A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III - Various
[_Exit_.
_Actvs Qvartvs_.
_Enter Tales, Kingcob, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_.
_King_. Tis time to leave your Chests, Ladies; tis too studious an
exercise after Dinner.
_Tal_. Why is it cal'd Chests?
_Hip_. Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it.
_Tal_. I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty,
that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly.
_Eug_. Specially where the wit of the _Goosecaps_ are in chase my Lord.
_Tal_. I am a _Goosecappe_ by the mothers side, Madam; at least my
mother was a _Goosecappe_.
_Pene_. And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord.
_Tal_. I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne,
yee know; the youngest of ten I was.
_Hip_. And the wisest of Fifteene.
_Tal_. And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, Sir
_Gyles Goosecappe_.
_Pene_. Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away,
I assure ye.
_Tal_. I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you
remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you.
_Pene_. Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he
is the best Sempster of any woman in England: pray lets see some of his
worke?
_Hip_. Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little.
_Tal_. You shall, a mine honour, Lady.
_Eug_. Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his
hand will become him prettelie.
_King_. From the _Spanish_ Pike to the _Spanish_ Needle, he shall play
with any Knight in England, Ladie.
_Eug_. But not _e converso_, from the _Spanish_ needle to the _Spanish_
Pike.
_King_. I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has
twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to
bring it all to the length of a Pike.
_Hip_. But no man commends my blount Servant sir _Cut. Rudesby_,
methinks.
_King_. Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of
this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more
he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing
but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is
right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest
favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it.
_Eug_. He saies well to you _Hippolita_.
_Hip_. I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in
kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe.
_King_. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he
respects, I assure ye.
_Hip_. And what's his living sir _Cutbeard_?
_King_. Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie.
_Hip_. I pray doe not tell him that I ask't, for I stand not upon
living.
_King_. O good Ladie, who can live without living?
_Enter Momford_.
_Mom_. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not
for vittles.
_Tal_. Vittles, my Lord? I hope wee have vittles at home.
_Mom_. I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititians
physicke: Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware of
surfets of your owne coste. Manie good companions cannot abide to eate
meate at home, ye know. And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faire
Ladie Feeres[38]?
_Eug_. What winde blowes you hether, troe?
_Mom_. Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of one _Clarences_ breath, with
this his paper sayle blowes me hether.
_Eug_. Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take anie
Papers from him.
_Mom_. Kinde bosome doe thou take it then.
_Eug_. Nay then never trust me.
_Mom_. Let it fall then or cast it away, you were best, that every body
may discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you note
it.--And how have you spent the time since Dinner, nobles?
_King_. At chests, my Lord.
_Mom_. Read it, Neece.
_Eug_. Heere, beare it backe, I pray.
_Mom_. I beare you on my backe to heare you. And how play the Ladies,
sir _Cuthberd_? what men doe they play best withall, with Knights or
rookes?
_Tal_. With Knights, my Lord.
_Mom_. T'is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men called
guls are not added to their game.
_King_. Why, my Lo? it needs not, they make the Knights guls.
_Mom_. That's pretty, sir _Cuthbert_.--You have begon I know, Neece;
forth I command you.
_Eug_. O yare a sweet uncle.
_Mom_. I have brought here a little _Greeke_, to helpe mee out withall,
and shees so coy of her learning forsooth, she makes it strange.--Lords
and Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not deny
me.
_All_. We will attend your Lordshippe.
_Tal_. Come Ladies let's into the gallery a little.
[_Exeunt_.
_Mom_. And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith?
_Eug_. What shood she say to the backside of a paper?
_Mom_. Come, come, I know you have byn a' the belly side.
_Eug_. Now was there ever Lord so prodigall
Of his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity?
_Mom_. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the
letter?
_Eug_. Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle;
what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband?
_Mom_. Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle.
_Eug_. I will not write, that's certaine.
_Mom_. What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our
blouds?
_Eug_. O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on't.
_Mom_. If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come,
will ye write?
_Eug_. I will not write yfaith.
_Mom_. Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the
letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write.
_Eug_. If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a
kinde answer, I beleeve.
_Mom_. But you will be advis'de, I trust. Secretaries are of counsell
with their Countesses; thus it begins: _Suffer him to love, that suffers
not loving_. What answere you to that?
_Eug_. He loves extreamely that suffers not in love.
