Descend from him?—But let that pass.

Your fortune,

Or rather your husband's industry, advanced you
To the rank of merchant's wife. He made a knight,

And your sweet mistress-ship ladyfied, you wore
Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold,

A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes

A dainty minever cap, a silver pin

Headed with a pearl worth threepence; and thus far
You were privileged, and no man envied it:

It being for the city's honour that

There should be distinction between

The wife of a patrician and a plebeian....
But when the height

And dignity of London's blessings grew
Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress

Became a by-word, and you scorned the means

By which you were raised (my brother's fond indulgence
Giving the reins to't), and no object pleased you
But the glittering pomp and bravery of the court;
What a strange, nay, monstrous metamorphosis followed!
No English workmen then could please your fancy;
The French and Tuscan dress, your whole discourse;
This bawd to prodigality entertained,

To buzz into your ears what shape this countess
Appeared in, the last masque; and how it drew
The young lord's eyes upon her and this usher
Succeeded in the eldest 'prentice's place,

To walk before you. Then, as I said

(The reverend hood cast off), your borrowed hair,
Powdered and curled, was by your dresser's art
Formed like a coronet, hanged with diamonds,
And the richest orient pearl: your carcanets,

That did adorn your neck, of equal value;

Your Hungerland bands, and Spanish Quellio ruffs:
Great lords and ladies feasted, to survey
Embroidered petticoats; and sickness feigned,
That your nightrails of forty pounds a-piece
Might be seen with envy of the visitants:
Rich pantables in ostentation shown,

And roses worth a family. You were served
In plate;

Stirred not a foot without a coach; and going

To church, not for devotion, but to show

Your pomp, you were tickled when the beggars cried Heaven save your honour. This idolatry

Paid to a painted room.

And, when you lay

In childbed, at the christening of this minx,
I well remember it, as you had been

An absolute princess (since they have no more),
Three several chambers hung: the first with arras,
And that for waiters; the second, crimson satin,
For the meaner sort of guests; the third of scarlet
Of the rich Tyrian dye: a canopy

To cover the brat's cradle; you in state,

Like Pompey's Julia.

Lady. No more, I pray you.

Luke. Of this be sure you shall not. I'll cut off Whatever is exorbitant in you,

Or in your daughters; and reduce you to

Your natural forms and habits: not in revenge of me; but to fright

Of your base usage

Others by your example.

A NEW WAY ΤΟ PAY OLD DEBTS.

SIR GILES OVERREACH (a cruel Extortioner) treats about marrying his Daughter with LORD LOVELL.

LOVELL, OVERReach.

Over. To my wish we are private.

I come not to make offer with my daughter
A certain portion; that were poor and trivial:
In one word I pronounce all that is mine,

In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,

With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall you have
One motive to induce you to believe

I live too long, since every year I'll add
Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.
Lov. You are a right kind father.

Over. You shall have reason

To think me such. How do you like this seat?
It is well wooded and well watered, the acres
Fertile and rich: would it not serve for change,
To entertain friends in a summer's progress ?

your

What thinks my noble lord?

Lov. 'Tis a wholesome air,

And well built, and she,* that is mistress of it,

Worthy the large revenues.

It

Over. She the mistress?

may be so for a time: but let my lord

Say only that he but like it, and would have it;

I say, ere long 'tis his.

Lov. Impossible.

*The Lady Allworth.

Over. You do conclude too fast; not knowing me, Nor the engines that I work by. 'Tis not alone The Lady Allworth's lands: but point out any man's In all the shire, and say they lie convenient And useful for your lordship; and once more I say aloud, they are yours.

Lov. I dare not own

What's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are more dear to me,
Than so to expose 'em to be censured by
The public voice.

Over. You run, my lord, no hazard:
Your reputation shall stand as fair

In all good men's opinions as now:
Nor can my actions, though condemned for ill,
Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.
For though I do contemn report myself,
As a mere sound; I still will be so tender

Of what concerns you in all points of honour,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,
Nor your unquestioned integrity,

Shall e'er be sullied with one taint or spot
That may take from your innocence and candor.
As my ambition is to have my daughter

Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee

A

young Lord Lovell, born by her unto you,
I write nil ultra to my proudest hopes.
As for possessions and annual rents,
Equivalent to maintain you in the port
Your noble birth and present state require,

I do remove that burden from your shoulders,

And take it on mine own: for though I ruin
The country to supply your riotous waste,

The scourge of prodigals (want) shall never find you.
Lov. Are you not frighted with the imprecations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By your sinister practices?

Over. Yes, as rocks are,

When foamy billows split themselves against

Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved

When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her brightness.

I am of a solid temper, and, like these,

Steer on a constant course: with mine own sword,

If called into the field, I can make that right,
Which fearful enemies murmured at as wrong.
Now, for those other piddling complaints,
Breathed out in bitterness; as, when they call me
Extortioner, tyrant, cormorant, or intruder
On my poor neighbour's right, or grand encloser
Of what was common to my private use;

Nay, when my ears are pierced with widows' cries,
And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold:
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm,
Makes me insensible of remorse or pity,

Or the least sting of conscience.

Lov. I admire

The toughness of your nature.

Over. 'Tis for you,

My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble.