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O R,  T H E

Silent Woman.

A   C O M E D Y.

First Acted in the Year 1609. By the Children of her MAJESTY'S Revels.

With the Allowance of the Master of R E V E L S.

The Author B. J.

        Ut sis tu similis Cœli, Byrrhique latronum,
        Non ego sim Capri, neque Sulci. Cur metuas me?

To the truly N O B L E by all T I T L E S,

Sir Francis Stuart.


Y Hope is not so nourish'd by example, as it will conclude, this dumb Piece should please you, because it hath pleas'd others before: but by trust, that when you have read it, you will find it worthy to have displeas'd none. This makes, that I now number you, not only in the Names of Favour, but the Names of Justice, to what I write; and do, presently, call you to the exercise of that Noblest, and Manliest Vertue: as coveting rather to be freed in my Fame, by the Authority of a Judge, than the Credit of an Undertaker. Read therefore, I pray you, and Censure. There is not a Line, or Sillable in it changed from the simplicity of the first Copy. And, when you shall consider, through the certain hatred of some, how much a Man's Innocency may be indanger'd by an uncertain accusation; you will, I doubt not, so begin to hate the Iniquity of such natures, as I shall love the Contumely done me, whose end was so honourable, as to be wiped off by your sentence.

Your unprofitable, but true Lover,           



The P E R S O N S of the P L A Y.

M O R O S E,  a Gentleman that loves not noise.

D A U P. EU G E N E,  a Knight, his Nephew.

C L E R I M O N T,  a Gent. his Friend.

T R U E - W I T,  Another Friend.

EPICœNE,  A young Gent. suppos'd the Sil. Wom.

J O H. D A W,  A Knight, her Servant.

A M A R O U S L A - F O O L,  A Knight also.

T H O M. O T T E R,  A Land and Sea-Captain.

C U T B E R D,  a Barber.

M U T E,  One of  M O R O S E   his Servants.

M A D. H A U G H T Y,

M A D. C E N T A U R E,

M A D. M A V I S,
Ladies Collegiate.

Mrs. M A V I S,  the Lady HAUGHTIES  Woman.

Mrs. O T T E R,  the Captains Wife.


P A R S O N.

P A G E S.

S E R V A N T S.

The S C E N E

L O N D O N.

The Principal C O M œ D I A N S were,












O R,   T H E

Silent Woman.

P R O L O G U E.


Ruth says, of old, the Art of making Plays
   Was to content the People; and their praise
   Was to the Poet Money, Wine, and Bays.
But in this Age, a Sect of Writers are,
   That, only, for particular likings care,
   And will taste nothing that is popular.
With such we mingle neither Brains nor Breasts;
   Our wishes, like to those make publick Feasts,
   Are not to please the Cooks taste, but the Guests.
Yet, if those cunning Palates hither come.
   They shall find Guests entreaty, and good room;
   And though all relish not, sure there will be some,
That, when they leave their Seats, shall make 'em say,
   Who wrot that Piece, could so have wrot a Play:
   But that, he knew, this was the better way.
For, to present all Custard, or all Tart,
   And have no other Meats to bear a part,
   Or to want Bread, and Salt, were but course Art.
The Poet prays you then, with better thought
   To sit; and, when his Cates are all in brought,
   Though there be none far-fet, there will dear-bought
Be fit for Ladies: some for Lords, Knights, Squires;
   Some for your waiting Wench, and City-wires;
   Some for your Men, and Daughters of
Nor is it, only, while you keep your Seat
   Here, that his Feast will last; but you shall eat
   A week at Ordinaries, on his broken Meat:
                 If his Muse be true,
                 Who commends her to you.


HE ends of all, who for the Scene do write,
   Are, or should be, to Profit, and Delight.
And still't hath been the praise of all best times,
   So Persons were not touch'd, to tax the Crimes.
Then, in this Play, which we present to Night,
   And make the Object of your Ear, and Sight,
On forfeit of your selves, think nothing true:
   Lest so you make the maker to judge you;
For he knows, Poet never Credit gain'd
   By writing Truths, but things (like Truths) well fain'd.
If any, yet, will (with particular slight
   Of application) wrest what he doth write;
And that he meant, or him, or her, will say:
   They make a Libel, which he made a Play.

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Act I.    Scene I.

Cleremont, Boy, True-wit.

A' you got the Song yet perfect I ga' you, Boy?
[He comes out making himself ready.

   Boy. Yes, Sir.
   Cler. Let me hear it.
   Boy. You shall, Sir; but i' faith let no body else.
   Cler. Why, I pray?
   Boy. It will get you the dangerous name of a Poet
in Town, Sir; besides, me a perfect deal of ill will at
the Mansion you wot of, whose Lady is the argument
of it, where now I am the welcomst thing under a Man
that comes there.
   Cler. I think, and above a Man too, if the truth were
rackt out of you.
   Boy. No faith, I'll confess before, Sir. The Gentle-
women play with me, and throw me o' the Bed; and
carry me into my Lady; and she kisses me with her
oil'd Face; and puts a Perruke o' my Head; and asks
me an' I will wear her Gown? and I say, no: and then
she hits me a blow o' the Ear, and calls me Innocent,
and lets me go.
   Cler. No marvel, if the Door be kept shut against
your Master, when the entrance is so easie to you —
well, Sir, you shall go there no more, lest I be fain to
seek your Voice in my Ladies Rushes, a fortnight hence.
[Boy sings.
Sing, Sir.
   Tru. Why, here's the Man that can melt away his
time, and never feels it! what, between his Mistris
abroad, and his Engle at home, high Fare, soft Lodg-
ing, fine Clothes, and his Fiddle; he thinks the Hours
ha' no Wings, or the Day no Post-horse. Well, Sir Gal-
lant, were you struck with the Plague this minute, or
condemn'd to any capital Punishment to morrow, you
would begin then to think, and value every Particle
o' your time, esteem it at the true rate, and give all
   Cler. Why what should a Man do?
   Tru. Why, nothing: or that, which when 'tis done,
is as idle. Hearken after the next Horse-race, or Hunt-
ing-match; lay Wagers, praise Puppy, or Pepper-corn,
White-foot, Franklin; swear upon White-mains party;
speak aloud, that my Lords may hear you; visit my
Ladies at Night, and be able to give 'em the Character
of every Bowler or Bettor o' the Green. These be the
things, wherein your fashionable Men exercise them-
selves, and I for company.

Cler. Nay,

184 The Silent Woman.               

   Cler. Nay, if I have thy Authority, I'll not leave yet.
Come, the other are considerations, when we come to
have grey Heads, and weak Hams, moist Eyes, and shrunk
Members. We'll think on 'em then; then wee'l pray,
and fast.
   Tru. I, and destine only that time of age to good-
ness, which our want of Ability will not let us employ
in evil?
   Cler. Why, then 'tis time enough.
   Tru. Yes; as if a Man should sleep all the term, and
think to effect his business the last day, O, Clerimont,
this time, because it is an incorporeal thing, and not
subject to Sense, we mock our selves the fineliest out
of it, with vanity, and misery indeed: not seeking an
end of wretchedness, but only changing the matter
   Cler. Nay, thou'lt not leave now —
   Tru. See but our common Disease! with what Justice
can we complain, that great Men will not look upon
us, nor be at leisure to give our Affairs such dispatch, as
we expect, when we will never do it to our selves: not
hear, nor regard our selves.
   Cler. Foh, thou hast read Plutarchs Morals, now, or
some such tedious fellow; and it shows so vilely with
thee: 'Fore God, 'twill spoil thy wit utterly. Talk me
of Pins, and Feathers, and Ladies, and Rushes, and such
things: and leave this Stoicitie alone, 'till thou mak'st
   Tru. Well, Sir; If it will not take, I have learn'd to
loose as little of my kindness, as I can. I'll do good to
no Man against his will, certainly. When were you at
the Colledge?
   Cler. What Colledge?
   Tru. As if you knew not!
   Cler. No faith, I came but from Court yesterday.
   Tru. Why, is it not arriv'd there yet, the news? A
new Foundation, Sir, here i' the Town, of Ladies, that
call themselves the Collegiates, an order between Cour-
tiers and Country-Madams, that live from their Hus-
bands; and give entertainment to all the Wits, and Bra-
veries o' the time, as they call 'em: cry down, or up,
what they like, or dislike in a Brain or a Fashion, with
most Masculine, or rather Hermaphroditical Authority:
and every day gain to their Colledge some new Proba-
   Cler. Who is the President?
   Tru. The grave and youthful Matron, the Lady
   Cler. A pox of her autumnal Face, her peic'd Beauty:
there's no Man can be admitted till she be ready, now
adays, till she has painted, and perfum'd, and washt, and
scour'd, but the Boy here; and him she wipes her oil'd
Lips upon, like a Sponge. I have made a Song, I pr'y
thee hear it, o' the subject.

S O N G.

Till to be neat, still to be drest,
 As you were going to a Feast;
Still to be powd'red, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though Arts hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, Hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' Adulteries of Art;
They strike mine Eyes, but not my Heart.

   Tru. And I am clearly o' the other side: I love a good
Dressing before any Beauty o' the World. O, a Wo-
man is then like a delicate Garden; nor is there one

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kind of it: she may vary every hour; take often
counsel of her Glass, and chuse the best. If she have
good Ears, show 'em; good Hair, lay it out; good Legs,
wear short Cloathes; a good Hand, discover it often;
practise any Art to mend Breath, clense Teeth, repair
Eye-brows, paint, and profess it.
   Cler. How? publickly?
   Tru. The doing of it, not the manner: that must be
private. Many things, that seem foul i' the doing, do
please, done. A Lady should, indeed, study her Face,
when we think she sleeps: nor, when the Doors are
shut, should Men be inquiring; all is sacred within,
then. Is it for us to see their Perrukes put on, their false
Teeth, their Complexion, their Eye-brows, their Nails?
you see Guilders will not work, but inclos'd. They
must not discover, how little serves, with the help of
Art, to adorn a great deal. How long did the Canvas
hang afore Ald-gate? were the People suffer'd to see the
Cities Love and Charity, while they were rude Stone,
before they were painted and burnish'd? no: No more
should Servants approach their Mistrisses but when they
are compleat, and finish'd.
   Cler. Well said, my True-wit.
   Tru. And a wise Lady will keep a guard always
upon the place, that she may do things securely. I
once followed a rude Fellow into a Chamber where the
poor Madam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her
Perruke, to cover her baldness: and put it on the wrong
   Cler. O prodigie!
   Tru. And the unconscionable Knave held her in com-
plement an Hour with that reverst Face, when I still
look'd when she should talk from the tother side.
   Cler. Why? thou shouldst ha' reliev'd her.
   Tru. No faith, I let her alone, as we'll let this argu-
ment, if you please, and pass to another. When saw
you Dauphine Eugene?
   Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this
Morning? he is very melancholick, I hear.
   Tru. Sick o' the Uncle? is he? I met that stiff piece
of formality, his Uncle, yesterday, with a huge Turbant
of Night-caps on his Head, buckled over his Ears.
   Cler. O, that's his custom when he walks abroad. He
can endure no noise, Man.
   Tru. So I have heard. But is the Disease so ridicu-
lous in him as it is made? they say he has been upon
divers Treaties with the Fish-wives, and Orange-women;
and Articles propounded between them: marry, the
Chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in.
   Cler. No, nor the Broom-men: they stand out stifly.
He cannot endure a Costard-monger, he swoons if he
hear one.
   Tru. Methinks a Smith should be ominous.
   Cler. Or any Hammer-man. A Brasier is not suffer'd
to dwell in the Parish, nor an Armorer. He would have
hang'd a Pewterers 'Prentice once on a Shrove-Tuesdays
Riot, for being o' that Trade, when the rest were quiet.
   Tru. A Trumpet would fright him terribly, or the
   Cler. Out of his Senses. The Waights of the City
have a Pension of him not to come near that Ward.
This youth practis'd on him one Night like the Bell-
man; and never left till he had brought him down to
the Door, with a long Sword: and there left him flou-
rishing with the Air.
   Boy. Why, Sir? he hath chosen a Street to lie in, so
narrow at both ends, that it will receive no Coaches,
nor Carts, nor any of these common noises: and
therefore, we that love him, devise to bring him such as
we may, now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him.
He would grow resty else in his ease: his Vertue would
rust without action. I entreated a Bareward, one day,
to come down with the Dogs of some four Parishes
that way, and I thank him he did; and cried his Games

         The Silent Woman. 185

under Master Morose's Window: till he was sent crying
away, with his Head made a most bleeding Spectacle to
the multitude. And, another time, a Fencer, going to
his Prize, had his Drum most tragically run through,
for taking that Street in his way, at my request.
   Tru. A good wag. How does he for the Bells?
   Cle. O, i' the Queens time, he was wont to go out of
Town every Saturday at ten a Clock, or on Holy-day
Eves. But now, by reason of the sickness, the perpe-
tuity of ringing has made him devise a Room, with
double Walls, and treble Cielings; the Windows close
shut and calk'd: and there he lives by Candlelight. He
turn'd away a Man, last Week, for having a Pair of
new Shooes that creak'd. And this Fellow waits on
him now in Tennis-court Socks, or Slippers soald with
Wooll: and they talk each to other in a Trunk. See,
who comes here.

Act I.    Scene II.

Dauphine, True-with, Clerimont.

Ow now! what ail you Sirs? dumb?
   Tru. Struck into Stone, almost, I am here, with
Tales o' thine Uncle! There was never such a Prodigy
heard of.
   Dau. I would you would once lose this Subject, my
Masters, for my sake. They are such as you are, that
have brought me into that Predicament I am with him.
   Tru. How is that?
   Dau. Marry, that he will dis-inherit me. No more.
He thinks, I, and my Company are Authors of all the
ridiculous Acts and Mon'ments are told of him.
   Tru. 'Slid, I would be the Author of more to vex
him; that purpose deserves it: it gives the Law of
plagueing him. I'll tell thee what I would do. I would
make a false Almanack, get it printed: and then ha'
him drawn out on a Coronation day to the Tower-
wharf, and kill him with the noyse of the Ordinance.
Disinherit thee! he cannot, Man. Art not thou next of
Blood, and his Sisters Son?
   Dau. I, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry.
   Tru. How! that's a more portent. Can he endure no
noyse, and will venture on a Wife?
   Cle. Yes, why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his
best trick, yet. He has imploy'd a Fellow this half year,
all over England, to harken him out a dumb Woman;
be she of any Form, or any Quality, so she be able to
bear Children: her silence is Dowry enough, he says.
   Tru. But I trust to God he has found none.
   Cle. No, but he has heard of one that's lodg'd i' the
next Street to him, who is exceedingly soft spoken;
thrifty of her Speech; that spends but six words a day.
And her he's about now, and shall have her.
   Tru. Is't possible! who is his Agent i' the business?
   Cle. Marry a Barber; an honest Fellow, one that
tells Dauphine all here.
   Tru. Why you oppress me with wonder! A Woman,
and a Barber, and love no noise!
   Cle. Yes faith. The Fellow trims him silently, and
has not the knack with his Sheers or his Fingers: and
that continency in a Barber he thinks so eminent a Ver-
ture, as it has made him chief of his Counsel.
   Tru. Is the Barber to be seen? or the Wench?
   Cle. Yes that they are.
   Tru. I pr'y thee Duuphine, let's go thither.
   Dau. I have some business now: I cannot i' faith.
   Tru. You shall have no business shall make you neg-
lect this, Sir: we'll make her talk, believe it; or if she
will not, we can give out, at least so much as shall in-
terrupt the treaty: we will break it. Thou art bound
in Conscience, when he suspects thee without cause, to
torment him.
   Dau. Not I, by any means. I'll give no suffrage to't.
He shall never ha' that Plea against me, that I oppos'd

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the least Phant'sie of his. Let it lye upon my Stars to
be guilty, I'll be innocent.
   Tru. Yes, and be poor, and beg; do, Innocent: when
some Groom of his has got him an Heir, or this Barber,
if he himself cannot. Innocent. I pr'y thee, Ned,
where lies she? let him be innocent still.
   Cle. Why right over against the Barbers; in the
House where Sir John Daw lyes.
   Tru. You not mean to confound me!
   Cle. Why?
   Tru. Does he that would marry her know so much?
   Cle. I cannot tell.
   Tru. 'Twere enough of imputation to her with him.
   Cle. Why?
   Tru. The only talking Sir i' the Town! Jack Daw!
And he teach her not to speak, God b' w' you. I have
some business too.
   Cle. Will you not go thither then?
   Tru. Not with the danger to meet Daw, for mine Ears.
   Cle. Why? I thought you two had been upon very
good Terms.
   Tru. Yes, of keeping distance.
   Cle. They say, he is a very good Scholler.
   Tru. I, and he says it first. A pox on him, a Fellow
that pretends only to Learning, buys Titles, and no-
thing else of Books in him.
   Cle. The World reports him to be very learned.
   Tru. I am sorry, the World should so conspire to be-
lye him.
   Cle. Good faith, I have heard very good things come
from him.
   Tru, You may. There's none so desperately ignorant
to deny that: would they were his own. God b' w'
you Gentleman.
   Gle.Cle. This is very abrupt!

Act I.    Scene III.

Dauphine, Clerimont, Boy.

Ome, you are a strange open Man, to tell every
 thing thus.
   Cle. Why, believe it Dauphine, True wits a very honest
   Dau. I think no other: but this frank nature of his is not
for secrets.
   Cle. Nay then, you are mistaken Dauphine: I know
where he has been well trusted, and discharg'd the trust
very truely, and heartily.
   Dau. I contend not; Ned; but, with the fewer a bu-
siness is carried, it is ever the safer. Now we are alone,
if you'll go thither, I am for you.
   Cle. When were you there?
   Dau. Last night: and such a decameron of sport fallen out,
Boccace never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but
court her: and the wrong way. He would lye with her,
and praises her modesty; desires that she would talk, and
be free, and commends her silence in Verses; which he
reads, and swears, are the best that ever Man made. Then
rails at his Fortunes, Stamps, and Mutines, why he is not
made a Counsellor, and call'd to affairs of State.
   Cle. I pr'y thee let's go. I would fain partake this. Some
Water, Boy.
   Dau. We are invited to Dinner together, he and I, by
one that came thither to him, Sir La-Foole.
   Cle. O, that's a precious Mannikin.
   Dau. Do you know him?
   Cle. I, and he will know you too, if ere he saw you but
once, though you should meet him at Church in the midst
of Prayers. He is one of the Braveries, though he be none
o' the Wits. He will salute a Judge upon the Bench, and a
Bishop in the Pulpit, a Lawyer when he is pleading at the
Bar, and a Lady when she is dancing in a Masque, and
put her out. He does give Plays, and Suppers, and invites
B b                                   his            

186 The Silent Woman.               

his Guests to 'em, aloud out of his Window, as they ride by
in Coaches. He has a Lodging in the Strand for the pur-
pose: or to watch when Ladies are gone to the China
Houses, or the Exchange, that he may meet 'em by
chance, and give 'em Presents, some Two or three hun-
dred Pounds worth of Toys, to be laught at. He is never
without a spare-banquet, or Sweet-meats in his Chamber,
their Women to alight at, and come up to for a Bait.
   Dau. Excellent! He was a fine Youth last night, but now
he is much finer! what is his Christen Name? I ha' forgot.
   Cle. Sir Amorous La-foole.
   Boy. The Gentleman is here that owns that Name.
   Cle. Heart, he's come to invite me to Dinner, I hold
my Life.
   Dau. Like enough: pr'y thee let's ha' him up.
   Cle. Boy, marshal him.
   Boy. With a Truncheon, Sir?
   Cle. Away, I beseech you. I'll make him tell us his
Pedegree, now; and what Meat he has to Dinner; and
who are his Guests; and, the whole course of his For-
tunes with a breath.

Act I.    Scene IV.

La-Foole, Clerimont, Dauphine.

