March 18 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
New Way to Pay Old Debts
A cunning uncle cheats his worthless nephew out of his fortune. The nephew, laughing stock of his former servants, sets out to retrieve his old position and riches.
- Massinger buried March 18, 1640.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
A New Way to Pay Old Debts
Philip Massinger
The reading starts at the title “A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS” on page 859.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
LORD LOVELL, an English Lord.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],Servants to Lady Allworth.WILLDO, a Parson.TAPWELL, an Alehouse Keeper.Three Creditors, Servants, &c.
LADY ALLWORTH, a rich Widow.MARGARET, Daughter of Sir Giles Overreach.FROTH, Wife of Tapwell.Chambermaid.Waiting Woman.
[SCENE—THE COUNTRY NEAR NOTTINGHAM]
ACT I
SCENE I. [Before Tapwell’s house]
[Enter] WELLBORN [in tattered apparel], TAPWELL, and FROTH
Wellborn
NO BOUSE?1 nor no tobacco?Tap. Not a suck, sir;Nor the remainder of a single canLeft by a drunken porter, all night pall’d2 too.Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your morning’s draught, sir:’Tis verity, I assure you.Well. Verity, you brache!3The devil turn’d precisian!4 Rogue, what am I?Tap. Troth, durst I trust you with a looking-glass,To let you see your trim shape, you would quit meAnd take the name yourself.Well. How, dog!Tap. Even so, sir.And I must tell you, if you but advanceYour Plymouth cloak5 you shall be soon instructedThere dwells, and within call, if it please your worship,A potent monarch call’d the constable,That does command a citadel called the stocks;Whose guards are certain files of rusty billmenSuch as with great dexterity will haleYour tatter’d, lousy——Well. Rascal! slave!Froth. No rage, sir.Tap. At his own peril. Do not put yourselfIn too much heat, there being no water nearTo 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 TapwellDoes keep no other register.Well. Am not I heWhose riots fed and cloth’d thee? Wert thou notBorn on my father’s land, and proud to beA drudge in his house?Tap. What I was, sir, it skills6 not;What you are, is apparent. Now, for a farewell,Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you,I’ll briefly tell your story. Your dead father,My quondam master, was a man of worship,Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace and quorum,7And stood fair to be custos rotulorum;8Bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house,Reliev’d the poor, and so forth; but he dying,And the twelve hundred a year coming to you,Late Master Francis, but now forlorn Wellborn——Well. Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.Froth. Very hardly:You cannot out of your way.Tap. But to my story:You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant,And I your under-butler. Note the change now;You had a merry time of’t; hawks and hounds,With choice of running horses; mistressesOf all sorts and all sizes, yet so hot,As their embraces made your lordship melt;Which your uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, observing,(Resolving not to lose a drop of them,)On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds,For a while suppli’d your looseness, and then left you.Well. Some curate hath penn’d this invective, mongrel.And you have studied it.Tap. I have not done yet.Your land gone, and your credit not worth a tokenYou grew a common borrower; no man scap’dYour paper-pellets,9 from the gentlemanTo the beggars on highways, that sold you switchesIn your gallantry.Well. I shall switch your brains out.Tap. Where poor Tim Tapwell, with a little stock,Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage;Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here,Gave entertainment——Well. Yes, to whores and canters,10Clubbers by night.Tap. True, but they brought in profit,And had a gift to pay for what they call’d for,And stuck not like your mastership. The poor incomeI glean’d from them hath made me in my parishThought worthy to be scavenger, and in timeI may rise to be overseer of the poor;Which if I do, on your petition, Wellborn,I may allow you thirteen-pence a quarter.And you shall thank my worship.Well. Thus, you dog-bolt,And thus—— Beats and kicks him.Tap. [to his wife.] Cry out for help!Well. Stir, and thou diest:Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save you.Hear me, ungrateful hell-hound! Did not IMake purses for you? Then you lick’d my boots,And thought your holiday cloak too coarse to clean them.’Twas I that, when I heard thee swear if everThou couldst arrive at forty pounds thou wouldstLive like an emperor, ’twas I that gave itIn ready gold. Deny this, wretch!Tap. I must, sir;For, from the tavern to the taphouse, all,On forfeiture of their licenses, stand boundNe’er to remember who their best guests were,If they grew poor like you.Well. They are well rewardedThat beggar themselves to make such cuckolds rich.Thou viper, thankless viper! impudent bawd!—But since you are grown forgetful, I will helpYour memory, and tread you into mortar,Nor leave one bone unbroken. [Beats him again.]Tap. Oh!Froth. Ask mercy.
Enter ALLWORTH
Well. ’Twill not be granted.All. Hold—for my sake, hold.Deny me, Frank? They are not worth your anger.Well. For once thou hast redeem’d them from this sceptre;11But let ’em vanish, creeping on their knees,And, if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.Froth. This comes of your prating, husband; you presum’dOn your ambling wit, and must use your glib tongue,Though you are beaten lame for’t.Tap. Patience, Froth;There’s law to cure our bruises.
