The English Traveller
Act the First
Scene I A Room in Old Wincott’s House
Enter Young Geraldine and Delavil.
Delavil.
Oh, friend, that I to mine own notion
Had joined but your experience! I have
The theoric, but you the practic.
Young Geraldine.
I
Perhaps have seen what you have only read of.
Delavil.
There’s your happiness.
A scholar in his study knows the stars,
Their motion and their influence, which are fixed
And which are wandering, can decipher seas,
And give each several land his proper bounds;
But set him to the compass, he’s to seek,
When a plain pilot can direct his course
From hence unto both the Indies; can bring back
His ship and charge, with profits quintuple.
I have read Jerusalem, and studied Rome,
Can tell in what degree each city stands,
Describe the distance of this place from that—
All this the scale in every map can teach;
Nay, for a need could punctually recite
The monuments in either; but what I
Have by relation only, knowledge by travel,
Which still makes up a complete gentleman,
Proves eminent in you.
Young Geraldine.
I must confess
I have seen Jerusalem and Rome, have brought
Mark from the one, from the other testimony,
Known Spain, and France, and from their airs have sucked
A breath of every language: but no more
Of this discourse, since we draw near the place
Of them we go to visit.
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Noble Master Geraldine, worshipful Master Delavil!
Delavil.
I see thou still rememberest us.
Clown.
Remember you! I have had so many memorandums from the multiplicities of your bounties, that not to remember you were to forgot myself; you are both most ingeniously and nobly welcome.
Young Geraldine.
And why ingeniously and nobly?
Clown.
Because had I given your welcomes other attributes than I have done, the one being a soldier, and the other seeming a scholar, I should have lied in the first, and showed myself a kind of blockhead in the last.
Young Geraldine.
I see your wit is nimble as your tongue;
But how doth all at home?
Clown.
Small doings at home, sir, in regard that the age of my master corresponds not with the youth of my mistress, and you know cold January and lusty May seldom meet in conjunction.
Delavil.
I do not think but this fellow in time may for his wit and understanding make almanacks.
Clown.
Not so, sir, you being more judicious than I, I’ll give you the pre-eminence in that, because I see by proof you have such judgment in times and seasons.
Delavil.
And why in times and seasons?
Clown.
Because you have so seasonably made choice to come so just at dinner-time. You are welcome, gentlemen; I’ll go tell my master of your coming. [Exit.
Delavil.
A pleasant knave.
Young Geraldine.
This fellow I perceive
Is well acquainted with his master’s mind.
Oh ’tis a good old man.
Delavil.
And she a lady
For beauty and for virtue unparalleled,
Nor can you name that thing to grace a woman
She has not in a full perfection.
Though in their years might seem disparity,
And therefore at the first a match unfit,
Imagine but his age and government,
Withal her modesty and chaste respect;
Betwixt them there’s so sweet a sympathy
As crowns a noble marriage.
Young Geraldine.
’Tis acknowledged;
But to the worthy gentleman himself
I am so bound in many courtesies,
That not the least, by all the expression
My labour or my industry can show,
I will know how to cancel.
Delavil.
Oh, you are modest.
Young Geraldine.
He studies to engross me to himself,
And is so wedded to my company,
He makes me stranger to my father’s house,
Although so near a neighbour.
Delavil.
This approves you
To be most nobly propertied, that from one
So exquisite in judgment, can attract
So affectionate an eye.
Young Geraldine.
Your character
I must bestow on his unmerited love,
As one that know I have it, and yet ignorant
Which way I should deserve it: here both come.
Enter Old Wincott, his Wife, and Prudentilla.
Wincott.
Gentlemen, welcome; but what need I use
A word so common, unto such to whom
My house was never private? I expect
You should not look for such a needless phrase,
Especially you, Master Geraldine;
Your father is my neighbour, and I know you
Even from the cradle; then I loved your infancy,
And since your riper growth bettered by travel:
My wife and you in youth were play-fellows,
And must not now be strangers; as I take it,
Not above two years different in your age.
Wife.
So much he hath outstripped me.
Wincott.
I would have you
Think this your home, free as your father’s house,
And to command it, as the master on’t;
Call boldly here, and entertain your friends,
As in your own possessions: when I see’t,
I’ll say you love me truly, not till then;
Oh, what a happiness your father hath,
Far above me!—one to inherit after him,
Where I (Heaven knows) am childless.
Young Geraldine.
That defect
Heaven hath supplied in this your virtuous wife,
Both fair, and full of all accomplishments;
My father is a widower, and herein
Your happiness transcends him.
Wife.
Oh, Master Geraldine,
Flattery in men’s an adjunct of their sex,
This country breeds it, and for that, so far
You needed not to have travelled.
Young Geraldine.