Ave dear Sir Dauphine, honour'd Master Clerimont.
   Cle. Sir Amorous! you have very much honested my
Lodging, with your presence.
   La-F. Good faith, it is a fine Lodging! almost, as de-
licate a Lodging as mine.
   Cle. Not so, Sir.
   La-F. Excuse me, Sir, if it were i' the Strand, I as-
sure you. I am come, Master Clerimont, to intreat you
wait upon two or three Ladies, to Dinner, to day.
   Cle. How Sir! wait upon 'em? did you ever see me
carry Dishes?
   La-F. No, Sir, dispence with me; I meant, to bear
'em company.
   Cle. O, that I will, Sir: the doubtfulness o' your
Phrase, believe it, Sir, would breed you a quarrel once
an hour, with the terrible Boys, if you should keep
'em fellowship a day.
   La-F. It should be extreamly against my Will, Sir, if
I contested with any Man.
   Cle. I believe it, Sir; where hold you your Feast?
   La-F. At Tom Otters, Sir.
   Dau. Tom Otter? what's he?
   La-F. Captain Otter, Sir; he is a kind of Gamester,
but he has had command both by Sea and by Land.
   Dau. O, then he is animal amphibium?
   La-F. I, Sir: his Wife was the rich China-woman,
that the Courtiers visited so often; that gave the rare
Entertainment. She commands all at home.
   Cle. Then, she is Captain Otter.
   La-F. You say very well, Sir; she is my Kinswoman,
a La-Foole by the Mother-side, and will invite, any great
Ladies, for my sake.
   Dau. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex?
   La F. No, Sir, the La-Fooles of London.
   Cle. Now, he's in.
   La-F. They all come out of our House, the La-Fooles
o' the North, the La-Fooles of the West, the La-Fooles of
the East and South — we are as ancient a Family as any is
in Europe — but I my self am descended lineally of the
French La-Fooles — and, we do bear our Coat yellow, or
Or, checker'd Azure, and Gules, and some three or four
Colours more, which is a very noted Coat, and has,
sometimes, been solemnly worn by divers Nobility of our
House — but let that go, antiquity is not respected now —
I had a Brace of fat Does sent me, Gentlemen, and half a
dozen of Pheasants, a dozen or two of Godwits, and some
other Fowl, which I would have eaten, while they are
good, and in good Company — there will be a great La-
dy, or two, my Lady Haughty, my Lady Centaure, Mistris

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Dol Mavis — and they come a' purpose, to see the silent
Gentlewoman, Mistris Epicœne, that honest Sir John
has promis'd to bring thither — and then, Mi-
stris Trusty, my Ladies Woman, will be there too, and
this honourable Knight, Sir Dauphine, with your self
Master Clerimont — and we'll be very merry, and have
Fidlers, and dance — I have been a mad Wag, in my
time, and have spent some Crowns since I was a Page in
Court, to my Lord Lofty, and after, my Ladies Gentle-
man Usher, who got me knighted in Ireland, since it
pleas'd my elder Brother to dye — I had as fair a Gold
Jerkin on that day, as any was worn in the Island-Voyage,
or at Cadiz, none disprais'd, and I came over in it hither,
show'd my self to my Friends in Court, and after went
down to my Tenants in the Countrey, and survei'd my
Lands, let new Leases, took their Money, spent it in the
Eye o' the Land here, upon Ladies — and now I can
take up at my pleasure.
   Dau. Can you take up Ladies, Sir?
   Cle. O, let him breath, he has not recover'd.
   Dau. Would I were your half, in that commodity.
   Cle.La-F. No, Sir, excuse me: I meant Money, which can
take up any thing. I have another Guest, or two, to
invite, and say as much to, Gentlemen. I'll take my leave
abruptly, in hope you will not fail — Your Servant.
   Dau. We will not fail you, Sir precious La-Foole; but
she shall, that your Ladies come to see: if I have credit,
afore Sir Daw.
   Cle. Did you ever hear such a Wind-sucker, as this?
   Dau. Or such a Rook as the other! that will betray
his Master to be seen. Come, 'tis time we prevented it.
   Cle. Go.

Act II.    Scene I.

Morose, Mute.

An not I, yet, find out a more compendious Method,
 than by this Trunk, to save my Servants the la-
bour of Speech, and mine Ears the discord of sounds?
Let me see: all Discourses but mine own afflict me,
they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksom. Is it not
possible, that thou shouldst answer me by Signs, and I
apprehend thee, Fellow? speak not though I question

At the brea-
ches still the
makes Legs
or Signs.

you. You have taken the Ring off from the
Street Door, as I bade you? answer me not
by speech, but by silence; unless it be other-
wise ( — ) very good. And, you have fa-
stened on a thick Quilt, or Flockbed, on the
out-side of the Door; that if they knock
with their Daggers, or with Brickbats, they can make
no noyse? but with your Leg, you answer, unless it
be otherwise ( — ) very good. This is not only fit
modesty in a Servant, but good state and discretion in
a Master. And you have been with Cutberd the Barber,
to have him come to me? ( — ) good. And, he will
come presently? answer me not but with your Leg, un-
less it be otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your
Head, or shrug. ( — ) So. Your Italian, and Spainard,
are wise in these! and it is a frugal and comely Gravity.
How long will it be ere Cutberd come? stay, if an hour,
hold up your whole Hand; if half an hour, two Fingers;
if a quarter, one; ( — ) good: half a quarter? 'tis
well. And have you given him a Key, to come in with-
out knocking? ( — ) good. And, is the Lock oyl'd, and
the Hinges to day? ( — ) good. And the quilting of the
Stairs no where worn out and bare? ( — ) very good. I
see, by much Doctrine, and Impulsion, it may be effected:
stand by. The Turk, in this divine Discipline, is admira-
ble, exceeding all the Potentates of the Earth; still wait-
ed on by Mutes; and all his Commands so executed; yea,
even in the War, (as I have heard) and in his marches,
most of his Charges and Directions given by Signs,
and with silence: an exquisite Art! and I am hear-

         The Silent Woman. 187

tily ashamed, and angry oftentimes, that the Princes of
Christendom, should suffer a Barbarian, to transcend 'em
in so high a point of Felicity. I will practise it, here-
after. How now? oh! oh! what Villain? what Pro-
digy of Mankind is that? look. Oh! cut his Throat,
cut his Throat: what Murderer, Hell-hound, Divel can
[One winds a Horn without again.
this be?
   Mut. It is a Post from the Court ———
   Mor. Out Rogue, and must thou blow thy Horn, too?
   Mut. Alass, it is a Post from the Court, Sir, that
says, he must speak you, pain of Death —
   Mor. Pain of thy Life, be silent.

Act II.    Scene II.

True-wit, Morose, Cutberd.

Y your leave, Sir, I am a stranger here: is your
 Name Master Morose? is your Name Master Mo-
Fishes! Pythagoreans all? this is strange. What
say you, Sir, nothing? Has Harpocrates been here with
his Club, among you? well Sir, I will believe you to
be the Man at this time: I will venture upon you, Sir.
Your Friends at Court Commend 'em to you, Sir —
   (Mor. O Men! O Manners! was there ever such an
   Tru. And are extreamly sollicitous for you, Sir.
   Mor. Whose Knave are you!
   Tru. Mine own Knave, and your Compeer, Sir.
   Mor. Fetch me my Sword ——
   Tru. You shall taste the one half of my Dagger, if
you do (Groom) and you the other, if you stir, Sir:
be patient, I charge you, in the Kings name, and hear
me without insurrection. They say, you are to marry?
to marry! do you mark, Sir¿
   Mor. How then, rude Companion!
   Tru. Marry, your Friends do wonder, Sir, the Thames
being so neer, wherein you may drown, so handsom-
ly; or London Bridge, at a low fall, with a fine leap, to
hurry you down the Stream; or, such a delicate Steeple
i' the Town, as Bow, to vault from; or, a braver
height, as Pauls; or, if you affected to do it nearer
home, and a shorter way, an excellent Garret Window
into the Street; or, a Beam, in the said Garret, with

He shews
him a Hal-   
this Halter, which they have sent, and desire,
that you would sooner commit your Grave
Head to this Knot, than to the Wedlock Noose,
or, take a little Sublimate, and go out of the
World, like a Rat; or, a Fly (as one said) with a
Straw i' your Arse: any way, rather than to follow
this goblin Matrimony. Alas, Sir, do you ever think to
find a chaste Wife, in these times? now? when there
are so many Masques, Plays, Puritan Parlees, mad Folks,
and other strange sights to be seen, daily, private and
publick? if you had liv'd, in King Ethelred's time, Sir,
or Edward the Confessors, you might, perhaps, have
found in some cold Countrey Hamlet, then, a dull
frosty Wench, would have been contented with one
Man: now, they will as soon be pleas'd with one Leg,
or one Eye. I'll tell you, Sir, the monstrous hazards
you shall run with a Wife.
   Mor. Good Sir! have I ever cozen'd any Friends of
yours of their Land? bought their Possessions? taken
forfeit of their Mortgage? beg'd a Reversion from
'em? bastarded their Issue? what have I done, that
may deserve this?
   Tru. Nothing, Sir, that I know, but your Itch of
   Mor. Why? if I had made an assassinate upon
your Father; vitiated your Mother: ravished your
Sisters ———
   Tru. I would kill you, Sir, I would kill you, if you
   Mor. Why? you do more in this, Sir: it were a ven-

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geance centuple, for all facinorous Acts, that could be
nam'd, to do that you do ———
   Tru. Alass, Sir, I am but a Messenger: I but tell you,
what you must hear. It seeems, your Friends are care-
ful after your Souls health, Sir, and would have you
know the danger (but you may do your pleasure,
for all them; I perswade not, Sir) if, after you are
married, your Wife do run away with a Vaulter, or the
Frenchman that walks upon Ropes, or him that dances
the Jig, or a Fencer, for his skill at his Weapon; why
it is not their fault; they have discharged their Con-
seiences: when you know what may happen. Nay, suf-
fer valiantly, Sir, for I must tell you, all the Perils
that you are obnoxious to. If she be fair, young, and
vegetous, no Sweet-meats ever drew more Flies; all the
yellow Doublets, and great Roses i' the Town will be
there. If foul and crooked, she'll be with them, and
buy those Doublets and Roses, Sir. If rich, and that
you marry her Dowry, not her; she'll raign in your
House, as imperious as a Widdow. If noble, all her
kindred will be your Tyrans. If fruitful, as proud as
May, as humorous as April; she must have her Do-
ctors, her Midwives, her Nurses, her Longings every
hour: though it be for the dearest Morsel of Man.
If learned, there was never such a Parrat; all your
Patrimony will be too little for the Guests that must
be invited, to hear her speak Latin and Greek: and
you must lye with her in those Languages too, if you
will please her. If precise, you must feast all the si-
lenc'd Brethren, once in three days; salute the Sisters;
entertain the whole Family, or Wood of 'em; and
hear long-winded Exercises, Singings, and Catechisings,
which you are not given to, and yet must give for; to
please the zealous Matron your Wife, who, for the
holy Cause, will cozen you over and above. You be-
gin to sweat, Sir? but this is not half, i' faith: you
may do your pleasure notwithstanding, as I said before,
I come not to perswade you. Upon my faith, Master
Serving-man, if you do stir, I will beat you.
The Mute is stealing away.

   Mor. O, What is my Sin! what is my Sin?
   Tru. Then, if you love your Wife, or rather, dote
on her, Sir: O, how she'll torture you! and take plea-
sure i' youyour Torments! you shall lye with her but when
she lists; she will not hurt her Beauty, her Complexion;
or it must be for that Jewel, or that Pearl, when she does;
every half hours pleasure must be bought anew: and
with the same pain, and charge, you woo'd her at first.
Then, you must keep what Servants she please; what
Company she will; that Friend must not visit you with-
out her License; and him she loves most, she will seem
to hate eagerliest, to decline your jealousie; or, faign
to be jealous of your first; and for that cause go live
with her she-friend, or Cousin at the Colledge, that can
instruct her in all the Mysteries of writing Letters, cor-
rupting Servants, taming Spies; where she must have
that rich Gown for such a great day; a new one for the
next; a richer for the third; be serv'd in Silver; have
the Chamber fill'd with a succession of Grooms, Foot-
men, Ushers, and other Messengers; besides Embroide-
rers, Jewellers, Tire-women, Semsters, Feather-men, Per-
fumers; while 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; never weighs
what her Pride costs, Sir: so she may kiss a Page, or
a smooth Chin, that has the despair of a Beard; be
a Stateswoman, know all the news, what was done
at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at Court, what in
Progress; or, so she may censure Poets, and Authors,
and Stiles, and compare 'em, Daniel with Spencer,
Johnson with the t'other Youth, and so forth; or be
thought cunning in Controversies, or the very Knots
of Divinity; and have often in her Mouth, the state of
the Question: and then skip to the Mathematicks,
B b 2                              and                             

188 The Silent Woman.               

and Demonstration and Answer, in Religion to one; in
State to another; in Baud'ry to a Third.
   Mor. O, O!
   Tru. All this is very true, Sir. And then her going in
disguise to that Conjurer, and this cunning Woman:
where the first question is, how soon you shall dye?
next; if her present Servant love her? next that if she shall
have a new Servant? and how many? which of her
Family would make the best Baud, Male, or Female?
what precedence she shall have by her next match? and
sets down the Answers, and believes 'em above the
Scriptures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the Art.
   Mor. Gentle Sir, ha' you done? ha' you had your
Pleasure o' me? I'll think of these things.
   Tru. Yes Sir: and then comes reeking home of Vapour
and Sweat, with going a foot, and lies in a Month of a
new Face, all Oyl, and Birdlime; and rises in Asses
Milk, and is clens'd with a new fucus: God b' w' you,
Sir. One thing more (which I had almost forgot.) This
too, with whom you are to marry, may have made a
conveyance of her Virginity afore hand, as your wise
Widdows do of their States, before they marry, in trust
to some Friend, Sir: who can tell? or if she have not
done it yet, she may do, upon the Wedding day, or the
night before, and antidate you Cuckold. The like has
been heard of in Nature. 'Tis no devis'd impossible thing,
Sir. God b' w' you: I'll be bold to leave this Rope with
you, Sir, for a remembrance. Farewel Mute.

The Horn   
   Mor. Come, ha' me to my Chamber: but first
shut the Door. O, shut the Door, shut the
Door: Is he come again?
   Cut. 'Tis I, Sir, your Barber.
   Mor. O Cutberd, Cutberd, Cutberd! here has been a
Cut-throat with me: help me in to my Bed, and give
me Physick with thy Counsel.

Act II.    Scene III.

Daw, Clerimont, Dauphine, Epicœne.

Ay, an' she will, let her refuse, at her own Char-
 ges: 'tis nothing to me, Gentlemen. But she will
not be invited to the like Feasts or Guests every day.

They di-
swade her,
   Cle. O, by no means, she may not refuse —
to stay at home, if you love your Reputa-
tion: 'Slight, you are invited thither o' purpose
to be seen, and laught at by the Lady of the
Colledge, and her Shadows. This Trumpeter hath pro-
claim'd you.
   Dau. You shall not go; let him be laught at in your
stead, for not bringing you: and put him to his extem-
poral faculty of fooling, and talking loud to satisfie the
   Cle. He will suspect us, talk aloud. 'Pray Mistris Epi-
let's see your Verses, we have Sir John Daw's
leave: do not conceal your Servants Merit, and your
own Glories.
   Epi. They'll prove my Servants Glories, if you have
his leave so soon.
   Dau. His vain Glories, Lady!
   Daw. Shew 'em, shew 'em, Mistris, I dare own 'em.
   Epi. Judge you, what Glories?
   Daw. Nay, I'll read 'em my self, too: an Author
must recite his own works. It is a madrigal of modesty.
            Modest, and fair, for fair and good are neer
                                            Neighbours, how ere.

   Dau. Very good.
   Cle. I, Is't not?
   Daw.   No noble vertue ever was alone,
                                       But two in one.

   Dau. Excellent!
   Cle. That again, I pray Sir John.
   Dau. It has something in't like rare Wit and Sense.
   Cle. Peace.

[column break]

No noble Vertue ever was alone,
                            But two in one.
Then, when I praise sweet modesty, I praise
                                    Bright Beauties Rais:
And having prais'd both Beauty and Modestee,        
                                 I have prais'd thee.

   Dau. Admirable!
   Cle. How it chimes, and crys tink i' the close, di-
   Dau. I, 'tis Seneca.
   Cle. No, I think 'tis Plutarch.
   Daw. The Dor on Plutarch and Seneca, I hate it: they
are mine own Imaginations, by that light. I wonder
those Fellows have such credit with Gentlemen!
   Cle. They are very grave Authors.
   Daw. Grave Asses! meer Essayists! a few loose Senten-
ces, and that's all. A Man would talk so, his whole
Age; I do utter as good things every Hour, if they were
collected and observ'd, as either of 'em.
   Dau. Indeed! Sir John?
   Cle. He must needs, living among the Wits and Bra-
   Dau. I, and being President of 'em, as he is.
   Daw. There's Aristotle, a meer Common-place Fel-
low; Plato, a discourser; Thucidides, and Livie, tedi-
ous and dry; Tacitus, an entire knot: sometimes worth
the untying, very seldom.
   Cle. What do you think of the Poets, Sir John?
   Daw. Not worthy to be nam'd for Authors. Homer,
an old tedious prolix Ass, talks of Curriers, and Chines
of Beef. Virgil, of Dunging of Land, and Bees. Ho-
of I know not what.
   Cle. I think so.
   Daw. And so Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, Catullus,
the Tragœdian, Lucan, Propertius, Tibullus, Mar-
tial, Juvenal, Ausonius, Statius, Politian, Valerius Flac-
and the rest ——
   Cle. What a Sack full of their names he has got!
   Dau. And how he pours 'em out! Politian, with Valeri-
us Flaccus!

   Cle. Was not the Character right of him?
   Dau. As could be made, i' faith.
   Daw. And Persius, a crabbed Cockscom, not to be en-
   Dau. Why? whom do you account for Authors, Sir
John Daw?
   Daw. Syntagma Juris civilis, Corpus Juris civilis, Cor-
pus Juris canonici,
the King of Spains Bible.
   Dau. Is the King of Spains Bible an Author?
   Cle. Yes, and Syntagma.
   Dau. What was that Syntagma, Sir?
   Daw. A civil Lawyer, a Spaniard.
   Daw.Dau. Sure, Corpus was a Dutch man.
   Cle. I, both the Corpusses, I knew 'em: they were ve-
ry corpulent Authors.
   Daw. And, then there's Vatablus, Pomponatius, Syman-
the other are not to be receiv'd, within the thought
of a Scholler.
   Dau. 'Fore God, you have a simple learn'd Servant,
Lady, in Titles.
   Cle. I wonder that he is not called to the Helm, and
made a Councellor!
   Dau. He is one extraordinary.
   Cle. Nay, but in ordinary! to say truth, the State
wants such.
   Dau. Why, that will follow.
   Cle. I muse a Mistris can be so silent to the dotes of
such a Servant.
   Daw. 'Tis her Vertue, Sir. I have written somewhat
of her silence too.
   Dau. In Verse, Sir John?
   Cle. What else?
   Dau. Why? how can you justifie your own being
of a Poet, that so slight all the old Poets?
Daw. Why?                           

         The Silent Woman. 189

   Daw. Why, every Man that writes in Verse, is not a
Poet; you have of the Wits that write Verses, and yet
are no Poets: They are Poets that live by it, the poor
Fellows that live by it.
   Dau. Why, would not you live by your Verses, Sir
   Cle. No, 'twere pity he should. A Knight live by his
Verses! He did not make 'em to that end, I hope.
   Dau. And yet the Noble Sidney lives by his, and the
Noble Family not asham'd.
   Cle. I, he profest himself; but Sir John Daw has more
Caution: He'll not hinder his own rising i' the State so
much! Do you think he will? Your Verses, good Sir
John, are no Poems.
   Daw.     Silence in Woman, is like Speech in Man;
                                                  Deny't who can.

   Dau. Not I, believe it: your Reason, Sir.
   Daw.                                       Nor is't a Tale,
                That Female Vice should be a Vertue Male,
                Or Masculine Vice a Female Vertue be:
                                                  You shall it see
                                                  Prov'd with increase;
                I know to speak, and she to hold her peace.

Do you conceive me, Gentlemen?
   Dau. No, faith; how mean you with increase, Sir
   Daw. Why, with increase is, when I court her for the
Common Cause of Mankind, and she says nothing but
consentire videtur; and in time is gravida.
   Dau. Then this is a Ballad of Procreation?
   Cle. A Madrigal of Procreation; you mistake.
   Epi. 'Pray give me my Verses again, Servant.
   Daw. If you'll ask 'em aloud, you shall.
   Cle. See, here's True-wit again!

Act II.    Scene IV.

Clerimont, True-wit, Dauphine, Cutberd, Daw, Epicœne.

