LOVE-WIT, Officers, MAMMON, SURLY, FACE,
KASTRIL, ANANIAS, TRIBULATION, DRUG-
GER, and Dame PLIANT.

Love. What do you mean, my masters?
Mam. Open your door,

Cheaters, bawds, conjurers.
Off. Or we'll break it open.
Love. What warrant have you?

Offi. Warrant enough, sir, doubt not:

If you'll not open it.

Love. Is there an officer there?

Offi. Yes, two or three for failing.

Loce. Have but patience,

And I will open it straight.

Face. Sir, ha'you done?

Is it a marriage? perfect?

Love. Yes, my brain

The empty walls worse than I left 'em, smok'd,
A few crack'd pots and glasses, and a furnace,
The ceiling fill'd with poesies of the candle:
And madam, with a dildo, writ o' the walls.
Only one gentlewoman I met here,
That is within, that said she was a widow-
Kast. Ay, that's my sister. I'll go thump her.
Where is she?

Love. And should ha' married a Spanish count, but he,

yourself, sir!

Sur. Down with the door.

Kast. 'Slight, ding it open,

Love. Hold, hold, gentlemen!

What means this violence?

Mam. Where is this collar?

Sur. And my captain Face?
Mam. These day-owls.

Sur. That are birding in men's purses.
Mam. Madam Suppository!
Kast. Doxy, my sister.

Ana. Locusts of the foul pit!

Trib. Profane as Bel and the Dragon! Ana. Worse than the grashoppers, or the lice of Egypt!

Love. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you officers,

And cannot stay this violence!

Offi. Keep the peace!

Love. Gentlemen, what is the matter? whom do you seek?

Mam. The chemical cozener!
Sur. And the captain Pandar.
Kast. The nun, my sister.

That I, a widower, am gone through with her. Sur. How have I lost her then?

Love. Were you the Don, sir?

Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, and says

You swore, and told her, you had ta'en the pains
To dye your beard, and umbre o'er your face,
Borrow'd a suit and ruff, all for her love!
And then did nothing. What an oversight,
And want of putting forward, sir, was this!
Well-fare, an old harquebuseer yet,

Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit,
All in a twinkling !-

Mam. The whole nest are fled!

[Coming forth. Love. What sort of birds were they? Mam. A kind of choughs,

Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick'd my purse Of eightscore and ten pounds within these five

weeks,

If you can bring certificate that you were gull'd of 'em,

Or any formal writ out of a court,

That you did cozen yourself, I will not hold them. Mam. I'll rather lose 'em.

Love. That you shall not, sir,

By me, in troth. Upon these terms they are yours.

What should they ha' been, sir? turn'd into gold all?

Mam. No: I cannot tell. It may be they should.

What then?

Love. What a great loss in hope have you sustain'd!

Mam. Not I, the commonwealth has.
Face. Ay, he would ha' built

The city new, and made a ditch about it
Of silver, should have ran with cream from
Hogsdon:

That, every Sunday in Moorfields, the younkers,
And tits, and tomboys, should have fed on gratis.
Mam. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and preach
To the end o' the world, within these two months.
Surly, what! in a dream?

Sur. Must I needs cheat myself, With that same foolish vice of honesty! Come, let us go, and hearken out the rogues. That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er I meet him. Face. If I can hear of him, sir, I'll bring you word

Unto your lodging:-for, in troth, they were strangers

To me: I thought them honest as myself, sir. Trib. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all

yet.

Go,

And get some carts

[They come forth.

Love. For what, my zealous friends?

Ana. To bear away the portion of the righteous

Out of this den of thieves.

Love. What is that portion?

Ana. I am strong,

And will stand up, well girt, against an host
That threaten Gad in exile.

Love. I shall send you
To Amsterdam, to your cellar.
Ana. I will pray there

Against thy house: may dogs defile thy walls,
And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof,
This seat of falsehood, and this cave of coz'nage!
Love. Away, you Harry Nicolas, do you talk?
[Beats DRUGGER away.

