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181

E P I C OE N E,

O R,  T H E

Silent Woman.

A   C O M E D Y.

First Acted in the Year 1609. By the Children of her MAJESTY'S Revels.

With the Allowance of the Master of R E V E L S.

The Author B. J.

        Ut sis tu similis Cœli, Byrrhique latronum,
        Non ego sim Capri, neque Sulci. Cur metuas me?  Horat.


To the truly N O B L E by all T I T L E S,

Sir Francis Stuart.

SIR,

M
Y Hope is not so nourish'd by example, as it will conclude, this dumb Piece should please you, because it hath pleas'd others before: but by trust, that when you have read it, you will find it worthy to have displeas'd none. This makes, that I now number you, not only in the Names of Favour, but the Names of Justice, to what I write; and do, presently, call you to the exercise of that Noblest, and Manliest Vertue: as coveting rather to be freed in my Fame, by the Authority of a Judge, than the Credit of an Undertaker. Read therefore, I pray you, and Censure. There is not a Line, or Sillable in it changed from the simplicity of the first Copy. And, when you shall consider, through the certain hatred of some, how much a Man's Innocency may be indanger'd by an uncertain accusation; you will, I doubt not, so begin to hate the Iniquity of such natures, as I shall love the Contumely done me, whose end was so honourable, as to be wiped off by your sentence.

Your unprofitable, but true Lover,           

BEN. JOHNSON.



182

The P E R S O N S of the P L A Y.

M O R O S E,  a Gentleman that loves not noise.

D A U P. EU G E N E,  a Knight, his Nephew.

C L E R I M O N T,  a Gent. his Friend.

T R U E - W I T,  Another Friend.

EPICœNE,  A young Gent. suppos'd the Sil. Wom.

J O H. D A W,  A Knight, her Servant.

A M A R O U S L A - F O O L,  A Knight also.

T H O M. O T T E R,  A Land and Sea-Captain.

C U T B E R D,  a Barber.

M U T E,  One of  M O R O S E   his Servants.

M A D. H A U G H T Y,

M A D. C E N T A U R E,

M A D. M A V I S, 		  ) 
  | 
  > 
  | 
  ) 
 Ladies Collegiate.

Mrs. M A V I S,  the Lady HAUGHTIES  Woman.

Mrs. O T T E R,  the Captains Wife.

         Pretenders.
P A R S O N.

P A G E S.

S E R V A N T S.



The S C E N E

L O N D O N.


The Principal C O M œ D I A N S were,

NAT. FIELD.

GIL. CARIE.

HUG. ATTAWEL.

JOHN SMITH.
 WILL. BARKSTED.

WILL. PEN.

RIC. ALLIN.

JOH. BLANEY.



E P I C OE N E,



183

E P I C OE N E,

O R,   T H E

Silent Woman.


P R O L O G U E.

T

Ruth says, of old, the Art of making Plays
   Was to content the People; and their praise
   Was to the Poet Money, Wine, and Bays.
But in this Age, a Sect of Writers are,
   That, only, for particular likings care,
   And will taste nothing that is popular.
With such we mingle neither Brains nor Breasts;
   Our wishes, like to those make publick Feasts,
   Are not to please the Cooks taste, but the Guests.
Yet, if those cunning Palates hither come.
   They shall find Guests entreaty, and good room;
   And though all relish not, sure there will be some,
That, when they leave their Seats, shall make 'em say,
   Who wrot that Piece, could so have wrot a Play:
   But that, he knew, this was the better way.
For, to present all Custard, or all Tart,
   And have no other Meats to bear a part,
   Or to want Bread, and Salt, were but course Art.
The Poet prays you then, with better thought
   To sit; and, when his Cates are all in brought,
   Though there be none far-fet, there will dear-bought
Be fit for Ladies: some for Lords, Knights, Squires;
   Some for your waiting Wench, and City-wires;
   Some for your Men, and Daughters of White-Friers.
Nor is it, only, while you keep your Seat
   Here, that his Feast will last; but you shall eat
   A week at Ordinaries, on his broken Meat:
                 If his Muse be true,
                 Who commends her to you.
Another.

T
HE ends of all, who for the Scene do write,
   Are, or should be, to Profit, and Delight.
And still't hath been the praise of all best times,
   So Persons were not touch'd, to tax the Crimes.
Then, in this Play, which we present to Night,
   And make the Object of your Ear, and Sight,
On forfeit of your selves, think nothing true:
   Lest so you make the maker to judge you;
For he knows, Poet never Credit gain'd
   By writing Truths, but things (like Truths) well fain'd.
If any, yet, will (with particular slight
   Of application) wrest what he doth write;
And that he meant, or him, or her, will say:
   They make a Libel, which he made a Play.

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Act I.    Scene I.

Cleremont, Boy, True-wit.

H
A' you got the Song yet perfect I ga' you, Boy?
[He comes out making himself ready.

   Boy. Yes, Sir.
   Cler. Let me hear it.
   Boy. You shall, Sir; but i' faith let no body else.
   Cler. Why, I pray?
   Boy. It will get you the dangerous name of a Poet
in Town, Sir; besides, me a perfect deal of ill will at
the Mansion you wot of, whose Lady is the argument
of it, where now I am the welcomst thing under a Man
that comes there.
   Cler. I think, and above a Man too, if the truth were
rackt out of you.
   Boy. No faith, I'll confess before, Sir. The Gentle-
women play with me, and throw me o' the Bed; and
carry me into my Lady; and she kisses me with her
oil'd Face; and puts a Perruke o' my Head; and asks
me an' I will wear her Gown? and I say, no: and then
she hits me a blow o' the Ear, and calls me Innocent,
and lets me go.
   Cler. No marvel, if the Door be kept shut against
your Master, when the entrance is so easie to you —
well, Sir, you shall go there no more, lest I be fain to
seek your Voice in my Ladies Rushes, a fortnight hence.
[Boy sings.
Sing, Sir.
   Tru. Why, here's the Man that can melt away his
time, and never feels it! what, between his Mistris
abroad, and his Engle at home, high Fare, soft Lodg-
ing, fine Clothes, and his Fiddle; he thinks the Hours
ha' no Wings, or the Day no Post-horse. Well, Sir Gal-
lant, were you struck with the Plague this minute, or
condemn'd to any capital Punishment to morrow, you
would begin then to think, and value every Particle
o' your time, esteem it at the true rate, and give all
for't.
   Cler. Why what should a Man do?
   Tru. Why, nothing: or that, which when 'tis done,
is as idle. Hearken after the next Horse-race, or Hunt-
ing-match; lay Wagers, praise Puppy, or Pepper-corn,
White-foot, Franklin; swear upon White-mains party;
speak aloud, that my Lords may hear you; visit my
Ladies at Night, and be able to give 'em the Character
of every Bowler or Bettor o' the Green. These be the
things, wherein your fashionable Men exercise them-
selves, and I for company.

Cler. Nay,


184 The Silent Woman.               

   Cler. Nay, if I have thy Authority, I'll not leave yet.
Come, the other are considerations, when we come to
have grey Heads, and weak Hams, moist Eyes, and shrunk
Members. We'll think on 'em then; then wee'l pray,
and fast.
   Tru. I, and destine only that time of age to good-
ness, which our want of Ability will not let us employ
in evil?
   Cler. Why, then 'tis time enough.
   Tru. Yes; as if a Man should sleep all the term, and
think to effect his business the last day, O, Clerimont,
this time, because it is an incorporeal thing, and not
subject to Sense, we mock our selves the fineliest out
of it, with vanity, and misery indeed: not seeking an
end of wretchedness, but only changing the matter
still.
   Cler. Nay, thou'lt not leave now —
   Tru. See but our common Disease! with what Justice
can we complain, that great Men will not look upon
us, nor be at leisure to give our Affairs such dispatch, as
we expect, when we will never do it to our selves: not
hear, nor regard our selves.
   Cler. Foh, thou hast read Plutarchs Morals, now, or
some such tedious fellow; and it shows so vilely with
thee: 'Fore God, 'twill spoil thy wit utterly. Talk me
of Pins, and Feathers, and Ladies, and Rushes, and such
things: and leave this Stoicitie alone, 'till thou mak'st
Sermons.
   Tru. Well, Sir; If it will not take, I have learn'd to
loose as little of my kindness, as I can. I'll do good to
no Man against his will, certainly. When were you at
the Colledge?
   Cler. What Colledge?
   Tru. As if you knew not!
   Cler. No faith, I came but from Court yesterday.
   Tru. Why, is it not arriv'd there yet, the news? A
new Foundation, Sir, here i' the Town, of Ladies, that
call themselves the Collegiates, an order between Cour-
tiers and Country-Madams, that live from their Hus-
bands; and give entertainment to all the Wits, and Bra-
veries o' the time, as they call 'em: cry down, or up,
what they like, or dislike in a Brain or a Fashion, with
most Masculine, or rather Hermaphroditical Authority:
and every day gain to their Colledge some new Proba-
tioner.
   Cler. Who is the President?
   Tru. The grave and youthful Matron, the Lady
Haughty.
   Cler. A pox of her autumnal Face, her peic'd Beauty:
there's no Man can be admitted till she be ready, now
adays, till she has painted, and perfum'd, and washt, and
scour'd, but the Boy here; and him she wipes her oil'd
Lips upon, like a Sponge. I have made a Song, I pr'y
thee hear it, o' the subject.

S O N G.

S
Till to be neat, still to be drest,
 As you were going to a Feast;
Still to be powd'red, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though Arts hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, Hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' Adulteries of Art;
They strike mine Eyes, but not my Heart.