Here hast thou been, in the name of Madness!
 thus accoutred with thy Horn?
   Tru. Where the Sound of it might have pierc'd your
Senses with Gladness, had you been in Ear-reach of it.
Dauphine, fall down and worship me; I have forbid the
Banes, Lad: I have been with thy vertuous Uncle, and
have broke the Match.
   Dau. You ha' not, I hope.
   Tru. Yes, faith; an' thou should'st hope otherwise, I
should repent me: This Horn got me entrance; kiss it.
I had no other way to get in, but by feigning to be a
Post; but when I got in once, I prov'd none, but ra-
ther the contrary, turn'd him into a Post, or a Stone, or
what is stiffer, with thundring into him the Incommodi-
ties of a Wife, and the Miseries of Marriage. If ever
Gorgon were seen in the shape of a Woman, he hath
seen her in my Description. I have put him off o' that
scent for ever. Why do you not applaud and adore
me, Sirs? why stand you mute? Are you stupid? You
are not worthy o' the Benefit.
   Dau. Did not I tell you? Mischief! —
   Cle. I would you had plac'd this Benefit somewhere
   Tru. Why so?
   Cle. 'Slight, you have done the most inconsiderate,
rash, weak thing, that ever Man did to his Friend.
   Dau. Friend! If the most malicious Enemy I have,
had studied to inflict an Injury upon me, it could not be
a greater.
   Tru. Wherein, for Gods-sake? Gentlemen, come to
your selves again.
   Dau. But I presag'd thus much afore to you.
   Cle. Would my Lips had been solder'd when I spake
on't. 'Slight, what mov'd you to be thus impertinent?
   Tru. My Masters, do not put on this strange Face to

[column break]

pay my Courtesie: off with this Vizor. Have good
turns done you, and thank 'em this way?
   Dau. 'Fore Heav'n, you have undone me. That which
I have plotted for, and been maturing now these four
Months, you have blasted in a Minute: Now I am lost,
I may speak. This Gentlewoman was lodg'd here by
me o' purpose, and, to be put upon my Uncle, hath pro-
fest this obstinate Silence for my sake, being my entire
Friend, and one that for the requital of such a Fortune
as to marry him, would have made me very ample
Conditions; where now, all my Hopes are utterly mis-
carried, by this unlucky Accident.
   Cle. Thus 'tis, when a Man will be ignorantly offici-
ous, do Services, and not know his Why: I wonder what
courteous Itch possest you! You never did absurder
Part i' your life, nor a greater Trespass to FrienshipFriendship or
   Dau. Faith, you may forgive it best; 'twas your Cause
   Cle. I know it, would it had not.
   Dau. How now Cutberd? what News?
   Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, Sir. There
has been a mad Gentleman with your Uncle this morn-
ing, (I think this be the Gentleman) that has almost
talk'd him out of his Wits, with threatning him from
Marriage —
   Dau. On, I pr'y thee.
   Cut. And your Uncle, Sir, he thinks 'twas done by
your procurement; therefore he will see the Party you
wot of presently; and if he like her, he says, and that
she be so inclining to dumb, as I have told him, he
swears he will marry her to day, instantly, and not defer
it a minute longer.
   Dau. Excellent! beyond our expectation!
   Tru. Beyond our expectation! By this Light, I knew
it would be thus.
   Dau. Nay, sweet True-wit, forgive me.
   Tru. No, I was ignorantly officious, impertinent: this
was the absurd, weak Part.
   Cle. Wilt thou ascribe that to Merit now, was meer
   Tru. Fortune! meer Providence. Fortune had not a
Finger in't. I saw it must necessarily in Nature fall out
so: My Genius is never false to me in these things. Shew
me how it could be otherwise.
   Dau. Nay, Gentlemen, contend not, 'tis well now.
   Tru. Alas, I let him go on with inconsiderate, and
rash, and what he pleas'd.
   Cle. Away, thou strange Justifier of thy self, to be
wiser than thou wert, by the Event.
   Tru. Event! By this Light, thou shalt never perswade
me, but I foresaw it, as well as the Stars themselves.
   Dau. Nay, Gentlemen, 'tis well now: Do you two
entertain Sir John Daw with Discourse, while I send her
away with Instructions.
   Tru. I'll be acquainted with her first, by your favour.
   Cle. Master True-wit, Lady, a Friend of ours.
   Tru. I am sorry I have not known you sooner, Lady,
to celebrate this rare Vertue of your Silence.
   Cle. Faith, an' you had come sooner, you should ha'
seen and heard her well celebrated in Sir John Daw's
   Tru. Jack Daw, God save you; when saw you La-

   Daw. Not since last night, Master True-wit.
   Tru. That's a Miracle! I thought you two had been
   Daw. He's gone to invite his Guests.
   Tru. Gods so! 'tis true! What a false Memory have I
towards that Man! I am one: I met him ev'n now,
upon that he calls his delicate fine black Horse, rid into
a Foam, with posting from place to place, and Person to
Person, to give 'em the Cue
   Cle. Lest they should forget?
Tru. Yes:       

190 The Silent Woman.               

   Tru. Yes: There was never poor Captain took
more pains at a Muster to shew Men, than he, at this
Meal, to shew Friends.
   Daw. It is his Quarter-Feast, Sir.
   Cle. What! do you say so, Sir John?
   Tru. Nay, Jack Daw will not be out, at the best
Friends he has, to the Talent of his Wit: VVhere's his
Mistriss, to hear and applaud him? Is she gone?
   Daw. Is Mistriss Epicœne gone?
   Cle. Gone afore, with Sir Dauphine, I warrant, to the
   Tru. Gone afore! That were a manifest Injury, a
Disgrace and a half; to refuse him at such a Festival-
time as this, being a Bravery, and a Wit too.
   Cle. Tut, he'll swallow it like Cream: He's better
read in Jure Civili, than to esteem any thing a Disgrace
is offer'd him from a Mistriss.
   Daw. Nay, let her e'en go; she shall sit alone, and be
dumb in her Chamber a Week together, for John
I warrant her: Does she refuse me.
   Cle. No, Sir, do not take it so to heart: she does not
refuse you, but a little neglect you. Good faith, True-
you were to blame, to put it into his Head, that
she does refuse him.
   Tru. Sir, she does refuse him palpably, however you
mince it. An' I were as he, I would swear to speak
ne'er a word to her to day for't.
   Daw. By this Light, no more I will not.
   Tru. Nor to any body else, Sir.
   Daw. Nay, I will not say so, Gentlemen.
   Cle. It had been an excellent happy Condition for the
Company, if you could have drawn him to it.
   Daw. I'll be very melancholick, i' faith.
   Cle. As a Dog, if I were as you, Sir John.
   Tru. Or a Snail, or a Hog-louse: I would roll my self
up for this day in troth, they should not unwind
   Daw. By this Pick-tooth, so I will.
   Cle. 'Tis well done: He begins already to be angry
with his Teeth.
   Daw. Will you go, Gentlemen?
   Cle. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right me-
lancholick, Sir John.
   Tru. Yes, Sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off.
   Cle. Was there ever such a two Yards of Knighthood
measur'd out by Time, to be sold to Laughter?
   Tru. A meer talking Mole! hang him: No Mushrom
was ever so fresh. A Fellow so utterly nothing, as he
knows not what he would be.
   Cle. Let's follow him: but first, les'slet's go to Dauphine,
he's hovering about the House, to hear what News.
   Tru. Content.

Act II.    Scene V.

Morose, Epicœne, Cutberd, Mute.

Elcome Cutberd; draw near with your fair
 Charge: and in her Ear, softly intreat her to un-
mask ( — ) So. Is the Door shut? ( — ) Enough.
Now, Cutberd, with the same Discipline I use to my Fa-
mily, I will question you. As I conceive, Cutberd, this
Gentlewoman is she you have provided, and brought, in
hope she will fit me in the Place and Person of a Wife?
Answer me not but with your Leg, unless it be other-
wise: ( — ) Very well done, Cutberd. I conceive be-
sides, Cutberd, you have been pre-acquainted with her
Birth, Education, and Qualities, or else you would not
prefer her to my Acceptance, in the weighty Conse-
quence of Marriage. ( — ) This I conceive, Cutberd.
Answer me not but with your Leg, unless it be other-

He goes about her,   
and views her.

wise. ( — ) Very well done, Cutberd.
Give aside now a little, and leave me
to examine her condition, and aptitude

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to my Affection. She is exceeding fair, and of a spe-
cial good Favour; a sweet Composition, or Harmony
of Limbs; her temper of Beauty has the true height
of my Blood. The Knave hath exceedingly well fit-
ted me without: I will now try her within. Come
near, fair Gentlewoman; let not my Behaviour seem

She curtsies.            
rude, though unto you, being rare, it may
haply appear strange. ( — ) Nay, Lady,
you may speak, though Cutberd and my Man might
not; for of all Sounds, only the sweet Voice of a fair
Lady has the just length of mine Ears. I beseech you,
say, Lady, out of the first Fire of meeting Eyes (they
say) Love is stricken: Do you feel any such Motion sud-

denly shot into you, from any Part you see in
me? ha, Lady? ( — ) Alas, Lady, these An-
swers by silent Curtsies from you, are too courtless and
simple. I have ever had my Breeding in Court; and
she that shall be my Wife, must be accomplished with
courtly and audacious Ornaments. Can you speak,
[She speaks softly.
   Epi. Judge you, Forsooth.
   Mor. What say you , Lady? Speak out, I beseech you.
   Epi. Judge you, Forsooth.
   Mor. O' my Judgment, a Divine Softness! But can
you naturally, Lady, as I enjoin these by Doctrine and
Industry, refer your self to the search of my Judgment,
and (not taking pleasure in your Tongue, which is a
Womans chiefest Pleasure) think it plausible to answer

me by silent Gestures, so long as my Speeches
jump right with what you conceive? ( —— )
Excellent! Divine! If it were possible she should hold
out thus! Peace Cutberd, thou art made for ever, as thou
hast made me, if this Felicity have lasting: but I will
try her further. Dear Lady, I am courtly, I tell you,
and I must have mine Ears Banquetted with pleasant
and witty Conferences, pretty Girds, Scoffs, and Dalli-
ance in her, that I mean to chuse for my Bed-pheere.
The Ladies in Court think it a most desperate impair to
their quickness of Wit, and good Carriage, if they can-
not give occasion for a Man to court 'em; and when an
amorous Discourse is set on foot, minister as good Mat-
ter to continue it, as himself: and do you alone so
much differ from all them, that what they (with so
much circumstance) affect and toil for, to seem learn'd,
to seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can
bury in your self with silence, and rather trust your
Graces to the fair Conscience of Vertue, than to the
Worlds or your own Proclamation.
   Epi. I should be sorry else.
   Mor. What say you, Lady? Good Lady, speak out.
   Epi. I should be sorry else.
   Mor. That Sorrow doth fill me with Gladness. O
Morose! thou art happy above Mankind! Pray that thou
maist contain thy self. I will only put her to it once
more, and it shall be with the utmost Touch and Test
of their Sex. But hear me, fair Lady; I do also love
to see her whom I shall chuse for my Heifer, to be the
first and principal in all Fashions, precede all the Dames
at Court by a Fortnight, have her Council of Taylors,
Linneners, Lace-women, Embroiderers, and sit with 'em
sometimes twice a day upon French Intelligences, and
then come forth varied like Nature, or oftner than she,
and better, by the help of Art, her emulous Servant.
This do I affect: And how will you be able, Lady, with
this frugality of Speech, to give the manifold (but ne-
cessary) Instructions, for that Bodies, these Sleeves, those
Skirts, this Cut, that Stich, this Embroidery, that Lace,
this Wyre, those Knots, that Ruff, those Roses, this Gir-
dle, that Fan, the tother Scarf, these Gloves? Ha!
what say you, Lady?
   Epi. I'll leave it to you, Sir.
   Mor. How, Lady? pray you rise a Note.
   Epi. I leave it to Wisdom, and you, Sir.
   Mor. Admirable Creature! I will trouble you no

         The Silent Woman. 191

more: I will not sin against so sweet a Simplicity. Let me
now be bold to print on those divine Lips the Seal of be-
ing mine. Cutberd, I give thee the Lease of thy House free;
thank me not, but with thy Leg. ( — ) I know what
thou would'st say, She's poor, and her Friends deceased;
she has brought a wealthy Dowry in her Silence, Cutberd;
and in respect of her Poverty, Cutberd, I shall have her
more loving and obedient, Cutberd. Go thy ways, and
get me a Minister presently, with a soft low Voice, to
marry us; and pray him he will not be impertinent, but
brief as he can; away: softly, Cutberd. Sirrah, con-
duct your Mistriss into the Dining-room, your now-
Mistriss. O my Felicity! How shall I be reveng'd on
mine insolent Kinsman, and his Plots, to fright me from
marrying! This Night I will get an Heir, and thrust
him out of my Blood, like a Stranger. He would be
Knighted, forsooth, and thought by that means to reign
over me, his Title must do it: No, Kinsman, I will now
make you bring me the tenth Lords, and the sixteenth
Ladies Letter, Kinsman; and it shall do you no good,
Kinsman. Your Knighthood it self shall come on its
Knees, and it shall be rejected; it shall be sued for its
Fees to Execution, and not be redeem'd; it shall cheat
at the Twelve-penny Ordinary, it Knighthood, for its
Diet all the Term-time, and tell Tales for it in the Va-
cation to the Hostess; or it Knighthood shall do worse,
take Sanctuary in Coleharbor, and fast. It shall fright
all it Friends with borrowing Letters; and when one
of the fourscore hath brought it Knighthood Ten shil-
lings, it Knighthood shall go to the Cranes, or the Bear
at the Bridg-foot, and be drunk in fear; it shall not have
Money to discharge one Tavern-Reckoning, to invite
the old Creditors to forbear it Knighthood, or the new,
that should be, to trust it Knighthood. It shall be the
tenth Name in the Bond, to take up the Commodity of
Pipkins and Stone-Jugs; and the part thereof shall not
furnish it Knighthood forth for the attempting of a Ba-
kers Widow, a Brown Bakers Widow. It shall give it
Knighthoods Name, for a Stallion, to all gamesom Citi-
zens Wives, and be refus'd, when the Master of a Dan-
cing-School, or (How do you call him) the worst Re-
veller in the Town is taken: It shall want Clothes, and
by reason of that, Wit, to fool to Lawyers. It shall not
have hope to repair it self by Constantinople, Ireland, or Vir-
but the best and last Fortune to it Knighthood
shall be, to make Dol Tear-sheet or Kate Common a Lady,
and so it Knighthood may eat.

Act II.    Scene VI.

True-wit, Dauphine, Clerimont, Cutberd.

Re you sure he is not gone by?
   Dau. No, I staid in the Shop ever since.
   Cle. But he may take the other end of the Lane.
   Dau. No, I told him I would be here at this end: I
appointed him hither.
   Tru. What a Barbarian it is to stay then!
   Dau. Yonder he comes.
   Cle. And his Charge left behind him, which is a very
good Sign, Dauphine.
   Dau. How now, Cutberd, succeeds it, or no?
   Cut. Past imagination, Sir, omnia secunda; you could
not have pray'd to have had it so well: Saltat senex, as it
is i' the Proverb, he does triumph in his Felicity, ad-
mires the Party! He has given me the Lease of my
House too! and I am now going for a silent Minister
to marry 'em, and away.
   Tru. 'Slight, get one o' the Silenc'd Ministers; a zea-
lous Brother would torment him purely.
   Cut. Cum privilegio, Sir.
   Dau. O, by no means; let's do nothing to hinder it
now: When 'tis done and finished, I am for you, for any
Device of vexation.

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   Cut. And that shall be within this half-hour, upon my
dexterity, Gentlemen. Contrive what you can in the
mean time, bonis avibus.
   Cle. How the Slave doth Latin it!
   Tru. It would be made a Jest to Posterity, Sirs, this
days Mirth, if ye will.
   Cle. Beshrew his Heart that will not, I pronounce.
   Dau. And for my part. What is't?
   Tru. To translate all La-Fool's Company, and his Feast
hither, to day, to celebrate this Bride-ale.
   Dau. I marry; but how will't be done?
   Tru. I'll undertake the directing of all the Lady-guests
thither, and then the Meat must follow.
   Cle. For God's sake, let's effect it; it will be an excel-
lent Comedy of Affliction, so many several Noises.
   Dau. But are they not at the other place already,
think you?
   Tru. I'll warrant you for the College-honours; one
o' their Faces has not the Priming-Colour laid on yet,
nor the other her Smock sleek'd.
   Cle. O, but they'll rise earlier than ordinary to a
   Tru. Best go see, and assure our selves.
   Cle. Who knows the House?
   Tru. I'll lead you; were you never there yet?
   Dau. Not I.
   Cle. Nor I.
   Tru. Where ha' you liv'd then? Not know Tom Otter!
   Cle. No: For Gods sake, what is he?
   Tru. An excellent Animal, equal with your Daw or
La-Fool, if not transcendent; and does Latin it as much
as your Barber: He is his Wifes Subject, he calls her
Princess, and at such times as these follows her up and
down the House like a Page, with his Hat off, partly
for Heat, partly for Reverence. At this instant he is
marshalling of his Bull, Bear, and Horse.
   Dau. What be those, in the Name of Sphinx?
   Tru. Why, Sir, he has been a great Man at the Bear-
garden in his time; and from that subtle Sport has tane
the witty Denomination of his chief carowsing Cups.
One he calls his Bull, another his Bear, another his
Horse. And then he has his lesser Glasses, that he calls
his Deer and his Ape; and several Degrees of them too;
and never is well, nor thinks any Entertainment perfect,
till these be brought out, and set o' the Cupboard.
   Cle. For God's love! we should miss this, if we should
not go.
   Tru. Nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will
speak him all day. He will rail on his Wife, with certain
Common Places, behind her back; and to her Face —
   Dau. No more of him. Let's go see him, I petition you.

Act III.    Scene I.

Otter, Mrs. Otter, True-wit, Clerimont, Dauphine.

Ay, good Princess, hear me pauca verba.
   Mrs. Ott. By that Light, I'll ha' you chain'd up,
with your Bull-dogs and Bear-dogs, if you be not civil
the sooner. I'll send you to Kennel, i' faith. You were
best bait me with your Bull, Bear, and Horse? Never a
time that the Courtiers or Collegiates come to the
House, but you make it a Shrove-tuesday! I would have
you get your Whitsontide-Velvet-Cap, and your Staff i'
your Hand, to entertain 'em: yes in troth, do.
   Ott. Not so, Princess, neither; but, under correction,
sweet Princess, gi' me leave — These things I am
known to the Courtiers by: It is reported to them for
my Humour, and they receive it so, and do expect it.
Tom Otter's Bull, Bear, and Horse, it is known all over
England, in rerum natura.
   Mrs. Ott. 'Fore me, I will na-ture 'em over to Paris-
and na-ture you thither too, if you pronounce

192 The Silent Woman.               

'em again. Is a Bear a fit Beast, or a Bull, to mix in so-
ciety with great Ladies? Think 'i your Discretion, in
any good Polity.
   Ott. The Horse then, good Princess.
   Mrs. Ott. Well, I am contented for the Horse; they
love to be well hors'd I know: I love it my self.
   Ott. And it is a delicate fine Horse, this Poetarum Pe-
Under correction, Princess, Jupiter did turn
himself into a — Taurus, or Bull, under correction,
good Princess.
   Mrs. Ott. By my Integrity, I'll send you over to the
Bank-side, I'll commit you to the Master of the Garden,
if I hear but a Syllable more. Must my House or my
Roof be polluted with the scent of Bears and Bulls,
when it is perfum'd for great Ladies? Is this according
to the Instrument, when I married you? That I would
be Princess, and reign in mine own House; and you
would be my Subject, and obey me? What did you
bring me, should make you thus peremptory? Do I al-
low you your Half-crown a day, to spend where you
will, among your Gamesters, to vex and torment me
at such times as these? Who gives you your Mainte-
nance, I pray you? Who allows you your Horse-meat
and Mans-meat? your three Sutes of Apparel a Year?
your four pair of Stockins, one Silk, three Worsted?
your clean Linnen, your Bands and Cuffs, when I can
get you to wear 'em? 'Tis mar'le you ha' 'em on now.
Who graces you with Courtiers, or great Personages, to
speak to you out of their Coaches, and come home
to your House? Were you ever so much as look'd upon
by a Lord, or a Lady, before I married you, but on the
Easter or Whitson Holy-days? and then out at the Ban-
quetting-house Window, when Ned Whiting or George
were at the Stake?
   Tru. (For God's sake, let's go stave her off him.)
   Mrs. Ott. Answer me to that. And did not I take
you up from thence, in an old greasie Buff Doublet, with
Points, and green Velvet Sleeves, out at the Elbows?
You forget this.
   Tru. (She'll worry him, if we help not in time.)
   Mrs. Ott. O, here are some o' the Gallants! Go to,
behave your self distinctly, and with good Morality;
or, I protest, I'll take away your Exhibition.

Act III.    Scene II.

True-wit, Mrs. Otter, Cap. Otter, Clerimont, Dauphine,

Y your leave, fair Mistriss Otter, I'll be bold to en-
 ter these Gentlemen in your Acquaintance.
   Mrs. Ott. It shall not be obnoxious, or difficil, Sir.
   Tru. How does my Noble Captain? Is the Bull, Bear,
and Horse in rerum natura still?
   Ott. Sir, Sic visum superis.
   Mrs. Ott. I would you would but intimate 'em, do.
Go your ways in, and get Tosts and Butter made for
the Woodcocks: That's a fit Province for you.
   Cle. Alas, what a Tyranny is this poor Fellow mar-
ried to!
   Tru. O, but the sport will be anon, when we get him
   Dau. Dares he ever speak?
   Tru. No Anabaptist ever rail'd with the like License:
but mark her Language in the mean time, I beseech you.
   Mrs. Ott. Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. My
Cousin, Sir Amorous, will be here briefly.
   Tru. In good time, Lady. Was not Sir John Daw
here, to ask for him, and the Company?
   Mrs. Ott. I cannot assure you, Mr. True-wit. Here was
a very melancholy Knight in a Ruff, that demanded my
Subject for some body, a Gentleman, I think.
   Cle. I, that was he, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. But he departed streight, I can resolve you.

[column break]

   Dau. What an excellent choice Phrase this Lady ex-
presses in!
   True. O, Sir! she is the only authentical Courtier,
that is not naturally bred one, in the City.
   Mrs. Ott. You have taken that report upon trust, Gen-
   Tru. No, I assure you, the Court governs it so, Lady,
in your behalf.
   Mrs. Ott. I am the Servant of the Court and Courtiers,
   Tru. They are rather your Idolaters.
   Mrs. Ott. Not so, Sir.
   Dau. How now, Cutberd? Any Cross?
   Cut. O no, Sir, Omnia bene. 'Twas never better o' the
Hinges, all's sure. I have so pleas'd him with a Curate,
that he's gone to't almost with the delight he hopes for
   Dau. What is he for a Vicar?
   Cut. One that has catch'd a Cold, Sir, and can scarce
be heard six Inches off; as if he spoke out of a Bulrush
that were not pickt, or his Throat were full of Pitch:
a fine quick Fellow, and an excellent Barber of Prayers.
I came to tell you, Sir, that you might omnem movere
(as they say) be ready with your Vexation.
   Dau. Gramercy, honest Cutberd; be thereabouts with
thy Key to let us in.
   Cut. I will not fail you, Sir: Ad manum.
   Tru. Well, I'll go watch my Coaches.
   Cle. Do; and we'll send Daw to you, if you meet
him not.
   Mrs. Ott. Is Mr. True-wit gone?
   Dau. Yes, Lady, there is some unfortunate Business
fallen out.
   Mrs. Ott. So I judg'd, by the Phisiognomy of the
Fellow that came in; and I had a Dream last Night
too of the new Pageant, and my Lady Mayoress, which
is always very ominous to me. I told it my Lady
Haughty t'other day, when her Honour came hither to
see some China Stuffs; and she expounded it out of Ar-
and I have found it since very true. It has
done me many Affronts.
   Cle. Your Dream, Lady?
   Mrs. Ott. Yes, Sir, any thing I do but dream o' the
City. It stain'd me a Damask Table-cloth, cost me
eighteen Pound, at one time; and burnt me a black
Satten Gown, as I stood by the Fire, at my Lady Cen-
's Chamber, in the College, another time. A third
time, at the Lord's Masque, it dropt all my Wyre and
my Ruff with Wax-candle, that I could not go up to
the Banqnet.Banquet A fourth time, as I was taking Coach
to go to Ware, to meet a Friend, it dash'd me a new
Sute all over (a Crimson Satten Doublet, and black
Velvet Skirts) with a Brewers Horse, that I was fain
to go in and shift me, and kept my Chamber a Leash of
Days for the anguish of it.
   Dau. There were dire Mischances, Lady.
   Cle. I would not dwell in the City, an 'twere so fatal
to me.
   Mrs. Ott. Yes, Sir; but I do take Advice of my Do-
ctor, to dream of it as little as I can.
   Dau. You do well, Mistriss Otter.
   Mrs. Ott. Will it please you to enter the House far-
ther, Gentlemen?
   Dau. And your Favour, Lady: But we stay to speak
with a Knight, Sir John Daw, who is here come. We
shall follow you, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. At your own time, Sir. It is my Cousin Sir
Amorous his Feast —
   Dau. I know it, Lady.
   Mrs. Ott. And mine together. But it is for his Ho-
nour, and therefore I take no Name of it, more than of
the Place.
   Dau. You are a bounteous Kinswoman.
   Mrs. Ott. Your Servant, Sir.

