A church.
Recorders dolefully playing. Enter at one door the coffin of the gentleman [Touchwood Junior], solemnly decked, his sword upon it, attended by many in black [including Sir Oliver, Allwit, and a Parson], his brother [Touchwood Senior] being the chief mourner. At the other door, the coffin of the virgin [Moll], with a garland of flowers, with epitaphs pinned on it, attended by maids and women [including Lady Kix, Mistress Allwit, and Susan]. Then set them down one right over against the other, while all the company seem to weep and mourn; there is a sad song in the music room.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Never could death boast of a richer prize
From the first parent, let the world bring forth
A pair of truer hearts; to speak but truth
Of this departed gentleman, in a brother,
Might by hard censure be called flattery,
Which makes me rather silent in his right
Than so to be delivered to the thoughts
Of any envious hearer starved in virtue,
And therefore pining to hear others thrive.
But for this maid, whom envy cannot hurt
With all her poisons, having left to ages
The true, chaste monuments of her living name,
Which no time can deface, I say of her
The full truth freely, without fear of censure;
What nature could there shine, that might redeem
Perfection home to woman, but in her
Was fully glorious; beauty set in goodness
Speaks what she was, that jewel so infixed;
There was no want of anything of life,
To make these virtuous precedents man and wife.
ALLWIT
Great pity of their deaths.
ALL
Ne’er more pity.
[LADY KIX]
It makes a hundred weeping eyes, sweet gossip.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
I cannot think, there’s anyone amongst you,
In this full fair assembly, maid, man, or wife,
Whose heart would not have sprung with joy and gladness
To have seen their marriage day?
ALL
It would have made a thousand joyful hearts.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Up then apace, and take your fortunes,
Make these joyful hearts, here’s none but friends.
[Moll and Touchwood Junior rise from their coffins.]
ALL
Alive, sir? O sweet, dear couple.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Nay, do not hinder ‘em now, stand from about ‘em,
If she be caught again, and have this time,
I’ll ne’er plot further for ‘em, nor this honest chambermaid
That helped all at a push.
TOUCHWOOD JUNIOR
Good sir, apace.
PARSON
Hands join now, but hearts for ever,
Which no parent’s mood shall sever.
You shall forsake all widows, wives, and maids:
You, lords, knights, gentlemen, and men of trades:
And if in haste, any article misses,
Go interline it with a brace of kisses.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Here’s a thing trolled nimbly. Give you joy, brother,
Were’t not better thou should’st have her,
Than the maid should die?
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
To you, sweet mistress bride.
ALL
Joy, joy to you both.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Here be your wedding sheets you brought along with you, you may both go to bed, when you please [to].
TOUCHWOOD JUNIOR
My joy wants utterance.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Utter all at night then, brother.
MOLL
I am silent with delight.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Sister, delight will silence any woman,
But you’ll find your tongue again among maidservants,
Now you keep house, sister.
ALL
Never was hour so filled with joy and wonder.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
To tell you the full story of this chambermaid,
And of her kindness in this business to us,
’Twould ask an hour’s discourse. In brief, ’twas she
That wrought it to this purpose cunningly.
ALL
We shall all love her for’t.
Enter Yellowhammer and his Wife.
ALLWIT
See who comes here now.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
A storm, a storm, but we are sheltered for it.
YELLOWHAMMER
I will prevent you all, and mock you thus,
You, and your expectations; I stand happy,
Both in your lives, and your hearts’ combination.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Here’s a strange day again.
YELLOWHAMMER
The knight’s proved villain,
All’s come out now, his niece an arrant baggage;
My poor boy Tim is cast away this morning,
Even before breakfast: married a whore
Next to his heart.
ALL
A whore?
YELLOWHAMMER
His niece, forsooth.
ALLWIT
I think we rid our hands in good time of him.
[MISTRESS ALLWIT]
I knew he was past the best, when I gave him over.
What is become of him, pray, sir?
YELLOWHAMMER
Who, the knight?
He lies i’ th’ knight’s ward now. [To Lady Kix] Your belly, lady,
Begins to blossom, there’s no peace for him,
His creditors are so greedy.
SIR OLIVER
Mr. Touchwood, hear’st thou this news?
I am so endeared to thee for my wife’s fruitfulness,
That I charge you both, your wife and thee,
To live no more asunder for the world’s frowns;
I have purse, and bed, and board for you:
Be not afraid to go to your business roundly,
Get children, and I’ll keep them.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Say you so, sir?
SIR OLIVER
Prove me, with three at a birth, and thou dar’st now.
TOUCHWOOD SENIOR
Take heed how you dare a man, while you live, sir,
That has good skill at his weapon.
Enter Tim[, Tutor,] and Welsh Gentlewoman.
SIR OLIVER
Foot, I dare you, sir.
YELLOWHAMMIER
Look, gentlemen, if ever you say the picture
Of the unfortunate marriage, yonder ’tis.
WELSH GENTLEWOMAN
Nay, good sweet, Tim.
TIM
Come from the university,
To marry a whore in London, with my tutor, too?
O tempora! O mors!
TUTOR
Prithee, Tim, be patient.
TIM
I bought a jade at Cambridge,
I’ll let her out to execution, tutor,
For eighteen pence a day, or Brainford horse races;
She’ll serve to carry seven miles out of town well.
Where be these mountains? I was promised mountains,
But there’s such a mist, I can see none of ‘em.
What are become of those two thousand runts?
Let’s have about with them in the meantime.
A vengeance runt thee.
MAUDLIN
Good sweet Tim, have patience.
TIM
Flectere si [nequeo] superos, Acheronta [movebo], mother.
MAUDLIN
I think you have married her in logic, Tim.
You told me once, by logic you would prove
A whore an honest woman, prove her so, Tim,
And take her for thy labour.
TIM
Troth, I thank you.
I grant you I may prove another man’s wife so,
But not mine own.
MAUDLIN
There’s no remedy now, Tim,
You must prove her so as well as you may.
TIM
Why then my tutor and I will about her,
As well as we can.
Uxor non est meretrix, ergo falacis.
WELSH GENTLEWOMAN
Sir, if your logic cannot prove me honest,
There’s a thing called marriage, and that makes me honest.
MAUDLIN
O, there’s a trick beyond your logic, Tim.
TIM
I perceive then a woman may be honest according to the English print, when she is a whore in the Latin. So much for marriage and logic. I’ll love her for her wit, I’ll pick out my runts there: and for my mountains, I’ll mount upon —
YELLOWHAMMER
So fortune seldom deals two marriages
With one hand, and both lucky: the best is,
One feast will serve them both: marry, for room
I’ll have the dinner kept in Goldsmiths’ Hall,
To which, kind gallants, I invite you all.
[Exeunt omnes.]