WISE WOMAN

Nay, I can see so much in the Urine. She hath no pain in her head, hath she? I told you so, her pain lies all at her heart: Alas good heart! but how feels she her stomach? Ey, I warrant you, I think I can see as far into a Millstone as another: you have herd of Mother Nottingham, who for her time, was prettily well skilled in casting of Waters: and after her, Mother Bombye; and then there is one Hatfield in Pepper-Alley, he does pretty well for a thing that's lost. There's another in Coleharbour, that's skilled in the Planets. Mother Sturton in Golden-lane, is for Forespeaking: Mother Phillips of the Bankside, for the weakness of the back: and then there's a very reverend Matron on Clarkenwell-Green, good at many things: Mistress Marry on the -side, is for recting a Figure: and one (what do you call her) in Westminster, that practiseth the Book and the Key, and the Sive and the Shears: and all do well, according to their talon. For my self, let the world speak: hark you my friend, you shall take— Why, art thou in doubt of that? Out thou knave. I, or my Family conjure up any Spirits! I defy thee, thou young Harebrained— Now bless me, he hath put me into such a fear, as makes all my bones to dance, and rattle in my skin: I'll be revenged on that swaggering companion. Well, what's thy name, Boy? Honest Jack, if thou couldst but devise how I might cry quittance with this Dick, I will go near to adopt thee my So e and heir. My Daughter, and a smug fac to Girl. I had a note but late from her, and she means To be with me in evening; for I would e bespoke Sir Boniface to marry her in that morning. I'll , as I am Matron; Ey, and show him a new trick for his learning. You're welcome Sir. I am as I am, and there's and end. O that's a foul word! but I can tell you your Fortune, as they say; I have some little skill in Palmistry, but never had to do with the devil. Can you tell your self? I should guess, you be mad, or not well in your wits. Nay, if I see your complexion once, I think I can guess as near as another. As well as the Beggar knows his Dish. Why she is one of my Daughters. Pray will you in; come hither lack, I have A new trick come into my head, wilt thou Assist me in't? Thou shalt be tired Like a woman; can you make a courtesy, take small strides, simper, and S me modest? me thinks thou hast a woman's voice already. I have conceited, to have Luc married to this blunt Gentleman; she mistaking him for Chartley, and Changed tley shall thee, being a Boy, and take thee for Luce. Wilt not be excellent? Play but thy partly, as I'll act mine, I'll fit him with a Wife, I warrant him. Jack, thou art my Boy. I'll be a Mother to thee, no Mistress: come Lad, I must have thee sworn to the order of my house, and the secrets thereof. I'll tell thee, Boy; marry thou must be secret. When any Citizens, or young Gentlemen come hither, under a colour to know their Fortune's, they look upon these pi ctures, and which of them they best Like, she is ready with a wet finger: here they have all the furniture belonging to a private-chamber, bed, bedfellow and all; but mum, thou knowest my meaning, Jack. Those be Kitchenmaids, and Chambermaids, and sometime good men's Daughters; who having catched a clap, and growing near their time, get leave to see their friends in the Country, for a week or so: then they come, and for a matter of money, here they are delivered. I have a Mid wife or two belonging to the house, and one Sir Boniface a Deacon, that makes a shift to Christ the In fants: we have poor, honest, and secret Neighbours, that stand for common Gossips. But dost not thou know this? Why, in the night we send them abroad, and lay one at this men door, and another at that, such as are able to keep them; and what after becomes of them, we inquire not. And this is another string to my Bow. True, and therefore I built it: if any knock, you must to the door and question them, to find what that y come about, if to this purpose, or to that. Now they ignorantly telling thee their errand, which I sitting in my Closet, hear, presently come forth, and tell them the cause of their coming, with every word that hath passed betwixt you in private: which they admiring, and thinking it to mira culous, by their report I become thus famous. Now, how had I forgotten my self? Mistress Luce promised to be with me half and hour , but and disguised, and so shalt thou be too: here's a black Veil to hide thy face against the rest come. Now keep thy countenance, Boy. No more Jack now, but Mistress Luce. sweet heart, but disguised and veiled, as you are vizarded. Mum, no more words. You wrong me, but to ask, who but a young Heir, and a Lady of the Court: that's Luce, take her, and keep your promise. That's Chartley, take him Luce. A Lord and Lady shall Sir Boniface stay, Rather then so, strive who should lead the way. Now Jack my Boy, keep thine own counsel, and counten nce, and I shall cry quittance with my young Gallant. Well, by this time Sir Boniface is at his Book. But because there is a mistake, known only to my Boy and my self; the Marriage shall be no sooner ended, but I'll disturb them by some sudden outcry, and that too, before they have leisure to unmask, and make known themselves one to another; for if the deceit were known, I should fallen into the danger of that young mad Rascal. And now this double apprehension of the Lord and the Lady shall fetch me off from all; I know it is Sir Boniface his custom, to make short work, and hath dispatched by this: And now Wisewoman, try if thou canst b stir thy self Like to a Madwoman—shift for your selves, Warrants and Pursuivants! Away, Warrants and Pursuivants! shift for your selves. Oh sweet Daughter, shift clothes with this Lady! Nay, as thou lovest thy credit and mine, change Habits—So, if thou be'st taken in her Garments, finding the mistake, will let thee pass; and should they meet her in thine, not knowing her, would no way her: and this prove to both your securities and my . And who distilled this water? And where does the pain hold her most? Ey, at hor heart, hath a gripping at her heart. Withdraw into the Parlour there, I'll but talk with this other Gentlewoman, and He resolve you pre sently. You are welcome Gentlewoman.