_Mom_. He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion,
and therefore free from alteration, for _Pati_ you know is _in
alterationem labi_; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein
there is no passion. Saie dame what answer you?
_Eug_. Nay if I answere anie thing--
_Mom_. Why? very well, ile answer for you.
_Eug_. You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere?
_Mom_. I, by my faith shall ye.
_Eug_. By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then.
_Mom_. Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what
answere you?
_Eug_. Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to
the first, and last part of his letter.
_Mom_. Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name: what
is your answeare?
_Eug_. _I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love_.
_Mom_. Why very good, there it is,--_and will requite your love_; say
you so? [_He writes, and she dictates_.
_Eug_. Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord.
_Mom_. Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to
requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,--
_and will requite your love_.
_Eug_. Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set
my hand too't.
_Mom_. Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile
be ready for it anon, I warrent ye. Now forth,--my love is without
passion, and therefore free from alteration: what answere you to that
Madam?
_Eug_. Even this, my Lord: _your love, being mentall, needs no bodily
Requitall_.
_Mom_. I am content with that, and here it is;--_but in hart_.
_Eug_. What but in hart?
_Mom_. Hold off your hand yet I say;--_I doe embrace, and repay it_.
_Eug_. You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it--
_Mom_. Alas Neece, this is nothing, ist anything to a bodily marriage,
to say you love a man in soule, if your harts agree, and your bodies meet
not? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth: he is in the way to
felicity, and desires your hand.
_Eug_. _My hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity_.
_Mom_. Very good; may not any woman say this now. Conclude now, sweet
Neece.
_Eug_. _And so God prosper your journey_.
_Mom_. Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood have
showen to any friend of yours, Neece, I sweare to you. Your hand now,
and let this little stay his appetite.
_Eug_. Read what you have writ my Lord.
_Mom_. What needs that, Madam? you remember it, I am sure.
_Eug_. Well if it want sense in the Composition, let my secretary be
blam'd for't; thers my hand.
_Mom_. Thanks, gentle Neece; now ile reade it.
_Eug_. Why now, more then before I pray?
_Mom_. That you shall see straite.--_I cannot but suffer you to love if
you doe love, and will requite your love_.
_Eug_. Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shall
be after my fashion, I warrant ye.
_Mom_. Interrupt me no more.--_Your love being mentall needs no bodily
requitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaies
signe the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands of
marriage ever walke with you, in it, and so God prosper our journey:
Eugenia_.
_Eug_. Gods me life, tis not thus I hope.
_Mom_. By my life but it is, Neece.
_Eug_. By my life but tis none of my deed then.
_Mom_. Doe you use to set your hand to that which is not your deed; your
hand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shall
performe it too.
_Eug_. Why? this is plaine dishonoured deceit.
Does all your truest kindnes end in law?
_Mom_. Have patience Neece, for what so ere I say,
Onely the lawes of faith, and thy free love
Shall joyne my friend and thee, or naught at all.
By my friends love, and by this kisse it shall.
_Eug_. Why, thus did false _Acontius_ snare _Cydippe_.
_Mom_. Indeed, deere love, his wile was something like,
And then tis no unheard of treachery,
That was enacted in a goddes Eye:
_Acontius_ worthy love feard not _Diana_
Before whom he contriv'd this sweet deceite.
_Eug_. Well there you have my hand, but ile be sworne
I never did thing so against my will.
_Mom_. T'will prove the better, Madam, doubt it not.
And to allay the billows of your bloud,
Rais'd with my motion bold and opposite,
Deere Neece, suppe with me, and refresh your spirites:
I have invited your companions,
With the two guests that din'd with you to daie,
And will send for the old Lord _Furnifall_,
The Captaine, and his mates, and (tho at night)
We will be merry as the morning _Larke_.
_Eug_. No, no my Lord, you will have _Clarence_ there.
_Mom_. Alas poore Gentleman, I must tell you now,
He's extreame sicke, and was so when he writt,
Tho he did charge me not to tell you so;
And for the World he cannot come abroade.
_Eug_. Is this the man that without passion loves?
_Mom_. I doe not tell you he is sicke with love;
Or if he be, tis wilfull passion.
Which he doth choose to suffer for your sake,
And cood restraine his sufferance with a thought,
Vppon my life, he will not trouble you;
And therefore, worthy Neece, faile not to come.
