ROBERT, EARL OF CARNARVON Master Falconer of England. MY GOOD LORD, Pardon, I beseech you, my boldness, in presuming to shelter this Comedy under the wings of your lordship's favour and protection. I am not ignorant (having never yet deserved you in my service) that it cannot but meet with a severe construction, if, in the clemency of your noble disposition, you fashion not a better defence for me, than I can fancy for myself. All I can allege is, that divers Italian princes, and lords of eminent rank in England, have not disdained to receive and read poems of this nature; nor am I wholly lost in my hopes, but that your honour (who have ever expressed yourself a favourer, and friend to the Muses) may vouchsafe, in your gracious acceptance of this trifle, to give me encouragement to present you with some laboured work, and of a higher strain, hereafter. I was born a devoted servant to the thrice noble family of your incomparable lady, and am most ambitious, but with a becoming distance, to be known to your lordship, which, if you please to admit, I shall embrace it as a bounty, that while I live shall oblige me to acknowledge you for my noble patron, and profess myself to be, Your honour's true servant, PHILIP MASSINGER. LORD LOVELL DRAMATIS PERSONE SIR GILES OVERREACH, a cruel extortioner FRANK WELLBORN, a Prodigal TOM ALLWORTH, a young Gentleman, Page to Lord Lovell GREEDY, a hungry Justice of Peace MARRALL, a Term-Driver; a creature of Sir Giles Overreach ORDER, Steward AMBLE, Usher FURNACE, Cook WATCHALL, Porter WILLDO, a Parson to Lady Allworth TAPWELL, an Alehouse Keeper Creditors, Servants, &c. A NEW WAY TO PAY CLI DERT ACT I SCENE 1 Before Tapwell's Hous Enter Wellborn in tattered appare., Zapat Well. No bouse? nor no tobacco: Tap. Not a suck, sir; Nor the remainder of a single can Left by a drunken porter, all night palled Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for draught, sir: "Tis verity, I assure you. Well. Verity, you brache! The devil turned precisian Ro Tap. Troth, durst I trust you witha Your Plymouth cloak you shall be soon instructed ship, A potent monarch called the constable, That does command a citadel called the stocks Whose guards are certain files of rusty billmen Your tattered, lousy— Well. Rascal! slave ! Froth. No rage, sir. Tap. At his own peril: Do not put yourself ; 20 In too much heat, there being no water near To quench your thirst; and sure, for other liquor, As mighty ale, or beer, they are things, I take it, You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir. Well. Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou talk thus ! Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift? Tap. I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell Does keep no other register. Well. Am not I he Whose riots fed and clothed thee? wert thou not A drudge in his house? Tap. What I was, sir, it skills not; What you are, is apparent now, for a farewell, 30 Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you, I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father, 40 My quondam master, was a man of worship, Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace and quorum, Bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house, You cannot out of your way. Tap. But to my story: You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant, As their embraces made your lordship melt; On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds, 50 60 For a while supplied your looseness, and then left you. Well. Some curate hath penned this invective, mongrel, And you have studied it. Tap. I have not done yet : Your land gone, and your credit not worth a token, |