— A bargain, strike me luck, cease all your sorrow, Fair Luce shall be your Bride betimes to morrow. Why tell the leaves; for to be ignorant, and seem ignorant, what greater folly? No discovery of your selves for a million, there's Sir Boniface within, shall he blab who you are? Beside, there's a young Heir that hath stolen a Lords Daughter from the Court, and would not have their faces seen for a World: cannot you be content to fare well, and keep your own counsel, and see, yonder they come. Would, would, let me hold my sides, and laugh: Here were even a Plot to make a play on, but that Chartley is so fooled by my Boy : Well, heel make a notam ble Wag, I'll warrant him. All the Jest will be, if Boyster should meet with him in Luce's habit, which he hath now on, he would think himself merely gulled and cheated; and should Chartley meet with Luce as she is now Robed, he would be confident he had married her. Let me see how many Trades have I to live by: First, I am a Wisewoman, and a Fortune teller, and under that I deal in Physic and Fore-spea king, in Palmistry, and recovering of things lost. Next, I undertake to cure Mad folks. Then I keep Gentle women Lodgers, to furnish such Chambers as I let out by the night: Then I am provided for bringing young Wenches to bed; and for a needs, you see I can play the Matchmaker. She that is but one, and professes so ma nigh, may well be termed a Wisewoman, if there be any. You would prevent young Chartlyes marriage, you shall: hark in your ear. You-forestall Gratian wedding, it's but thus. You would enjoy Luce as your wife, and lie with her to morrow night. Hark in your care. But will sir Harry come. And welcome to the best hold that I have in Hogsden. Withdraw, I'll place you all in several rooms. Where fit, see, but say nothing. Your Ladyship is most lovingly welcome. A low stool for the Gentlewoman boy: I made bold to send to you to take view of such a piece of work, as I presume you have seldom seen the Like. A friend of yours and mine. Please you withdraw I'll bring you too't. One calls sweet Lady, I shall do you wrong, But pray you think my little stay not long: Have patience, and in the end we'll pay you all. Your worships are most heartily welcome, I made bold to send for you, and you may see to what end, which was to discover unto you, the wild of this, of this won tun wag pasty, a will-doats I warrant him, Harry that your daughter hath scaped Thy , to nke this gentleman, and then make of him as deserves. Not from her law ull Husband. That is the Gentleman, acce him Luce. And you then Like of her, nay make it good, This gentleman married you vizarded, you him mistaking him for Chartly, which none but my boy Jack was privy too: after she changed her habit with him, as you with Jack. And you in mistress Luces habit. This be your token. Not see thy wife. Come hither Jack my boy. Nay take him to thee, and with him all joy. My boy turned girl I hope shee'l keep my counsel from henceforth, isle never entertain any servant but isle have her searched. Fie, fie, what a toil, and a moil it is, For a woman to be wiser then all her neighbours? I pray good people, press not too fast upon me; Though I have two ears, I can hear but one at once. You with the Vri e. You tell me your name is Sencer, I knew it before, and that Chartly is to be married, I could have told it you. I'll doo't, stand aside, isle have but a word or two with this Gentlewoman; and I am for you presently. Well trust to me, and I will fell all things straight. Help, help , and if you be a gentleman. Away, you shall enjoy him, you are married, Luce away, you shall see Chartly discarded from Gratiana, Sencer be gone, and if I fail in any of these or the rest, I lay my self open to all your displeasures. You know your meeting place. For should your Husband come and find you here. Where are my brains? it's true, you are a Widow; and you dwell, let me see, I can never remember that place. Kentstreet, Kentstreet! and I can tell you where before you come. You are a Wag, you are a Wag: why, what do you think now I would say? And if I should say so, sh uld I say amiss? In, in, I'll but read a little of Ptolemy, and Erram Pater; and when I have cast a Figure, I'll come to you presently. Now Wag, what wouldst thou have? By my Fidelity, and I want a good to sty Lad. A proper strip king, and a wise, I warrant him; here's a penny for thee, I'll hire thee for a year by the Statute of Winchester: prove true and honest, and thou shalt want nothing that a good Boy— Now friend, your business? And what's your suit, Lady? Into the withdrawing room, Sir . You shall report me wiser and cunning too. Now they in , that look Into one. Were come we had all our company.