_Eug_. I will on that condition.
_Mom_. Tis perform'd.
For were my friend well, and cood comfort me,
I wood not now intreate your company,
But one of you I must have, or I die:
Oh such a friend is worth a monarchy.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Lord Furnifall, Rudsbie, Goosecappe, Foulweather, Bullaker_.
_Fur_. Nay, my gallants, I will tell you more.
_All_. Forth, good my Lord.
_Fur_. The evening came, and then our waxen starres
Sparkled about the heavenly Court of _Fraunce_,
When I then young and radiant as the sunne
Gave luster to those lamps, and curling thus
My golden foretoppe stept into the presence,
Where set with other princely Dames I found
The Countesse of _Lancalier_, and her neece,
Who as I told you cast so fix'd an eye
On my behaviours, talking with the King.
_All_. True, my good Lord.
_Fur_. They rose when I came in, and all the lights
Burn'd dim for shame, when I stood up, and shin'd.
_Foul_. O most passionate description, sir _Cutt_.
_Rud_. True, of a candles end.
_Goos_. The passingst description of a candle that ever lived,
sir _Cutt_.
_Fur_. Yet aym'd I not at them, nor seemed to note
What grace they did me, but found courtly cause
To talke with an accomplisht gentleman
New come from Italy; in quest of newes
I spake _Italian_ with him.
_Rud_. What so young?
_Fur_. _O rarissime volte cadono nel parlar nostro familiare_.
_Foul_. Slid, a cood speake it, Knight, at three yeeres old.
_Fur_. Nay, gentle Captaine, doe not set me forth;
I love it not, in truth I love it not.
_Foul_. Slight, my Lord, but truth is truth, you know.
_Goos_. I dare ensure your Lordship, Truth is truth, and I have heard in
_France_, they speake _French_ as well as their mother tongue, my Lord.
_Fur_. Why tis their mother tongue, my noble Knight.
But (as I tell you) I seem'd not to note
The Ladies notes of me, but held my talke,
With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time
(Still as our conference serv'd) to shew my Courtship
In the three quarter legge, and setled looke,
The quicke kisse of the top of the forefinger,
And other such exploytes of good Accost;
All which the Ladies tooke into their eyes
With such attention that their favours swarm'd
About my bosome, in my hart, mine eares,
In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armes
Thicke on my wristes, and thicker on my hands,
And still the lesse I sought, the more I found.
All this I tell to this notorious end,
That you may use your Courtship with lesse care
To your coy mistresses; As when we strike
A goodly Sammon, with a little line,
We doe not tugge to hale her up by force,
For then our line wood breake, and our hooke lost;
But let her carelesse play alongst the streame,
As you had left her, and sheele drowne her selfe.
_Foul_. A my life a most rich comparison.
_Goos_. Never stirre if it be not a richer Caparison then my Lorde my
Cosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shine
ith the water, and this has Sammons in't; by heaven a most edible
Caparison.
_Ru_. Odious thou woodst say, for Comparisons are odious.
_Foul_. So they are indeed, sir _Cut_., all but my Lords.
_Goos_. Be Caparisons odious, sir _Cut_; what, like flowers?
_Rud_. O asse they be odorous.[39]
_Goos_. A botts a that stincking word odorous, I can never hitt on't.
_Fur_. And how like you my Court-counsell, gallants, ha?
_Foul_. Out of all proportion excellent, my Lord; and beleeve it, for
Emphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of the
Court.
_Fur_. No, good Captaine, no.
_Foul_. By _France_ you doe, my Lord, for Emphaticall Courtship.
_Fur_. For Emphaticall Courtship indeed I can doe somewhat.
_Foul_. Then does your merry entertainment become you so festifally,
that you have all the bravery of a Saint _Georges_ Day about ye, when
you use it.
_Fur_. Nay thats too much, in sadnesse, Captaine.
_Goos_. O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs your
Lordship.
_Foul_. I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifally
show upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be most
beautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a little
Lord as you, when y'are merry.
_Goos_. By this fire they doe my Lord, I have heard am.
_Fur_. Marry God forbid, Knight, they shood be turnd into me; I had
rather be turnd into them, a mine honour.
_Foul_. Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, why _Gesta
Romanorum_ were nothing to them, a my vertue.
