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

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pardon me for that, 'twere a shame

      If men should hear all that women speak behind

      Their backs sometimes.

      Cun. You must give me leave yet,

      At least to give her thanks.

      Guard. Nor that neither,

      She must not take [a] notice of my blabbing,

      It is sufficient you shall give me thanks,

      For 'tis for my sake if she be bountiful,

      She loves me, and loves you too for my sake.

      Cun. How shall I, knowing this, but be ingrate,

      Not to repay her with my dearest duty.

      Guard. I, but you must not know it, if you tell

      All that I open to you; you'll shame us both;

      A far off you may kiss your hand, blush or so,

      But I'll allow no nearer conference.

      Cun. Whoop! you'll be jealous I perceive now.

      Guard. Jealous? why there's no true love without it, Bird,

      I must be jealous of thee, but for her,

      (Were it within my duty to my Master)

      I durst trust her with the strongest temp[t]er,

      And I dare swear her now as pure a Virgin

      As e'er was welcom'd to a marriage bed;

      If thoughts may be untainted, hers are so.

      Cun. And where's the cause of your fear then?

      Guard. Well, well;

      When things are past, and the wedding Torches

      Lighted at Matches, to kindle better fire,

      Then I'll tell you more.

      Cun. Come, come, I see farther,

      That if we were married, you'd be jealous.

      Guard. I protest I should a little, but not of her

      It is the married woman (if you mark it)

      And not the Maid that longs, the appetite

      Follows the first taste, when we have relisht

      We wish cloying, the taste once pleas'd before,

      Then our desire is whetted on to more,

      But I reveal too much to you, i'faith Bird.

      Cun. Not a whit i'faith, Bird, betwixt you and I,

      I am beholding for bettering of my knowledg.

      Guard. Nay, you shall know more of me, if you'll be rul'd

      But make not things common.

      Cun. Ud' so, your Lady?

      Guard. I, 'tis no matter, she'll like well of this,

      Our familiarity is her content.

Enter Neece and Clown

      Nee. This present from Sir Greg[o]ry?

      Clow. From my Master, the Worshipful, right Sir Greg[o]ry Fop.

      Nee. A Ruffe? and what might be his high conceit

      In sending of a Ruff?

       Clow. I think he had two conceits in it forsooth, too high too Low, Ruff high, because as the Ruff does embrace your neck all day, so does he desire to throw his Knightly Arms.

      Nee. But then I leave him off a-nights.

      Clow. Why then he is ruffe low, a ruffian, a bold adventurous errand to do any rough service for his Lady.

      Nee. A witty and unhappy conceit, does he mean

      As he seems to say unto that reverence?

[Toward Cuning.

      He does wooe her sure.

      Clow. To tell [you] truth, Lady, his conceit was far better than I have blaz'd it yet.

      Nee. Do you think so, Sir?

      Clow. Nay, I know it forsooth, for it was two days, e'r he compass'd it, to find a fitting present for your Ladyship, he was sending once a very fine Puppy to you.

      Nee. And that he would have brought himself.

      Clow. So he would indeed, but then he alter'd his device, and sent this Ruffe; requesting withall, that whensoever it is foul, you (with your own hands) would bestow the starching of it.

      Nee. Else she wooes him, now his eyes shoots this way;

      And what was the reason for that, Sir?

[Toward Cun.

      Clow. There lies his main conceit, Lady, for says he, In so doing she cannot chuse but in the starching, to clap it often between her hands, and so she gives a great liking and applause to my Present, whereas, if I should send a Puppy, she ever calls it to her with hist, hiss, hiss, which is a fearful disgrace, he drew the device from a Play, at the Bull tother day.

      Nee. I marry Sir, this was a rich conceit indeed.

      Clow. And far fetch'd, therefore good for you, Lady.

      Guard. How now? which way look you, Bird?

      Cun. At the Fool Bird, shall I not look at the Fool?

      Guard. At the Fool and I here? what need that? pray look this way.

      Nee. I'll fit him aptly, either I'll awake

      His wits (if he have any,) or force him

      To appear (as yet I cannot think him)

      Without any. Sirrah, tell me one thing true

      That I shall aske you now, Was this device

      Your Masters own? I doubt his wit in it;

      He's not so ingen[i]us.

      Clow. His own I assure you, Madam.

      Nee. Nay, you must not lye.

      Clow. Not with a Lady, I'd rather lye with you, than lie with my Master, by your leave in such a case as this.

      Guard. Yet agen your eye?

      Cun. The fool makes mirth i'faith,

      I would hear some.

      Guard. Come, you shall hear none but me.

      Nee. Come hither, friend, nay, come nearer me; did

      Thy Master send thee to me? he may be wise,

      But did not shew it much in that; men sometimes

      May wrong themselves unawares, when they least think on't;

      Was Vulcan ever so unwise to send Mars

      To be his spokesman, when he went a wooing?

      Send thee? hey-ho, a pretty rowling eye.

      Clow. I can turn up the white and the black too, and need be forsooth.

      Nee. Why, here's an amor[o]us nose.

      [Clow.] You see the worst of my nose, forsooth.

      Nee. A cheek, how I could put it now in dalliance,

      A

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