Act the Third
Scene I A Room in the Wise-woman’s House
Enter 2nd Luce, in woman’s apparel, and the Wise-woman.
Wise-woman.
Jack, thou art my boy.
2nd Luce.
Mistress!
Wise-woman.
I’ll be a mother to thee, no mistress. Come, lad, I must have thee sworn to the orders of my house, and the secrets thereof.
2nd Luce.
As I am an honest lad, I am yours to command. But, mistress, what mean all these women’s pictures, hanged here in your withdrawing-room?
Wise-woman.
I’ll tell thee, boy—marry, thou must be secret. When any citizens or young gentlemen come hither, under a colour to know their fortunes, they look upon these pictures, and which of them they best like, she is ready with a wet finger.27 Here they have all the furniture belonging to a private-chamber,—bed, bed-fellow, and all. But mum! thou knowest my meaning, Jack.
2nd Luce.
But I see, coming and going, maids, or such as go for maids, some of them as if they were ready to lie down, sometimes two or three delivered in one night; then suddenly leave their brats behind them, and convey themselves into the city again:—what becomes of their children?
Wise-woman.
Those be kitchen-maids, and chamber-maids, and sometimes good men’s daughters, who, having catched a clap,28 and growing near their time, get leave to see their friends in the country, for a week or so: then hither they come, and for a matter of money here they are delivered. I have a midwife or two belonging to the house, and one Sir Boniface, a deacon, that makes a shift to christen the infants; we have poor, honest, and secret neighbours, that stand for common gossips.29 But dost not thou know this?
2nd Luce.
Yes, now I do; but what after becomes of the poor infants?
Wise-woman.
Why, in the night we send them abroad, and lay one at this man’s door, and another at that, such as are able to keep them; and what after becomes of them, we inquire not. And this is another string to my bow.
2nd Luce.
[Aside.] Most strange, that woman’s brain should apprehend
Such lawless, indirect, and horrid means
For covetous gain! How many unknown trades
Women and men are free of, which they never
Had charter for!
But, mistress, are you so cunning as you make yourself? you can neither write nor read: what do you with those books you so often turn over?
Wise-woman.
Why, tell30 the leaves; for to be ignorant, and seem ignorant, what greater folly!
2nd Luce.
[Aside.] Believe me, this is a cunning woman; neither hath she her name for nothing, who out of her ignorance can fool so many that think themselves wise.—But wherefore have you built this little closet close to the door, where sitting, you may hear every word spoken by all such as ask for you?
Wise-woman.
True, and therefore I built it. If any knock, you must to the door and question them, to find what they come about,—if to this purpose, or to that. Now, they ignorantly telling thee their errand, which I, sitting in my closet, overhear, presently come forth, and tell them the cause of their coming, with every word that hath passed betwixt you in private; which they admiring, and thinking it to be miraculous, by their report I become thus famous.
2nd Luce.
This is no trade, but a mystery; and, were I a wise-woman, as indeed I am but a foolish boy, I need not live by your service. But, mistress, we lose ourselves in this discourse: is not this the morning in which I should be married?
Wise-woman.
Now, how had I forgot myself! Mistress Luce promised to be with me half an hour ago, but masked and disguised, and so shalt thou be too: here’s a black veil to hide thy face against the rest come.
[2nd Luce puts on the veil.
Enter Sir Boniface.
Sir Boniface.
Sit tibi bona dies, salus et quies.
Wise-woman.
Into the withdrawing-room, Sir Boniface.
Sir Boniface.
Without any compunction, I will make the conjunction. [Exit.
Wise-woman.
Now keep thy countenance, boy.
2nd Luce.
Fear not me; I have as good a face in a mask as any lady in the land could wish to have. But to my heart,—he comes, or he comes not—now am I in a pitiful perplexity, until I see the event of all.
Wise-woman.
No more Jack now, but Mistress Luce.
2nd Luce.
I warrant you, mistress.—That it happens so luckily, that my name should be Luce too, to make the marriage more firm!
