NO WIT LIKE A WOMAN'S, A

HELP

COMEDY:

BY THE SAME Author.

Virtuous Poverty.

'LIFE, had he not his answer? what strange impudence

Governs in man when lust is lord of him! Thinks he me mad? 'cause I've no moneys on earth,

That I'll go forfeit my estate in heaven,

And live eternal beggar? he shall pardon me, That's my soul's jointure; I'll starve ere I sell that.

Comfort.

husband,

Wake, wake, and let not patience keep thee poor,
Rouse up thy spirit from this falling slumber!
Make thy distress seem but a weeping dream,
And this the opening morning of thy comforts;
Wipe the salt dew from off thy careful eyes,
And drink a draught of gladness next thy heart,
T'expel the infection of all poisonous sorrows!

Good and Ill Fortune.

O my blessing!
I feel a hand of mercy lift me up

Out of a world of waters, and now sets me
Upon a mountain, where the sun plays most,
To cheer my heart even as it dries my limbs.
What deeps I see beneath me, in whose falls
Many a nimble mortal toils,

And scarce

fortune,

can feed himself! the streams of

'Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down,

And will not suffer him (past hand to mouth)
To lift his arm to his posterity's blessing:
I see a careful sweat run in a ring
About his temples, but all will not do ;
For, till some happy means relieve his state,
There he must stick, and bide the wrath of fate.

Parting in Amity.

Let our parting

Be full as charitable as our meeting was;

That the pale envious world, glad of the food
Of others' miseries, civil dissensions,

And nuptial strifes, may not feed fat with ours.

Meeting with a Wife supposed dead.

O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence
Makes the sad night of threescore and ten years
Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood:
I cannot make thy welcome rich enough
With all the wealth of words!

Mother's Forgiveness.

Mother. Why do your words start back? are they afraid

Of her that ever loved them?

Philip. I have a suit to you, madam.

Mother. You have told me that already; pray, what is 't.

If 't be so great, my present state refuse it,
I shall be abler, then command and use it.

Whatever 't be, let me have warning to provide for 't.

Philip. Provide forgiveness then, for that's the want
My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me
Into unnatural wrongs against your freedom once.
I spent
the ransom which my father sent,
To set my pleasures free; while you lay captive.

Mother. And is this all now?

You use me like a stranger: pray, stand up. Philip. Rather fall flat: I shall deserve yet worse. Mother. Whate'er your faults are, esteem me still a friend;

Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon Than when you did the wrong you ask'd it for: And since you have prepared me to forgive you, Pray let me know for what; the first fault 's nothing.

Philip. Here comes the wrong then that drives home

the rest.

I saw a face at Antwerp, that quite drew me
From conscience and obedience in that fray
I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way.
There went the ransom, to redeem my mind ;
'Stead of the money, I brought over her;
And to cast mists before my father's eyes,
Told him it was my sister (lost so long)

And that yourself was dead.-You see the wrong. Mother. This is but yourself still—

I forgive thee

As freely as thou didst it. For, alas!

This may be call'd good dealing, to some parts
That love and youth plays daily among sons.

THE CHASTE MAID IN CHEAPSIDE, A COMEDY:

BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 1630.

Citizen to a Knight complimenting his Daughter.

PISH, stop your words, good knight,—'twill make her blush else,

IX.

289.

T

Which [are] wound too high for the daughters of the freedom.

Honour and faithful servant! they are compliments
For the worthies of Whitehall or Greenwich;
E'en plain, sufficient subsidy-words serve us, sir.

MASTER ALLWIT (a Wittol) describes his contentment.
I'm like a man

Finding a table furnish'd to his hand,

As mine is still for me, prays for the founder,—
Bless the right worshipful the good founder's life!
I thank him, [he1] has maintain'd my house these
ten years;

Not only keeps my wife, but he keeps me.
He gets me all my children, and pays the nurse
Monthly or weekly; puts me to nothing, rent
Nor church duties, not so much as the scavenger;
The happiest state that ever man was born to!
I walk out in a morning; come to breakfast,
Find excellent cheer; a good fire in winter;
Look in my coal-house about midsummer eve,
That's full, five or six chaldron new laid up;
Look in my back yard, I shall find a steeple
Made up with Kentish faggots, which o'erlooks
The water-house and the windmills: I say nothing,
But smile, and pin the door. When she lies in,
As now she 's even upon the point of grunting,
A lady lies not in like her; there's her embossings,
Embroiderings, spanglings, and I know not what,
As if she lay with all the gaudy shops

In Gresham's Burse about her; then her restoratives,
Able to set up a young 'pothecary,

And richly store the foreman of a drug shop;
Her sugars by whole loaves, her wines by rundlets.

I see these things, but, like a happy man,

I pay for none at all; yet fools think 's mine;

1 A rich old knight, who keeps Allwit's wife.