THE NORTHERN LASS
The Persons in the Comedy.
| [Link] | ||
| Sir Philip LUCKLESS | contracted to Mistress Fitchow the city widow | |
| Master TRIEDWELL | kinsman to Sir Philip. | |
| Sir Paul SQUELCH Master [Apprehension] BULFINCH*  n240
| } | Justices [and] Mistress Fitchow’s friends. |
| Master [Walter] WIGEON†gg436
| a cockney gentleman, brother to Mistress Fitchow | |
| [Captain] ANVIL*n238
| a braggart, governor to Wigeon. | |
| Master [Salamon] NONSENSE | a Cornish gentleman, suitor to Constance. | |
| [Oliver] PATE | a witty servingman to Sir Philip. | |
| BEAVIS*n1166
| a blunt servingman to Mistress Trainwell. | |
| [Humphrey] HOWDEE*n239
| Mistress Fitchow’s man and gentleman-usher. | |
| VEXHEM | a constable. | |
| CLERK to Sir Paul. | ||
| Masquers. | ||
| Mistress [Audrey]FITCHOW*n1617
gg139
| the city widow. | |
| CONSTANCE, the northern lass. | ||
| Mistress TRAINWELL | her governess. | |
| Camitha HOLDUP | a cunning whore*n266
|
|
| [FLAPS*n265
| the] chambermaid to Mistress Fitchow. |
Prologue.
2PrologueGallants and friends-spectators, will ye see
A strain of wit that is not poetry?
I have authority for what I say,
For he himself says so that writ the play.
Though in the Muse’s garden he can walk,
And choicest flowers pluck from every stalk
To deck the stage, and purposeth hereafter
To take your judgements, now he implores your laughter.
Says he would see you merry; thinks it long
Since you were last delighted with a song.
Your books, he says, can show you history
And serious passages better than he.
And that he should take pains in act to show
What you already by your studies know
Were a presumption. ’Tis a modesty
Unused ’mongst poets. This being only he
That boasteth not his worth, and doth subscribe
Himself an under-servant in their tribe.
Yet though he slight himself, we not despair
By him to show you what is good and rare.
ACT ONE*n4328
This is a play that largely takes place in London households. In the opening scene, the first household we encounter is that of Sir Philip Luckless, a courtier who is declaring his intention to formalise his betrothal to a rich city widow, Audrey Fitchow. While his friend and kinsman, Triedwell, clearly has reservations about this match, invoking as he does cultural stereotypes of the browbeating and profligate widow who will rapidly consume Luckless's riches and his sanity, Luckless stresses that the match is already secured. The couple are 'Lustily promised . . . Absolutely contracted' (See the introduction for an extended discussion of the treatment of courtship and handfasting rituals in this play).
We are then introduced to the brother of the said widow, Walter Wigeon, who is another recognizable type from the Jacobean and Caroline stage, the young fool. He is accompanied by his 'governor' or tutor, Captain Anvil. This relationship imaginatively reworks that of Bartholomew Cokes and Humphrey Wasp in Ben Jonson's 1614 play Bartholomew Fair. In similar ways to Coke, Wigeon has little control over his purse and dreams of conducting a 'grand tour' of Europe (by the end of the play he will embark on European travels for very different reasons). Anvil reworks another character-type, that of the braggart soldier (compare Jonson's Bobadill in Every Man In His Humour) and brings into the play the homosocial world of male fraternities and brotherhoods, often fashioned around drinking establishments and violent behaviour. The humour for the audience is that Anvil is a pretty poor exponent of the type he represents, regularly subject to violent beatings from others and an abject misunderstander of situations.
Wigeon is excited at the prospect of his sister's marriage to Luckless since it will raise their family further up the social spectrum and therefore benefit him directly.
On meeting the hapless Wigeon, Luckless starts to doubt the sense of a marriage which will tie him to the Wigeon clan. It is at the very moment when these doubts are entering his head that his servant Pate announces the arrival of a woman at the house who clearly has a grievance to air.
Mistress Trainwell enters, although at this point neither the audience nor Luckless is clear who exactly she is. She approaches Sir Philip and rails on him for his poor treatment of a woman called Constance and hands him a letter from the same. Luckless appears to assume that the letter comes from a prostitute whose sexual services he has employed in the past and who went by the name of Constance (we will later learn that her real name is Camitha Holdup). As a result he treats Trainwell with considerable scorn. She leaves, appalled at his response, and Luckless is informed by Pate that she has left in her coach. This would be an immediate signal to early modern audiences that there may be a case of mistaken identity here, since it was highly unlikely that a prostitute or her bawd would have access to their own coach, although the opportunity for confusion persists in that those clear social demarcations were increasingly under pressure in the Caroline period when access to coach travel was becoming possible for those lower down the social scale. Indeed, in the 1630s there would be publications on this theme including Henry Peacham's 'Coach and Sedan pleasantly disputing for place and precedence' (1636) and John Taylor's 'The World Runs on Wheels; or, Odds between Carts and Coaches' (1635). Ben Jonson’s The New Inn first performed in the same year as The Northern Lass (1629) includes extended ruminations on this topic. However the key to Luckless's poor judgement in this instance lies in the response of Pate, the witty servant who will have a key role in some of the later disguisings and embedded performances of this theatrically-conscious play. He can see quite clearly that Mistress Trainwell is not a typical bawd.
Another servant then arrives at the Luckless household. Beavis is the servant to Sir Paul Squelch’s household. Sir Paul is the local Justice of the Peace. We will meet Sir Paul later in the play and learn in due course that Trainwell is his housekeeper and therefore also governess and confidante to his niece Constance, currently resident in his London household. For the moment, however, Pate seems to endorse Luckless's assumption that Trainwell is a bawd and identifies Beavis as servant to a brothel or bawdy-house and he treats him accordingly. This leads to an exchange full of asides that the audience can enjoy greatly as each expresses shock at the other’s comments and responses. Pate and Beavis agree that Luckless will visit Trainwell's household that evening. Beavis's comment that he will not be able to recognise Sir Philip lays the foundations for Pate's decision to encourage Captain Anvil to disguise himself as Sir Philip and visit the supposed 'brothel', a scene of comic misunderstanding that will take place onstage in Act 2.
In the second scene of this act we are in the household of Audrey Fitchow, the rich city widow due to be formally married to Sir Philip Luckless the following day. She is in conversation with her servant, Humphrey Howdee, and is describing the terms and conditions under which she intends to conduct her forthcoming marriage. She will not refer to her husband with terms of respect and, as we learn later in the scene, she intends to be in control of the household.
Howdee is another of the interestingly sketched servant characters in this play. He dreams of being a gentleman usher and is malleable to other people's suggestions and instructions throughout. His social ambitions suit the ambitious Fitchow who wishes to attain a certain status in society, in pursuit of which she is agreeing to marry Sir Philip and become Lady Luckless. Howdee is also the subject of much comic stage business around his name – he constantly mistakes people's expressions of concern or greeting 'how d'ye?' to be a direct summons which makes for several comic entrances onto the stage. What can look quite corny in print comes alive in performance as Howdee's entrances are often used to punctuate moments of dramatic tension by Brome (the exchange between Fitchow and Triedwell later in this scene is a prime example).
When Howdee has gone offstage temporarily in this scene the audience is given access to Fitchow's plans for her marriage which she sets out in quasi-legal terms in a lengthy soliloquy (her previous marriage was to a civil lawyer so she is well acquainted with legal theory). She intends to have 'the whole sway of the house and all domestical affairs' and complete control of her husband into the bargain. At this point, Fitchow would seem to conform to the cultural stereotype of the rich widow, though our initial response to her will be complicated by the end of the scene following the extended exchange with Triedwell.