Face. No, this was Abel Drugger.-Good sir, go [To the Parson. And satisfy him; tell him, all is done: He staid too long a-washing of his face. The doctor he shall hear of him at Westchester; And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth; or Some good port-town else, lying for a wind.— If you get off the angry child, now, sirKast. Come on, you ewe, you have match'd most sweetly, ha' you not? Did not I say, I would never ha' you tupp'd [To his Sister. But by a dubb'd boy, to make you a Lady-Tom? 'Slight, you are a mammet! O, I could touse

As sound as you; and I'm aforehand with you. Kast. Anon!

Love. Come, will you quarrel! I will seize you, sirrah.

Why do you not buckle to your tools?

the brethren

I honour thee for this match.

And kind spectators, if I have outstripp'd
An old man's gravity, or strict canon, think
What a young wife and a good brain may do:
Stretch age's truth sometimes, and crack it too.
Speak for thyself, knave!

Face. So I will, sir.-Gentlemen,
My part a little fell in this last scene.

Yet 'twas decorum.-And though I am clean
Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol,
Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger,—all
With whom I traded-yet I put myself
On you, that are my country!-and this pelf
Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests
To feast you often, and invite new guests.

[Exeunt.

Pleasure attend ye, and about ye sit
The springs of mirth, fancy, delight and wit!
To stir you up, do not your looks let fall,
Nor to remembrance our late errors call,
Because this day we're Spaniards all again,
The story of our play: and our scene Spain :-
The errors too, do not for this cause hate,
Now we present their wit and not their state.
Nor, ladies! be not angry if you see
A young fresh beauty, wanton and too free,
Seek to abuse her husband;-still 'tis Spain,
No such gross errors in your kingdom reign!
We are vestals all, and though we blow the fire,
We seldom make it flame up to desire :-

SCENE I.

Enter JUAN DE CASTRO and MICHAEL PEREZ.

Mich. ARE your companies full, colonel?
Juan. No, not yet, sir:

Nor will be this month yet, as I reckon ;
How rises your command?

Mich. We pick up still, and as our monies hold out,

We have men come: about that time I think
We shall be full too; many young gallants go.
Juan. And unexperienced.

The wars are dainty dreams to young hot spirits,
Time and experience will allay those visions;
We have strange things to fill our numbers.
There's one Don Leon, a strange goodly fellow,
Recommended to me from some noble friends,
For my Alferes; had you but seen his person,
And what a giant's promise it protesteth.

Mich. I have heard of him, and that he hath serv'd before too.

Juan. But no harm done, nor never meant,
Don Michael,

That came to my ears yet; ask him a question,
He blushes like a girl, and answers little,
To the point less; he wears a sword, a good one,
And good clothes too, he is whole skinn'd, has
no hurt yet,

Good promising hopes; I never yet heard certainly

Of any gentleman that saw him angry.

Mich. Preserve him, he'll conclude a peace, if
need be ;

Many as strong as he will go along with us,
That swear as valiantly as heart can wish,
Their mouths charg'd with six oaths at once, and
whole ones,

That make the drunken Dutch creep into mole

Juan. Say honest, what shame have you then? Mich. I would fain see that;

I have been in the Indies twice, and have seen strange things,

But two honest women !- -one I read of once.
Juan. Prithee, be modest.
Mich. I'll be any thing.

Enter Servant, Donna CLARA, and ESTIFANIA, veiled.

Juan. You are welcome, ladies.

Mich. Both hooded! I like 'em well though: They come not for advice in law sure hither; May be they would learn to raise the pike. I am for 'em: they are very modest,"tis a fine preludium.

Juan. With me, or with this gentleman, Would you speak, lady?

I

Clara. With you, sir, as I guess, Juan de Castro. Mich. Her curtain opens, she is a pretty gentlewoman.

Juan. I am the man, and shall be bound to fortune,

may do any service to your beauties.
Clara. Captain, I hear you are marching down
to Flanders,

To serve the catholic king.
Juan. I am, sweet lady.

Clara. I have a kinsman, and a noble friend,
Employ'd in those wars; may be, sir, you know him,
Don Campusano, captain of carbines,
To whom I would request your nobleness,
To give this poor remembrance.

Juan. I shall do it,

[A letter.

I know the gentleman, a most worthy captain. Clara. Something in private.