Satiromastix – Act Three, Scene One

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Enter SIR ADAM and MINIVER.

 MINIVER
Oh, Sir Adam Prickshaft, you are a’ the bow hand wide a long yard, I assure you; and as for suitors, truly they all go down with me, they have all one flat answer.

 SIR ADAM
All, widow?  Not all.  Let Sir Adam be your first man still.

Enter SIR QUINTILIAN.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Widow, art stol’n from table?  I, Sir Adam,
Are you my rival?  Well, fly fair, y’are best.
The King’s exceeding merry at the banquet;
He makes the bride blush with his merry words
That run into her ears; ah, he’s a wanton,
Yet I dare trust her; had he twenty tongues,
And every tongue a style of majesty.
Now, widow, let me tell thee in thine ear,
I love thee, widow, by this ring; nay, wear it.

MINIVER
I’ll come in no rings, pardee; I’ll take no gold.

SIR ADAM
Hark in thine ear; take me, I am no gold.

Enter SIR VAUGHAN and PETER FLASH.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian for his terminations touching and considering you.

 FLASH
I thank your worship, for I have as good a stomach to your worship as a man could wish.

 SIR VAUGHAN
I hope in God a’mighty I shall fill your stomach, Master Peter.  What two upon one!  Sentlemen, Mistress Miniver, must good do’t you, Sir Adam.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Sir Vaughan, have you din’d well, Sir Vaughan?

 SIR VAUGHAN
As good seer as would make any hungry man, and a’ were in the vilest prison in the world, eat and he had any stomach.  One Word, Sir Quintilian , in hugger mugger; here is a sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is tesirous to have his blue coat pull’d over his ears, and—

 FLASH
No, sir.  My petition runs thus:  that your worship would thrust me out of doors, and that I may follow Sir Vaughan.

 SIR VAUGHAN
I can tell you, Master Flash, and you follow me, I go very fast.  I think in my conscience I am one of the lightest knights in England.

 FLASH
It’s no matter, sir, the Flashes have ever been known to be quick and light enough.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Sir Vaughan, he shall follow you; he shall dog you good, Sir Vaughan.

Enter HORACE walking.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Why then, Peter Flash, I will set my four marks a year and a blue coat upon you.

FLASH
Godamercy to your worship.  I hope you shall never repent for me.

 SIR VAUGHAN
You bear the face of an honest man, for you blush passing well, Peter.  I will quench the flame out of  your name, and you shall be christen’d Peter Salamander.

 FLASH
The name’s too good for me, I thank your worship.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Are you come, Master Horace?  You sent me the copy of your letter’s countenance, and I did write and read it.  Your wits truly have done very valiantly.  ‘Tis a good indictments you ha’ put in enough for her, ha’ you not?

 HORACE
According to my instructions.

 SIR VAUGHAN
‘Tis passing well.  I pray, Master Horace, walk a little beside yourself.  I will turn upon you incontinent.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
What gentleman is this in the mandilian? A soldier?

 SIR VAUGHAN
No, though he has a very bad face for a soldier, yet he has as desperate a wit as ever any scholar went to cuffs for.  ‘Tis a sentleman poet; he has made rhymes called thalamimums, or Master Pridegroom.  On urd widow.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Is this he?  Welcome, sir, your name?  Pray you walk not so stately, but be acquainted with me boldly.  Your name, sir?

 HORACE
Quintus Horace Flaccus.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Good Master Flappus, welcome.                                        [He walks up and down.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Mistress Miniver, one urd in your corner here; I desire you to break my arms here, and read this paper.  You shall feel my minds and affections in it, at full and at large.

 MINIVER
I’ll receive you love libels, perdy, but by word a’mouth.

 SIR VAUGHAN
By Sesu, ‘tis no libel, for here is my hand to it.

 MINIVER
I’ll ha’ no hand in it, Sir Vaughan; I’ll not deal with you.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Why then, widow, I’ll tell you by word a’mouth my devices.

 MINIVER
Your devices come not near my mouth, Sir Vaughan, perdy.  I was upon a time in the way to marriage, but now I am turn’d a’t’other side.  I ha’ sworn to lead a single and simple life.

