange, Captaine; the man is certainely enchanted.
_Tho_. Master, master, tis _Shrovetuesday_[267] and the prentices are
pulling downe _Covent Garden_; the Brickes come as whole out as if he
had swallowed Cherristones. Hey! will you take Tobacco in the Roll? here
is a whole shiplading of _Bermudas_ and one little twopenny paper of
berrinas, with a superscription 'To my very loving friends the
Custome-house.'
_Cap_. Put up that for a relique, _Thomas_, and open it upon high dayes
to clear the sore eyes of our _Spanish_ Marchants. _Thomas_, no more,
but call the Drawer, an understanding Drawer and one that writes
orthographie.
[_Enter Drawer_.
--Sirra, I charge you set a padlock upon that Chamber doore; there is a
dangerous fellow must be brought to his purgation. And looke all the
goods that he hath vomitted be forthcomeing, while we discreetly goe and
enforme the Magistrates.--At your perill, sirra, at your perill seale up
the Doore; and do you pay the reckoninge.
_Un_. Sir _Richard_ is a Justice. There's your money, and yet wee need
not pay; the gentleman hath left enough for the Reckoning in the next
Roome.
_Un_. I ha made him fast, you are very welcome, gentlemen. All's paid in
the Percullis.
[_Exeunt_.
[SCENE 3.]
_Enter Courtwell and Sister_.
_Sis_. Ile walke no further; if you have a secret
To impart, you need not feare this place; the trees
And hedges will not listen. What's the business?
I hope your phlegmatick stock of verse is spent.
_Cou_. Why then in prose, the worst that I can speake in,
I doe not love you, Lady.
_Sis_. How? you ha not
Traind me thus farr to tell me that?
_Cou_. You are
Of all your sex the poorest emptiest trifle,
And one with whome tis most impossible
I ere should change Affection; theres nothing
To invite me too't, not so much as that
Wee call a seeming reason, upon which
All Love is built, seeming, I say, not it,
My understanding Ladie.
_Sis_. You thinke I am very dull that you expound
Your witt thus, but it needes no Comentator,
Not by the Author, tis so very plaine;
But to despise me most of all the sexe
Is something oversaid. Though I affect
No flattery, I hate uncivill Language.
You do not meane to quarrell, now you have
Betraid me to the feilds, and beat me, Sir?
_Cou_. What is there in your face more to attract mee
Then that Red Cowes complexion? Why the Divell
Do you thinke I should dote upon your person?
That thing when she is stroak'd gives milke.
_Sis_. By that
I understand all this revenge, because
You thinke I did neglect you. Pray, sir, tell me,
And tell me seriouslie, put the Case that I
Should love you now, could not you love agen?
_Cou_. In troth I thinke I could not.
_Sis_. You do but thinke.
_Cou_. Nay, ile bind it with an oath before the parish,
And when I have given my reasons, too, the Clarke
Shall praise me fort and say Amen.
_Sis_. What reasons?
_Cou_. I shall be very loath
To say your eyes are twinckling Starres agen,
Your lipps twin cherries and out blush the rubie,
Your azure veines vye beauty with the Saphire
Or that your swelling breasts are hills of Ivory,
Pillowes for Jove to rest his amorous head,
When my owne Conscience tells me that _Bunhill_
Is worth a hundred on 'em, and but _Higate_
Compar'd with 'em is Paradice. I thanke you;
Ile not be vext and squeez'd about a rime
Or in a verse that's blanke, as I must be,
Whine love unto[268] a tune.
_Sis_. This all your feare?
_Cou_. No, I doe feare to loose my tyme, my businesse,
And my witts too, jolting them all away
To waite on you in prouder Coaches.
_Sis_. Is this all?
_Cou_. To spend my selfe to nothing and be laugh'd at
By all the world when I shall come at last
To this reward for all my services,
To bee your lay Court Chaplaine and say gravely
A hastie grace before your windowes breakfast.
_Sis_. But how
Came you thus cur'd? You were a passionate
(I may say) foole, in hope you will deserve it.
What phisick tooke you that hath thus restor'd you?
_Cou_. A little sack had power to cure this madnes.
_Sis_. I hope you are not sober yet, the humour
May change when you ha slept.