Triedwell arrives at the household on a mission to dissuade Fitchow from marrying Sir Philip. In a verbal assault that resembles Truewit’s attempts to dissuade Morose from marrying in Ben Jonson's 1609 play Epicoene Triedwell initially slanders both the institution of marriage and his kinsman, Sir Philip. His own performance is complicated, however, by the fact that he finds himself unexpectedly attracted to Fitchow; indeed, in the course of the scene he appears to fall quite deeply in love with her. There is undoubtedly a sexual chemistry that develops between them during the scene (something which clearly emerged in the workshopping of the scene with actors) and Brome underscores this through the verbal and poetic rhythms of the dialogue as well as through astute use of asides for both characters.
Howdee's previously mentioned comic entrance might serve to punctuate the increasingly breathy exchanges between Triedwell and Fitchow but it also gives Fitchow someone to play against and ask questions of as she is clearly perplexed and confused by the end of the scene and the act.
n4328
1.1
Sir Philip LUCKLESS [and] TRIEDWELL enter.
3TriedwellBut I beseech you, sir, take me somewhat nearer your counsel. May I assure myself that this report goes true, that you are on this treaty of marriage with that widow?
4LucklessFaith, cousin, I take it as my fortune and am fully bent on the adventure.
5TriedwellTroth, in my mind you were better venture your self and fortune to the Bermudas*n216
Possibly a reference to an area near to Covent Garden renowned for prostitution, and which may prefigure later associations of Luckless in the play with formerly disreputable behaviour of this kind. However, the Bermudas had also become a by-word for risky financial and personal ventures after the ill-fated journey of a fleet of 400 new colonists to the Jamestown colony in Virginia by the recently established Virginia Company in 1609. After hitting a hurricane off the coast of Virginia, the survivors landed on island of Bermuda where they spent the winter. William Strachey's account of their experiences, recorded in a letter of 1610, 'A true report of the wreck and redemption of Sir Thomas Gates, Knight, upon and from the islands of the Bermudas . . .', had circulated in manuscript form soon after its composition and is considered to a major influence on Shakespeare's 'The Tempest' (1611). Strachey's account had new relevance and resonance in the Caroline period since it was published in 1625 as part of Samuel Purchas's remarkable collection of travel writings, 'Purchas his Pilgrimes'. Brome's interest in the genre of travel writing was clearly considerable, witness the plotline involving 'Sir John Mandeville's Travels' in 'The Antipodes' (1638). See Julie Sanders, 'The politics of escapism: fantasies of travel and power in Richard Brome's 'The Antipodes' and Ben Jonson's 'The Alchemist' ' in 'Writing and Fantasy' ed. Ceri Sullivan and Barbara White (London: Longman, 1999), pp. 137-50.
. ’Tis true, she has a good estate, some nine thousand I think, and were an apt match for one that knew how to govern it, and her; some hard-bred citizen, crafty lawyer, or country justice. But you, a tender nurseling†gg417
a person bred in or fostered by a particular place, or conditions (OED 2a)
of the court, altogether unmixed with such nature or education, to cast yourself upon her, who for her years might be your mother (they say, I never saw her)*n4329
Much of the action of this play is dependent on the fact that several of the main characters have never met or seen each other before, which allows for a series of impersonations and mistaken identities which drive the plot forward.
and has been the town widow these three years, still conversant with doctors and proctors†gg418
people employed to manage the affairs of another; agents, deputies, proxies, attornies (OED 2a)
of the civil law, of which tribe her husband was too. Never look to be the better for her riches: she’ll consume yours and you too, though your back were Herculean*n217
Hercules was renowned for his exceptional strength.
. And lay you in your grave or in Bedlam*n218
Bethlehem Hospital, London, formerly the Priory of St. Mary of Bethlehem. After 1402 it became where the mentally infirm were placed.
, my life on’t, before she dream o’ dying, though it be all that you can hope or pray for after marriage.
n216
gg417
n4329
gg418
n217
n218
6LucklessYou speak, sir, out of some unfortunate examples and your extraordinary care of me. But, truth is, all dissuasion comes too late and all urgings against it are now uncharitable: for we are already man and wife.
7TriedwellWhat, married?
8LucklessLustily promised, sir. Absolutely contracted.*n219
Luckless refers here to the early modern convention whereby when a couple declared themselves man and wife, they were legally married per verba de presenti. By a strange paradox, the Church recognised the legality of these contracts but also denounced them as sinful since they encouraged the practice of sexual consummation prior to a church blessing. See John Webster, The Duchess of Malfi, 1.1.477-8. The practice was often referred to as 'handfasting'. For a detailed discussion of this custom, see Nicholl 2007, pp. 251-8.
n219
9TriedwellSend you joy! I’ll out of town.
10LucklessI hope you’ll see our marriage? I sent indeed to bid you.
11TriedwellNo, good Sir Philip, rather than I would be in sound of a bell that should ring at it, I would have my brains filliped†gg421
struck smartly (OED 4b)
out*n4330
With an obvious pun on Sir Philip's name as well as the literal meaning. This pun is repeated by Wigeon later in the play when he has enjoyed sexual intercourse with Holdup (who at this point in time he believes to be the northern lass) in the guise of Sir Philip Luckless (see Act 5).
with the clapper.
gg421
n4330
12LucklessNay, good cousin. I intended you my principal guest. We’ll have all very private, not above four or five friends more.
13TriedwellSir, I intend to be none of your mourners, which indeed my presence there would make me, and so, perhaps, infect the rest. I leave my best wishes to you, and will endeavour to pray for you. Indeed I will.[TRIEDWELL starts to leave the stage.]
14LucklessIndeed, this is very abrupt.
ANVIL [and] WIGEON enter.
15AnvilMaster Triedwell, well met! Why so fast, sir? I took you for a foot-post†gg420
a letter carrier or messenger who travels on foot
.
gg420
16TriedwellA foot-post! Indeed your fine wit will post you into another world one of these days, if it take not the whipping-post†gg419
a post, usually set up in a public place, to which offenders were tied to be whipped
i’the way. And why foot-post, in your little witty apprehension?
gg419
17AnvilBecause you went so fast. But since you are angry, I would you were going twice as fast. If I interrupt you, hang me. D’ye hear?*n221
The phrase becomes Anvil's catchphrase as the playtext progresses and several other characters make reference to his verbal tick, Wigeon in particular feeling it operates as a sign that Anvil is telling a joke against someone. Other catchwords or identifying phrases allied to particular characters in the play include Sir Paul Squelch's 'directly' and Mistress Trainwell's 'discretion'. The practice of deploying catchwords as a form of easy character identification is also common to the plays of James Shirley in the commercial Caroline theatres at this time.
n221
18TriedwellNay, I know you are apt to decline any man’s anger*n222
Triedwell implies that Anvil is a coward, a state of affairs produced by several beatings at the hands of others.
, good Captain Anvil: you have been beaten to’t.
n222
19WigeonWhy, if he have, he may thank such as you are that can endure no jest.
20TriedwellWhat, are you there too? Master Wigeon, I take it?
21WigeonMy name is Walter Wigeon, sir; not to be denied. The only brother here of Sir Philip Luckless his betrothed*n1618
This possessive is a highly unusual way of referring to his own sister. It represents her entirely through the optic of her husband to be and is indicative both of Wigeon's uncaring misogyny in the play and the great importance he places in the social advancement of the Wigeon family by Fitchow's marriage to Sir Philip.
. She is a Wigeon-born, sir, and of the best family. Our ancestors flew out of Holland in Lincolnshire*n220
The Wigeon family surname plays on their association with a wild duck common to the wetland marshes of the Lincolnshire wolds. The area of the wolds known as 'Holland' due to its resemblance to the reclaimed lands of the Low Countries still exists today. Brome was clearly interested in the vexed contemporary issues surrounding fenland and marshland drainage in Lincolnshire and East Anglia in the 1620s and 1630s and makes reference to the subject again in The Asparagus Garden through the character of the Gardener and his wife Martha and in the windmill projects advanced at court in The Court Beggar. For an earlier Jacobean example of engagement with this topic, see Ben Jonson's 1616 The Devil is an Ass and its plotline involving the dukedom of 'drowned land'. For further discussion of this subject on the early modern stage, see Sanders (1998), pp. 107-22. For an insight into the social and economic history of the fens at this time, see Hindle (2004).
to prevent persecution*n223
Wigeon refers here to Protestants who went into hiding in Lincolnshire during the reign of Mary Tudor to avoid religious persecution.