 SIR ADAM
She has answer’d you, Sir Vaughan.

 SIR VAUGHAN
‘Tis true, but at wrong weapons, Sir Adam.  Will you be an ass, Mistress Miniver?

 MINIVER
If I be you shall not ride me.

 SIR VAUGHAN
A simple life!  By Sesu, ‘tis the life of a fool.  A simple life!

 SIR QUINTILIAN
How now, Sir Vaughan?

 SIR VAUGHAN
My brains has a little fine quarm come under it, and therefore, Sir Adam and Sir Quintilian and Mistress Miniver, caps God bo’y.

 ALL
Good Sir Vaughan.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Master Horace, your inventions do her no good in the universalities; yet here is two shillings for your wits; nay, by Sesu, you shall take it if’t were more.  Yonder bald Adams is put my nose from his joint; but Adam, I will be even to you.  This is my cogitations.  I will indict the ladies and Miniver caps to a dinner of plums, and I shall desire you, Master Horace, to speak or rail; you can rail, I hope in God a’ mighty?

 HORACE
You mean to speak bitterly?

 SIR VAUGHAN
Right, to spit bitterly upon baldness, or the thins of hair; you sall eat down plums to sweeten your mouth, and here is a good ansel to defend you.  Peter Salamander, follow me.

 FLASH
With hue and cry, and you will, sir.

 SIR VAUGHAN
Come, Master Horace, I will go pull out the ladies.

 HORACE
And I’ll set out my wits.  Baldness the theme?
My words shall flow high in a silver stream.                                     [Exeunt.

Enter TUCCA brushing of the crumbs.

  TUCCA
Where’s my most costly and sumptuous Shorthose?

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Is the king risen from the table, Captain Tucca?

 TUCCA
How?  Risen?   No, my noble Quintilian, kings are greater men then we knight and cavaliers, and therefore must eat more than lesser persons.  Godamercy, good dives for these crumbs.  How now?  Has not Friar Tuck din’d yet?  He falls so hard to that oyster pie yonder.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Oyster pie, Captain?  Ha, ha, he loves her, and I love her, and fear both shall go without her.

 TUCCA
Dost love her, my finest and first part of the mirror of knighthood?  Hang her!  She looks like a bottle of ale, when the cork flies out and the ale foams at mouth, she looks, my good button-breech, like the sign of Capricorn, or like Tyburn when it is cover’d in snow.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
All’s one for that; she has a vizard in a bag will make her look like an angel.  I would I had her, upon condition I give thee this chain, manly Tucca.

 TUCCA
I?  Sayst thou so, Friskin?  I have her a’th’hip for some causes.  I can sound her; she’ll come at my beck.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Would I could sound her too, noble commander.

 TUCCA
Thou shalt do it.  That lady a’th’lake is thine, Sir Tristram.  Lend me thy chain, do, lend it; I’ll make her take it as a token; I’ll link her unto thee, and thou shalt wear her glove in thy worshipful had like to a leather brooch.  Nay, and thou mistrusts thy coller, be tied in’t still.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Mistruct, Captain?  No; here ‘tis; give it her if she’ll take it.  [Aside.] Or wear it thyself.  If she’ll take me, I’ll watch him well enough too.

 TUCCA
No more.  I’ll shoot away yonder Prickshaft, and then belabour her, and fly after yonder cuckoo.  Dost hear me, my noble gold finch?

 SIR QUINTILIAN
No more.

 TUCCA
How dost thou, my smug Belimperia?  How dost thou?  Hand off, my little bald derrick, hands off.  Hark hither, Susanna, beware a’ these two wicked elders.  Shall I speak well or ill of thee?

 MINIVER
Nay, e’en as you please, Captain.  It shall be at your choice.

 TUCCA
Why, well said, my nimble Shorthose.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
I hear her, I hear her.

TUCCA
[To SIR ADAM.] Art angry, Father Time?  Art angry because I took Mother Winter aside?  I’ll hold my life thou art struck with Cupid’s bird-bolt, my little Prickshaft, art?  Dost love that Mother Mumblecrust, dost thou?  Dost thou long for that whim-wham?

