Volume Ix Part 99 (1/2)

SCAR. I will not lie with her.

ILF. _Caeteri volunt_, she'll say still; If you will not, another will.

SCAR. Why did she marry me, knowing I did not love her?

ILF. As other women do, either to be maintained by you, or to make you a cuckold. Now, sir, what come you for?

_Enter_ CLOWN.

CLOWN. As men do in haste, to make an end of their business.

ILF. What's your business?

CLOWN. My business is this, sir--this, sir--and this, sir.

ILF. The meaning of all this, sir?

CLOWN. By this is as much as to say, sir, my master has sent unto you; by this is as much as to say, sir, my master has him humbly commended unto you; and by this is as much as to say, my master craves your answer.

ILF. Give me your letter, and you shall have this, sir, this, sir, and this, sir. [_Offers to strike him_.

CLOWN. No, sir.

ILF. Why, sir?

CLOWN. Because, as the learned have very well instructed me, _Qui supra nos, nihil ad nos_, and though many gentlemen will have to do with other men's business, yet from me know the most part of them prove knaves for their labour.

WEN. You ha' the knave, i'faith, Frank.

CLOWN. Long may he live to enjoy it. From Sir John Harcop, of Harcop, in the county of York, Knight, by me his man, to yourself my young master, by these presents greeting.

ILF. How cam'st thou by these good words?

CLOWN. As you by your good clothes, took them upon trust, and swore I would never pay for them.

SCAR. Thy master, Sir John Harcop, writes to me, That I should entertain thee for my man.

His wish is acceptable; thou art welcome, fellow.

O, but thy master's daughter sends an article, Which makes me think upon my present sin; Here she remembers me to keep in mind My promis'd faith to her, which I ha' broke.

Here she remembers me I am a man, Black'd o'er with perjury, whose sinful breast Is charactered like those curst of the blest.

ILF. How now, my young bully, like a young wench, forty weeks after the loss of her maidenhead, crying out.

SCAR. Trouble me not. Give me pen, ink, and paper; I will write to her. O! but what shall I write In mine excuse?[366] why, no excuse can serve For him that swears, and from his oath doth swerve.

Or shall I say my marriage was enforc'd?

'Twas bad in them; not well in me to yield: Wretched they two, whose marriage was compell'd.

I'll only write that which my grief hath bred: Forgive me, Clare, for I am married: 'Tis soon set down, but not so soon forgot Or worn from hence-- Deliver it unto her, there's for thy pains.

Would I as soon could cleanse these perjur'd stains!

CLOWN. Well, I could alter mine eyes from filthy mud into fair water: you have paid for my tears, and mine eyes shall prove bankrouts, and break out for you. Let no man persuade me: I will cry, and every town betwixt Sh.o.r.editch Church and York Bridge shall bear me witness.