SIR WALTER

Now Wench thou art welcome to the Heart of the City of London. You can thank me in English if you list. It'll serve to pass Wench, 'twas strange that I should lie with thee so often, to leave thee without En glish, that were unnatural, I bring thee up to turn thee into Gold Wench, and make thy fortune shine Like your bright Trade, a Goldsmiths Shop sets out a City Maid. Davy Dahanna, not a word. Here you must pass for a pure Virgin. I hear you mumble Davy. The Knave bites plaguely. Why how now pretty Mistress, now I have caught you. What can you injure so your time to strey thus from your faithful Servant. You may be bold with her on these terms, it's she Sir, Heir to some nineteen Mountains. And all as high as Paul's. How sayest thou Davy? It's manners to take kindness. Your company Sir. How dost Jack? How does your Wife? The 'ile partly in time again. Here Sirrah, pull off my Boots. Put on, but on Jack. Slippers, Heart you are sleepy. Pish, put on Jack. What entertainment has lain open here, No strangers in my absence? How do you satisfy me? For two months absence I'll be satisfied. Entered, come swear. Yes I'll heare't out Sir. Heart he can tell, Do you think I'll trust him? As a Usurer With forfeited Lordship's. Him, o monstrous injury! Believe him, can the Devil speak ill of Darkness? What can you say Sir? Yet by your leave, I herd you were once offering to go to bed to her. Heart if you do, you shall take all, I'll marry. That wakes the Slave, and keeps his Flesh in awe. O What, how dost Neck ? Go to School, Ply your Books Boys, would? Let me see, stay, How shall I dispose of these two Brats now When I am married, for they must not mingle Amongst my Children that I get in Wedlock, It'll make foul work that, and raise many storms. I'll bind What Prentice to a Goldsmith, my Father Yellowh. As fit as can be. Neck with some Vintner, good, Goldsmith And Vintner, there will be Wine in Boles I faith. How cheers my Mistress? Me thinks she shows gallantly, Like a Moon at full Sir. It's but the Boy in the Moon yet Goodman Calf. It shall be yours Sir. How now Jack? I am glad I have her for you Sir. Get but two, I'll stand for one my self. The better policy, it prevents suspicion, It's good to play with rumor at all weapons. The more Slave, When Man turns base, out goes his Souls pure flame, The fat of ease o're-throwes the eyes of shame. I'll ease you of that care, and please my self in't My Love the Goldsmith's Daughter, if I send, Her Father will command her, Davy Dahumma. What is he? I know Tuchwood, has he a Brother living? Now we know him, we'll make shift with him Dispatch the time draws near, Come hither Davy. Mistress and Partner, I will put you both into one Cup. I embrace your acquaintance Sir. It's near high time, come M r All-wit. Wil't please you walk? I am struck with wonder. Now I disclaim the end, you'll make me mad. This your Brother Sir? Your acquaintance Sir, came very lately, Yet it came too soon, I must hereafter know you for no friend, But one that I must shun Like Pestilence, Or the Disease of Lust. I pardon you, you are both losers'. The fatness of your wishes to you all Ladies. The worst is passed, I hope now Gossip. A poor remembrance Lady, To the love of the Babe, I pray accept of it. With all my Heart Jack. Fit you all merry Ladies. Life, call you this close keeping? A double Devil. Heart, if she were so locked up, how God she out? A wiser Man would. Forbear or I'll grow worse. Either give over both, or I'll give over: Why have you used me thus unkind Mistress? Wherein have I deserved? I never was so near my wish, as this chance Makes me, ere to morrow noon, I shall receive two thousand pound in Gold, And a sweet Maidenhead Worth forty. Yes Slave, it's I. Sir I believe it'll hold your life in play. There is no dealing then, think on the Dowry for two thousand pounds. And being of even hand, I'll play no longer. I have certain things to think on, Before I dare go further. Touch me not Villain, my wound akes at thee, Thou poison to my Heart. If any thing be worse then Slave or Villain, Thou art the Man. Thou knowest me to be wicked for thy baseness Kept the Eyes open still on all my sins, None knew the deer account my soul stood charged with So well as thou, yet Like Hels flattering Angel, Wouldst never tell me an't, lettest me go on, And join with Death in sleep, that if I had not waked Now by chance, even by a strangers pity, I had everlastingly slept out all hope Of grace and mercy. Not as with you, Thou loathsome strumpet: some good pitying Man Remove my sins out of my sighed a little, I tremble to behold her, she keeps back All comfort while she stays, is this a time, Unconscionable Woman, to see thee, Art thou so cruel to the peace of Man, Not to give liberty now, the Devil himself Shows a far fairer reverence and respect To goodness then thy self, he dares not do this, But partly in time of penitence, hides his Face, When Man withdraws from him, he leaves the place, Hast thou less manners, and more impudence, Then thy instructer, prithee show thy modesty, If the least grain be left, and get thee from me, Thou shouldst be rather locked many Rooms hence, From the poor miserable sighed of me If either love or grace had partly in thee. Oh Death! Is this A place for you to weep? What tears are those? Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse, As long as they are a weeping, they work against me, There's nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow, Thou weepest for Lust, I feel it in the slackness Of comforts coming towards me, I was well till thou begannest to undo me, This shows Like the fruitless sorrow of a careless mother That brings her Son with dalliance to the Gallows, And then stands by, and weeps to see him suffer. Oh my vengeance, let me for ever hide my cursed Face From sighed of those that darkens all my Hope's, And stands between me and the sighed of Heaven, Who sees me now, ho to and those so near me, May rightly say, I am overgrown with sin, Oh how my offences wrestle with my repentance, It hath scarce breath, Still my adulterous gilded hovers aloft, And with her black Wings beats down all my prayers. Ere they be half way up, what's he knows now, How long I have to live? o what comes then, My taste grows bitter, the round World, all Gall now, Her pleasing pleasures now hath poisoned me, Which I exchanged my Soul for, Make way a hundred sighs at once for me. Wretched, death of seven. Oh sorrow! My Will? Yes, yes, what else? Who writes apace now? Set it down then: Inprimis, I bequeathe to yonder Witall, Three times his weight in Curses, All Plagues of Body and of Mind, Together also, With such a Sickness, ten days ere his Death. Next I bequeathe to that foul whore his Wife, All barrenness of Joy, a drouth of Virtue, And dearth of all repentance: For her end, The common misery of and English Strumpet, In French and Duch, beholding ere she die Confusion of her Brats before her Eyes, And never shed a tear for it. Dead? Lift, lift, Who helps me? What's this? Am I denied a Chamber? What say you forsooth? Oh Death! do I hear this with partly Of former life in me? What's the news now? Why how Sir? All ill at once. I'll soon save you that labour. If ever Eyes were open, these are they, Gamesters farewell, I have nothing left to play. No Devil can be Like thee.