A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II - Various
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
_La_. Oh--oh, whoe's there?
_Do_. Tis I forsooth, I heard you groane and I
Have not the hart to sleepe. Shall I watch by you?
_La. Oh, no, no, no; get you to bed, make fast the Chamber;
I cannot endure the candle.
[_Dorothy towards the dore putts out the Candle and returnes_.
_Ri_. Deare hart be patient.
_La_. I, you have your homilies of patience, but if you had my paine
twould make you wild. Oh!
_Ri_. Ile send for the _french_ toothdrawer in the morning.
_La_. Oh, there is no rack nor torture like it. What shall I do? I shall
never sleepe agen.
_Ri_. Which tooth ist?
_Do_.--The sweet one you may be sure which troubles her.
_La_. This, this, O that there.
_Ri_. They are happie that are old and have no teeth.
_La_. Oh, take heed, now it shoots up to my head.
_Ri_. Thou dost make my head ake with the noise.
_La_. If you knew what I suffer your head would ake indeed. I must rise
and walke in the Chamber; there is no remedy.
_Ri_. You will catch more cold.
_La_. Oh, no, no, deere life, do not crosse me; and you were in my
torment you would rise and trie any thing for a little ease. It cannot
be worse; the paine sure came with a cold, and who knowes but an other
cold may cure me.
_Ri_. I prethe come to bed agen.
_La_. So, so, do not troble me; I am now in some little ease; its a
heavenly thing to be goeing.
_Ri_. Dost heare?
_La_. Your noise will bring my paine back agen; if you knew what a
vexation it were for me to speake, You wo'not put me too't so. If you
doe talke I wo'not answere a word more, oh!
_Ri_. Well by this no light ile to _London_ tomorrow.
[_She takes Dorothy by the hand and exit_.
Now do I see it is possible that a womans teeth should be as
troublesome as her tongue.
_Do_. Oh, oh!
_Ri_. I cannot choose but pitty her, that any woman should hold so much
paine in a hollow tooth.
_Do_.--If my Mr. touched with so much compassion should rise and force
me to bed with him, I must not cry out a rape; tis at the worst on my
side but fornication in my owne defence.
_Ri_. I prethe come to Bed.
_Do_. Oh, oh, oh!
_Ri_. The musick at a convocation of Catts upon a witches upsetting is
the spheres to this Catterwalling. I will thrust my head into the
pillow, as _Dametas_[274] did in a bush when the beare was a comeing,
and then I shanot heare her.
_Do_. Oh, this is a kind of Purgatory for sins of the flesh. If she
should fall asleepe with the tother knight it is not possible I should
hold out till morning; that which would fright away an Ague would put me
into a feare, I shall ha the toothache indeed with counterfeiting; I
have knowne some men caught the stammers so; my gums begin to murmure,
there is a feare all over my flesh, she will stay so long, and then---
_Ri. coughs_.--Uh, uh!
_Do_. Oh, oh!--Ile shift places to shew more distraction; at the worst
my noise shall be within his reach; it may give her notice to returne
too.
[_Exit_.
[SCENE 6.]
_Sir Francis a sleepe; a table, inke, and paper. Enter Lady_.
_La_. I am full of feares, and my owne motion frights me;
This furious love is a strange pilot. Sir,
Where are you? ha! asleepe! can any dulnes
That is not Death possess a gentleman,
So valiant in desires, when he expects
To meete his Mistresse? How I blush to raise him!
Was I not worth thy waking expectation?
Farewell; yet something that [like?] a charme that's fastned
To my poore hart restraines me. Inke and paper!
Ile leave him a short monument of this shame
And my neglected Love. [_Writes_.
He knowes my hand: farwell, forgetfull Lover.
[_Exit_.
_Fra_. What? have I slept? some witchcraft did betray
My eyes to so much darkenes; yet my dreame
Was full of rapture, such as I with all
My wakeing sence would flie to meet. Me thought
I saw a thousand Cupids slide from heaven,
And landing here made this their scene of revells,
Clapping their golden feathers which kept tyme
While their owne feet strook musike to their dance,
As they had trod and touched so many Lutes.