   Tru. And I am clearly o' the other side: I love a good
Dressing before any Beauty o' the World. O, a Wo-
man is then like a delicate Garden; nor is there one

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kind of it: she may vary every hour; take often
counsel of her Glass, and chuse the best. If she have
good Ears, show 'em; good Hair, lay it out; good Legs,
wear short Cloathes; a good Hand, discover it often;
practise any Art to mend Breath, clense Teeth, repair
Eye-brows, paint, and profess it.
   Cler. How? publickly?
   Tru. The doing of it, not the manner: that must be
private. Many things, that seem foul i' the doing, do
please, done. A Lady should, indeed, study her Face,
when we think she sleeps: nor, when the Doors are
shut, should Men be inquiring; all is sacred within,
then. Is it for us to see their Perrukes put on, their false
Teeth, their Complexion, their Eye-brows, their Nails?
you see Guilders will not work, but inclos'd. They
must not discover, how little serves, with the help of
Art, to adorn a great deal. How long did the Canvas
hang afore Ald-gate? were the People suffer'd to see the
Cities Love and Charity, while they were rude Stone,
before they were painted and burnish'd? no: No more
should Servants approach their Mistrisses but when they
are compleat, and finish'd.
   Cler. Well said, my True-wit.
   Tru. And a wise Lady will keep a guard always
upon the place, that she may do things securely. I
once followed a rude Fellow into a Chamber where the
poor Madam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her
Perruke, to cover her baldness: and put it on the wrong
way.
   Cler. O prodigie!
   Tru. And the unconscionable Knave held her in com-
plement an Hour with that reverst Face, when I still
look'd when she should talk from the tother side.
   Cler. Why? thou shouldst ha' reliev'd her.
   Tru. No faith, I let her alone, as we'll let this argu-
ment, if you please, and pass to another. When saw
you Dauphine Eugene?
   Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this
Morning? he is very melancholick, I hear.
   Tru. Sick o' the Uncle? is he? I met that stiff piece
of formality, his Uncle, yesterday, with a huge Turbant
of Night-caps on his Head, buckled over his Ears.
   Cler. O, that's his custom when he walks abroad. He
can endure no noise, Man.
   Tru. So I have heard. But is the Disease so ridicu-
lous in him as it is made? they say he has been upon
divers Treaties with the Fish-wives, and Orange-women;
and Articles propounded between them: marry, the
Chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in.
   Cler. No, nor the Broom-men: they stand out stifly.
He cannot endure a Costard-monger, he swoons if he
hear one.
   Tru. Methinks a Smith should be ominous.
   Cler. Or any Hammer-man. A Brasier is not suffer'd
to dwell in the Parish, nor an Armorer. He would have
hang'd a Pewterers 'Prentice once on a Shrove-Tuesdays
Riot, for being o' that Trade, when the rest were quiet.
   Tru. A Trumpet would fright him terribly, or the
Hau'boys.
   Cler. Out of his Senses. The Waights of the City
have a Pension of him not to come near that Ward.
This youth practis'd on him one Night like the Bell-
man; and never left till he had brought him down to
the Door, with a long Sword: and there left him flou-
rishing with the Air.
   Boy. Why, Sir? he hath chosen a Street to lie in, so
narrow at both ends, that it will receive no Coaches,
nor Carts, nor any of these common noises: and
therefore, we that love him, devise to bring him such as
we may, now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him.
He would grow resty else in his ease: his Vertue would
rust without action. I entreated a Bareward, one day,
to come down with the Dogs of some four Parishes
that way, and I thank him he did; and cried his Games
under        


         The Silent Woman. 185

under Master Morose's Window: till he was sent crying
away, with his Head made a most bleeding Spectacle to
the multitude. And, another time, a Fencer, going to
his Prize, had his Drum most tragically run through,
for taking that Street in his way, at my request.
   Tru. A good wag. How does he for the Bells?
   Cle. O, i' the Queens time, he was wont to go out of
Town every Saturday at ten a Clock, or on Holy-day
Eves. But now, by reason of the sickness, the perpe-
tuity of ringing has made him devise a Room, with
double Walls, and treble Cielings; the Windows close
shut and calk'd: and there he lives by Candlelight. He
turn'd away a Man, last Week, for having a Pair of
new Shooes that creak'd. And this Fellow waits on
him now in Tennis-court Socks, or Slippers soald with
Wooll: and they talk each to other in a Trunk. See,
who comes here.

Act I.    Scene II.

Dauphine, True-with, Clerimont.

H
Ow now! what ail you Sirs? dumb?
   Tru. Struck into Stone, almost, I am here, with
Tales o' thine Uncle! There was never such a Prodigy
heard of.
   Dau. I would you would once lose this Subject, my
Masters, for my sake. They are such as you are, that
have brought me into that Predicament I am with him.
   Tru. How is that?
   Dau. Marry, that he will dis-inherit me. No more.
He thinks, I, and my Company are Authors of all the
ridiculous Acts and Mon'ments are told of him.
   Tru. 'Slid, I would be the Author of more to vex
him; that purpose deserves it: it gives the Law of
plagueing him. I'll tell thee what I would do. I would
make a false Almanack, get it printed: and then ha'
him drawn out on a Coronation day to the Tower-
wharf, and kill him with the noyse of the Ordinance.
Disinherit thee! he cannot, Man. Art not thou next of
Blood, and his Sisters Son?
   Dau. I, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry.
   Tru. How! that's a more portent. Can he endure no
noyse, and will venture on a Wife?
   Cle. Yes, why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his
best trick, yet. He has imploy'd a Fellow this half year,
all over England, to harken him out a dumb Woman;
be she of any Form, or any Quality, so she be able to
bear Children: her silence is Dowry enough, he says.
   Tru. But I trust to God he has found none.
   Cle. No, but he has heard of one that's lodg'd i' the
next Street to him, who is exceedingly soft spoken;
thrifty of her Speech; that spends but six words a day.
And her he's about now, and shall have her.
   Tru. Is't possible! who is his Agent i' the business?
   Cle. Marry a Barber; an honest Fellow, one that
tells Dauphine all here.
   Tru. Why you oppress me with wonder! A Woman,
and a Barber, and love no noise!
   Cle. Yes faith. The Fellow trims him silently, and
has not the knack with his Sheers or his Fingers: and
that continency in a Barber he thinks so eminent a Ver-
ture, as it has made him chief of his Counsel.
   Tru. Is the Barber to be seen? or the Wench?
   Cle. Yes that they are.
   Tru. I pr'y thee Duuphine, let's go thither.
   Dau. I have some business now: I cannot i' faith.
   Tru. You shall have no business shall make you neg-
lect this, Sir: we'll make her talk, believe it; or if she
will not, we can give out, at least so much as shall in-
terrupt the treaty: we will break it. Thou art bound
in Conscience, when he suspects thee without cause, to
torment him.
   Dau. Not I, by any means. I'll give no suffrage to't.
He shall never ha' that Plea against me, that I oppos'd

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the least Phant'sie of his. Let it lye upon my Stars to
be guilty, I'll be innocent.
   Tru. Yes, and be poor, and beg; do, Innocent: when
some Groom of his has got him an Heir, or this Barber,
if he himself cannot. Innocent. I pr'y thee, Ned,
where lies she? let him be innocent still.
   Cle. Why right over against the Barbers; in the
House where Sir John Daw lyes.
   Tru. You not mean to confound me!
   Cle. Why?
   Tru. Does he that would marry her know so much?
   Cle. I cannot tell.
   Tru. 'Twere enough of imputation to her with him.
   Cle. Why?
   Tru. The only talking Sir i' the Town! Jack Daw!
And he teach her not to speak, God b' w' you. I have
some business too.
   Cle. Will you not go thither then?
   Tru. Not with the danger to meet Daw, for mine Ears.
   Cle. Why? I thought you two had been upon very
good Terms.
   Tru. Yes, of keeping distance.
   Cle. They say, he is a very good Scholler.
   Tru. I, and he says it first. A pox on him, a Fellow
that pretends only to Learning, buys Titles, and no-
thing else of Books in him.
   Cle. The World reports him to be very learned.
   Tru. I am sorry, the World should so conspire to be-
lye him.
   Cle. Good faith, I have heard very good things come
from him.
   Tru, You may. There's none so desperately ignorant
to deny that: would they were his own. God b' w'
you Gentleman.
   Gle.Cle. This is very abrupt!

Act I.    Scene III.

Dauphine, Clerimont, Boy.

C
Ome, you are a strange open Man, to tell every
 thing thus.
   Cle. Why, believe it Dauphine, True wits a very honest
Fellow.
   Dau. I think no other: but this frank nature of his is not
for secrets.
   Cle. Nay then, you are mistaken Dauphine: I know
where he has been well trusted, and discharg'd the trust
very truely, and heartily.
   Dau. I contend not; Ned; but, with the fewer a bu-
siness is carried, it is ever the safer. Now we are alone,
if you'll go thither, I am for you.
   Cle. When were you there?
   Dau. Last night: and such a decameron of sport fallen out,
Boccace never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but
court her: and the wrong way. He would lye with her,
and praises her modesty; desires that she would talk, and
be free, and commends her silence in Verses; which he
reads, and swears, are the best that ever Man made. Then
rails at his Fortunes, Stamps, and Mutines, why he is not
made a Counsellor, and call'd to affairs of State.
   Cle. I pr'y thee let's go. I would fain partake this. Some
Water, Boy.
   Dau. We are invited to Dinner together, he and I, by
one that came thither to him, Sir La-Foole.
   Cle. O, that's a precious Mannikin.
   Dau. Do you know him?
   Cle. I, and he will know you too, if ere he saw you but
once, though you should meet him at Church in the midst
of Prayers. He is one of the Braveries, though he be none
o' the Wits. He will salute a Judge upon the Bench, and a
Bishop in the Pulpit, a Lawyer when he is pleading at the
Bar, and a Lady when she is dancing in a Masque, and
put her out. He does give Plays, and Suppers, and invites
B b                                   his            


186 The Silent Woman.               

his Guests to 'em, aloud out of his Window, as they ride by
in Coaches. He has a Lodging in the Strand for the pur-
pose: or to watch when Ladies are gone to the China
Houses, or the Exchange, that he may meet 'em by
chance, and give 'em Presents, some Two or three hun-
dred Pounds worth of Toys, to be laught at. He is never
without a spare-banquet, or Sweet-meats in his Chamber,
their Women to alight at, and come up to for a Bait.
   Dau. Excellent! He was a fine Youth last night, but now
he is much finer! what is his Christen Name? I ha' forgot.
   Cle. Sir Amorous La-foole.
   Boy. The Gentleman is here that owns that Name.
   Cle. Heart, he's come to invite me to Dinner, I hold
my Life.
   Dau. Like enough: pr'y thee let's ha' him up.
   Cle. Boy, marshal him.
   Boy. With a Truncheon, Sir?
   Cle. Away, I beseech you. I'll make him tell us his
Pedegree, now; and what Meat he has to Dinner; and
who are his Guests; and, the whole course of his For-
tunes with a breath.

Act I.    Scene IV.

La-Foole, Clerimont, Dauphine.

