SCENE IV.-A Street; a Church appearing. Nob. By your leave, lady. Wid. My lord, your honour is most chastely welcome. best wins you; or in a mirth, who talks rough- Idle. 'Sfoot, who has blabbed, George; that foolish Nicholas ? Nob. For what they have besotted your easy blood withal, were nought but forgeries: the fortune-telling for husbands, the conjuring for the chain sir Godfrey heard the falsehood of, all, nothing but mere knavery, deceit, and cozenage. Wid. O wonderful! indeed I wondered that my husband, with all his craft, could not keep himself out of purgatory. Sir God, And I more wondered, that my chain should be gone, and my tailor had none of it. Mary. And I wondered most of all, that I should be tied from marriage, having such a mind to it. Come, sir John Pennydub, fair weather on our side: The moon has changed since yesternight. Pye. The sting of every evil is within me. Nob. And that you may perceive I feign not with you, behold their fellow actor in those forgeries; who, full of spleen and envy at their so sudden advancements, revealed all their plot in anger. Pye. Base soldier, to reveal us! Wid. Is't possible we should be blinded so, and Qur eyes open? Nob. Widow, will you now believe that false which too soon you believed true? Wid. O, to my shame, I do. Sir God. But under favour, my lord, my chain was truly lost, and strangely found again. Nob. Resolve him of that, soldier. Skir. In few words, knight, then thou wert the arch-gull of all. Sir God. How, sir? Skir. Nay, I'll prove it: for the chain was but hid in the rosemary-bank all this while; and thou got'st him out of prison to conjure for it, who did it admirably, fustianly; for indeed what needed any other, when he knew where it was? Sir God. O villainy of villainies! But how came my chain there? Skir. Where's Truly la, Indeed la, he that will not swear, but lie; he that will not steal, but rob; pure Nicholas Saint-Antlings? Nob. Madam, though I came now from court, I come not to flatter you. Upon whom can I justly cast this blot, but upon your own forehead, that know not ink from milk? such is the blind besotting in the state of an unheaded woman that's a widow. For it is the property of all you that are widows (a handful excepted) to hate those that honestly and carefully love you, to the maintenance of credit, state, and posterity; and Sir God. O villain! one of our society, strongly to dote on those that only love you to Deemed always holy, pure, religious: undo you. Who regard you least, are best re- A puritan a thief! When was't ever heard? garded; who hate you most, are best beloved. Sooner we'll kill a man, than steal, thou know'st, And if there be but one man amongst ten thou-Out slave! Ill rend my lion from thy back, sand millions of men, that is accurst, disastrous, With mine own hands. and evilly planeted; whom Fortune beats most, whom God hates most, and all societies esteem least, that man is sure to be a husband. Such is the peevish moon that rules your bloods. An impudent fellow best wooes you, a flattering lip 12 Nich. Dear master! O! Nob. Nay knight, dwell in patience. And now, widow, being so near the church, 'twere great pity, nay uncharity, to send you home again without a husband. Draw nearer, you of true wor ship, state, and credit; that should not stand so far off from a widow, and suffer forged shapes to come between you. Not that in these I blemish the true title of a captain, or blot the fair mar gent of a scholar; for I honour worthy and deserving parts in the one, and cherish fruitful virtues in the other. Come, lady, and you virgin, bestow your eyes and your purest affections upon men of estimation both in court and city, that have long wooed you, and both with their hearts and wealth sincerely love you. Sir God. Good sister, do. Sweet little Franke, these are men of reputation: you shall be welcome at court; a great credit for a citizen. Sweet sister, Nob. Come, her silence does consent to't. Nob. Poh, poh, with your own face; they desire no other. Wid. Pardon me, worthy sirs: I and my daugh ter Have wronged your loves. Sir Oliv. 'Tis easily pardoned, lady, if you vouchsafe it now. Wid. With all my soul. Fran. And I, with all my heart. Mary. And I, sir John, with soul, hearts, lights, and all. Sir John. They are all mine, Moll. What honest spirit but will applaud your choice, Come, enter into your joys; you shall not want 58 Though Shakespeare has ridiculed the Puritans in his All's Well that Ends well, and Twelfth Night, yet he seems not to have had the smallest share in the present comedy. The author of it, however, was well acquainted with his plays, as appears from resemblances already pointed out. There is little attempt at character throughout the piece, and that little has not proved very successful. The suitors are an unmeaning group; and, though we have eight of the sanctimonious tribe on the stage, they are by no means nicely discriminated from each other. Nicholas St Antlings indeed might have been designed for their chief, as he possesses most of their qualities, i. e. is the greatest hypocrite of them all.