A MAD COUPLE WELL MATCHED

Dramatis Personæ

[Link]
[George] CARELESSa young wild heir
Sir Oliver THRIVEWELLhis uncle that adopted him heir
SAVEALLSir Oliver’s demure steward
LADY Thrivewell[Sir Oliver's wife, not related to Careless]
Nurse CLOSETan old crone, nurse-keeper to Lady Thrivewell
[Thomas] SALEWAREa citizen and a cuckold
Mistress ALICIA SalewareSaleware’s light wife
Mistress [Anne] CROSTILLa rich vintner’s widow, and humorous*
PHOEBE [Gimcrack]Careless’s whore
Lord LOVELYa wencher
BELLAMYa woman disguised*, and his steward
WAT*a blunt fellow, Careless’s servingman
OLD BELLAMY[Bellamy's uncle]
APPRENTICEin Saleware’s shop
[PAGEto Lord Lovely]
[FITZGERRARDBellamy's brother]
A Servingman[Non-speaking]

The Scene: London


Prologue

[Enter the PROLOGUE.]

1PrologueHere you’re all met, and look for a set speech*
        Put into rhyme to court you, and beseech
        Your worships but to hear and like the play;
        But I, I vow, have no such part* to say.
        I’m sent a-wooing to you, but how to do’t,*
        I ha’n’t the skill; ’tis true I’ve a new suit,
        And ribbons fashionable, yclept fancies,
        But for the compliments, the trips, and dances*,
        Our poet can’t abide ’em, and he swears,
        They’re all but cheats, and sugared words but jeers.
        He’s heark’ning* there*: and if I go about
        To make a speech, he vows he’ll put me out.
        Nor dare I write t’you: therefore, in this condition*,
        I’ll turn my courtship into admonition.
        When a good thing is proffered, don’t be nice;
        Our poet vows, you shan’t be proffered twice.[Exit.]
ACT ONE*
1.1
[Enter] CARELESS [and] WAT.

2CarelessThou hast delivered my letter?

3WatYes, sir, to Master Saveall, your uncle’s friend. But he has stood your friend so long, and so often, to so little purpose in moving your uncle for you, that he holds it utterly in vain to urge him any further, he told me.

4CarelessThou should’st ha’ told him I would not be so answered.

5WatYes, and then he would have told me, ‘Let your master take his course’.

6CarelessThen you should ha’ told him again I have taken all the courses I could, or as any gentleman can to maintain myself like one. But all my courses are run out, and I have not breath, nor know any ground whereon to begin a new one, unless that thing, my uncle, sets me up again, nor have I any means to attain to that, but by his mediation.

7WatThen would he ha’ told me again what all your courses have been: namely, running into debt by all the ways can be imagined, and cheating by all could be invented, then that the said thing* (as you call it) your uncle, before he cast you quite off, had redeemed you out of prison and several holds within the space of fifteen months, fourteen times.

8CarelessThat was not once a month then, or if it had, what had that been to him? ’Twas I that suffered, thou shouldst ha’ told him, not he.

9WatHe would ha’ told me then again that several redemptions cost your uncle at least two thousand pounds, and that upon your last revolt*, when he quite gave you over for a castaway, two years since, he cast the third thousand with you, upon condition never to afflict him more. And then he married in hope to get an heir.

10CarelessAye, that marrying spoiled all.

11WatBecause you should not after his death cast away all the rest of the thousands, and ten thousands, which you might have lived to inherit, if your uncle’s love or Master Saveall’s counsel could have prevailed with you against the devil and debauchedness.

12CarelessPox on’t, let it all go! Let that wretched uncle go, and let Saveall go for a punctual ass as he is. I confess he has by his saving help peased* me with my uncle a score of times at least. What had once more been to him?

13WatSir, it were better for you to think upon some course by yourself*, and me your creature (that have stuck to you, or followed you through all fortunes), to maintain rich lace and bravery upon you. And think in time, too, before this be worn out, upon some new ways for your supplies—

14CarelessI cannot, nor will I trouble my brains to think of any. I will rather die here in Ram Alley*, or walk down to the Temple* and lay myself down alive in the old Synagogue*, cross-legged among the monumental knights there* till I turn marble with ’em. Think, quotha! What should I think on?

