A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS (11 of 15).

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY IN THE YEAR 1744.

FOURTH EDITION. NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS, AND NEW NOTES

BY W. CAREW HAZLITT.

BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.

New York

EDITION.

A Woman is a Weather-cocke. A New Comedy, As it was acted before the King in White-Hall. And diuers times Priuately at the White-Friers, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written by Nat: Field. Si natura negat, faciat indagnatio [sic] versum. Printed at London, for Iohn Budge, and are to be sold at the great South doore of Paules, and at Brittaines Bursse. 1612. 4o. The old copy is very carelessly printed, and nearly all the corruptions and mistakes were retained in the former edition (1828).

[MR COLLIER'S PREFACE.]

Considering the celebrity that Nathaniel Field has acquired in consequence of his connection with Massinger in writing "The Fatal Dowry," it is singular that the two plays in which he was unaided by any contemporary dramatist should not yet have been reprinted, if only to assist the formation of a judgment as to the probable degree of Massinger's obligation. "A Woman is a Weathercock" and its sequel, "Amends for Ladies," are the productions of no ordinary poet. In comic scenes Field excels Massinger, who was not remarkable for his success in this department of the drama; and in those of a serious character he may be frequently placed on a footing of equality.[1]

Reed was of opinion that Field the actor was not the same person who joined Massinger in "The Fatal Dowry," and who wrote the two plays above mentioned; but the discovery of Henslowe's MSS. shows that they were intimately connected in authorship and[4] misfortune. The joint letter of Nathaniel Field, Rob. Daborne, and Philip Massinger to Henslowe, soliciting a small loan to relieve them from temporary imprisonment, has been so often republished (see Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, iii. 337) that it is unnecessary to repeat it here.[2] Field, who penned the whole body of the letter, speaks in it of himself, both as an author and as an actor. It is without date, and Malone conjectured that it was written between 1612 and 1615. But from the Dedication to "A Woman is a Weathercock," we should conclude that in 1612 Field was not distressed for money. He there tells "any woman that hath been no weathercock" that he "cared not for forty shillings," the sum then usually given by the person to whom the play was inscribed.

This assertion, perhaps, was only a vain boast, while the fact might be, either that he could not get anybody to patronise "so fameless a pen," or that, although he might not just at that moment be in want of "forty shillings," he might stand in need of it very soon afterwards, according to the customary irregular mode of living of persons of his pursuits and profession.

It might be inferred from a passage in the address "to the Reader," that "A Woman is a Weathercock"[3] [5]was written some time before it was printed; and from the dedication of the same play, we learn that Field's "Amends for Ladies," if not then also finished, was fully contemplated by the author under that title. An allusion to the Gunpowder Treason of 1605 is made in the first act of "A Woman is a Weathercock;" but it could not have been produced so early.

Nathaniel Field was originally one of the Children of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel. Malone tells us that he played in "Cynthia's Revels" in 1601; but we have it on the authority of Ben Jonson himself, in the folio of 1616, that that "comical satire" was acted in 1600. In 1601 Field performed in "The Poetaster," and in 1608 he appeared in "Epicæne," which purports to have been represented by the "Children of her Majesty's Revels," for so those of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel were then called. In 1600 Field was, perhaps, one of the younger children, for in 1609 all the names of the company but his own were changed, many no doubt having outgrown their situations. He was, therefore, evidently a very young man when he published his "Woman is a Weathercock" in 1612. Only one edition of it is known, but "Amends for Ladies" was twice published by the same stationer, viz., in 1618 and 1639. Mr Gifford conjectured very reasonably that Field had assisted Massinger in writing "The Fatal Dowry" before 1623.[4] He belonged to the Blackfriars company, and Fleckno speaks of him as a performer of great

distinction.[5] According to the portrait[6] in Dulwich College, he had rather a feminine look, and early in his career undertook female parts, which he afterwards abandoned, and obtained much celebrity as the hero of Chapman's "Bussy d'Ambois," originally brought out in 1607. In a prologue to the edition of 1641, Field is spoken of as the player "whose action first did give it name." It has also been supposed that he was dead in 1641, because in the same prologue, it is asserted "Field is gone," but the expression is equivocal. The probability seems to be that he quitted the profession early, and in the address to "A Woman is a Weathercock," he gives a hint that he will only be heard of in it "for a year or two, and no more."[6]

"Amends for Ladies" will be found, on the whole, a superior performance to "A Woman is a Weathercock," and if the order of merit only had been consulted, it ought to have been first reprinted in this collection.

