The Puritan Widow

Title: The Puritan Widow

Dubious author: William Shakespeare

Release date: July 1, 2003 [eBook #4214] Most recently updated: October 1, 2025

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4214

Credits: Tony Adam

THE PURITAINE WIDDOW

THE ACTORS NAME In the Play Intitled The Puritan Widow.

The Scene London.

Lady Plus, a Citizens Widow. Frances, Moll, her two Daughters. Sir Godfrey, Brother-in-Law to the Widow Plus. Master Edmond, Son to the Widow Plus. George Pye-boord, a Scholar and a Citizen. Peter Skirmish, an old Soldier. Captain Idle, a Highway-man. Corporal Oath, a vain-glorious Fellow. Nichols St. Antlings, Simon St. Mary Overies, Frailty, Serving-men to the Lady Plus. Sir Oliver Muck-hill, a Suitor to the Lady Plus. Sir John Penny-Dub, a Suitor to Moll. Sir Andrew Tipstaff, a Suitor to Frances. The Sheriff of London. Puttock, Ravenshaw, Two of the Sheriffs Sergeants. Dogson, a Yeoman. A Noble-man. A Gentleman Citizen. Officers.

ACTUS PRIMUS.

Scene I. A Garden behind the widow’s house.

[Enter the Lady Widdow-Plus, her two daughters Frank and Moll, her husband’s Brother an old Knight Sir Godfrey, with her Son and heir Master Edmond, all in mourning apparel, Edmond in a Cyrpess Hat. The Widdow wringing her hands, and bursting out Into passion, as newly come from the Burial of her husband.

WIDOW. Oh, that ever I was borne, that ever I was borne!

SIR GODFREY. Nay, good Sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good comfort; show your self a woman, now or never.

WIDOW. Oh, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the sweetest husband that ever lay by woman.

SIR GODFREY. Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest, virtuous, Discreet, wise man,—he was my Brother, as right as right.

WIDOW. O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a man so well given to a woman—oh!

SIR GODFREY. Nay, but, kind Sister, I could weep as much as any woman, but, alas, our tears cannot call him again: me thinks you are well read, Sister, and know that death is as common as Homo, a common name to all men:—a man shall be taken when he’s making water.—Nay, did not the learned Parson, Master Pigman, tell us e’en now, that all Flesh is frail, we are borne to die, Man ha’s but a time: with such like deep and profound persuasions, as he is a rare fellow, you know, and an excellent Reader: and for example, (as there are examples aboundance,) did not Sir Humfrey Bubble die tother day? There’s a lusty Widdow; why, she cried not above half an hour—for shame, for shame! Then followed him old Master Fulsome, the Usurer: there’s a wise Widdow; why, she cried ne’er a whit at all.

WIDOW. O, rank not me with those wicked women: I had a husband Out-shined ’em all.

SIR GODFREY. Aye, that he did, yfaith: he out-shined ’em all.

WIDOW. Doost thou stand there and see us all weep, and not once shed a tear for thy father’s death? oh, thou ungratious son and heir, thou!

EDMOND. Troth, Mother, I should not weep, I’m sure; I am past a child, I hope, to make all my old School fellows laugh at me; I should be mocked, so I should. Pray, let one of my Sisters weep for me. I’ll laugh as much for her another time.

WIDOW. Oh, thou past-Grace, thou! out of my sight, thou graceless imp, thou grievest me more than the death of thy Father! oh, thou stubborn only son! hadst thou such an honest man to thy Father—that would deceive all the world to get riches for thee—and canst thou not afford a little salt water? he that so wisely did quite over-throw the right heir of those lands, which now you respect not: up every morning betwixt four and five; so duly at Westminster Hall every Term-Time, with all his Cards and writings, for thee, thou wicked Absolon— oh, dear husband!

EDMOND. Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad he’s Churched; for now he’s gone, I shall spend in quiet.