.
n1618
n220
n223
22TriedwellFrom Crowland*n224
A small town in Lincolnshire, popular with wild duck hunters. Triedwell is continuing the puns on Wigeon's name.
I warrant you, a little before a moulting time*n225
Wild ducks were presumed to be most vulnerable to hunters when they were moulting their wing-feathers.
.
n224
n225
23WigeonLike enough, sir. My sister can tell you. Since, by marriage, she was made a Fitchow. Her husband was Fitchow the civil lawyer. He was called the great cannoneer†gg422
an artillery man who manages the laying or firing of a cannon (NB: here the term is reapplied to refer to the management of legal canons)
of the civil law because he could discharge or make report of every canon†gg423
law, rule, edict (OED 2a)
therein. Canon after canon, or canon upon canon at his fingers’ ends, as readily as I can tell these pieces.
gg422
gg423
24TriedwellA fair demonstration!
25WigeonHe had many rare parts*n1619
Possibly with a bawdy sense of genitalia. Wigeon seems fond throughout of bawdy references and double entendres of a sexual nature.
in him besides, sir, as my sister can tell you.
n1619
26Triedwell [Aside] This fellow cannot choose but have a rare sister, he quotes her so!
27WigeonBut all the good I can speak of him is that he left my sister rich, or at least a reasonable estate, half a score thousand pounds, or so, which she, with herself, bestows upon this honourable knight, Sir Philip Luckless, to be a lady of that name, and God gi’him joy. And for you, being his kinsman, I shall desire your nearer acquaintance.
28TriedwellIn good time, sir.
29WigeonThe match was not altogether her own seeking, sir, though she refused two aldermen for him on my own knowledge.
30TriedwellMight she have had ’em both, sir?*n226
Triedwell is clearly casting sexual aspersions on Mistress Fitchow's character.
n226
31WigeonAye, and half a score aldermen fellows to boot; yet refused all for him.
32Triedwell [Aside] Indeed, six yoke of such cattle*n227
Triedwell's agricultural turn of phrase implies in a roundabout way that Mistress Fitchow will eat up any fortune that Luckless possesses within a short space of time. The association between women and the consumption of acreage was conventional in early modern drama. See Ben Jonson Epicoene, 2.2.109-111: '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'.
would plow up all his acres in a forenoon.
n227
33WigeonMy sister can tell you more, sir.
34Triedwell [Aside] Still she is his authority! I will see this woman. [To Luckless] Sir Philip, here are guests will applaud your match. Bid ’em welcome. God buy.[TRIEDWELL] exit[s].*n4316
In accordance with the modernising undertaken throughout this edition, I have modernised all exits to read in this way - e.g. Triedwell exits, rather than 'Exit Triedwell'. I have not added a textual note for each example since use of square brackets should indicate to the user where a stage direction existed, if only in partial form or in Latin in the Quarto and where they are complete editorial intervention.
n4316
35WigeonFor my part I honour any man that marries my sister. Sir Philip, and my noble brother in expectation, I pray embrace my governor, Captain Anvil here, and give him and me our gloves*n228
accept our friendship. Gloves were given as a pledge both in declarations of friendship and of challenges and duels, but they were also commonly given as wedding gifts at this time (especially to men who wore the more exotically embroidered versions of the garment).
. You shall find him worthy your acquaintance. He has wit, I can tell you; and breaks as many good jests as all the wits, fits, and fancies*n229
a phrase commonly used in early modern literature to refer to a collection of clever sayings. Anthony Copley's 'Wits fittes and fancies' was published in 1596 (Fried).
about the town, and has trained up many young gentlemen, both here and in diverse parts beyond the seas. He was dry nurse*n230
Wigeon's pun (in fact an appropriation of Anvil's own joke) on the role of a wet nurse who would traditionally have been employed to breastfeed the children of aristocratic parents.
(that’s one of his own jests upon himself) to the English youth, a dozen years together beyond sea. And now he is my governor and I find profit in it. You cannot think what an ass I was before I met with him. And I mean to travel with him two or three years hence myself. In the meantime, he shall spend a hundred a year out of Wat Wigeon’s purse. Shal’t i’faith. Governor, what ail’st thou? Art thou not right?
n228
n229
n230
36AnvilI shall find a time to right myself, I doubt not.
37LucklessBut will you travel at these years, Master Wigeon?
38WigeonWill you not call me brother? Two days hence when you have married my sister, you must. Must he not, governor?
39AnvilYes, an’t please him.
40WigeonHe ails something.
41LucklessWell then, brother, two days hence, will you travel?
42WigeonAy, some two years hence, mistake me not. I know I am but young yet; besides, I mean to marry first, as other young heirs do. And then towry-lowry†gg425
dialect expression, possibly from Cumberland (cf. 'tirra-lirra'), meaning 'all in disorder' (OED notes this as the first usage)
, faith, my noble governor and I! ’Twill be brave going into France then. I may learn half their fashions before I go, and bate†gg426
be impatient with (OED v1. 2b)
so much being taught at when I come there. What’s the matter, governor? Thou wert not wont to be thus. Is thy money all gone? Here’s five pieces to buy pomps†gg424
splendid or showy ornaments, appurtenances etc. (OED n1. 3 notes this as a unique usage)
against my sister’s wedding.[Gives coins to ANVIL.]
gg425
gg426
gg424
43AnvilHave I eyes and ears and can think of trifling money matters?
44WigeonPox on’t, I had forgot. That scurvy, surly gentleman angered him ere while, and put him out of patience. How the hot sum of his rage boils out of his mouth!*n1620
i.e. he is seething. Wigeon's image-laden speech here is typical of his discourse throughout the play. He rarely uses one word where several will do.
If I durst go so near the heat of him, I would skim the pot.
n1620
45AnvilIf I try not this Triedwell, put him to the dearest trial of his life —
46WigeonAy, there ’tis. He will never come to himself till he beat or be beaten.
47AnvilLet me have these knocked out, these pulled off, these plucked out, and these sawn off.[Gestures at various parts of his body.]
48WigeonI must venture on him. Nay, governor, pray thee consider —
49AnvilThe time and place you mean? Think you he durst have done it but in his kinsman’s house? He and the multitude of his servants present?
50WigeonAy, and we know not how many armed men in the next room. Hark, governor.
51Luckless [Aside] What things are these! I shall marry into a fine stock!†gg1396
race, family, or ancestral type (OED n. 1 and 3d)
*n4333
Luckless is already exhibiting doubts about his impending marriage just fifty lines into the play.
How untimely some considerations fall into my mind! My cousin’s counsel, which hath ever been oraculously†gg427
in the manner of an oracle (OED records the first usage as c. 1631 in Donne's Paradoxes)
good, against which I violently bear myself to mix my blood amongst a race of fools! Had but these thoughts been mine but one day past they had prevented all that may prove dangerous in this so great and doubtful undertaking.
gg1396
n4333
gg427
PATE enters.*n4332
Enter Pate to Luckless, Wigeon, [and] Anvil in Q. This kind of stage direction is typical in early modern printed editions of plays where the convention was for the entrance of a new character onto the stage to mark a new scene division. Since in this edition we have chosen to respect the flow of action when denominating scenic division, I have updated all of these stage directions accordingly.
n4332
52PateSir, there’s a gentlewoman would speak with you.
53LucklessWho is it? Do you not know her?