[7]

TO ANY WOMAN THAT HATH BEEN NO WEATHERCOCK.

I did determine not to have dedicated my play to anybody, because forty shillings I care not for![7] and above few or none will bestow on these matters, especially falling from so fameless a pen as mine is yet. And now I look up, and find to whom my dedication is, I fear I am as good as my determination: notwithstanding, I leave a liberty to any lady or woman, that dares say she hath been no weathercock, to assume the title of patroness to this my book. If she have been constant, and be so, all I will expect from her for my pains is that she will continue so but till my next play be printed, wherein she shall see what amends I have made to her and all the sex,[8] and so I end my epistle without a Latin sentence.

N. F.

[8]

TO THE READER.

Reader, the saleman swears you'll take it very ill, if I say not something to you too. In troth, you are a stranger to me: why should I write to you? you never writ to me, nor I think will not answer my epistle. I send a comedy to you here, as good as I could then make; nor slight my presentation, because it is a play; for I tell thee, reader, if thou be'st ignorant, a play is not so idle a thing as thou art, but a mirror of men's lives and actions; nor, be it perfect or imperfect, true or false, is the vice or virtue of the maker. This is yet, as well as I can, qualis ego vel Cluvienus. Thou must needs have some other language than thy mother-tongue, for thou think'st it impossible for me to write a play, that did not use a word of Latin, though he had enough in him. I have been vexed with vile plays myself a great while, hearing many; now I thought to be even with some, and they should hear mine too. Fare thee well: if thou hast anything to say to me, thou know'st where to hear of me for a year or two, and no more, I assure thee.

N. F.

[9]

TO HIS LOVED SON,[9] NAT. FIELD, AND HIS WEATHERCOCK WOMAN.

[10]

ACT I., SCENE 1.

Enter Scudmore, as in his chamber in a morning, half-ready, reading a letter.

[12]

Enter Nevill.

Scud. Good morrow, sir: think I durst show it you.

[14]

Which Bellafront? rich Sir John Worldly's daughter?

Scud. She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by.

Nev. O heaven! we speak like gods and do like dogs.

Scud. What means my——

Scene II.

Enter Count Frederick, a tailor trussing him; attended by a page.

C. Fred. Is Sir John Worldly up, boy?

Boy. No, my Lord.

C. Fred. Is my bride up yet?

Boy. No.

C. Fred. No! and the morn so fair?

Enter Pendant.

Pen. Good morrow, my thrice honoured and heroic lord.

C. Fred. Thou'st a good tailor, and art very fine.

Pen. I thank your lordship.

Boy. Ay, you may thank his lordship indeed. [Aside.

Tailor. A good jest, i' faith. Good morrow to your lordship. A very good jest. [Exit Tailor.

C. Fred. I wonder my invited guests are so tardy. What's o'clock?

Pen. Scarce seven, my lord.

[19]

C. Fred. Pendant, thou'lt make me doat upon myself.

Pen. Narcissus, by this hand, had far less cause.

C. Fred. How know'st thou that?

Boy. They were all one, my lord.

[20]

Enter Captain Pouts.

C. Fred. Good morrow, and good welcome, Captain Pouts.

C. Fred. But how haps it, Captain, that your intended marriage with my father-in-law's third daughter is not solemnised to-day?

Pen. My lord tells you true, Captain; it would have saved meat.

