Beggars Bush | Page 9

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 honour Fetch'd from the Heralds ABC, and said over With your
Court faces, once an hour, shall never Make me mistake my self. Do
not your Lawyers Sell all their practice, as your Priests their prayers?
What is not bought, and sold? The company That you had last, what
had you for't, i'faith?
Hem. You now grow sawcy.
Gos. Sure I have been bred Still, with my honest liberty, and must use
it.
Hem. Upon your equals then.
Gos. Sir, he that will Provoke me first, doth make himself my equal.
Hem. Do ye hear? no more.
Gos. Yes, Sir, this little, I pray you, And't shall be aside, then after, as

you please. You appear the Uncle, Sir, to her I love More than mine
eyes; and I have heard your scorns With so much scoffing, and so much
shame, As each strive which is greater: But, believe me, I suck'd not in
this patience with my milk. Do not presume, because you see me young,
Or cast despights on my profession For the civility and tameness of it.
A good man bears a contumely worse Than he would do an injury.
Proceed not To my offence: wrong is not still successful, Indeed it is
not: I would approach your Kins-woman With all respect, done to your
self and her.
Hem. Away Companion: handling her? take that. [Strikes him.
Gos. Nay, I do love no blows, Sir, there's exchange.
Hub. Hold, Sir. (He gets Hemskirks sword and cuts him on the head.
Mar. O murther.
Ger. Help my Goswin.
Mar. Man.
Van. Let 'em alone; my life for one.
Gos. Nay come, If you have will.
Hub. None to offend you, I, Sir.
Gos. He that had, thank himself: not hand her? yes Sir, And clasp her,
and embrace her; and (would she Now go with me) bear her through all
her Race, Her Father, Brethren, and her Uncles, arm'd, And all their
Nephews, though they stood a wood Of Pikes, and wall of Canon: kiss
me Gertrude, Quake not, but kiss me.
Van. Kiss him, Girl, I bid you; My Merchant Royal; fear no Uncles:
hang 'em, Hang up all Uncles: Are not we in Bruges? Under the Rose
here?
Gos. In this circle, Love, Thou art as safe, as in a Tower of Brass; Let

such as do wrong, fear.
Van. I, that's good, Let Wolfort look to that.
Gos. Sir,