They go off on their hands and knees.
Well. Sent to your mother?All. My lady, Frank, my patroness, my all!She’s such a mourner for my father’s death,And, in her love to him, so favours me,That I cannot pay too much observance to her.There are few such stepdames.Well. ’Tis a noble widow,And keeps her reputation pure, and clearFrom the least taint of infamy; her life,With the splendour of her actions, leaves no tongueTo envy or detraction. Prithee tell me,Has she no suitors?All. Even the best of the shire, Frank,My lord excepted; such as sue and send,And send and sue again, but to no purpose;Their frequent visits have not gain’d her presence.Yet she’s so far from sullenness and pride,That I dare undertake you shall meet from herA liberal entertainment. I can give youA catalogue of her suitors’ names.Well. Forbear it,While I give you good counsel: I am bound to it.Thy father was my friend, and that affectionI bore to him, in right descends to thee;Thou art a handsome and a hopeful youth,Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee,If I with any danger can prevent it.All. I thank your noble care; but, pray you, in whatDo I run the hazard?Well. Art thou not in love?Put it not off with wonder.All. In love, at my years!Well. You think you walk in clouds, but are transparent.I have heard all, and the choice that you have made,And, with my finger, can point out the north starBy which the loadstone of your folly’s guided;And, to confirm this true, what think you ofFair Margaret, the only child and heirOf Cormorant Overreach? Does it blush and start,To hear her only nam’d? Blush at your wantOf wit and reason.All. You are too bitter, sir.Well. Wounds of this nature are not to be cur’dWith balms, but corrosives. I must be plain:Art thou scarce manumis’d12 from the porter’s lodge13And yet sworn servant to the pantofle,14And dar’st thou dream of marriage? I fear’Twill be concluded for impossibleThat there is now, or e’er shall be hereafter,A handsome page or player’s boy of fourteenBut either loves a wench, or drabs love him;Court-waiters not exempted.All. This is madness.Howe’er you have discover’d my intents,You know my aims are lawful; and if everThe queen of flowers, the glory of the spring,The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose,Sprang from an envious briar, I may inferThere’s such disparity in their conditionsBetween the goodness of my soul, the daughter,And the base churl her father.Well. Grant this true,As I believe it, canst thou ever hopeTo enjoy a quiet bed with her whose fatherRuin’d thy state?All. And yours too.Well. I confess it;True; I must tell you as a friend, and freely,That, where impossibilities are apparent,’Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes.Canst thou imagine (let not self-love blind thee)That Sir Giles Overreach, that, to make her greatIn swelling titles, without touch of conscienceWill cut his neighbour’s throat, and I hope his own too,Will e’er consent to make her thine? Give o’er,And think of some course suitable to thy rank,And prosper in it.All. You have well advis’d me.But in the mean time you that are so studiousOf my affairs wholly neglect your own.Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.Well. No matter, no matter.All. Yes, ’tis much material.You know my fortune and my means; yet somethingI can spare from myself to help your wants.Well. How’s this?All. Nay, be not angry; there’s eight piecesTo put you in better fashion.Well. Money from thee!From a boy! A stipendiary! One that livesAt the devotion of a stepmotherAnd the uncertain favour of a lord!I’ll eat my arms first. Howsoe’er blind FortuneHath spent the utmost of her malice on me—Though I am vomited out of an alehouse,And thus accoutred—know not where to eat,Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy15—Although I thank thee, I despise thy offer;And as I in my madness broke my stateWithout th’ assistance of another’s brain,In my right wits I’ll piece it; at the worst,Die thus and be forgotten.All. A strange humour! Exeunt.
SCENE II. [A room in Lady Allworth’s house]
[Enter] ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL
Ord. Set all things right, or, as my name is Order,And by this staff of office that commands you,This chain and double ruff, symbols of power,Whoever misses in his function,For one whole week makes forfeiture of his breakfast,And privilege in the wine-cellar.Amb. You are merry,Good master steward.Furn. Let him; I’ll be angry.Amb. Why, fellow Furnace, ’tis not twelve o’clock yet,Nor dinner taking up; then, ’tis allow’d,Cooks, by their places, may be choleric.Furn. You think you have spoke wisely, goodman Amble,My lady’s go-before!Ord. Nay, nay, no wrangling.Furn. Twit me with the authority of the kitchen!At all hours, and all places, I’ll be angry;And thus provok’d, when I am at my prayersI will be angry.Amb. There was no hurt meant.Furn. I am friends with thee; and yet I will be angry.Ord. With whom?Furn. No matter whom: yet, now I think on it,I am angry with my lady.Watch. Heaven forbid, man!Ord. What cause has she given thee?Furn. Cause enough, master steward.I was entertain’d by her to please her palate,And, till she forswore eating, I perform’d it.Now, since our master, noble Allworth, died,Though I crack my brains to find out tempting sauces,And raise fortifications in the pastrySuch as might serve for models in the Low Countries;Which, if they had been practised at Breda,Spinola might have thrown his cap at it, and ne’er took it16Amb. But you had wanted matter there to work on.Furn. Matter! with six eggs, and a strike17 of rye meal,I had kept the town till doomsday, perhaps longer.Ord. But what’s this to your pet against my lady?Furn. What’s this? Marry this: when I am three parts roastedAnd the fourth part parboil’d, to prepare her viands,She keeps her chamber, dines with a panada18Or water-gruel, my sweat never thought on.Ord. But your art is seen in the dining-room.Furn. By whom?By such as pretend love to her, but comeTo feed upon her. Yet, of all the harpiesThat do devour her, I am out of charityWith none so much as the thin-gutted squireThat’s stolen into commission.Ord. Justice Greedy?Furn. The same, the same; meat’s cast away upon him,It never thrives; he holds this paradox,Who eats not well, can ne’er do justice well.His stomach’s as insatiate as the grave,Or strumpet’s ravenous appetites. Knocking.Watch. One knocks.