15WatOn your poor whore, sir, as you have brought her: she’s in worse case than yourself. Your clothes are good enough—

16CarelessAye, there’s the devil. I would do something for her if I knew how. But what have I not done that can be done by a forlorn heir?

17WatWhy, though the dice and all other household games and all the cheats belonging unto them have failed you by your and their discoveries, till none dare venture so near you as a man hurls a die or skirrs a card; though all your hidden ways in Hyde Park races *are trod out, and all your bowling booties* beaten bare off o’ the grounds and alleys*, and the sweet honeycombs of all your cockpit cozenages* cut off; though all your arts of borrowing are crossed out of all men’s books before you offer at ’em, while your old debts stand fairly written, and all your marts miscarry of putting out for credit, venison to citizens, or early cherries, codlings and apricots* to their wives avail you nothing, cannot something yet be found?

18CarelessNothing, nothing. All projects are confounded.

19WatDid your father leave you nothing but wit to live upon for this? And did he leave you that but for years*, and not for life? And is the term* expired?

20CarelessHold thy peace. I am casting for something to be done by me, that shall be worth, an’t* cost my life, to shame my uncle.

21WatThere’s a plot! Think of your poor whore, sir: how shall she live if you cast away yourself?

22CarelessI must leave her once, thou know’st.

23WatIf you could leave her now and betake yourself handsomely to other women, I have thought on a course.

24CarelessWhat*, quickly, what is’t?

25WatTo set up a male bawdy-house.

26CarelessFie upon’t!

27WatYou are handsome, lovely, and I think able to do one man’s work. Two or three such gentlemen more, which I know and can describe to you, with the ways I’ll find to bring in custom, shall fill your purses—

28CarelessAnd empt our bones*. I ever had enough of one mistress; variety* would destroy me. No gentlemen can be able to hold it out; they are too weak to make common he-whores.

29WatFor a little while, sir, till we have got a stock of rich clothes; and then we will put draymen and wine-porters, Cornish wrestlers* and suchlike into those clothes and make them country cavaliers*. Have you not seen coarse* snout-fair drudges, clapped into bravery, that would do more bodily service in a brothel than twenty ladies’ daughters? They are the game-bears of a bawdy-house, can play ten single courses* for a clean-bred gentlewoman’s one. We will hire fellows for groats a piece* a day, that shall (without the additaments of clary, caudle or cock-broth*) get us forty pieces a man before night or perhaps a hundred by next morning, out of such she-customers as an aunt of mine shall find out for us.

30CarelessO base villain! No, I’ll never fall so deep below a gentleman as to be master of a bawdy-house.

31WatVery good decayed gentlemen have done as much; though I urge this but for your pastime, sir.

32CarelessNo, my first plot shall stand. I will do some notorious death-deserving thing — though these clothes go to th’ hangman* for’t, what care I? — in defiance of him that was* my uncle, and his methodical, grave, and orthographical speaking friend, Master Saveall that calls ‘people’, ‘pe-o-ple’.
Enter SAVEALL.

O Master Saveall, how have you honoured me! How am I bound to you for this visit! Sir, hearing that my uncle was come to town, and you with him, I did presume to write to you.

33SaveallSend forth your man.

34Careless   [To WAT]   Go forth.WAT exits.*

35SaveallOne servant is not fit for all offices, although you keep no more. You presumed indeed; I can no less than call it a presumption, although it were but unto me you write. I speak not this in the behalf of any dignity in me, but that you should overween that I had ability to wrestle* any more with your overgrateful* uncle in your behalf. Therein was your outrecuidance.

36CarelessThe miserablest man on earth, in having wearied out my worthiest friend, on whom the sum of all my hopes was cast!

37SaveallNo, I am not wearied, but still in the same full strength. Yet my modesty dissuadeth me from using strength above reason, and my reason prevaileth with me not to strive against a torrent*.

38CarelessHe is then inexorable, and I must perish. But did you try him for me this last time?

39SaveallI have both tried and tempted him to his vexation.

40CarelessBut did you urge that pious act of mine*
        Which he once vowed should never be forgot,
        Or unrewarded by him?