This done, within a Cloud formd like a Throne,
She to whom love had consecrate this night,
My Mistresse, did descend and, comeing toward me,
My soule that ever wakes, angrie to see
My body made a prisoner and so mock'd,
Shook of the chaines of sleepe, least I should loose
Essentiall pleasure for a dreame. Tis happie;
I will not trust my selfe with ease and silence,
But walke and waite her comeing that must bless me.
Forgive me, you bright starres, and do not frowne
That I have not attended as became
One that must live by your kind influence.
Not yet appeard? She did comand I should
With confidence expect her. Ha! what's here?
This Character, was not visible before.
_That man's too much compos'd of phleame
Will loose his Mistress for a Dreame_. [_Reades_.
Tis her's, I know't; she has been here, oh fatall!
And finding me asleepe scorn'd to uncharme
My dull and cursed silence. This distracts me:
Have I so long, with so much Art and study,
Labour'd this honour, and obtaind what my
Ambition look'd at, her consent; and when
The tree it selfe bowed downe its golden fruit
And tempted me to gather, must I make
My selfe uncapable and be guilty of
So black, so base a forfeit? I could teare
My eyelids of, that durst let in a Mist
So darke and so destroying, must I sleepe
At such a tyme that the Divell must be over
Watche too! This houre hath blasted such a hope
As the Earth never teemd with nor the spring
Gave up in smileing blosomes to the breath
Of those sweet windes that whisper from the West
A tale of triumph to the yeere. I could
Dissolve with curseing of my Lathargie.
How shall I looke upon her face whose love
And bold adventure I have thus rewarded?
But passion cannot cure my wound; which must
Bleed till I see her, and then either cease,
Blest by her pardon, or dismiss a life
(Though iust) too poore a Sacrifice for her anger.
Where shall I hide my selfe and shame for ever!
[_Exit_.
_The Fifth Act_.
_Enter Sister_.
_Sis_. I cannot forgett my carelesse gentleman: his neglect and
reproaches have wrought strangely upon me.--Hee's here.
_Enter Courtwell_.
_Cou_. Is there not a weesill crept into your Chamber, lady?
_Sis_. A weesill, sir?
_Cou_. A Mounsier sucklegge.
_Sis_. Do you take my Chamber for a henns neast?
_Cou_. There is a thing that calls himselfe _Device_,
One that will break the hart of a post horse
To continue a hand gallop with him; your Alamode,
Your fighting faery feather'd footed servant,--
When saw you him?
_Sis_. My fighting servant? has he beaten you, sir?
Perhapps he thought you were his Rivall; surely
I saw him not since yesterday.
_Cou_. Bu'y, Ladie.--
How many mile ist to the next Cutlers?
The rogue has pawn'd or sold my sword.
[_Offers to go forth_.
_Sis_. Dee heare, sir?
I can tell you now what Lady twas you did
Abuse so.
_Cou_. I abuse a Ladie! tell me the slave
Reported it. I hope twill prove this Mounsieur.
If ere we meet agen! Who wast?
_Sis_. Upon condition, sir, you will requite me
But with one gentle favour.
_Cou_. Any thing--
_Sis_. You must sitt downe and heare me then while I
At a distance thus deliver--
_Cou_. Tis more state.
_Sis_. I am most unfortunate.
_Cou_. In what, deare Damsell?
_Sis_. And much wrongd by a gentleman I lov'd.
_Cou_. Can he be a gentleman that dares
Wrong so much love and beauty? what's the offence?
_Sis_. He wo'not love agen.
_Cou_. And you would have
The stubborne man corrected?
_Sis_. I would be
Revengd if I knew how, and honour him
Should do me Justice.
_Cou_. Name the man; Ile doot.
_Sis_. I cannot.
_Cou_. How?
_Sis_. Yet turne your face: alas, it is yourselfe.
I have your word to punish him.
_Cou_. Sweet Ladie,
I am well acquainted with the worthy gentleman,
But will not kill nor strike him, for I know
He has just reason not to love you--you
Of all your sex; he told me so.
_Sis_. His reason?
_Cou_. Was in these wordes; suppose you hear him speak it;
Now do you sit--Lady, when I consider you,
The perfect frame of what we can call hansome,
With all your attributes of soule and body,
Where no addition or detraction can
By _Cupids_ nicer Crittick find a fault,
Or _Mercury_ with your eternall flame;
And then consider what a thing I am
To this high Character of you, so low,
So lost to noble merits, I despaire
To love a Mistresse cannot love agen.