FRANCES. Dear mother, pray cease; half your Tears suffice. Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes; Let me weep now.

WIDOW. Oh, such a dear knight! such a sweet husband have I lost, have I lost!—If Blessed be the coarse the rain rains upon, he had it pouring down.

SIR GODFREY. Sister, be of good cheer, we are all mortal our selves. I come upon you freshly. I near speak without comfort, hear me what I shall say:—my brother ha’s left you wealthy, y’are rich.

WIDOW. Oh!

SIR GODFREY. I say y’are rich: you are also fair.

WIDOW. Oh!

SIR GODFREY. Go to, y’are fair, you cannot smother it; beauty will come to light; nor are your years so far enter’d with you, but that you will be sought after, and may very well answer another husband; the world is full of fine Gallants, choice enow, Sister,—for what should we do with all our Knights, I pray, but to marry rich widows, wealthy Citizens’ widows, lusty fair-browed Ladies? go to, be of good comfort, I say: leave snobbing and weeping—Yet my Brother was a kind hearted man—I would not have the Elf see me now!—Come, pluck up a woman’s heart—here stands your Daughters, who be well estated, and at maturity will also be enquir’d after with good husbands, so all these tears shall be soon dried up and a better world than ever—What, Woman? you must not weep still; he’s dead, he’s buried—yet I cannot choose but weep for him!

WIDOW. Marry again! no! let me be buried quick then! And that same part of Quire whereon I tread To such intent, O may it be my grave; And that the priest may turn his wedding prayers, E’en with a breath, to funeral dust and ashes! Oh, out of a million of millions, I should ne’er find such a husband; he was unmatchable,—unmatchable! nothing was too hot, nor too dear for me, I could not speak of that one thing, that I had not: beside I had keys of all, kept all, receiv’d all, had money in my purse, spent what I would, came home when I would, and did all what I would. Oh, my sweet husband! I shall never have the like.

SIR GODFREY. Sister, ne’er say so; he was an honest brother of mine, and so, and you may light upon one as honest again, or one as honest again may light upon you: that’s the properer phrase, indeed.

WIDOW. Never! Oh, if you love me, urge it not.

[Kneels.]

Oh may I be the by-word of the world, The common talk at Table in the mouth Of every Groom and Waiter, if e’er more I entertain the carnal suite of Man!

MOLL. I must kneel down for fashion too.

FRANCES. And I, whom never man as yet hath scald, E’ev in this depth of general sorrow, vow Never to marry, to sustain such loss As a dear husband seems to be, once dead.

MOLL. I lov’d my father well, too; but to say, Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death— Sure, I should speak false Latin, should I not? I’d as soon vow never to come in Bed. Tut! Women must live by th’ quick, and not by th’ dead.

WIDOW. Dar Copy of my husband, oh let me kiss thee. How like is this Model! This brief Picture

[Drawing out her husband’s Picture.]

Quickens my tears: my sorrows are renew’d At this fresh sight.

SIR GODFREY. Sister—

WIDOW. Away, All honesty with him is turn’d to clay. Oh my sweet husband, oh—

FRANCES. My dear father!

[Exeunt mother and Frances.]

MOLL. Here’s a pulling, indeed! I think my Mother weeps for all the women that ever buried husbands; for if from time to time all the Widowers’ tears in England had been bottled up, I do not think all would have filled a three-half-penny Bottle. Alas, a small matter bucks a hand-kercher,—and sometimes the spittle stands to nie Saint Thomas a Watrings. Well, I can mourn in good sober sort as well as another; but where I spend one tear for a dead Father, I could give twenty kisses for a quick husband.

[Exit Moll.]

SIR GODFREY. Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou mayest be proud on’t, thou hast a kind loving sister-in-law; how constant! how passionate! how full of April the poor soul’s eyes are! Well, I would my Brother knew on’t, he would then know what a kind wife he had left behind him: truth, and twere not for shame that the Neighbours at th’ next garden should hear me, between joy and grief I should e’en cry out-right!