—I have not met with the old ballad from which our comedy receives its title; but am told, that the second of these performances has no other obligation to the first.—STEEVENS, 3 H VOL. I. ripe, makes so many fallings; viz. mad wenches, because they are not gathered in time, are fain to drop of themselves, and then 'tis common you know for every man to take them up. Oliv. Sirrah Ralph, my young mistress is in such a pitiful passionate humour for the long ab-Oliv. Mass thou say'st true, 'tis common insence of her lovedeed. But sirrah, is neither our young master returned, nor our fellow Sam come from London? Ralph. Why, can you blame her? Why, apples hanging longer on the tree than when they are "A booke called A Yorkshire Tragedy," was entered by Thomas Pavier at Stationers' Hall, May 2, 1608, and the play, or rather interlude, was printed by him in the same year, under the title of 4 York shire Tragedy, not so new as lamentable and true. The murder, on which this short drama is founded, was committed in 1604, and a ballad was made upon it in the following year; of which, probably, this tragedy is only an enlargement. The fact is thus related in Stowe's Chronicle, anno 1604 :—“ Walter Callverly of Calverly, in Yorkshire, Esquier, murdred two of his young children, stabbed his wife into the bodie, with full purpose to have murdred her, and instantly went from his house to have slaine his youngest child at nurse, but was prevented. For which fact, at his triall in Yorke, hee stood mute, and was judged to be prest to death; according to which judgment he was executed at the castell of Yorke the 5th of August." The piece before us was acted at the Globe, together with three other short dramas that were represented on the same day under the name of All's One, as appears from one of the titles of the quarto, 1608, which runs thus: "ALL'S ONE, or one of the foure planes in one, called a Yorkshire tragedy; as it was plaied by the king's majestie's plaiers." Shakspeare's name is affixed to this piece.-MALONE. Ralph. Neither of either, as the puritan bawd says. 'Slid I hear Sam. Sam's come; here he is; tarry; come i'faith: now my nose itches for news. Oliv. And so does mine elbow. Sam. [Within.] Where are you there? Boy, look you walk my horse with discretion. I have rid him simply: I warrant his skin sticks to his back with very heat. If he should catch cold, and get the cough of the lungs, I were well served, were I not? Enter SAM. What, Ralph and Oliver! Both. Honest fellow Sam, welcome i'faith. What tricks hast thou brought from London? Sam. You see I am hanged after the truest fashion; three hats, and two glasses bobbing upon them; two rebato wires upon my breast, a capcase by my side, a brush at my back, an almanack in my pocket, and three ballads in my codpiece. 3 Nay, I am the true picture of a common serving-man. + Oliv. I'll swear thou art; thou may'st set up when thou wilt: there's many a one begins with less, I can tell thee, that proves a rich man ere he dies. But what's the news from London, Sam? Ralph. Ay, that's well said; what's the news from London, sirrah? My young mistress keeps such a puling for her love. Sam. Why, the more fool she; ay, the more ninny-hammer she. Oliv. Why, Sam, why? Sam. Why, he is married to another long ago. Sam. Why, did you not know that till now? Why, he's married, beats his wife, and has two or three children by her: For you must note, that any woman bears the more when she is beaten, s Ralph. Ay, that's true, for she bears the blows. Oliv. Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years' wages my young mistress knew so much; she'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and ne'er be her own woman again. Sam. And I think she was blest in her cradle, that he never came in her bed. Why, he has consumed all, pawned his lands, and made his university brother stand in wax for him: there's a fine phrase for a scrivener. Puh! he owes more than his skin is worth. Oliv. Is't possible? Sam. Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore, as familiarly as one would call Moll and Doll; and his children bastards, as naturally as can be. But what have we here? I thought 'twas something pulled down my breeches; I quite forgot my two poking sticks: these came from London. Now any thing is good here that comes from London. Oliv. Ay, far-fetched, you know, Sam.