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قراءة كتاب Beggars Bush: A Comedy From the Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Volume 2 of 10)

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‏اللغة: English
Beggars Bush: A Comedy
From the Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Volume 2 of 10)

Beggars Bush: A Comedy From the Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Volume 2 of 10)

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 6


Gos. Not any.

2 Mer. I am sorry Sir. [Exit.

Gos. They talk me down: and as 'tis said of Vulturs
They scent a field fought, and do smell the carkasses
By many hundred miles: So do these, my wracks
At greater distances. Why, thy will Heaven
Come on, and be: yet if thou please, preserve me;
But in my own adventure, here at home,
Of my chast love, to keep me worthy of her,
It shall be put in scale 'gainst all ill fortunes:
I am not broken yet: nor should I fall,
Me thinks with less than that, that ruins all. [Exit.


Enter Van-dunck, Hubert, Hemskirk, and Margaret, Boors.

Van. Captain, you are welcom; so is this your friend
Most safely welcom, though our Town stand out
Against your Master, you shall find good quarter:
The troth is, we not love him: Margaret some wine,
Let's talk a little treason, if we can
Talk treason, 'gainst the traitors; by your leave, Gentlemen,
We, here in Bruges, think he do's usurp,
And therefore I am bold with him.

Hub. Sir, your boldness
Happily becomes your mouth, but not our ears,
While we are his servants; And as we come here,
Not to ask questions, walk forth on your walls,
Visit your courts of guard, view your munition,
Ask of your corn-provisions, nor enquire
Into the least, as spies upon your strengths,
So let's entreat, we may receive from you
Nothing in passage or discourse, but what
We may with gladness, and our honesties here,
And that shall seal our welcom.

Van. Good: let's drink then, Fill out, I keep mine old pearl still Captain.

Marg. I hang fast man.

Hen. Old Jewels commend their keeper, Sir.

Van. Here's to you with a heart, my Captains friend,
With a good heart, and if this make us speak
Bold words, anon, 'tis all under the Rose
Forgotten: drown all memory, when we drink.

Hub. 'Tis freely spoken noble Burgomaster, I'le do you right.

Hem. Nay Sir mine heer Van-dunck Is a true Statesman.

Van. Fill my Captains cup there, O that your Master Wolfort Had been an honest man.

Hub. Sir?

Van. Under the Rose.

Hem. Here's to you Marget.

Marg. Welcome, welcome Captain.

Van. Well said my pearl still.

Hem. And how does my Niece?
Almost a Woman, I think? This friend of mine,
I drew along w[i]th me, through so much hazard,
Only to see her: she was my errand.

Van. I, a kind Uncle you are (fill him his glass) That in seven years, could not find leisure—

Hem. No, It's not so much.

Van. I'le bate you ne'r an hour on't,
It was before the Brabander 'gan his War,
For moon-shine, i'the water there, his Daughter
That never was lost: yet you could not find time
To see a Kinswoman; but she is worth the seeing, Sir,
Now you are come, you ask if she were a Woman?
She is a Woman, Sir, fetch her forth Marget. [Exit Marg.
And a fine Woman, and has Suitors.

Hem. How? What Suitors are they?

Van. Bachellors; young Burgers: And one, a Gallant, the young Prince of Merchants We call him here in Bruges.

Hem. How? a Merchant?
I thought, Vandunke, you had understood me better,
And my Niece too, so trusted to you by me,
Than t'admit of such in name of Suitors.

Van. Such? he is such a such, as were she mine I'd give him thirty thousand crowns with her.

Hem. But the same things, Sir, fit not you and me. [Ex.

Van. Why, give's some wine, then; this will fit us all:
Here's to you still, my Captains friend: All out:
And still, would Wolfort were an honest man,
Under the Rose, I speak it: but this Merchant
Is a brave boy: he lives so, i'the Town here,
We know not what to think on him: at some times
We fear he will be Bankrupt; he do's stretch
Tenter his credit so; embraces all,
And to't, the winds have been contrary long.
But then, if he should have all his returns,
We think he would be a King, and are half sure on't.
Your Master is a Traitor, for all this,
Under the Rose: Here's to you; and usurps
The Earldom from a better man.

Hub. I marry, Sir, Where is that man?

Van. Nay soft: and I could tell you
'Tis ten to one I would not: here's my hand,
I love not Wolfort: sit you still, with that:
Here comes my Captain again, and his fine Niece,
And there's my Merchant; view him well: fill wine here.

Enter Hemskirk, Gertrude, and Goswin.

Hem. You must not only know me for your Uncle
Now, but obey me: you, go cast your self
Away, upon a Dunghil here? a Merchant?
A petty fellow? one that makes his Trade
With Oaths and perjuries?

Gos. What is that you say, Sir? If it be me you speak of, as your eye Seems to direct, I wish you would speak to me, Sir.

Hem. Sir, I do say, she is no Merchandize, Will that suffice you?

Gos. Merchandize good Sir?
Though ye be Kinsman to her, take no leave thence
To use me with contempt: I ever thought
Your Niece above all price.

Hem. And do so still, Sir, I assure you, her rates are more than you are worth.

Gos. You do not know, what a Gentleman's worth, Sir, Nor can you value him.

H[u]b. Well said Merchant.

Van. Nay, Let him alone, and ply your matter.

Hem. A Gentleman?
What o'the Wool-pack? or the Sugar-chest?
Or lists of Velvet? which is't pound, or yard,
You vent your Gentry by?

Hub. O Hemskirk, fye.

Van. Come, do not mind 'em, drink, he is no Wolfort, Captain, I advise you.

Hem. Alas, my pretty man,
I think't be angry, by its look: Come hither,
Turn this way, a little: if it were the blood
Of Charlemaine, as't may (for ought I know)
Be some good Botchers issue, here in Bruges.

Gos. How?

Hem. Nay: I'me not certain of that; of this I am, If it once buy, and sell, its Gentry is gone.

Gos. Ha, ha.

Hem. You are angry, though ye laugh.

Gos. No, now 'tis pity
Of your poor argument. Do not you, the Lords
Of Land (if you be any) sell the grass,
The Corn, the Straw, the Milk, the Cheese?

Van. And Butter: Remember Butter; do not leave out Butter.

Gos. The Beefs and Muttons that your grounds are stor'd with? Swine, with the very mast, beside the Woods?

Hem. No, for those sordid uses we have Tenants, Or else our Bailiffs.

Gos. Have not we, Sir, Chap-men,
And Factors, then to answer these? your