_Cou_. Ile rather stick
My Eyelids up with Sisters[269] thread and stare
Perpetually.
_Sis_. Then you may see me agen.
_Cou_. I thinke I sha'not, unless it be to wonder,
When you are in the Ivie bush, that face
Cut upon Tafata, that creame and prunes,
So many plums in white broth, that scutcheon of
Pretence powderd with ermines. Now I looke upon't,
With those black patches it does put me in mind
Of a white soule with sinns upon't, and frights me.
How sell you grapes? Your haire[270] does curle in bunches;
You[r] lipps looke like the parsons glebe, full of
Red, blew and yellow flowers; how they are chopt
And looke like trenches made to draine the meadowe.
_Sis_. This rudenes
Is beyond the manners of a gentleman.
_Cou_. I cannot helpe it, and I hope you thinke so.
_Sis_. I am confirm'd that now I am forsaken,
But if your passion have not drownd all reason
I pray let us part civilly.
_Cou_. With all my heart; I dare then take my leave, to[o].
_Sis_. Whoe's there?
_Cou_. Where?
_Sis_. Behind that tree?
_Cou_. You have no plott to accuse me for a rape?
Twas at the worst but felony, for cherries
That look'd as they had been a fortnight gather'd.
_Sis_. I know youle bring me home in Curtesie.
_Cou_. Not I, I wo' not trust my selfe; and you
Will hardly meet a worse to interrupt you.
Fare you well, Ladie.--Do you see that Bull?
_Sis_. Yes, Sir.
_Cou_. That is a happie beast
_Sis_. Why happie, sir?
_Cou_. He writes no verses to his Mistresse, is
Not cosend nor forsworne to gett her favour,
Bestowes no rings nor empties his Exchequer
To appear still in new rich suites, but lives
Free o' the stock of Nature, yet loves none.
Like the great _Turke_ he walkes in his Seraglio,
And doth command which concubine best pleases;
When he has done he falls to graze or sleepe,
And makes as he had never knowne the Dun,
White, Red or Brindled Cowe.
_Sis_. You are unmanly.
_Cou_. Nay, I know you will raile now; I shall like it.
Call me a scurvy fellow, proud and saucie,
An ill bred, crooked Clowne; ile here this rather
Then live upon your pitty. And yet doe not;
For, if you raile, too, men that know you can
Dissemble, may beleeve you love me, and
Tis not my ayme.
_Sis_. You are a fine man!
_Cou_. I am in my best clothes?
_Sis_. I perceave
That tis truth now what the world saies of you,
And yet tis strange.
_Cou_. 'Twere strange it should be otherwise.
_Sis_. You give your tongue a licence, nor will I hope
Your malice should spare me abroad that have
So prodigally abus'd a Ladies fame
That deserv'd nobly from you; but you men
Care not whose name you blast with a loose character,
So you maintaine your pride of talke.
_Cou_. Howe's this?
It is confess'd I have talk'd in my tyme
And talk'd too much, but not too much of you;
For I but seldome thought of such a woman:
For any other--
_Sis_. Nay, sir, I am satisfied;
You can talke your pleasure.
_Cou_. Have I not done it, too?
_Sis_. Yes, by your own report, and with a lady
So much in vertue and in birth above you;
And therefore I expect not--
_Cou_. Stay; this moves me.
I never tooke a pleasure yet to lie
With Ladies fames, or ever thought that sport
Lay in the tongue. Such humours are for men
That live by brothell offices: let me know
Who hath traduc'd me to you thus, he shall
Be knowne no more.
_Sis_. Ile not be guiltie, sir,
Of any murder; when we meet agen,
And you in better humour, I may tell you.
So farewell, _Gondarino_,[271] nothing's lost
When you turne _Woman Hater_. [_Exit_.
_Cou_. She has vext me.
If we make Matrimony after this rate,
The Divell is like to dance at our wedding. Ho!
_Enter Device_.
_De_. Hee's here,
Alone too, and the place most opportune.
How shall I beginne?--Mr. _Courtwell_, do you love
Any friend of mine?
_Cou_. Not to my knowledge, Sir; I should be sorry.
_De_. Do not you love a gentlewoman?
_Cou_. If she be a friend of yours ile take the first
Occasion to neglect her for your sake.