_Fur_. Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare thee
no more, good Captaine. Tha's an excellent wit, and thou shalt have
Crownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole you
told me off, do you all know him?
_Goos_. I know him best my Lord.
_Fur_. Doe you sir _Gyles_? to him then, good Knight, and be here with
him and here, and here, and here againe; I meane paint him unto us sir
_Gyles_, paint him lively, lively now, my good Knightly boy.
_Goos_. Why my good Lord? he will nere be long from us, because we are
all mortall you know.
_Fur_. Very true.
_Goos_. And as soone as ever we goe to Dinner, and Supper together--
_Rud_. Dinner and supper together, whens that troe?
_Goos_. A will come you in amongst us, with his Cloake buttond, loose
under his chinne.
_Rud_. Buttond loose, my Lord?
_Goos_. I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast over
before both his shoulders afore him.
_Rud_. Both shoulders afore him?
_Fur_. From before him he meanes; forth good sir _Gyles_.
_Goos_. Like a potentate, my Lord?
_Rud_. Much like a Potentate indeed.
_Goos_. For all the world like a Potentate, sir _Cut_. ye know.
_Rud_. So Sir.
_Goos_. All his beard nothing but haire.
_Rud_. Or something else.
_Goos_. Or something else as you say.
_Foul_. Excellent good.
_Goos_. His Mellons, or his Apricocks, Orrenges alwaies in an uncleane
hand-kerchiffe, very cleanely, I warrant you, my Lord.
_Fur_. A good neate foole, sir _Gyles_, of mine honour.
_Goose_. Then his fine words that he sets them in, concaticall, a fine
Annisseede wench foole, upon ticket, and so forth.
_Fur_. Passing strange words beleeve me.
_Goos_. Knoth every man at the table, though he never saw him before, by
sight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will make
your hart ake, till your eyes runne over.
_Fur_. The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thy
merry description. Captaine, I give thee twenty companies of
commendations, never to be cashierd.
_Enter Iacke, and Will on the other side_.
_Am_. Save your Lordship.
_Fur_. My pretty cast-of _Merlins_,[40] what prophecies with your little
maestershippes?
_Ia_. Things that cannot come to passe my Lord, the worse our fortunes.
_Foul_. Why, whats the matter Pages?
_Rud_. How now, my Ladies foysting[41] hounds.
_Goos_. M. _Iacke_, M. _Ia_. how do ye M. _William_? frolicke?
_Wil_. Not so frolicke, as you left us, sir _Gyles_.
_Fur_. Why wags, what news bring you a Gods name?
_Ia_. Heavy newes indeed, my Lord, pray pardon us.
_Fur_. Heavy newes? not possible your little bodies cood bring am then,
unload those your heavy newes, I beseech ye.
_Wil_. Why my Lord the foole we tooke for your Lord: is thought too wise
for you, and we dare not present him.
_Goos_. Slydd Pages, youle not cheates of our foole, wil ye?
_Ia_. Why, sir _Gyles_, hees too dogged, and bitter for you in truth; we
shall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all the
World laugh at us.
_Wil_. I indeed, sir _Gyles_, and he knowes you so wel too.
_Gyles_. Know me? slight he knowes me no more then the begger knowes his
dish.[42]
_Ia_. Faith he begs you to be content, sir _Gyles_, for he wil not come.
_Goos_. Beg me? slight, I wood I had knowne that, tother Day, I thought
I had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, I
wood have runne him through by heaven: beg me?
_Foul_. He begges you to be content, sir _Gyles_; that is, he praies
you.
_Goos_. O does he praise me then I commend him.
_Fur_. Let this unsutable foole goe, sir _Gyles_; we will make shift
without him.
_Goos_. That we wil, a my word, my Lord, and have him too for all this.
_Wil_. Doe not you say so, sir _Gyles_, for to tell you true that foole
is dead.
_Goos_. Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to me
ant had byn so.
_Fur_. Quick or dead, let him goe, sir _Giles_.
_Ia_. I, my Lord, for we have better newes for you to harken after.
_Fur_. What are they, my good Novations?
_Ia_. My Lord _Momford_ intreates your Lordship, and these knights and
captaine to accompany the Countesse _Eugenia_, and the other two Ladies,
at his house at supper to night.
_Wil_. All desiring your Lo: to pardon them, for not eating your meat to
night.
_Fur_. Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set your
courtshippe a' the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves for
the Ladies.