S
Ave dear Sir Dauphine, honour'd Master Clerimont.
   Cle. Sir Amorous! you have very much honested my
Lodging, with your presence.
   La-F. Good faith, it is a fine Lodging! almost, as de-
licate a Lodging as mine.
   Cle. Not so, Sir.
   La-F. Excuse me, Sir, if it were i' the Strand, I as-
sure you. I am come, Master Clerimont, to intreat you
wait upon two or three Ladies, to Dinner, to day.
   Cle. How Sir! wait upon 'em? did you ever see me
carry Dishes?
   La-F. No, Sir, dispence with me; I meant, to bear
'em company.
   Cle. O, that I will, Sir: the doubtfulness o' your
Phrase, believe it, Sir, would breed you a quarrel once
an hour, with the terrible Boys, if you should keep
'em fellowship a day.
   La-F. It should be extreamly against my Will, Sir, if
I contested with any Man.
   Cle. I believe it, Sir; where hold you your Feast?
   La-F. At Tom Otters, Sir.
   Dau. Tom Otter? what's he?
   La-F. Captain Otter, Sir; he is a kind of Gamester,
but he has had command both by Sea and by Land.
   Dau. O, then he is animal amphibium?
   La-F. I, Sir: his Wife was the rich China-woman,
that the Courtiers visited so often; that gave the rare
Entertainment. She commands all at home.
   Cle. Then, she is Captain Otter.
   La-F. You say very well, Sir; she is my Kinswoman,
a La-Foole by the Mother-side, and will invite, any great
Ladies, for my sake.
   Dau. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex?
   La F. No, Sir, the La-Fooles of London.
   Cle. Now, he's in.
   La-F. They all come out of our House, the La-Fooles
o' the North, the La-Fooles of the West, the La-Fooles of
the East and South — we are as ancient a Family as any is
in Europe — but I my self am descended lineally of the
French La-Fooles — and, we do bear our Coat yellow, or
Or, checker'd Azure, and Gules, and some three or four
Colours more, which is a very noted Coat, and has,
sometimes, been solemnly worn by divers Nobility of our
House — but let that go, antiquity is not respected now —
I had a Brace of fat Does sent me, Gentlemen, and half a
dozen of Pheasants, a dozen or two of Godwits, and some
other Fowl, which I would have eaten, while they are
good, and in good Company — there will be a great La-
dy, or two, my Lady Haughty, my Lady Centaure, Mistris

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Dol Mavis — and they come a' purpose, to see the silent
Gentlewoman, Mistris Epicœne, that honest Sir John
Daw has promis'd to bring thither — and then, Mi-
stris Trusty, my Ladies Woman, will be there too, and
this honourable Knight, Sir Dauphine, with your self
Master Clerimont — and we'll be very merry, and have
Fidlers, and dance — I have been a mad Wag, in my
time, and have spent some Crowns since I was a Page in
Court, to my Lord Lofty, and after, my Ladies Gentle-
man Usher, who got me knighted in Ireland, since it
pleas'd my elder Brother to dye — I had as fair a Gold
Jerkin on that day, as any was worn in the Island-Voyage,
or at Cadiz, none disprais'd, and I came over in it hither,
show'd my self to my Friends in Court, and after went
down to my Tenants in the Countrey, and survei'd my
Lands, let new Leases, took their Money, spent it in the
Eye o' the Land here, upon Ladies — and now I can
take up at my pleasure.
   Dau. Can you take up Ladies, Sir?
   Cle. O, let him breath, he has not recover'd.
   Dau. Would I were your half, in that commodity.
   Cle.La-F. No, Sir, excuse me: I meant Money, which can
take up any thing. I have another Guest, or two, to
invite, and say as much to, Gentlemen. I'll take my leave
abruptly, in hope you will not fail — Your Servant.
   Dau. We will not fail you, Sir precious La-Foole; but
she shall, that your Ladies come to see: if I have credit,
afore Sir Daw.
   Cle. Did you ever hear such a Wind-sucker, as this?
   Dau. Or such a Rook as the other! that will betray
his Master to be seen. Come, 'tis time we prevented it.
   Cle. Go.


Act II.    Scene I.

Morose, Mute.

C
An not I, yet, find out a more compendious Method,
 than by this Trunk, to save my Servants the la-
bour of Speech, and mine Ears the discord of sounds?
Let me see: all Discourses but mine own afflict me,
they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksom. Is it not
possible, that thou shouldst answer me by Signs, and I
apprehend thee, Fellow? speak not though I question

At the brea-
ches still the
Fellow
makes Legs
or Signs.

you. You have taken the Ring off from the
Street Door, as I bade you? answer me not
by speech, but by silence; unless it be other-
wise ( — ) very good. And, you have fa-
stened on a thick Quilt, or Flockbed, on the
out-side of the Door; that if they knock
with their Daggers, or with Brickbats, they can make
no noyse? but with your Leg, you answer, unless it
be otherwise ( — ) very good. This is not only fit
modesty in a Servant, but good state and discretion in
a Master. And you have been with Cutberd the Barber,
to have him come to me? ( — ) good. And, he will
come presently? answer me not but with your Leg, un-
less it be otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your
Head, or shrug. ( — ) So. Your Italian, and Spainard,
are wise in these! and it is a frugal and comely Gravity.
How long will it be ere Cutberd come? stay, if an hour,
hold up your whole Hand; if half an hour, two Fingers;
if a quarter, one; ( — ) good: half a quarter? 'tis
well. And have you given him a Key, to come in with-
out knocking? ( — ) good. And, is the Lock oyl'd, and
the Hinges to day? ( — ) good. And the quilting of the
Stairs no where worn out and bare? ( — ) very good. I
see, by much Doctrine, and Impulsion, it may be effected:
stand by. The Turk, in this divine Discipline, is admira-
ble, exceeding all the Potentates of the Earth; still wait-
ed on by Mutes; and all his Commands so executed; yea,
even in the War, (as I have heard) and in his marches,
most of his Charges and Directions given by Signs,
and with silence: an exquisite Art! and I am hear-
tily                 


         The Silent Woman. 187

tily ashamed, and angry oftentimes, that the Princes of
Christendom, should suffer a Barbarian, to transcend 'em
in so high a point of Felicity. I will practise it, here-
after. How now? oh! oh! what Villain? what Pro-
digy of Mankind is that? look. Oh! cut his Throat,
cut his Throat: what Murderer, Hell-hound, Divel can
[One winds a Horn without again.
this be?
   Mut. It is a Post from the Court ———
   Mor. Out Rogue, and must thou blow thy Horn, too?
   Mut. Alass, it is a Post from the Court, Sir, that
says, he must speak you, pain of Death —
   Mor. Pain of thy Life, be silent.

Act II.    Scene II.

True-wit, Morose, Cutberd.

B
Y your leave, Sir, I am a stranger here: is your
 Name Master Morose? is your Name Master Mo-
rose? Fishes! Pythagoreans all? this is strange. What
say you, Sir, nothing? Has Harpocrates been here with
his Club, among you? well Sir, I will believe you to
be the Man at this time: I will venture upon you, Sir.
Your Friends at Court Commend 'em to you, Sir —
   (Mor. O Men! O Manners! was there ever such an
impudence?)
   Tru. And are extreamly sollicitous for you, Sir.
   Mor. Whose Knave are you!
   Tru. Mine own Knave, and your Compeer, Sir.
   Mor. Fetch me my Sword ——
   Tru. You shall taste the one half of my Dagger, if
you do (Groom) and you the other, if you stir, Sir:
be patient, I charge you, in the Kings name, and hear
me without insurrection. They say, you are to marry?
to marry! do you mark, Sir¿
   Mor. How then, rude Companion!
   Tru. Marry, your Friends do wonder, Sir, the Thames
being so neer, wherein you may drown, so handsom-
ly; or London Bridge, at a low fall, with a fine leap, to
hurry you down the Stream; or, such a delicate Steeple
i' the Town, as Bow, to vault from; or, a braver
height, as Pauls; or, if you affected to do it nearer
home, and a shorter way, an excellent Garret Window
into the Street; or, a Beam, in the said Garret, with

He shews
him a Hal-   
ter.
this Halter, which they have sent, and desire,
that you would sooner commit your Grave
Head to this Knot, than to the Wedlock Noose,
or, take a little Sublimate, and go out of the
World, like a Rat; or, a Fly (as one said) with a
Straw i' your Arse: any way, rather than to follow
this goblin Matrimony. Alas, Sir, do you ever think to
find a chaste Wife, in these times? now? when there
are so many Masques, Plays, Puritan Parlees, mad Folks,
and other strange sights to be seen, daily, private and
publick? if you had liv'd, in King Ethelred's time, Sir,
or Edward the Confessors, you might, perhaps, have
found in some cold Countrey Hamlet, then, a dull
frosty Wench, would have been contented with one
Man: now, they will as soon be pleas'd with one Leg,
or one Eye. I'll tell you, Sir, the monstrous hazards
you shall run with a Wife.
   Mor. Good Sir! have I ever cozen'd any Friends of
yours of their Land? bought their Possessions? taken
forfeit of their Mortgage? beg'd a Reversion from
'em? bastarded their Issue? what have I done, that
may deserve this?
   Tru. Nothing, Sir, that I know, but your Itch of
Marriage.
   Mor. Why? if I had made an assassinate upon
your Father; vitiated your Mother: ravished your
Sisters ———
   Tru. I would kill you, Sir, I would kill you, if you
had.
   Mor. Why? you do more in this, Sir: it were a ven-

[column break]

geance centuple, for all facinorous Acts, that could be
nam'd, to do that you do ———
   Tru. Alass, Sir, I am but a Messenger: I but tell you,
what you must hear. It seeems, your Friends are care-
ful after your Souls health, Sir, and would have you
know the danger (but you may do your pleasure,
for all them; I perswade not, Sir) if, after you are
married, your Wife do run away with a Vaulter, or the
Frenchman that walks upon Ropes, or him that dances
the Jig, or a Fencer, for his skill at his Weapon; why
it is not their fault; they have discharged their Con-
seiences: when you know what may happen. Nay, suf-
fer valiantly, Sir, for I must tell you, all the Perils
that you are obnoxious to. If she be fair, young, and
vegetous, no Sweet-meats ever drew more Flies; all the
yellow Doublets, and great Roses i' the Town will be
there. If foul and crooked, she'll be with them, and
buy those Doublets and Roses, Sir. If rich, and that
you marry her Dowry, not her; she'll raign in your
House, as imperious as a Widdow. If noble, all her
kindred will be your Tyrans. If fruitful, as proud as
May, as humorous as April; she must have her Do-
ctors, her Midwives, her Nurses, her Longings every
hour: though it be for the dearest Morsel of Man.
If learned, there was never such a Parrat; all your
Patrimony will be too little for the Guests that must
be invited, to hear her speak Latin and Greek: and
you must lye with her in those Languages too, if you
will please her. If precise, you must feast all the si-
lenc'd Brethren, once in three days; salute the Sisters;
entertain the whole Family, or Wood of 'em; and
hear long-winded Exercises, Singings, and Catechisings,
which you are not given to, and yet must give for; to
please the zealous Matron your Wife, who, for the
holy Cause, will cozen you over and above. You be-
gin to sweat, Sir? but this is not half, i' faith: you
may do your pleasure notwithstanding, as I said before,
I come not to perswade you. Upon my faith, Master
Serving-man, if you do stir, I will beat you.
The Mute is stealing away.