         The Silent Woman. 193

Act III.    Scene III.

Clerimont, Daw, La-Fool, Dauphine, Otter.

Hy, do you know it, Sir John Daw?
   Daw. No, I am a Rook if I do.
   Cle. I'll tell you then; she's married by this time. And
whereas you were put i' th' Head, that she was gone
with Sir Dauphine, I assure you, Sir Dauphine has been the
noblest, honestest Friend to you, that ever Gentleman
of your Quality could boast of. He has discover'd the
whole Plot, and made your Mistriss so acknowledging,
and indeed, so ashamed of her Injury to you, that she
desires you to forgive her, and but grace her Wedding
with your presence to day — She is to be married to
a very good Fortune, she says, his Unckle old Morose:
and she will'd me in private to tell you, that she shall
be able to do you more Favours, and with more securi-
ty now than before.
   Daw. Did she say so, i' faith?
   Cle. Why what do you think of me, Sir John! ask Sir
   Dau.Daw. Nay, I believe you. Good Sir Dauphine, did
she desire me to forgive her?
   Cle. I assure you, Sir John, she did.
   Daw. Nay then, I do with all my heart, and I'll be jovial.
   Cle. Yes, for look you Sir, this was the injury to you.
La-Foole intended this Feast to honour her Bridal day,
and made you the Property to invite the College La-
dies, and promise to bring her: and then at the
time she would have appear'd (as his Friend) to have
given you the Dor. Whereas now, Sir Dauphine has
brought her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfacti-
on, that you shall bring all the Ladies to the place where
she is, and be very jovial; and there, she will have a
Dinner, which shall be in your name: and so disappoint
La-Foole, to make you good again, and (as it were) a
saver i' the Man.Main
   Daw. As I am a Knight, I honour her, and forgive
her hartily.
   Cle. About it then presently. True-wit is gone before
to confront the Coaches, and to acquaint you with so
much, if he meet you. Joyn with him, and 'tis well.
See, here comes your Antagonist, but take you no no-
tice, but be very jovial.
   La-F. Are the Ladies come, Sir John Daw, and your
Mistris? Sir Dauphine! you are exceeding welcom,
and honest Master Clerimont. Where's my Cousin?
did you see no Collegiats, Gentlemen?
   Dau. 'Collegiats! Do you not hear, Sir Amorous, how
you are abus'd?
   La-F. How Sir!
   Cle. Will you speak so kindly to Sir John Daw, that
has done you such an affront
   La-F. Wherein, Gentlemen? let me be a sutor to you
to know, I beseech you!
   Cle. Why Sir, his Mistris is married to day to Sir Dau-
Uncle, your Cousins Neighbour, and he has di-
verted all the Ladies, and all your Company thither,
to frustrate your Provision, and stick a disgrace upon
you. He was here, now, to have intic'd us away from
you too: but we told him his own I think.
   La-F. Has Sir John Daw wrong'd me so inhumanly?
   Dau. He has done it, Sir Amorous, most maliciously
and treacherously: but if you'll be rull'd by us, you shall
quit him i'faith.
   La-F. Good Gentlemen! I'll make one, believe it.
How I pray?
   Dau. Marry Sir, get me your Pheasants, and your
Godwits, and your best Meat, and dish it in Silver Dishes
of your Cousins presently, and say nothing, but clap me
a clean Towel about you, like a Sewer; and bare-head-
ed, march afore it with a good Confidence ('tis but o-
ver the way, hard by) and we'll second you, where

[column break]

you shall set it o' the Board, and bid 'em welcom to't
which shall show 'tis yours, and disgrace his prepara-
tion utterly: and for your Cousin, whereas she should
be troubled here at home with care of making and gi-
ving welcom, she shall transfer all that labour thither,
and be a principal Guest her self, sit rank'd with the Col-
ledge Honors, and be honour'd, and have her health drunk
as often, as bare, and as loud as the best of 'em.
   La-F. I'll go tell her presently. It shall be done, that's
   Cle. I thought he would not hear it out, but 'twould
take him.
   Dau. Well, there be Guests, and Meat now, how shall
we do for Musick?
   Cle. The smell of the Venison, going through the
Street, will invite one noise of Fidlers or other.
   Dau. I would it would call the Trumpeters thither.
   Cle. Faith, there is hope, they have intelligence of
all Feasts. There's good correspondence betwixt them and
the London Cooks. 'Tis twenty to one but he have 'em.
   Dau. 'Twill be a most solemn day for my Uncle, and
an excellent fit of Mirth for us.
   Cle. I, if we can hold up the emulation betwixt Foole
and Daw, and never bring them to expostulate.
   Dau. Tut, flatter 'em both (as True-wit says) and you
may take their Understandings in a Purse-net. They'll
believe themselves to be just such Men as we make 'em,
neither more nor less. They have nothing, not the use
of their Senses, but by Tradition.
   Cle. See! Sir Amorous has his Towel on already. Have
[He enters like a Sewer.
you perswaded your Cousin?
   La-F. Yes, 'tis very feasible: she'll do any thing, she
says, rather than the La-Fooles shall be disgrac'd.
   Dau. She is a noble Kinswoman. It will be such a
pest'ling device, Sir Amorous! It will pound all your E-
nemies Practises to Powder, and blow him up with his
own Mine, his own Train.
   La-F. Nay, we'll give Fire I warrant you.
   Cle. But you must carry it privately, without any noise,
and take no notice by any means ———
   Ott. Gentlemen, my Princess says you shall have all
her Silver Dishes, festinate: and she's gone to alter her
Tire a little, and go with you ——
   Cle. And your self too, Captain Otter.
   Dau. By any means, Sir.
   Ott. Yes Sir, I do mean it: but I would entreat my
Cousin Sir Amorous, and you Gentlemen, to be sutors to
my Princess, that I may carry my Bull and my Bear,
as well as my Horse.
   Cle. That you shall do, Captain Otter.
   La-F. My Cousin will never consent, Gentlemen.
   Dau. She must consent, Sir Amorous, to reason.
   La-F. Why, she says they are no decorum among Ladies.
   Ott. But they are decora, and that's better, Sir.
   Cle. I, she must hear Argument. Did not Pasiphae,
who was a Queen, love a Bull? and was not Calisto,
the Mother of Arcas, turn'd into a Bear, and made a
Star, Mistris Ursula, i' the Heavens?
   Ott. O God! that I could ha' said as much! I will
have these Stories painted i' the Bear-garden, ex Ovidii

   Dau. Where is your Princess, Captain? pray' be our
   Ott. That I shall, Sir.
   Cle. Make haste, good Sir Amorous.

Act III.    Scene IV.

Morose, Epicœne, Parson, Cutberd.

Ir, there's an Angel for your self, and a brace of Angels
 for your Cold. Muse not at this manage of my Bounty.
It is fit we should thank Fortune, double to Nature, for any
benefit she confers upon us; besides, it is your Imperfection
[The Parson speaks as having a Cold.      
but my Solace.
C c                                   Par. I      

194 The Silent Woman.               

   Par. I thank your Worship; so it is mine, now.
   Mor. What says he, Cutberd?
   Cut. He says, præsto, Sir, whensoever your Worship
needs him, he can be ready with the like. He got this
Cold with sitting up late, and singing Catches with
   Mor. No more. I thank him.
   Par. God keep your Worship, and give you much
[He coughs.
joy with your fair Spouse. (Umh, umh.)
   Mor. O, O, stay Cutberd! let him give me Five Shil-
lings of my Money back. As it is bounty to reward
Benefits, so is it equity to mulct Injuries. I will have it.
What says he?
   Cut. He cannot change it, Sir.
   Mor. It must be chang'd.
   Cut. Cough again.
   Mor. What says he?
   Cut. He will cough out the rest, Sir.
   Par. (Umh, umh, umh.)
   Mor. Away, away with him, stop his Mouth, away,
I forgive it. ———
   Epi. Fye, Master Morose, that you will use this vio-
lence to a Man of the Church.
   Mor. How!
   Epi. It does not become your Gravity, or Breeding,
(as you pretend in Court) to have offer'd this outrage
on a Water-man, or any more boistrous Creature, much
less on a Man of his civil Coat.
   Mor. You can speak then!
   Epi. Yes, Sir.
   Mor. Speak out I mean.
   Epi. I Sir, Why, did you think you had married a
Statue? or a Motion only? one of the French Puppets,
with the Eyes turn'd with a Wire? or some Innocent
out of the Hospital, that would stand with her Hands
thus, and a Plaise-mouth, and look upon you.
   Mor. O Immodesty! a manifest Woman! what Cutberd?
   Epi. Nay, never quarrel with Cutberd, Sir, it is too
late now. I confess it doth bate somewhat of the Mo-
desty I had, when I writ simply Maid: but I hope I shall
make it a stock still competent to the Estate and Digni-
ty of your Wife.
   Mor. She can talk!
   Epi. Yes indeed, Sir.
   Mor. What, Sirrah. None of my Knaves, there?
where is this Impostor, Cutberd?
   Epi. Speak to him, fellow, speak to him. I'll have
none of this coacted, unnatural dumbness in my House,
in a Family where I Govern.
   Mor. She is my Regent already! I have married a Pen-
a Semiramis, sold my Liberty to a Distaff!

Act III.    Scene V.

True-wit, Morose, Epicœne.

Here's Master Morose?
   Mor. Is he come again! Lord have mercy upon me.
   Tru. I wish you all joy, Mistris Epicœne, with your
grave and honourable Match.
   Epi. I return you the thanks, Master True-wit, so
friendly a wish deserves.
   Mor. She has Acquaintance too!
   Tru. God save you, Sir, and give you all contentment
in your fair Choice, here. Before I was the Bird of
Night to you, the Owl; but now I am the Messenger
of Peace, a Dove, and bring you the glad wishes of ma-
ny Friends to the celebration of this good Hour.
   Mor. What Hour, Sir?
   Tru. Your marriage Hour, Sir. I commend your re-
solution, that (notwithstanding all the dangers I laid a-
fore you, in the voice of a Night-crow) would yet go
on, and be your self. It shews youryou are a Man con-
stant to your own Ends, and upright to your Purposes,

[column break]

that would not be put off with Left-handed Cries.
   Mor. How should you arrive at the knowledge of so
   Tru. Why, did you ever hope, Sir, committing the
secrecy of it to a Barber, that less than the whole Town
should know it? you might as well ha' told it the Con-
duit, or the Bake-house, or the Infant'ry that follow
the Court, and with more security. Could your Gra-
vity forget so old and noted a Remnant, as, lippis & ton-
soribus notum?
Well Sir, forgive it your self now, the
Fault, and be communicable with your Friends. Here
will be three or four fashionable Ladies from the Col-
ledge to visit you presently, and their Train of Mini-
ons and Followers.
   Mor. Bar my Doors! bar my Doors! where are all my
Eaters? my Mouthes now? bar up my Doors, you
   Epi. He is a Varlet that stirs to such an office. Let
'em stand open. I would see him that dares move his
Eyes toward it. Shall I have a barricado made against
my Friends, to be barr'd of any pleasure they can bring
in to me with honourable Visitation?
   Mor. O Amazonian impudence!
   Tru. Nay faith, in this, Sir, she speaks but reason:
and me thinks is more continent than you. Would you
go to Bed so presently, Sir, afore Noon? a Man of your
Head and Hair, should owe more to that Reverend
Ceremony, and not mount the Marriage-bed, like a
Town-bull, or a Mountain-goat; but stay the due
Season; and ascend it then with Religion and Fear.
Those delights are to be steep'd in the Humour, and si-
lence of the Night? and give the day to other open
Pleasures, and Jollities of Feasting, of Musick, of Re-
vels, of Discourse: we'll have all, Sir, that may make
your Hymen high and happy.
   Mor. O, my torment, my torment!
   Tru. Nay, if you indure the first half hour, Sir, so
tediously, and with this irksomness; what comfort, or
hope, can this fair Gentlewoman make to her self here-
after, in the consideration of so many years as are to
come ——
   Mor. Of my affliction. Good Sir, depart, and let
her do it alone.
   Tru. I have done, Sir.
   Mor. That cursed Barber!
   Tru. (Yes, faith, a cursed Wretch indeed, Sir.)
   Mor. I have married his Cittern, that's common to
all Men. Some Plague, above the Plague —
   Tru. (All Ægypts ten Plagues)
   Mor. Revenge me on him.
   Tru. 'Tis very well, Sir. If you laid on a Curse or
two more I'll assure you he'll bear 'em. As, that he
may get the Pox with seeking to cure it, Sir? Or, that
while he is curling another Mans Hair, his own may
drop off? Or, for burning some Male-bauds Lock, he
may have his Brain beat out with the Curling-iron?
   Mor. No, let the Wretch live wretched. May he get
the Itch, and his Shop so lousie, as no Man dare come
at him, nor he come at no Man.
   Tru. (I, and if he would swallow all his Balls for Pills,
let not them purge him.)
   Mor. Let his Warming-pan be ever cold.
   Tru. (A perpetual Frost underneath it, Sir.)
   Mor. Let him never hope to see Fire again,
   Tru. (But in Hell, Sir.)
   Mor. His Chairs be always empty, his Scissars rust, audand
his Combs mould in their Cases.
   Tru. Very dreadful that! (And may he lose the in-
vention, Sir, of carving Lanterns in Paper)
   Mor. Let there be no Baud carted that year, to employ
a Bason of his: but let him be glad to eat his Sponge
for Bread.
   Tru. And drink lotium to it, and much good do him.
   Mor. Or, for want of Bread —
Tru. Eat          

         The Silent Woman. 195

   Tru. Eat Ear-wax, Sir. I'll help you. Or, draw his
own Teeth, and add them to the Lute-string.
   Mor. No, beat the old ones to Powder, and make
Bread of them.
   Tru. (Yes, make Makesecond 'Make' an error Meal o' the Mill stones.)
   Mor. May all the Botches and Burns that he has cur'd
on others, break out upon him.
   Tru. And he now forget the cure of 'em in himself,
Sir; or, if he do remember it, let him ha' scrap'd all
his Linnen into Lint for't, and have not a Rag left him
for to set up with.
   Mor. Let him never set up again, but have the Gout
in his hands for ever. Now, no more, Sir.
   Tru. O that last was too high set! you might go less
with him i'faith, and be reveng'd enough: as, that he
be never able to New-paint his Pole —
   Mor. Good Sir, no more. I forgot my self.
   Tru. Or, want credit to take up with a Comb-
maker ———
   Mor. No more Sir.
   Tru. Or, having broken his Glass in a former despair,
fall now into a much greater, of ever getting an-
other ——
   Mor. I beseech you, no more.
   Tru. Or, that he never be trusted with triming of a-
ny but Chimney-Sweepers ——
   Mor. Sir ——
   Tru. Or, may he cut a Colliers Throat with his Ra-
sor, by Chance-medley, and be hang'd for't.
   Mor. I will forgive him, rather than hear any more.
I beseech you, Sir.

Act III.    Scene VI.

Daw, Morose, True-wit, Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, Trusty.

His way, Madam.
   Mor. O, the Sea breaks in upon me! another
Flood! an Inundation! I shall be orewhelm'd with noise.
It beats already at my Shores. I feell an Earthquake
in my self, for't.
   Daw. 'Give you joy, Mistris.
   Mor. Has she Servants too!

She kisses them   
severally as he
presents them.

   Daw. I have brought some Ladies here to
see, and know you. My Lady Haughty,
this my Lady Centaure, Mistris Dol Mavis,
Mistris Trusty my Lady Haughties Woman.
Where's your Husband? let's see him: can he en-
dure no noise? let me come to him.
   Mor. What nomenclator is this!
   Tru. Sir John Daw, Sir, your Wives Servant, this.
   Mor. A Daw, and her Servant! O, 'tis decreed, 'tis
decreed of me, an' she have such Servants.
   Tru. Nay Sir, you must kiss the Ladies, you must not
go away, now; they come toward you to seek you out.
   Hau. I' faith, Master Morose, would you steal a Mar-
riage thus, in the midst of so many Friends, and not
acquaint us? Well, I'll kiss you, notwithstanding the
justice of my Quarrel: you shall give me leave, Mistris,
to use a becoming familiarity with your Husband.
   Epi. Your Ladiship do's me an honour in it, to let
me know he is so worthy your favour: as, you have
done both him and me grace, to visit so unprepar'd a
pair to entertain you.
   Mor. Complement! Complement!
   Epi. But I must lay the burden of that upon my Ser-
vant here.
   Hau. It shall not need, Mistris Morose; we will all
bear, rather than one shall be opprest.
   Mor. I know it: and you will teach her the faculty, if
she be to learn it.
   Hau. Is this the silent Woman?
   Cen. Nay, she has found her Tongue since she was
married, Master True-wit says.

[column break]

   Hau. O, Master True-wit! 'save you. What kind of
Creature is your Bride here? she speaks me thinks!
   Tru. Yes Madam, believe it, she is a Gentlewoman of
very absolute Behaviour, and of a good Race.
   Hau. And Jac Daw told us, she could not speak.
   Tru. So it was carried in Plot, Madam, to put her up-
on this old Fellow, by Sir Dauphine, his Nephew, and
one or two more of us: but she is a Woman of an ex-
cellent assurance, and an extraordinary happy Wit and
Tongue. You shall see her make rare sport with Daw
ere night.
   Hau. And he brought us to laugh at her!
   Tru. That falls out often, Madam, that he that thinks
himself the Master-wit, is the Master Fool. I assure
your Ladiship ye cannot laugh at her.
   Hau. No, we'll have her to the Colledge: an' she
have Wit, she shall be one of us! shall she not Centaure?
we'll make her a Collegiate.
   Cen. Yes faith, Madam, and Mavis, and she will set
up a side.
   Tru. Believe it Madam, and Mistris Mavis, she will
sustain her part.
   Mav. I'll tell you that, when I have talk'd with her,
and try'd her.
   Hau. Use her very civilly, Mavis.
   Mav. So I will, Madam.
   Mor. Blessed minute! that they would whisper thus ever!
   Tru. In the mean time, Madam, would but your Ladi-
ship help to vex him a little: you know his Disease, talk
to him about the Wedding Ceremonies, or call for your
Gloves, or ——
   Hau. Let me alone. Centaure help me. Master
Bridegroom, where are you?
   Mor. O, it was too miraculously good to last!
   Hau. We see no Ensigns of a Wedding here; no
Character of a Bride-ale: where be our Skarves and our
Gloves? I pray you, give 'em us. Let's know your
Brides Colours, and yours at least.
   Cen. Alas, Madam, he has provided none.
   Mor. Had I known your Ladiships Painter I would.
   Hau. He has given it you, Centaure, i' faith. But do
you hear, M. Morose, a Jest will not absolve you in this
manner. You that have suck'd the Milk of the Court,
and from thence have been brought up to the very
strong Meats and Wine of it; been a Courtier from
the Biggen to the Night-cap: (as we may say) and you
to offend in such a high Point of Ceremony as this!
and let your Nuptials want all Marks of Solemnity! How
much Plate have you lost to day (if you had but re-
garded your Profit,) what Gifts, what Friends, through
your meer rusticity?
   Mor. Madam ——
   Hau. Pardon me, Sir, I must insinuate your Errours
to you, No, Gloves? no Garters? no Skarves? no Epi-
no Masque?
   Daw. Yes, Madam, I'll make an Epithalamium, I pro-
mise my Mistris, I have begun it already: will you La-
diship hear it?
   Hau. I, good Jack Daw.
   Mor. Will it please your Ladiship command a Cham-
ber, and be private with your Friend? you shall have
your choice of Rooms to retire to after: my whole
House is yours. I know it hath been your Ladiships Er-
rand, into the City at other times, however now you
have been unhappily diverted upon me: but I shall be
loth to break any honourable Custom of your Ladiships.
And therefore, good Madam ——
   Epi. Come, you are a rude Bridegroom, to entertain
Ladies of Honour in this fashion.
   Cen. He is a rude Groom indeed.
   Tru. By that light you deserve to be grafted, and have
your Horns reach from one side of the Island to the o-
ther. Do not mistake me, Sir, I but speak this to give
the Ladies some heart again, not for any malice to you.
C c 2                             Mor. Is                            

196 The Silent Woman.               

   Mor. Is this your Bravo Ladies?
   Tru. As God help me, if you utter such another word,
I'll take Mistris Bride in, and begin to you in a very
sad Cup; do you see? Go too, know your Friends,
and such as love you.

