Act the Second
Scene I Before the Wise-woman’s House
Enter the Wise-woman, a Countryman with a urinal, two Citizens’ Wives, Taber, and a Kitchen-maid.
Wise-woman.
Fie, fie! what a toil and a moil it is For a woman to be wiser than all her neighbours!
I pray, good people, press not too fast upon me;
Though I have two ears, I can hear but one at once.
You with the urine.
Enter 2nd Luce in Boy’s clothes; she stands aside.
Countryman.
Here, forsooth, mistress.
Wise-woman.
And who distilled this water?
Countryman.
My wife’s limbeck, if it please you.
Wise-woman.
And where doth the pain hold her most?
Countryman.
Marry, at her heart, forsooth.
Wise-woman.
Ay, at her heart, she hath a griping at her heart?
Countryman.
You have hit it right.
Wise-woman.
Nay, I can see so much in the urine.
2nd Luce.
Just so much as is told her. [Aside.
Wise-woman.
She hath no pain in her head, hath she?
Countryman.
No, indeed, I never heard her complain of her head.
Wise-woman.
I told you so, her pain lies all at her heart;
Alas, good heart! but how feels she her stomach?
Countryman.
Oh, queasy13 and sick at stomach.
Wise-woman.
Ay, I warrant you, I think I can see as far into a mill-stone as another. You have heard of Mother Nottingham, who for her time was prettily well skilled in casting of waters; and after her, Mother Bomby; and then there is one Hatfield in Pepper Alley, he doth pretty well for a thing that’s lost. There’s another in Coleharbour, that’s skilled in the planets. Mother Sturton, in Golden Lane, is for fore-speaking;14 Mother Phillips, of the Bankside, for the weakness of the back; and then there’s a very reverend matron on Clerkenwell Green, good at many things. Mistress Mary on the Bankside is for ’recting a figure;15 and one (what do you call her?) in Westminster, that practiseth the book and the key, and the sieve and the shears: and all do well, according to their talent. For myself, let the world speak. Hark you, my friend, you shall take— [She whispers.
2nd Luce.
’Tis strange the ignorant should be thus fooled!
What can this witch, this wizard, or old trot,
Do by enchantment, or by magic spell?
Such as profess that art should be deep scholars.
What reading can this simple woman have?
’Tis palpable gross foolery.
[Exit Countryman.
Wise-woman.
Now, friend, your business?
Taber.
I have stolen out of my master’s house, forsooth, with the kitchen-maid, and I am come to know of you whether it be my fortune to have her or no.
Wise-woman.
And what’s your suit, lady?
Kitchen-maid.
Forsooth, I come to know whether I be a maid or no.
Wise-woman.
Why, art thou in doubt of that?
Kitchen-maid.
It may be I have more reason than all the world knows.
Taber.
Nay, if thou comest to know whether thou be’st a maid or no, I had best ask to know whether I be with child or no.
Wise-woman.
Withdraw into the parlour there; I’ll but talk with this other gentlewoman, and I’ll resolve you presently.
Taber.
Come, Cicely, if she cannot resolve thee, I can; and in the case of a maidenhead do more than she, I warrant thee.
[Exeunt Taber and Kitchen-maid.
1st Citizen Wife.
Forsooth, I am bold, as they say——
Wise-woman.
You are welcome, gentlewoman.
1st Citizen Wife.
I would not have it known to my neighbours that I come to a wise-woman for any thing, by my truly.
Wise-woman.
For should your husband come and find you here—
1st Citizen Wife.
My husband, woman! I am a widow.
Wise-woman.
Where are my brains? ’Tis true, you are a widow; and you dwell—let me see, I can never remember that place.
1st Citizen Wife.
In Kent-street.
Wise-woman.
Kent-street, Kent-street! and I can tell you wherefore you come.
1st Citizen Wife.
Why, and say true?
Wise-woman.
You are a wag, you are a wag: why, what do you think now I would say?
1st Citizen Wife.
Perhaps to know how many husbands I should have.
Wise-woman.
And if I should say so, should I say amiss?
1st Citizen Wife.
I think you are a witch.
Wise-woman.
In, in: I’ll but read a little of Ptolemy and Erra Pater16; and when I have cast a figure, I’ll come to you presently. [Exeunt Citizens’ Wives.] Now, wag, what wouldst thou have?
2nd Luce.
[Aside.] If this were a wise-woman, she could tell that without asking. Now methinks I should come to know whether I were a boy or a girl.—Forsooth, I lack a service.
Wise-woman.
By my fidelity, and I want a good trusty lad.
2nd Luce.
[Aside.] Now could I sigh, and say “Alas! this is some bawd trade-fallen, and out of her wicked experience is come to be reputed wise.” I’ll serve her, be’t but to pry into the mystery of her science.
Wise-woman.
A proper stripling, and a wise, I warrant him.—Here’s a penny for thee, I’ll hire thee for a year by the Statute of Winchester;17 prove true and honest, and thou shalt want nothing that a good boy—
2nd Luce.