   Mor. O, What is my Sin! what is my Sin?
   Tru. Then, if you love your Wife, or rather, dote
on her, Sir: O, how she'll torture you! and take plea-
sure i' youyour Torments! you shall lye with her but when
she lists; she will not hurt her Beauty, her Complexion;
or it must be for that Jewel, or that Pearl, when she does;
every half hours pleasure must be bought anew: and
with the same pain, and charge, you woo'd her at first.
Then, you must keep what Servants she please; what
Company she will; that Friend must not visit you with-
out her License; and him she loves most, she will seem
to hate eagerliest, to decline your jealousie; or, faign
to be jealous of your first; and for that cause go live
with her she-friend, or Cousin at the Colledge, that can
instruct her in all the Mysteries of writing Letters, cor-
rupting Servants, taming Spies; where she must have
that rich Gown for such a great day; a new one for the
next; a richer for the third; be serv'd in Silver; have
the Chamber fill'd with a succession of Grooms, Foot-
men, Ushers, and other Messengers; besides Embroide-
rers, Jewellers, Tire-women, Semsters, Feather-men, Per-
fumers; while she feels not how the Land drops away;
nor the Acres melt; nor foresees the change, when the
Mercer has your Woods for her Velvets; never weighs
what her Pride costs, Sir: so she may kiss a Page, or
a smooth Chin, that has the despair of a Beard; be
a Stateswoman, know all the news, what was done
at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at Court, what in
Progress; or, so she may censure Poets, and Authors,
and Stiles, and compare 'em, Daniel with Spencer,
Johnson with the t'other Youth, and so forth; or be
thought cunning in Controversies, or the very Knots
of Divinity; and have often in her Mouth, the state of
the Question: and then skip to the Mathematicks,
B b 2                              and                             


188 The Silent Woman.               

and Demonstration and Answer, in Religion to one; in
State to another; in Baud'ry to a Third.
   Mor. O, O!
   Tru. All this is very true, Sir. And then her going in
disguise to that Conjurer, and this cunning Woman:
where the first question is, how soon you shall dye?
next; if her present Servant love her? next that if she shall
have a new Servant? and how many? which of her
Family would make the best Baud, Male, or Female?
what precedence she shall have by her next match? and
sets down the Answers, and believes 'em above the
Scriptures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the Art.
   Mor. Gentle Sir, ha' you done? ha' you had your
Pleasure o' me? I'll think of these things.
   Tru. Yes Sir: and then comes reeking home of Vapour
and Sweat, with going a foot, and lies in a Month of a
new Face, all Oyl, and Birdlime; and rises in Asses
Milk, and is clens'd with a new fucus: God b' w' you,
Sir. One thing more (which I had almost forgot.) This
too, with whom you are to marry, may have made a
conveyance of her Virginity afore hand, as your wise
Widdows do of their States, before they marry, in trust
to some Friend, Sir: who can tell? or if she have not
done it yet, she may do, upon the Wedding day, or the
night before, and antidate you Cuckold. The like has
been heard of in Nature. 'Tis no devis'd impossible thing,
Sir. God b' w' you: I'll be bold to leave this Rope with
you, Sir, for a remembrance. Farewel Mute.

The Horn   
again.
   Mor. Come, ha' me to my Chamber: but first
shut the Door. O, shut the Door, shut the
Door: Is he come again?
   Cut. 'Tis I, Sir, your Barber.
   Mor. O Cutberd, Cutberd, Cutberd! here has been a
Cut-throat with me: help me in to my Bed, and give
me Physick with thy Counsel.

Act II.    Scene III.

Daw, Clerimont, Dauphine, Epicœne.

N
Ay, an' she will, let her refuse, at her own Char-
 ges: 'tis nothing to me, Gentlemen. But she will
not be invited to the like Feasts or Guests every day.

They di-
swade her,
privately.   
   Cle. O, by no means, she may not refuse —
to stay at home, if you love your Reputa-
tion: 'Slight, you are invited thither o' purpose
to be seen, and laught at by the Lady of the
Colledge, and her Shadows. This Trumpeter hath pro-
claim'd you.
   Dau. You shall not go; let him be laught at in your
stead, for not bringing you: and put him to his extem-
poral faculty of fooling, and talking loud to satisfie the
Company.
   Cle. He will suspect us, talk aloud. 'Pray Mistris Epi-
cœne, let's see your Verses, we have Sir John Daw's
leave: do not conceal your Servants Merit, and your
own Glories.
   Epi. They'll prove my Servants Glories, if you have
his leave so soon.
   Dau. His vain Glories, Lady!
   Daw. Shew 'em, shew 'em, Mistris, I dare own 'em.
   Epi. Judge you, what Glories?
   Daw. Nay, I'll read 'em my self, too: an Author
must recite his own works. It is a madrigal of modesty.
            Modest, and fair, for fair and good are neer
                                            Neighbours, how ere. —
   Dau. Very good.
   Cle. I, Is't not?
   Daw.   No noble vertue ever was alone,
                                       But two in one.
   Dau. Excellent!
   Cle. That again, I pray Sir John.
   Dau. It has something in't like rare Wit and Sense.
   Cle. Peace.

[column break]

No noble Vertue ever was alone,
                            But two in one.
Then, when I praise sweet modesty, I praise
                                    Bright Beauties Rais:
And having prais'd both Beauty and Modestee,        
                                 I have prais'd thee.
   Daw.





   Dau. Admirable!
   Cle. How it chimes, and crys tink i' the close, di-
vinely!
   Dau. I, 'tis Seneca.
   Cle. No, I think 'tis Plutarch.
   Daw. The Dor on Plutarch and Seneca, I hate it: they
are mine own Imaginations, by that light. I wonder
those Fellows have such credit with Gentlemen!
   Cle. They are very grave Authors.
   Daw. Grave Asses! meer Essayists! a few loose Senten-
ces, and that's all. A Man would talk so, his whole
Age; I do utter as good things every Hour, if they were
collected and observ'd, as either of 'em.
   Dau. Indeed! Sir John?
   Cle. He must needs, living among the Wits and Bra-
veries too.
   Dau. I, and being President of 'em, as he is.
   Daw. There's Aristotle, a meer Common-place Fel-
low; Plato, a discourser; Thucidides, and Livie, tedi-
ous and dry; Tacitus, an entire knot: sometimes worth
the untying, very seldom.
   Cle. What do you think of the Poets, Sir John?
   Daw. Not worthy to be nam'd for Authors. Homer,
an old tedious prolix Ass, talks of Curriers, and Chines
of Beef. Virgil, of Dunging of Land, and Bees. Ho-
race, of I know not what.
   Cle. I think so.
   Daw. And so Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, Catullus,
Seneca the Tragœdian, Lucan, Propertius, Tibullus, Mar-
tial, Juvenal, Ausonius, Statius, Politian, Valerius Flac-
cus, and the rest ——
   Cle. What a Sack full of their names he has got!
   Dau. And how he pours 'em out! Politian, with Valeri-
us Flaccus!
   Cle. Was not the Character right of him?
   Dau. As could be made, i' faith.
   Daw. And Persius, a crabbed Cockscom, not to be en-
dur'd.
   Dau. Why? whom do you account for Authors, Sir
John Daw?
   Daw. Syntagma Juris civilis, Corpus Juris civilis, Cor-
pus Juris canonici, the King of Spains Bible.
   Dau. Is the King of Spains Bible an Author?
   Cle. Yes, and Syntagma.
   Dau. What was that Syntagma, Sir?
   Daw. A civil Lawyer, a Spaniard.
   Daw.Dau. Sure, Corpus was a Dutch man.
   Cle. I, both the Corpusses, I knew 'em: they were ve-
ry corpulent Authors.
   Daw. And, then there's Vatablus, Pomponatius, Syman-
cha; the other are not to be receiv'd, within the thought
of a Scholler.
   Dau. 'Fore God, you have a simple learn'd Servant,
Lady, in Titles.
   Cle. I wonder that he is not called to the Helm, and
made a Councellor!
   Dau. He is one extraordinary.
   Cle. Nay, but in ordinary! to say truth, the State
wants such.
   Dau. Why, that will follow.
   Cle. I muse a Mistris can be so silent to the dotes of
such a Servant.
   Daw. 'Tis her Vertue, Sir. I have written somewhat
of her silence too.
   Dau. In Verse, Sir John?
   Cle. What else?
   Dau. Why? how can you justifie your own being
of a Poet, that so slight all the old Poets?
Daw. Why?                           


         The Silent Woman. 189

   Daw. Why, every Man that writes in Verse, is not a
Poet; you have of the Wits that write Verses, and yet
are no Poets: They are Poets that live by it, the poor
Fellows that live by it.
   Dau. Why, would not you live by your Verses, Sir
John?
   Cle. No, 'twere pity he should. A Knight live by his
Verses! He did not make 'em to that end, I hope.
   Dau. And yet the Noble Sidney lives by his, and the
Noble Family not asham'd.
   Cle. I, he profest himself; but Sir John Daw has more
Caution: He'll not hinder his own rising i' the State so
much! Do you think he will? Your Verses, good Sir
John, are no Poems.
   Daw.     Silence in Woman, is like Speech in Man;
                                                  Deny't who can.
   Dau. Not I, believe it: your Reason, Sir.
   Daw.                                       Nor is't a Tale,
                That Female Vice should be a Vertue Male,
                Or Masculine Vice a Female Vertue be:
                                                  You shall it see
                                                  Prov'd with increase;
                I know to speak, and she to hold her peace.
Do you conceive me, Gentlemen?
   Dau. No, faith; how mean you with increase, Sir
John?
   Daw. Why, with increase is, when I court her for the
Common Cause of Mankind, and she says nothing but
consentire videtur; and in time is gravida.
   Dau. Then this is a Ballad of Procreation?
   Cle. A Madrigal of Procreation; you mistake.
   Epi. 'Pray give me my Verses again, Servant.
   Daw. If you'll ask 'em aloud, you shall.
   Cle. See, here's True-wit again!

