Polish, Keep, Placentia, Pleasence, Needle.
Pol. How now, my dainty Charge, and diligent Nurse?
What were you chanting on? (God bless you Maiden.)
[To her Daughter kneeling.
Keep. We were inchanting all; wishing a Husband
For my young Mistris here. A man to please her.
Pol. She shall have a Man, good nurse, and must
have a Man:
A Man and a half, if we can choose him out:
We are all in Counsel within, and sit about it:
The Doctors and the Scholars; and my Lady,
Who's wiser then all us -- Where's Mr.Needle?
Her Ladiship so lacks him to prick out
The Man? How does my sweet young Mistris?
You look not well methinks! how do you, dear Charge?
You must have a Husband, and you shall have a Husband.
There's two put out to making for you: A Third
Your Uncle promises: But you must still
Be rul'd by your Aunt, according to the Will
Of your dead Father and Mother (who are in Heaven.)
Your Lady-Aunt has choise i'the House for you:
We do not trust your Uncle; he would keep you
A Batchelor still, by keeping of your Portion:
And keep you not alone without a Husband,
But in a sickness: I, and the Green-sickness,
A kind of Disease, I can assure you,
And like the Fish our Mariners call Remora --
Keep. A Remora Mistris!
Pol. How now, Goody Nurse?
Dame Keep of Katerns? what? have you an Oar
I' the c*ckboat, 'cause you are a Sailors Wife,
And come from Shawdell? I say a Remora:
For it will stay a Ship that's under sail!
And Stays are long and tedious things to Maids!
And Maidens are young Ships that would be sailing
When they be rigg'd: wherefore is all their trim else?
Nee. True; and for them to be staid, --
Pol. The stay is dangerous:
You know it Mr. Needle.
Nee. I know somewhat:
And can assure you, from the Doctors Mouth,
She has a Dropsie; and must change the Air,
Before she can recover.
Pol.Say you so, Sir?
Nee. The Doctor says so.
Pol. Says his Worship so?
I warren'em he says true then; they sometimes
Are Sooth-sayers, and always cunning Men.
Which Doctor was it?
Nee. E'en my Ladies Doctor:
The neat House-Doctor: But a true Stone-Doctor.
Pol. Why? hear you, Nurse? How comes this jeer
to pass?
This is your fault in truth: It shall be your fault,
And must be your fault: why is your Mistris sick?
She had her health, the while she was with me.
Kee. Alas good Mistris polish, I am no Saint,
Much less, my lady, to be urg'd give Health,
Or Sickness at my Will: but to wait
The Stars good Pleasure, and to do my duty.
Pol. You must do more than your duty, foolish Nurse:
You must do all you can; and more than you can,
More than is possible; when Folks are sick,
Especially a Mistris, a young Mistris.
Kee. Here's Mr. Doctor himself cannot do that.
Pol. Doctor Do-all can do it. Thence he's call'd so.