in The Scornful Lady — Beaumont, Francis; Fletcher, John
Metadata
Play
The Scornful Lady
Author
Beaumont, Francis; Fletcher, John
Year (catalogued)
1616
First performance
1613
Decade
1610s
Genre
Comedy
Play type
Boys Professional; Adult Professional
Company
Children of the Queen's Revels
Theater
Blackfriars;Indoor Professional
Speech prefix(es)
La. | La | La,
Words
3295
Characters
16422
Typicality
0.35 (cosine to cluster centroid)
TCP id
A06389
BritDrama no.
1626
Cluster
Cluster 4 — Constant hearts & virtuous ladies
Important excerpts
No keyword-matching excerpt could be extracted (the cluster label doesn't share vocabulary with this character's speech).
Full speech
Now Sir, this first partly of your will is performed: whats the rest? I shall take it as a favour done to me, though the gentleman hath received but and v timely grace from you, yet my charitable disposition would have been ready to have done him freer courtesies as a stranger, then upon those cold commendations. Sir I hope you are the n aster of your own occa zions. Its a cold Room this; Servant. What think you if I have a chimney fort out her? Yongloue, make a good fire above to warm me after my servants Exordiums. 'Tis true, 'tis true; but they speak toth' purpose. A Simile servant? This room was built for honest meaner's, that deliver themselves hastily and plainly, and are gone. Is this a time or place for Exordiums, and Similes, and metaphors? If you have ought to say, break intoo't; my answers shall very reasonably meet you. Thats happily dispatched, the next. To be gone? ou eede not have despaired of that, nor have used so many circumstances to win me to give you leave to per form my come and: Is there a third. I never apter. Fast (good servant) fast. Most willingly, have you brought one can speak it? You would stay at home? Why you may, and doubtlessly will, when you have debated that your commander is but your M stres, a woe man, a weak one, wildly overborn with p ssions: but the thing by her commanded, is to see Dovers dreadful cliff, p ssing in a poor waterhouse; the dangers of the merciless merc less betwixt that and Calais, five long hours sail, with three poor weeks victuals. Then to land dumb, unable to inquire for and Eng glish host, to remove from City to City, by most charge able post-horse, Like one that rod in quest of his mother tongue. And all these (almost invincible labours) perfor med for your mistress to be in danger to for sake her, and to put on new allegiance to some French Lady, who is con tent to change language with you for laughter, and after your whole year spent in tennis and broken speech, to stand to the hazard of being laughed at at your return, and have tales made on you by the chambermaids. Louder yet. 'Tis true, and so you satisfied the company that herd me chide. And so you told um. I did: But if a Maids heart does but once think that she is suspected, her own face will write he guilty. Believe me; if my w dding smock were on, Were the gloves bought and given, the Licence come , Were the Rosemary branches dipped, and all The Hipochrists and cakes and drunk off, Were these two arms inc mpast with the hands Of Bachelors, to l ade me to the Church; Were my feet in the door, were I John, said, If Io n should boast a favour done by me, I would not wed that year: And you I hope, When you have spent his year commodiously, In achieving Languages, will at your return Acknowledge me more coy of parting with mine eyes, Then such a friend. More talk I hold not now, If you dare go! Farewell sweet servant, your ta ke performed, On a new ground as a beginning suitor, I shall be apt to hear you. Sir now you see your bade lodging, I must bid you goodnight. A little sleep will ease that compliment. Once more good night. Dear Sir be short and sweet then. Is your suit so sickly that rest will help it? Pray you let it rest then till I call for it. Sir as a stranger you have had all my welcome: but had I known your errand ere you came, your passage had been straighter: Sir, good night. Who breeds this rudeness? What of him? Sir, have you usinesse with me? Pray stay Sir, who has wronged you? Excuse me, gentle , it from my knowledge, And shall have no protection. And to you Sir, You have showed more heat then wit, and from your self Have borrowed power, I never gave you here, To do these wild unmanly things: my house Is no blind street to swagger in: and my favours Not doting yet on your unknown deserts So far, that I should make you Master of my business: My credit yet, stands fairer with the people Then to be tried with swords: And they that come To do meseruice, must not think to win me With hazard of a murder: If your love Consist in fury, carry it to the Camp, And there in honour of some common mistress, Shorten your youth. I pray be better tempered, And give me leave a while Sir. Now Sir, your business? Why at me Sir? I never did you wrong, for to my knowledge This is the first sighed of you. How is this good Sir? I killed a Gentleman? I am so innocent I cannot Sir. Sir you have missed your way, I am not she. Pray leap into this matter, whither would ye? Such a one I have , and should be grieved 'twere otherwise. 