54PateI never saw her before, sir. I asked her name, but I perceived some displeasure in her look (whether it were shame, grief, or anger, I know not) that made her conceal it. Only telling me she was a woman very hurtless and warrantable†gg428
guaranteed virtuous (OED 2)
against your fear.
gg428
55WigeonI warrant ’tis my sister. She frowned, did she not, and looked fightingly†gg432
pugnaciously (OED's first recorded usage)
? If she did, ’tis my sister, your wife that shall be. She will look so at you, I can tell you, or me, or my governor, for all he is a captain. She fears no colours†gg188
flag
*n1621
'She will not be frightened off by any man's army.'
i’faith. To tell you true, she beat him [Gestures at Anvil] once for a jest he broke upon her monkey*n231
Traditional pets for Caroline aristocratic women.
. Is it not she, thinkest thou?
gg432
gg188
n1621
n231
56PateNo, sir, it is not she. I know my lady that shall be.
57Wigeon‘My lady that shall be’! How sweetly it chimes. Here’s something for that word.
58LucklessGo bring her up. Good brother, Wigeon, fly into the next room with your governor. I’ll wait on you presently.PATE exits.
59Wigeon‘My Lady’ and ‘brother Wigeon’! I must admire. Our house is raised by this two storeys higher.WIGEON [and] ANVIL exit.
60LucklessThere’s no recalling time, and vows of this high nature are no trifles.
Mistress TRAINWELL enters.
61TrainwellSir, I suppose you are Sir Philip Luckless?
62LucklessI am the man, lady.
63TrainwellAnd you are shortly to marry a city widow, one Mistress Fitchow?
64LucklessMost true.
65TrainwellFor whose dear sake you purchased a four hundred pounds knighthood*n232
The sale of aristocratic titles to boost Treasury funds became a veritable scandal during the reign of James VI and I. Several Jacobean plays made comic capital out of the practice; see, for example, Ben Jonson's 'mushroom knight' (so-called because he sprang up overnight), Sir Epicure Mammon in The Alchemist (1610).
to go a wooing in? Out of which she is to give nine thousand pounds for a ladyship for term of life?
n232
66LucklessWhat mean you, gentlewoman?
67TrainwellSir, not to scold or brawl, a vice too frequent in our sex; but, in few words, and civil ones, to make you sensible of a little of that infinite injury you have done to one whose unvaluable portion of virtue makes her fit, besides the right she has already in you, to take a bride’s place before your later choice, or any she whose wealth might weigh down hers. You stand as if you knew not who I mean.
68LucklessNor what neither. Sure my name’s abused.
69TrainwellPray, sir, bethink yourself. Has there not been a former contract made betwixt you and some other?
70LucklessNo, nor any faithful promise neither!
71TrainwellThat I may well believe, when you forget it.
72LucklessI pray, speak nearer to my understanding. Whom may you suggest to be the woman so much forgotten?
73TrainwellIf you have soul or sense, you must remember her. No? Read then her name subscribed to that.[Hands LUCKLESS a letter.]
LUCKLESS reads.
74Luckless If pity, love, or thought of me,
Live in your breast, I need not die.
But if all those from thence be fled,
Live you to know that I am dead.
Farewell, good Constance, I am sorry I have no further for thee.
75TrainwellDo you know that name, sir?
76LucklessYes, lady, so well that I am sorry that a gentlewoman of your good seeming should have to do for so light a piece of vanity. Leave going o’the devil’s errands! His kingdom’s large enough, and too much peopled already.
78LucklessAy, good faith am I.
79TrainwellYou are unhappy then. For you shall lose in this disdain of yours more honour than your lifetime in repentance can cover. So fare you well, sir.TRAINWELL exits.
80LucklessFarewell, old Whiskin*n215
Brome's use of this phrase as a slang term for a pander is the OED's first recorded usage, but see also James Shirley, The Lady of Pleasure (1635), 4.2.51.
†gg430
(1) northern dialect term in Caroline period for a shallow kind of drinking vessel; (2) slang term for a pander (OED's first recorded usage in this sense)
. ’Slid, I’ll marry out o’ the way*n4334
i.e. in private, for fear that the ceremony might be interrupted by the likes of Trainwell railing at him on behalf of another woman with a supposed claim to his hand in marriage.
. ’Tis time I think. I shall be ta’en up for whore’s meat else. Constance! She had a bastard t’other day too.*n4335
This is the first mention of Holdup's illegitimate child, which will prove to be a factor in the plot later. Luckless's unsympathetic, even misogynistic, response to her dilemma here is disturbing. He is not an uncomplicated male hero in this play by any means and despite audience fondness for the northern lass, her intended match with Sir Philip raises questions of its own.
What a mischievous maw†gg431
stomach (usually of an animal)
has this she-cannibal that gapes for me! ’Slight, a common trader with I know not how many! I marvel she was left out of ‘Cupid’s Muster’*n233
This appears to be a satirical Caroline ballad naming all the London prostitutes of the day but no extant evidence of this ballad has yet been identified.
. Sure she bribed the ballad-maker! One that I have paid at all times too; here’s one, there’s t’other. And now she hears I am towards marriage pretends a claim to me. And what a minister she hath procured! A devil in a most gentlewomanlike apparition. It had been well to have pumped†gg433
put under a stream of water from a pump; a common punishment for those perceived to be witches (see Induction to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, ll. 31-3: 'And a punk set under upon her head, with her stern upward, and ha' been soused by nmy witty young masters o' the Inns of Court?')
her. Is she gone?
n215
gg430
n4334
n4335
gg431
n233
gg433
PATE enters.
81PateWho, sir? The gentlewoman? I put her in her coach.
82LucklessHer coach! Coaches must needs be common when their carriages are so*n234
Expansion in both the availability of and the access to coach travel was a common topic of debate in the Caroline period. Concern was expressed that access to such modes of transport on the part of the lower classes was a threat to social stability; see, for example, contemporary pamphlets produced on the topic by John Taylor ('The World Runnes on Wheeles', 1625) and Henry Peacham ('Coach, Cart, and Sedan', 1637,) as well as the reflections on social rank and coach travel in Ben Jonson's The New Inn (1629), 4.3.70-74: 'A coach is hired and four horse; he runs / In his velvet jacket thus to Romford, Croydon, / Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road; / And takes me out, carries me up, and throws me / Upon a bed --'. Luckless in fact misreads the significance of Trainwell's access to a coach, presuming it proves the case that even the lowest social orders now travel in the highest style, thereby demeaning coach travel in the process, instead of realising that it indicates Trainwell's access to a coach due to her employment in the Squelch household.
. By this light, Oliver, a bawd, a very bawd. Where’s my brother Wigeon and his governor Anvil? They are wholesomer company o’the two yet.[LUCKLESS] ex[its].
n234
83PateA bawd? Bless my master’s wits. But the best is, if he be mad there’s that at hand will tame him or any man: A fine cooler†gg434
vessel for cooling (OED 2a)
called marriage to take his batchelor’s button*n235
a flower worn by unmarried men; traditionally a campion.
a hole lower! Can it be possible? She might ha’ been Mother of the Maids†gg435
a bawd
as well to my seeming, or a matron, to have trained up the best ladies’ daughters in the country. Here comes her man again.
gg434
n235
gg435
BEAVIS enters to PATE.
84BeavisIs Sir Philip Luckless in the house still, sir?
86BeavisAre you mad or are you drunk, sir?
87PateCome you to bargain for a punk†gg438
prostitute
, sir? Faith where’s the meeting? Where’s the supper? At the Bridgefoot*n241
'The Bear at the Bridgefoot' was a famous London tavern at the Southwark end of London bridge (Fried).
,or the Cat*n242
Probably a reference to 'The Cat and Fiddle', an eating house in Cheapside (Fried). Pate's implication is that this venue, like the Bridgefoot, is used for assignations with prostitutes.
, or where is it?
gg438
n241
n242
88BeavisNay then, sir, though your master be allowed to measure his manners, by his pleasure here, on his own yard, I’ll be bold to pull you out on’t by the ears and beat you into better fashion.Seizes PATE by the ears and starts to beat him.