[Exit Sir Godfrey.]

EDMOND. So, a fair riddance! My father’s laid in dust; his Coffin and he is like a whole-meat-pye, and the worms will cut him up shortly. Farewell, old Dad, farewell. I’ll be curb’d in no more. I perceived a son and heir may quickly be made a fool, and he will be one, but I’ll take another order.—Now she would have me weep for him, for-sooth, and why? because he cozn’d the right heir, being a fool, and bestow’d those Lands upon me his eldest Son; and therefore I must weep for him, ha, ha. Why, all the world knows, as long as twas his pleasure to get me, twas his duty to get for me: I know the law in that point; no Attorney can gull me. Well, my Uncle is an old Ass, and an Admirable Cockscomb. I’ll rule the Roast my self. I’ll be kept under no more; I know what I may do well enough by my Father’s Copy: the Law’s in mine own hands now: nay, now I know my strength, I’ll be strong enough for my Mother, I warrant you.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. A street.

[Enter George Pye-board, a scholar and a Citizen, and unto him an old soldier, Peter Skirmish.]

PYE. What’s to be done now, old Lad of War? thou that wert wont to be as hot as a turn-spit, as nimble as a fencer, and as lousy as a school-master; now thou art put to silence like a Sectary.—War sits now like a Justice of peace, and does nothing. Where be your Muskets, Caleiuers and Hotshots? in Long-lane, at Pawn, at Pawn.—Now keys are your only Guns, Key-guns, Key-guns, and Bawds the Gunners, who are your Sentinels in peace, and stand ready charg’d to give warning, with hems, hums, and pockey-coffs; only your Chambers are licenc’st to play upon you, and Drabs enow to give fire to ’em.

SKIRMISH. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me, for since the cessure of the wars, I have spent above a hundred crowns out a purse. I have been a soldier any time this forty years, and now I perceive an old soldier and an old Courtier have both one destiny, and in the end turn both into hob-nails.

PYE. Pretty mystery for a begger, for indeed a hob-nail is the true emblem of a begger’s shoe-sole.

SKIRMISH. I will not say but that war is a blood-sucker, and so; but, in my conscience, (as there is no soldier but has a piece of one, though it be full of holes like a shot Antient; no matter, twill serve to swear by) in my conscience, I think some kind of Peace has more hidden oppressions, and violent heady sins, (though looking of a gentle nature) then a profest war.

PYE. Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor Gentleman, and a Scholar: I have been matriculated in the University, wore out six Gowns there, seen some fools, and some Scholars, some of the City, and some of the Country, kept order, went bare- headed over the Quadrangle, eat my Commons with a good stomach, and Battled with Discretion; at last, having done many slights and tricks to maintain my wit in use (as my brain would never endure me to be idle,) I was expeld the University, only for stealing a Cheese out of Jesus College.

SKIRMISH. Ist possible?

PYE. Oh! there was one Welshman (God forgive him) pursued it hard; and never left, till I turned my staff toward London, where when I came, all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to Graves, (as indeed there was but a few left before.) Then was I turned to my wits, to shift in the world, to tower among Sons and Heirs, and Fools, and Gulls, and Lady’s eldest Sons, to work upon nothing, to feed out of Flint, and ever since has my belly been much beholding to my brain. But, now, to return to you, old Skirmish: I say as you say, and for my part wish a Turbulency in the world, for I have nothing to lose but my wits, and I think they are as mad as they will be: and to strengthen your Argument the more, I say an honest war is better than a bawdy peace, as touching my profession. The multiplicity of Scholars, hatcht and nourisht in the idle Calms of peace, makes ’em like Fishes one devour another; and the community of Learning has so played upon affections, and thereby almost Religion is come about to Phantasy, and discredited by being too much spoken off-in so many and mean

mouths, I my self, being a Scholar and a Graduate, have no other comfort by my learning, but the Affection of my words, to know how Scholar-like to name what I want, and can call my self a Begger both in Greek and Latin: and therefore, not to cog with Peace, I’ll not be afraid to say, ’tis a great Breeder, but a barren Nourisher: a great getter of Children, which mus either be Thieves or Rich-men, Knaves or Beggers.

