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Stew. That never walks without a lady's busk, And plays with fans:-Mr. Alexander Kickshaw. I thought I should remember him.

Aret. What's the other?

Stew. What an unlucky memory I have—
The gallant that still danceth in the street,
And wears a gross of ribbon in his hat;
That carries oringado in his pocket,

And sugar-plums to sweeten his discourse;

That studies compliment, defies all wit

On black, and censures plays that are not bawdy

Mr. John Littleworth.

Aret. They are welcome; but

Pray entertain them a small time, lest I

Be unprovided.

Born. Did they ask for me?

Stew. No, sir.

Born. It matters not, they must be welcome. Aret. Fie,how this hair's disorder'd; here's a curl Straddles most impiously. I must to my closet.


Born. Wait on them; my lady will return again.
I have to such a height fulfill'd her humour,
All application's dangerous; these gallants
Must be received, or she will fall into

A tempest, and the house be shook with names
Of all her kindred. 'Tis a servitude
I may in time shake off.


Kick. and Lit. Save you, Sir Thomas.
Born. Save you, gentlemen.

Kick. I kiss your hand.

Born. What day is it abroad?

Lit. The morning rises from your lady's eye; If she look clear, we take the happy omen

Of a fair day.

Born. She'll instantly appear

To the discredit of your compliment ;
But you express your wit thus.

Kick. And you modesty,

Not to affect the praises of your own.

Born. Leaving this subject, what game's now What exercise carries the general vote [afoot? O' the town now? Nothing moves without your knowledge.

Kick. The cocking now has all the noise. I'll have A hundred pieces of one battle. Oh, These birds of Mars!

Lit. Venus is Mars his bird too.

Kick. Why, and the pretty doves are Venuses, To show that kisses draw the chariot.

Lit. I'm for that skirmish.
Born. When shall we have

More booths and bagpipes upon Bansted downs?
No mighty race is expected? But my lady returns.


Aret. Fair morning to you, gentlemen ; You went not late to bed, by your early visit.

You do me honour.

Kick. It becomes our service.

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I slept not it had been sin, where so much
Delight and beauty was to keep me waiting.
There is a lady, madam, will be worth
Your free society; my conversation
Ne'er knew so elegant and brave a soul,
With most incomparable flesh and blood:
So spirited, so courtly, speaks the languages,
Sings, dances, plays o' the lute to admiration;
Is fair, and paints not; games too, keeps a table,
And talks most witty satire; has a wit
Of a clean Mercury.

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Kick. And I possess it, by my star's benevolence.
Aret. You must bring us acquainted.
Born. I pray do, sir;

I long to see her too. Madam, I have
Thought upon't, and corrected my opinion;
Pursue what ways of pleasure your desires
Incline you to. Not only with my state,
But with my person I will follow you :
I see the folly of my thrift, and will
Repent in sack and prodigality
To your own heart's content.

Aret. But do not mock.

Born. Take me to your embraces, gentlemen, And tutor me.


Lit. And will you kiss the ladies?
Born. And sing, and dance.—I long to see this
I would fain lose an hundred pounds at dice now-
Thou shalt have another gown and petticoat
To-morrow-Will you sell my running horses ?-
We have no Greek wine in the house, I think;
Pray send one of our footmen to the merchant,
And throw the hogshead of March beer into
The kennel, to make room for sack and claret.
What think you to be drunk yet before dinner?
We will have constant music, and maintain
Them and their fiddles in fantastic liveries-
I'll tune my voice to catches-I must have
My dining-room enlarged t' invite ambassadors
We'll feast the parish in the fields, and teach
The military men new discipline,

Who shall charge all their [great] artillery
With oranges and lemons, boy, to play
All dinner upon our capons.

Kick. He's exalted.

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The gout in your worship's hand? You are afraid
To infect my nostrils thus, or is 't to favour
To exercise your pen in your account-book,
Or do you doubt my credit to discharge
Your bills?

Stew. Madam, I hope you have not found
My duty with the guilt of sloth or jealousy
Unapt to your command.

Cel. You can extenuate

Your faults with language, sir; but I expect
To be obey'd. What hangings have we here?
Stew. They are arras, madam.

Cel. Impudence, I know't.

I will have fresher and more rich, not wrought
With faces that may scandalise a Christian,
With Jewish stories, stuff'd with corn and camels:
You had best wrap all my chambers in wild Irish,
And make a nursery of monsters here,
To fright the ladies come to visit me.
Stew. Madam, I hope――

Cel. I say I will have other,
Good master steward, of a finer loom,
Some silk and silver, if your worship please
To let me be at so much cost: I'll have
Stories to fit the seasons of the year,
And change as often as I please.

Stew. You shall, madam.

