The Scornful Lady Part 9
_Young Lo_. Peace, or I'le tack your Tongue up to your Roof. What money?
speak.
_More_. Six thousand pound Sir.
_Capt_. Take it, h'as overbidden by the Sun: bind him to his bargain quickly.
_Young Lo_. Come strike me luck with earnest, and draw the writings.
_More_. There's a G.o.ds peny for thee.
_Sav_. Sir for my old Masters sake let my Farm be excepted, if I become his Tenant I am undone, my Children beggers, and my Wife G.o.d knows what: consider me dear Sir.
_More_. I'le have all or none.
_Young Lo_. All in, all in: dispatch the writings. [_Exit with Com._
_Wid_. Go, thou art a pretty forehanded fellow, would thou wert wiser.
_Sav_. Now do I sensibly begin to feel my self a Rascal; would I could teach a School, or beg, or lye well, I am utterly undone; now he that taught thee to deceive and cousen, take thee to his mercy; so be it.
[_Exit_ Savil.
_More_. Come Widow come, never stand upon a Knight-hood, 'tis a meer paper honour, and not proof enough for a Serjeant. Come, Come, I'le make thee--
_Wid_. To answer in short, 'tis this Sir. No Knight no Widow, if you make me any thing, it must be a Lady, and so I take my leave.
_More_. Farewel sweet Widow, and think of it.
_Wid_. Sir, I do more than think of it, it makes me dream Sir. [_Ex._ Wid.
_More_. She's rich and sober, if this itch were from her: and say I be at the charge to pay the Footmen, and the Trumpets, I and the Hors.e.m.e.n too, and be a Knight, and she refuse me then; then am I hoist into the subsidy, and so by consequence should prove a c.o.xcomb: I'le have a care of that.
Six thousand pound, and then the Land is mine, there's some refreshing yet. [_Exit._
_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima_.
_Enter_ Abigal, _and drops her Glove._
_Abigal_. If he but follow me, as all my hopes tell me, he's man enough, up goes my rest, and I know I shall draw him.
_Enter_ Welford.
_Wel_. This is the strangest pampered piece of flesh towards fifty, that ever frailty copt withal, what a trim _lennoy_ here she has put upon me; these women are a proud kind of Cattel, and love this whorson doing so directly, that they will not stick to make their very skins Bawdes to their flesh. Here's Dogskin and Storax sufficient to kill a Hawk: what to do with it, besides nailing it up amongst _Irish_ heads of Teere, to shew the mightiness of her Palm, I know not: there she is. I must enter into Dialogue. Lady you have lost your Glove.
_Abig_. Not Sir, if you have found it.
_Wel_. It was my meaning Lady to restore it.
_Abig_. 'Twill be uncivil in me to take back a favour, Fortune hath so well bestowed Sir, pray wear it for me.
_Wel_. I had rather wear a Bell. But hark you Mistres, what hidden vertue is there in this Glove, that you would have me wear it? Is't good against sore eyes, or will it charm the Toothach? Or these red tops; being steept in white wine soluble, wil't kill the Itch? Or has it so conceal'd a providence to keep my hand from Bonds? If it have none of these and prove no more but a bare Glove of half a Crown a pair, 'twill be but half a courtesie, I wear two alwayes, faith let's draw cuts, one will do me no pleasure.
_Abig_. The tenderness of his years keeps him as yet in ignorance, he's a well moulded fellow, and I wonder his bloud should stir no higher; but 'tis his want of company: I must grow nearer to him.
_Enter_ Elder Loveless _disguised._
_Elder Lo_. G.o.d save you both.
_Abig_. And pardon you Sir; this is somewhat rude, how came you hither?
_Elder Lo_. Why through the doors, they are open.
_Wel_. What are you? And what business have you here?
_Elder Lo_. More I believe than you have.
_Abig_. Who would this fellow speak with? Art thou sober?
_Elder Lo_. Yes, I come not here to sleep.
_Wel_. Prethee what art thou?
_Elder Lo_. As much (gay man) as thou art, I am a Gentleman.
_Wel_. Art thou no more?
_Elder Lo_. Yes more than thou dar'st be; a Souldier.
_Abig_. Thou dost not come to quarrel?
_Elder Lo_. No, not with women; I come to speak here with a Gentlewoman.
_Abig_. Why, I am one.
_Elder Lo_. But not with one so gentle.
_Wel_. This is a fine fellow.
_Elder Lo_. Sir, I am not fine yet. I am but new come over, direct me with your ticket to your Taylor, and then I shall be fine Sir. Lady if there be a better of your s.e.x within this house, say I would see her.
_Abig_. Why am not I good enough for you Sir?
_Elder Lo_. Your way you'l be too good, pray end my business. This is another Sutor, O frail Woman!
_Wel_. This fellow with his bluntness hopes to do more than the long sutes of a thousand could; though he be sowre he's quick, I must not trust him.