Act III.    Scene VII.

Clerimont, Morose, True-wit, Dauphine, La-Foole, Otter,
   Mistris Otter,

Y your leave Ladies. Do you want any Musick?
 I have brought you variety of noyses. Play, Sirs,
[Musick of sorts.
all of you.
   Mor. O, a Plot, a Plot, a Plot, a Plot, upon me!
This day I shall be their Anvile to work on, they will
grate me asunder. 'Tis worse than the noise of a Saw.
   Cle. No, they are Hair, Rosin, and Guts. I can give
you the Receipt.
   Tru. Peace, Boys.
   Cle. Play, I say.
   Tru. Peace, Rascals. You see who's your Friend now,
Sir? Take courage, put on a Martyrs resolution. Mock
down all their attemptings with patience. 'Tis but a
day, and I would suffer heroically. Should an Ass ex-
ceed me in Fortitude? No. You betray your Infirmity
with your hanging dull Ears, and make them insult:
bear up bravely, and constantly. Look you here, Sir,
what honour is done you unexpected, by your Ne-
phew; a Wedding Dinner come, and a Knight-sewer
before it, for the more Reputation: and fine Mrs. Otter,
your Neighbour, in the Rump or Tail of it.
[La-Foole passes over sewing the Meat.

   Mor. Is that Gorgon, that Medusa come? Hide me,
hide me.
   Tru. I warrant you, Sir, she will not transform you.
Look upon her with a good Courage. Pray you enter-
tain her, and conduct your Guess in. No, Mistris Bride
will you entreat in the Ladies? your Bridegroom is so
shame-fac'd, here ——
   Epi. Will it please your Ladiship Madam?
   Hau. With the benefit of your Company, Mistris.
   Epi. Servant, pray you perform your Duties.
   Daw. And glad to be commanded, Mistris.
   Cen. How like you her Wit, Mavis?
   Mav. Very prettily, absolutely well.
   M. Ot. 'Tis my Place.
   Mav. You shall pardon me, Mistris Otter.
   M. Ot. Why I am a Collegiate.
   Mav. But not in ordinary.
   M. Ot. But I am.
   Mav. We'll dispute that within.
   Cle. Would this had lasted a little longer.
   Tru. And that they had sent for the Heralds. Cap-
tain Otter, what News.
   Ott. I have brought my Bull, Bear, and Horse, in
private, and yonder are the Trumpeters without, and
the Drum Gentlemen,
[The Drum and Trumpets sound.
   Mor. O, O, O.
   Ot. And we will have a rouse in each of them, anon,
for bold Britons i' faith.
   Mor. O, O, O.
   All. Follow, follow, follow.

Act IV.    Scene I.

True-wit, Clerimont, Dauphine.

As there ever poor Bridegroom so tormented? or
 Man indeed?
   Cle. I have not read of the like in the Chronicles of
the Land.
   Tru. Sure, he cannot but go to place of rest, after all

[column break]

this Purgatory.
   Cle. He may presume it I think.
   Tru. The Spitting, the Coughing, the Laughter,
the Neesing, the Farting, Dancing, noise of the Musick,
and her masculine and loud Commanding, and urging
the whole Family, makes him think he has married
a Fury.
   Cle. And she carries it up bravely.
   Tru. I, she takes any occasion to speak: that's the
height on't.
   Cle. And how soberly Dauphine labours to satisfie him,
that it was none of his Plot!
   Tru. And has almost brought him to the faith, i' the
Article. Here he comes. Where is he now? what's
become of him Dauphine?
   Dau. O, hold me up a little, I shall go away i' the
Jest else. He has got on his whole nest of Night-caps, and
lock'd himself up i' the top o' the House, as high as e-
ver he can climb from the noise. I peep'd in at a Crany,
and saw him sitting over a cross Beam o' the Roof, like
him o' the Sadlers Horse in Fleetstreet, up-right: and he
will sleep there.
   Cle. But where are your Collegiates?
   Dau. With-drawn with the Bride in private.
   Tru. O, they are instructing her i' the Colledge-Gram-
mar. If she have grace with them, she knows all their
secrets instantly.
   Cle. Me thinks, the Lady Haughty looks well to day,
for all my dispraise of her i' the Morning. I think, I shall
come about to thee again, True-wit.
   Tru. Believe it, I told you right. Women ought to
repair the losses, time and years have made i' their Fea-
tures, with dressings. And an intelligent Woman, if
she know by her self the least defect, will be most cu-
rious, to hide it: and it becomes her. If she be short,
let her sit much, lest when she stands, she be thought to
sit. If she have an ill Foot, let her wear her Gown the
longer, and her Shooe the thinner. If a fat Hand, and
scald Nails, let her carve the less, and act in Gloves. If
a sowre Breath let her never discourse fasting; and al-
ways talk at her distance. If she have black and rugged
Teeth, let her offer the less at laughter, especially if she
laugh wide and open.
   Cle. O, you shall have some Women, when they
laugh, you would think they bray'd, it is so rude and —
   Tru. I, and others, that will stalk i' their Gate like
an Estrich, and take huge strides. I cannot endure such
a sight. I love measure i' the Feet, and number i' the
Voyce: they are gentlenesses, that oftentimes draw no
less than the Face.
   Dau. How cam'st thou to study these Creatures so ex-
actly? I would thou wouldst make me a Proficient.
   Tru. Yes, but you must leave to live i' your Chamber
then a Month together upon Amadis de Gaule, or Don
as you are wont; and come abroad where the
matter is frequent, to Court, to Tiltings, publick Shows,
and Feasts, to Plays, and Church sometimes: thither
they come to shew their new Tyres too, to see, and to
be seen. In these Places a Man shall find whom to love,
whom to play with, whom to touch once, whom to hold
ever. The variety arrests his Judgment. A Wench to
please a Man comes not down dropping from the Ceil-
ing, as he lies on his back droning a Tobacco-pipe. He
must go where she is.
   Dau. Yes, and be never the neer.
   Tru. Out Heretick. That difference makes thee wor-
thy it should be so.
   Cle. He says true to you, Dauphine.
   Dau. Why?
   Tru. A Man should not doubt to over-come any Wo-
man. Think he can vanquish 'em, and he shall: for
though they deny, their desire is to be tempted. Pene-
her self cannot hold out long. Ostend, you saw,
was taken at last. You must persevere, and hold to your

         The Silent Woman. 197

purpose. They would sollicite us, but that they are a-
fraid. Howsoever, they wish in their Hearts we should
sollicite them. Praise 'em, flatter 'em, you shall never
want Eloquence or Trust: even the chastest delight to
feell themselves that way rub'd. With Praises you must
mix Kisses too. If they take them, they'll take more.
Though they strive, they would be overcome.
   Cle. O, but a Man must beware of Force.
   Tru. It is to them an acceptable Violence, and has
oft-times the place of the greatest Courtesie. She that
might have been forc'd, and you let her go free without
touching, though then she seem to thank you, will ever
hate you after; and glad i' the Face, is assuredly sad at
the Heart.
   Cle. But all Women are not to be taken always.
   Tru. 'Tis true; no more than all Birds, or all Fishes.
If you appear learned to an ignorant Wench, or jocund
to a sad, or witty to a foolish, why she presently begins
to mistrust her self. You must approach them i' their
own Height, their own Line; for the contrary makes
many that fear to commit themselves to Noble and
Worthy Fellows, run into the Embraces of a Rascal. If
she love Wit, give Verses, though you borrow 'em of a
Friend, or buy 'em, to have good. If Valour, talk of
your Sword, and be frequent in the mention of Quar-
rels, though you be staunch in fighting. If Activity, be
seen o' your Barbary often, or leaping over Stools, for
the credit of your Back. If she love good Clothes or
Dressing, have your Learned Council about you every
morning, your French Taylor, Barber, Linnener, &c.
Let your Powder, your Glass, and your Comb be your
dearest Acquaintance. Take more care for the Orna-
ment of your Head, than the Safety; and wish the
Commonwealth rather troubled, than a Hair about you.
That will take her. Then if she be covetous and cra-
ving, do you promise any thing, and perform sparing-
ly; so shall you keep her in appetite still. Seem as you
would give, but be like a barren Field, that yields little; or
unlucky Dice to foolish and hoping Gamesters. Let your
Gifts be slight and dainty, rather than precious. Let Cun-
ning be above Cost. Give Cherries at time of Year, or
Apricots; and say, they were sent you out o' the Coun-
try, tho' you bought 'em in Cheapside. Admire her Tires;
like her in all Fashions; compare her in every Habit to
some Deity; invent excellent Dreams to flatter her, and
Riddles; or, if she be a Great one, perform always the Se-
cond Parts to her; like what she likes, praise whom she
praises, and fail not to make the Houshold and Servants
yours, yea the whole Family, and salute 'em by their
Names, ('tis but light Cost, if you can purchase 'em so)
and make her Physician your Pensioner, and her chief
Woman. Nor will it be out of your gain to make
Love to her too, so she follow, not usher her Ladies
Pleasure. All Blabbing is taken away, when she comes
to be a part of the Crime.
   Dau. On what Courtly Lap hast thou late slept, to
come forth so sudden and absolute a Courtling?
   Tru. Good faith, I should rather question you, that
are so hearkning after these Mysteries. I begin to su-
spect your Diligence, Dauphine. Speak, art thou in love
in earnest?
   Dau. Yes by my troth am I; 'twere ill dissembling
before thee.
   Tru. With which of 'em, I pr'y thee?
   Dau. With all the Collegiates.
   Cle. Out on thee. We'll keep you at home, believe
it, i' the Stable, an' you be such a Stallion.
   Tru. No; I like him well. Men should love wisely,
and all Women; some one for the Face, and let her
please the Eye; another for the Skin, and let her please
the Touch; a third for the Voice, and let her please
the Ear; and where the Objects mix, let the Senses so
too. Thou would'st think it strange, if I should make
'em all in love with thee afore Night!

[column break]

   Dau. I would say, thou hadst the best Philtre i' the
World, and couldst do more than Madam Medea, or
Doctor Foreman.
   Tru. If I do not, let me play the Mountebank for my
Meat while I live, and the Bawd for my Drink.
   Dau. So be it, I say.

Act IV.    Scene II.

Otter, Clerimont, Daw, Dauphine, Morose, True-wit,
La-Foole, Mrs. Otter.

 Lord, Gentlemen, how my Knights and I have
 mist you here!
   Cle. Why, Captain, what Service? what Service?
   Ott. To see me bring up my Bull, Bear, and Horse to
   Daw. Yes faith, the Captain says we shall be his Dogs
to bait 'em.
   Dau. A good Employment.
   Tru. Come on, let's see a Course then.
   La-F. I am afraid my Cousin will be offended, if she
   Ott. Be afraid of nothing. Gentlemen, I have plac'd
the Drum and the Trumpets, and one to give 'em the
Sign when you are ready. Here's my Bull for my self,
and my Bear for Sir John Daw, and my Horse for Sir
Amorous. Now set your Foot to mine, and yours to his,
and ——
   La-F. Pray God my Cousin come not.
   Ott. Saint George and Saint Andrew! Fear no Cousins.
Come, sound, sound. Et rauco strepuerunt cornua cantu.
   Tru. Well said, Captain, i' faith; well fought at the
   Cle. Well held at the Bear.
   Tru. Low, low, Captain.
   Dau. O, the Horse has kickt off his Dog already.
   La-F. I cannot drink it, as I am a Knight.
   Tru. Gods so, off with his Spurs, some body.
   La-F. It goes against my Conscience. My Cousin will
be angry with it.
   Daw. I ha' done mine.
   Tru. You fought high and fair, Sir John.
   Cle. At the Head.
   Dau. Like an excellent Bear-dog.
   Cle. You take no notice of the Business, I hope.
   Daw. Not a word, Sir; you see we are jovial.
   Ott. Sir Amorous, you must not equivocate. It must
be pull'd down, for all my Cousin.
   Cle. 'Sfoot, if you take not your Drink, they'll think
you are discontented with something; you'll betray all,
if you take the least notice.
   La-F. Not I, I'll both drink and talk then.
   Ott. You must pull the Horse on his Knees, Sir Amo-
fear no Cousins. Jacta est alea.
   Tru. O, now he's in his Vein, and bold. The least
hint given him of his Wife now, will make him rail
   Cle. Speak to him of her.
   Tru. Do you, and I'll fetch her to the hearing of it.
   Dau. Captain He-Otter, your She-Otter is coming,
your Wife.
   Ott. Wife! Buz. Titivilitium. There's no such thing
in Nature. I confess, Gentlemen, I have a Cook, a
Laundress, a House-drudge, that serves my necessary
turns, and goes under that Title: But he's an Ass that
will be so uxorious to tie his Affections to one Circle.
Come, the Name dulls Appetite. Here, replenish again;
another Bout. Wives are nasty sluttish Animals.
   Dau. O, Captain.
   Ott. As ever the Earth bare, tribus vebis. Where's
Master True-wit?
   Daw. He's slipt aside, Sir.
   Cle. But you must drink and be jovial.
Daw. Yes,                

198 The Silent Woman.               

   Daw. Yes, give it me.
   La-F. And me too.
   Daw. Let's be jovial.
   La-F. As jovial as you will.
   Ott. Agreed. Now you shall ha' the Bear, Cousin,
and Sir John Daw the Horse, and I'll ha' the Bull still.
Sound Tritons o' the Thames. Nunc est bibendum, nunc      
pede libero
   Mor. Villains, Murderers, Sons of the Earth, and Trai-
tors, what do you there?
[Morose speaks from above, the Trumpets sounding.

   Cle. O, now the Trumpets have wak'd him, we shall
have his Company.
   Ott. A Wife is a scurvy Clogdogdo, an unlucky thing,
a very foresaid Bear-whelp, without any good Fashion or
Breeding; mala bestia.
[His Wife is brought out to hear him.

   Dau. Why did you marry one then, Captain?
   Ott. A pox — I married with Six thousand pound,
I. I was in love with that. I ha' not kist my Fury these
forty Weeks.
   Cle. The more to blame you, Captain.
   Tru. Nay, Mrs. Otter, hear him a little first.
   Ott. She has a Breath worse than my Grandmothers
   Mrs. Ott. O treacherous Liar. Kiss me, sweet Master
True-wit, and prove him a slandering Knave.
   Tru. I'll rather believe you, Lady.
   Ott. And she has a Perruke, that's like a pound of
Hemp, made up in Shoe-threds.
   Mrs. Ott. O Viper, Mandrake!
   Ott. A most vile Face! and yet she spends me Forty
pound a Year in Mercury and Hogs Bones. All her Teeth
were made i' the Black-Friers, both her Eye-brows i' the
Strand, and her Hair in Silver-street. Every part o' the
Town owns a piece of her.
   Mrs. Ott. I cannot hold.
   Ott. She takes her self asunder still when she goes to
Bed, into some twenty Boxes; and about next day
Noon is put together again, like a great German Clock;
and so comes forth, and rings a tedious Larum to the
whole House, and then is quiet again for an Hour, but
for her Quarters. Ha' you done me right, Gentlemen?
   Mrs. Ott. No, Sir, I'll do you right with my Quarters,
[She falls upon him, and beats him.
with my Quarters.
   Ott. O, hold, good Princess.
   Tru. Sound, sound.
   Cle. A Battel, a Battel.
   Mrs. Ott. You notorious stinkardly Bearward, does
my Breath smell?
   Ott. Under Correction, dear Princess. Look to my
Bear and my Horse, Gentlemen.
   Mrs. Ott. Do I want Teeth, and Eye-brows, thou
   Tru. Sound, sound still.
   Ott. No, I protest, under correction —
   Mrs. Ott. I, now you are under correction, you pro-
test: but you did not protest before Correction, Sir.
Thou Judas, to offer to betray thy Princess! I'll make
thee an Example ———
[Morose descends with a long Sword.

   Mor. I will have no such Examples in my House, La-
dy Otter.
   Mrs. Ott. Ah ———
   Mor. Mrs. Mary Ambree, your Examples are dange-
rous. Rogues, Hell-hounds, Stentors, out of my Doors,
you Sons of Noise and Tumult, begot on an ill May-day,
or when the Gally-foist is afloat to Westminster! A Trum-
peter could not be conceiv'd but then.
   Dau. What ails you, Sir?
   Mor. They have rent my Roof, Walls, and all my
Windows asunder, with their Brazen Throats.
   Tru. Best follow him, Dauphine.
   Dau. So I will.

[column break]

   Cle. Where's Daw and La-Fool?
   Ott. They are both run away, Sir. Good Gentle-
men, help to pacifie my Princess, and speak to the
great Ladies for me. Now must I go lie with the Bears
this Fortnight, and keep out o' the way, till my Peace
be made, for this Scandal she has taken. Did you not
see my Bull-head, Gentlemen?
   Cle. Is't not on, Captain?
   Tru. No; but he may make a new one, by that is on.
   Ott. O, here 'tis. An' you come over, Gentlemen,
and ask for Tom Otter, we'll go down to Ratcliff, and
have a Course i' faith, for all these Disasters. There is
bona spes left.
   Tru. Away, Captain, get off while you are well.
   Cle. I am glad we are rid of him.
   Tru. You had never been, unless we had put his Wife
upon him. His Humour is as tedious at last, as it was
ridiculous at strst.first

Act IV.    Scene III.

Haughty, Mrs. Otter, Mavis, Daw, La-Fool, Centaure,
Epicœne, True-wit, Clerimont.

E wonder'd why you shriek'd so, Mrs. Otter.
   Mrs. Ott. O God, Madam, he came down with
a huge long naked Weapon in both his Hands, and
look'd so dreadfully! Sure he's beside himself.
   Mav. Why, what made you there, Mrs. Otter?
   Mrs. Ott. Alas, Mrs. Mavis, I was chastising my Sub-
ject, and thought nothing of him.
   Daw. Faith, Mistris, you must do so too. Learn to
chastise. Mistris Otter corrects her Husband so, he dares
not speak, but under correction.
   La-F. And with his Hat off to her: 'twould do you
good to see.
   Hau. In sadness, 'tis good and mature Counsel; pra-
ctise it, Morose. I'll call you Morose still now, as I call
Centaure and Mavis; we four will be all one.
   Cen. And you'll come to the College, and live with
   Hau. Make him give Milk and Honey.
   Mav. Look how you manage him at first, you shall
have him ever after.
   Cen. Let him allow you your Coach and four Horses,
your Woman, your Chambermaid, your Page, your
Gentleman-Usher, your French Cook, and four Grooms.
   Hau. And go with us to Bedlam, to the China-houses,
and to the Exchange.
   Cen. It will open the Gate to your Fame.
   Hau. Here's Centaure has immortaliz'd her self, with
taming of her wild Male.
   Mav. I, she has done the Miracle of the Kingdom.
   Epi. But Ladies, do you count it lawful to have such
plurality of Servants, and do 'em all Graces?
   Hau. Why not? Why should Women deny their Fa-
vours to Men? Are they the poorer, or the worse?
   Daw. Is the Thames the less for the Dyers Water,
   La-F. Or a Torch, for lighting many Torches?
   Tru. Well said, La-Fool; what a new one he has got?
   Cen. They are empty Losses Women fear in this
   Hau. Besides, Ladies should be mindful of the ap-
proach of Age, and let no time want his due Use.
The best of our Days pass first.
   Mav. We are Rivers, that cannot be call'd back, Ma-
dam: She that now excludes her Lovers, may live to
lie a forsaken Beldam, in a frozen Bed.
   Cen. 'Tis true, Mavis: And who will wait on us to
Coach then? or write, or tell us the News then? make
Anagrams of our Names, and invite us to the Cockpit,
and kiss our Hands all the Play-time, and draw their
Weapons for our Honours?
Hau. Not             

         The Silent Woman. 199

   Hau. Not one.
   Daw. Nay, my Mistris is not altogether unintelligent
of these things; here be in presence have tasted of her
   Cle. What a neighing Hobby-horse is this!
   Epi. But not with intent to boast 'em again, Servant.
And have you those excellent Receits, Madam, to keep
your selves from bearing of Children?
   Hau. O yes, Morose: How should we maintain our
Youth and Beauty else? Many Births of a Woman
make her Old, as many Crops make the Earth Barren.

Act IV.    Scene IV.