89PateHold, hold. Pray hold a little, sir. I cry you mercy! I might be mistaken. I see thou art a good fellow. I have half a dozen for thee, faith. [Aside] S’foot what big words and terrible action he has! Is this the bawd’s language? [To BEAVIS] Pray pardon me, sir, I have been overwatched†gg437
tired from too much watching
of late and knew neither place, person, nor what I said at the instant.
gg437
90BeavisIndeed?
91PateAy, sir, ’tis an infirmity I am much troubled withall; a kind of a ‘between sleep and waking’, I know not what to call it. I would give twenty nobles†gg439
English gold coins first minted by Edward III, usually valued at 6s 8d (OED n1. 2a)
to be cured on’t. I pray take it not ill, sir. I use any man so when the fit’s on me, till they throughly wake me.
gg439
92BeavisWhat, as I did now by the ears? Are you come to yourself enough yet? Or shall I help you further, sir?
93PateNo, ’tis very well now, I thank you, sir. Alas, I put my master to the pains*n1623
subject my master to this same treatment
twice or thrice a week, I assure you, to my grief.
n1623
94BeavisA very strange disease! How might you get it?
95PateFaith, I fell into’t first, with a conceit I took for overbuying a bargain of drink. Your business with my master, sir, I pray?
96BeavisOnly to speak with him from the gentlewoman was here e’en now.
97PateI shall acquaint him with it.
98BeavisI shall be your servant.
99PateI pray pardon my error.
100BeavisAnd you my boldness.BEAVIS exits.
101PateOh not so, sir. Well, Master Pimp, I have a plot upon your employment, as bravely as you carry it. I know he is a bawd by his outfacing. And I do humble and disguise my manhood to work on him by policy. And if I put not a fine slur upon him for all his brave bravados, then Oliver Pate has no brains, nor is there any difference betwixt a servingman and a pandar.PATE exits.
[BEAVIS enters.]
102BeavisWhat a trim-tram trick†gg440
piece of nonsense or absurdity (OED 4)
is this? The master and the man both brain-crazed? As the one used me, so did the other my mistress. But I have brought this into a kind of civil sense again. Do we look like bawds? There is some strange ground for this mistaking. I am sure she has ever been reputed a virtuous gentlewoman, and has now the government and bringing up of a virgin of a most hopeful goodness. And I think I know myself, and dare beat any man into a better construction of my quality.
gg440
PATE enters.
103PateNow wit and be thy will! Sir, my master desires to be excused, for he is with some friends on private business concerning his marriage, which is to be tomorrow. But says if it please you to meet him in the evening between four and five in the great palace*n243
probably referring to Westminster Palace (Fried).
and conduct him to the gentlewoman, he will attend her with his best service.
n243
104BeavisBetween four and five in the palace. But how shall I know him? I never saw him.*n4336
Beavis's observation that he has never seen Luckless sets in train the plotline whereby Captain Anvil will assume he can pretend to be Luckless and arrive at the 'brothel' he assumes Trainwell is the keeper of. The scene takes place in the second act of the play.
n4336
105PateAs I wished. But you may easily. He is of a comely stature and will be in a red cloak and a white feather. Besides, I’ll wait on him.
106BeavisI thank you, sir.[BEAVIS] exit[s].
107PateFare you well, sir. Good Foist†gg441
a cheat or a rogue (OED n4)
, I shall make a whiskin†gg430
(1) northern dialect term in Caroline period for a shallow kind of drinking vessel; (2) slang term for a pander (OED's first recorded usage in this sense)
of you now, and for nothing too. I have been a little bold with my master’s name in this answer, the knowledge of which he is unguilty of. I saw how he shifted her off. Therefore I will further be bold with his name and person, which I will put upon a friend in store. My special friend, Captain Anvil, a notable, lecherous tup†gg442
a male sheep or ram (here applied to a person)
; He has been at me for a bit out of my master’s flock any time these three weeks. I’ll pleasure him with her for ready money. I know ’tis some cast†gg447
(usually of garments) thrown aside, cast-off, rejected (OED 5)
stuff that my master has done withall. And let him take what follows.[PATE] exit[s]
gg441
gg430
gg442
gg447
1.2
Fitchow and Howdee enter. Howdee with ink and paper.
108FitchowWell, sir, and what said Master Luckless?
109HowdeeSir Philip, you mean forsooth?
110FitchowThe very same, sir. But I begin to call him now as I must call him hereafter. Ladies do not call their husbands as they are knights, as Sir Philip, Sir Timothy, or Sir Gregory. Did you ever hear my Lady Squelch call her husband Sir Paul? No; but ‘Master Squelch’. Indeed all others must 'sir' them by their Christian names, because they are knights and to be known from other men. Only their own wives must master them by their surnames, because they are ladies and will not know them from other men. But to our business. What said he to you?
111HowdeeHis worship said forsooth —
112FitchowNay, what said you to him, first? I love to hear things in order.
113HowdeeI said that as you bade me, forsooth.
114FitchowAs I bade you, Clotpoll†gg443
a blockhead or dolt (OED 2)
? What was that? Shall I ever mould thee into a gentleman-usher†gg1397
an usher is an official or servant who has charge of the door and admits people to a hall or chamber; a gentleman-usher is a gentleman who acts as an usher to a person of superior rank
*n1624
This is the role the junior devil Pug trains in in Jonson's The Devil is an Ass. The role of an usher hints at something deeply embedded in the dramatic structure of The Northern Lass which is replete with scenes where servants usher people into other people's households and often into specific rooms in those households. While the policing of the threshold of any household is an important role for the servants of the play, it is equally noticeable how the conventions of that threshold are misinterpreted or misunderstood by the visitors, such as Pate mistaking Beavis for a bawd's accomplice in Act 1 in the scenes in Sir Philip's residence and Anvil repeating the mistake when he meets Beavis, and indeed Mistress Trainwell, at Sir Paul Squelch's residence in Act 2.
think’st thou that stand’st so? Come forwards, sir, and repeat.
gg443
gg1397
n1624
115HowdeeMy mistress commends her best love unto your worship, and desires to know how your worship came home last night; and how your worship have rested; and how your worship does this morning? She hopes the best of your worship’s health and would be glad to see your worship at your worship’s best leisure.
116FitchowThis was very well: word for word as I instructed. But did you worship him so much?
117HowdeeYes truly, and he commended me for it and said I showed my breeding.
118FitchowNow, sir. His answer? In his own words.
119HowdeeQuoth he: ‘I thank thy mistress and I thank thee. Prithee commend my service to her and tell her my worship came home upon my worship’s foot-cloth*n1625
The implication here is, I think, that he arrived home straight onto his carpet or 'foot-cloth', i.e. he staggered in drunk. The account Howdee gives is of a high-living city gallant who burns the candle at both ends and lives a life of leisure and luxury.
; my worship took very good rest, in my worship’s bed; my worship has very little to do this morning, and will see her at my worship’s leisure.’
n1625
120FitchowDid he say so?
121HowdeeTwas either so or so much I am sure. But he did not make me repeat, as you did, till I had conned*n251
OED notes 1821 as the first usage of this term, but 'studied, learned' is clearly Brome's sense here.
†gg251
small unit of time
it by heart.
n251
gg251
122FitchowWell, Howdee, get you down*n1626
The implication of this statement is that there is a specific spatiality to Fitchow's household, where the servants reside in the downstairs sections of the building and guests are received in her upper chambers (since she goes on to instruct Howdee in the same line that if Sir Paul Squelch arrives he should be brought 'up' to her). An interesting comparison in terms of the dramatic signification of space and movement within a building would be with Ben Jonson's The New Inn, performed at the Blackfriars in the same year as The Northern Lass, where there are distinct semiotics to the upstairs and downstairs attributions and associations of characters, distinguishing as they do for the large part the inn-workers from the paying guests.
. And do you hear, Howdee? If Sir Paul Squelch come, bring him up.
n1626
123HowdeeI will forsooth, mistress.
124FitchowI bade you learn to call me madam.