41SaveallYour standing upon merit in that act
        Perplexeth nature in him,* and confounds
        Both your desert and his benevolence.
        And now, since you have urged it, I’ll tell you:
        Your act was undeniable, most noble
        And glorious in a nephew — greater piety
        Could not have been expected in a son —
        When from the swords of thieves and murderers
        Your valour rescued him. But —

42CarelessI* and my man, I’m sure, made four of the stoutest purses fly for’t that ever set our country o’ the score. After they had him down, and their points at his breast and throat, he crying out for help, when I came on by chance at a time, too, when I was in his displeasure — nay, he hated me a whole year together before that, and yet I did it, and more than so—

43SaveallFare you well, sir. I thought to have said all this for you, and more than so too. But —

44CarelessNay, sweet Master Saveall —

45SaveallGood Master Careless, as I can hear, I would be heard sometimes.

46CarelessIndeed, I cry you mercy. Pray, sir, speak.

47SaveallI was commending of your act, and do so still.
        You did express yourself in blood and nature
        A perfect kinsman, and your piety
        Drew blessings on you: for, whereas before,
        Your uncle left you off to reprobation,
        He then receives you a* son, (being his sister’s)
        Adopted you, intended you his heir,
        And out of his estate then presently
        Allowed you two hundred pounds per annum,
        And gave your man for what he suffered
        In the conflict an hundred marks —

48CarelessPoor rogue! And he deserved it, I’ll be sworn,* for a thief’s mark* that he received: a cut o’ the coxcomb that cracked his skull so that he could never bear his drink since as he could ha’ done before. For, sir, as we came in, I having put by the thrusts of three of ’em, the fourth man with a full blow —

49SaveallFare you well, sir, the second time —

50CarelessNay, courteous Master Saveall.

51SaveallI came to speak not with you altogether, but unto you for to be heard.

52CarelessSir, I will hear you with all due respect.

53SaveallYour uncle having done so gratefully and so plentifully for you,
        You, building still on merit for that service,
        Did hold him so fast bound* that you presumed
        To run upon more extravagancies
        In all the outways of debauchery,
        Till for the one good deed you did for him
        He did you forty in restoring you
        From surfeits, wants, wounds and imprisonments;
        Till, overborne with charge, and more with anguish
        At your outrageous, unexampled riots,
        He gave you an irrevocable farewell.
        Yet then at your departure —

54CarelessYet then I lived, and could have done till now, merely by being his nephew and supposed his heir had not he married. But his marriage turned the hearts of all believing citizens from me: where before, a tailor could have made me run through all the credit i’ the town, when in a suit clinquant* and a la mode*, they could inform themselves whose heir I was. But to say truth I vexed him into wedlock, for before he valued not a wife at a bachelor’s button*.

55SaveallFarewell to you the third time.[Begins to leave].

56CarelessSir, you shall see me die first, and that instantly, that you may tell my uncle I’ll be no more his trouble or charge, unless in charity he’ll send to bury me.*

57SaveallYou will not desperately work a violent end upon yourself?

58CarelessNo, sir, the devil’s not so great with me; but my heart, I feel it ready to break. My uncle is no more my uncle, nor you my friend, all by my own fault, and what should I do here but in to* my bed, and out o’ the world presently. Wat! Wat!*
Enter WAT.

59[Wat]Aye, here, sir!

60Saveall   [Aside]   I have dallied too long, and tempted him too far, I fear.

61CarelessLay down my bed.

62Wat   [Aside]   Your wench is come indeed, but I hope you will not to bed before he* be gone.

63CarelessLay down my bed I say. But first unbutton me*.

64WatLord, how his heart beats! Pangs of death, I fear.

65Saveall   [Aside]   Not so, I hope.   [Aloud]   I will now come to the point, sir. Master Careless, be comforted.

66CarelessI am, and well resolved, I thank my better angel*.

67SaveallYour uncle’s friends with you.

68CarelessAlas, how can that be?

69SaveallI thought your spirit had been higher.

70CarelessIt will be, sir, anon, I hope.

71SaveallI have but dallied with you to search your temper.