Morose, Dauphine, True-wit, Epicœne, Clerimont, Daw,
   Haughty, La-Foole, Centaure, Mavis, Mrs. Otter,

 My cursed Angel, that instructed me to this Fate!
   Dau. Why, Sir?
   Mor. That I should be seduc'd by so foolish a Devil
as a Barber will make!
   Dau. I would I had been worthy, Sir, to have parta-
ken your Counsel; you should never have trusted it to
such a Minister.
   Mor. Would I could redeem it with the loss of an
Eye (Nephew), a Hand, or any other Member.
   Dau. Marry, God forbid, Sir, that you should geld
your self, to anger your Wife.
   Mor. So it would rid me of her! and, that I did su-
pererogatory Penance in a Belfry, at Westminster-hall,
i' the Cockpit, at the fall of a Stag, the Tower-wharf,
(what Place is there else?) London-bridge, Paris-garden,
when the Noises are at their height, and
lowdest. Nay, I would sit out a Play, that were no-
thing but Fights at Sea, Drum, Trumpet, and Target!
   Dau. I hope there shall be no such need, Sir. Take
Patience, good Uncle. This is but a Day, and 'tis well
worn too now.
   Mor. O, 'twill be so for ever, Nephew, I foresee it, for
ever. Strife and Tumult are the Dowry that comes
with a Wife.
   Tru. I told you so, Sir, and you would not believe
   Mor. Alas, do not rub those Wounds, Master True-
to blood again; 'twas my negligence. Add not
Affliction to Affliction. I have perceiv'd the Effect of
it, too late, in Madam Otter.
   Epi. How do you, Sir?
   Mor. Did you ever hear a more unnecessary Questi-
on? As if she did not see! Why, I do as you see, Em-
press, Empress.
   Epi. You are not well, Sir! you look very ill! Some-
thing has distemper'd you.
   Mor. O horrible, monstrous Impertinencies! Would
not one of these have serv'd, do you think, Sir? Would
not one of these have serv'd?
   Tru. Yes, Sir; but these are but Notes of Female
Kindness, Sir; certain Tokens that she has a Voice, Sir.
   Mor. O, is't so? Come, and be no otherwise —
What say you?
   Epi. How do you feel your self, Sir?
   Mor. Again that!
   Tru. Nay, look you Sir, you would be Friends with
your Wife upon unconscionable Terms; her Silence —
   Epi. They say you are run mad, Sir.
   Mor. Not for love, I assure you, of you; do you see?
   Epi. O Lord, Gentlemen! Lay hold on him, for
God's sake. What shall I do? Who's his Physician (can
you tell) that knows the State of his Body best, that I
might send for him? Good Sir, speak; I'll send for one
of my Doctors else.
   Mor. What, to poison me, that I might die Intestate,
and leave you possest of all?

[column break]

   Epi. Lord, how idly he talks, and how his Eyes
sparkle! He looks green about the Temples! Do you
see what blue Spots he has?
   Cle. I, it's Melancholy.
   Epi. Gentlemen, for Heavens sake, counsel me. La-
dies! Servant, you have read Pliny and Paracelsus; ne'er
a word now to comfort a poor Gentlewoman? Ay me!
what Fortune had I, to marry a distracted Man?
   Daw. I'll tell you, Mistris —
   Tru. How rarely she holds it up!
   Mor. What mean you, Gentlemen?
   Epi. What will you tell me, Servant?
   Daw. The Disease in Greek is called Mania, in Latin,
Insania, Furor, vel Ecstasis Melancholica,
that is, Egressio,
when a Man ex melancholico evadit fanaticus.
   Mor. Shall I have a Lecture read upon me alive?
   Daw. But he may be but Phreneticus yet, Mistris; and
Phrenetis is only Delirium, or so.
   Epi. I, that is for the Disease, Servant; but what is
this to the Cure? We are sure enough of the Disease.
   Mor. Let me go.
   Tru. Why, we'll entreat her to hold her peace, Sir.
   Mor. O, no; labour not to stop her. She is like a
Conduit-pipe, that will gush out with more force when
she opens again.
   Hau. I'll tell you, Morose, you must talk Divinity to
him altogether, or Moral Philosophy.
   La-F. I, and there's an excellent Book of Moral Phi-
losophy, Madam, of Raynard the Fox, and all the Beasts,
call'd Done's Philosophy.
   Cen. There is indeed, Sir Amorous La-Foole.
   Mor. O misery!
   La-F. I have read it, my Lady Centaure, all over to
my Cousin here.
   Mrs. Ott. I, and 'tis a very good Book as any is, of
the Moderns.
   Daw. Tut, he must have Seneca read to him, and Plu-
and the Ancients; the Moderns are not for this
   Cle. Why, you discommended them too, to day, Sir
   Daw. I, in some Cases; but in these they are best, and
Aristotle's Ethicks.
   Mav. Say you so, Sir John? I think you are deceiv'd;
you took it upon trust.
   Hau. Where's Trusty, my Woman? I'll end this Dif-
ference. I pr'y thee, Otter, call her. Her Father and
Mother were both mad, when they put her to me.
   Mor. I think so. Nay, Gentlemen, I am tame. This
is but an Exercise, I know, a Marriage-Ceremony, which
I must endure.
   Hau. And one of them (I know not which) was cu-
red with the Sick Man's Salve; and the other with
Green's Groats-worth of Wit.
   Tru. A very cheap Cure, Madam.
   Hau. I, it's very feasible.
   Mrs. Ott. My Lady call'd for you, Mistris Trusty:
you must decide a Controversie.
   Hau. O, Trusty, which was it you said, your Father
or your Mother, that was cur'd with the Sick Man's

   Trus. My Mother, Madam, with the Salve.
   Tru. Then it was the Sick Woman's Salve.
   Trus. And my Father with the Groats-worth of Wit.
But there was other Means us'd: We had a Preacher
that would preach Folk asleep still; and so they were
prescrib'd to go to Church, by an old Woman that was
their Physician, thrice a week —
   Epi. To sleep?
   Trus. Yes, forsooth: and every night they read them-
selves asleep on those Books.
   Epi. Good faith, it stands with great reason. I would
I knew where to procure those Books.
   Mor. Oh.
La-F. I               

200 The Silent Woman.               

   La-F. I can help you with one of 'em, Mistris Morose,
the Groats-worth of Wit.
   Epi. But I shall disfurnish you, Sir Amorous: Can you
spare it?
   La-F. O yes, for a Week, or so; I'll read it my self
to him.
   Epi. No, I must do that, Sir; that must be my Office.
   Mor. Oh, oh!
   Epi. Sure he would do well enough, if he could sleep.
   Mor. No, I should do well enough, if you could sleep.
Have I no Friend, that will make her drunk, or give her
a little Ladanum, or Opium?
   Tru. Why, Sir, she talks ten times worse in her sleep.
   Mor. How!
   Cle. Do you not know that, Sir? never ceases all
   Tru. And snores like a Porcpisce.
   Mor. O, redeem me, Fate; redeem me, Fate. For how
many Causes may a Man be divorc'd, Nephew?
   Dau. I know not, truly, Sir.
   Tru. Some Divine must resolve you in that, Sir, or
   Mor. I will not rest, I will not think of any other
Hope or Comfort, till I know.
   Cle. Alas, poor Man!
   Tru. You'll make him mad indeed, Ladies, if you pur-
sue this.
   Hau. No, we'll let him breathe now, a quarter of an
hour, or so.
   Cle. By my Faith, a large Truce.
   Hau. Is that his Keeper, that is gone with him?
   Daw. It is his Nephew, Madam.
   La-F. Sir Dauphine Eugenie.
   Cen. He looks like a very pitiful Knight —
   Daw. As can be. This Marriage has put him out of all.
   La-F. He has not a Penny in his Purse, Madam —
   Daw. He is ready to cry all this day.
   Fa-F.La-F. A very Shark; he set me i' th' nick t'other night
at Primero.
   Tru. How these Swabbers talk!
   Cle. I, Otter's Wine has swell'd their Humours above
a Spring-tide.
   Hau. Good Morose, let's go in again. I like your
Couches exceeding well; we'll go lie and talk there.
   Epi. I wait on you, Madam.
   Tru. 'Slight, I will have 'em as silent as Signs, and
their Post too, e're I ha' done. Do you hear, Lady-
Bride? I pray thee now, as thou art a noble Wench,
continue this Discourse of Dauphine within; but praise
him exceedingly; magnifie him with all the height of
Affection thou canst; (I have some purpose in't) and
but beat off these two Rooks, Jack Daw, and his Fel-
low, with any Discontentment hither, and I'll honour
thee for ever.
   Epi. I was about it here. It angred me to the Soul,
to hear 'em begin to talk so malepert.
   Tru. Pray thee perform it, and thou winn'st me an
Idolater to thee everlasting.
   Epi. Will you go in, and hear me do it?
   Tru. No, I'll stay here. Drive 'em out of your Com-
pany, 'tis all I ask; which cannot be any way better
done, than by extolling Dauphine, whom they have so
   Epi. I warrant you; you shall expect one of 'em pre-
   Cle. What a Cast of Castrils are these, to Hawk after
Ladies thus?
   Tru. I, and strike at such an Eagle as Dauphine.
   Cle. He will be mad, when we tell him. Here he

[column break]

Act IV.    Scene V.

Clerimont, True-wit, Dauphine, Daw, La-Foole.

 Sir, you are welcom.
   Tru. Where's thine Uncle?
   Dau. Run out o' doors in's Night-caps, to talk with a
Casuist about his Divorce. It works admirably.
   Tru. Thou would'st ha' said so, an' thou hadst been
here! The Ladies have laugh'd at thee most comically,
since thou went'st, Dauphine.
   Cle. And askt, if thou wert thine Uncle's Keeper.
   Tru. And the Brace of Baboons answer'd, Yes; and
said, thou wert a pitiful poor Fellow, and didst live upon
Posts, and hadst nothing but three Sutes of Apparel, and
some few Benevolences that the Lords ga' thee to fool
to 'em, and swagger.
   Dau. Let me not live, I'll beat 'em; I'll bind em both
to Grand Madams Bed-posts, and have 'em baited with
   Tru. Thou shalt not need, they shall be beaten to thy
hand, Dauphine. I have an Execution to serve upon 'em,
I warrant thee shall serve; trust my Plot.
   Dau. I, you have many Plots! So you had one, to
make all the Wenches in love with me.
   Tru. Why, if I do it not yet afore night, as near as
'tis, and that they do not every one invite thee, and be
ready to search for thee, take the Mortgage of my Wit.
   Cle. 'Fore God, I'll be his Witness; thou shalt have it,
Dauphine: Thou shalt be his Fool for ever, if thou dost
   Tru. Agreed. Perhaps 'twill be the better Estate. Do
you observe this Gallery, or rather Lobby indeed? Here
are a couple of Studies, at each end one: Here will I
act such a Tragicomœdy between the Guelphs and the Ghi-
bellines, Daw
and La-Foole — which of 'em comes out
first, will I seise on: (You two shall be the Chorus be-
hind hethe Arras, and whip out between the Acts, and
speak.) If I do not make 'em keep the Peace for this
remnant of the Day, if not of the Year, I have fail'd
once — I hear Daw coming: Hide, and do not laugh,
for God's sake.
   Daw. Which is the way into the Garden, trow?
   Tru. O, Jack Daw! I am glad I have met with you.
In good faith, I must have this Matter go no further be-
tween you: I must ha' it taken up.
   Daw. What Matter, Sir? Between whom?
   Tru. Come, you disguise it, Sir Amorous and you. If
you love me, Jack, you shall make use of your Philoso-
phy now, for this once, and deliver me your Sword.
This is not the Wedding the Centaures were at, though
there be a She-one here. The Bride has entreated me
I will see no Blood shed at her Bridal; you saw her whi-
sper me e're-while.
   Daw. As I hope to finish Tacitus, I intend no Murder.
   Tru. Do you not wait for Sir Amorous?
   Daw. Not I, by my Knighthood.
   Tru. And you Scholarship too?
   Daw. And my Scholarship too.
   Tru. Go to, then I return you your Sword, and ask
you mercy; but put it not up, for you will be assaulted.
I understood that you had apprehended it, and walkt
here to brave him; and that you had held your Life
contemptible, in regard of your Honour.
   Daw. No, no; no such thing, I assure you. He and I
parted now, as good Friends as could be.
   Tru. Trust not you to that Visor. I saw him since
Dinner with another Face: I have known many Men
in my time vex'd with Losses, with Deaths, and with
Abuses; but so offended a Wight as Sir Amorous, did I
never see or read of. For taking away his Guests, Sir,
to day, that's the Cause; and he declares it behind your
back with such Threatnings and Contempts — He

         The Silent Woman. 201

said to Dauphine, You were the errant'st Ass —
   Dau.Daw. I, he may say his Pleasure.
   Tru. And swears, you are so protested a Coward, that
he knows you will never do him any manly or single
Right; and therefore he will take his course.
   Daw. I'll give him any Satisfaction, Sir —— but
   Tru. I, Sir; but who knows what Satisfaction he'll
take: Blood he thirsts for, and Blood he will have; and
whereabouts on you he will have it, who knows, but
   Daw. I pray you, Master True wit, be you a Medi-

He puts   
him up.

   Tru. Well, Sir, conceal your self then in this
Study till I return. Nay, you must be con-
tent to be lock'd in; for, for mine own Repu-
tation, I would not have you seen to receive a Publick
Disgrace, while I have the Matter in managing. Gods
so, here he comes; keep your Breath close, that he do
not hear you sigh. In good faith, Sir Amorous, he is not
this way; I pray you be merciful, do not murder him;
he is a Christian, as good as you: You are arm'd as if
you sought a Revenge on all his Race. Good Dauphine,
get him away from this Place. I never knew a Man's
Choler so high, but he would speak to his Friends, he
would hear Reason. Jack Daw, Jack! asleep?
   Daw. Is he gone, Master True-wit?
   Tru. I; did you hear him?
   Daw. O God, yes.
   Tru. What a quick Ear Fear has?
   Daw. But is he so arm'd, as you say?
   Tru. Arm'd? Did you ever see a Fellow set out to
take Possession?
   Daw. I, Sir.
   Tru. That may give you some light to conceive of
him; but 'tis nothing to the principal. Some false Bro-
ther i' the House has furnish'd him strangely; or, if it
were out o' the House, it was Tom Otter.
   Daw. Indeed he's a Captain, and his Wife is his Kins-
   Tru. He has got some bodies old two-hand Sword, to
mow you off at the Knees: And that Sword hath
spawn'd such a Dagger! — But then he is so hung with
Pikes, Halberds, Peitronels, Callivers, and Muskets,
that he looks like a Justice of Peace's Hall: A Man of
Two thousand a Year is not sess'd at so many Weapons
as he has on. There was never Fencer challeng'd at so
many several Foils. You would think he meant to
murder all St. Pulchres Parish. If he could but Victual
himself for half a Year in his Breeches, he is sufficiently
arm'd to over-run a Country.
   Daw. Good Lord! what means he, Sir? I pray you,
Master True-wit, be you a Mediator.
   Tru. Well, I'll try if he will be appeas'd with a Leg
or an Arm; if not, you must die once.
   Daw. I would be loth to lose my Right Arm, for
writing Madrigals.
   Tru. Why, if he will be satisfied with a Thumb, or a
Little-finger, all's one to me. You must think, I'll do
my best.
[He puts him up again,
   Daw. Good Sir, do.
and then came forth.
   Cle. What hast thou done?
   Tru. He will let me do nothing, Man; he does all
afore me; he offers his Left Arm.
   Cle. His Left Wing, for a Jack Daw.
   Dau. Take it, by all means.
   Tru. How! Maim a Man for ever, for a Jest? What
a Conscience hast thou?
   Dau. 'Tis no loss to him; he has no Employment for
his Arms, but to eat Spoon-meat. Beside, as good maim
his Body, as his Reputation.
   Tru. He is a Scholar, and a Wit, and yet he does not
think so. But he loses no Reputation with us; for we
all resolv'd him an Ass before. To your Places again.

[column break]

   Cle. I pray thee, let me be in at the other a little.
   Tru. Look, you'll spoil all; these be ever your Tricks.
   Cle. No, but I could hit of some things that thou wilt
miss, and thou wilt say are good ones.
   Tru. I warrant you. I pray forbear, I'll leave it off else.
   Dau. Come away, Clerimont.
   Tru. Sir Amorous!
   La-F. Master True-wit.
   Tru. Whither were you going?
   La-F. Down into the Court, to make water.
   Tru. By no means, Sir; you shall rather tempt your
   La-F. Why, Sir?
   Tru. Enter here, if you love your Life.
   La-F. Why! why!
   Tru. Question till your Throat be cut, do: dally till
the enraged Soul find you.
   La-F. Who's that?
   Tru. Daw it is: Will you in?
   La-F. I, I, I'll in: What's the matter?
   Tru. Nay, if he had been cool enough to tell us that,
there had been some hope to attone you; but he seems
so implacably enrag'd.
   La-F. 'Slight, let him rage: I'll hide my self.
   Tru. Do, good Sir. But what have you done to him
within, that should provoke him thus? You have broke
some Jest upon him afore the Ladies —
   La-F. Not I, never in my life, broke Jest upon any
Man. The Bride was praising Sir Dauphine, and he went
away in snuff, and I followed him; unless he took of-
fence at me in his Drink ere-while, that I would not
pledge all the Horse full.
   Tru. By my Faith, and that may be; you remember
well: But he walks the Round up and down, through
every Room o' the House, with a Towel in his Hand,
crying, Where's La-Foole? Who saw La-Foole? And when
Dauphine, and I demanded the Cause, we can force no
Answer from him, but (O Revenge, how sweet art
thou! I will strangle him in this Towel) Which leads
us to conjecture, that the main Cause of his Fury is, for
bringing your Meat to day, with a Towel about you,
to his discredit.
   La-F. Like enough. Why, and he be angry for that,
I'll stay here till his Anger be blown over.
   Tru. A good becoming Resolution, Sir; if you can
put it on o' the sudden.
   La-F. Yes, I can put it on: Or, I'll away into the
Country presently.
   Tru. How will you get out o' the House, Sir? He
knows you are i' the House, and he'll watch you this
se'nnight, but he'll have you: He'll out-wait a Serjeant
for you.
   La-F. Why, then I'll stay here.
   Tru. You must think how to victual your self in time
   La-F. Why, sweet Master True-wit, will you entreat
my Cousin Otter to send me a cold Venison Pasty, a
Bottle or two of Wine, and a Chamber-pot.
   Tru. A Stool were better, Sir, of Sir Ajax his Inven-
   La-F. I, that will be better indeed; and a Pallat to lie
   Tru. O, I would not advise you to sleep, by any means.
   La-F. Would you not, Sir? why, then I will not.
   Tru. Yet there's another fear —
   La-F. Is there, Sir? What is't?
   Tru. No, he cannot break open this Door with his
Foot sure.
   La-F. I'll set my Back against it, Sir. I have a good Back.
   Tru. But then if he should batter.
   La-F. Batter! If he dare, I'll have an Action of Bat-
try against him.
   Tru. Cast you the worst. He has sent for Powder al-
ready, and what he will do with it, no Man knows:
D d                                  perhaps                        

202 The Silent Woman.               

perhaps blow up the Corner o' the House where he

He feigns as if   
one were pre-
sent, to fright
the other, who
is run in to
hide himself.

suspects you are. Here he comes; in
quickly. I protest, Sir John Daw, he is not
this way: What will you do? Before God
you shall hang no Petard here: I'll die ra-
ther. Will you not take my word? I ne-
ver knew one but would be satisfied. Sir
Amorous, there's no standing out: He has made a Petard
of an old Brass Pot, to force your Door. Think upon
some Satisfaction, or Terms, to offer him.
   La-F. Sir, I'll give him any Satisfaction: I dare give
any Terms.
   Tru. You'll leave it to me then?
   La-F. I, Sir: I'll stand to any Conditions.

He calls forth   
Clerimont and

   Tru. How now, what think you, Sirs?
Wer't not a difficult thing to determine,
which of these two fear'd most?
   Cle. Yes, but this fears the bravest:
The other, a whinilling Dastard, Jack Daw! But La-
a brave Heroick Coward! and is afraid in a great
Look, and a stout Accent. I like him rarely.
   Tru. Had it not been pity these two should ha' been
   Cle. Shall I make a Motion?
   Tru. Briefly: For I must strike while 'tis hot.
   Cle. Shall I go fetch the Ladies to the Catastrophe?
   Tru. Umh? I, by my troth.
   Dau. By no mortal means. Let them continue in the
State of Ignorance, and err still; think 'em Wits and
fine Fellows, as they have done. 'Twere Sin to reform
   Tru. Well, I will have 'em fetcht, now I think on't,
for a private purpose of mine: Do, Clerimont, fetch 'em,
and discourse to 'em all that's past, and bring 'em into
the Gallery here.
   Dau. This is thy extreme Vanity now: Thou think'st
thou wert undone, if every Jest thou mak'st were not
   Tru. Thou shalt see how unjust thou art presently.
Clerimont, say it was Dauphine's Plot. Trust me not, if
the whole drift be not for thy good. There's a Carpet
i' the next Room, put it on, with this Scarf over thy
Face, and a Cushion o' thy Head, and be ready when
I call Amorous. Away — John Daw.
   Daw. What good News, Sir?
   Tru. Faith, I have followed, and argued with him
hard for you. I told him, you were a Knight, and a
Scholar, and that you knew Fortitude did consist magis
patiendo quam faciendo, magis ferendo quam feriendo.

   Daw. It doth so indeed, Sir.
   Tru. And that you would suffer, I told him: So at
first he demanded, by my troth, in my conceit, too
   Daw. What was it, Sir?
   Tru. Your upper Lip, and six o' your Fore-teeth.
   Daw. 'Twas unreasonable.
   Tru. Nay, I told him plainly, you could not spare 'em
all. So after long Argument (pro & con, as you know) I
brought him down to your two Butter-teeth, and them
he would have.
   Daw. O, did you so? Why, he shall have 'em.
   Tru. But he shall not, Sir, by your leave. The Con-
clusion is this, Sir: Because you shall be very good
Friends hereafter, and this never to be remembred or
upbraided; besides, that he may not boast he has done
any such thing to you in his own Person; he is to
come here in Disguise, give you five Kicks in private,
Sir, take your Sword from you, and lock you up in that
Study during pleasure: Which will be but a little while,
we'll get it releas'd presently.
   Daw. Five Kicks? He shall ha' six, Sir, to be Friends.
   Tru. Believe me, you shall not over-shoot your self, to
send him that word by me.
   Daw. Deliver it, Sir; he shall have it withal my heart,
to be Friends.