SKIRMISH. Well, would I had been born a Knave then, when I was born a Begger; for if the truth were known, I think I was begot when my Father had never a penny in his purse.

PYE. Puh, faint not, old Skirmish; let this warrant thee, Facilis Descensus Averni, ’tis an easy journey to a Knave; thou mayest be a Knave when thou wilt; and Peace is a good Madam to all other professions, and an arrant Drab to us, let us handle her accordingly, and by our wits thrive in despite of her; for since the law lives by quarrels, the Courtier by smooth God-morrows; and every profession makes it self greater by imperfections, why not we then by shifts, wiles, and forgeries? and seeing our brains are our only Patrimonies, let’s spend with judgment, not like a desperate son and heir, but like a sober and discreet Templar,—one that will never march beyond the bounds of his allowance. And for our thriving means, thus: I my self will put on the Deceit of a Fortune-teller.

SKIRMISH. A Fortune-teller? Very proper.

PYE. And you of a figure-caster, or a Conjurer.

SKIRMISH. A Conjurer?

PYE. Let me alone; I’ll instruct you, and teach you to deceive all eyes, but the Devil’s.

SKIRMISH. Oh aye, for I would not deceive him, and I could choose, of all others.

PYE. Fear not, I warrant you; and so by those means we shall help one another to Patients, as the condition of the age affords creatures enow for cunning to work upon.

SKIRMISH. Oh wondrous! new fools and fresh Asses.

PYE. Oh, fit, fit! excellent.

SKIRMISH. What, in the name of Conjuring?

PYE. My memory greets me happily with an admirable subject to gaze upon: The Lady-Widdow, who of late I saw weeping in her Garden for the death of her Husband; sure she ’as but a watrish soul, and half on’t by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: device well managed may do good upon her: it stands firm, my first practise shall be there.

SKIRMISH. You have my voice, George.

PYE. Sh’as a gray Gull to her Brother, a fool to her only son, and an Ape to her youngest Daughter.—I overheard ’em severally, and from their words I’ll derive my device; and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my second in all slights.

SKIRMISH. Ne’er doubt me, George Pye-board,—only you must teach me to conjure.

[Enter Captain Idle, pinioned, and with a guard of Officers passeth over the Stage.]

PYE. Puh, I’ll perfect thee, Peter.—How now? what’s he?

SKIRMISH. Oh George! this sight kills me. Tis my sworn Brother, Captain Idle.

PYE. Captain Idle!

SKIRMISH. Apprehended for some felonious act or other. He has started out, h’as made a Night on’t, lackt silver. I cannot but commend his resolution; he would not pawn his Buff-Jerkin. I would either some of us were employed, or might pitch our Tents at Usurers’ doors, to kill the slaves as they peep out at the Wicket.

PYE. Indeed, those are our ancient Enemies; they keep our money in their hands, and make us to be hangd for robbing of ’em. But, come, let’s follow after to the Prison, and know the Nature of his offence; and what we can steed him in, he shall be sure of; and I’ll uphold it still, that a charitable Knave is better then a soothing Puritain.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. A Street.

[Enter at one door Corporal Oath, a Vain-glorious fellow; and at the other, three of the Widdow Puritain’s Servingmen, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint-Mary-Overaries, and Frailty, in black scurvy mourning coats, and Books at their Girdles, as coming from Church. They meet.]

NICHOLAS. What, Corporal Oath? I am sorry we have met with you, next our hearts; you are the man that we are forbidden to keep company withall. We must not swear I can tell you, and you have the name for swearing.

SIMON. Aye, Corporal Oath, I would you would do so much as forsake us, sir; we cannot abide you, we must not be seen in your company.