125HowdeeI shall forsooth, madam.
126FitchowYou shall forsooth madam. ’Tis but a day to’t, and I hope one may be a lady one day before her time.
127Howdee [Aside] A day too soon I doubt in this forward†gg1398
bold, presumptuous, immodest (OED 8)
age.[HOWDEE] exit[s].
gg1398
128FitchowIn the meantime, let me study my remembrances for after marriage*n255
Albeit an exaggerated version, Fitchow's legal declaration of her rights in the marriage to Luckless is not dissimilar to contemporary documents, such as Lady Elizabeth Compton's letter to her husband William, Lord Compton, when he came into her father's fortune in 1610, in which she asserted her right to have access to coaches and finery and to control the appointment of servants, as well as instructing him to settle his debts and purchase land. See W. David Kay (1999), pp. 1-34. Lady Compton's letter is reproduced in full in G. Goodman, 'The Court of King James', 2 vols (London, 1839), 2: 127-32. See also the type of the city widow in the popular subgenre of 'characters literature' in the 1630s, such as work by Wye Saltonstall and Richard Braithwaite.
. Imprimis†gg445
'In the first place' (originally used to introduce the first of a number of items, as in an inventory or will)
: To have the whole sway of the house and all domestical affairs: as of accounts of household charges, placing and displacing of all servants in general; To have free liberty to go on all my visits; and though my knight’s occasions be never so urgent, and mine of no moment, yet to take from him the command of his coach; To be in special fee with his best trusted servant; nor to let one live with him that will not bewray all his counsels to me; To study and practise the art of jealousy; To feign anger, melancholy, or sickness to the life. These are arts that women must be well practised in, ere they can attain to wisdom; and ought to be the only study of a widow from the death of her first husband to the second; from the second to the third, matters of deeper moment; from the third to the fourth deeper yet; and so proportionably to the seventh, if she be so long blessed with life. But of these I may find time hereafter to consider in order as they fall. Besides, in all, to be singular in our will; to reign, govern, ordain laws and break ’em; make quarrels and maintain ’em; profess truths, devise falsehoods; protest obedience but study nothing more than to make our husbands so; control, controvert, contradict, and be contrary to all conformity*n1627
i.e. behave in contradistinction to the expectations of the age that women should be obedient and passive. Early modern drama took regular delight in challenging social expectations of this kind, which suggests that in practice such 'conformity' was far from standard.
. To which end we must be sure to be armed always with prick†gg446
goad or prompt to memory
and praise of the deceased and carry the inventory of our goods and the gross sum of our dowry perpetually in our mouths. Then does a husband tickle the spleen†gg1399
abdominal organ, held by many ages to be the seat of melancholy but in the early seventeenth century more traditionally held to be the seat of laughter or mirth (OED 1c)
of a woman*n1628
make a woman happy (in seventeenth-century usage the spleen was seen as the seat of laughter in the body rather than the seat of melancholy which was a view held by other ages and cultures).
, when she can anger him to please him; chide him to kiss him; mad him to humble him; make him stiff-necked to supple him; and hard-hearted to break him; to set him up and take him down and up again and down again when, and as often, as we liked.
n255
gg445
n1627
gg446
gg1399
n1628
HOWDEE enters.
129HowdeeMadam.
130FitchowAy, marry, now thou say’st well.
131HowdeeAnd it please your Ladyship . . .
132FitchowWell said again.
133HowdeeOne Master Triedwell, a gentleman, desires to speak with your Ladyship, from Sir Philip.
134FitchowTriedwell? Oh, it is Sir Philip’s kinsman. I have heard him speak much good of him, and entreated me to give him good respect, which were enough to mar his entertainment, had I not another purpose of mine own that may prove as ill. Bring him up, Howdee.
135HowdeeI will, Madam.[HOWDEE] exit[s].
136FitchowAy, that was very well. This Howdee do I mean with a cast†gg447
(usually of garments) thrown aside, cast-off, rejected (OED 5)
gown to put in apparel†gg1400
dress, attire
and make my gentleman-usher†gg1397
an usher is an official or servant who has charge of the door and admits people to a hall or chamber; a gentleman-usher is a gentleman who acts as an usher to a person of superior rank
, not only for the aptness of his name*n1629
Howdee's name is particularly apposite for someone who is perform the role of a gentleman-usher, since the usher meets and greets those who enter into their mistress or master's household (usually with the verbal greeting of 'How do you?' or in early modern terminology, 'How d'ye?'). Howdee's name and his regular confusion of the conventional greeting with a direct summons to him from his mistress is the cause of several bits of self-consciously lame stage business in this play.
, to go on my visits, but for his proportionable†gg1401
correspondent, comparable
talent of wit and manners.
gg447
gg1400
gg1397
n1629
gg1401
137Triedwell [Aside] If I can yet redeem him, he is happy. [To FITCHOW] By your leave, lady, may my boldness prove pardonable.
138FitchowSir, the name of him you come from is warrant sufficient to make your welcome here, all that is here being his.
140FitchowI understand you come from Sir Philip Luckless?
141Triedwell’Tis true, I brought his name thus far to enter me to your presence*n1208
Triedwell possibly puns here on the idea of the royal presence chamber at the palace of Whitehall, to gain access to which in the Caroline period, there existed an elaborate series of rituals and codes of etiquette. A similar ironic reference to Whitehall is made by Anvil in 2.2 when he believes he has arrived at an upper-class brothel.
. But here I shake it off, as I would do his remembrance but that I know him too well.
n1208
142FitchowToo well, sir? How mean you?
143TriedwellToo well indeed, lady, but in the ill part. I know him to be no equal match for you, yet I hear you receive him as a suitor.
144FitchowRight, sir. And him only.
145TriedwellIt is not gone so far, I hope.
146FitchowBeshrew me, but it is, and further too, sir. He has all wooed and won me.
147TriedwellBeshrew your fortune then. And if my counsel*n527
Triedwell shifts from a prose register to a verse register here mid-scene. This was not an uncommon tactic in Caroline drama; James Shirley deployed the technique in plays such as The Bird in a Cage often (though not always) to indicate a shift to a more ceremonial, elite, or courtly register. Here the shift appears to mark Triedwell's move into a more consciously rhetorical stance and register in order to persuade Fitchow against her intended marriage to Luckless.
,
n527
The friendliest counsel e’er you hearkened to,
For now you are upon the brink of danger —
You fall into a sea of endless sorrows.*n258
Cf. Hamlet (Q2), 3.1.58. The self-consciousness of this allusion underlines the artificiality of this speech of persuasion (or 'dissuasion' as Fitchow later recognises) as does Triedwell's deployment of the verse register from this point onwards. There is a developed sense of acting a part here which ties in with Brome's extended explorations of theatricality elsewhere in his plays.
n258
148Fitchow [Aside] This is pretty!*n528
Fitchow's phrase here appears to comment on Triedwell's rhetorical shift from a prose to a verse register. It is one indication among many in the scene that Fitchow is both an astute reader of situations and a fine performer in her own right. Having made this observation she immediately switches to a verse register in her next speech.
n528
149Triedwell*n530
Triedwell's elaborate rhetorical dissuasion against marriage here recalls quite self-conciously Truewit's lengthy diatribe against the 'goblin matrimony' (2.2.32) in Ben Jonson's Epicoene (2.2.20-42). The gender shift here is telling since whereas in Epicoene the conversation is between men, here it is the wealthy and independent city widow, Fitchow, who is being asked to consider the losses, both financial and personal, she may bear by marrying Luckless. Compare Carol's hesitancy about remarrying in James Shirley's Hyde Park, 1.2: 'What is in your condition makes you weary?'. The shift to a feminine emphasis in these scenes gives considerable credence to critical claims of a greater 'feminocentrism' in Caroline commercial drama. See, for example, Sanders (1999) and Tomlinson (2005).
