SEBASTIAN

A Sempster speak with me, sayest thou. With me sweet heart. What is't? Bans: Neatfoote. Prithee look in, for all the Gentlemen are upon rising. And dost hear, if my father call for me, say I am busy with a Sempster. In's ear good Neat-foot, Bans, you're mistaken sweet heart, I bespoke none, when, where, I prithee, what bans, let me see them. Would! life of my life: Sir Guy Fitz-Allards daughter, What has transformed my love to this strange shape? Stay: make all sure,—so: now speak and be brief, Because the wolf's at door that lies in wait, To prey upon us both albeit mine eyes Are blessed by thine, yet this so strange disguise Holds me with fear and wonder. I must cut short my speech, in broken language, Thus much sweet Moll, I must thy company shun, I court another Moll, my thoughts must run, As a horse runs, thats blind, round in a Mill, Out every step, yet keeping one path still. Sweet maid, lets lose no time, 'tis in heavens book Set down, that I must have thee: and oath we took, To keep our vows, but when the knight your father Was from mine parted, storms began to fit Upon my covetous father's brow: which fell From them on me, he reckoned up what gold This marriage would draw from him, at which he swore, To lose so much blood, could not grieve him more. He then dissuades me from thee, called thee not fair, And asked what is she, but a beggars heir? He scorned thy dowry of (5000) Marks. If such a sum of money could be found, And I would match with that, hee'd not undo it, Provided his bags might add nothing to it, But vowed, if I took thee, nay more, did swear it, Save birth from him I nothing should inherit. Dearest no: Though wildly in a labyrinth I go, My end is to meet thee: with a side wind Must I now sail, else I no haven can find But both must sink for ever. There's a wench Called Mol, mad Mol, or merry Moll, a creature So strange in quality, a whole city takes Note of her name and person, all that affection I owe to thee, on her in counterfeit passion, I spend to mad my father: he believes I dote upon this Roaring Girl, and grieves As it becomes a father for a son, That could be so bewitched: yet isle go on This crooked way, sighs still for her, feign dreams, In which isle talk only of her, these streams Shall, I hope, force my father to consent That here I anchor rather then be rend Upon a rock so dangerours, Art thou pleased, Because thou seest we are waylaid, that I take A path thats safe, though it be far about, Then I will on, My father is at hand, kiss and begun; Hours shall be watched for meetings; I must now As men for fear, to a strange I doll bow. I'll guide thee forth, when next we meet, A story of Moll shall make our mirth more sweet. This gentleman (my friend) will take his leave Sir. This gentleman. Fit deer friend. How finely Like a fencer my father fetches hisby-blowes to hit me, but if I beat you not at your own weapon of sub tilty. A flesh fly, that can vex any man. Now is my cue to bristle. 'Tis false. 'Tis false. I say that tongue That dares speak so (but yours) sticks in the throat Of a rank villain, set your self aside.— Any here else had lied. I think I shall fit you— Yes. You're all mad. Hark you a word sir. You on your knees have cursed that virtuous maiden, And me for loving her, yet do you now Thus baffle me to my face: were not your knees In such intreats, give me Fitz-Allards daughter. Well then you know What dish I mean to feed upon. I am deaf to you all. Ime so bewitched, so bound to my desires, Tears, prayers, threats, nothing can quench out those fires That burn within me. If a man have a free will, where should the use More perfect shine then in his will to love. All creatures have their liberty in that, Though else kept under servile yoke and fear, The very bondslave has his freedom there, Amongst a world of creatures voiced and silent. Must my desires wear fetters—yea are you So near, then I must break with my hearts truth; Meet grief at a back way—well: why suppose. The two lewd tongues of slander or of truth Pronounce Mol loathsome: if before my love She appear fair, what injury have I, I have the thing I Like? in all things else Mine own eye guides me, and I find they prosper, Life what should ail it now? I know that man Near truly loves, if he gainesayt he lies, That winks and marries with his father's eyes. I'll keep mine own wide open. Why 'twere too great a burden love, to have them carry things in their minds, and a'ther backs together. I would be nearer to thee, and in that fashion, That makes the best partly of all creatures honest. No otherwise I wish it. This were enough now to affright a fool for ever from thee, when 'tis the music that I love thee for, Nay prithee one word more. And so we parted, my too cursed fate. I have examined the best partly of man, Reason and judgement, and in love they tell me, They leave me uncontrolled, he that is swayed By and