A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX | Page 3

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. Well fare a good heart! yet are you advis'd? Go, said you,
Master Arthur? I will run To end these broils, that discord hath begun.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.
_Young Arthur's House_.
Enter MISTRESS ARTHUR and PIPKIN.
MRS ART. Come hither, Pipkin. How chance you tread so softly?
PIP. For fear of breaking, mistress.
MRS ART. Art thou afraid of breaking, how so?
PIP. Can you blame me, mistress? I am crack'd already.
MRS ART. Crack'd, Pipkin, how? hath any crack'd your crown?
PIP. No, mistress; I thank God, My crown is current, but--
MRS ART. But what?

PIP. The maid gave me not my supper yesternight, so that indeed my
belly wambled, and standing near the great sea-coal fire in the hall, and
not being full, on the sudden I crack'd, and you know, mistress, a
pipkin is soon broken.
MRS ART. Sirrah, run to the Exchange, and if you there Can find my
husband, pray him to come home; Tell him I will not eat a bit of bread
Until I see him; prythee, Pipkin, run.
PIP. By'r Lady, mistress, if I should tell him so, it may be he would not
come, were it for no other cause but to save charges; I'll rather tell him,
if he come not quickly, you will eat up all the meat in the house, and
then, if he be of my stomach, he will run every foot, and make the more
haste to dinner.
MRS ART. Ay, thou may'st jest; my heart is not so light It can digest
the least conceit of joy: Entreat him fairly, though I think he loves All
places worse that he beholds me in. Wilt thou begone?
PIP. Whither, mistress? to the 'Change?
MRS ART. Ay, to the 'Change.
PIP. I will, mistress: hoping my master will go so oft to the 'Change,
that at length he will change his mind, and use you more kindly. O, it
were brave if my master could meet with a merchant of ill-ventures, to
bargain with him for all his bad conditions, and he sell them outright!
you should have a quieter heart, and we all a quieter house. But hoping,
mistress, you will pass over all these jars and squabbles in good health,
as my master was at the making thereof, I commit you.
MRS ART. Make haste again, I prythee. [Exit PIPKIN.] Till I see him,
My heart will never be at rest within me: My husband hath of late so
much estrang'd His words, his deeds, his heart from me, That I can
seldom have his company; And even that seldom with such discontent,
Such frowns, such chidings, such impatience, That did not truth and
virtue arm my thoughts, They would confound me with despair and
hate, And make me run into extremities. Had I deserv'd the least bad

look from him, I should account myself too bad to live, But honouring
him in love and chastity, All judgments censure freely of my wrongs.
[Exit.
Enter YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR, YOUNG MASTER LUSAM,
and PIPKIN.
Y. ART. Pipkin, what said she when she sent for me?
PIP. 'Faith, master, she said little, but she thought [The] more, for she
was very melancholy.
Y. ART. Did I not tell you she was melancholy, For nothing else but
that she sent for me, And fearing I would come to dine with her.
Y. LUS. O, you mistake her; even, upon my soul, I durst affirm you
wrong her chastity. See where she doth attend your coming home.
Enter MISTRESS ARTHUR.
MRS ART. Come, Master Arthur, shall we in to dinner? Sirrah, begone,
and see it served in.
Y. LUS. Will you not speak unto her?
Y. ART. No, not I; will you go in, sir.
MRS ART. Not speak to me! nor once look towards me! It is my duty
to begin, I know, And I will break this ice of courtesy. You are
welcome home, sir.
Y. ART. Hark, Master Lusam, if she mock me not! _You are welcome
home, sir_. Am I welcome home? Good faith, I care not if I be or no.
Y. LUS. Thus you misconstrue all things, Master Arthur. Look, if her
true love melt not into tears.
Y. ART. She weeps, but why? that I am come so soon,