FEE. O courteous, bounteous widow! she has outbid me thirty-one good morrows at a clap.
WELL. But, my Lord Feesimple, you forget the business imposed on you.
FEE. Gentlewoman, I cry thee mercy; but 'tis a fault in all lords, not in me only: we do use to swear by our honours, and as we are noble, to despatch such a business for such a gentleman; and we are bound, even by the same honours we swear by, to forget it in a quarter of an hour, and look as if we had never seen the party when we meet next, especially if none of our gentlemen have been considered.
WELL. Ay, but all yours have, for you keep none, my lord: besides, though it stands with your honour to forget men's businesses, yet it stands not with your honour if you do not do a woman's.
FEE. Why then, madam, so it is that I request your ladyship to accept into your service this gentlewoman. For her truth and honesty I will be bound; I have known her too long to be deceived. This is the second time I have seen her. [_Aside._]
MAID. Why, how now, my lord! a preferrer of gentlewomen to service, like an old knitting-woman? where hath she dwelt before?
FEE. She dwelt with young Bold's sister, he that is my corrival in your love. She requested me to advance her to you, for you are a dubbed lady; so is not she yet.
WELL. But now you talk of young Bold--when did you see him, lady?
WID. Not this month, Master Welltried.
I did conjure him to forbear my sight; Indeed, swore if he came, I'd be denied.
But 'tis strange you should ask for him: ye two Were wont never to be asunder.
WELL. Faith, madam, we never were together, but We differ'd on some argument or other; And doubting lest our discord might at length Breed to some quarrel, I forbear him too.
FEE. He quarrel? Bold? hang him, if he durst have quarrelled, the world knows he's within a mile of an oak has put him to't, and soundly. I never cared for him in my life, but to see his sister: he's an ass, pox! an arrant ass; for do you think any but an arrant ass would offer to come a-wooing where a lord attempts? He quarrel!--he dares not quarrel.
WELL. But he dares fight, my lord, upon my knowledge: And rail no more, my lord, behind his back, For if you do, my lord, blood must ensue. [_Draws._
FEE. O, O, my honour dies! I am dead. [_Swoons._
WELL. Ud's light, what's the matter? wring him by the nose.
WID. A pair of riding spurs, now, were worth gold.
MAID. Pins are as good. Prick him, prick him.
FEE. O, O!
WIFE. He's come again. Lift him up.
OMNES. How fares your lordship?
FEE. O friends, you have wrong'd my spirit to call it back: I was ev'n in Elysium at rest.
WELL. But why, sir, did you swoon?
FEE. Well, though I die, Mister Welltried, before all these I do forgive you, because you were ignorant of my infirmity. O sir! is't not up yet?
I die again! Put up, now, whilst I wink, or I do wink for ever.
WELL. 'Tis up, my lord; ope your eyes: but I pray, tell me, is this antipathy 'twixt bright steel and you natural, or how grew it.
FEE. I'll tell you, sir: anything bright and edged works thus strongly with me. Your hilts, now, I can handle as boldly, look you else.
HUS.[79] Nay, never blame my lord, Master Well-tried, for I know a great many will swoon at the sight of a shoulder of mutton or a quarter of lamb. My lord may be excused, then, for a naked sword.
WELL. This lord and this knight in dog-collars would make a fine brace of beagles.
MAID. But, on my faith, 'twas mightily over-seen of your father, not to bring you up to foils--or if he had bound you 'prentice to a cutler or an ironmonger.
FEE. Ha, pox! hang him, old gouty fool! He never brought me up to any lordly exercise, as fencing, dancing, tumbling, and such like; but, forsooth, I must write and read, and speak languages, and such base qualities, fit for none but gentlemen. Now, sir, would I tell him, "Father, you are a count, I am a lord. A pox o' writing and reading, and languages! Let me be brought up as I was born."
SUB. But how, my lord, came you first not to endure the sight of steel?
FEE. Why, I'll tell you, sir. When I was a child, an infant, an innocent[80]--
MAID. 'Twas even now. [_Aside._]
FEE. I being in the kitchen, in my lord my father's house, the cook was making minced pies: so, sir, I standing by the dresser, there lay a heap of plums. Here was he mincing: what did me I, sir, being a notable little witty coxcomb, but popped my hand just under his chopping-knife, to snatch some raisins, and so was cut o'er the hand, and never since could I endure the sight of any edge-tool.
WID. Indeed, they are not fit for you, my lord. And now you are all so well satisfied in this matter, pray, ladies, how like you this my gentlewoman?
MAID. In troth, madam, exceedingly well, I. If you be provided, pray, let me have her.
WIFE. It should be my request, but that I am full.
WID. What can you do? What's her name, my lord?
FEE. Her name? I know not. What's her name, Master Welltried?
WEL. Her name? 'Slid, tell my lady your name.
BOLD. Mistress Mary Princox, forsooth.
WID. Mistress Mary Princox. She has wit, I perceive that already.
Methinks she speaks as if she were my lord's brood.
BOLD. Brood, madam? 'Tis well known I am a gentlewoman. My father was a man of five hundred per annum, and he held something _in capite_ too.
WEL. So does my lord something.
FEE. Nay, by my troth, what I hold _in capite_ is worth little or nothing.
BOLD. I have had apt breeding, however, my misfortune now makes me submit myself to service; but there is no ebb so low, but hath his tide again. When our days are at worst, they will mend in spite of the frowning destinies, for we cannot be lower than earth; and the same blind dame that hath cast her blear eyes hitherto upon my occasions may turn her wheel, and at last wind them up with her white hand to some pinnacle that prosperously may flourish in the sunshine of promotion.
FEE. O mouth, full of agility! I would give twenty marks now to any person that could teach me to convey my tongue (_sans_ stumbling) with such dexterity to such a period. For her truth and her honesty I am bound before, but now I have heard her talk, for her wit I will be bound body and goods.
WID. Ud's light, I will not leave her for my hood. I never met with one of these eloquent old gentlewomen before. What age are you, Mistress Mary Princox?
BOLD. I will not lie, madam. I have numbered fifty-seven summers, and just so many winters have I passed.
SUB. But they have not passed you; they lie frozen in your face.