72WatBut you have searched too deep, I fear, sir.

73CarelessAh!—

74SaveallYour uncle is friends with you, I say, so far as to make a further trial of your nature. You may be yet his heir, for your aunt despaireth of any child by him, having fruitlessly been married now these two years.

75CarelessAh!—But, good sir, can this be?*

76SaveallIt is, and I will bring you to him and see that all be well.

77CarelessYour noble friendship hath revived me, sir.   [To WAT]   Oh run and fetch my cloak.[Exit and re-] enter WAT with his cloak.*

   [Aside]   Tell Phoebe I cannot stay to give her any satisfaction now: I must go see my uncle first.WAT exits.

78Saveall   [Aside]   Poor gentleman, how weakly he standeth! The sight of his uncle will recover him.   [Aloud]   Come, Master Careless, let us go.

79CarelessSir, what do you think if I should first, according to the reformation of my mind,* cut off my undecent hair and change this garish apparel* for a civil well-worn student’s suit. I can be fitted presently hard by.

80SaveallNo, the mind reformed is enough. Your habit* well becometh you.Exit[s with CARELESS].
[Enter WAT].

81WatNow, wit, an’t* be thy will, go with him. And I hope this will be his last hot fit of the uncle.*
Enter PHOEBE.

82PhoebeYour master’s gone forth, it seems.

83WatCalled by his fortune, he is so.

84PhoebeShuns he the sight of me? I’ll overtake him.

85WatOh, your patience, sweet Mistress Phoebe, a little patience. He’s gone to be happy and to make you happy. I dare promise you a satin gown within this sennight.
        For let me tell thee, Mistress Phoebe bright,
        He’s reconcilèd to his uncle knight.

86[Phoebe]*Away, pimp, flamster*! I came to be serious with him, to let him know the miseries I suffer by the wrongs he has done me, and that I can nor will no longer bear’em.

87WatNor him neither, will you?* Take heed what you say, Madam Marion*.

88PhoebeNo, nor him neither, you panderly parasite, till he make his vows good and me an honest woman.

89WatByr’lady, a shrewd task, and, I fear, an impossible work.

90PhoebeSirrah, I will claw your ugly face till thou undertak’st it with him to make it easy.
[Makes to scratch his face.]

91WatHold, hold! I’ll do you all the good I can.

92PhoebeOh, will you so?

93WatHow desperately valiant a whore grows when she is so poor that her clothes fear no tearing.* But by what means can you hope to bring this work about?

94PhoebeYou know I have a wealthy kinsman in the city.

95WatOh, Master Saleware, and he has a wife too that bears* it up bravely.

96PhoebePimp impudent, shall I claw your face into blushes* at my injuries? To be mocked out of my maidenhead when I was upon a good match in the country*; then, with a promise of marriage, to be enticed from my friends into fool’s paradise (that was a new title for the city) and here to be used and abused from lodging to lodging by him that now flies me for the decays he hath brought me to?* But my kinsman has money though I have none, and for money there is law* to be found, and in a just cause he will not let me sink, he says, for I have told him all.

97WatBut not the how many times, the whens, the wheres, and the wherewithals, I hope, have you?

98PhoebeSirrah, I shall show you, and your master too, a way to more civility, since I am thus abused and slighted.

99WatYou have schooled me handsomely, and brought me into sense of your injuries: you have been over-wronged, but not overwrought, nor overworn. You do excel in beauty, strength, and spirit, which makes you in your very anger now appear so lovely, that I profess myself your creature. What would a kiss of this fair hand now make me do, and of those lips what not?

100PhoebeAway, you creature*!   She strikes him.*   

101WatLeave these temptations;* do not strike me too deeply in love with you.

102PhoebeAway, you creature*!

103Wat’Tis true I am your creature, as I am my master’s; and sometimes the serving creature breaks his fast with a bit off the spit before the same meat is served up to his master’s table, but is never denied to dine upon his master’s leavings.* You cannot think what an appetite that frown gives me.

104PhoebeYou are no saucy rascal*.

105WatGood wit, too! My appetite needs no sauce; nor shall you need to make use of law or friend against my master, but myself.*


107WatBe ruled by me. If I do not lay you down and join with you presently in a course that shall content you, then hang me, lady, at your door*.

