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    The Little French Lawyer A Comedy
    The Little French Lawyer A Comedy
    The Little French Lawyer A Comedy
    Ebook146 pages1 hour

    The Little French Lawyer A Comedy

    By Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    The Little French Lawyer A Comedy

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      Book preview

      The Little French Lawyer A Comedy - Francis Beaumont

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little French Lawyer, by

      Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Little French Lawyer

      A Comedy

      Author: Francis Beaumont

      John Fletcher

      Release Date: May 9, 2008 [EBook #25398]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER ***

      Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Diane Monico, and The Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      THE

      Little French Lawyer.

      A

      COMEDY.

      Persons Represented in the Play.

      Dinant, a Gentleman that formerly loved, and still pretended to love Lamira.

      Cleremont, a merry Gentleman, his Friend.

      Champernell, a lame old Gentleman, Husband to Lamira.

      Vertaign, a Noble-man, and a Judge.

      Beaupre, Son to Vertaign.

      Verdone, Nephew to Champernell.

      Monsieur La Writt, a wrangling Advocate, or the Little Lawyer.

      Sampson, a foolish Advocate, Kinsman to Vertaign.

      Provost.

      Gentlemen.

      Clients.

      Servants.

      WOMEN.

      Lamira, Wife to Champernell, and Daughter to Vertaign.

      Anabell, Niece to Champernell.

      Old Lady, Nurse to Lamira.

      Charlotte, Waiting Gentlewoman to Lamira.

      The Scene France.

      The principal Actors were,

      Joseph Taylor.

      John Lowin.

      John Underwood.

      Robert Benfield.

      Nicholas Toolie.

      William Egleston.

      Richard Sharpe.

      Thomas Holcomb.

      Actus Primus. Scena Prima.

      Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

      Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

      Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

      Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

      Prologue.

      Epilogue.

      APPENDIX

      Actus Primus. Scena Prima.

      Enter Dinant, a[n]d Cleremont.

      Din. Disswade me not.

      Clere. It will breed a brawl.

      Din. I care not, I wear a Sword.

      Cler. And wear discretion with it,

      Or cast it off, let that direct your arm,

      'Tis madness else, not valour, and more base

      Than to receive a wrong.

      Din. Why would you have me

      Sit down with a disgrace, and thank the doer?

      We are not Stoicks, and that passive courage

      Is only now commendable in Lackies,

      Peasants, and Tradesmen, not in men of rank

      And qualitie, as I am.

      Cler. Do not cherish

      That daring vice, for which the whole age suffers.

      The blood of our bold youth, that heretofore

      Was spent in honourable action,

      Or to defend, or to enlarge the Kingdom,

      For the honour of our Country, and our Prince,

      Pours it self out with prodigal expence

      Upon our Mothers lap, the Earth that bred us

      For every trifle; and these private Duells,

      Which had their first original from the Fr[enc]h

      (And for which, to this day, we are justly censured)

      Are banisht from all civil Governments:

      Scarce three in Venice, in as many years;

      In Florence, they are rarer, and in all

      The fair Dominions of the Spanish King,

      They are never heard of: Nay, those neighbour Countries,

      Which gladly imitate our other follies,

      And come at a dear rate to buy them of us,

      Begin now to detest them.

      Din. Will you end yet—

      Cler. And I have heard that some of our late Kings,

      For the lie, wearing of a Mistris favour,

      A cheat at Cards or Dice, and such like causes,

      Have lost as many gallant Gentlemen,

      As might have met the great Turk in the field

      With confidence of a glorious Victorie,

      And shall we then—

      Din. No more, for shame no more,

      Are you become a Patron too? 'tis a new one,

      No more on't, burn't, give it to some Orator,

      To help him to enlarge his exercise,

      With such a one it might do well, and profit

      The Curat of the Parish, but for Cleremont,

      The bold, and undertaking Cleremont,

      To talk thus to his friend, his friend that knows him,

      Dinant that knows his Cleremont, is absurd,

      And meer Apocrypha.

      Cler. Why, what know you of me?

