Scene III A Field Near Foy
Enter Bess Bridges, like a Page, with a sword; and Clem.
Bess.
But that I know my mother to be chaste,
I’d swear some soldier got me.
Clem.
It may be many a soldier’s buff jerkin came out of your father’s tan-vat.
Bess.
Methinks I have a manly spirit in me,
In this man’s habit.
Clem.
Now, am not I of many men’s minds; for, if you should do me wrong, I should not kill you, though I took you pissing against a wall.
Bess.
Methinks I could be valiant on the sudden,
And meet a man i’ the field.
I could do all that I have heard discoursed
Of Mary Ambree,23 or Westminster’s Long Meg.
Clem.
What Mary Ambree was I cannot tell; but unless you were taller, you will come short of Long Meg.
Bess.
Of all thy fellows, thee I only trust,
And charge thee to be secret.
Clem.
I am bound in my indentures to keep my master’s secrets; and should I find a man in bed with you, I would not tell.
Bess.
Begone, sir; but no words, as you esteem my favour.
Clem.
But, mistress, I could wish you to look to your long seams; fights are dangerous. But am not I in a sweet taking, think you?
Bess.
I prithee, why?
Clem.
Why, if you should swagger and kill anybody, I, being a vintner, should be called to the bar. [Exit.
Bess.
Let none condemn me of immodesty,
Because I try the courage of a man,
Who on my soul’s a coward, beats my servants,
Cuffs them, and, as they pass by him, kicks my maids;
Nay, domineers over me, making himself
Lord o’er my house and household. Yesternight
I heard him make appointment on some business
To pass alone this way. I’ll venture fair,
But I will try what’s in him.
Enter Roughman and Fawcett.
Fawcett.
Sir, I can now no farther; weighty business
Calls me away.
Roughman.
Why, at your pleasure, then.
Yet I could wish that ere I passed this field
That I could meet some Hector, so your eyes
Might witness what myself have oft repeated,
Namely, that I am valiant.
Fawcett.
Sir, no doubt;
But now I am in haste. Farewell. [Exit.
Roughman.
How many times brave words bear out a man!
For if he can but make a noise, he’s feared.
To talk of frays, although he ne’er had heart
To face a man in field, that’s a brave fellow.
I have been valiant, I must needs confess,
In street and tavern, where there have been men
Ready to part the fray; but for the fields,
They are too cold to fight in.
Bess.
You are a villain, a coward; and you lie. [Strikes him.
Roughman.
You wrong me, I protest. Sweet, courteous gentleman,
I never did you wrong.
Bess.
Wilt tell me that?
Draw forth thy coward sword, and suddenly,
Or, as I am a man, I’ll run thee through,
And leave thee dead i’ the field.
Roughman.
Hold! as you are a gentleman.
I have ta’en an oath I will not fight to-day.
Bess.
Th’ast took a blow already, and the lie:
Will not both these enrage thee?
Roughman.
No; would you give the bastinado too,
I will not break mine oath.
Bess.
Oh! your name’s Roughman:
No day doth pass you, but you hurt or kill!
Is this out of your calendar?
Roughman.
I! you are deceived.
I ne’er drew sword in anger, I protest,
Unless it were upon some poor, weak fellow,
That ne’er wore steel about him.
Bess.
Throw your sword.
Roughman.
Here, sweet young sir; [Gives up his sword.] but, as you are a gentleman,
Do not impair mine honour.
Bess.
Tie that shoe.
Roughman.
I shall, sir.
Bess.
Untruss that point.24
Roughman.
Any thing, this day, to save mine oath.
Bess.
Enough;—yet not enough. Lie down,
Till I stride o’er thee.
Roughman.
Sweet sir, any thing.
Bess.
Rise, thou hast leave. Now, Roughman, thou art blest:
This day thy life is saved; look to the rest.
Take back thy sword.
Roughman.
Oh! you are generous: honour me so much
As let me know to whom I owe my life.
Bess.
I am Bess Bridges’ brother.
Roughman.
Still methought
That you were something like her.
Bess.
And I have heard
You domineer and revel in her house,
Control her servants, and abuse her guests,
Which if I ever shall hereafter hear,
Thou art but a dead man.
Roughman.
She never told me of a brother living;
But you have power to sway me.
Bess.
But for I see you are a gentleman,
I am content this once to let you pass;
But if I find you fall into relapse,
The second’s far more dangerous.
Roughman.
I shall fear it.
Sir, will you take the wine?
Bess.
I am for London,
And for these two terms cannot make return;
But if you see my sister, you may say
I was in health.
Roughman.
Too well: the devil take you! [Aside.
Bess.
Pray, use her well, and at my coming back
I’ll ask for your acquaintance. Now, farewell. [Exit.
Roughman.
None saw’t: he’s gone for London; I am unhurt;
Then who shall publish this disgrace abroad?
One man’s no slander, should he speak his worst.
My tongue’s as loud as his; but in this country
Both of more fame and credit. Should we contest,
I can outface the proudest. This is, then,
My comfort. Roughman, thou art still the same,
For a disgrace not seen is held no shame. [Exit.