Act II.    Scene IV.

Clerimont, True-wit, Dauphine, Cutberd, Daw, Epicœne.

W
Here hast thou been, in the name of Madness!
 thus accoutred with thy Horn?
   Tru. Where the Sound of it might have pierc'd your
Senses with Gladness, had you been in Ear-reach of it.
Dauphine, fall down and worship me; I have forbid the
Banes, Lad: I have been with thy vertuous Uncle, and
have broke the Match.
   Dau. You ha' not, I hope.
   Tru. Yes, faith; an' thou should'st hope otherwise, I
should repent me: This Horn got me entrance; kiss it.
I had no other way to get in, but by feigning to be a
Post; but when I got in once, I prov'd none, but ra-
ther the contrary, turn'd him into a Post, or a Stone, or
what is stiffer, with thundring into him the Incommodi-
ties of a Wife, and the Miseries of Marriage. If ever
Gorgon were seen in the shape of a Woman, he hath
seen her in my Description. I have put him off o' that
scent for ever. Why do you not applaud and adore
me, Sirs? why stand you mute? Are you stupid? You
are not worthy o' the Benefit.
   Dau. Did not I tell you? Mischief! —
   Cle. I would you had plac'd this Benefit somewhere
else.
   Tru. Why so?
   Cle. 'Slight, you have done the most inconsiderate,
rash, weak thing, that ever Man did to his Friend.
   Dau. Friend! If the most malicious Enemy I have,
had studied to inflict an Injury upon me, it could not be
a greater.
   Tru. Wherein, for Gods-sake? Gentlemen, come to
your selves again.
   Dau. But I presag'd thus much afore to you.
   Cle. Would my Lips had been solder'd when I spake
on't. 'Slight, what mov'd you to be thus impertinent?
   Tru. My Masters, do not put on this strange Face to

[column break]

pay my Courtesie: off with this Vizor. Have good
turns done you, and thank 'em this way?
   Dau. 'Fore Heav'n, you have undone me. That which
I have plotted for, and been maturing now these four
Months, you have blasted in a Minute: Now I am lost,
I may speak. This Gentlewoman was lodg'd here by
me o' purpose, and, to be put upon my Uncle, hath pro-
fest this obstinate Silence for my sake, being my entire
Friend, and one that for the requital of such a Fortune
as to marry him, would have made me very ample
Conditions; where now, all my Hopes are utterly mis-
carried, by this unlucky Accident.
   Cle. Thus 'tis, when a Man will be ignorantly offici-
ous, do Services, and not know his Why: I wonder what
courteous Itch possest you! You never did absurder
Part i' your life, nor a greater Trespass to FrienshipFriendship or
Humanity.
   Dau. Faith, you may forgive it best; 'twas your Cause
principally.
   Cle. I know it, would it had not.
   Dau. How now Cutberd? what News?
   Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, Sir. There
has been a mad Gentleman with your Uncle this morn-
ing, (I think this be the Gentleman) that has almost
talk'd him out of his Wits, with threatning him from
Marriage —
   Dau. On, I pr'y thee.
   Cut. And your Uncle, Sir, he thinks 'twas done by
your procurement; therefore he will see the Party you
wot of presently; and if he like her, he says, and that
she be so inclining to dumb, as I have told him, he
swears he will marry her to day, instantly, and not defer
it a minute longer.
   Dau. Excellent! beyond our expectation!
   Tru. Beyond our expectation! By this Light, I knew
it would be thus.
   Dau. Nay, sweet True-wit, forgive me.
   Tru. No, I was ignorantly officious, impertinent: this
was the absurd, weak Part.
   Cle. Wilt thou ascribe that to Merit now, was meer
Fortune?
   Tru. Fortune! meer Providence. Fortune had not a
Finger in't. I saw it must necessarily in Nature fall out
so: My Genius is never false to me in these things. Shew
me how it could be otherwise.
   Dau. Nay, Gentlemen, contend not, 'tis well now.
   Tru. Alas, I let him go on with inconsiderate, and
rash, and what he pleas'd.
   Cle. Away, thou strange Justifier of thy self, to be
wiser than thou wert, by the Event.
   Tru. Event! By this Light, thou shalt never perswade
me, but I foresaw it, as well as the Stars themselves.
   Dau. Nay, Gentlemen, 'tis well now: Do you two
entertain Sir John Daw with Discourse, while I send her
away with Instructions.
   Tru. I'll be acquainted with her first, by your favour.
   Cle. Master True-wit, Lady, a Friend of ours.
   Tru. I am sorry I have not known you sooner, Lady,
to celebrate this rare Vertue of your Silence.
   Cle. Faith, an' you had come sooner, you should ha'
seen and heard her well celebrated in Sir John Daw's
Madrigals.
   Tru. Jack Daw, God save you; when saw you La-
Fool?
   Daw. Not since last night, Master True-wit.
   Tru. That's a Miracle! I thought you two had been
inseparable.
   Daw. He's gone to invite his Guests.
   Tru. Gods so! 'tis true! What a false Memory have I
towards that Man! I am one: I met him ev'n now,
upon that he calls his delicate fine black Horse, rid into
a Foam, with posting from place to place, and Person to
Person, to give 'em the Cue —
   Cle. Lest they should forget?
Tru. Yes:       


190 The Silent Woman.               

   Tru. Yes: There was never poor Captain took
more pains at a Muster to shew Men, than he, at this
Meal, to shew Friends.
   Daw. It is his Quarter-Feast, Sir.
   Cle. What! do you say so, Sir John?
   Tru. Nay, Jack Daw will not be out, at the best
Friends he has, to the Talent of his Wit: VVhere's his
Mistriss, to hear and applaud him? Is she gone?
   Daw. Is Mistriss Epicœne gone?
   Cle. Gone afore, with Sir Dauphine, I warrant, to the
Place.
   Tru. Gone afore! That were a manifest Injury, a
Disgrace and a half; to refuse him at such a Festival-
time as this, being a Bravery, and a Wit too.
   Cle. Tut, he'll swallow it like Cream: He's better
read in Jure Civili, than to esteem any thing a Disgrace
is offer'd him from a Mistriss.
   Daw. Nay, let her e'en go; she shall sit alone, and be
dumb in her Chamber a Week together, for John
Daw, I warrant her: Does she refuse me.
   Cle. No, Sir, do not take it so to heart: she does not
refuse you, but a little neglect you. Good faith, True-
wit, you were to blame, to put it into his Head, that
she does refuse him.
   Tru. Sir, she does refuse him palpably, however you
mince it. An' I were as he, I would swear to speak
ne'er a word to her to day for't.
   Daw. By this Light, no more I will not.
   Tru. Nor to any body else, Sir.
   Daw. Nay, I will not say so, Gentlemen.
   Cle. It had been an excellent happy Condition for the
Company, if you could have drawn him to it.
   Daw. I'll be very melancholick, i' faith.
   Cle. As a Dog, if I were as you, Sir John.
   Tru. Or a Snail, or a Hog-louse: I would roll my self
up for this day in troth, they should not unwind
me.
   Daw. By this Pick-tooth, so I will.
   Cle. 'Tis well done: He begins already to be angry
with his Teeth.
   Daw. Will you go, Gentlemen?
   Cle. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right me-
lancholick, Sir John.
   Tru. Yes, Sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off.
   Cle. Was there ever such a two Yards of Knighthood
measur'd out by Time, to be sold to Laughter?
   Tru. A meer talking Mole! hang him: No Mushrom
was ever so fresh. A Fellow so utterly nothing, as he
knows not what he would be.
   Cle. Let's follow him: but first, les'slet's go to Dauphine,
he's hovering about the House, to hear what News.
   Tru. Content.

Act II.    Scene V.

Morose, Epicœne, Cutberd, Mute.

W
Elcome Cutberd; draw near with your fair
 Charge: and in her Ear, softly intreat her to un-
mask ( — ) So. Is the Door shut? ( — ) Enough.
Now, Cutberd, with the same Discipline I use to my Fa-
mily, I will question you. As I conceive, Cutberd, this
Gentlewoman is she you have provided, and brought, in
hope she will fit me in the Place and Person of a Wife?
Answer me not but with your Leg, unless it be other-
wise: ( — ) Very well done, Cutberd. I conceive be-
sides, Cutberd, you have been pre-acquainted with her
Birth, Education, and Qualities, or else you would not
prefer her to my Acceptance, in the weighty Conse-
quence of Marriage. ( — ) This I conceive, Cutberd.
Answer me not but with your Leg, unless it be other-

He goes about her,   
and views her.
wise. ( — ) Very well done, Cutberd.
Give aside now a little, and leave me
to examine her condition, and aptitude

[column break]

to my Affection. She is exceeding fair, and of a spe-
cial good Favour; a sweet Composition, or Harmony
of Limbs; her temper of Beauty has the true height
of my Blood. The Knave hath exceedingly well fit-
ted me without: I will now try her within. Come
near, fair Gentlewoman; let not my Behaviour seem

She curtsies.            
rude, though unto you, being rare, it may
haply appear strange. ( — ) Nay, Lady,
you may speak, though Cutberd and my Man might
not; for of all Sounds, only the sweet Voice of a fair
Lady has the just length of mine Ears. I beseech you,
say, Lady, out of the first Fire of meeting Eyes (they
say) Love is stricken: Do you feel any such Motion sud-

Curtsie.            
denly shot into you, from any Part you see in
me? ha, Lady? ( — ) Alas, Lady, these An-
swers by silent Curtsies from you, are too courtless and
simple. I have ever had my Breeding in Court; and
she that shall be my Wife, must be accomplished with
courtly and audacious Ornaments. Can you speak,
Lady?
[She speaks softly.
   Epi. Judge you, Forsooth.
   Mor. What say you , Lady? Speak out, I beseech you.
   Epi. Judge you, Forsooth.
   Mor. O' my Judgment, a Divine Softness! But can
you naturally, Lady, as I enjoin these by Doctrine and
Industry, refer your self to the search of my Judgment,
and (not taking pleasure in your Tongue, which is a
Womans chiefest Pleasure) think it plausible to answer