Here, wise-woman, you are out again: I shall want what a good boy should have, whilst I live.—Well, here I shall live both unknown, and my sex unsuspected. But whom have we here?
Enter Haringfield, and Young Chartley half drunk.
Young Chartley.
Come, Haringfield, now we have been drinking of Mother Red-cap’s ale, let us now go make some sport with the wise-woman.
Haringfield.
We shall be thought very wise men of all such as shall see us go in to the wise-woman’s.
Young Chartley.
See, here she is. How now, witch! How now, hag! How now, beldam! You are the wise-woman, are you? and have wit to keep yourself warm enough, I warrant you.
Wise-woman.
Out, thou knave!
2nd Luce.
And will these wild oats never be sown? [Aside.
Young Chartley.
You enchantress, sorceress, she-devil! you Madam Hecate, Lady Proserpine! you are too old, you hag, now, for conjuring up spirits yourself; but you keep pretty young witches under your roof, that can do that.
Wise-woman.
I or my family conjure up any spirits! I defy thee, thou young hare-brained—
Haringfield.
Forbear him till he have his senses about him, and I shall then hold thee for a wise-woman indeed: otherwise, I shall doubt thou hast thy name for nothing. Come, friend, away, if thou lovest me.
Young Chartley.
Away, you old dromedary! I’ll come one of these nights, and make a racket amongst your she-caterwaulers.
Haringfield.
I prithee let’s be civil.
Young Chartley.
Out of my sight, thou she-mastiff!
[Exeunt Young Chartley and Haringfield.
2nd Luce.
Patience, sweet mistress.
Wise-woman.
Now, bless me, he hath put me into such a fear, as makes all my bones to dance and rattle in my skin: I’ll be revenged on that swaggering companion.
2nd Luce.
Mistress, I wish you would; he’s a mere mad-cap, and all his delight is in misusing such reverend matrons as yourself.
Wise-woman.
Well, what’s thy name, boy?
2nd Luce.
I am even little better than a turnbroach, for my name is Jack.
Wise-woman.
Honest Jack, if thou couldst but devise how I might cry quittance with this cutting Dick18 I will go near to adopt thee my son and heir.
2nd Luce.
Mistress, there is a way, and this it is:
To-morrow morning doth this gentleman
Intend to marry with one Mistress Luce,
A goldsmith’s daughter; do you know the maid?
Wise-woman.
My daughter, and a pretty smug-faced girl. I had a note but late from her, and she means to be with me in the evening: for I have bespoke Sir Boniface to marry her in the morning.
2nd Luce.
Do but prevent this gallant of his wife,
And then your wrongs shall be revenged at full.
Wise-woman.
I’ll do’t, as I am matron; ay, and show him a new trick for his learning.
Enter Boyster.
Boyster.
Morrow.
Wise-woman.
You’re welcome, sir.
Boyster.
Art wise?
2nd Luce.
He should be wise, because he speaks few words.
Wise-woman.
I am as I am, and there’s an end.
Boyster.
Canst conjure?
Wise-woman.
Oh, that’s a foul word! but I can tell you your fortune, as they say; I have some little skill in palmistry, but never had to do with the devil.
Boyster.
And had the devil never anything to do with thee? thou look’st somewhat like his dam. Look on me: canst tell what I ail?
Wise-woman.
Can you tell yourself? I should guess you be mad, or not well in your wits.
Boyster.
Thou’rt wise, I am so: men being in love are mad, and I being in love am so.
Wise-woman.
Nay, if I see your complexion once, I think I can guess as near as another.
Boyster.
One Mistress Luce I love; know’st thou her, grannam?
Wise-woman.
As well as the beggar knows his dish. Why, she is one of my daughters.
Boyster.
Make her my wife, I’ll give thee forty pieces.
2nd Luce.
Take them, mistress, to be revenged on Chartley.
Wise-woman.
A bargain; strike me luck. Cease all your sorrow;
Fair Luce shall be your bride betimes to-morrow.
Boyster.
Thou’rt a good grannam; and, but that thy teeth stand like hedge-stakes in thy head, I’d kiss thee. [Exit.
Wise-woman.
Pray will you in? Come hither, Jack; I have a new trick come into my head: wilt thou assist me in’t?
2nd Luce.
If it concern the crossing of the marriage with Mistress Luce, I’ll do’t, whate’er it be.
Wise-woman.
Thou shalt be tired like a woman. Can you make a curtsey, take small strides, simper, and seem modest? methinks thou hast a woman’s voice already.
2nd Luce.
Doubt not of me, I’ll act them naturally.
Wise-woman.
I have conceited to have Luce married to this blunt gentleman, she mistaking him for Chartley; and Chartley shall marry thee, being a boy, and take thee for Luce. Will’t not be excellent?
2nd Luce.
Oh, super, super-excellent!
Wise-woman.
Play but thy part as I’ll act mine. I’ll fit him with a wife, I warrant him.
2nd Luce.
And a wife I’ll warrant him.
[Exeunt.