_Sis_. This is a much dissembled Modesty.
_Cou_. Therefore give me the kinder Chambermaid,
That will returne me love for my two peeces
And give me back twelve pennyworth agen,
Which is as much as I can well receave;
So there is thirty and nyne shillings cleere
Gotten in Love, and much good do her too't;
I thinke it very well bestow'd.
_Sis_. But if I thinke you worthy, and accept
Your service, it destroies this other reason
For your despaire. Why, I can praise you, too.
_Cou_. No, lett it alone I have other reasons Lady
Among my papers. But to love or to be in love
Is to be guld; that's the plaine _English_ of _Cupids Latine_.
Beside, all reverence to the calling, I
Have vowd never to marry, and you know
Love may bring a Man toot at last, and therefore
My fine Gewgaw do not abuse me.
_Sis_. How can I
When you will neither Love nor marry me?
_Cou_. I was not made for a husband.
_Sis_. But I would make you.
_Cou_. I know what you would make me.
_Enter Servant_.
_Ser_. Mounsier _Device_, if you be alone, would present his service.
_Cou_. Is he come?
_Sis_. Sir, do me but one favour, ile recant
My Love, I wonot have so much as one
Good thought on you; I will neglect you, sir,
Nay and abuse you, too, if you obscure
But for three minutes.
_Cou_. Ile have patience so long.
_Sis_. Admitt him.--I wilbe reveng'd o' somebody.--
Now, Sir.
_Enter Device_.
_De_. I ha brought you a weapon, Lady.
_La_. Mee, what to do, Sir?
_De_. Tis Justice I present it to your feete
Whose love arm[e]d me to vindicate your honour.
_Sis_. My honour?
_De_. This is but the first of my valour in your cause;
If you affect these Monuments ile make
You up an Armorie; meane tyme receave
My Service with this sword: if he provoke me
To fight with him agen, Ile cut his hand of
And bring that wo' me to present the next.
_Sis_. Whose hand, deare servant?
_De_. He is not worth the nameing; las, this does not
Deserve your knowledge. Only thinke what I
Dare do when your bright name is question[e]d,
And I in tyme may merit to be cald
The darling of your virgin thoughts.
_Sis_. I pray stay.
My name traduc'd? who was so impudent?
Do me the grace to let me know on whome
Your valour had been exercis'd.
_De_. Why, the formall thing _Courtwell_; I would [not] call him
Gentleman; but that I ha baffled him
You need no other witnes but his sword
With that fine holliday hilt, Ladie.
[_She shutts the Doore_.
_Sis_. Looke you, sir, I ha made fast the Doore,
Because I meane before you goe to have
A satisfaction for the base injury
You ha done me.
_De_. I done you injurie!
_Sis_. Not that I value _Courtwell_, whome you would
Pretend has been to saucy with my honour;
But, cause I scorne to owne a goodnes should
Depend upon your sword or vindication,
Ile fight with you my selfe in this small vollume
Against your bulke in folio.
_Cou_. Excellent wench!
_De_. I was your Champion, lady.
_Sis_. Ide rather have no fame then heare thee name it.
Thou fight for a Ladies honour and disarme
A gentleman, thou! fence before the pageants
And make roome for the porters, when like Elephants
They carry once a yeare the Citty Castles,
Or goe a feasting with the Drum and foot boyes
To the _Bankeside_ and save the Beares a whipping
That day thou art cudgeld for thy saucy challenging
A sergeant with one eye, that was to much too.
Come, Sir, I meane to have a bout with you.
_De_. At that weapon?
_Sis_. This, and no other.
_De_. Ile rather bleed to death then lift a sword
In my defence, whose inconsiderate brightnes
May fright the Roses from your cheeke and leave
The Lillies to lament the rude divorce.
But were a Man to dare me, and your enemy,
My rage more nimble then [the] _Median_ shaft
Should flie into his bosome, and your eye
Change anger into smiles to see me fight
And cut him into a ragged staffe.
_Enter Courtwell_.
_Cou_. I can hold no longer. You have gott a stomack, Sir, with running;
ile try how you can eate a sword.
_De_. Ha you an ambush, Lady? Ile cry out murder.
