Beggars Bush | Page 8

Gentlemen, We, here in Bruges, think he do's usurp, And therefore I am bold with him.
Hub. Sir, your boldness Happily becomes your mouth, but not our ears, While we are his servants; And as we come here, Not to ask questions, walk forth on your walls, Visit your courts of guard, view your munition, Ask of your corn-provisions, nor enquire Into the least, as spies upon your strengths, So let's entreat, we may receive from you Nothing in passage or discourse, but what We may with gladness, and our honesties here, And that shall seal our welcom.
Van. Good: let's drink then, Fill out, I keep mine old pearl still Captain.
Marg. I hang fast man.
Hen. Old Jewels commend their keeper, Sir.
Van. Here's to you with a heart, my Captains friend, With a good heart, and if this make us speak Bold words, anon, 'tis all under the Rose Forgotten: drown all memory, when we drink.
Hub. 'Tis freely spoken noble Burgomaster, I'le do you right.
Hem. Nay Sir mine heer Van-dunck Is a true Statesman.
Van. Fill my Captains cup there, O that your Master Wolfort Had been an honest man.
Hub. Sir?
Van. Under the Rose.
Hem. Here's to you Marget.
Marg. Welcome, welcome Captain.
Van. Well said my pearl still.
Hem. And how does my Niece? Almost a Woman, I think? This friend of mine, I drew along w[i]th me, through so much hazard, Only to see her: she was my errand.
Van. I, a kind Uncle you are (fill him his glass) That in seven years, could not find leisure--
Hem. No, It's not so much.
Van. I'le bate you ne'r an hour on't, It was before the Brabander 'gan his War, For moon-shine, i'the water there, his Daughter That never was lost: yet you could not find time To see a Kinswoman; but she is worth the seeing, Sir, Now you are come, you ask if she were a Woman? She is a Woman, Sir, fetch her forth Marget. [Exit Marg. And a fine Woman, and has Suitors.
Hem. How? What Suitors are they?
Van. Bachellors; young Burgers: And one, a Gallant, the young Prince of Merchants We call him here in Bruges.
Hem. How? a Merchant? I thought, Vandunke, you had understood me better, And my Niece too, so trusted to you by me, Than t'admit of such in name of Suitors.
Van. Such? he is such a such, as were she mine I'd give him thirty thousand crowns with her.
Hem. But the same things, Sir, fit not you and me. [Ex.
Van. Why, give's some wine, then; this will fit us all: Here's to you still, my Captains friend: All out: And still, would Wolfort were an honest man, Under the Rose, I speak it: but this Merchant Is a brave boy: he lives so, i'the Town here, We know not what to think on him: at some times We fear he will be Bankrupt; he do's stretch Tenter his credit so; embraces all, And to't, the winds have been contrary long. But then, if he should have all his returns, We think he would be a King, and are half sure on't. Your Master is a Traitor, for all this, Under the Rose: Here's to you; and usurps The Earldom from a better man.
Hub. I marry, Sir, Where is that man?
Van. Nay soft: and I could tell you 'Tis ten to one I would not: here's my hand, I love not Wolfort: sit you still, with that: Here comes my Captain again, and his fine Niece, And there's my Merchant; view him well: fill wine here.
Enter Hemskirk, Gertrude, and Goswin.
Hem. You must not only know me for your Uncle Now, but obey me: you, go cast your self Away, upon a Dunghil here? a Merchant? A petty fellow? one that makes his Trade With Oaths and perjuries?
Gos. What is that you say, Sir? If it be me you speak of, as your eye Seems to direct, I wish you would speak to me, Sir.
Hem. Sir, I do say, she is no Merchandize, Will that suffice you?
Gos. Merchandize good Sir? Though ye be Kinsman to her, take no leave thence To use me with contempt: I ever thought Your Niece above all price.
Hem. And do so still, Sir, I assure you, her rates are more than you are worth.
Gos. You do not know, what a Gentleman's worth, Sir, Nor can you value him.
H[u]b. Well said Merchant.
Van. Nay, Let him alone, and ply your matter.
Hem. A Gentleman? What o'the Wool-pack? or the Sugar-chest? Or lists of Velvet? which is't pound, or yard, You vent your Gentry by?
Hub. O Hemskirk, fye.
Van. Come, do not mind 'em, drink, he is no Wolfort, Captain, I advise you.
Hem. Alas, my pretty man, I think't be angry, by its look: Come hither, Turn this way, a little: if it were the blood Of Charlemaine, as't may (for ought