Capt. Pouts. Faith, I know not. Mistress Kate likes me not; she says I speak as if I had pudding in my mouth, and I answered her, if I had, it was a white pudding,[18] and then I was the better armed for a woman; for I had a case about me. So one laughed, and the other cried fie: the third said I was a bawdy captain; and there was all I could get of them.

C. Fred. See, boy, if they be up yet: maids are long liers, I perceive.

Boy. How if they will not admit me, my lord.

C. Fred. Why, should they not admit you, my lord, you cannot commit with 'em, my lord.

Boy. Marry, therefore, my lord. [Exit Boy.

C. Fred. But what should be the reason of her so sudden alteration? she listened to thee once, ha?

Pen. Have you not heard, my lord, or do ye not know?

[21]

C. Fred. Not I, I swear.

Pen. Then you know nothing that is worth the knowing.

Capt. Pouts. That's certain: he knows you.

Pen. There's a young merchant, a late suitor, that deals by wholesale, and heir to land, well-descended, of worthy education, beholding to nature.

C. Fred. O, 'tis young Strange.

Capt. Pouts. Is't he that looks like an Italian tailor out of the lac'd wheel?[19] that wears a bucket on his head?

C. Fred. That is the man: yet believe me, captain, it is a noble sprightly citizen.

Capt. Pouts. Has he money?

C. Fred. Infinitely wealthy.

Capt. Pouts. Then, captain, thou art cast. Would I had gone to Cleveland! Worldly loves money better than I love his daughter. I'll to some company in garrison. Good bye.

[22]

C. Fred. 'Sfoot! he shall have my bond to do him good.

Capt. Pouts. A hundred, sir, were better.

Enter Old Sir Innocent Ninny, My Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham, and Mistress Wagtail.

C. Fred. Here's more guests.

Capt. Pouts. Is that man and wife?

[Count Frederick discoursing with Sir Innocent and Lady: Abraham looking about.

Capt. Pouts. But did that little old dried neat's tongue, that eel-skin, get him?

Pen. So 'tis said, captain.

Capt, Pouts. Methinks he in his lady should show like a needle in a bottle of hay.

Pen. One may see by her nose what pottage she loves.

Capt. Pouts. Is your name Abraham? Pray, who dwells in your mother's backside,[20] at the sign of the aqua-vitæ bottle?

Pen. God's precious! Save you, Mistress Wagtail [Pulls her by the sleeve.

Wag. Sweet Master Pendant.

Abra. Gentlemen, I desire your better acquaintance. You must pardon my father; he's somewhat rude, and my mother grossly brought up, as you may perceive.

[23]

C. Fred. Young Master Abraham! cry ye mercy, sir.

Sir Inn. Indeed, my lord, with much cost and labour we have got him knighted; and being knighted under favour, my lord, let me tell ye he'll prove a sore knight, as e'er run at ring. He is the one and only Ninny of our house.

Abra. Pish, pish, pish, pish!

C. Fred. D'ye hear how—

Pen. O my lord.

Capt. Pouts. I had well hoped she could not have spoke, she is so fat.

Abra. Sir Abraham thanks your honour, and I hope your lordship will consider the simplicity of parents: a couple of old fools, my lord, and I pray so take 'em.

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!

Abra. I must be fain to excuse you here: you'll be needs coming abroad with me. If I had no more wit than you now, we should be finely laughed at.

Sir Inn. By'r lady, his worship says well: wife, we'll trouble him no longer. With your honour's leave, I'll in and see my old friend Sir John, your father that shall be.

L. Nin. I'll in, too, and see if your bride need no dressing. [Exeunt Sir Innocent and lady.[21]

[24]

Capt. Pouts. Venison, my lord, venison.

Pen. I'faith, my lord, such venison as a bear is.

Capt. Pouts. Heart! she looks like a black bombard[22] with a pint pot waiting upon it. [Exit Mrs Wagtail.

C. Fred. What countrymen were your ancestors, Sir Abraham?

Abra. Countrymen! they were no countrymen: I scorn it. They were gentlemen all: my father is a Ninny, and my mother was a Hammer.