'Tis too much. Would I had been that storm, he had not perished. If you'll rail now I will forgiu you Sir, Or if you'll call in more, if any more Come from this ruin, I shall justly suffer What they can say: I do confess my self A guilty cause in this. I would say more, But grief is grown to great to be delivered. Would you had told me then so, these two arms had been his Sea. I, say you so? Sure I should know that voice: this is kna very. I'll fit you for it: Were h living sir, I would persuade you to be charitable, I, and confess we are not all so ill as your opini on holds us. Oh my friend, what penance shall I pull upon my fault, upon my most unworthy self for this? I'll be with you straight: are you wrung there? I donc confess there is a Gentleman Has born me long good will. And vowed a thousand services to me; to me, regardless of him: But since Fate, that no power can withstand, has taken from me my first and best Love, and to weep away my youth is a mere folly: I will show you what I determine sir: you shall know all: Call M r . Welford there: That Gentleman I mean to make the model of my Fortune's, and in his chaste embraces keep alive the memory of my lost lovely Loveless: he is somewhat Like him too. Yes certain sir. Though it please you to think me hard and cruel, I hope I shall persuade you otherwise. Yes M r . Welford, and I ask your pardon before this gentle man, for being froward: This kiss, and henceforth more affection. A parting kiss: and good Sir let me pray you To wait me in the Gallery. Now Sir you see I am no such hard creature, But time may win me. Faith Sir, consider all, and then I know you'll be of my mind: if would redeem him, I would weep still. Why for that Gentleman I would leave all the world. A as I knew it S r, and for that purpose prepared this Pa giant: get you to your task. And leave these Players tricks, or I shall leave you, indeed I shall. Travel, or know me not. I will not promise, take your choice. Farewell. You are indeed. Take heed you surfeit not, pray fast and welcome. Indeed I c n, here you shall never find it. ou shall have more on't. What must be, must be; I'll take my leave, you have your parting blow: I pray commend me to those few friends you have, that sent you him er, and tell them, when you next, 'twere fit you brought less bravery with you, and more wit, you'll ne ver get a wise else. Yes sai h. Will you eat sir? your horses will be ready straight, you shall have a apkin laid in the buttery for ye. Yes, for than face. Yes, if it were not warped, the fire in time may mend it. No by my troth Sir: yet o'my conscience, You could make shift with it. I will not: Fare you well. Ho, who's within there? bring out the Gentleman's hor es, he's in haste; and set some cold meat on the table. Farewell young man. Why how now M r . Roger, no prayers down with you to night? did you hear the bell ring? You are courting, your slock shall fat well for it. How dare you being so unworthy a Fellow, Presume to come to move me any more? What ails the fellow. I joy to hear you are wise Sir, 'tis a rare Jewel In and elder Brother: pray be wiser yet. What make you here then? They were never fewer. You were never any Sir. You talk Like a Taylor Sir. Why did you tell me you were wise. Lord what a lying age is this, where will you mend these faces? Sure you had some Sow to your Mother. 'Tis well you will allow us our Clergy yet. By this light you are a scurvy fellow, pray be gone. Do I know it? Hark you Sir, would ke we, get you to the Suburbs, there's horse flesh for such hounds: will you go Sir? It will say so still, if you anger it. Sir, this is most unmanly, pray begone. Have you no manners in you? You think all this is true now. There is enough Sir, I desire no . Pray Sir oh more, I am not much affected with your come delations: 'tis almost dinner, I know they stay you at the Ordinary. Your own hea to knows you wrong me: I cry for you? Is all this spoke in Can st? Well, out with't. One that has used you with too much respect. I cannot think yet this is serious, No faith, there's enough if it be true: Too much by all my partly: you are no Lou r then? W y the gods amend all. The carriage of this fellow vexes me. Sir, pray let me speak a little private ith you, I must not suffer this. Did you not swear a thousand thousand times you loved me best of all things? Why do you say, you do not then? Do you not love me now then? Did you ever think I loved you dearly? Do not deny your hand, for I must kiss it, and take my last farewell: now let me die so you be happy. No let me die. Is my servant well. I thank you fine fool for your most fine plot: this was a sub isle one, a device to have caught Do ls with. Good senseless Sir, could you imagine I should swoon for you, and know your self to be and a to ass? I, a discovered one. 