Is two to one faire play?
_Cou_. Let me cut one legg of, to marre his running.
_De_. Hold, let me speake.
_Cou_. What canst thou say for thy baseness?
_De_. Some men loves wit, and can without dishonour
Endure a jeast. Why, do you thinke I know not
You were here, and but obscur'd to see my humour.
I came to waite upon you with your sword, I.
_Cou_. How came you by'te? confesse before this Lady.
_De_. Dost thinke her witts so limber to believe
I could compell it from thee. Twas a trick,
A meere conceipt of mirth; thou sha't ha mine.
Dost thinke I stand upon a sword? Ile gi' thee
A case of Pistolls when we come to _London_;
And shoot me when I love thee not. Pox ont,
Thou apprehende'st me well enough.
_Cou_. But I am not
Satisfied: do you affect this gentlewoman?
_De_. Hum.
_Cou_. You will resolve, sir?
_De_. As may become a stranger; ile not loose
Thy friendship for all woman kind.
_Cou_. He dares not owne you.
_Sis_. I easilie forgive him; I should hate
My selfe, if I depended on his pitty.
_Cou_. Th'art a noble wench. Shall we leave of
These jigs and speake our harts in earnest? By
These twin lips I love thee extreamely.
_Sis_. Sweare by your owne.
_Cou_. They shall bee mine. Mounsier,
For your penance you shall along and witnes.
_Sis_. What, I pray?
_Cou_. The Priest shall tell you; come, we have both dissembled,
We do love one another.
_Sis_. Tis not possible.
_Cou_. Unless you will denie me i'the church.
I ha vou'd to lie with you to night: _Device_,
Amble before and find the parson out;
We will bee friends and thou shalt be her father.
_De_. I must maintaine my humour or be beaten. [_Ex_.
_Cou_. Come, weele have no more acquainted.
_Sis_. Very pretty.
--I may deceave you yet for all your confidence.
_Cou_. If the skie fall weele have the larkes to supper.
[_Exeunt_.
[SCENE 2.]
_Enter Ladie, Sir Francis, Dorothy_.
_La_. It was strange neglect, sir.
_Fra_. I confesse it,
And not deserve to live for't; yet if you
But knew my sufferings--
_La_. Let her be Judge.
_Fra_. By no meanes, Madam.
_La_. You may trust her knowledge.
_Fra_. This is worse then a whipping now; these Ladies
Have no mercy on a delinquent. I must stand toot.
There is no tyrant to a chamberwoman
Made judg in such a cause; Ide give a Limbe
To be quit now, but, if she choose, I am
A Criple for this world.
_Do_. Ist possible a man and such a beast?
_Fra_. So, I must to the shameles.
_La_. What punishment can be equall to the offence?
_Do_. He lookes with some compunction for his fault.
Troth, Madam, choose an other night and trye
Whether he will sleepe agen.
_Fra_. Mercifull wench!
If we peece agen it shall be a good turne in thy way.
_La_. My husband is this day resolv'd for _London_;
It is his humour, or els, worse, suspition.
Ther's no pretence for him to stay behind.
_Do_. You have made ill use of your time, Sir _Francis_;
I know not how to helpe you. Seaven yeare hence
You may have such an other oportunitie.
_La_. Watch if my husband come not this way, _Dorothy_.
--Well, sir, though your transgresse deserve no pardon,
Yet I am charitable upon Condition--
_Fra_. Anything, Madam. This shewes exlent in you;
No pennance shall displease so you absolve me.
Bid me to clime some Rock or Pyramide,
Upon whose narrow spire you have advanc'd
My peace, and I will reach it or else fall,
Lost to the world in my attempt.
_La_. You speake
Gloriously; the condition that assures
Your pardon, 's only this--that you conclude
Here all your loose desires with a resolve
Never to prosecute or hope to enjoy me.
_Fra_. Call you this Charity? let me rather loose
Your pardon then for ever to be thus forfeited;
Bind me never to see you (and yet that
Were cruelty) then charme me to forgett
That I am man or have a hart, and you
A beauty, which your absence can as well
Make nothing as devide from my adoring.
It is not cure but killing to prescribe
I never must enjoy you. If you have
Resolv'd a Death upon me, let it bee
When we like Lovers have embrac'd--
_La_. It is not possible.
