NEVILL

Yes Sir, 'tis for the great Marriage betwixt I am appointed, Here to attend the coming of the Brides, Old Sir John Worldyes Daughters. The middlemost wears willow for his sake, The youngest marries the rich Merchant Strange. Now God foresend, the reason Sir I pray? Sir, I'll take no notice Of things, I do not know the injured Gentleman, May bring em after inro the Spiritual Court, and have a fair pull on't, a poor Gentleman, (For so I take him by his being deceived) Gainst a great Count, and and old wealthy Knight. Alas my deer friend. Upon what acquaintance Sir? They are great persons, and I mean to rise, I hope in time to have three livings man, and this were not the way I take it Sir. O by no means. By your leave. Sir John I thank you, and my honoured Lord: But I am sorry for this other News Concerning Mistress Kate, and my good friend. You can play well my Lord. Is he good at the exercise of drinking Sir? I would he herd him. In you were too blame to venture so, Mischiefs find us, we needs not mischiefs seek; I am not tied to that opinion, They are Like women, which do always shun Their lovers and pursuers, and do follow With most rank appetites them that do fly: All mischief that I had is but one woman, and that one woman all mischance to me, Who speaks worst of them, then's the best of men, They are Like shadows, mischiefs are Like them. Death fears me, for intruth I seek him out; The Sun is stale to me, to morrow Morn as this, will rise, I see no difference; The night does visit me, but in one robe, She brings as many thoughts as she wears Stars When she is pleasant, but no rest at all, For what new strange thing should I covet life then? Is not she false, whom only I thought true? Shall time to show his strength make Scudmore live. Till (perish the vicious thought) I love not thee, Or thou deer friend, remove thy heart from me. Time is as weak for that, as he is old, Take comfort, and attend this counsel friend, This match is neither Sacred nor sure, Close Fate annihilates what Opinion makes, and since she is resolved this night to die, If you do not redeem her, give the means, Or her blood (credit me) will spring heavier griefs, Sorer and stranger in thy oppressed heart Then her false love before. Beside, 'tis you My Scudmore that are false, if you will not Consent to let her make Vows good, which were But in a possibility to be broke, This her Repentance casts her vice quite off: and if you leave her now, you take it on, Nay you incur a bloody mortal sin, You do become and actual murderer. If you neglect her, she will kill her self This night, by poison, knife, or other means, God gives you power to cross her desperate will, and if you save not where you may, you kill. How well does Scudmore speak, ill for himself, Wit's a disease, that fit employment wants, Therefore we see, those happiest in best parts, and underborn Fortune's under their merits, Grow to a sullen envy, hate, and scorn Of their Superiors; and at last, Like winds Break forth into rebellious civil wars, Or private Treasons; none so apt for these, as melancholy wits fettered with need. How free's the Rustic Swain from these assaults, He never feels a passion all his life, But when he cannot sleep, or hunger gripes; And though he want Reason, Wit, Art, nay Sense, Is not so senseless to capitulate, and ask God why he made not him as great As that same foolish Lord, or that rich knave: His brains with nothing does Negotiate, But his hard Husbandry, which makes him live. But have we worthy gifts, as Judgement, Learning, Ingenious sharpness, which wise God indeed, Does seldom give out of his equal hand, But joined with poverty to make it even With Riches which he clogs with ignorance, We vent our blessing in profane conceits, Or in strong Arguments against our selves, Foul Bawdry, and stark blindly hold it best, Rather to lose a soul, then lose a jest. Soul man, leave eating now, look, look, you have all dropped a yoursute. All ready, ready, only we tarry for our Vizards & our Caps, I put em to a knave to doing, because I would have em the better done. Your wit is most active, I called him knave in re guard of his long stay Sir, not his work. A very Devils face, I fear nothing but that it will fright the Women. Fitted at all points. Right, 'tis agreed, I (leading of the Mask,) Should dance with Bellafront. The rest That follows, is digested in my breast. I forbid any man to mend em Sir, Good night unto your worship. Yes. Who married her, or would have caused his marry To any man but this, no better was, Let circumstances be examined, Yet here's one more, and now I hope you all, Perceive my marrying not Cannon call. So Mistress Kate, I kept you for my self. What, up already Scudmore, near a Wench with thee? Not thy Laundress? What's this? A Letter; Sure it is not so, A Letter written to Hieronimo ! Not for the world my friend, Farewell, Good-morrow. Exiturus. Worthy friend, I leave you not in anger: What de'e mean? Nor am I of that inquisitive Nature framed, To thirst to know your private businesses: Why, they concern not me; If they be ill And dangerous, would grieve me much to know em. If good; they be so, though I know em not: Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong, To Covet, to participate affairs Of that near touch, which your assured love Does rhinke not fit, or dares not trust me with. I do believe you, farewell worthy friend. 'Tis your Jealousy That makes you think it so, for by my soul You have given me no distaste, in keeping from me All things that might be burdenous, and oppress me. In troth I am invited to a wedding, And the Morn faster goes away from me, Then I go towards it: and so Good-morrow. Now by my life I not desire it Sir, Nor ever loved these prying listening men, That ask of other states and passages, Not one among a hundred but proves false, Envious and slanderous, and will cut that throat He twines his arms about, I love that Poet That gave us reading, not to seek our selves Beyond our selves, Farewell. Now if you love me, do not wrong me so, I see you labour with some serious thing, And think (Like Fairies Treasure) to reveal it, Will cause it vanish; and yet to conceal it Will burst your breast, 'tis so delicious, And so much greater then the Continent. Yet think on't, keep thy secret, and thy friend Sure and entire; O! give not me the means To become false hereafter; or thy self A probable reason to distrust thy friend, Though he be near so true, I will not see't. I read it fearless of the forfeiture, Yet warn you, be as Cautelous, not to wound My integrity, with doubt, on likelihoods, From misreport, but first exquire the Truth. Yours through the world, & to the end of time. Bellafront. Which, Bellafront Rich, Sir John Wordlies Daughter? O heaven! we speak Like Gods, and do Like Dogs. This day, this Bellafront the Rich Heir, Is married unto Count Frederick, And that's the wedding I was going to. It is no matter to be played withal, But even as true as women all are false. For shame return thy blood into thy face, Knowest not how flight a thing a woman is? O! prithee run not thus into the streets, Come dress you better, so: Ah! as thy clothes Are Like thy mind, too much disordered. How strangely is this Tide turned? For a world I would not but have called here, as I went. Collect thy Spirits, we will use all means To check this black fate, flying towards thee; Come, If thou miscarriest, 'tis my day of doom. Yes Sir, the eldest marries Count Erederick. But look you, you shall see I'm a Divine, Of Conscience quite opposite to a Lawyer, I'll give you counsel Sir without a fee: This way they are to come, if you dare doo't, Challenge her as your own, at the Church door, I will not hinder you. Music plays. Then thus: To night by promise, I do give a Mask, as to congratulate the Bridal day, In which the Count, Pendant, and the wise Knight, Will be most worthy dancers, Sir you shall, Learn but my partly, which I will teach you to, as nimbly as the Usher did teach me, and follow my further directions, Though I i'th Morn were a prodigious wight, I'll give thee Bellafr nt in thine arms to night. Soul, how this Rascal stays with the rest of our things. Pray forbear, let me speak to him, O you use us very well. So, so, away, mine being on I'll follow you. So that doors fast, and they are busied. S. Abram. About their charge: on with this Robe of mine, This Vizard and this Cap; help me a little. Change habit. Alas Sir, I have another to set forth This very night: By your leave my Masters. No. O thou beyond Laurence of Lancashire. O sie no, none so good as my Lord. A very Turks.