Look back into yourself; read o’er your story.
n530
Find the content, the quiet mind, you lived in;
The wealth, the peace, the pleasure you enjoyed;
The free command of all you had beneath you,
And none to be commanded by above you.
Now glance your eye on this side, on the yoke*n1209
This strikes me as a deliberate allusion to the scene in Ben Jonson's Epicoene where Truewit attemps to dissuade Morose from his plan to marry by showing him a halter: ‘Marry your friends do . . . desire that you would sooner commit your grave head to his knot than to the wedlock noose’ (2.2.20-30). There is the possibility here that in performance Triedwell might perform a direct visual echo of Truewit by producing a rope noose or 'yoke' from his pocket. If this hand-held stage property were a material presence here this would make interesting sense of the rope that Triedwell produces later in this same act for Anvil. Is it something he carries around in his pocket to produce at salient moments on this and related themes? On hand-held stage properties more generally, see Gil Harris and Korda (2002).
n1209
You bring your neck to; laden down with cares,
Where you shall faintly draw a tedious life,
And every step encounter with new strife.
Then, when you groan beneath your burdenous charge,
And wearily chance to revert a look
You’ll feel your heart stabbed through with many a woe,
Of which one dies not while a thousand grow.
All will be then too late! Now is the time;
Now rings the warning bell unto your breast —
Where if you can but entertain a thought,
That tells you how you are beset with danger,
You are secure. Exclude it, you are lost
To endless sorrows*n1210
Deliberately echoing his earlier use of this allusive phrase and further underlining the artificial nature of his performance.
bought with dearest cost.
n1210
150Fitchow*n529
Fitchow's move into a verse register at this point mirrors Triedwell's earlier shift from prose to verse when he started into the more rhetorical and persuasive part of his dialogue with her. While, as previously noted, this indicates Fitchow's acute reading of the intricate machinations of this scene, there is also a sense that for the audience the mirroring effect of the verse registers will indicate an underlying attraction and sexual chemistry between them that for the moment is unclear to the characters themselves. A comparable use of linguistic markers in this fashion might be Shakespeare's accordance of shared lines of iambic pentameter blank verse between his warring couples such as Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing or Katherine and Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew to indicate to the audience the ultimate attraction between them despite their surface quarrel.
Pray, sir, deal freely with me. What respect
n529
Moves you to make this strong dissuasion?
Is it your care of me or love of him?
151Triedwell [Aside] A subtle question! This woman is not brainless.
n4510
Triedwell's use of asides in this sequence of dialogue with Fitchow gives a very particular rhythm to this scene and impacts upon the audience's sense of involvement with the changing emotions of the couple.
n4510
[To FITCHOW] Love of him, lady? If this can be love,
To seek to cross him in so great a hope
As your enjoying, being all the means,
Or possibility he has to live on.
If it be love to him to let you know
How lewd and dissolute of life he is,
By which, his fortunes being sunk, he is grown
The scorn of his acquaintance, his friends’ trouble,
Being the common borrower of the town*n11381
The Caroline period is largely recognised as the time when that area of London identified by the term 'town' came in to existence, focused as it was in particular in those areas to the west of the old city walls, which connected the City of London to Westminster, and with its focal point in the Strand. See Brett-James (1935).
.
n11381
A gallant lights not a tobacco pipe*n260
Tobacco had been introduced to London in 1586 and by 1614 it was being cultivated commercially. In the Caroline period, there was a recognised clay-pipe manufacturing industry in the country. See Schofield, pp. 315-6.
n260
[To FITCHOW] And if you put him off a fortnight longer,
To buy his knighthood; besides his deep engagements
To goldsmith, silkman, tailor, milliner,
Sempster†gg452
a person whose occupation is sewing
, shoemaker, spurrier†gg449
a spur maker
, vintner†gg451
a person who deals in or sells wine
, tapster†gg450
a person who draws ale; a keeper of a tavern
.
gg452
gg449
gg451
gg450
[Aside] All stirs her not; she stands as if prepared
To hear as much of truth and bear with it.
[To FITCHOW] Men of all trades and occupations,
From his mercer†gg453
a person who deals in textiles, especially silks, velvets, etc.
downward to his waterman†gg454
licensed wherry men who plied for hire on the river (in London on the Thames) (OED 2)
,
gg453
gg454
Have ventured the last sixpence on his credit,
And all but wait to pay themselves from you.
And I may well imagine how ’twould grieve
A woman of your wealth to disburse all
To save a knight out of his Ward i’th’ Counter*n261
The Counter was a debtor's prison in London. The conditions in which people were kept depended on their ability to pay and their social status. There were four grades of lodging: the Master's Side; the Knights' Ward; the Two-penny Ward; and the Free Quarters (or Hole) (Fried). Triedwell's suggestion here is that Luckless will employ Fitchow's wealth to keep himself out of the Knights' Ward.
n261
While he frequents youthful society
To make more charge for nurseries abroad*n262
Illegitimate children were frequently sent elsewhere (into the country, for example) to be cared for.
.
n262
For I have heard him say you are old*n1211
The subtle treatment of older women in this play is a point of much interest. The counterpart character to Fitchow in this regard is Trainwell, Constance's governess, and Sir Paul Squelch's housekeeper and (as becomes clear as the play progresses) future life-partner. This all seems like further persuasive evidence of the critical claim that Caroline drama offers a deeper and more diverse treatment of female characterisation than much preceding drama (see, for example, Sanders 1999; Tomlinson, 2005).
and that
n1211
It is your wealth he marries and not you.
If this be love to him, that I discover
The means to save you to be his undoing*n1212
In the 1632 quarto publication this is in brackets which generally indicates an aside in this scene. However, this is clearly part of Triedwell's main address to Fitchow so I simply silently removed the brackets.
,
n1212
Let no man take a friend’s help in his wooing.
152FitchowAnd how this should proceed from care of me
Falls not into my understanding, sir.
153TriedwellConsider, lady—
154FitchowSir, I have considered
Before, and in your speech, and since; and cannot
By all that can be said remove a thought.
I loved him not for words, nor will I use
Words against yours; ’twere poor expression
Of love to boast it. ’Tis enough I know it.*n1213
The dignity of Fitchow's words and stance here should not be underestimated in terms of its impact upon Triedwell and the audience. The audience will, however, also have a very recent stage memory of Fitchow's intentions for the marriage which involved a legal document asserting her right in all matters both within and outwith the household. There is a subtlety of characterisation here and an openness to alternative performance possibilities that again belies previous critical givens about Brome's characterisation and skills as a dramatist.
n1213
Boasters of love, how can we lovers call
When most of such love one no more than all?
155Triedwell [Aside] Sure, I was much mistaken in this woman.*n531
This commences a flurry of asides from Triedwell in which he begins to recognise his deep attraction to Fitchow. These are presumably directed towards the audience, who have already been encouraged by the use of poetics in the scene to link Triedwell and Fitchow as possibly sexual and emotional partners. Though only effectively audible to the audience, there is a clear sense here that Triedwell's asides (and eventually Fitchow's) start to complete verse lines begun by her. There is then a conscious reworking of the early modern device, not least Shakespearean, of bringing quarrelling lovers together through the use of underlying speech rhythms. This means that audiences are invariably aware of their sexual attraction long before the interlocuters themselves seem able to acknowledge it. Compare, for example, Petruchio and Katherina in The Taming of the Shrew and Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing. Timing here is crucial to getting the idea of sexual chemistry across to an audience.
n531
156FitchowNor would I have you to expect a railing†gg1608
the action of the verb; abusing, abuse (OED n. 2)
,
gg1608
To say you basely wrong the gentleman:
A way so common common women use it.
But this, sir, I will say: I were to blame,
If I should think your love to him were less
Than the great care of me you seem to urge,
As you pretend it is.
157Triedwell [Aside] She will discover me!
158FitchowYou are his kinsman nearly, and reputed
By his own mouth his best of chosen friends.
Myself an utter stranger, one from whom
You never had, or can expect, least good.