Enter ALLWORTH
Ord. Our late young master!Amb. Welcome, sir.Furn. Your hand;If you have a stomach, a cold bake-meat’s ready.Ord. His father’s picture in little.Furn. We are all your servants.Amb. In you he lives.All. At once, my thanks to all;This is yet some comfort. Is my lady stirring?
Enter LADY ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and Chambermaid
Ord. Her presence answers for us.L. All. Sort those silks well.I’ll take the air alone.
Exeunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.
Furn. You air and air;But will you never taste but spoon-meat more?To what use serve I?L. All. Prithee, be not angry;I shall ere long: i’ the mean time, there is goldTo buy thee aprons, and a summer suit.Furn. I am appeas’d, and Furnace now grows cool.19L. All. And, as I gave directions, if this morningI am visited by any, entertain ’emAs heretofore; but say, in my excuse,I am indispos’d.Ord. I shall, madam.L. All. Do, and leave them.Nay, stay you, Allworth.
Exeunt ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL.
All. I shall gladly grow here,To wait on your commands.L. All. So soon turn’d courtier!All. Style not that courtship, madam, which is dutyPurchas’d on your part.L. All. Well, you shall o’ercome;I’ll not contend in words. How is it withYour noble master?All. Ever like himself,No scruple lessen’d in the full weight of honour.He did command me, pardon my presumption,As his unworthy deputy, to kissYour ladyship’s fair hands.L. All. I am honour’d inHis favour to me. Does he hold his purposeFor the Low Countries?All. Constantly, good madam;But he will in person first present his service.L. All. And how approve you of his course? You are yetLike virgin parchment, capable of anyInscription, vicious or honourable.I will not force your will, but leave you freeTo you own election.All. Any form you please,I will put on; but, might I make my choice,With humble emulation I would followThe path my lord marks to me.L. All. ’Tis well answer’d,And I commend your spirit. You had a father,Blest be his memory! that some few hoursBefore the will of Heaven took him from me,Who did commend you, by the dearest tiesOf perfect love between us, to my charge;And, therefore, what I speak, you are bound to hearWith such respect as if he liv’d in me.He was my husband, and howe’er you are notSon of my womb, you may be of my love,Provided you deserve it.All. I have found you,Most honour’d madam, the best mother to me;And, with my utmost strengths of care and service,Will labour that you never may repentYour bounties shower’d upon me.L. All I much hope it.These were your father’s words: “If e’er my sonFollow the war, tell him it is a schoolWhere all the principles tending to honourAre taught, if truly followed: but for suchAs repair thither as a place in whichThey do presume they may with license practiseTheir lusts and riots, they shall never meritThe noble name of soldiers. To dare boldly,In a fair cause, and for their country’s safety,To run upon the cannon’s mouth undaunted;To obey their leaders, and shun mutinies;To bear with patience the winter’s coldAnd summer’s scorching heat, and not to faint,When plenty of provision fails, with hunger;Are the essential parts make up a soldier,Not swearing, dice, or drinking.”All. There’s no syllableYou speak, but is to me an oracle,Which but to doubt were impious.L. All. To conclude:Beware ill company, for often menAre like to those with whom they do converse;And, from one man I warn20 you, and that’s Wellborn:Not ’cause he’s poor, that rather claims your pity;But that he’s in his manners so debauch’d,And hath to vicious courses sold himself.’Tis true, your father lov’d him, while he wasWorthy the loving; but if he had liv’dTo have seen him as he is, he had cast him off,As you must do.All. I shall obey in all things.L. All. Follow me to my chamber, you shall have goldTo furnish you like my son, and still supplied,As I hear from you.All. I am still your creature. Exeunt.
The reading ends with Act I, Scene II, on page 870; Scene III begins on page 871.
Volume 47, pages 859–870 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for March 18 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 39. There the assignment reads “Vol. 47, pp. 859–870.” Read it in the guide.