THE NIGHT-WALKER; OR, THE LITTLE THIEF. A COMEDY. The first edition of this Play, in 1640, has the name of Fletcher alone to it, and it was probably therefore his production, without any assistance from his partner Beaumont. It used to be acted frequently in the last century; but we have not heard of any alteration or representation of it these many years. Enter Lurcher and Wildbrain. Lure. JACK! ACT I. [hither? Wildb. What plough? Thou hast no land; Lurc. 'Tis gone : Prithee, no more on't! Have I not told thee, Till labour came and thrust a new will in, Is nothing but a lawful cozenage, [neighbour, Wildb. Thy old opinion still. Lurc. Why should that scriv'ner, [thing Because he has a tougher constitution, He that shall sit down frighted with that Is not worth pity; let me alone to shuffle! Thou art for wenching. Wildb. For beauty I, a safe course : No halter hangs in my way; I defy it. Lurc. But a worse fate, a wilful poverty; For where thou gain'st by one that indeed loves thee, [destiny! A thousand will draw from thee; 'tis thy pay I will employ my wits a great deal faster Than you shall do your fingers; and my loves, If I mistake not, shall prove riper harvest And handsomer, and come within less dan. Where's thy young sister? [ger. Lure. I know not where she is; she's not worth caring for, [her! She has no wit. Oh, you'd be nibbling with She's far enough, I hope; I know not where; She's not worth caring for, a sullen thing, She would not take my counsel, Jack; and so I parted from her. Wildb. Leave her to her wants? Lurc. I gave her a little money, what I could spare; She had a mind to th' country; she is turn'd, By this, some farmer's dairy-maid'; I may [sers2; meet her Riding from market one day, 'twixt her dor- Wildb. Thou wilt not rob thy sister? Lure. She shall account me for her eggs and cheeses. [love her? Wildb. A pretty girl.-Did not old Algripe A very pretty girl she was. Lurc. Some such thing; But he was too wise to fasten. Let her pass. I chose her not for your use. Wilb. Sure she's handsome. [handsome; Lurc. Yes, indeed is she; she is very But that's all one. Wildb. You'll come to th' marriage? ers. Enter Heartlove. 1 Gent. I'm sorry for't. [start not, sir! Here comes poor Frank.-Nay, we're friends; We see your willow, and are sorry for't; And, tho' it be a wedding, we're half mourn[my fortunes: Heartl. Good gentlemen, remember not They are not to be help'd with words. Wildb. Look up, man! [a wench? A proper sensible fellow, and shrink for a Are there no more? or is she all the handHeartl. Prithee, leave fooling. [someness? Wildb. Prithee, leave thou whining! Have maids forgot to love? Heartl. You are injurious. flow thee. Wildb. Let 'em alone a while, they'll fol1 Gent. Come, good Frank, Forget now, since there is no remedy, [do. And shew a merry face, as wise men would 2 Gent. Be a free guest, and think not of those passages. Wildb. Think how to nick him home; thou know'st she dotes on thee; Graft me a dainty medlar on his crabstock; Pay me the dreaming puppy. 1 Some farrier's dairy maid.] That this is sense, and may be true, I won't dispute; but I can't yet help thinking that the better reading is, A farmer's dairy maid. Sympson. 2 Dorsers.] i. e. Panniers. See Johnson's Dictionary. Heartl [Exit. [jects. Heurtl. Yes, When I'm mischievous I'll believe your proShe's gone, for ever gone, (I cannot help it) My hopes and all my happiness gone with ber, [jollity Gone like a pleasing dream! What mirth and Reigns round about this house! how every office Sweats with new joys! Can she be merry too? That offer'd naked truth, are clean forgotten: Enter Lady and Wildbruin. [enemy, Lady. He shall come in! Walk without doors o'this day? Tho' an It must not be. Wildb. You must compel him, madam. Lady. No, she shall fetch him in, nephew; it shall be so. Wildb. It will be fittest. [Exit with Lady. Heartl. Can fair Maria look again upon me? [ness? Can there be so much impudence in sweet- Or has she got a strong heart to defy me? But from a sounder heart: yes, and can weep But 'tis for you, that ever I believ'd you, [too; Tears of more pious value than your marriage! You would encase yourself3, and I must credit you, So much my old obedience compels from me! Go, and forget me, and my poverty I need not bid you, you're too perfect that way: But still remember that I lov'd, Maria, [me! Lov'd with a loyal love. Nay, turn not from I will not ask a tear inore, you are bountiful; Go, and rejoice, and I will wait upon you That little of my life left! Maria. Good sir, hear me! [obedience What has been done, was th' act of my And not my will, forc'd from me by my pa rents: Now 'tis done, do as I do, bear it handsomely; You talk of little time of life, dear Frank; Add what I coveted, content. Go with me; They seek a day of joy; prithee let's shew it, Tho' it be forc'd; and, by this kiss believe me, However I must live at his command now, I'll die at yours. Heartl. I have enough; I'll honour you! [Exeunt. Enter Lurcher. Lurc. Here are my trinkets, and this lusty marriage I mean to visit; I have shifts of all sorts, And here are thousand wheels to set 'em working. I'm very merry, for I know this wedding Will yield me lusty pillage: ifiad Wildgoose, That debauchi'd rogue, keep but his ancient revels, And breed a hubbub in the house, I'ın happy. Enter Alathe. Now, what are you? Alathe. A poor distressed boy, sir, [treat Too tender, and too bashful a behaviour. 