Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: Anonymous
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The Puritan (Folio 3, 1664)


The Puritan Widow.
63
Sim. Master Sud's a good man, he washes the sins of
the Beard clean.
Skir. How now, creatures? what's a Clock?

Enter old Skirmish, the Soldiers.

990Frail. Why, doe you take us to be Jack at th'Clock-
house?
Skir. I say again to you what's a Clock?
Sim. Truly la, we go by the Clock of our Conscience,
all worldly Clocks we know go false, and are set by
995drunken Sextons.
Skir. Then what's a Clock in your Conscience?---oh,
I must break off, here comes the Corporall---hum, hum:
---what's a Clock?
Enter Corporall.

1000Corp. A Clock? why past seventeen.
Frail. Past seventeen? nay, h'as met with his match
now, Corporall Oath will fit him.
Skir. Thou dost not bawke or baffle me, dost thou?
I am a Souldier---past seventeen.
1005Corp. I, thou art not angry with the figures, art thou?
I will prove it unto thee, 12. and 1. is thirteen I hope,
2. fourteen, 3. fifteen, 4. sixteen, and 5. seventeen, then
past seventeen, I will take the Dialls part in a just cause.
Skir. I say 'tis but past five then.
1010Corp. I'le swear 'tis past seventeen then: dost thou
not know numbers? canst thou not cast?
Skir. Cast? dost thou speak of my casting ith' street?
Draw.
Corp. I, and in the Market place.
1015Sim. Clubs, Clubs, Clubs.
Simon runs in.
Frail. I, I knew by their shuffling Clubs would be
Trump; masse here's the Knave, and he can do any good
upon 'em: Clubs, Clubs, Clubs.

Enter Pye-boord.

1020Cap. O Villain, thou hast open'd a vain in my Leg.
Pye. How now? for shame, for shame, put up, put up.
Cap. By yon blew Welkin, 'twas out of my part,
George, to be hurt on the Leg.

Enter Officers.

1025Pye. Oh peace now---I have a Cordiall here to com-
fort thee.
Offi. Down with 'em, down with 'em, lay hands upon
the Villain.
Skir. Lay hands on me?
1030Pye. I'le not be seen among 'em now.
Cap. I'me hurt, and had more need have Surgeons,
Lay hands upon me then, rough Officers.
Offi. Go, carry him to be drest then:
This mutinous Soldier shall along with me to prison.
1035Skir. To prison? where's George?
Offi. Away with him.
Exeunt with Skir.
Pye. So,
All lights as I would wish, the amaz'd Widow,
Will plant me strongly now in her belief,
1040And wonder at the virtue of my words:
For the event turns these presages from 'em,
Of being mad and dumb, and begets joy
Mingled with admiration: these empty creatures,
Souldier and Corporall, were but ordain'd
1045As instruments for me to work upon.
Now to my Patient, here's his Potion.
Exit Pye-boord.

Enter the Widow with her two Daughters.

Wid. O wondrous happinesse, beyond our thoughts!
O luckky fair event! I think our fortunes
1050Were blest e'ne in our Cradles: we are quitted
Of all those shamefull violent presages
By this rash bleeding chance: go, Frailty, run, and know
Whether he be yet living, or yet dead,
That here before my door receiv'd his hurt.
1055Frail. Madam, he was carried to the superiour, but if
he had no money when he came there, I warrant he's
dead by this time.
Exit Frailty.
Franck. Sure that man is a rare fortune-teller, never
lookt upon our hands, nor upon any mark about us, a
1060wondrous fellow surely.
Moll. I am glad I have the use of my tongue yet,
though of nothing else, I shall find the way to marry too,
I hope shortly.
Wid. O where's my Brother sir Godfrey, I would he
1065were here, that I might relate to him how prophetically
the cunning Gentleman spoke in all things.

Enter Sir Godfrey in a rage.
Sir God. O my Chain, my Chain, I have lost my
Chain, where be these Villains, Varlets?
1070Wid. Oh, h'as lost his Chain.
Sir God. My Chain, my Chain.
Wid. Brother, be patient, hear me speak, you know
I told you that a Cunning-man told me, that you should
have a losse, and he has prophecied so true.
1075Sir God. Out, he's a Villain to prophecy of the losse
of my Chain, 'twas worth above three hundred Crowns,
besides 'twas my Fathers, my Fathers Fathers, my Grand-
fathers huge Grandfathers: I had as lieve ha lost my
Neck, as the Chain that hung about it; O my Chain, my
1080Chain.
Wid. Oh, Brother, who can be against a misfortune,
'tis happy 'twas no more.
Sir God. No more! O goodly godly sister, would you
had me lost more? my best Gown too, with the Cloth
1085of Gold-Lace? my holyday Gascoins, and my Jerkin
set with Pearl? no more!
Wid. Oh, Brother, you can read.---
Sir God. But I cannot read where my Chain is: what
strangers have been here? you let in strangers, Thieves
1090and Catch-poles: how comes it gone? there was none a-
bove with me but my Taylor, and my Taylor will not---
steale I hope?
Moll. No, he's afraid of a Chain.

Enter Frailty.

1095Wid. How now, sirrha? the newes?
Frail. O, Mistresse, he may well be call'd a Corpo-
rall now, for his Corps are as dead as a cold Capons?
Wid. More happinesse.
Sir God. Sirrha, what's this to my Chain? where's
1100my Chain, knave?
Frail. Your Chain, sir?
Sir God. My Chain is lost, Villain.
Frail. I would he were hang'd in Chains that has it
then for me: Alass, sir, I saw none of your Chain since
1105you were hung with it your self.
[C4r]
Sir God.