108PhoebeWhat do you mean?

109WatIn the next room we shall find pen, ink* and paper. You shall write him such a letter (as I will dictate to you) that shall so nettle him.

110PhoebeNay, I did intend to leave him part of my mind* in writing before I went.
Enter SALEWARE.

111PhoebeOh cousin, I want you.

112Wat   [Aside]   A pox of this interrupting cuckold! He hinders all trading but his wife’s*. Zounds, I was going with full speed a-tilt, as the learned say. Had not this horn-head come, we had writ lines together should have put down Hero and Leander*.   [Aloud]   Hark you, Mistress Phoebe, is this your kinsman that you told me you had told all the business to?

113SalewareYes, sir, I am the gentleman, and she has told me so much, sir, that I must tell you to tell your master from me, and as I would tell him myself if he were here personally present, he is a most dishonest gentleman if he do her not lawful right by marrying her; and that right I came to demand, and obtain of him, or to denounce the law against him.*

114WatHow happy are you that you came short to tell him so, else he would ha’ so beaten you, as never was citizen beaten since the great battle of Finsbury Field*.

115SalewareYour great words cannot make me fear his blows (I am not dashed nor bashed)* nor cross him out of my book for fear of any such payment. I have him there for four score pound*, as you know, though you are pleased to forget me. But Sapientia mea mihi, stultitia tua tibi*.

116WatCry mercy, Master Saleware, is it you? I hope Mistress Saleware is well, your most exquisite and most courtly wife, the flower-de-luce* of the city.

117SalewareWell, wag, well. You must not now put me off with my wife*; she’s well and much respected. I come to speak of and for my distressed kinswoman, her* whom your wicked master has most wickedly dealt* withal. He has deflowered and deluced* her, and led her from her friends and out of her country into fool’s paradise* by making her believe he would marry her. And here he has put her on, and put her off, with hopes and delays till she is come to both woe and want; and (which may prove her most affliction, if he be suffered to forsake her) she is with child by him.

118WatSay you so, Mistress Phoebe? Here’s small show* of it yet.

119PhoebeSirrah, I shall show* you, and your master too, a way to more civility, if I be thus abused and slighted.

120WatBy the way, Master Saleware, how many children have you by your most amiable wife?

121SalewareSir, that needs not to fall by the way of* our discourse.

122WatBut by the way I speak of getting children. Or, I pray tell me, did not you correct one of her children once, for which your wife reprehended you and bade you correct your own*? And how then shall my master be sure* that this (if it be one*) is his?

123SalewareWhat an asinego’s this? I shall find a time, sir, to talk with your master. In the meantime I tell you that my kinswoman is a gentlewoman of as good blood as himself, and of the best in Herefordshire —

124WatYes, Welsh-blood*.

125Saleware— And shall find friends that shall not see her abused by you nor him. There is law to be found for money,* and money to be found for friends, and friends to be found in the Arches*, and so tell your master. Come away, cousin.

126WatBut one word before you go, sir. Is this gentlewoman (who was but a country chambermaid when my master took her to his mercy) of such boasted blood your cousin by your own or by your wife’s* side*, I pray?

127SalewareSirrah, like a saucy companion as you are, though you meddle with me that am a common-councilman, I charge you meddle* not with my wife. You have had two or three jerks at her.

128WatI was warned before, sir, in my own understanding: for she is for great persons*.

129SalewareThen know your distance*, sir.

130WatYet give me leave to wait you down*, sir.   [Aside to PHOEBE]   Cudsho, did it tell* it* kinsman that it is got with champkin.

131PhoebeYou are a panderly rascal, and I’ll be a terror both to you and your patron*.They exit.*
1.2
Enter THRIVEWELL [and] LADY [Thrivewell].

132ThrivewellHow can you think so?

133LadyThink? I see’t apparently upon your face and hear it in your sighs. Your broken sleeps tonight, when your own groans waked you, declared no less. But had I had the power of some wives* with their husbands, I could have fetched it out of you. Waking once (I thank you) you took me in your arm, but when you found ’twas I, you turned away as in a dream.