Cel. I am bound to your consent forsooth! And is My coach brought home?

Stew. This morning I expect it.

Cel. The inside, as I gave direction,

Of crimson plush?

Stew. Of crimson camel plush.

Cel. Ten thousand moths consume't! Shall I ride


The streets in penance, wrapt up round in haircloth?

Sell 't to an alderman,-'twill serve his wife
To go a feasting to their country house,-

Or fetch a merchant's nurse-child, and come home
Laden with fruit and cheesecakes. I despise it.
Stew. The nails adorn it, madam, set in method
And pretty forms.

Cel. But single-gilt, I warrant ?
Stew. No, madam.

Cel. Another solecism. O fie!
This fellow will bring me to a consumption
With fretting at his ignorance. Some lady
Had rather never pray than go to church in 't.
The nails not double-gilt !-to market with it!
"Twill hackney out to Mile End, or convey
Your city tumblers to be drunk with cream
And prunes at Islington.

Stew. Good madam, hear me.

Cel. I'll rather be beholding to my aunt, The countess, for her mourning coach, than be Disparaged so. Shall any juggling tradesman Be at charge to shoe his running horse with gold, And shall my coach-nails be but single-gilt ? How dare these knaves abuse me so !

Stew. Vouchsafe To hear me speak.

Cel. Is my sedan yet finish'd

As I gave charge?

Stew. Yes, madam, it is finish'd,

But without tilting plumes at the four corners; The scarlet's pure, but not embroider'd.

Cel. What mischief were it to your conscience Were my coach lined with tissue, and my harness Cover'd with needlework? if my sedan Had all the story of the prodigal Embroider'd with pearl ?

Stew. Alas, good madam,

I know 'tis your own cost; I'm but your steward,
And would discharge my duty the best way.
You have been pleased to hear me, 'tis not for
My profit that I manage your estate

And save expense, but for your honour, madam.
Cel. How, sir, my honour?

Stew. Though you hear it not,
Men's tongues are liberal in your character
Since you began to live thus high. I know
Your fame is precious to you.

Cel. I were best

Make you my governor! Audacious varlet,
How dare you interpose your doting counsel ?
Mind your affairs with more obedience,

Or I shall ease you of an office, sir.
Must I be limited to please your honour,

Or for the vulgar breath confine my pleasures?
I will pursue 'em in what shapes I fancy
Here and abroad. My entertainments shall
Be oft'ner, and more rich. Who shall control me?
I live i'the Strand, whither few ladies come
To live and purchase more than fame-I will
Be hospitable then, and spare no cost
That may engage all generous report
To trumpet forth my bounty and my bravery
Till the court envy and remove-I'll have
My house the academy of wits, who shall,
Exalt [their genius] with rich sack and sturgeon,
Write panegyrics of my feasts, and praise
The method of my witty superfluities-
The horses shall be taught, with frequent waiting
Upon my gates, to stop in their career
Toward Charing Cross, spite of the coachman's
And not a tilter but shall strike his plume
When he sails by my window-My balcony
Shall be the courtiers' idol, and more gazed at
Than all the pageantry at Temple Bar
By country clients.

Stew. Sure my lady 's mad.


Cel. Take that for your ill manners. [Strikes him. Stew. Thank you, madam :

I would there were less quicksilver in your fingers. [Exit.

Cel. There's more than simple honesty in a


Required to his full duty. None should dare
But with a look, much less a saucy language,
Check at their mistress's pleasure. I'm resolved
To pay for some delight, my estate will bear it;
I'll rein it shorter when I please.

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Next the French cardinal in the dining-room.
But when she hears you're come, she will dismiss
The Belgic gentleman to entertain
Your worship.

Fred. Change of air has made you witty.
Born. Your tutor gives you a handsome character,
Frederick, and is sorry your aunt's pleasure
Commands you from your studies; but I hope
You have no quarrel to the liberal arts?
Learning is an addition beyond
Nobility of birth; honour of blood,
Without the ornament of knowledge, is
A glorious ignorance.

Fred. I never knew more sweet and happy hours
Than I employ'd upon my books. I heard
A part of my philosophy, and was so
Delighted with the harmony of nature

I could have wasted my whole life upon 't.
Born. 'Tis pity a rash indulgence should corrupt
So fair a genius. She's here;-I'll observe.

Enter ARETINA, KICKSHAW, LIttleworth,
Fred. My most loved aunt.

Aret. Support me,-I shall faint!

Lit. What ails your ladyship?

Aret. Is that Frederick

In black?

Kick. Yes, madam; but the doublet 's satin. Aret. The boy 's undone.

Fred. Madam, you appear troubled.

Aret. Have I not cause? Was I not trusted with

Thy education, boy, and have they sent thee
Home like a very scholar?