Truth’s a word
That should in every language relish well,
Nor have I that exceeded.
Wife.
Sir, my husband
Hath took much pleasure in your strange discourse
About Jerusalem and the Holy Land:
How the new city differs from the old,
What ruins of the Temple yet remain,
And whether Sion, and those hills about,
With the adjacent towns and villages,
Keep that proportioned distance as we read;
And then in Rome, of that great pyramis
Reared in the front, on four lions mounted;
How many of those idol temples stand,
First dedicated to their heathen gods,
Which ruined, which to better use repaired;
Of their Pantheon, and their Capitol,—
What structures are demolished, what remain.
Wincott.
And what more pleasure to an old man’s ear,
That never drew save his own country’s air,
Than hear such things related? I do exceed him
In years, I must confess, yet he much older
Than I in his experience.
Prudentilla.
Master Geraldine,
May I be bold to ask you but one question,
The which I’d be resolved in?
Young Geraldine.
Anything
That lies within my knowledge.
Wincott.
Put him to’t.
Do, sister, you shall find him, make no doubt,
Most pregnant in his answer.
Prudentilla.
In your travels
Through France, through Savoy, and through Italy,
Spain, and the Empire, Greece and Palestine,
Which breeds the choicest beauties?
Young Geraldine.
In troth, lady,
I never cast on any in those parts
A curious eye of censure,3 since my travel
Was only aimed at language, and to know;
These passed me but as common objects did—
Seen, but not much regarded.
Prudentilla.
Oh, you strive
To express a most unheard-of modesty,
And seldom found in any traveller,
Especially of our country, thereby seeking
To make yourself peculiar.
Young Geraldine.
I should be loth
Profess in outward show to be one man,
And prove myself another.
Prudentilla.
One thing more:
Were you to marry, you that know these climes,
Their states and their conditions, out of which Of all these countries would you choose your wife?
Young Geraldine.
I’ll answer you in brief: as I observe,
Each several clime, for object, fare, or use,
Affords within itself for all of these
What is most pleasing to the man there born:
Spain, that yields scant of food, affords the nation
A parsimonious stomach, where4 our appetites
Are not content but with the large excess
Of a full table; where the pleasing’st fruits
Are found most frequent, there they best content;
Where plenty flows, it asks abundant feasts;
For so hath provident Nature dealt with all.
So in the choice of women: the Greek wantons,
Compelled beneath the Turkish slavery,
Vassal themselves to all men, and such best
Please the voluptuous that delight in change;
The French is of one humour, Spain another,
The hot Italian has a strain from both,
All pleased with their own nations—even the Moor,
He thinks the blackest the most beautiful;
And, lady, since you so far tax my choice,
I’ll thus resolve you: being an Englishman,
’Mongst all these nations I have seen or tried,
To please me best, here would I choose my bride.
Prudentilla.
And happy were that lady, in my thoughts,
Whom you would deign that grace to.
Wife.
How now, sister!
This is a fashion that’s but late come up.
For maids to court their husbands.
Wincott.
I would, wife,
It were no worse, upon condition
They had my helping hand and purse to boot,
With both in ample measure. Oh, this gentleman
I love, nay almost dote on.
Wife.
You’ve my leave
To give it full expression.
Wincott.
In these arms, then.
Oh, had my youth been blest with such a son,
To have made my estate to my name hereditary,
I should have gone contented to my grave,
As to my bed; to death, as to my sleep;
But Heaven hath will in all things. Once more welcome;
And you, sir, for your friend’s sake.
Delavil.
Would I had in me
That which he hath, to have claimed it for mine own;
However, I much thank you.
Enter Clown.
Wincott.
Now, sir, the news with you?
Clown.
Dancing news, sir; for the meat stands piping hot upon the dresser, the kitchen’s in a heat, and the cook hath so bestirred himself that he’s in a sweat. The jack5 plays music, and the spits turn round to’t.
Wincott.
This fellow’s my best clock,
He still strikes true to dinner.
Clown.
And to supper too, sir: I know not how the day goes with you, but my stomach hath struck twelve, I can assure you that.
Wincott.
You take us unprovided, gentlemen;
Yet something you shall find, and we would rather
Give you the entertain of household guests
Than compliment of strangers. I pray enter.
[Exeunt all but Clown.
Clown.
I’ll stand to’t, that in good hospitality there can be nothing found that’s ill: he that’s a good house-keeper keeps a good table, a good table is never without good stools, good stools seldom without good guests, good guests never without good cheer, good cheer cannot be without good stomachs, good stomachs without good digestion, good digestion keeps men in good health; and therefore, all good people that bear good minds, as you love goodness, be sure to keep good meat and drink in your houses, and so you shall be called good men, and nothing can come on’t but good, I warrant you. [Exit.