'Tis quit I Thank you Sir. Would, would, would. Faith ' not so much worth Sir: But if I know when you come n xt a burding. I'll have a stronger noose to hold the woodcock. Pray Sister do not laugh, yowl anger him, And then he'll Like a rude , That Schoolboys had cozened of his apples, As loud and senseless. Shall we the better for it then? By this light h 'l beat us. Now he rai . ay put it in good words then. You Sir. Are you w l sir? Let him alone, 'is cracked: Why will you be angry now? But hark you servant, hark you: is he gone? call him aine: Art thou here still? fly, fly, and call my servant, fly or never see me more. I would be loath to anger him too much: what fine foolery this in a woman, to use those men most frowardly they love most? If I should lose him thus, I were rightly served. I hope is not so much himself to take it h heart: how now? will he come back? Didst thou entreat him wench? Thou sayest true, get me paper, pen, and ink, I'll write to him, Idem be loath he should sleep in's anger. Women are most fools, when they think th'are wise . Is it not strange that every woman's will should track out new ways to disturb her self? if I should call my reason to account, it cannot answer why I stop my self from mine own wish; and stop the man I love from his; and e very hour repent again, yet still go on: I know it's Like a man, that wants his natural sleep, and growing dull, would glad lie give the remnant of his life for two hours rest: yet through his frowardness, will rather choose to watch another man. Drowsy as he, then take his own repose. All this I know: yet a strange peevish S and anger, not to have the power to do things unexpected, carries me away to mine own rui had rather die sometime then not disgrace in public him whom people think I love, and doo't with oaths, and am in earnest then: Oh what are we! Men, you must answer this, that worser obey such things as we command. How now? what news? Is he not come? Nor has he writ? Why, but what says he? How strangely? What in contempt? Did he? Angry, why? why Wertenberg thou angry? he did do but well, I did deserve it, he had been a fool, and unfit man for any one to love, had he not laughed thus at me: you were angry, that showed your folly; I shall love him more for that, then all that he did before: but said he nothing else? What one was that? very Like and fit it should be so, for he does think, and reasonably think, that I should keep him with my idle tricks for ever he married. All we that are called Women, know as well as men, it were a far more Noble thing to grace where we are graced, and give respect there where we are respected: yet we practice a wilder continued rse, and never bend our eyes on men with pleasure, till they find the way to give us a neglect: then we, too late, the lose of what we might have had, and dote to death. Where? Ahlas I am undone, I fear he is betrothed. What kind of woman is she? But yet her mind is of a milder stuff then mine was. Now I see him, if my heart swell not again (away thou woman's pride) so that I cannot speak a gentle word to him, let me not live. How now, what new trick invites you hither? have you a fine device again? Why what thing have you brought to show us there? do you take money for it? Salute her? by this good light I would not kiss her for half my wealth. Now fie upon thee, a beast would not have done I would not kiss thee of a month to gain a Kingdom. Why was there ever such a Meg as this? Sure thou art mad . And this is she you are to marry, is't not? God give you joy. You thank me? I pray Keep your breath nearer you, I do not Like it. I do not think this woman can by nature be thus, Thus ugly: sure she's some common Strumpet, Deformed with exercise of sin. Why whither now? I pray let me speak with you. I pray you let me speak with you. By heaven I have no mocks: good Sir a word. Sir, give me hearing patiently, and whatsoever I have heretofore spoke jestingly, forget: for as I hope for mercy any where, what I shall utter now is from my heart, and as I mean. Was not I once your Mistress, and you my Servant? Nay good Sir stay me out: I would but hear you excuse your self, why you should take this woman, and leave me. I think not, if you will look With and indifferency up on us both. Admit it true, that she were far beyond me in all respects, does that give you a licence to forswear your self? Perhaps you have forgotten the innumerable oaths you have uttered in disclaiming all for wives but m : I'll not remember you: God give you joy. Alas you need not. I make already tender of my self, and then you are forsworn. Which of us swore you first to? Which oath is to be kept then. Why you may by wedding me. 