_Fra_. Nothing in love
Can be impossible to willing mindes.
Ile tell you, Madam--(sure the Divell has
Forsworne the flesh)--there may be a plot. I have it!
An exelent rare devise, if you but favour it.
Your husband is imediately for _London_,
I must in modesty ride with him; you
Are left behind.
_La_. How can that profitt you?
_Do_.--What a deale of submission these foolish men
Trouble us women with, that are more forward
To be friends agen then they are!
_Fra_. I will counterfeit a fall.
_La_. A fall?
_Fra_. I, from my horse; observe me, then--
_Do_.--My confederate, I hope, by this time is at gate
Enquiring for Sir _Richard_ very formally
From the old knight, his Master, and good Ladie.
The fellow has witt to manage it.
_Fra_. My footman shall pretend himselfe the Surgeon
To attend me; is't not rare?
Stand but to'th fate of this, and if it faile
I will sitt downe a Convert and renounce
All wanton hope hereafter. Deerest Madam,
If you did meane before this honour to me,
Let not your loving thoughts freeze in a Minuit.
My genius is a prophet.
_Do_. Sir _Richard_, Madam,
Is comeing this way.
_Fra_. Shall I hope agen?
_La_. I wo'not say you shall despaire.
_Fra_. You blesse me. [_Exit_.
_Do_. My busines is a foote; your Jewell, Madam,
Will credit much the cause.
_La_. Wee will withdraw
And let me know how you have cast the plott.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Sir Richard, opening a Letter; a Footman waiting_.
_Ri_. From thy Master? his name?
_Foo_. Sir _Walter Littleland_.
_Ri_. I doe not know him.
_Foo_. His name is well knowne in _Lincolnsheire_ neere the fenns: there
were his family antient gentlemen before the Conquest; some say ever
since the flood.
_Ri_. _Littleland_!
_Foo_. But he has now more land then three of the best in the shire,
thanke the _Duchmen_ that have drunk up all the water.
_Ri_. They water drinkers?
_Foo_. Why not, as well as eate dry land? they are lin'd with butter,
Sir, and feare no Dropsie.
_Sir Richard reades_.
_She has been absent theis two yeares; the occasion, her dislike and
disaffection to a gentleman whome I confesse I did too seveerely urge
her to marry. If she have liv'd with you, as my late intelligence hath
enformed me, in the nature of a servant, which is beneath my wishes and
her condition, I hope upon this knowledge you will with consideration of
her quality (she being the onely Child and heire to my fortune) use her
like a gentlewoman. And though my yeares have made me unfitt for
travell, I do intend, upon returne of your Letters, personally to give
you thankes for your respects to my Daughter, whome I shall receave as
new blessing from you, and be happie upon any turne presented to
expresse my selfe for your favours, your true friend and servant_
_W. Littleland._
My maide _Dorothy_ a Knights Daughter and heire! Doe you know your yong
Mistresse.
_Foo_. I shall be happie to see her and present her with a Letter & some
token from her Ladie Mother.
_Ri_. I pray trust me to deliver it.
_Foo_. With all my hart, Sir, you may comand.
[_Enter Thomas_.
_Ri_. _Thomas_, pray entertaine this footman in the butterie; let him
drinke and refresh himselfe, and set the cold chine of Beefe before him:
he has ranne hard.
_Tho_. That will stay his stomach, indeed, but Claret is your only
binder.
_Foo_. Sack, while you live, after a heat, Sir.
_Tho_. Please you, my friend, ile shew you the way to be drunke.
[_Exit. [Tho. with footman_.
_Ri_. To my loving Daughter. May not this be a trick?
By your favour, Madam. [_He opens the Letter_.
_Enter Underwit_.
Captaine, gather you the sence of that Letter while I peruse this. You
know Mistress _Dorothy_.
_Un_. I have had a great desire to know her, I confess, but she is
still like the bottome of the map, _terra incognita_. I have been a
long tyme hovering about the _Magellan_ streights, but have made no
new discoveries.
_Ri_. Ha! this is not counterfeit, I dare trust my owne Judgment; tis a
very rich one. I am confirmed, and will scale them up agen. My Ladies
woman Sir _Walter Littlelands_ Daughter and heire! What think you now of
Mistris _Dorothy_?