134ThrivewellSure you dream now; whence can this talk proceed else?

135LadyI must not give it over till I know the cause of your melancholy fit. Do you doubt my duty, or my loyalty? Perhaps you do, and so make me the cause of your affliction.

136ThrivewellMay such a thought within me stick me to the endless torments*.

137Lady’Tis lately entertained, whate’er it be; you came heart-whole to town and jovial. Ha’ you been drawn for security into bonds by any of my friends for great sums, and forced to pay ’em?

138ThrivewellFie, fie!

139LadyAre any great friends of yours in question, attainted, imprisoned, or run away?


141LadyOr are you further grieved about your nephew, Careless? I thought that your friend Saveall and myself had made his peace with you, and that you had sent for him. Do you repent that?

142ThrivewellNo, no, sweetheart, he shall be welcome. And pray let me entreat you make no further inquisition. If (as you suppose) there be a trouble in my thoughts, I shall soon pass it over.

143LadyTell me, or I shall prove the greater trouble. I would those few examples of women that could not keep their husbands’ counsels had been burnt, and the woman too, rather than I should be distrusted thus and slighted by a husband—

144ThrivewellNay, then you’ll grieve me indeed.

145LadyThere has been many examples of discreet women that have not only kept their husbands’ counsels, but advise and help ’em in extremities, and delivered ’em out of dangers.

146ThrivewellI pray content yourself.

147LadyBe you content to tell me then what troubles you. And I pray you tell me speedily, now presently; or (excuse me in my vow) it is the last request that ever I will make to you, and the last question I’ll ever ask you; and (the easier to get it from you) I promise you by the continuance of my faith to you (which by this kiss I seal).   [She kisses him.]   Be it a deadly injury to myself, I will forgive it freely, not be troubled at it.

148Thrivewell   [Aside]   I shall do that now which few wise men would.*
        But she’s discreet, and has a fortitude
        Above the boast of women; should that fail,
        And this too weighty knowledge for a wife
        Should prove a torment to her, I’m excused:
        She pulls it on herself, and for revenge
        Should she against her protestation move it,
        I am enough above her.

149LadyYou are resolved, it seems, to keep your secret
        Unto yourself; much good, sir, may it do you.*

150ThrivewellNo, you shall know it, sir*, and (if unshaken
        Now, in your love to me) the wonder of all wives,
        You’re bound by a fair pledge, the kiss you gave me,
        To be unmoved and to forgive it though
        It be a deadly injury to yourself;
        It is, and ’tis a great one; and so great,
        But that you have sealed my pardon, the hid knowledge
        Of it should feed upon my heart and liver*
        Till life were banished thence, rather than pull
        Your just revenge upon me. Yet you frown not!
        But before I declare it to your justice,
        Let me renew your mercy.   [He] kiss[es her].   
        And on this altar*, which I have prophaned
        While it breathed sacred incense,* now with penitence
        Offer religious vows, never to violate
        My faith or love to you again. One more
        Before you hear it:   [He] kiss[es her].*   for if then you stand not
        Firm to your mercy, it must be my last.

151LadyWhat do you but violate your love to me
        Now in your most unjust suspicion?

152ThrivewellI’ll trespass so no more; yet many husbands
        (I wish they had my sorrow, and no less
        Purpose* to reformation) wrong their wives.

153LadyLeave these perambulations. To the point:
        You have unlawfully lain* with some woman!

154Thrivewell’Tis said; and now your doom*.

155LadyHa, ha, ha! Here’s a business*!
        Would somebody heard you, faith! Nay, of five hundred
        That now might overhear us (I mean not only
        Gallants, but grave substantial gentlemen)
        Could be picked out a twelve good men and true
        To find you guilty, I would then condemn you,
        But such a jury must be panelled first.

156ThrivewellAnd can you be so mild? Then farewell thought.*

157LadyThought of your mistress, sir? And then farewell
        My jealousy, for let me tell you, sir,
        That I have had an ache upon these brows*
        Since your last being in town. And since you have dealt
        So faithfully as to tell me it is one,
        There’s no more, is there?*

158ThrivewellNo, upon my vow.