Kick. 'Twas ill done,

Howe'er they used him in the university,

To send him home to his friends thus.

Fred. Why, sir, black

(For 'tis the colour that offends your eyesight)
Is not, within my reading, any blemish;
Sables are no disgrace in heraldry.

Kick. 'Tis coming from the college thus that
Dishonourable. While you wore it for [makes it
Your father it was commendable, or were
Your aunt dead you might mourn and justify.

Aret. What luck I did not send him into France!

*Luck evidently means misfortune here.

They would have given him generous education,
Taught him another garb, to wear his lock
And shape as gaudy as the summer, how
To dance and wag his feather àlamode,
To compliment and cringe, to talk not modestly,
Like ay forsooth and no forsooth, to blush
And look so like a chaplain; there he might
Have learnt a brazen confidence, and observed
So well the custom of the country, that
He might by this time have invented fashions
For us, and been a benefit to the kingdom;
Preserved our tailors in their wits, and saved
The charge of sending into foreign courts
For pride and antic fashions. Observe
In what a posture he does hold his hat now!
Fred. Madam, with your pardon, you have

Another dialect than was taught me when
I was commended to your care and breeding.
I understand not this; Latin or Greek
Are more familiar to my apprehension;
Logic was not so hard in my first lectures
As your strange language.

Aret. Some strong waters,-oh!

Lit. Comfits will be as comfortable to your stomach, madam. [Offers his box.

Aret. I fear he's spoil'd for ever: he did name Logic, and may, for ought I know, be gone So far to understand it. I did always Suspect they would corrupt him in the college. Will your Greek saws and sentences discharge The mercer or is Latin a fit language To court a mistress in? Master Alexander, If you have any charity, let me Commend him to your breeding; I suspect I must employ my doctor first to purge The university that lies in's head To alter's complexion.

Kick. If you dare
Trust me to serve him-

Aret. Mr. Littleworth,
Be you join'd in commission.
Lit. I will teach him
Postures and rudiments.

Aret. I have no patience

To see him in this shape, it turns my stomach.
When he has cast his academic skin,

He shall be yours. I am bound in conscience
To see him bred, his own 'state shall maintain
The charge while he's my ward. Come hither, sir.
Fred. What does my aunt mean to do with me?
Stew. To make you a fine gentleman, and trans-

late you

Out of your learned language, sir, into
The present Goth and Vandal, which is French.
Born. Into what mischief will this humour ebb?
She will undo the boy; I see him ruin'd.
My patience is not manly, but I must
Use stratagem to reduce her, open ways
Give me no hope.

Stew. You shall be obey'd, madam.

[Exeunt all but FREDERICK and the STEWARD.

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Stew. More suitable to the town and time. We
No Lent here, nor is't my lady's pleasure you
Should fast from anything you have a mind to,
Unless it be your learning, which she would have you
Forget with all convenient speed that may be
For the credit of your noble family.

The case is alter'd since we lived in the country;
We do not [now] invite the poor o' the parish
To dinner, keep a table for the tenants;
Our kitchen does not smell of beef, the cellar
Defies the price of malt and hops; the footmen
And coach-drivers may be drunk like gentlemen
With wine; nor will three fiddlers upon holidays,
With aid of bagpipes, that call'd in the country
To dance and plough the hall up with their hobnails,
Now make my lady merry; we do feed
Like princes, and feast nothing [else] but princes,
And are those robes fit to be seen amongst 'em?
Fred. My lady keeps a court then? Is Sir Thomas
Affected with this state and cost?

Stew. He was not,

But is converted. But I hope you will not
Persist in heresy, but take a course
Of riot to content
your friends: ; you shall
Want nothing. If you can be proud and spend it
For my lady's honour, here are a hundred
Pieces will serve you till you have new clothes;
I will present you with a nag of mine,
Poor tender of my service-please to accept,
My lady's smile more than rewards me for it.
I must provide fit servants to attend you,
Monsieurs for horse and foot.

Fred. I shall submit,

If this be my aunt's pleasure, and be ruled.
My eyes are open'd with this purse already,
And sack will help to inspire me. I must spend it.


The Queen insulting the Wife and Father of the accused Admiral in their misfortunes.

Persons. The Constable of France, Queen, Wife and Father of CHABOT.

Constable introducing the Wife of CHABOT. Cons. SHE attends you, madam.

Queen. This humbleness proceeds not from your heart;

Why, you are a queen yourself in your own thoughts;

The admiral's wife of France cannot be less; You have not state enough, you should not move Without a train of friends and servants.

[* As Chapman had certainly the larger share in this Tragedy, the specimen should have been placed by Mr. Campbell under Chapman. Gifford at first thought Chabot' was scarce admissible in a collection of Shirley's Works.]