_Un_. A great deale better than I did; and yet I have lov'd her this
halfe yeare in a kind of way. O' my conscience why may not I marry her?
_Ri_. This Jewell was sent by her mother to her.
_Un_. Deere Uncle conseale till I have talk'd with her. Oh for some
witchcraft to make all sure.
_Ri_. I like this well; shees here.
_Enter Dorothy_.
_Un_. I vow, Mistris Dorothy, if I were immodest twas the meere impudence
of my sack and not my owne disposition; but if you please to accept my
love now, by the way of Marriage, I will make you satisfaction like a
gentleman in the point of honour.
_Do_. Your birth and estate is to high and unequall for me, sir.
_Un_. What care I for a portion or a face! She that has good eyes has
good----Give me vertue.
_Do_. You are pleas'd to make your mirth of me.
_Un_. By this Rubie, nay you shall weare it in the broad eye of the
world, dost thinke I am in Jeast.
_Do_. Sir _Richard_--
_Un_. And were he ten Sir _Richards_, I am out of my wardship.
_Do_.--How he flutters in the lime bush! it takes rarely.
_Un_. What a necessary thing now were a household Chaplaine.
[_Ext. [Dorothy & Underwit_.
_Ri_. So, so, the wench inclines. I will hasten my journey that I may
appear with more excuse when they are married in my absence.
_Enter Captaine and Engine_.
_Cap_. Sir, I heare you are for _London_ presentlie;
It will concerne you take this gentleman
Along w'ee to bee cur'd.
_Ri_. Mr. _Engine_ sick!
_Cap_. Oh, sir,
Dangerously; he has purg'd his stomack, but the ill spiritts
Are flowne into his head and spoild his eares.
He was ever troubled with Devices in his head;
I stronglie feare he must have his scull open'd,
His brains are very foule within. I know
And can direct you to an excle'nt Surgeon.
_En_. I cannot heare you, Captaine--
_Cap_. One that has a rare dexteritie at lanceing
Or opening of a stomack that has crudities;
So neat at separation of a limbe
And quartering of treason.
_Ri_. You meane the hangman?
_Cap_. He has practised late to mend his hand, and now
With the very wind and flourish of his instrument
He will strike flatt a projector at twelve score.
_Ri_. Does he not heare you?
_Cap_. He has lost that sence he saies, unless he counterfeits;
It wilbe your securitie to see him
Safe in the Surgeons hands.
[_they whisper_.
_En_.--Into what misery have my Projects flung me!
They shanot know I understand 'em. That
I were quitt with loss of both my eares, although
I cut my haire like a Lay Elder, too,
To shew the naked conyholes! I doe thinke
What cursed Balletts will be made upon me
And sung to divilish tunes at faire and Marketts
To call in cutpurses. In a puppet play,
Were but my storie written by some scholler,
Twould put downe _hocas pocas_ and the tumblers
And draw more audience than the Motion
Of _Ninivie_[275] or the dainty docile horse[276]
That snorts at _Spaine_ by an instinct of Nature.
_Cap_. Ile leave him to you and seeke out Captaine _Underwit_.
[_Exit_.
_Ri_. Come, Master _Engine_, weele to horse imediately.
[_Exeunt_.
[SCENE 4.]
_Enter Courtwell, Sister and Device_.
_Cou_. So, we are fast enough, and now I have thee
Ile tell thee all the fault I find; thou hast
A little too much witt to bee a wife;
It could not be too nimble for a Mistresse.--
_Device_, there is a part still of your pennance
Behind. You would pretend to be a Poet;
Ile not disgrace the name to call thee one,
But let me have rimes against we go to bed,
Two Anagrams that weigh an ounce, with coment,
And after that in verse your Affidavit
That you do wish us joy, and I discharge you.
_De_. Tis tyme I were at study then.
_Cou_. About e'm:
Your double congey and depart with silence. [_Exit Device_.
Now prethe tell me who reported I
Had wrong'd a Ladie? Wast not thy revenge
To make me angrie?
_Sis_. Twas, indeed. Now tell me:
Why at the first approach seem'd you so modest?
You have confidence to spare now.
_Cou_. Troth I came not
With any wooing purpose; only to please
My Uncle, and try thy witt; and that converted me.