3 You would encase yourself.] Sympson supposes encase a corruption, and would substitute excuse. We think encase may be genuine, and used in the sense of defend, arm yourself with an excuse. VOL. III. K Alathe. Alathe. I can learn any thing [master. That's good and honest, and shall please a Lurc. He blushes as he speaks, and that I like not; I love a bold and secure confidence, [now, Lurc. Nor thou hast no wit To dissemble neatly? Alathe. Do you love such boys, sir? Out-face all truth, yet do it piously; Are good for nothing, but to get long graces, And cherish thee, hadst thou any active qua- Alathe. Do you speak this seriously? Alathe. Would you have your boy, sir, Lure. Now thou mov'st me. [activities? Alathe. And be a well-train'd youth in all Lurc. By any means. Alathe. Or do you this to try me, Fearing a proneness? Lure. I speak this to make thee. Alathe. Then take me, sir, and cherish me, and love me; [sir, You have me what you would: believe ine, I can do any thing for your advantage. I guess at what you mean; I can lie naturally, As easily as I can sleep, sir, and securely; As naturally I can steal too— Lure. That I'm glad on, [thou'rt excellent. Right heartily glad on; hold thee there, Alathe. Steal any thing from any body livLurch. Not from thy master? Alathe. That is mine own body, And must not be. Ling. Lurc. The boy mends mightily. Alathe. A rich man, that like snow heaps up his monies, I have a kind of pious zeal to meet still; Of mine own nature just! And on the edge of danger I do best, sir. Lurc. Peace! I've found a jewel, Alathe. This tittle, and I've done, sir: I never can confess, I've that spell on me; And such rare modesties before a magistrate, Such innocence to catch a judge, such igno[Come, boy! Lure. I'll learn of thee; thou art mine own. I'll give thee action presently. Alathe. Have at you! rance- Lure. What must I call thee? Lurc. 'Tis most natural; A name born to thee: sure thou art a fairy! Shew but thy skill, and I shall make thee happy. [Exeunt. Enter Lady, Nurse, Mrs. Newlove, and Toby. Lady. Where be these knaves? who strews up all the liveries? Is the bride's bed made? Toby. Yes, madam, and a bell Hung under it artificially. ady. Out, knave, out! Must we have larums now? Toby. A little warning, [healths, madam. That we may know when to begin our The justice is a kind of old jade, madam, That will go merriest with a bell. Lady. All the house drunk? Toby. This is a day of jubilee. Lady. Are the best hangings up? and the plate set out? Who makes the posset, Nurse? Nurse. The dairy-maid, [per. And she will put that in will make him caWell, inadam, well, you might ha' chose anoA handsomer, for her years+. Lady. Peace! he is rich, Nurse; He's rich, and that is beauty. [ther, Nurse. I am sure he's rotten; [saw her! 'Would h' had been hang'd when he first Lady. Termagant! [looks to him? What an angry quean is this! Where, who Toby. He's very merry, madam; master Wildbrain Has him in hand, i'th' bottom o' the cellar: He sighs and tipples Nurse. Alas, good gentleman! My heart's sore for thee. [rah, Lady. Sorrow must have his course. SirGive him some sack to dry up his remem brance. [him. How does the bridegroom? I am afraid of 4 A handsomer for your years.] The amendment proposed by Sympson. 5 When he first saw her, Termagant.] The word termagant has hitherto been made a part of the Nurse's speech. It undoubtedly (as Sympson supposes) belongs to the Lady; though he would omit the words angry quean in the next line, and put termagant in their place. Nurse. Nurse. He's a trim youth to be tender of, Lady. Peace, peace! thou'rt foolish. [deal; You had better marry her to her grave a great There will be peace and rest. Alas, poor gentlewoman! [ness? Must she become a nurse, now in her tender- Lady. And an old fool, to be vex'd thus! Drink for a boy: away to all your charges! [Exeunt. Enter Wildbrain and Heart love. Wildb. Do as thou wo't; but, if thou dost Thou art the stupid'st ass-There's no long Heartl. I'm hot with wine, And apt now to believe; but if thou dost this Wildb. Does she not love thee? [with thee? women; What opportunity can I have to meet her? Heartl. I will go presently; now, now, I Wildb. Such a dainty doe to be taken Nor cannot relish braggat from ambrosia3? Nurse. And dances like a town-top.] The putting this line in the Nurse's mouth is against all sense and reason, and confounds the discourse: I suspect these words belong to Toby, whose speech at sighs and tipples being interrupted by the Lady and the Nurse, is here resumed and finished. Sympson. ? Frank. I will go, &c.] Sympson supposes we should both alter and divide this speech, making Wildbruin say, Now, now, I say. 3 Nor cannot relish braggat from ambrosia.] Braggat, i. e. mead and ale sweetened with honey. Our authors in this place have receded from the common acceptation of ambrosia, making that the liquor here, which the general run of the classics call the meat of the gods. But they are not destitute of good authority for so doing. Thus in Athenæus, b. ii. c. 2. Anaxandrides introduces one saying, that he eats nectar and drinks ambrosia, &c. And Sappho too to the same purpose, a little lower, says in one of her poems, A bowl ambrosial was mixed. Apuleius, b. vi. among the Latins, takes the same liberty, when Psyche is to be made immortal, Mercury holds out a cup of ambrosia to her, and bids her drink of it, &c. After I had wrote this, I found the same observation had been made by Le Clerc, in his notes upon Hesiod's Theogony, verse 640, Neither are our authors the only English poets who make ambrosia the gods" drink: Taylor, the Water-poet, has done the same in his Pennyless Pilgrimage, And I intreat you take these words for no-lies; I had good aqua-vita, rosa so-lies, With sweet ambrosia (the gods' own drink) But how this person came by the knowledge of such a thing, I have neither will nor Leisure to examine at present. Sympson. K 2 Heartl. |