Curtsie.            
me by silent Gestures, so long as my Speeches
jump right with what you conceive? ( —— )
Excellent! Divine! If it were possible she should hold
out thus! Peace Cutberd, thou art made for ever, as thou
hast made me, if this Felicity have lasting: but I will
try her further. Dear Lady, I am courtly, I tell you,
and I must have mine Ears Banquetted with pleasant
and witty Conferences, pretty Girds, Scoffs, and Dalli-
ance in her, that I mean to chuse for my Bed-pheere.
The Ladies in Court think it a most desperate impair to
their quickness of Wit, and good Carriage, if they can-
not give occasion for a Man to court 'em; and when an
amorous Discourse is set on foot, minister as good Mat-
ter to continue it, as himself: and do you alone so
much differ from all them, that what they (with so
much circumstance) affect and toil for, to seem learn'd,
to seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can
bury in your self with silence, and rather trust your
Graces to the fair Conscience of Vertue, than to the
Worlds or your own Proclamation.
   Epi. I should be sorry else.
   Mor. What say you, Lady? Good Lady, speak out.
   Epi. I should be sorry else.
   Mor. That Sorrow doth fill me with Gladness. O
Morose! thou art happy above Mankind! Pray that thou
maist contain thy self. I will only put her to it once
more, and it shall be with the utmost Touch and Test
of their Sex. But hear me, fair Lady; I do also love
to see her whom I shall chuse for my Heifer, to be the
first and principal in all Fashions, precede all the Dames
at Court by a Fortnight, have her Council of Taylors,
Linneners, Lace-women, Embroiderers, and sit with 'em
sometimes twice a day upon French Intelligences, and
then come forth varied like Nature, or oftner than she,
and better, by the help of Art, her emulous Servant.
This do I affect: And how will you be able, Lady, with
this frugality of Speech, to give the manifold (but ne-
cessary) Instructions, for that Bodies, these Sleeves, those
Skirts, this Cut, that Stich, this Embroidery, that Lace,
this Wyre, those Knots, that Ruff, those Roses, this Gir-
dle, that Fan, the tother Scarf, these Gloves? Ha!
what say you, Lady?
   Epi. I'll leave it to you, Sir.
   Mor. How, Lady? pray you rise a Note.
   Epi. I leave it to Wisdom, and you, Sir.
   Mor. Admirable Creature! I will trouble you no
more:                     


         The Silent Woman. 191

more: I will not sin against so sweet a Simplicity. Let me
now be bold to print on those divine Lips the Seal of be-
ing mine. Cutberd, I give thee the Lease of thy House free;
thank me not, but with thy Leg. ( — ) I know what
thou would'st say, She's poor, and her Friends deceased;
she has brought a wealthy Dowry in her Silence, Cutberd;
and in respect of her Poverty, Cutberd, I shall have her
more loving and obedient, Cutberd. Go thy ways, and
get me a Minister presently, with a soft low Voice, to
marry us; and pray him he will not be impertinent, but
brief as he can; away: softly, Cutberd. Sirrah, con-
duct your Mistriss into the Dining-room, your now-
Mistriss. O my Felicity! How shall I be reveng'd on
mine insolent Kinsman, and his Plots, to fright me from
marrying! This Night I will get an Heir, and thrust
him out of my Blood, like a Stranger. He would be
Knighted, forsooth, and thought by that means to reign
over me, his Title must do it: No, Kinsman, I will now
make you bring me the tenth Lords, and the sixteenth
Ladies Letter, Kinsman; and it shall do you no good,
Kinsman. Your Knighthood it self shall come on its
Knees, and it shall be rejected; it shall be sued for its
Fees to Execution, and not be redeem'd; it shall cheat
at the Twelve-penny Ordinary, it Knighthood, for its
Diet all the Term-time, and tell Tales for it in the Va-
cation to the Hostess; or it Knighthood shall do worse,
take Sanctuary in Coleharbor, and fast. It shall fright
all it Friends with borrowing Letters; and when one
of the fourscore hath brought it Knighthood Ten shil-
lings, it Knighthood shall go to the Cranes, or the Bear
at the Bridg-foot, and be drunk in fear; it shall not have
Money to discharge one Tavern-Reckoning, to invite
the old Creditors to forbear it Knighthood, or the new,
that should be, to trust it Knighthood. It shall be the
tenth Name in the Bond, to take up the Commodity of
Pipkins and Stone-Jugs; and the part thereof shall not
furnish it Knighthood forth for the attempting of a Ba-
kers Widow, a Brown Bakers Widow. It shall give it
Knighthoods Name, for a Stallion, to all gamesom Citi-
zens Wives, and be refus'd, when the Master of a Dan-
cing-School, or (How do you call him) the worst Re-
veller in the Town is taken: It shall want Clothes, and
by reason of that, Wit, to fool to Lawyers. It shall not
have hope to repair it self by Constantinople, Ireland, or Vir-
ginia; but the best and last Fortune to it Knighthood
shall be, to make Dol Tear-sheet or Kate Common a Lady,
and so it Knighthood may eat.

Act II.    Scene VI.

True-wit, Dauphine, Clerimont, Cutberd.

A
Re you sure he is not gone by?
   Dau. No, I staid in the Shop ever since.
   Cle. But he may take the other end of the Lane.
   Dau. No, I told him I would be here at this end: I
appointed him hither.
   Tru. What a Barbarian it is to stay then!
   Dau. Yonder he comes.
   Cle. And his Charge left behind him, which is a very
good Sign, Dauphine.
   Dau. How now, Cutberd, succeeds it, or no?
   Cut. Past imagination, Sir, omnia secunda; you could
not have pray'd to have had it so well: Saltat senex, as it
is i' the Proverb, he does triumph in his Felicity, ad-
mires the Party! He has given me the Lease of my
House too! and I am now going for a silent Minister
to marry 'em, and away.
   Tru. 'Slight, get one o' the Silenc'd Ministers; a zea-
lous Brother would torment him purely.
   Cut. Cum privilegio, Sir.
   Dau. O, by no means; let's do nothing to hinder it
now: When 'tis done and finished, I am for you, for any
Device of vexation.

[column break]

   Cut. And that shall be within this half-hour, upon my
dexterity, Gentlemen. Contrive what you can in the
mean time, bonis avibus.
   Cle. How the Slave doth Latin it!
   Tru. It would be made a Jest to Posterity, Sirs, this
days Mirth, if ye will.
   Cle. Beshrew his Heart that will not, I pronounce.
   Dau. And for my part. What is't?
   Tru. To translate all La-Fool's Company, and his Feast
hither, to day, to celebrate this Bride-ale.
   Dau. I marry; but how will't be done?
   Tru. I'll undertake the directing of all the Lady-guests
thither, and then the Meat must follow.
   Cle. For God's sake, let's effect it; it will be an excel-
lent Comedy of Affliction, so many several Noises.
   Dau. But are they not at the other place already,
think you?
   Tru. I'll warrant you for the College-honours; one
o' their Faces has not the Priming-Colour laid on yet,
nor the other her Smock sleek'd.
   Cle. O, but they'll rise earlier than ordinary to a
Feast.
   Tru. Best go see, and assure our selves.
   Cle. Who knows the House?
   Tru. I'll lead you; were you never there yet?
   Dau. Not I.
   Cle. Nor I.
   Tru. Where ha' you liv'd then? Not know Tom Otter!
   Cle. No: For Gods sake, what is he?
   Tru. An excellent Animal, equal with your Daw or
La-Fool, if not transcendent; and does Latin it as much
as your Barber: He is his Wifes Subject, he calls her
Princess, and at such times as these follows her up and
down the House like a Page, with his Hat off, partly
for Heat, partly for Reverence. At this instant he is
marshalling of his Bull, Bear, and Horse.
   Dau. What be those, in the Name of Sphinx?
   Tru. Why, Sir, he has been a great Man at the Bear-
garden in his time; and from that subtle Sport has tane
the witty Denomination of his chief carowsing Cups.
One he calls his Bull, another his Bear, another his
Horse. And then he has his lesser Glasses, that he calls
his Deer and his Ape; and several Degrees of them too;
and never is well, nor thinks any Entertainment perfect,
till these be brought out, and set o' the Cupboard.
   Cle. For God's love! we should miss this, if we should
not go.
   Tru. Nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will
speak him all day. He will rail on his Wife, with certain
Common Places, behind her back; and to her Face —
   Dau. No more of him. Let's go see him, I petition you.


Act III.    Scene I.

Otter, Mrs. Otter, True-wit, Clerimont, Dauphine.

N
Ay, good Princess, hear me pauca verba.
   Mrs. Ott. By that Light, I'll ha' you chain'd up,
with your Bull-dogs and Bear-dogs, if you be not civil
the sooner. I'll send you to Kennel, i' faith. You were
best bait me with your Bull, Bear, and Horse? Never a
time that the Courtiers or Collegiates come to the
House, but you make it a Shrove-tuesday! I would have
you get your Whitsontide-Velvet-Cap, and your Staff i'
your Hand, to entertain 'em: yes in troth, do.
   Ott. Not so, Princess, neither; but, under correction,
sweet Princess, gi' me leave — These things I am
known to the Courtiers by: It is reported to them for
my Humour, and they receive it so, and do expect it.
Tom Otter's Bull, Bear, and Horse, it is known all over
England, in rerum natura.
   Mrs. Ott. 'Fore me, I will na-ture 'em over to Paris-
garden, and na-ture you thither too, if you pronounce
'em              


192 The Silent Woman.               

'em again. Is a Bear a fit Beast, or a Bull, to mix in so-
ciety with great Ladies? Think 'i your Discretion, in
any good Polity.
   Ott. The Horse then, good Princess.
   Mrs. Ott. Well, I am contented for the Horse; they
love to be well hors'd I know: I love it my self.
   Ott. And it is a delicate fine Horse, this Poetarum Pe-
gasus. Under correction, Princess, Jupiter did turn
himself into a — Taurus, or Bull, under correction,
good Princess.
   Mrs. Ott. By my Integrity, I'll send you over to the
Bank-side, I'll commit you to the Master of the Garden,
if I hear but a Syllable more. Must my House or my
Roof be polluted with the scent of Bears and Bulls,
when it is perfum'd for great Ladies? Is this according
to the Instrument, when I married you? That I would
be Princess, and reign in mine own House; and you
would be my Subject, and obey me? What did you
bring me, should make you thus peremptory? Do I al-
low you your Half-crown a day, to spend where you
will, among your Gamesters, to vex and torment me
at such times as these? Who gives you your Mainte-
nance, I pray you? Who allows you your Horse-meat
and Mans-meat? your three Sutes of Apparel a Year?
your four pair of Stockins, one Silk, three Worsted?
your clean Linnen, your Bands and Cuffs, when I can
get you to wear 'em? 'Tis mar'le you ha' 'em on now.
Who graces you with Courtiers, or great Personages, to
speak to you out of their Coaches, and come home
to your House? Were you ever so much as look'd upon
by a Lord, or a Lady, before I married you, but on the
Easter or Whitson Holy-days? and then out at the Ban-
quetting-house Window, when Ned Whiting or George
Stone were at the Stake?
   Tru. (For God's sake, let's go stave her off him.)
   Mrs. Ott. Answer me to that. And did not I take
you up from thence, in an old greasie Buff Doublet, with
Points, and green Velvet Sleeves, out at the Elbows?
You forget this.
   Tru. (She'll worry him, if we help not in time.)
   Mrs. Ott. O, here are some o' the Gallants! Go to,
behave your self distinctly, and with good Morality;
or, I protest, I'll take away your Exhibition.