'Tis not to be kept, and needs no satisfaction, 'Tis and error fit for repentance only. Why may it not be? What honesty? 'Tis more preserved this way: Come, by this light servant thou shalt, I'll kiss thee on't. There is no sin at all, tri but another. A match deer servant. Servant away. Choose, choose, come The glove. sweeteheart tell true. It cannot be so. Prithee sweet heart be quiet, thou hast angered me at heart. Welford. Vdsfoote, am I fetched over thus? I must be patieut, though it torture me: You have God the Sun Sir. But had I known this, had I but surmized it, you should have hunted three trains more, before you had come to'th course, you should have hanckt o'th bridle, Sir, i'faith. What a dull ass was I, I could not see this wencher from a wench: twenty to one, if I had been but tender Like my sister, he had served me such a slippery trick too. You have been with my Sister. There is no chafing now. Cannot you fare well, but you must cry rost-meat? By this light, had I but scented out your train, you had slept with a bore pillow in your arms, & kissed that, or else the bedpost, for any wife ye had God this twelvemonth yet: I would have vexed you more then a ire post-horse: & been longer bearing, then ever aftergame at Irish was. Lord, that I were unmarried again. Well you may mock us: but my large Gentlewoman, my Marry Ambree, had I but seen into you, you should have had another bedfellow, fitter a great deal for your itch. Fie how this shames me. Almost as wild as you are. Against my will Sir. Who, that fellow? Let him come on then, and do you hear, do not instruct me in these tricks, for you may repent it. Must I Sir: Sir I shall call you servant. Why how now sir, what is the meaning of this Emblem? Are you married? It shall be so sir: Sir Roger and his Bride, We shall entreat to be at our charge. How do you do Sir? Alas Sir, what would you have me do? I cannot call him back again with sorrow; I'll love this man as dearly, a worser be shrow me, I'll keep him far enough from sea: and it told me, now I remember me, by and old wise woman, that my first Love should be drowned: and see 'Tis come about. That young thing too, Or any young thing else: why I would loose my stare. By this, and tomorrows light, I care not for you. No fir. Thou perjured man. Would, would, would, pray do, but take heed though.
Plot summary
Plot — The Scornful Lady
The Loveless brothers are in trouble. The younger owes money to Morecraft and stands to lose his land, while the elder has been ordered by his lady-love to go into exile for a year as penance for his over-eagerness. He leaves his brother in charge of his house during his absence, with an allowance for his maintenance, and the steward Saville to restrain him, but the young man associates with rogues. Together they reinterpret his brother’s written instructions in order to license his prodigal behaviour. While they are drinking and wenching, the elder Loveless returns in disguise bringing news of his own death: young Loveless inherits his brother’s land, and promptly mortgages it to Morecraft. The elder Loveless also reports his death to the Lady, who consoles herself by chatting up another lover, Welford. When Loveless reveals his true identity, she retorts that she knew it was him and sends him on his way, but also disappoints Welford. Loveless returns and abuses her, pretending to be out of love. She faints and he relents: it was a trick to test her; but, she says, she knew that all along, and Loveless is sent away again. The elder Loveless dismisses Saville for negligence and reclaims his mortgaged property, but his younger brother not only keeps the money but also steals Morecraft’s intended fiancée, a rich, socially ambitious widow. She objects to his low-life friends, but he persuades her that they are cheaper than servants. The Lady’s affections begin to turn: she sends the elder Loveless a love letter. He conspires with Welford to get their own back: Welford cross-dresses as his new fiancée, and Loveless graciously gives in to the Lady’s pleas that he should jilt ‘her’. Loveless marries the Lady (who is angry when she learns how she has been tricked), and Welford sleeps with her sister. Young Loveless arrives with his new wife, and persuades his brother to reinstate Saville.