_Goos_. O brave sir _Cut_: come lets pricke up the Ladies.
_Fur_. And will not the Knights two noble kinsemen be there?
_Ia_. Both will be there, my Lord.
_Fur_. Why theres the whole knot of us then, and there shall we knocke
up the whole triplicitie of your nuptials.
_Goos_. Ile make my Lord my Cosin speake for me.
_Foul_. And your Lordship will be for me I hope.
_Fur_. With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship].
_Rud_. Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am.
_Ia_. Your Lo: your Cosin, sir _Gyles_, has promist the Ladies they
shall see you sowe.
_Goos_. Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my
worke with me.
_Fur_. Doe so sir _Gyles_, and withall use meanes
To taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love.
Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes:
A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh:
A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nicke
Wound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold,
And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold.
_Goos_. O rare sir _Cut_. we shall eate nut-shells: hold, belly, hold!
[_Exeunt_.
_Ia_.--O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells!
_Wil_. And now _Comme porte vous, monsieur_!
_Bul_. _Porte bien, vous remercy_.
_Ia_. We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us.
_Bul_. No good _monsieurs_.
_Wil_. Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith, _monsieur_.
_Bul_. _Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs_.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Clarence, Momford_.
_Mom_. How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames,
That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes,
To read that letter, through thine eyes retire
And warme thy heart with a triumphant fire?
_Cla_. My Lord, I feele a treble happines
Mix in one soule, which proves how eminent
Things endlesse are above things temporall,
That are in bodies needefully confin'de:
I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst,
Where my immortall part admits expansure,
Even to the comprehension of two more
Commixt substantially with her meere selfe.
_Mom_. As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend?
_Cla_. As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy,
As it is separate from all other powers,
And then the mixture of an other soule
Ioyn'de in direction to one end, like it;
And thirdly the contentment I enjoy,
As we are joynd, that I shall worke that good
In such a noble spirit as your Neece,
Which in my selfe I feele for absolute;
Each good minde dowbles his owne free content,
When in an others use they give it vent.
_Mom_. Said like my friend, and that I may not wrong
Thy full perfections with an emptier grace,
Then that which show presents to thy conceits,
In working thee a wife worse then she seemes;
Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know.
My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white,
Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd,
Either because she thinks pale-lookes moves most:
Or of an answereable nice affect
To other of her modest qualities;
Because she wood not with the outward blaze
Of tempting beauty tangle wanton eies;
And so be troubled with their tromperies:
Which construe as thou wilt, I make it knowne,
That thy free comment may examine it,
As willinger to tell truth of my Neece,
Then in the least degree to wrong my friend.
_Cla_. A jealous part of friendship you unfold;
For was it ever seene that any Dame
Wood change of choice a well mixt white and red
For bloodles palenes, if she striv'd to move?
Her painting then is to shun motion,
But if she mended some defects with it,
Breedes it more hate then other ornaments;
(Which to suplie bare nature) Ladies weare?
What an absurd thing is it to suppose;
(If nature made us either lame or sick,)
We wood not seeke for sound limmes, or for health
By Art the Rector of confused Nature?
So in a face, if Nature be made lame,
Then Art can make it, is it more offence
To helpe her want there then in other limmes?
Who can give instance where Dames faces lost
The priviledge their other parts may boast.
_Mom_. But our most Court received Poets saies,
That painting is pure chastities abator.
_Cla_. That was to make up a poore rime to Nature.
And farre from any judgment it confered
For lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes,
And if inchastity possesse the hart;
Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleare
Doth painting spot it:
_Omne bonum naturaliter pulchrum_.
For outward fairenes beares the divine forme,
And moves beholders to the Act of love;
And that which moves to love is to be wisht,
And each thing simply to be wisht is good.
So I conclude mere painting of the face
A lawful and a commendable grace.
_Mom_. What paradox dost thou defend in this?
And yet through thy cleare arguments I see
Thy speach is farre exempt from flatterie;
And how illiterate custome groslie erres
Almost in all traditions she preferres.
Since then the doubt I put thee of my Neece,
Checks not thy doubtlesse love, forth my deare friend,
And to add[43] force to those impressions,
That now have caru'd her phantasie with love,
I have invited her to supper heere.
And told her thou art most extreamly sick,
Which thou shalt counterfeit with all thy skill.