Act III.    Scene II.

True-wit, Mrs. Otter, Cap. Otter, Clerimont, Dauphine,
Cutberd.

B
Y your leave, fair Mistriss Otter, I'll be bold to en-
 ter these Gentlemen in your Acquaintance.
   Mrs. Ott. It shall not be obnoxious, or difficil, Sir.
   Tru. How does my Noble Captain? Is the Bull, Bear,
and Horse in rerum natura still?
   Ott. Sir, Sic visum superis.
   Mrs. Ott. I would you would but intimate 'em, do.
Go your ways in, and get Tosts and Butter made for
the Woodcocks: That's a fit Province for you.
   Cle. Alas, what a Tyranny is this poor Fellow mar-
ried to!
   Tru. O, but the sport will be anon, when we get him
loose.
   Dau. Dares he ever speak?
   Tru. No Anabaptist ever rail'd with the like License:
but mark her Language in the mean time, I beseech you.
   Mrs. Ott. Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. My
Cousin, Sir Amorous, will be here briefly.
   Tru. In good time, Lady. Was not Sir John Daw
here, to ask for him, and the Company?
   Mrs. Ott. I cannot assure you, Mr. True-wit. Here was
a very melancholy Knight in a Ruff, that demanded my
Subject for some body, a Gentleman, I think.
   Cle. I, that was he, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. But he departed streight, I can resolve you.

[column break]

   Dau. What an excellent choice Phrase this Lady ex-
presses in!
   True. O, Sir! she is the only authentical Courtier,
that is not naturally bred one, in the City.
   Mrs. Ott. You have taken that report upon trust, Gen-
tlemen.
   Tru. No, I assure you, the Court governs it so, Lady,
in your behalf.
   Mrs. Ott. I am the Servant of the Court and Courtiers,
Sir.
   Tru. They are rather your Idolaters.
   Mrs. Ott. Not so, Sir.
   Dau. How now, Cutberd? Any Cross?
   Cut. O no, Sir, Omnia bene. 'Twas never better o' the
Hinges, all's sure. I have so pleas'd him with a Curate,
that he's gone to't almost with the delight he hopes for
soon.
   Dau. What is he for a Vicar?
   Cut. One that has catch'd a Cold, Sir, and can scarce
be heard six Inches off; as if he spoke out of a Bulrush
that were not pickt, or his Throat were full of Pitch:
a fine quick Fellow, and an excellent Barber of Prayers.
I came to tell you, Sir, that you might omnem movere
lapidem (as they say) be ready with your Vexation.
   Dau. Gramercy, honest Cutberd; be thereabouts with
thy Key to let us in.
   Cut. I will not fail you, Sir: Ad manum.
   Tru. Well, I'll go watch my Coaches.
   Cle. Do; and we'll send Daw to you, if you meet
him not.
   Mrs. Ott. Is Mr. True-wit gone?
   Dau. Yes, Lady, there is some unfortunate Business
fallen out.
   Mrs. Ott. So I judg'd, by the Phisiognomy of the
Fellow that came in; and I had a Dream last Night
too of the new Pageant, and my Lady Mayoress, which
is always very ominous to me. I told it my Lady
Haughty t'other day, when her Honour came hither to
see some China Stuffs; and she expounded it out of Ar-
temidorus, and I have found it since very true. It has
done me many Affronts.
   Cle. Your Dream, Lady?
   Mrs. Ott. Yes, Sir, any thing I do but dream o' the
City. It stain'd me a Damask Table-cloth, cost me
eighteen Pound, at one time; and burnt me a black
Satten Gown, as I stood by the Fire, at my Lady Cen-
taure's Chamber, in the College, another time. A third
time, at the Lord's Masque, it dropt all my Wyre and
my Ruff with Wax-candle, that I could not go up to
the Banqnet.Banquet A fourth time, as I was taking Coach
to go to Ware, to meet a Friend, it dash'd me a new
Sute all over (a Crimson Satten Doublet, and black
Velvet Skirts) with a Brewers Horse, that I was fain
to go in and shift me, and kept my Chamber a Leash of
Days for the anguish of it.
   Dau. There were dire Mischances, Lady.
   Cle. I would not dwell in the City, an 'twere so fatal
to me.
   Mrs. Ott. Yes, Sir; but I do take Advice of my Do-
ctor, to dream of it as little as I can.
   Dau. You do well, Mistriss Otter.
   Mrs. Ott. Will it please you to enter the House far-
ther, Gentlemen?
   Dau. And your Favour, Lady: But we stay to speak
with a Knight, Sir John Daw, who is here come. We
shall follow you, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. At your own time, Sir. It is my Cousin Sir
Amorous his Feast —
   Dau. I know it, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. And mine together. But it is for his Ho-
nour, and therefore I take no Name of it, more than of
the Place.
   Dau. You are a bounteous Kinswoman.
   Mrs. Ott. Your Servant, Sir.
Act          


         The Silent Woman. 193

Act III.    Scene III.

Clerimont, Daw, La-Fool, Dauphine, Otter.

W
Hy, do you know it, Sir John Daw?
   Daw. No, I am a Rook if I do.
   Cle. I'll tell you then; she's married by this time. And
whereas you were put i' th' Head, that she was gone
with Sir Dauphine, I assure you, Sir Dauphine has been the
noblest, honestest Friend to you, that ever Gentleman
of your Quality could boast of. He has discover'd the
whole Plot, and made your Mistriss so acknowledging,
and indeed, so ashamed of her Injury to you, that she
desires you to forgive her, and but grace her Wedding
with your presence to day — She is to be married to
a very good Fortune, she says, his Unckle old Morose:
and she will'd me in private to tell you, that she shall
be able to do you more Favours, and with more securi-
ty now than before.
   Daw. Did she say so, i' faith?
   Cle. Why what do you think of me, Sir John! ask Sir
Dauphine.
   Dau.Daw. Nay, I believe you. Good Sir Dauphine, did
she desire me to forgive her?
   Cle. I assure you, Sir John, she did.
   Daw. Nay then, I do with all my heart, and I'll be jovial.
   Cle. Yes, for look you Sir, this was the injury to you.
La-Foole intended this Feast to honour her Bridal day,
and made you the Property to invite the College La-
dies, and promise to bring her: and then at the
time she would have appear'd (as his Friend) to have
given you the Dor. Whereas now, Sir Dauphine has
brought her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfacti-
on, that you shall bring all the Ladies to the place where
she is, and be very jovial; and there, she will have a
Dinner, which shall be in your name: and so disappoint
La-Foole, to make you good again, and (as it were) a
saver i' the Man.Main
   Daw. As I am a Knight, I honour her, and forgive
her hartily.
   Cle. About it then presently. True-wit is gone before
to confront the Coaches, and to acquaint you with so
much, if he meet you. Joyn with him, and 'tis well.
See, here comes your Antagonist, but take you no no-
tice, but be very jovial.
   La-F. Are the Ladies come, Sir John Daw, and your
Mistris? Sir Dauphine! you are exceeding welcom,
and honest Master Clerimont. Where's my Cousin?
did you see no Collegiats, Gentlemen?
   Dau. 'Collegiats! Do you not hear, Sir Amorous, how
you are abus'd?
   La-F. How Sir!
   Cle. Will you speak so kindly to Sir John Daw, that
has done you such an affront
   La-F. Wherein, Gentlemen? let me be a sutor to you
to know, I beseech you!
   Cle. Why Sir, his Mistris is married to day to Sir Dau-
phins Uncle, your Cousins Neighbour, and he has di-
verted all the Ladies, and all your Company thither,
to frustrate your Provision, and stick a disgrace upon
you. He was here, now, to have intic'd us away from
you too: but we told him his own I think.
   La-F. Has Sir John Daw wrong'd me so inhumanly?
   Dau. He has done it, Sir Amorous, most maliciously
and treacherously: but if you'll be rull'd by us, you shall
quit him i'faith.
   La-F. Good Gentlemen! I'll make one, believe it.
How I pray?
   Dau. Marry Sir, get me your Pheasants, and your
Godwits, and your best Meat, and dish it in Silver Dishes
of your Cousins presently, and say nothing, but clap me
a clean Towel about you, like a Sewer; and bare-head-
ed, march afore it with a good Confidence ('tis but o-
ver the way, hard by) and we'll second you, where

