Allwit’s house.
Enter Allwit, his Wife, and Davy Dahumma.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
A misery of a house.
ALLWIT
What shall become of us?
DAVY
I think his wound be mortal.
ALLWIT
Think’st thou so, Davy?
Then am I mortal too, but a dead man, Davy;
This is no world for me, whene’er he goes,
I must e’en truss up all, and after him, Davy,
A sheet with two knots, and away.
Enter Sir Walter led in hurt.
DAVY
O see, sir,
How faint he goes, two of my fellows lead him.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
O me!
ALLWIT
Heyday, my wife’s laid down, too, here’s like to be
A good house kept, when we are altogether down;
Take pains with her, good Davy, cheer her up there,
Let me come to his worship, let me come.
SIR WALTER
Touch me not, villain, my wound aches at thee,
Thou poison to my heart.
ALLWIT
He raves already,
His senses are quite gone, he knows me not;
Look up, an’t like your worship, heave those eyes,
Call me to mind, is your remembrance lost?
Look in my face, who am I, an’t like your worship?
SIR WALTER
If any thing be worse than slave or villain,
Thou art the man.
ALLWIT
Alas his poor worship’s weakness,
He will begin to know me by little and little.
SIR WALTER
No devil can be like thee.
ALLWIT
Ah, poor gentleman,
Methinks the pain that thou endurest.
SIR WALTER
Thou know’st me to be wicked, for thy baseness
Kept the eyes open still on all my sins,
None knew the dear account my soul stood charged with
So well as thou, yet like Hell’s flattering angel
Would’st thou never tell me on’t, let’st me go on,
And join with death in sleep, that if I had not waked
Now by chance, even by a stranger’s pity,
I had everlastingly slept out all hope
Of grace and mercy.
ALLWIT
Now he is worse and worse,
Wife, to him wife, thou wast wont to do good on him.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
How is’t with you, sir?
SIR WALTER
Not as with you,
Thou loathsome strumpet: some good pitying man
Remove my sins out of my sight a little;
I tremble to behold her, she keeps back
All comfort while she stays; is this a time,
Unconscionable woman, to see thee?
Art thou so cruel to the peace of man,
Not to give liberty now? The devil himself
Shows a far fairer reverence and respect
To goodness than thyself; he dares not do this,
But part in time of penitence, hides his face;
When man withdraws from him, he leaves the place;
Hast thou less manners, and more impudence,
Than thy instructor? Prithee show thy modesty,
If the least grain be left, and get thee from me.
Thou should’st be rather locked many rooms hence,
From the poor miserable sight of me,
If either love or grace had part in thee.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
He is lost for ever.
ALLWIT
Run, sweet Davy, quickly,
And fetch the children hither — sight of them
Will make him cheerful straight.
SIR WALTER
O death! Is this
A place for you to weep? What tears are those?
Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse
As long as they are a-weeping; they work against me;
There’s nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow,
Thou weep’st for lust, I feel it in the slackness
Of comforts coming towards me;
I was well till thou began’st to undo me;
This shows like the fruitless sorrow of a careless mother
That brings her son with dalliance to the gallows,
And then stands by, and weeps to see him suffer.
Enter Davy with the Children.
DAVY
There are the children, sir, an’t like your worship,
Your last fine girl, in troth, she smiles,
Look, look, in faith, sir.
SIR WALTER
O my vengeance,
Let me forever hide my cursed face
From sight of those that darken all my hopes,
And stand between me and the sight of Heaven;
Who sees me now, [he] too, and those so near me,
May rightly say, I am o’ergrown with sin;
O how my offences wrestle with my repentance,
It hath scarce breath —
Still my adulterous guilt hovers aloft,
And with her black wings beats down all my prayers
Ere they be half way up; what’s he knows now
How long I have to live? O, what comes then?
My taste grows bitter, the round world all gall now,
Her pleasing pleasures now hath poisoned me,
Which I exchanged my soul for;
Make way a hundred sighs at once for me.
ALLWIT
Speak to him, Nick.
NICK
I dare not, I am afraid.
ALLWIT
Tell him he hurts his wounds, Wat, with making moan.
SIR WALTER
Wretched, death of seven!
ALLWIT
Come, let’s be talking somewhat to keep him alive.
Ah, sirrah Wat, and did my lord bestow that jewel on thee,
For an epistle thou mad’st in Latin?
Thou art a good forward boy, there’s great joy on thee.
SIR WALTER
O sorrow!
