Beaumont and Fletcher’s Works, Vol. 8

Produced by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

Born 1584
Died 1616

 

JOHN FLETCHER

Born 1579
Died 1625


BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

 

THE WOMANS PRIZE
THE ISLAND PRINCESS
THE NOBLE GENTLEMAN
THE CORONATION
THE COXCOMB

 

THE TEXT EDITED BY

A. R. WALLER, M.A.

Cambridge:
at the University Press
1910


CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, Manager

Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd.

 

All Rights reserved.

CONTENTS

PAGE
The Womans Prize1
The Island Princess91
The Noble Gentleman171
The Coronation240
The Coxcomb308

THE
WOMANS PRIZE,
OR
THE TAMER TAM’D.
A Comedy.


The Persons represented in the Play.

WOMEN.

PROLOGUE.

Ladies to you, in whose defence and right,
Fletchers brave Muse prepar’d her self to fight
A battel without blood, ’twas well fought too,
(The victory’s yours, though got with much ado.)
We do present this Comedy, in which
A rivulet of pure wit flows, strong and rich
In Fancy, Language, and all parts that may
Add Grace and Ornament to a merry Play.
Which this may prove. Yet not to go too far
In promises from this our Female War.
We do intreat the angry men would not
Expect the mazes of a subtle plot,
Set Speeches, high Expressions, and what’s worse,
In a true Comedy, politick discourse.
The end we aim at, is to make you sport;
Yet neither gall the City, nor the Court.
Hear, and observe his Comique strain, and when
Y’ are sick-of melancholy, see’t agen.
‘Tis no dear Physick since ’twill quit the cost:
Or his intentions with our pains, are lost.

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Moroso, Sophocles, and Tranio, with Rosemary, as from a wedding.

Mo.   God give ’em joy.

Tra.   Amen.

Soph.   Amen, say I too:
The pudding’s now i’th’ proof, alas poor wench.
Through what a mine of patience must thou work,
E’r thou know’st good hour more!

Tra.   ‘Tis too true: Certain,
Methinks her father has dealt harshly with her,
Exceeding harshly, and not like a Father,
To match her to this Dragon; I protest
I pity the poor Gentlewoman.

Mor.   Methinks now,
He’s not so terrible as people think him.

Soph.   This old thief flatters, out of meer devotion,
To please the Father for his second daughter.

Tra.   But shall he have her?

Soph.   Yes, when I have Rome.
And yet the father’s for him.

Mor.   I’ll assure ye,
I hold him a good man.

Soph.   Yes sure a wealthy,
But whether a good womans man, is doubtful.

Tra.   Would ’twere no worse.

M[o]r.   What though his other wife,
Out of her most abundant soberness,
Out of her daily hue and cries upon him,
(For sure she was a rebel) turn’d his temper,
And forc’d him blow as high as she? dos’t follow
He must retain that long since buried Tempest,
To this soft Maid?

Soph.   I fear it.

Tra.   So do I too:
And so far, that if God had made me woman,
And his wife that must be—

Mor.   What would you do, Sir?

Tra.   I would learn to eat coals with an angry Cat,
And spit fire at him: I would (to prevent him)
Do all the ramping, roaring tricks, a whore
Being drunk, and tumbling ripe, would tremble at:
There is no safety else, nor moral wisdom.
To be a wife, and his.

Soph.   So I should think too.

Tra.   For yet the bare remembrance of his first wife

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