FRAILTY. There is none of us, I can tell you, but shall be soundly whipt for swearing.

CORPORAL. Why, how now, we three? Puritanical Scrape-shoes, Flesh a good Fridays! a hand.

ALL. Oh!

CORPORAL. Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint Mary Ovaries, ha’s the De’el possest you, that you swear no better? you half-Christned Catomites, you ungod-mothered Varlets, do’s the first lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to be Cocks-combs? proud Cocks-combs! not once to do duty to a man of Mark!

FRAILTY. A man of Mark, quatha! I do not think he can shew a Begger’s Noble.

CORPORAL. A Corporal, a Commander, one of spirit, that is able to blow you up all dry with your Books at your Girdles.

SIMON. We are not taught to believe that, sir, for we know the breath of man is weak.

[Corporal breathes upon Frailty.]

FRAILTY. Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here’s one strong enough. Blow us up, quatha: he may well blow me above twelve-score off an him. I warrant, if the wind stood right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate, to the Leads of Ludgate.

CORPORAL. Sirrah, thou Hollow-Book of Max-candle—

NICHOLAS. Aye, you may say what you will, so you swear not.

CORPORAL. I swear by the—

NICHOLAS. Hold, hold, good Corporal Oath; for if you swear once, we shall all fall down in a swoon presently.

CORPORAL. I must and will swear: you quivering Cocks-combs, my Captain is imprisoned, and by Vulcan’s Leather Cod-piece point—

NICHOLAS. O Simon, what an oath was there.

FRAILTY. If he should chance to break it, the poor man’s Breeches would fall down about his heels, for Venus allows him but one point to his hose.

CORPORAL. With these my Bully-Feet I will thump ope the Prison doors, and brain the Keeper with the begging Box, but I’ll see my honest sweet Captain Idle at liberty.

NICHOLAS. How, Captain Idle? my old Aunt’s son, my dear Kinsman, in Capadochio?

CORPORAL. Aye, thou Church-peeling, thou Holy-paring, religious outside, thou! if thou hadst any grace in thee, thou would’st visit him, relieve him, swear to get him out.

NICHOLAS. Assure you, Corporal, indeed-lam tis the first time I heard on’t.

CORPORAL. Why do’t now, then, Marmaset: bring forth thy yearly-wages, let not a Commander perish!

SIMON. But, if he be one of the wicked, he shall perish.

NICHOLAS. Well, Corporal, I’ll e’en them along with you, to visit my Kinsman: if I can do him any good, I will,—but I have nothing for him. Simon Saint Mary Ovaries and Frailty, pray make a lie for me to the Knight my Master, old Sir Godfrey.

CORPORAL. A lie? may you lie then?

FRAILTY. O, aye, we may lie, but we must not swear.

SIMON. True, we may lie with our Neighbor’s wife, but we must not swear wedid so.

CORPORAL. Oh, an excellent Tag of religion!

NICHOLAS. Oh Simon, I have thought upon a sound excuse; it will go currant: say that I am gone to a Fast.

SIMON. To a Fast? very good.

NICHOLAS. Aye, to a Fast, say, with Master Fullbelly the Minister.

SIMON. Master Fullbelly? an honest man: he feeds the flock well, for he’s an excellent feeder.

[Exit Corporal, Nicholas.]

FRAILTY. Oh, aye, I have seen him eat up a whole Pig, and afterward fall to the pittitoes.

[Exit Simon and Frailty.]

SCENE IV.

The Prison, Marshalsea.

[Enter Captain Idle at one door, and later Pye-board and old soldier at the other. George Pye-board, speaking within.]

PYE. Pray turn the key.

SKIRMISH. Turn the key, I pray.

CAPTAIN. Who should those be? I almost know their voices.— O my friends!

[Entering.]

Ya’re welcome to a smelling Room here. You newly took leave of the air; ist not a strange savour?