159LadyName me the woman: if it be the same
        That I suspect, I’ll never suspect more.

160ThrivewellAs faithfully as to my confessor: Lightweight
        Saleware, my silkman’s wife.*

161LadyThe same I meant.*
        You’re a fair-dealing* husband. On what condition?
        Come, this is merry talk.* Prithee, on what condition?
        Only to bring good custom to her shop,
        And send her husband venison (flesh for flesh)?
        I did observe you bought all there last term,
        And wished me* to her shop, and Master Saveall
        With divers others, to bestow our monies.
        Troth, she’s a handsome one. Prithee, on what conditions?

162ThrivewellThou shalt know all to purge me of my folly.

163LadyWell said.*

164ThrivewellAfter a costly and a tedious suit,
        With many an answer ‘No’, and ‘No such woman’,
        At length she yields for a hundred pieces;
        Had’em,* and I enjoyed her once.

165LadyThat was
        When you last term sat up all night, and said
        You sat up with the three lady gamesters.

166ThrivewellIt is confessed.*

167LadyFair dealing still.

168ThrivewellBut here was the foul dealing, and for which I hate her now:
        I, having paid so great a fine and ta’en*
        Possession, thought after to deal rent-free.

169LadyA peppercorn a quarter*, if she be pepper-proof*.

170ThrivewellBut she at my very next approach, which was but yesterday, denies me egress*, except I make it a new purchase at the same former rate, and so for all times after.

171LadyTroth, ’tis unreasonable. A hundred pound a time? How rich would citizens be if their wives were all so paid, and how poor the court and country!
Enter SAVEALL [and] CARELESS.*

   [Aside to Lord THRIVEWELL]   But husht, here comes Master Saveall with your nephew, I take it. A handsome gentleman! Could he be so debauched?*

172SaveallSir, I have brought you home a reformado, and do entreat (for what I have said unto him, and he hath fairly answered unto me) that words may not by you be multiplied.*

173ThrivewellNot a word of unkindness, nephew. You are welcome. Give me your hand. George, thou art welcome.

174Careless   [Aside]   I shall be George o’ horseback* once more, I see.   [Aloud]   In all humility I thank you, sir.

175ThrivewellNay, now thou speakest and look’st too tamely, George. I would have thee keep and use the lively spirit that thou hadst, but not to let it fly at random as it has done, George.

176CarelessSir, I have learnt now, by the inconveniences I have met with in those extravagant out-flights*, the better to contain it within the limits of your leave and fair allowance hereafter.*

177ThrivewellWell said, and again welcome, George. But (and this you shall give me leave to say, Master Saveall) I remit your thanks for any inclination I had towards this reconcilement till I do you some further kindness; only you had good advocates who pleaded friendly for you, Master Saveall and your aunt there, before she ever saw you, whom you may thank.

178CarelessA man must be so tied now.*

179ThrivewellPray take notice of her.

180CarelessI cannot use respect enough,* sir.

181ThrivewellI like that modesty.

182SaveallDoubt him in nothing, for he is come home.*

183CarelessMadam, as you are my gracious patroness, and myself so all unworthy, my duty checks me in my approach to you.

184LadyYou are the more entirely welcome, cousin.   [She] kiss[es him].   

185Careless   [Aside]   She kisses like an old man’s wife, that is, as a child late starved at nurse sucks a fresh-flowing breast.

186LadyYou must not, sir, be bashful.

187Careless’Twill less become me to presume, good madam.

188ThrivewellGeorge, here’s a lodging for you in this house, and my table has a place for you. Send for your man to wait upon you. Ha’ you Wat still?

189CarelessYes, sir, an honest true-hearted civil fellow he is, as I have managed him. He can say grace now.

190ThrivewellThe world’s well mended. Tomorrow you shall give me a note of your debts, George, which I’ll take order for, if I may presume you have any.

191CarelessSome driblets, sir. My credit has not lately wronged me much.

192SaveallYou speak sententiously, for credit sought
        With tradesmen, then their wares are dearer bought;*
        So gentlemen are wronged.

193ThrivewellThen not to wrong ourselves, let’s in to dance.*They exit.*

Edited by Eleanor Lowe