 SIR ADAM
Would I were as sure to lie with her, as to love her.

 TUCCA
Have I found thee, my learned dunce, have I found thee?  If I might ha’ my will, thou shouldst not put thy spoon into that bumble-booth, for indeed I’d taste her myself.  No, thou shouldst not.  Yet if her beauty blind thee, she’s thine.  I can do’t.  Thou hearst her say e’en now, it should be at my choice.

 SIR ADAM
She did so.  Work the match, and I’ll bestow—

 TUCCA
Not a silk point upon me, little Adam; she shall be Eve, for less than an apple.  But send, be wise, send her some token; she’s greedy, she shall take it; do, send, thou shalt stick in her, Prickshaft, but send.

 SIR ADAM
Here’s a purse of gold; think you that will be accepted?

 TUCCA
Go to, it shall be accepted and ‘twere but silver.  When that flea-bitten Shorthose steps hence, vanish too, and let me alone with my grannam in Gutter Lane there, and this purse of gold; do, let me alone.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
The King, God’s lord, I do forget the King.
Widow, think on my words; I must be gone
To wait his rising; I’ll return anon.

 SIR ADAM
Stay, Sir Quintilian; I’ll be a waiter too.

 SIR QUINTILIAN
Widow, we’ll trust that Captain there with you.                       [Exeunt.

 TUCCA
Now, now, Mother Bunch, how dost thou?  What dost frown, Queen Guinevere? Dost wrinkle?  What made these pair of shittlecocks here?  What do they fumble for?  I’ll ha’ none of these kites fluttering about thy carcass, for thou shalt be my West Indies and none but trim Tucca shall discover thee.

 MINIVER
Discover me?  Discover what thou canst of me.

 TUCCA
What, I can?  Thou knowst what I can discover, but I not lay thee open to the world.

 MINIVER
Lay me open to the world?

 TUCCA
No, I will not, my mouldy decay’d Charing Cross, I will not.

 MINIVER
Hand thee, patch-panel!  I am none of thy Charing Cross.  I scorn to be cross to such a scab as thou makst thyself.

 TUCCA
No, ‘tis thou makst me so, my Long Meg a’ Westminster.  Thou breedst a scab, thou—

 MINIVER
I?  Damn thee, filthy Captain, damn thyself.

 TUCCA
My little devil a’ Dowgate, I’ll damn thee.  Thou knowst my meaning.  I’ll damn thee up; my wife mouth at Bishopsgate.

 MINIVER
Would I might once come to that damning.

 TUCCA
Why, thou shalt, my sweet Dame Annis a’ Clear, thou shalt, for I’ll drown myself in thee.  Ay, for thy love, I’ll sink, ay, for thee.

 MINIVER
So thou wilt, I warrant, in thy abominable sins.  Lord, Lord, how many filthy words hast thou to answer for?

 TUCCA
Name one, Madge Owlet, name one; I’ll answer for none.  My words shall be forthcoming at all times, and shall answer for themselves.  My nimble cat-a-mountain!  They shall, Cecily Bumtrinket, for I’ll give thee none but sugar candy words.  I will not puss, Goody Tripe-wife, I will not.

 MINIVER
Why dost call me such horrible ungodly names then?

 TUCCA
I’ll name thee no more, Mother Red-cap, upon pain of death; if thou wilt, Grimalkin, maggot-a-pie, I will not.

 MINIVER
Would thou shouldst well know, I am no maggot, but a mere gentlewoman born.

 TUCCA
I know thou art a gentle, and I’ll nibble at thee, thou shalt be my cap-a-maintenance and I’ll carry my naked sword before thee, my reverend lady lettuce-cap.

 MINIVER
Thou shalt carry no naked sword before me to fright me, thou—

 TUCCA
Go to, let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles; for Gammer Gurton, I mean to be thy needle.  I love thee, I love thee, because thy teeth stand like the arches under London Bridge, for thou’t not turn satyr and bite thy husband.  No, come, my little cup, do not scorn me because i go in stag, in buff; here’s velvet too.  Thou seest I am worth thus much in bare velvet.