[column break]

you shall set it o' the Board, and bid 'em welcom to't
which shall show 'tis yours, and disgrace his prepara-
tion utterly: and for your Cousin, whereas she should
be troubled here at home with care of making and gi-
ving welcom, she shall transfer all that labour thither,
and be a principal Guest her self, sit rank'd with the Col-
ledge Honors, and be honour'd, and have her health drunk
as often, as bare, and as loud as the best of 'em.
   La-F. I'll go tell her presently. It shall be done, that's
resolv'd.
   Cle. I thought he would not hear it out, but 'twould
take him.
   Dau. Well, there be Guests, and Meat now, how shall
we do for Musick?
   Cle. The smell of the Venison, going through the
Street, will invite one noise of Fidlers or other.
   Dau. I would it would call the Trumpeters thither.
   Cle. Faith, there is hope, they have intelligence of
all Feasts. There's good correspondence betwixt them and
the London Cooks. 'Tis twenty to one but he have 'em.
   Dau. 'Twill be a most solemn day for my Uncle, and
an excellent fit of Mirth for us.
   Cle. I, if we can hold up the emulation betwixt Foole
and Daw, and never bring them to expostulate.
   Dau. Tut, flatter 'em both (as True-wit says) and you
may take their Understandings in a Purse-net. They'll
believe themselves to be just such Men as we make 'em,
neither more nor less. They have nothing, not the use
of their Senses, but by Tradition.
   Cle. See! Sir Amorous has his Towel on already. Have
[He enters like a Sewer.
you perswaded your Cousin?
   La-F. Yes, 'tis very feasible: she'll do any thing, she
says, rather than the La-Fooles shall be disgrac'd.
   Dau. She is a noble Kinswoman. It will be such a
pest'ling device, Sir Amorous! It will pound all your E-
nemies Practises to Powder, and blow him up with his
own Mine, his own Train.
   La-F. Nay, we'll give Fire I warrant you.
   Cle. But you must carry it privately, without any noise,
and take no notice by any means ———
   Ott. Gentlemen, my Princess says you shall have all
her Silver Dishes, festinate: and she's gone to alter her
Tire a little, and go with you ——
   Cle. And your self too, Captain Otter.
   Dau. By any means, Sir.
   Ott. Yes Sir, I do mean it: but I would entreat my
Cousin Sir Amorous, and you Gentlemen, to be sutors to
my Princess, that I may carry my Bull and my Bear,
as well as my Horse.
   Cle. That you shall do, Captain Otter.
   La-F. My Cousin will never consent, Gentlemen.
   Dau. She must consent, Sir Amorous, to reason.
   La-F. Why, she says they are no decorum among Ladies.
   Ott. But they are decora, and that's better, Sir.
   Cle. I, she must hear Argument. Did not Pasiphae,
who was a Queen, love a Bull? and was not Calisto,
the Mother of Arcas, turn'd into a Bear, and made a
Star, Mistris Ursula, i' the Heavens?
   Ott. O God! that I could ha' said as much! I will
have these Stories painted i' the Bear-garden, ex Ovidii
Metamorphosi.
   Dau. Where is your Princess, Captain? pray' be our
Leader.
   Ott. That I shall, Sir.
   Cle. Make haste, good Sir Amorous.

Act III.    Scene IV.

Morose, Epicœne, Parson, Cutberd.

S
Ir, there's an Angel for your self, and a brace of Angels
 for your Cold. Muse not at this manage of my Bounty.
It is fit we should thank Fortune, double to Nature, for any
benefit she confers upon us; besides, it is your Imperfection
[The Parson speaks as having a Cold.      
but my Solace.
C c                                   Par. I      


194 The Silent Woman.               

   Par. I thank your Worship; so it is mine, now.
   Mor. What says he, Cutberd?
   Cut. He says, prζsto, Sir, whensoever your Worship
needs him, he can be ready with the like. He got this
Cold with sitting up late, and singing Catches with
Cloth-workers.
   Mor. No more. I thank him.
   Par. God keep your Worship, and give you much
[He coughs.
joy with your fair Spouse. (Umh, umh.)
   Mor. O, O, stay Cutberd! let him give me Five Shil-
lings of my Money back. As it is bounty to reward
Benefits, so is it equity to mulct Injuries. I will have it.
What says he?
   Cut. He cannot change it, Sir.
   Mor. It must be chang'd.
   Cut. Cough again.
   Mor. What says he?
   Cut. He will cough out the rest, Sir.
[Again.
   Par. (Umh, umh, umh.)
   Mor. Away, away with him, stop his Mouth, away,
I forgive it. ———
   Epi. Fye, Master Morose, that you will use this vio-
lence to a Man of the Church.
   Mor. How!
   Epi. It does not become your Gravity, or Breeding,
(as you pretend in Court) to have offer'd this outrage
on a Water-man, or any more boistrous Creature, much
less on a Man of his civil Coat.
   Mor. You can speak then!
   Epi. Yes, Sir.
   Mor. Speak out I mean.
   Epi. I Sir, Why, did you think you had married a
Statue? or a Motion only? one of the French Puppets,
with the Eyes turn'd with a Wire? or some Innocent
out of the Hospital, that would stand with her Hands
thus, and a Plaise-mouth, and look upon you.
   Mor. O Immodesty! a manifest Woman! what Cutberd?
   Epi. Nay, never quarrel with Cutberd, Sir, it is too
late now. I confess it doth bate somewhat of the Mo-
desty I had, when I writ simply Maid: but I hope I shall
make it a stock still competent to the Estate and Digni-
ty of your Wife.
   Mor. She can talk!
   Epi. Yes indeed, Sir.
   Mor. What, Sirrah. None of my Knaves, there?
where is this Impostor, Cutberd?
   Epi. Speak to him, fellow, speak to him. I'll have
none of this coacted, unnatural dumbness in my House,
in a Family where I Govern.
   Mor. She is my Regent already! I have married a Pen-
thesilea, a Semiramis, sold my Liberty to a Distaff!

Act III.    Scene V.

True-wit, Morose, Epicœne.

W
Here's Master Morose?
   Mor. Is he come again! Lord have mercy upon me.
   Tru. I wish you all joy, Mistris Epicœne, with your
grave and honourable Match.
   Epi. I return you the thanks, Master True-wit, so
friendly a wish deserves.
   Mor. She has Acquaintance too!
   Tru. God save you, Sir, and give you all contentment
in your fair Choice, here. Before I was the Bird of
Night to you, the Owl; but now I am the Messenger
of Peace, a Dove, and bring you the glad wishes of ma-
ny Friends to the celebration of this good Hour.
   Mor. What Hour, Sir?
   Tru. Your marriage Hour, Sir. I commend your re-
solution, that (notwithstanding all the dangers I laid a-
fore you, in the voice of a Night-crow) would yet go
on, and be your self. It shews youryou are a Man con-
stant to your own Ends, and upright to your Purposes,

[column break]

that would not be put off with Left-handed Cries.
   Mor. How should you arrive at the knowledge of so
much!
   Tru. Why, did you ever hope, Sir, committing the
secrecy of it to a Barber, that less than the whole Town
should know it? you might as well ha' told it the Con-
duit, or the Bake-house, or the Infant'ry that follow
the Court, and with more security. Could your Gra-
vity forget so old and noted a Remnant, as, lippis & ton-
soribus notum? Well Sir, forgive it your self now, the
Fault, and be communicable with your Friends. Here
will be three or four fashionable Ladies from the Col-
ledge to visit you presently, and their Train of Mini-
ons and Followers.
   Mor. Bar my Doors! bar my Doors! where are all my
Eaters? my Mouthes now? bar up my Doors, you
Varlets.
   Epi. He is a Varlet that stirs to such an office. Let
'em stand open. I would see him that dares move his
Eyes toward it. Shall I have a barricado made against
my Friends, to be barr'd of any pleasure they can bring
in to me with honourable Visitation?
   Mor. O Amazonian impudence!
   Tru. Nay faith, in this, Sir, she speaks but reason:
and me thinks is more continent than you. Would you
go to Bed so presently, Sir, afore Noon? a Man of your
Head and Hair, should owe more to that Reverend
Ceremony, and not mount the Marriage-bed, like a
Town-bull, or a Mountain-goat; but stay the due
Season; and ascend it then with Religion and Fear.
Those delights are to be steep'd in the Humour, and si-
lence of the Night? and give the day to other open
Pleasures, and Jollities of Feasting, of Musick, of Re-
vels, of Discourse: we'll have all, Sir, that may make
your Hymen high and happy.
   Mor. O, my torment, my torment!
   Tru. Nay, if you indure the first half hour, Sir, so
tediously, and with this irksomness; what comfort, or
hope, can this fair Gentlewoman make to her self here-
after, in the consideration of so many years as are to
come ——
   Mor. Of my affliction. Good Sir, depart, and let
her do it alone.
   Tru. I have done, Sir.
   Mor. That cursed Barber!
   Tru. (Yes, faith, a cursed Wretch indeed, Sir.)
   Mor. I have married his Cittern, that's common to
all Men. Some Plague, above the Plague —
   Tru. (All Ζgypts ten Plagues)
   Mor. Revenge me on him.
   Tru. 'Tis very well, Sir. If you laid on a Curse or
two more I'll assure you he'll bear 'em. As, that he
may get the Pox with seeking to cure it, Sir? Or, that
while he is curling another Mans Hair, his own may
drop off? Or, for burning some Male-bauds Lock, he
may have his Brain beat out with the Curling-iron?
   Mor. No, let the Wretch live wretched. May he get
the Itch, and his Shop so lousie, as no Man dare come
at him, nor he come at no Man.
   Tru. (I, and if he would swallow all his Balls for Pills,
let not them purge him.)
   Mor. Let his Warming-pan be ever cold.
   Tru. (A perpetual Frost underneath it, Sir.)
   Mor. Let him never hope to see Fire again,
   Tru. (But in Hell, Sir.)
   Mor. His Chairs be always empty, his Scissars rust, audand
his Combs mould in their Cases.
   Tru. Very dreadful that! (And may he lose the in-
vention, Sir, of carving Lanterns in Paper)
   Mor. Let there be no Baud carted that year, to employ
a Bason of his: but let him be glad to eat his Sponge
for Bread.
   Tru. And drink lotium to it, and much good do him.
   Mor. Or, for want of Bread —
Tru. Eat          


         The Silent Woman. 195

   Tru. Eat Ear-wax, Sir. I'll help you. Or, draw his
own Teeth, and add them to the Lute-string.
   Mor. No, beat the old ones to Powder, and make
Bread of them.
   Tru. (Yes, make Makesecond 'Make' an error Meal o' the Mill stones.)
   Mor. May all the Botches and Burns that he has cur'd
on others, break out upon him.
   Tru. And he now forget the cure of 'em in himself,
Sir; or, if he do remember it, let him ha' scrap'd all
his Linnen into Lint for't, and have not a Rag left him
for to set up with.
   Mor. Let him never set up again, but have the Gout
in his hands for ever. Now, no more, Sir.
   Tru. O that last was too high set! you might go less
with him i'faith, and be reveng'd enough: as, that he
be never able to New-paint his Pole —
   Mor. Good Sir, no more. I forgot my self.
   Tru. Or, want credit to take up with a Comb-
maker ———
   Mor. No more Sir.
   Tru. Or, having broken his Glass in a former despair,
fall now into a much greater, of ever getting an-
other ——
   Mor. I beseech you, no more.
   Tru. Or, that he never be trus