_De_. It will become your wisdome and your safety.
_Cou_. What mischiefe have done to your face?
_De_. My face?
_Cou_. You looke so scurvily; come hither, thou
New Monster, with more feet then a Caterpiller;
What tyme a day ist? you that move upon
So many wheeles, say, Monsier, are you not
A walkeing Clock? I have a mighty mind
To see you tooke a peeces.
_De_. I doe not like this.--
You wo'not put me, sir, together againe.
_Cou_. I wo'not take the paines. Why do you smile now?
_De_. At your conceite to thinke I was a Clock:
I am a watch, I never strike.--Hee's valiant.
_Cou_. You have pretty colours there; are these your Mistresses?
_De_. If you did know the mistery you would applaud 'em.
Have you read _Livre de blason_? What meane you?
_Cou_. I will bestow 'em, sir, upon some forehorse?
They will become a countrey teame rarely.
_De_. Mor bleu!
Why, you dare fight, it seemes, and I was told
You were no Cavellier, a very dreame [droane?]
A wedg for men to breake their swords upon.
I shall never trust fame agen for your sake.
_Cou_. Thou never cosendst me.
_De_. I was never so illiterate in man.
_Cou_. For I did ever thinke thou durst not fence
But at a complement; a glittering vapour,
A thing of clothes and fitt for chambermaides
To whet their witts upon, but now resolve
Either to have your skin flead of or fight wo' me
For troubling my present meditations.
_De_. Why, sir, if you be serious I shall quit
That prejudice you have upon my valour.
Looke you, sir, I can draw, and thus provok'd
I dare chastise you, too. Cause I was merry
I was not bound to feed your spleen eternally
With laughter; yet I am not ignorant
What an advantage, sir, your weapon gives you
In length.
_Cou_. Wee'le change; why, this is honour in thee.
[_They measure and Device getts both weapons_.
_De_. Now, sir, keepe of.
_Cou_. Th'art not so base?
_De_. I never cosen'd you, do you remember?
These two will guide me on the rope.
_Cou_. You meane to dance, then?
_De_. Yes, the Canaries,[272] but with quicker tyme
Then you, I hope, can follow: thus I begin.
Fa, la, la, &c. [_Excurrit_.
_Cou_. What a heathen Coward's this? how the rogue tripps like a fairie
to the towne with 'em! He has been a footman, sure; I have not aire
enough to overtake him, and twill be darke presently. If I loose the
sight on him ile search the towne, and if I find him not there, pursue
him with hue and cries and after hang him.
[_Exit_.
[SCENE 4.]
_Enter Sir Francis, a taper prepar'd_.
_Fra_. The sun whose busie eye is still employ'd
A spie upon our actions, tir'd with waiting,
Is drowsie gone to bed, about whose pillow
Night hath hung all her wings and set up tapers
As if the Day were timerous like a Child
And must have lights to sleepe by. Welcome all
The houres that governe pleasure, but be slow
When you have blest me with my wishes. Time
And Love should dwell like twins; make this your bower
And charme the aire to sweetnes and to silence.
Favour me now and you shall change your states;
Time shall be old no more, I will contract
With Destiny, if he will spare his winges
To give him youth and beauty, that we may
Find every minute a fresh child of pleasure.
Love shall be proud to be no more a boy
But grow to perfect strength and bold consistence[273];
For when too Active Lovers meet, so happie
As wee, whose equall flames light to embraces,
Twill be no weight to number many yeares
In our delights and thinke all age a blessing.
But language is to narrow to expresse
What I expect, tis fitt my soule retire
Till she present her selfe; and, if it can
Measure my hop'd for ioyes with thought, prepare
To entertaine the happines.
[_Exit_.
[SCENE 5.]
_Sir Richard and his Lady abed. Enter Dorothy with a Light_.
_Do_. I have set already my designe a moveing
To take my Captaine _Underwit_, who in wine
Was late more feirie upon me. I'th meane tyme
I cannot choose but laugh at the device
Wee have to cheat my Master; sure the Divell
Is a great friend to women that love men,
He doth so furnish us with quaint inventions.
Presently after supper she began
Her fitt othe toothach, and did counterfeit
So naturally; but since she went to bed
She almost rav'd by turnes:--I heare her at it.