Enter Young Chartley disguised, and in a visard.
Young Chartley.
My honey-sweet hag, where’s Luce?
Wise-woman.
Here, sweetheart, but disguised and veiled, as you are visarded.
Young Chartley.
But what’s the reason we are thus hoodwinked?
Wise-woman.
No discovery of yourselves for a million! There’s Sir Boniface within—shall he blab who you are? besides, there’s a young heir that hath stolen a lord’s daughter from the Court, and would not have their faces seen for a world. Cannot you be content to fare well, and keep your own counsel? And see, yonder they come.
Enter, severally, Boyster visarded and Luce masked.
Young Chartley.
Gramercy, my sugar-candy sweet Trot!
Wise-woman.
Mum, no more words.
Young Chartley.
If the great heir and the young lady be so dainty of their complexions, they shall see, my sweet Luce, we can visard it with the best of them.
Luce. [Looking at Boyster.]
That gentleman, by the wise-woman’s description, should be Master Chartley.
Boyster.
That gallant wench, if my grannam fable not, should be Luce; but what be those other?
Wise-woman.
You wrong me but to ask. Who but a young heir, and a lady of the Court? That’s Luce; take her, and keep your promise.
Boyster.
Pocas palabras.31
Wise-woman.
That’s Chartley; take him, Luce.
Luce.
But who be they?
Wise-woman.
A lord and lady. Shall Sir Boniface stay?
Rather than so, strive who should lead the way.
[Exeunt Chartley with 2nd Luce, Boyster with Luce.
Wise-woman.
Now, Jack my boy, keep thine own counsel and countenance, and I shall cry quittance with my young gallant. Well, by this time Sir Boniface is at his book. But because there is a mistake, known only to my boy and myself, the marriage shall be no sooner ended but I’ll disturb them by some sudden outcry, and that too before they have leisure to unmask, and make known themselves one to another; for, if the deceit were known, I should fall into the danger of that young mad rascal. And now this double apprehension of the lord and the lady shall fetch me off from all. I know it is Sir Boniface’s custom to make short work, and hath dispatched by this. And now, wise-woman, try if thou canst bestir thyself like to a mad-woman.—Shift for yourselves! Warrants and pursuivants! Away! warrants and pursuivants! shift for yourselves!
Re-enter, as affrighted and amazed, Young Chartley, Boyster, Sir Boniface, Luce, and 2nd Luce.
Young Chartley.
I’ll take this way.
Boyster.
I this.
[Exeunt Young Chartley and Boyster.
Sir Boniface.
Curro, curris, cucurri: my cheeks are all murrey,32 and I am gone in an hurry. [Exit.
Luce.
O Heaven! what shall become of me?
2nd Luce.
I know what shall become of me already.
Wise-woman.
O sweet daughter, shift clothes with this lady. Nay, as thou lovest thy credit and mine, change habits—[They change their outer garments.]—So, if thou be’st taken in her garments, finding the mistake will let thee pass; and should they meet her in thine, not knowing her, would no way question her; and this prove to both your securities and my safety.
Luce.
As fast as I can, good mother. So, madam, farewell. [Exit.
2nd Luce.
All happy joys betide you! [Exit.
Wise-woman.
Ha, ha! let me hold my sides, and laugh. Here were even a plot to make a play on, but that Chartley is so fooled by my boy Jack: well, he’ll make a notable wag, I’ll warrant him. All the jest will be, if Boyster should meet with him in Luce’s habit, which he hath now on, he would think himself merely gulled and cheated; and should Chartley meet with Luce as she is now robed, he would be confident he had married her. Let me see how many trades have I to live by: first, I am a wise-woman, and a fortune-teller, and under that I deal in physic and fore-speaking, in palmistry, and recovering of things lost; next, I undertake to cure mad folks; then I keep gentlewomen lodgers, to furnish such chambers as I let out by the night; then I am provided for bringing young wenches to bed; and, for a need, you see I can play the match-maker.
She that is but one, and professeth so many,
May well be termed a wise-woman, if there be any. [Exit.