Capt. Pouts. You should be a knocker, then, by the mother's side.

Abra. I pray, my lord, what is yon gentleman? He looks so like a Saracen that, as I am a Christian, I cannot endure him.

C. Fred. Take heed what you say, sir; he's a soldier.

Pen. If you cross him, he'll blow you up with gunpowder.

Abra. In good faith, he looks as if he had had a hand in the treason.[23] I'll take my leave.

C. Fred. Nay, good Sir Abraham, you shall not leave us.

Pen. My lord shall be your warrant.

Abra. My lord shall be my warrant? Troth, I do not see that a lord's warrant is better than any other man's, unless it be to lay one by the heels. I shall stay here, and ha' my head broke,[25] and then I ha' my mends in my own hands; and then my lord's warrant will help me to a plaister, that's all.

C. Fred. Come, come; captain, pray shake the hand of acquaintance with this gentleman: he is in bodily fear of you.

Capt. Pouts. Sir, I use not to bite any man.

Abra. Indeed, sir, that would show you are no gentleman. I would you would bid me be covered. I am a knight. I was knighted o'purpose to come a-wooing to Mistress Lucida, the middle sister, Sir John Worldly's second daughter, and she said she would have me, if I could make her a lady, and I can do't now. O, here she comes.

Enter Sir John Worldly, Master Strange, Kate, and Lucida with a willow garland.

C. Fred. My bride will never be ready, I think. Here are the other sisters.

Pen. Look you, my lord: there's Lucida wears the willow garland for you, and will so go to church, I hear. And look you, captain, that's the merchant.

Sir J. Wor. You'll make her jointure of that five hundred, you say, that is your inheritance, Master Strange?

Strange. Sir, I will.

Sir J. Wor. Kate, do you love him?

Kate. Yes, faith, father, with all my heart.

Capt. Pouts. Sir.

Capt. Pouts. So, sir, so.

Sir J. Wor. There are brave wars.

Capt. Pouts. Where?

Capt. Pouts. Good, sir, good.

Capt. Pouts. Thou art an old[24] fellow. Are you a merchant, sir?

Strange. I shame not to say yes. Are you a soldier, sir?

Abra. A soldier, sir? O God! Ay, he is a captain.

Capt. Pouts. Right, sir: and as many are citizens that are no cuckolds——

Strange. So many are cuckolds that are no citizens. What ail you, sir, with your robustious looks?

Capt. Pouts. I would be glad to see for my money: I have paid for my standing.

Capt. Pouts. You are a peddler.

Strange. You are a pot-gun.

C. Fred. Fie, captain! You are to blame.

Pen. Nay, God's will! You are to blame indeed, if my lord say so.

Capt. Pouts. My lord's an ass, and you are another.

Capt. Pouts. Sirrah, I'll beat you with a pudding on the 'Change.

Kate. Why, captain, though ye be a man of war, you cannot subdue affection. You have no alacrity in your eye, and you speak as if you were in a dream. You are of so melancholy and dull a disposition, that on my conscience you would never get children; nay, nor on my body neither; and[28] what a sin were it in me, and a most pregnant sign of concupiscence, to marry a man that wants the mettle of generation, since that is the blessing ordained for marriage, procreation the only end of it. Besides, if I could love you, I shall be here at home, and you in Cleveland abroad—I among the bold Britons, and you among the hot-shots.

Kate. Ha! God-a-mercy, old Hieronimo.[25]

Abra. Yet she might love me for my lovely eyes.

C. Fred. Ay, but perhaps your nose she doth despise.

Abra. Yet might she love me for my dimpled chin.

Pen. Ay, but she sees your beard is very thin.

Abra. Yet might she love me for my proper body.

Strange. Ay, but she thinks you are an errant noddy.

Abra. Yet might she love me, 'cause I am an heir.

Sir J. Wor. Ay, but perhaps she doth not like your ware.

Abra. Yet might she love me in despite of all.