[column break]

   Tru. Friends? Nay, an' he should not be so, and hear-
tily too, upon these Terms, he shall have me to Enemy
while I live. Come, Sir, bear it bravely.
   Daw. O God, Sir, 'tis nothing.
   Tru. True. What's six Kicks to a Man that reads
   Daw. I have had a hundred, Sir.
   Tru. Sir Amorous. No speaking one to another, or
rehearsing old Matters.
[Dauphine comes forth, and kicks him.

   Daw. One, two, three, four, five. I protest, Sir Amo-
you shall have six.
   Tru. Nay, I told you, you should not talk. Come,
give him six, and he will needs. Your Sword. Now re-
turn to your safe custody; you shall presently meet afore
the Ladies, and be the dearest Friends one to another —
Give me the Scarf now, thou shalt beat the other bare-
fac'd. Stand by, Sir Amorous.
   La-F. What's here? A Sword?
   Tru. I cannot help it, without I should take the Quar-
rel upon my self. Here he has sent you his Sword —
   La-F. I'll receive none on't.
   Tru. And he wills you to fasten it against a Wall, and
break your Head in some few several places against the
   La-F. I will not, tell him roundly. I cannot endure
to shed my own Blood.
   Tru. Will you not?
   La-F. No. I'll beat it against a fair flat Wall, if that
will satisfie him: If not, he shall beat it himself, for
   Tru. Why, this is strange starting off, when a Man
undertakes for you! I offer'd him another Condition;
will you stand to that?
   La-F. I, what is't?
   Tru. That you will be beaten in private.
   La-F. Yes, I am content, at the Blunt.
   Tru. Then you must submit your self to be hood-
wink'd in this Scarf, and be led to him, where he will take
your Sword from you, and make you bear a Blow over
the Mouth, Gules, and Tweaks by the Nose sans nombre.
   La-F. I am content. But why must I be blinded?
   Tru. That's for your good, Sir; because if he should
grow insolent upon this, and publish it hereafter to your
disgrace, (which I hope he will not do) you might swear
safely, and protest, he never beat you, to your know-
   La-F. O, I conceive.
   Tru. I do not doubt but you'll be perfect good Friends
upon't, and not dare to utter an ill Thought one of ano-
ther in future.
   La-F. Not I, as God help me, of him.
   Tru. Nor he of you, Sir. If he should — Come,
[Dauphine enters to tweak him.
Sir. All hid, Sir John.
   La-F. Oh, Sir John, Sir John. Oh, o-o-o-o-o-Oh —
   Tru. Good Sir John, leave tweaking, you'll blow his
Nose off. 'Tis Sir John's pleasure, you should retire into
the Study. Why, now you are Friends. All Bitterness
between you, I hope, is buried; you shall come forth by
and by, Damon and Pythias upon't, and embrace with all
the rankness of Friendship that can be. I trust, we shall
have 'em tamer i' their Language hereafter. Dauphine, I
worship thee. God's will, the Ladies have surpriz'd us.

Act IV.    Scene VI.

Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, Mrs. Otter, Epicœne, Trusty,
Dauphine, True-wit,
Having discovered part of the past Scene above.

Entaure, how our Judgments were impos'd on by
 these adulterate Knights!
   Cen. Nay, Madam, Mavis was more deceiv'd than
we; 'twas her Commendation utter'd 'em in the College.
Mav. I              

         The Silent Woman. 203

   Mav. I commended but their Wits, Madam, and
their Braveries. I never look'd toward their Valours.
   Hau. Sir Dauphine is valiant, and a Wit too, it seems.
   Mav. And a Bravery too.
   Hau. Was this his Project?
   Mrs. Ott. So Master Clerimont intimates, Madam.
   Hau. Good Morose, when you come to the College,
will you bring him with you? He seems a very perfect
   Epi. He is so, Madam, believe it.
   Cen. But when will you come, Morose?
   Epi. Three or four days hence, Madam, when I have
got me a Coach and Horses.
   Hau. No, to morrow, good Morose; Centaure shall send
you her Coach.
   Mav. Yes faith, do, and bring Sir Dauphine with you.
   Hau. She has promis'd that, Mavis.
   Mav. He is a very worthy Gentleman in his Exteri-
ors, Madam.
   Hau. I, he shews he is judicial in his Clothes.
   Cen. And yet not so superlatively neat as some, Ma-
dam, that have their Faces set in a Bark.Brake
   Hau. I, and have every Hair in form.
   Mav. That wear purer Linnen than our selves, and
profess more Neatness than the French Hermaphrodite!
   Epi. I, Ladies, they, what they tell one of us, have
told a thousand; and are the only Thieves of our Fame,
that think to take us with that Perfume, or with that
Lace, and laugh at us unconscionably when they have
   Hau. But Sir Dauphine's Carelesness becomes him.
   Cen. I could love a Man for such a Nose!
   Mav. Or such a Leg!
   Cen. He has an exceeding good Eye, Madam!
   Mav. And a very good Lock!
   Cen. Good Morose, bring him to my Chamber first.
   Mrs. Ott. Please your Honours to meet at my House,
   Tru. See how they eye thee, Man! They are taken, I
warrant thee.
   Hau. You have unbrac'd our Brace of Knights here,
Master True-wit.
   Tru. Not I, Madam; it was Sir Dauphine's ingine;
who, if he have disfurnish'd your Ladiship of any Guard
or Service by it, is able to make the Place good again
in himself.
   Hau. There is no suspicion of that, Sir.
   Cen. Gods so, Mavis, Haughty is kissing.
   Mav. Let us go too, and take part.
   Hau. But I am glad of the Fortune (beside the Di-
scovery of two such empty Caskets) to gain the Know-
ledge of so rich a Mine of Vertue as Sir Dauphine.
   Cen. We would be all glad to stile him of our Friend-
ship, and see him at the College.
   Mav. He cannot mix with a sweeter Society, I'll pro-
phesie; and I hope he himself will think so.
   Dau. I should be rude to imagine otherwise, Lady.
   Tru. Did not I tell thee, Dauphine? Why, all their
Actions are governed by crude Opinion, without Rea-
son or Cause; they know not why they do any thing;
but as they are inform'd, believe, judge, praise, con-
demn, love, hate, and in emulation one of another, do
all these things alike. Only they have a natural Incli-
nation sways 'em generally to the worst, when they are
left to themselves. But pursue it now thou hast 'em.
   Hau. Shall we go in again, Morose?
   Epi. Yes, Madam.
   Cen. We'll entreat Sir Dauphine's Company.
   Tru. Stay, good Madam, the Interview of the two
Friends, Pylades and Orestes: I'll fetch 'em out to you
   Hau. Will you, Master True-wit?
   Dau. I; but noble Ladies, do not confess in your
Countenance, or outward Bearing to 'em, any discove-

[column break]

ry of their Follies, that we may see how they will bear
up again, with what assurance and erection.
   Hau. We will not, Sir Dauphine.
   Cen. Mav. Upon our Honours, Sir Dauphine.
   Tru. Sir Amorous, Sir Amorous. The Ladies are here.
   La-F. Are they?
   Tru. Yes; but slip out by and by, as their backs are
turn'd, and meet Sir John here, as by chance, when I
call you. Jack Daw.
   Daw. What say you, Sir?
   Tru. Whip out behind me suddenly, and no Anger i'
your Looks to your Adversary. Now, now.
   La-F. Noble Sir John Daw! where ha' you been?
   Daw. To seek you, Sir Amorous.
   La-F. Me! I honour you.
   Daw. I prevent you, Sir.
   Cle. They have forgot their Rapiers.
   Tru. O, they meet in peace, Man.
   Dau. Where's your Sword, Sir John?
   Cle. And yours, Sir Amorous?
   Daw. Mine! My Boy had it forth, to mend the Han-
dle, e'en now.
   La-F. And my Gold Handle was broke too, and my
Boy had it forth.
   Dau. Indeed, Sir? How their Excuses meet!
   Cle. What a consent there is i' the Handles?
   Tru. Nay, there is so i' the Points too, I warrant you.
   Mrs. Ott. O me! Madam, he comes again, the Mad-
man! Away.

Act IV.    Scene VII.

Morose, True-wit, Clerimont, Dauphine.

Hat make these naked Weapons here, Gentlemen?
[He had found the two Swords drawn within.

   Tru. O, Sir! here hath like to been Murder since you
went! A couple of Knights fallen out about the Brides
Favours: We were fain to take away their Weapons;
your House had been begg'd by this time else —
   Mor. For what?
   Cle. For Man-slaughter, Sir, as being Accessory.
   Mor. And for her Favours?
   Tru. I, Sir, heretofore, not present. Clerimont, carry
'em their Swords now. They have done all the hurt
they will do.
   Dau. Ha' you spoke with a Lawyer, Sir?
   Mor. O, no! There is such a noise i' the Court, that
they have frighted me home with more violence than I
went! Such speaking, and counter-speaking, with their
several Voices of Citations, Appellations, Allegations, Cer-
tificates, Attachments, Interrogatories, References, Convicti-
and Afflictions indeed, among the Doctors and Pro-
tors! that the Noise here is Silence too't! a kind of
calm Mid-night!
   Tru. Why, Sir, if you would be resolv'd indeed, I can
bring you hither a very sufficient Lawyer, and a learned
Divine, that shall inquire into every least Scruple for
   Mor. Can you, Master True-wit?
   Tru. Yes, and are very sober grave Persons, that will
dispatch it a Chamber, with a Whisper or two.
   Mor. Good Sir, shall I hope this Benefit from you,
and trust my self into your Hands?
   Tru. Alas, Sir! your Nephew and I have been asham'd,
and oft-times mad, since you went, to think how you are
abus'd. Go in, good Sir, and lock your self up till we
call you; we'll tell you more anon, Sir.
   Mor. Do your pleasure with me, Gentlemen; I be-
lieve in you, and that deserves no Delusion —
   Tru. You shall find none, Sir; but heapt, heapt plen-
ty of Vexation.
   Dau. What wilt thou do now, Wit?

D d 2                                  Tru. Re-           

204 The Silent Woman.               

   Tru. Recover me hither Otter and the Barber, if you
can, by any means, presently.
   Dau. Why? to what purpose?
   Tru. O, I'll make the deepest Divine, and gravest
Lawyer, out o' them two, for him —
   Dau. Thou canst not, Man; these are waking Dreams.
   Tru. Do not fear me. Clap but a Civil Gown with a
Welt o' the one, and a Canonical Cloke with Sleeves o'
the other, and give 'em a few Terms i' their Mouths, if
there come not forth as able a Doctor, and compleat a
Parson, for this turn, as may be wish'd, trust not my ele-
ction: And I hope, without wronging the Dignity of
either Profession, since they are but Persons put on, and
for Mirths sake, to torment him. The Barber smatters
Latin, I remember.
   Dau. Yes, and Otter too.
   Tru. Well then, if I make 'em not wrangle out this
Case, to his no comfort, let me be thought a Jack Daw,
or La-Foole, or any thing worse. Go you to your Ladies,
but first send for them.
   Dau. I will.

Act V.    Scene I.

La-Foole, Clerimont, Daw, Mavis.

Here had you our Swords, Master Clerimont?
   Cle. Why, Dauphine took 'em from the Mad-man.
   La-F. And he took 'em from our Boys, I warrant
   Cle. Very like, Sir.
   La-F. Thank you, good Master Clerimont. Sir John
and I are both beholden to you.
   Cle. Would I knew how to make you so, Gentlemen.
   Daw. Sir Amorous and I are your Servants, Sir.
   Mav. Gentlemen, have any of you a Pen and Ink?
I would fain write out a Riddle in Italian, for Sir Dau-
to translate.
   Cle. Not I, in troth, Lady; I am no Scrivener.
   Daw. I can furnish you, I think, Lady.
   Cle. He has it in the Haft of a Knife, I believe.
   La F. No, he has his Box of Instruments.
   Cle. Like a Surgeon!
   La-F. For the Mathematicks: his Square, his Compas-
ses, his Brass Pens, and Black-lead, to draw Maps of every
Place and Person where he comes.
   Cle. How, Maps of Persons!
   La-F. Yes, Sir, of Nomentack, when he was here, and
of the Prince of Moldavia, and of his Mistris, Mistris
   Cle. Away! He has not found out her Latitude, I
   La-F. You are a pleasant Gentleman, Sir.
   Cle. Faith, now we are in private, let's wanton it a
little, and talk waggishly. Sir John, I am telling Sir
Amorous here, that you two govern the Ladies where-
ere you come, you carry the Feminine Gender afore you.
   Daw. They shall rather carry us afore them, if they
will, Sir.
   Cle. Nay, I believe that they do, withal — But, that
you are the prime Men in their Affections, and direct all
their Actions ——
   Daw. Not I: Sir Amorous is.
   La-F. I protest, Sir John is.
   Daw. As I hope to rise i' the State, Sir Amorous, you
ha' the Person.
   La-F. Sir John, you ha' the Person, and the Discourse
   Daw. Not I, Sir. I have no Discourse — and then
you have Activity beside.
   La-F. I protest, Sir John, you come as high from
Tripoly, as I do every whit: and lift as many Joyn'd-
Stools, and leap over 'em, if you would use it —

[column break]

   Cle. Well, agree on't together, Knights; for between
you, you divide the Kingdom, or Commonwealth of
Ladies Affections: I see it, and can perceive a little how
they observe you, and fear you, indeed. You could tell
strange Stories, my Masters, if you would, I know.
   Daw. Faith, we have seen somewhat, Sir.
   La-F. That we have — Velvet Petticoats, and wrought
Smocks, or so.
   Daw. I, and ——
   Cle. Nay, out with it, Sir John; do not envy your
Friend the pleasure of hearing, when you have had the
delight of tasting.
   Daw. Why — a — do you speak, Sir Amorous.
   La-F. No, do you, Sir John Daw.
   Daw. I' faith, you shall.
   La-F. I' faith, you shall.
   Daw. Why, we have been —
   La-F. In the great Bed at Ware together in our time.
On, Sir John.
   Daw. Nay, do you, Sir Amorous.
   Cle. And these Ladies with you, Knights?
   La-F. No, excuse us, Sir.
   Daw. We must not wound Reputation.
   La-F. No matter — they were these, or others. Our
Bath cost us fifteen Pound when we came home.
   Cle. Do you hear, Sir John? You shall tell me but one
thing truly, as you love me.
   Daw. If I can, I will, Sir.
   Cle. You lay in the same House with the Bride here?
   Daw. Yes, and converst with her hourly, Sir.
   Cle. And what Humour is she of? Is she coming and
open, free?
   Daw. O, exceeding open, Sir. I was her Servant, and
Sir Amorous was to be.
   Cle. Come, you have both had Favours from her: I
know, and have heard so much.
   Daw. O, no, Sir.
   La-F. You shall excuse us, Sir; we must not wound
   Cle. Tut, she is married now, and you cannot hurt her
with any Report; and therefore speak plainly: How
many times, i' faith? which of you led first? ha?
   La-F. Sir John had her Maidenhead, indeed.
   Daw. O, it pleases him to say so, Sir; but Sir Amorous
knows what's what, as well.
   Cle. Dost thou, i' faith, Amorous?
   La-F. In a manner, Sir.
   Cle. Why, I commend you, Lads. Little knows Don
Bridegroom of this; nor shall he, for me.
   Daw. Hang him, mad Ox.
   Cle. Speak softly; here comes his Nephew, with the
Lady Haughty: He'll get the Ladies from you, Sirs, if
you look not to him in time.
   La-F. Why, if he do, we'll fetch 'em home again, I
warrant you.

Act V.    Scene II.

Haughty, Dauphine, Centaure, Mavis, Clerimont.

 Assure you, Sir Dauphine, it is the Price and Estimati-
 on of your Vertue only, that hath embark'd me to
this Adventure; and I could not but make out to tell you
so: Nor can I repent me of the Act, since it is always
an Argument of some Vertue in our selves, that we love
and affect it so in others.
   Dau. Your Ladiship sets too high a Price on my Weak-
   Hau. Sir, I can distinguish Gems for Pebbles ——
   Dau. (Are you so skilful in Stones?)
   Hau. And howsoever I may suffer in such a Judgment
as yours, by admitting Equality of Rank or Society with
Centaure or Mavis

Dau. You              

         The Silent Woman. 205

   Dau. You do not, Madam; I perceive they are your
meer Foils.
   Hau. Then are you a Friend to Truth, Sir: It makes
me love you the more. It is not the outward, but the
inward Man that I affect. They are not apprehensive
of an eminent Perfection, but love flat and dully.
   Cen. Where are you, my Lady Haughty?
   Hau. I come presently, Centaure. My Chamber, Sir,
my Page shall shew you; and Trusty, my Woman, shall
be ever awake for you: You need not fear to commu-
nicate any thing with her, for she is a Fidelia. I pray you
wear this Jewel for my sake, Sir Dauphine. Where's
Mavis, Centaure?
   Cen. Within, Madam, a writing. I'll follow you pre-
sently: I'll but speak a word with Sir Dauphine.
   Dau. With me, Madam?
   Cen. Good Sir Dauphine, do not trust Haughty, nor
make any Credit to her, what ever you do besides. Sir
Dauphine, I give you this Caution, she is a perfect Cour-
tier, and loves no body, but for her Uses; and for her
Uses she loves all. Besides, her Physicians give her out
to be none o' the clearest, whether she pay 'em or no,
Heaven knows; and she's above Fifty too, and pargets!
See her in a Forenoon. Here comes Mavis, a worse
Face than she! You would not like this by Candle-light.
If you'll come to my Chamber one o' these Mornings
early, or late in an Evening, I'll tell you more. Where's
Haughty, Mavis?
   Mav. Within, Centaure.
   Cen. What ha' you there?
   Mav. An Italian Riddle for Sir Dauphine, (you shall
not see it i' faith, Centaure.) Good Sir Dauphine, solve it
for me: I'll call for it anon.
   Cle. How now, Dauphine? how dost thou quit thy
self of these Females?
   Dau. 'Slight, they haunt me like Fairies, and give me
Jewels here; I cannot be rid of 'em.
   Cle. O, you must not tell though.
   Dau. Mass, I forgot that: I was never so assaulted.
One loves for Vertue, and bribes me with this: Ano-
ther loves me with Caution, and so would possess me:
A third brings me a Riddle here: And all are jealous,
and rail each at other.
   Cle. A Riddle? Pray le' me see't.
[He reads the Paper.

   Sir Dauphine, I chose this way of Intimation for privacy.
The Ladies here, I know, have both hope and purpose to make
a Collegiate and Servant of you. If I might be so honour'd,
as to appear at any end of so noble a Work, I would enter
into a fame of taking Physick to morrow, and continue it
four or five Days, or longer, for your Visitation.
  M A V I S.
   By my faith, a subtle one! Call you this a Riddle?
What's their Plain dealing, trow?
   Dau. We lack True-wit, to tell us that.
   Cle. We lack him for somewhat else too: His Knights
Reformadoes are wound up as high and insolent as ever
they were.
   Dau. You jest.
   Cle. No Drunkards, either with Wine or Vanity, ever
confess'd such Stories of themselves. I would not give
a Flies Leg in ballance against all the Womens Reputa-
tions here, if they could be but thought to speak truth:
And for the Bride, they have made their Affidavit against
her directly —
   Dau. What, that they have lain with her?
   Cle. Yes; and tell Times, and Circumstances, with
the Cause why, and the Place where. I had almost
brought 'em to affirm, that they had done it to day.
   Dau. Not both of 'em?
   Cle. Yes faith; with a sooth or two more I had effe-
cted it. They would ha' set it down under their Hands.
   Dau. Why, they will be our Sport, I see, still, whe-
ther we will or no.

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Act V.    Scene III.

True-wit, Morose, Otter, Cutberd, Clerimont, Dauphine.

