[ A room in Touchstone's house. ]
Enter GERTRUDE, MILDRED, BETTRICE, and POLDAVY a tailor; POLDAVY with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale, and French fall in his arms; GERTRUDE in a French head attire and citizen's gown; MILDRED sewing; and BETTRICE leading a monkey after her.
Ger.
For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach — that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that — for love's sake, tell me if he come. Oh, sister Mil, though my father be a low-capp'd tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me Madam. Does he come? — Off with this gown, for shame's sake; off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city cut in any hand: tear 't, pax on 't! — Does he come? tear 't off. — [ singing ] "Thus, whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake," etc.
Mil.
Lord, Sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city tire. I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.
Ger.
I tell you I cannot endure it; I must be a lady. Do you wear your quoif with a London licket, your stammel petticoat with two guards, the buffin gown with the tuft-taffety cape and the velvet lace. I must be a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humors of the city dames well: to eat cherries only at an angel a pound, good; to dye rich scarlet black, pretty; to line a grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, tolerable; their pure linen, their smocks of three pounds a smock, are to be borne withal. But your mincing niceries, taffeta pipkins, durance petticoats, and silver bodkins — God's my life, as I shall be a lady, I cannot endure it! — Is he come yet? Lord, what a long knight 't is! — [ singing ] "And ever she cried, 'Shoot home'!" — And yet I knew one longer. — "And ever she cried, 'Shoot home,' fa, la, ly, re, lo, la!"
Mil.
Well, Sister, those that scorn their nest, oft fly with a sick wing.
Ger.
Bow-bell!
Mil.
Where titles presume to thrust before fit means to second them, wealth and respect often grow sullen, and will not follow. For sure in this I would for your sake I spake not truth: where ambition of place goes before fitness of birth, contempt and disgrace follow. I heard a scholar once say that Ulysses, when he counterfeited himself mad, yok'd cats and foxes and dogs together to draw his plough, whilst he followed and sowed salt; but, sure, I judge them truly mad, that yoke citizens and courtiers, tradesmen and soldiers, a goldsmith's daughter and a knight. Well, Sister, pray God my father sow not salt too.
Ger.
Alas! poor Mil, when I am a lady, I'll pray for thee yet, i' faith: nay, and I'll vouchsafe to call thee Sister Mil still; for, though thou art not like to be a lady as I am, yet sure thou art a creature of God's making; and mayest peradventure to be sav'd as soon as I. — Does he come? — [ singing ] "And ever and anon she doubled in her song." Now, Lady's my comfort! what a profane ape's here! Tailor, Poldavy, prithee, fit it, fit it: is this a right Scot? Does it clip close, and bear up round?
Pold.
Fine and stiffly, i' faith; 't will keep your thighs so cool, and make your waist so small; here was a fault in your body, but I have supplied the defect, with the effect of my steel instrument, which, though it have but one eye, can see to rectify the imperfection of the proportion.
Ger.
Most edifying tailor! I protest you tailors are most sanctified members, and make many crooked things go upright. How must I bear my hands? light? light?
Pold.
Oh, ay; now you are in the lady-fashion, you must do all things light. Tread light, light. Ay, and fall so; that's the court amble.
She trips about the stage.
Ger.
Has the court ne'er a trot?
Pold.
No, but a false gallop, lady.
Ger.
[ singing ] "And if she will not go to bed — "
Bet.
The knight's come, forsooth.
Ger.
Is my knight come? O the Lord, my band! Sister, do my cheeks look well? Give me a little box a' the ear, that I may seem to blush; now, now! So, there, there, there!
Enter SIR PETRONEL, MASTER TOUCHSTONE, and MISTRESS TOUCHSTONE
Here he is! O my dearest delight! Lord, Lord! and how does my knight?
Touch.
Fie! with more modesty.
Ger.
Modesty! Why, I am no citizen now. Modesty? Am I not to be married? Y' are best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady!
Pet.
Boldness is good fashion and court-like.
Ger.
Ay, in a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how chance ye came no sooner, knight?
Pet.
Faith, I was so entertain'd in the progress with one Count Epernoum, a Welsh knight; we had a match at balloon, too, with my Lord Whachum, for four crowns.
Ger.
At baboon? Jesu! you and I will play at baboon in the country, knight!
Pet.
Oh, sweet lady: 't is a strong play with the arm.