Wife. There is some mystery Within your language, madam. I would hope You have more charity than to imagine My present condition worth your triumph, In which I am not so lost but I have Some friends and servants with proportion To my lord's fortune; but none within the lists Of those that obey me can be more ready To express their duties, than my heart to serve Your just commands.

Queen. Then pride will ebb, I see ;
There is no constant flood of state and greatness;
The prodigy is ceasing when your lord

Comes to the balance; he, whose blazing fires
Shot wonders through the kingdom, will discover
What flying and corrupted matter fed him.
Wife. My lord ?

Queen. Your high and mighty justicer,
The man of conscience, the oracle

Of state, whose honourable titles


Would crack an elephant's back, is now turn'd
Must pass examination and the test
Of law, have all his offices ripp'd up,
And his corrupt soul laid open to the subjects;
His bribes, oppressions, and close sins, that made
So many groan and curse him, now shall find
Their just reward; and all that love their country
Bless Heaven and the king's justice, for removing
Such a devouring monster.

Father. Sir, your pardon.

Madam, you are the queen, she is my daughter,
And he that you have character'd so monstrous
My son-in-law, now gone to be arraign'd.

The king is just, and a good man ; but 't does not
Add to the graces of your royal person
To tread upon a lady thus dejected

By her own grief: her lord's not yet found guilty,
Much less condemn'd, though you have pleased to
Queen. What saucy fellow's this? [execute him.
Father. I must confess

I am a man out of this element,
No courtier, yet I am a gentleman,
That dare speak honest truth to the queen's ear,
(A duty every subject will not pay you,)
And justify it to all the world; there's nothing
Doth more eclipse the honours of our soul
Than an ill-grounded and ill-follow'd passion,
Let fly with noise and license against those
Whose hearts before are bleeding.

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Father. 'Cause you are a queen, to trample o'er
Whose tongue and faculties are all tied up ;
Strike out a lion's teeth, and pare his claws,
And then a dwarf may pluck him by the beard-
'Tis a gay victory.

Queen. Did you hear, my lord?
Father. I ha' done.

Wife. And it concerns me to begin.

I have not made this pause through servile fear,
Or guilty apprehension of your rage,
But with just wonder of the heats and wildness
Has prepossess'd your nature 'gainst our innocence.

You are my queen, unto that title bows
The humblest knee in France, my heart made lower
With my obedience and prostrate duty,
Nor have I powers created for my use

When just commands of you expect their service;
But were you queen of all the world, or something
To be thought greater, betwixt Heaven and us,
That I could reach you with my eyes and voice,
I would shoot both up in defence of my
Abused honour, and stand all your lightning.
Queen. So brave?

Wife. So just and boldly innocent.

I cannot fear, arm'd with a noble conscience,
The tempest of your frown, were it more frightful
Than every fury made a woman's anger,
Prepared to kill with death's most horrid ceremony;
Yet with what freedom of my soul I can
Forgive your accusation of my pride.

Queen. Forgive? What insolence is like this lanCan any action of ours be capable [guage? Of thy forgiveness? Dust! how I despise thee! Can we sin to be object of thy mercy?

Wife. Yes, and have done 't already, and no stain To your greatness, madam; 'tis my charity, I can remit; when sovereign princes dare Do injury to those that live beneath them, They turn worth pity and their prayers, and 'tis In the free power of those whom they oppress To pardon 'em; each soul has a prerogative And privilege royal that was sign'd by Heaven. But though, in th' knowledge of my disposition, Stranger to pride, and what you charge me with, I can forgive the injustice done to me, And striking at my person, I have no Commission from my lord to clear you for The wrongs you have done him, and till he pardon The wounding of his loyalty, with which life Can hold no balance, I must talk just boldness To say

Father. No more! Now I must tell you, daughter, Lest you forget yourself, she is the queen, And it becomes you not to vie with her Passion for passion: if your lord stand fast To the full search of law, Heaven will revenge him, And give him up precious to good men's loves. If you attempt by these unruly ways To vindicate his justice, I'm against you; Dear as I wish your husband's life and fame, Subjects are bound to suffer, not contest With princes, since their will and acts must be Accounted one day to a Judge supreme.

Wife. I ha' done. If the devotion to my lord,
Or pity to his innocence, have led me
Beyond the awful limits to be observed
By one so much beneath your sacred person,

I thus low crave your royal pardon, madam; [Kneels.
I know you will remember, in your goodness,
My life-blood is concern'd while his least vein
Shall run black and polluted, my heart fed
With what keeps him alive; nor can there be
A greater wound than that which strikes the life
Of our good name, so much above the bleeding

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