And why you should, for a respect so contrary,
Call my poor wit in question to believe you
159Triedwell [Aside] Methinks I stand
Like a false witness ’gainst another’s life,
Ready to take his punishment.
160FitchowNor will I fondly think you meant to seek,
Crossing his match, to make it for yourself:
Both for my known unworthiness and your
To make me think the better of your worth.
161Triedwell [Aside] Can this be she? How strangely am I taken!
162FitchowBut I forgive and charitably think
All this brought no ill purpose. Pretty pageantry
Which may hereafter ’mong our marriage mirth
Fill up a scene. For now I’ll take no notice.
Indeed, I will not. You may, if you please,
And tell your cuz how heinously I take it.
163Triedwell [Aside] If thou hast mercy, love, keep’t from my heart.
[To FITCHOW] Wil’t please you hear me?
164FitchowSir, I have enough,*n1218
Fitchow here completes a verse line initiated by Triedwell. The underlying attraction is, it seems, mutual.
n1218
And crave but leave to speak this little to you,
Which shall, by heaven, be uncontrolled as fate.
If I shall find him bad, I’ll blame my fortune;
Never repent or thank you for your counsel.
If I shall find him good, and all this false,
Which you so violently have urged against him,
I’ll love him ne’er the more, nor you the worse.
For I am not so poor nor weakly spirited
That should all friends to whom my faith is bound
Say on their knowledge that all this were true,
And that one hour’s protraction of our marriage
Should make it appear that I would give allowance
To all their bugbear†gg1609
imaginary terror (applied as an adjective, OED 2). Compare Timon of Athens, 1.2.6.
reasons, to defer
gg1609
That hour the uniting of our hands. Because*n1214
The punctuation and sense are difficult here. The essence of Fitchow's comments (that she would not allow even her best friends to dissuade her from the holy course of matrimony) is clear enough but quite where the main verb of the sentences lie is a moot point.
n1214
Our hearts are linked by the divinest laws.
165Triedwell [Aside] What have I done? The curse of over-weening brains.
Oh, I shall fall beneath the scorn of fools.
A punishment as just, as great, for such
That do in things concern them not too much.
166Fitchow [Aside] What ails the gentleman?*n532
This reference to Triedwell in the third person is clearly not meant for his ears hence the editorial intervention of an aside at this point. It does also suggest an element of stage business, however, since until now Triedwell's asides to the audience appear to have gone unregistered by Fitchow, but here she seems to notice he is in some sort of emotional or physical distress without having actually heard what has been said. Directors and performers might like to consider at this point stage positioning and blocking to enable the subtleties of the gradual realisations that take place during this scene to unfold for the audience spatially as well as verbally.
n532
167Triedwell [Aside] On what a settled rock of constancy*n533
Steggle (2004, p. 23) comments on the significance of Triedwell's use of this term to describe Fitchow in a play where her two counterpart female protagonists are called Constance.
n533
She planteth her affection. Not to move,
Though all the breath of slanderous reproach,
Driving, tempestuous clouds, and storms of horror
Should beat at once against it?
168Fitchow [To TRIEDWELL] Sir, how d’ye?n4511
Fitchow's concerned remark to Triedwell, asking him how he does, occasions a comic entrance by her servant Howdee who mistakenly believes he has been summoned. The comic punctuation of the sexual chemistry of the scene was clear when we workshopped this sequence .
n4511
.HOWDEE enters.
169HowdeeMadam?
170FitchowNot you, sir.*n534
A rather heavy-handed joke on Howdee thinking that Fitchow's concerned request to Triedwell - 'How d'ye, sir?' - refers to him. These punning references, however, as well as Anvil's recurring catchphrase - 'D'ye hear' - all indicate that the modern editor must preserve this archaic verbal marker in a modern edition. In rhythmical terms this moment is an interesting puncturing of the sexual tension of the dialogue that precedes it however and raises interesting questions about Brome's dramatic strategy in terms of providing light relief and sudden switches of tone via his servant characters in the play. It is worth adding that in the acting workshops what can seem a clunky moment of comedy on the page proved to be actually quite a funny example of stage business in practice. Timing is all for the actor playing Howdee, of course.
n534
171Triedwell [Aside] I would I had not seen, at least not heard*n1215
It is interesting that Fitchow's skill with words is what has most won Triedwell's affections in this scene. This is in a play where the heard voice, whether spoken or sung, is a powerful instrument. This immediately connects Fitchow with Constance the northern lass, whose singing proves so seductive and so identifiable in the play, and with her remarkable counterfeit and counterpart Constance [Camitha] Holdup, the prostitute. As with the earlier verbal connection of Fitchow with the two Constances when Triedwell calls her a 'settled rock of constancy' Brome connects his female protagonists in terms of audibility. This is a play about active listening in many respects.
, her,
n1215
In all so contrary to all opinion.
172FitchowYou are not well, sir?
173Triedwell [Aside] They said she was old, unhandsome, and uncivil,
She’s none of these, but opposite in all.
174FitchowSir?
175Triedwell [Aside] My witty purpose was to save my friend
From such a hazard and to loath her so
That I might make her loathsome to his fancy;
To wrong my friend? To burn in lawless love?
Which? Oh, that prayers or penance may remove.[TRIEDWELL starts to leave the stage.]
176FitchowYou are not going, sir?
177TriedwellI beg your pardon . . . [Aside, continuing to leave and muttering to himself]*n1216
It is a point of contention whether this entire speech or just a section of it is delivered as an aside. Triedwell needs to be leaving the stage at this point to warrant Fitchow's question, and so it seems he needs to be muttering to himself, presumably in quite a distressed and fragmented way, rather than making any direct address to the audience, as might have been the case with a number of his earlier asides and self-reflections. It compares interestingly with the exit of Trainwell in 2.3 on an aside in which she castigates Anvil. In workshopping that scene with actors the unusual nature of an exit on an aside was remarked upon, but here we can see it used as a device earlier in the play also.
dare not look upon you —[TRIEDWELL] ex[its].
n1216
178Fitchow [Aside] Gone in a dream! [To HOWDEE?]n1217
It is a point of contention whether this entire speech is delivered as an aside or only partially so as I have indicated. Howdee is still present onstage throughout despite being silent, or at least Brome gives no indication that he leaves the stage. We workshopped both possibilities with the actors and retaining Howdee onstage gave Fitchow someone and something to play off which was productive . Does the cynicism displayed here by Fitchow in any way revise our response to her dignity in the exchanges with Triedwell that preceded it? Was she simply role-playing for effect and were we as an audience being duped? Or is there, for the audience, any sense that Fitchow is attracted to Triedwell - as those early verbal and poetic indicators suggested - and is simply in self-denial here, repressing the reality of the emotional impact of the scene? The performance possibilities are rich as our workshopping indicated, as well as drawing out the distinct differences between asides as direct address and asides as comments to self.
Well, I perceive this juggling†gg503
act of trickery, practice of deception (OED)
.
n1217
. Does the cynicism displayed here by Fitchow in any way revise our response to her dignity in the exchanges with Triedwell that preceded it? Was she simply role-playing for effect and were we as an audience being duped? Or is there, for the audience, any sense that Fitchow is attracted to Triedwell - as those early verbal and poetic indicators suggested - and is simply in self-denial here, repressing the reality of the emotional impact of the scene? The performance possibilities are rich as our workshopping indicated, as well as drawing out the distinct differences between asides as direct address and asides as comments to self.gg503
This strain was only to explore the strength
Of my affection to my luckless knight.
Let me be called the barren wife of wit*n267
On the cultural significance of 'wit' as both concept and practice to early seventeenth-century society, see O'Callaghan, 2007. Brome chooses to end several scenes in this play, here tellingly at the end of the first act, in this self-conscious manner with a rhyming couplet. Acts were clearly denoted in performance by this means. Performances in indoor theatres required between-the-act interludes, often involving music.
.[FITCHOW and HOWDEE exit.]
n267
Edited by Julie Sanders