 Are you here? Come, Dauphine; go call your
 Uncle presently: I have fitted my Divine and
my Canonist, dyed their Beards and all. The
Knaves do not know themselves, they are so exalted
and alter'd. Preferment changes any Man. Thou shalt
keep one Door, and I another, and then Clerimont in the
midst, that he may have no means of escape from their
Cavilling, when they grow hot once. And then the
Women (as I have given the Bride her Instructions) to
break in upon him i' the l'envoy. O, 'twill be full and
twanging! Away, fetch him. Come, Master Doctor,
and Master Parson, look to your Parts now, and dis-
charge 'em bravely; you are well set forth, perform it
as well. If you chance to be out, do not confess it
with standing still, or humming, or gaping one at ano-
ther; but go on, and talk aloud, and eagerly; use vehe-
ment Action, and only remember your Terms, and you
are safe. Let the Matter go where it will; you have
many will do so. But at first be very solemn and grave,
like your Garments, though you lose your selves after,
and skip out like a brace of Jugglers on a Table. Here
he comes: Set your Faces, and look superciliously,
while I present you.
   Mor. Are these the two Learned Men?
   Tru. Yes, Sir; please you salute 'em?
   Mor. Salute 'em? I had rather do any thing, than
wear out Time so unfruitfully, Sir. I wonder how these
common Forms, as God save you, and You are welcome,
are come to be a Habit in our Lives! or, I am glad to
see you!
When I cannot see what the Profit can be of
these Words, so long as it is no whit better with him,
whose Affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this
   Tru. 'Tis true, Sir; we'll go to the matter then. Gen-
tlemen, Master Doctor, and Master Parson, I have ac-
quainted you sufficiently with the Business for which
you are come hither; and you are not now to inform
your selves in the State of the Question, I know. This is
the Gentleman who expects your Resolution, and there-
fore when you please, begin.
   Ott. Please you, Master Doctor.
   Cut. Please you, good Master Parson.
   Ott. I would hear the Canon-law speak first.
   Cut. It must give place to positive Divinity, Sir.
   Mor. Nay, good Gentlemen, do not throw me into
Circumstances. Let your Comforts arrive quickly at
me, those that are. Be swift in affording me my Peace,
if so I shall hope any. I love not your Disputations,
or your Court-tumults. And that it be not strange to
you, I will tell you. My Father, in my Education, was
wont to advise me, that I should always collect and
contain my Mind, not suffetingsuffering it to flow loosely; that
I should look to what things were necessary to the Car-
riage of my Life, and what not, embracing the one,
and eschewing the other: In short, that I should endear
my self to rest, and avoid turmoil; which now is grown
to be another Nature to me. So that I come not to
your publick Pleadings, or your Places of Noise; not
that I neglect those things that make for the Dignity of
the Common-wealth; but for the meer avoiding of
Clamours, and Impertinencies of Orators, that know
not how to be silent. And for the Cause of Noise, am I
now a Suitor to you. You do not know in what a mi-
sery I have been exercis'd this day, what a torrent of
Evil! My very House turns round with the Tumult!
I dwell in a Wind-mill! The Perpetual Motion is here,
and not at Eltham.
   Tru. Well, good Master Doctor, will you break the
Ice? Master Parson will wade after.
Cut. Sir,                    

206 The Silent Woman.               

   Cut. Sir, though unworthy, and the weaker, I will
   Ott. 'Tis no presumption, Domine Doctor.
   Mor. Yet again!
   Cut. Your Question is, For how many Causes a Man
may have Divortium legitimum, a lawful Divorce. First,
you must understand the Nature of the word Divorce,
a divertendendo ———
   Mor. No excursions upon Words, good Doctor; to
the Question briefly.
   Cut. I answer then, The Canon-Law affords Divorce
but in few Cases; and the principal is in the common
Case, the Adulterous Case: But there are duodecim impe-
twelve Impediments, (as we call 'em) all which
do not dirimere contractum, but irritum reddere matrimo-
as we say in the Canon-Law; not take away the
Bond, but cause a Nullity therein.

   Mor. I understood you before: Good Sir, avoid your
Impertinency of Translation.
   Ott. He cannot open this too much, Sir, by your
   Mor. Yet more!
   Tru. O, you must give the Learned Men leave, Sir.
To your Impediments, Master Doctor.
   Cut. The first is impedimentum erroris.
   Ott. Of which there are several species.
   Cut. I, as error personæ.
   Ott. If you contract your self to one Person, thinking
her another.
   Cut. Then, error fortunæ.
   Ott. If she be a Beggar, and you thought her rich.
   Cut. Then, error qualitatis.
   Ott. If she prove stubborn or head-strong, that you
thought obedient.
   Mor. How? is that, Sir, a lawful Impediment? One
at once, I pray you, Gentlemen.
   Ott. I, ante copulam, but not post copulam, Sir.
   Cut. Master Parson says right. Nec post nuptiarum be-
It doth indeed but irrita reddere sponsalia,
annul the Contract; after Marriage it is of no obstancy.
   Tru. Alas, Sir, what a Hope are we fall'n from by this
   Cut. The next is Conditio: If you thought her free-
born, and she prove a Bond-woman, there is Impedi-
ment of Estate and Condition.
   Ott. I, but, Master Doctor, those Servitudes are sub-
now, among us Christians.
   Cut. By your favour, Master Parson —
   Ott. You shall give me leave, Master Doctor.
   Mor. Nay, Gentlemen, quarrel not in that Question;
it concerns not my Case: Pass to the third.
   Cut. Well then, the third is votum: If either Party
have made a Vow of Chastity. But that Practice, as
Master Parson said of the other, is taken away among
us, thanks be to Discipline. The fourth is cognatio; if
the Persons be of Kin within the Degrees.
   Ott. I: Do you know what the Degrees are, Sir?
   Mor. No, nor I care not, Sir; they offer me no Com-
fort in the Question, I am sure.
   Cut. But there is a Branch of this Impediment may,
which is cognatio spiritualis: If you were her Godfather,
Sir, then the Marriage is incestuous.
   Ott. That Comment is absurd, and superstitious, Master
Doctor: I cannot endure it. Are we not all Brothers
and Sisters, and as much a kin in that, as Godfathers
and God-daughters.
   Mor. O me! To end the Controversie, I never was
a Godfather, I never was a Godfather in my life, Sir.
Pass to the next.
   Cut. The fifth is crimen adulterii; the known Case.
The sixth, cultus disparitas, difference of Religion: Have
you ever examin'd her, what Religion she is of?
   Mor. No, I would rather she were of none, than be
put to the trouble of it.

[column break]

   Ott. You may have it done for you, Sir.
   Mor. By no means, good Sir; on to the rest: Shall
you ever come to an end, think you?
   Tru. Yes, he has done half, Sir. (On to the rest.) Be
patient, and expect, Sir.
   Cut. The seventh is, vis; if it were upon compulsion
or force.
   Mor. O no, it was too voluntary, mine, too voluntary.
   Cut. The eighth is, ordo; if ever she have taken Holy
   Ott. That's superstitious too.
   Mor. No matter, Master Parson; would she would
go into a Nunnery yet.
   Cut. The ninth is, ligamen; if you were bound, Sir,
to any other before.
   Mor. I thrust my self too soon into these Fetters.
   Cut. The tenth is, publica honestas; which is inchoata
quædam affinitas.

   Ott. I, or affinitas orta ex sponsalibus; and is but leve

   Mor. I feel no Air of Comfort blowing to me, in all
   Cut. The eleventh is, affinitas ex fornicatione.
   Ott. Which is no less vera affinitas, than the other,
Master Doctor.
   Cut. True, quæ oritur ex legitimo matrimonio.
   Ott. You say right, venerable Doctor: And, nascitur
ex eo, quod per conjugium duæ personæ efficiuntur una caro

   Mor. Hey-day, now they begin.
   Cut. I conceive you, Master Parson: Ita per fornica-
tionem æque est verus pater, qui sic generat

   Ott. Et vere filius qui sic generatur
   Mor. What's all this to me?
   Cle. Now it grows warm.
   Cut. The twelfth and last is, si forte coire nequibis.
   Ott. I, that is impedimentum gravissimum: It doth ut-
terly annul, and annihilate, that. If you have manife-
stam frigiditatem,
you are well, Sir.
   Tru. Why, there is Comfort come at length, Sir. Con-
fess your self but a Man unable, and she will sue to be
divorc'd first.
   Ott. I, or if there be morbus perpetuus, & insanabilis;
as Paralysis, Elephantiasis, or so —
   Dau. O, but frigiditas is the fairer way, Gentlemen.
   Ott. You say troth, Sir, and as it is in the Canon, Ma-
ster Doctor.
   Cut. I conceive you, Sir.
   Cle. Before he speaks.
   Ott. That a Boy, or Child, under years, is not fit for Mar-
riage, because he cannot reddere debitum.
So your omnipo-

   Tru. Your impotentes, you whorson Lobster.
   Ott. Your impotentes, I should say, are minime apti ad
contrahenda matrimonium.

   Tru. Matrimonium? We shall have most un-matrimo-
nial Latin with you: Matrimonia, and be hang'd.
   Dau. You put 'em out, Man.
   Cut. But then there will arise a Doubt, Master Par-
son, in our Case, post matrimonium: that frigitate prædi-
(do you conceive, Sir?)
   Ott. Very well, Sir.
   Cut. Who cannot uti uxore pro uxore, may habere eam
pro sorore.

   Ott. Absurd, absurd, absurd, and meerly apostatical.
   Cut. You shall pardon me, Master Parson, I can
prove it.
   Ott. You can prove a Will, Master Doctor, you can
prove nothing else. Does not the Verse of your own
Canon say, Hæc socianda vetant connubia, facta retractant
   Cut. I grant you; but how do they retractare, Master
   Mor. (O, this was it I fear'd.)
   Ott. In æternum, Sir.
   Cut. That's false in Divinity, by your favour.
Ott. 'Tis              

         The Silent Woman. 207

   Ott. 'Tis false in Humanity, to say so. Is he not pror-
sus inutilis ad thorum?
Can he præstare fidem datam? I
would fain know.
   Cut. Yes; how if he do convalere?
   Ott. He cannot convalere, it is impossible.
   Tru. Nay, good Sir, attend the Learned Men; they'll
think you neglect 'em else.
   Cut. Or, if he do simulare himself frigidum, odio uxoris,
or so?
   Ott. I say, he is adulter manifestus then.
   Dau. (They dispute it very learnedly, i' faith.)
   Ott. And prostitutor uxoris; and this is positive.
   Mor. Good Sir, let me escape.
   Tru. You will not do me that wrong, Sir?
   Ott. And therefore if he be manifeste frigidus, Sir —
   Cut. I, if he be manifeste frigidus, I grant you —
   Ott. Why, that was my Conclusion.
   Cut. And mine too.
   Tru. Nay, hear the Conclusion, Sir.
   Ott. Then, frigiditatis causa
   Cut. Yes, causa frigiditatis
   Mor. O, mine Ears!
   Ott. She may have libellum divortii against you.
   Cut. I, divortii libellum she will sure have.
   Mor. Good Echo's, forbear.
   Ott. If you confess it —
   Cut. Which I would do, Sir —
   Mor. I will do any thing —
   Ott. And clear my self in foro conscientiæ
   Cut. Because you want indeed —
   Mor. Yet more?
   Ott. Exercendi potestate.

Act V.    Scene IV.

Epicœne, Morose, Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, Mrs. Otter,
   Daw, True-wit, Dauphine, Clerimont, La-Foole, Otter,

 Will not endure it any longer. Ladies, I beseech
 you help me. This is such a Wrong as never was of-
fer'd to poor Bride before: upon her Marriage-day to
have her Husband conspire against her, and a couple of
mercenary Companions to be brought in for Forms sake,
to perswade a Separation! If you had Blood or Vertue
in you, Gentlemen, you would not suffer such Earwigs
about a Husband, or Scorpions to creep between Man
and Wife ——
   Mor. O the Variety and Changes of my Torment!
   Hau. Let 'em be cudgell'd out of doors by our
   Cen. I'll lend you my Footman.
   Mav. We'll have our Men Blanket 'em i' the Hall.
   Mrs. Ott. As there was one at our House, Madam, for
peeping in at the Door.
   Daw. Content, i' faith.
   Tru. Stay, Ladies and Gentlemen; you'll hear before
you proceed?
   Mav. I'lld ha' the Bridegroom blanketed too.
   Cen. Begin with him first.
   Hau. Yes, by my troth.
   Mor. O, Mankind Generation!
   Dau. Ladies, for my sake forbear.
   Hau. Yes, for Sir Dauphine's sake.
   Cen. He shall command us.
   La-F. He is as fine a Gentleman of his Inches, Ma-
dam, as any is about the Town, and wears as good Co-
lours when he lists.
   Tru. Be brief, Sir, and confess your Infirmity; she'll
be a fire to be quit of you, if she but hear that nam'd
once, you shall not entreat her to stay; she'll fly you
like one that had the Marks upon him.
   Mor. Ladies, I must crave all your Pardons —
   Tru. Silence, Ladies.

[column break]

   Mor. For a Wrong I have done to your whole Sex, in
marrying this fair and vertuous Gentlewoman ——
   Cle. Hear him, good Ladies.
   Mor. Being guilty of an Infirmity, which before I
conferr'd with these Learned Men, I thought I might
have conceal'd ——
   Tru. But now being better inform'd in his Conscience
by them, he is to declare it, and give satisfaction, by
asking your publick Forgiveness.
   Mor. I am no Man, Ladies.
   All. How!
   Mor. Utterly unabled in Nature, by reason of frigi-
to perform the Duties, or any the least Office of a
   Mav. Now out upon him, prodigious Creature!
   Cen. Bridegroom uncarnate!
   Hau. And would you offer it to a young Gentle-
   Mrs. Ott. A Lady of her Longings?
   Epi. Tut, a Device, a Device, this; it smells rankly,
Ladies. A meer Comment of his own.
   Tru. Why, if you suspect that, Ladies, you may have
him search'd.
   Daw. As the Custom is, by a Jury of Physicians.
   La-F. Yes faith, 'twill be brave.
   Mor. O me, must I undergo that?
   Mrs. Ott. No, let Women searh him, Madam; we
can do it our selves.
   Mor. Out on me, worse!
   Epi. No, Ladies, you shall not need, I'll take him with
all his Faults.
   Mor. Worst of all!
   Cle. Why, then 'tis no Divorce, Doctor, if she con-
sent not?
   Cut. No, if the Man be frigidus, it is de parte uxoris,
that we grant libellum divortii, in the Law.
   Ott. I, it is the same in Theology.
   Mor. Worse, worse than worst!
   Tru. Nay, Sir, be not utterly disheartned; we have
yet a small Relick of Hope left, as neer as our Comfort
is blown out. Clerimont, produce your Brace of Knights.
What was that, Master Parson, you told me in errore
e'en now? Dauphine, whisper the Bride, that
she carry it as if she were guilty and asham'd.
   Ott. Marry Sir, in errore qualitatis (which Master Do-
ctor did forbear to urge) if she be found corrupta, that is,
vitiated or broken up, that was pro virgine desponsa,
espous'd for a Maid ——
   Mor. What then, Sir?
   Ott. It doth dirimere contractum, and irritum reddere too.
   Tru. If this be true, we are happy again, Sir, once
more. Here are an honourable brace of Knights that
shall affirm so much.
   Daw. Pardon us, good Master Clerimont.
   La F. You shall excuse us, Master Clerimont.
   Cle. Nay, you must make it good now, Knights; there
is no remedy: I'll eat no words for you, nor no Men:
You know you spoke it to me?
   Daw. Is this Gentleman-like, Sir?
   Tru. Jack Daw, he's worse than Sir Amorous; fiercer a
great deal. Sir Amorous, beware, there be ten Daws in
this Clerimont.
   La-F. I'll confess it, Sir.
   Daw. Will you, Sir Amorous? Will you wound Re-
   La-F. I am resolv'd.
   Tru. So should you be too, Jack Daw: What should
keep you off? She is but a Woman, and in disgrace.
He'll be glad on't.
   Daw. Will he? I thought he would ha' been angry.
   Cle. You will dispatch, Knights; it must be done,
i' faith.
   Tru. Why, an' it must, it shall, Sir, they say. They'll
ne'er go back. Do not tempt his Patience.
Daw. It               

208 The Silent Woman.               

   Daw. It is true indeed, Sir.
   La-F. Yes, I assure you, Sir.
   Mor. What is true, Gentlemen? what do you assure me?
   Daw. That we have known your Bride, Sir —
   La-F. In good fashion. She was our Mistris, or so —
   Cle. Nay, you must be plain, Knights, as you were to me.
   Ott. I, the Question is, if you have carnaliter, or no?
   La-F. Carnaliter? What else, Sir?
   Ott. It is enough; a plain Nullity.
   Epi. I am undone, I am undone!
   Mor. O let me worship and adore you, Gentlemen!
   Epi. I am undone!
   Mor. Yes, to my hand, I thank these Knights. Master
Parson, let me thank you otherwise.
   Cen. And ha' they confess'd?
   Mav. Now out upon 'em, Informers!
   Tru. You see what Creatures you may bestow your
Favours on, Madams.
   Hau. I would except against 'em as beaten Knights,
Wench, and not good Witnesses in Law.
   Mrs. Ott. Poor Centlewoman,Gentlewoman how she takes it!
   Hau. Be comforted, Morose, I love you the better for't.
   Cen. So do I, I protest.
   Cut. But Gentlemen, you have not known her since
   Daw. Not to day, Master Doctor.
   La-F. No, Sir, not to day.
   Cut. Why, then I say, For any Act before, the Matri-
is good and perfect; unless the Worshipful
Bridegroom did precisely, before Witness, demand, if
she were Virgo ante nuptias.
   Epi. No, that he did not, I assure you, Master Doctor.
   Cut. If he cannot prove that, it is ratum conjugium,
notwithstanding the Premisses; and they do no way im-
And this is my Sentence, this I pronounce.
   Ott. I am of Master Doctor's resolution too, Sir; if
you made not that Demand ante nuptias.
   Mor. O my Heart! wilt thou break? wilt thou break?
This is worst of all worst worsts that Hell could have
devis'd! Marry a Whore! and so much noise!
   Dau. Come, I see now plain Confederacy in this Do-
ctor and this Parson, to abuse a Gentleman. You study
his Affliction. I pray' be gone, Companions. And Gen-
tlemen, I begin to suspect you, for having parts with
'em. Sir, will it please you hear me?
   Mor. O, do not talk to me; take not from me the
pleasure of dying in silence, Nephew.
   Dau. Sir, I must speak to you. I have been long your
poor despis'd Kinsman, and many a hard Thought has
strengthned you against me: But now it shall appear if
either I love you or your Peace, and prefer them to all
the World beside. I will not be long or grievous to you,
Sir. If I free you of this unhappy Match absolutely,
and instantly, after all this trouble, and almost in your
despair, now —
   Mor. (It cannot be.)
   Dau. Sir, that you be never troubled with a murmur
of it more, what shall I hope for, or deserve of you?
   Mor. O, what thou wilt, Nephew! Thou shalt de-
serve me, and have me.
   Dau. Shall I have your Favour perfect to me, and
Love hereafter?
   Mor. That, and any thing beside. Make thine own
Conditions. My whole Estate is thine; manage it, I
will become thy Ward.
   Dau. Nay, Sir, I will not be so unreasonable.
   Epi. Will Sir Dauphine be mine Enemy too?
   Dau. You know I have been long a Suiter to you,
Uncle, that out of your Estate, which is Fifteen hundred
a year, you would allow me but Five hundred during
Life, and assure the rest upon me after; to which I have
often, by my self and my Friends, tendred you a Wri-
ting to sign, which you would never consent or incline
to. If you please but to effect it now —

[column break]

   Mor. Thou shalt have it, Nephew: I will do it, and
   Dau. If I quit you not presently, and for ever of this
Cumber, you shall have power instantly, afore all these,
to revoke your Act, and I will become whose Slave you
will give me to, for ever.
   Mor. Where is the Writing? I will seal to it, that, or
to a Blank, and write thine own Conditions.
   Epi. O me, most unfortunate wretched Gentlewoman!
   Hau. Will Sir Dauphine do this?
   Epi. Good Sir, have some compassion on me.
   Mor. O, my Nephew knows you belike; away, Crocodile.
   Cen. He does it not sure without good ground.
   Dau. Here, Sir.
   Mor. Come, Nephew, give me the Pen; I will sub-
scribe to any thing, and seal to what thou wilt, for my
Deliverance. Thou art my Restorer. Here, I deliver it
thee as my Deed. If there be a Word in it lacking,
or writ with false Orthography, I protest before — I
will not take the advantage.
He takes off

   Dau. Then here is your Release, Sir;
you have married a Boy, a Gentleman's
Son, that I have brought up this half-
year, at my great Charges, and for this Composition,
which I have now made with you. What say you,
Master Doctor? This is justum impedimentum, I hope,
error personæ?
   Ott. Yes, Sir, in primo gradu.
   Cut. In primo gradu.
He pulls off      
their Beards
and Disguise.

   Dau. I thank you, good Doctor Cutberd,
and Parson Otter. You are beholden to
'em, Sir, that have taken this pains for you;
and my Friend Master True-wit, who enabled 'em for
the Business. Now you may go in and rest, be as pri-
vate as you will, Sir. I'll not trouble you, till you
trouble me with your Funeral, which I care not how
soon it come. Cutberd, I'll make your Lease good.
Thank me not, but with your Leg, Cutberd. And Tom
your Princess shall be reconcil'd to you. How
now, Gentlemen! do you look at me?
   Cle. A Boy!
   Dau. Yes, Mistris Epicœne.
   Tru. Well, Dauphine, you have lurch'd your Friends
of the better half of the Garland, by concealing this
part of the Plot: But much good do it thee, thou de-
serv'st it, Lad. And Clerimont, for thy unexpected bring-
ing these two to Confession, wear my part of it freely.
Nay, Sir Daw, and Sir La-Foole, you see the Gentlewo-
man that has done you the Favours! We are all thank-
ful to you, and so should the Woman-kind here, speci-
ally for lying on her, though not with her! You meant
so, I am sure. But that we have stuck it upon you to
day, in your own imagin'd persons, and so lately, this
Amazon, the Champion of the Sex, should beat you now
thriftily, for the common Slanders which Ladies re-
ceive from such Cuckows as you are. You are they,
that when no merit of Fortune can make you hope to
enjoy their Bodies, will yet lie with their Reputations,
and make their Fame suffer. Away, you common
Moths of these, and all Ladies Honours. Go, travel to
make Legs and Faces, and come home with some new
Matter to be laught at; you deserve to live in an Air
as corrupted as that wherewith you feed Rumor. Ma-
dams, you are mute, upon this new Metamorphosis! But
here stands she that has vindicated your Fames. Take
heed of such insectæ hereafter. And let it not trouble
you, that you have discover'd any Mysteries to this
young Gentleman: He is (a'most) of Years, and will
make a good Visitant within this Twelve-month. In
the mean time, we'll all undertake for his Secrecy,
that can speak so well of his Silence. Spectators, if you
like this Comedy, rise chearfully, and now Morose is gone
in, clap your Hands. It may be, that Noise will cure
him, at least please him.
T H E   E N D.

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The Holloway Pages Ben: Jonson Page

© 2003 by Clark J. Holloway.