Ger.
With arm or leg, or any other member, if it be a court sport. And when shall 's be married, my knight?
Pet.
I come now to consummate it; and your father may call a poor knight son-in-law.
Touch.
Sir, ye are come. What is not mine to keep I must not be sorry to forgo. A hundred pound land her grandmother left her; 't is yours. Herself, as her mother's gift, is yours. But, if you expect aught from me, know my hand and mine eyes open together: I do not give blindly. Work upon that now!
Pet.
Sir, you mistrust not my means? I am a knight.
Touch.
Sir, sir, what I know not, you will give me leave to say I am ignorant of.
Mist. T.
Yes, that he is a knight! I know where he had money to pay the gentlemen ushers and heralds their fees. Ay, that he is a knight! And so might you have been too, if you had been aught else than an ass, as well as some of your neighbors. An I thought you would not ha' been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha' dubb'd you myself. I praise God I have wherewithal. But, as for you, Daughter ——
Ger.
Ay, Mother, I must be a lady tomorrow; and, by your leave, Mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my husband), I must take place of you, Mother.
Mist. T.
That you shall, Lady-Daughter, and have a coach as well as I, too.
Ger.
Yes, Mother. But by your leave, Mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in my husband's right), my coach horses must take the wall of your coach horses.
Touch.
Come, come, the day grows low. 'T is supper time: use my house; the wedding solemnity is at my wife's cost; thank me for nothing but my willing blessing; for — I cannot feign — my hopes are faint. And, sir, respect my daughter; she has refus'd for you wealthy and honest matches, known good men, well moneyed, better traded, best reputed.
Ger. Body a' truth! chitizens, chitizens! Sweet knight, as soon as ever we are married, take me to thy mercy out of this miserable chity; presently carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal and the hearing of Bow-bell; I beseech thee, down with me, for God sake!
Touch.
Well, Daughter, I have read that old wit sings:
The greatest rivers flow from little springs:
Though thou art full, scorn not thy means at first;
He that's most drunk may soonest be athirst.
Work upon that now!
All but TOUCHSTONE, MILDRED,
and GOLDING depart.
No, no! yond' stand my hopes. — Mildred, come hither, Daughter. And how approve you your sister's fashion? how do you fancy her choice? what dost thou think?
Mil.
I hope, as a sister, well.
Touch.
Nay, but, nay, but how dost thou like her behavior and humor? Speak freely.
Mil.
I am loath to speak ill; and yet — I am sorry of this — I cannot speak well.
Touch.
Well; very good, as I would wish; a modest answer. — Golding, come hither; hither, Golding. How dost thou like the knight, Sir Flash? Does he not look big? How lik'st thou the elephant? He says he has a castle in the country.
Gold.
Pray Heaven, the elephant carry not his castle on his back.
Touch.
'Fore Heaven, very well! But, seriously, how dost repute him?
Gold.
The best I can say of him is, I know him not!
Touch.
Ha, Golding! I commend thee, I approve thee, and will make it appear my affection is strong to thee. My wife has her humor, and I will ha' mine. Dost thou see my daughter here? She is not fair, well-favored or so, indifferent, which modest measure of beauty shall not make it thy only work to watch her, nor sufficient mischance to suspect her. Thou art towardly, she is modest; thou art provident, she is careful. She's now mine. Give me thy hand; she's now thine. Work upon that now!
Gold.
Sir, as your son, I honor you; and, as your servant, obey you.
Touch.
Sayest thou so? — Come hither, Mildred. Do you see yond' fellow? He is a gentleman, though my prentice, and has somewhat to take too: a youth of good hope; well friended, well parted. Are you mine? You are his. Work, you, upon that now!
Mil.
Sir, I am all yours; your body gave me life; your care and love, happiness of life; let your virtue still direct it, for to your wisdom I wholly dispose myself.
Touch.
Say'st thou so? Be you two better acquainted. — Lip her, lip her, knave. So, shut up shop; in. We must make holiday.
Exeunt GOLDING and MILDRED.
This match shall on, for I intend to prove
Which thrives the best, the mean or lofty love:
Whether fit wedlock vow'd 'twixt like and like,
Or prouder hopes, which daringly o'erstrike
Their place and means. 'T is honest time's expense,
When seeming lightness bears a moral sense.
Work upon that now.
Exit.