 MINIVER
I scorn thee not, not I.

 TUCCA
I know thou dost not.  Thou shalt see that I could march with two or three hundred links before me, look here, what?  I could show gold too, if that would tempt thee, but I will not make myself a goldsmith’s stall, I.  I scorn to go chain’d, my lady, a’th’hospital, I do; yet I will and must be chain’d to thee.

 MINIVER
To me?  Why, Master Captain?  You know that I have my choice of three of four pair of knights, and therefore have small reason to fly out I know not how, in a man of war.

 TUCCA
A man a’ war?  Come, thou knowest not what a worshipful focation ‘tis to be a Captain’s wife.  Three or four pair of knights?  Why dost thou hear Joan-a-Bedlam, I’ll enter into bond to be dubb’d by what day thou wilt, when the next action is laid upon me, thou shalt be ladified.

 MINIVER
You know I am offered that by half a dozen.

 TUCCA
Thou shalt, little Miniver, thou shalt.  I’ll ha’ this frock turn’d into a goot-cloth; and thoushalt be carted, drawn I mean, coach’d, coach’d, thou shalt ride jigga-jog; a hood shall flap up and down here, and this shipskin-cap shall be put off.

 MINIVER
Nay, perdy, I’ll put off my cap for no man’s pleasure.

 TUCCA
Would thou be proud, little Lucifer?  Well, thou shalt go how thou wilt, Maid Marion.  Come, buss thy little Anthony now, now, my clean Cleopatra.  So, so, go thy ways, Alexis’ secrets, th’ast a breath as sweet as the rose that grows by the bear garden, as sweet as the proud’st head a garlic in England.  Come, would march in to the gentle folks?

 MINIVER
Nay, truly, Captain, you shall be my leader.

 TUCCA
I say, Mary Ambree, thou shalt march formost, beause I’ll mark how broad th’art in the heels.

 MINIVER
Perdy, I will be set a’th’last for this time.

 TUCCA
Why then, come, we’ll walk arm in arm, as though we were leading one another to Newgate.

Enter BLUNT, CRISPINUS, and DEMETRIUS, with papers, laughing.

 CRISPINUS
Mine’s of a fashion, cut out and quite from yours.

 DEMETRIUS
Mine has the sharpest tooth.  Yonder he is.

 BLUNT
Captain Tucca.                                                                  [All hold up papers.

 TUCCA
How now?  I cannot stand to read supplications now.

 CRISPINUS
They’re bitter epigrams compos’d on you by Horace.

 DEMETRIUS
And dispers’d amongst the gallants in several copies, by Asinius Bubo.

 TUCCA
By that live eel?  Read, Leg Legito, read, thou Jack.

 BLUNT
[Reads.] Tucca’s grown monstrous.  How?  Rich?  That I fear
He’s to be seen for money everywhere.

 TUCCA
Why, true, shall not I get in my debts?  Nay and the rogue write no better I care not.  Farewell, black Jack, farewell.

 CRISPINUS
But, Captain, here’s a nettle.

 TUCCA
Sting me, do.

 CRISPINIUS
[Reads.] Tucca’s exceeding tall and yet not high,
He fights with skill, but does most vile lie.

 TUCCA
Right, for here I lie now.  Open, open, to make my adversary come one; and then, sir, here am I in’s bosom.  Nay and this be the worst, I shall hug the poor honest face-maker.  I’ve love the little atheist when he writes after my commendation.  Another whip?  Come, yerk me.

 DEMETRIUS
[Reads.] Tucca will bite.  How?  Grown satirical?
No, he bites tables, for he feeds on all.

 TUCCA
The whoreson cloven-foot devil in man’s apparel lies there stood above forty dishes before me today, that I ne’er touch’d because they were empty.

 MINIVER
I am witness, young gentlemen, to that.

 TUCCA
Farewell, stinkers.  I smell they meaning, screech-owl, I do, though I stop my nose; and sirrah poet, we’ll have thee untruss’d for this.  Come, mother Mum-Pudding, come.                                                                                                       [Exeunt.

Proceed to the next scene

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