      Din. Why if thou hast forgot thy self, I'le tell thee,

      And not look back, to speak of what thou wert

      At fifteen, for at those years I have heard

      Thou wast flesh'd, and enter'd bravely.

      Cler. Well Sir, well.

      Din. But yesterday, thou wast the common second,

      Of all that only knew thee, thou hadst bills

      Set up on every post, to give thee notice

      Where any difference was, and who were parties;

      And as to save the charges of the Law

      Poor men seek arbitrators, thou wert chosen

      By such as knew thee not, to compound quarrels:

      But thou wert so delighted with the sport,

      That if there were no just cause, thou wouldst make one,

      Or be engag'd thy self: This goodly calling

      Thou hast followed five and twenty years, and studied

      The Criticismes of contentions, and art thou

      In so few hours transform'd? certain this night

      Thou hast had strange dreams, or rather visions.

      Clere. Yes, Sir,

      I have seen fools, and fighters, chain'd together,

      And the Fighters had the upper hand, and whipt first,

      The poor Sots laughing at 'em. What I have been

      It skils not, what I will be is resolv'd on.

      Din. Why then you'l fight no more?

      Cler. Such is my purpose.

      Din. On no occasion?

      Cler. There you stagger me.

      Some kind of wrongs there are which flesh and blood

      Cannot endure.

      Din. Thou wouldst not willingly

      Live a protested coward, or be call'd one?

      Cler. Words are but words.

      Din. Nor wouldst thou take a blow?

      Cler. Not from my friend, though drunk, and from an enemy

      I think much less.

      Din. There's some hope of thee left then,

      Wouldst thou hear me behind my back disgrac'd?

      Cler. Do you think I am a rogue? they that should do it

      Had better been born dumb.

      Din. Or in thy presence

      See me o'recharg'd with odds?

      Cler. I'd fall my self first.

      Din. Would'st thou endure thy Mistris be taken from thee,

      And thou sit quiet?

      Cler. There you touch my honour,

      No French-man can endure that.

      Di[n]. Pl—— upon thee,

      Why dost thou talk of Peace then? that dar'st suffer

      Nothing, or in thy self, or in thy friend

      That is unmanly?

      Cler. That I grant, I cannot:

      But I'le not quarrel with this Gentleman

      For wearing stammel Breeches, or this Gamester

      For playing a thousand pounds, that owes me nothing;

      For this mans taking up a common Wench

      In raggs, and lowsie, then maintaining her

      Caroach'd in cloth of Tissue, nor five hundred

      Of such like toyes, that at no part concern me;

      Marry, where my honour, or my friend is questioned,

      I have a Sword, and I think I may use it

      To the cutting of a Rascals throat, or so,

      Like a good Christian.

      Din. Thou art of a fine Religion,

      And rather than we'l make a Schism in friendship

      I will be of it: But to be serious,

      Thou art acquainted with my tedious love-suit

      To fair Lamira?

      Cler. Too well Sir, and remember

      Your presents, courtship, that's too good a name,

      Your slave-like services, your morning musique;

      Your walking three hours in the rain at midnight,

      To see her at her window, sometimes laugh'd at,

      Sometimes admitted, and vouchsaf'd to kiss

      Her glove, her skirt, nay, I have heard, her slippers,

      How then you triumph'd?

      Here was love forsooth.

      Din. These follies I deny not,

      Such a contemptible thing my dotage made me,

      But my reward for this—

      Cler. As you deserv'd,

      For he that makes a goddess of a Puppet,

      Merits no other recompence.

      Din. This day friend,

      For thou art so—

      Cler. I am no flatterer.

      Din. This proud, ingratefull she, is married to

      Lame Champernel.

      Cler. I know him, he has been

      As tall a Sea-man, and has thriv'd as well by't,

      The loss of a legg and an arm deducted, as any

      That ever put from Marseilles: you are tame,

      Pl—— on't, it mads me; if it were my case,

      I should kill all the family.

      Din. Yet but now

      You did preach patience.

      Cler. I then came from confession,

      And 'twas enjoyn'd me three hours for a penance,

      To be a

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