Luc. Ay, but indeed I cannot love at all.

Sir J. Wor. Well, Luce, respect Sir Abraham, I charge you.

Pen. Life! my lord; you had best marry 'em all three. They'll never be content else.

C. Fred. I think so, too.

[30]

Abra. Shall I but hope?

Luc. O, by no means. I cannot endure these round breeches: I am ready to swoon at them.

Kate. The hose are comely.

Luc. And then his left leg: I never see it, but I think on a plum-tree.

Abra. Indeed, there's reason there should be some difference in my legs, for one cost me twenty pounds more than the other.

Luc. In troth, both are not worth half the money.

C. Fred. I hold my life, one of them was broke, and cost so much the healing.

Pen. I know he is in love by his verse-vein.

Strange. He cannot hold out on't: you shall hear.

[31]

ACT II., SCENE 1.

Enter Nevill, like a parson.

Enter Scudmore in tawny.

Scud. Are there two?

Nev. Yes, sir: the eldest marries Count Frederick.

[33]

Scud. O!

[34]

Scud. Sir, do but you refuse to join them.

Scud. Why, look thee; there is gold.

Nev. O, by no means.

Music. Enter Sir John Worldly, who meets the parson, and entertains him; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine, Lucida with willow; Pendant, Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Mrs Wagtail, Sir Abraham melancholy. W. P.[28] walk gravely afore all softly on. Scudmore stands before, and a boy sings to the tuned music.

C. Fred. How now! who's this?

Pen. Young Scudmore.

Omnes. 'Tis young Scudmore!

Scud. Canst thou this holy church enter a bride, And not a corse, meeting these eyes of mine?

Luc. Sister, this is not well, and will be worse.

Scud. O, hold thy thunder fast!

C. Fred. What is the matter?

Pen. I'll ask, my lord. What is the matter, sir?

Pen. Pish! nothing else? set forward.

Nev. By your leave.

C. Fred. I say the word: do it.

Scud. You, my lord's fine fool!

Abra. Ay, he, sir?

Scud. No! nor you, my lord's fool's fool.

Sir Inn. 'Ware, boy: come back.

L. Nin. Come back, I say, Sir Abraham.

[37]

Kath. On my life, it is so.[30]

Loud music. Enter, as from the church, Sir John Worldly, Nevill, like the parson; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine; Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham; Lucida, Wagtail, Pendant.

C. Fred. Sweet is the love purchas'd with difficulty.

Bel. Then, this cross accident doth relish ours.

Enter Captain Pouts.

Capt. Pouts. Are ye married?

C. Fred. Yes.

Capt. Pouts. The devil dance at your wedding! But for you, I have something else to say. Let me see: here are reasonable good store of people. Know, all my beloved brethren (I speak it in the face of the congregation), this woman I have lain with oftener——

Omnes. How!

L. Nin. Before God, you are a wicked fellow to speak on't in this manner, if you have.

Strange. Lain with her?

[41]

Sir J. Wor. Take your revenge by law.

Kath. This month or two?

C. Fred. I'll be your second, then.

Strange. You proffer too much honour, my good lord.

Pen. And I will be your third.

Luc. God-a-mercy, Nab, I'll ha' thee, and be but for thy manhood.

Sir Inn. Wife, my Lady Ninny, do you hear your son? He speaks seldom, but when he speaks——

Luc. He speaks proverbs, i' faith.

L. Nin. O, 'tis a pestilence knight, Mistress Lucida.

Luc. Ay, and a pocky.

[42]

Strange. Yes.

Enter Wagtail; the Page, stealing after her, conceals himself.

Wag. What a stir is here made about lying with a gentlewoman! I have been lain with a hundred, and a hundred times, and nothing has come on't! but—hawk, hum! hawk, hum! O, O! Thus have I done for this month or two—hawk, hum! [Coughs and spits.]

Page. Ah! God's will, are you at it? You have acted your name too much, sweet Mistress Wagtail. This was wittily, though somewhat knavishly followed on me.