unfeeling blood, passed heat of love His spring time must needs err, his watch never goes right That sets his dial by a rusty clock, The clock at Ludgate sir, it never goes true. I taste you bitterer then I can deserve sir. Not honestly, not in the way of marriage, Sir now ye take partly with the world to wrong her. Why is the name of Mol so fatal sir. Whats that to her? let those blush for themselves. Can any gilded in others condemn her? I've vowed to love her: let all storms oppose me, That ever beat against the breast of man, Nothing but death's black tempest shall divide us. Put case a wanton itch runs through one name More then another, is that name the worse, Where honesty sits possessed in't? it should rather Appear more excellent, and deserve more praise, When through foul mists a brightness it can raise. Why there are of the devils, honest Gentlemen, And well descended, keep and open house, And some ath (good men) that are arrant knaves. He hates unworthily, that by rote contemnes, For the name neither saves, nor yet condemns, And for her honesty, I have made such proof an't, In several forms, so nearly watched her ways, I will maintain that strict, against and army, Excepting you my father: here's her worst, Sh'has a bold spirit that mingles with mankind, But nothing else comes near it: and oftentimes Through her apparel somewhat shames her birth, But she is lose in nothing but in mirth, Would all Mols were no worse. He is gone with some strange purpose, whose effect Will hurt me little if he shoot so wide, To think I love so blindly: I but feed His heart to this match, to draw on th'other. Wherein my joy sits with a full wish crowned; Only his mood excepted which must change. By opposite policies, courses indirect, Plain dealing in this world takes no effect. This mad girl I'll acquaint with my intent, Get her assistance, make my Fortune's known, Betwixt lovers hearts, she's a fit instrument, And has the art to help them to their own, By her advise, for in that craft she's wise, My love and I may meet, spite of all spies. Thou hast done me a kind office, without touch Either of sin or shame, our loves are honest. Now have I time and opportunity Without all fear to bid thee welcome love. I'de kiss such men to choose Moll, Me thinks a woman's lip tastes well in a doublet: The older they wax Moll, troth I speak seriously, As some have a conceit their drink tastes better In and outlandish cup then in our own, So me thinks every kiss she gives me now In this strange form, is worth a pair of two, Here we are safe, and furthest from the eye Of all suspicion, this is my fathets chamber, Upon which floor he never steps till night. Here he mistrusts me not, nor I his coming, At mine own chamber he still pries unto me, My freedom is not there at mine own finding, Still checked and curbed, here he shall miss his purpose. So well, no Art can mend it, for this purpose, But to thy wit and help we're chief in debt, And must live still beholding. I'll offer no worse play. Hold, there shall need no weapon at this meeting, But cause thou shalt not lose thy fury idle, Here take this vial, run upon the guts, And end thy quarrel singing. Hold on sweet Mol. Why well said Mol faith, it had be a shame for that Gentleman then, that would have let it hung still, and never offered thee it. Pish let'em prate abroad, th'art here where thou art known and loved, there be a thousand close dams that will call the vial and unmannerly instrument for a woman, and therefore talk broadly of thee, when you shall have them fit wider to a worse quality. Prithee let's hear thy dream Mol. That's a free Mistress faith. Marry amen say I. This is the roaring wench must do us good. Peace, peace, foot I did here him sure, where ere he be. My father, 'twas Like a sighed of his, I must be wary, Life, here he comes,—sir I beseech you take it, Your way of teaching does so much content me, I'll make it four pound, here's forty shillings sir. I think I name it right: help me good Mol, Forty in hand. At the next quarter When I receive the means my father 'lowes me. You shall have tother forty, Sir. You're come in good time sir, I've a suit to you, I'de crave your present kindness. A Gentleman, a musician sir, one of excellent fingering Has the most delicate stroke sir, Puts down all your famous musicians. Forty shillings is the agreement sir between us, Now sir, my present means, mounts but to half on't. I indeed does he sir. Therefore I'de stop his mouth sir, and I could, I thank you sir. Faith thou shalt haue'em it's my father's gift, Never was man beguiled with better shift. Before I dare discover my offence, I kneel for pardon. Forgive me father, Though there before your eyes my sorrow feigned, This still was she, for whom true love complained. I hope so too sir. For which thou shalt not partly Moll unrequited. Now I do smell a fox strongly. Well shot old Adam Bell.