-But speak in your conscience i'faith; have not we as good poking-sticks i'the country as need to be put in the fire? Sam. The mind of a thing is all; the mind of a thing is all; and, as thou said'st even now, farfetched are the best things for ladies, Oliv. Ay, and for waiting-gentlewomen too. Sam. But Ralph, what, is our beer sour this thunder? Ralph. No, no, it holds countenance yet. >Sum. Why then, follow me; I'll teach you the finest humour to be drunk in: I learned it at London last week. Both. l'faith, let's hear it, let's hear it. Sam. The bravest humour! 'twould do a man good to be drunk in it: they call it knighting in London, when they drink upon their knees. ❝ Both. 'Faith, that's excellent. Sam. Come follow me; I'll give you all the degrees of it in order. ? [Exeunt. 2 See notes on Much Ado about Nothing, last edit. vol. ii. p. 321.-STEEVENS. Rebato was the name of an ancient head-dress. The wires were used to distend the hair or lace.PERCY. 3 In my codpiece.-See note on the Two Gentlemen of Verona, last edit. vol. i. p. 165.-STEEVENS. The true picture of a common serving-man.—I remember to have seen one of these representations of a man loaded with several domestic instruments and utensils. It was painted against a buttery fronting the screen of an ancient hall. I think another hieroglyphic of the same kind is still visible at one of our public schools or colleges. In the year 1566 is entered on the Stationers' books "The pourtraicture of a trusty servant."-STEEVENS. 5 Any woman bears the more when she is beaten. Alluding to the old unmannerly proverb, that says, ▲ woman and a walnut tree bear the better for being thrashed.—STEEVENS. 6 They call it knighting in London, when they drink upon their knees.—So in K. Henry IV. Part II.: See the note there, vol. v. p. 597. edit. 1778.-MALONE. I'll give you all the degrees of it in order.-Alluding perhaps to Philocothonista, or the Drunkard; a pamphlet by Thomas Haywood, in which all these degrees are set down with the most minute exactness. The earliest copy of this piece that I have met with, was published in 1635, but the first edition of it is perhaps of much elder date.-STEEVENS SCENE II.-Another Apartment in the same. Enter Wife. Wife. What will become of us? All will away: him Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart: Enter Husband. Hus. Pox o' the last throw! It made five hun- Vanish from my sight. I am damned, I'm damned; Is damned in this world; he is gone, he's gone. Hus. O most punishment of all, I have a Wife. I do entreat you, as you love your soul, cause, Effect, quality, property; thou, thou, thou. [Exit. Wife. Bad turned to worse; both beggary of the soul And of the body;—and so much unlike He says I am the cause: I never yet Has. If marriage be honourable, then cuckolds are honourable, for they cannot be made without marriage. Fool! what meant I to marry, to get beggars? Now must my eldest son be a knave or nothing; he cannot live upon the fool, for he will have no land to maintain him. That mortgage sits like a snaffle upon mine inheritance, and makes me chew upon iron. My second son must be a promoter, and my third a thief, or an under-putter; a slave pander. Oh beggary, beggary, to what base uses dost thou put a man! I think the devil scorns to be a bawd; he bears himself more proudly, has more care of his credit.-Base, slavish, abject, filthy poverty! Wife Good sir, by all our vows I do beseech Yet what is mine, either in rings or jewels, Hus. Puh! bastards, bastards, bastards; begot in tricks, begot in tricks. Wife. Heaven knows how those words wrong Endure these grief's among a thousand more. Hus. Have done, thou harlot, 8 Enter Wife. It is observable, that the poet has not given a name to any of the persons exhibited in this piece, except the three servants.-MALONE. The author might not think himself at liberty to use the real names belonging to his characters, and at the same time was of opinion that fictitious ones would appear unsatisfactory, as the true were univer sally known, either from the ballad spoken of by Mr Malone, or from the prose narratives published soon after these notorious murders were committed. See note the last.-STEEVENS. 9 Puh! bastards, bastards, bastards.-Though the author has thought it necessary to deviate from his story as it is still related in Yorkshire, yet here he seems to have had the original cause of this unhap. py gentleman's rashness in his mind. Mr Calverly is represented to have been of a passionate disposition, and to have struck one of his children in the presence of his wife, who pertly told him, to correct chil dren of his own, when he could produce any. On this single provocation he is said to have immediately committed all the bloody facts that furnish matter for the tragedy before us. He died possessed of a large estate.-STEEVENS. |