ALLWIT
Heart, will nothing comfort him?
If he be so far gone, ’tis time to moan;
Here’s pen, and ink, and paper, and all things ready,
Will’t please your worship for to make your will?
SIR WALTER
My will? Yes, yes, what else? Who writes apace now?
ALLWIT
That can your man Davy, an’t like your worship,
A fair, fast, legible hand.
SIR WALTER
Set it down then:
Imprimis, I bequeath to yonder wittol,
Three times his weight in curses —
ALLWIT
How?
SIR WALTER
All plagues of body and of mind —
ALLWIT
Write them not down, Davy.
DAVY
It is his will, I must.
SIR WALTER
Together also,
With such a sickness, ten days ere his death.
ALLWIT
There’s a sweet legacy,
I am almost choked with’t.
SIR WALTER
Next I bequeath to that foul whore, his wife,
All barrenness of joy, a drouth of virtue,
And dearth of all repentance: for her end,
The common misery of an English strumpet,
In French and Dutch, beholding ere she dies
Confusion of her brats before her eyes,
And never shed a tear for it.
Enter a Servant.
[FIRST] SERVANT
Where’s the knight?
O sir, the gentleman you wounded is newly departed.
SIR WALTER
Dead? Lift, lift, who helps me?
ALLWIT
Let the law lift you now, that must have all,
I have done lifting on you, and my wife, too.
[FIRST] SERVANT
You were best lock yourself close.
ALLWIT
Not in my house, sir,
I’ll harbour no such persons as men-slayers,
Lock yourself where you will.
SIR WALTER
What’s this?
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
Why, husband!
ALLWIT
I know what I do, wife.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
You cannot tell yet;
For having killed the man in his defence,
Neither his life, nor estate will be touched, husband.
ALLWIT
Away, wife, hear a fool, his lands will hang him.
SIR WALTER
Am I denied a chamber? What say you, forsooth?
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
Alas, sir, I am one that would have all well,
But must obey my husband. Prithee, love,
Let the poor gentleman stay, being so sore wounded,
There’s a close chamber at one end of the garret
We never use, let him have that, I prithee.
ALLWIT
We never use? You forget sickness then,
And physic times: is’t not a place for easement?
Enter a Servant.
SIR WALTER
O death! Do I hear this with part
Of former life in me? What’s the news now?
[SECOND] SERVANT
Troth, worse and worse, you’re like to lose your land
If the law save your life, sir, or the surgeon.
ALLWIT
Hark you there, wife.
SIR WALTER
Why, how, sir?
[SECOND] SERVANT
Sir Oliver Kix’s wife is new quickened;
That child undoes you, sir.
SIR WALTER
All ill at once.
ALLWIT
I wonder what he makes here with his consorts?
Cannot our house be private to ourselves,
But we must have such guests? I pray depart, sirs,
And take your murderer along with you —
Good he were apprehended ere he go,
He’s killed some honest gentleman; send for officers.
SIR WALTER
I’ll soon save you that labour.
ALLWIT
I must tell you, sir,
You have been somewhat bolder in my house
Than I could well like of; I suffered you
Till it stuck here at my heart; I tell you truly
I thought you had been familiar with my wife once.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
With me? I’ll see him hanged first; I defy him,
And all such gentlemen in the like extremity.
SIR WALTER
If ever eyes were open, these are they;
Gamesters, farewell, I have nothing left to play.
Exit.
ALLWIT
And therefore get you gone, sir.
DAVY
Of all wittols,
Be thou the head. Thou, the grand whore of spitals.
Exit [with Servants].
ALLWIT
So, since he’s like now to be rid of all,
I am right glad I am so well rid of him.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
I knew he durst not stay, when you named officers.
ALLWIT
That stopped his spirits straight;
What shall we do now, wife?
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
As we were wont to do.
ALLWIT
We are richly furnished wife, with household stuff.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
Let’s let out lodgings then,
And take a house in the Strand.
ALLWIT
In troth, a match, wench:
We are simply stocked with cloth of tissue cushions,
To furnish out bay windows: push, what not that’s quaint
And costly, from the top to the bottom.
Life, for furniture, we may lodge a countess:
There’s a closestool of tawny velvet, too,
Now I think on’t, wife.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
There’s that should be, sir;
Your nose must be in everything.
ALLWIT
I have done, wench;
And let this stand in every gallant’s chamber:
There no gamester like a politic sinner,
For whoe’er games, the box is sure a winner.
Exit [with Mistress Allwit].