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

her good name, And jealous of your reputation? Is she not virtuous,
wise, religious? How should you wrong her to deny all this? Good
Master Arthur, let me argue with you.
[They walk aside.
Enter MASTER ANSELM and MASTER FULLER.
FUL. O Master Anselm! grown a lover, fie! What 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