A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX | Page 2

might she be, on whom your hopes rely?
ANS. What fools they are that seem most wise in love, How wise they are that are but fools in love! Before I was a lover, I had reason To judge of matters, censure of all sorts, Nay, I had wit to call a lover fool, And look into his folly with bright eyes. But now intruding love dwells in my brain, And franticly hath shoulder'd reason thence: I am not old, and yet, alas! I doat; I have not lost my sight, and yet am blind; No bondman, yet have lost my liberty; No natural fool, and yet I want my wit. What am I, then? let me define myself: A dotard young, a blind man that can see, A witty fool, a bondman that is free.
FUL. Good aged youth, blind seer, and wise fool, Loose your free bonds, and set your thoughts to school.
Enter OLD MASTER ARTHUR and OLD MASTER LUSAM.
O. ART. 'Tis told me, Master Lusam, that my son And your chaste daughter, whom we match'd together, Wrangle and fall at odds, and brawl and chide.
O. LUS. Nay, I think so, I never look'd for better: This 'tis to marry children when they're young. I said as much at first, that such young brats Would 'gree together e'en like dogs and cats.
O. ART. Nay, pray you, Master Lusam, say not so; There was great hope, though they were match'd but young, Their virtues would have made them sympathise, And live together like two quiet saints.
O. LUS. You say true, there was great hope, indeed, They would have liv'd like saints; but where's the fault?
O. ART. If fame be true, the most fault's in my son.
O. LUS. You say true, Master Arthur, 'tis so indeed.
O. ART. Nay, sir, I do not altogether excuse Your daughter; many lay the blame on her.
O. LUS. Ah! say you so? by the mass, 'tis like enough, For from her childhood she hath been a shrew.
O. ART. A shrew? you wrong her; all the town admires her For mildness, chasteness, and humility.
O. LUS. 'Fore God, you say well, she is so indeed; The city doth admire her for these virtues.
O. ART. O, sir, you praise your child too palpably; She's mild and chaste, but not admir'd so much.
O. LUS. Ay, so I say--I did not mean admir'd.
O. ART. Yes, if a man do well consider her, Your daughter is the wonder of her sex.
O. LUS. Are you advis'd of that? I cannot tell, What 'tis you call the wonder of her sex, But she is--is she?--ay, indeed, she is.
O. ART. What is she?
O. LUS. Even what you will--you know best what she is.
ANS. Yon is her husband: let us leave this talk:[3] How full are bad thoughts of suspicion; I love, but loathe myself for loving so, Yet cannot change my disposition.
FUL. _Medice, cura teipsum_.
ANS. _Hei mihi! quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis_.
[Exeunt ANSELM and FULLER.
Y. ART. All your persuasions are to no effect, Never allege her virtues nor her beauty, My settled unkindness hath begot A resolution to be unkind still, My ranging pleasures love variety.
Y. LUS. O, too unkind unto so kind a wife, Too virtueless to one so virtuous, And too unchaste unto so chaste a matron.
Y. ART. But soft, sir, see where my two fathers are Busily talking; let us shrink aside, For if they see me, they are bent to chide.
[Exeunt Y. ARTHUR and Y. LUSAM.
O. ART. I think 'tis best to go straight to the house, And make them friends again; what think ye, sir?
O. LUS. I think so too.
O. ART. Now I remember, too, that's not so good: For divers reasons, I think best stay here, And leave them to their wrangling--what think you?
O. LUS. I think so too.
O. ART. Nay, we will go, that's certain.
O. LUS. Ay, 'tis best, 'tis best-- In sooth, there's no way but to go.
O. ART. Yet if our going should breed more unrest, More discord, more dissension, more debate, More wrangling where there is enough already? 'Twere better stay than go.
O. LUS. 'Fore God, 'tis true; Our going may, perhaps, breed more debate, And then we may too late wish we had stay'd; And therefore, if you will be rul'd by me, We will not go, that's flat: nay, if we love Our credits or our quiets, let's not go.
O. ART. But if we love Their credits or their quiets, we must go, And reconcile them to their former love; Where there is strife betwixt a man and wife 'tis hell, And mutual love may be compared to heaven, For then their souls and spirits are at peace. Come, Master Lusam, now 'tis dinner-time; When we have dined, the first work we will make, Is to decide their jars for pity's sake.
O. LUS.